Dead Chickens

"Mommy, what are those?" Soren asked one morning as I unwrapped a couple of whole roasting chickens and rinsed them in the kitchen sink.

"They're chickens, honey," I told him.

"Dead chickens?" asked Soren, looking horrified. He's used to the lively flock of hens and roosters who run around the yard at his cousins' house.

"Dead chickens," I confirmed, looking glumly at the empty hole where one of the chicken's neck had once been attached to its body.

Soren's eyes were wide. "Who killed them??"

"I don't know. A butcher, I guess. A butcher is somebody who cuts up animals so we can eat them. All meat comes from the bodies of dead animals."

"I don't fink it's very nice to KILL animals and then eat them," said Soren.

"I agree," I said, turning the chicken over and examining the hole where its guts had been ripped out. "Do you think we should stop eating meat?"

"Yes," said Soren.

"Me too."

This exchange took place three weeks ago aaaand...we're still eating meat.

However. Our conversation acted as a catalyst on a thought process that has been churning around in my brain since last year when I ordered a free vegetarian starter guide from PETA (the premiere unbiased resource on vegetarianism) and started thinking more about the ethical implications of eating meat and other animal products. Seriously, if you want to improve your ethics in just one area of your life, eating is a good place to start, seeing as how eating is something most people do every day, multiple times a day (or, if you're me, all day).

What I've decided is that the key to ethical eating is mindful eating-- eating with an awareness of the food you're eating, its source, its impact on the world, and how that impact aligns with your own values.

The truth is, most of us eat food without really thinking about where it comes from. When I eat a hamburger, I might briefly think, "Hamburger comes from a cow," but I don't really allow myself to absorb and understand the reality of that fact. If I did, I probably wouldn't eat the hamburger. This is largely a product of my tender-hearted personality: I don't like for any living creature to suffer or die. Seeing a dead skunk on the side of the road makes my heart hurt. Mouse traps upset me. I catch and release spiders that I find in my home. When someone carves on a tree, I grab their hand, press it against the bark, and gasp, "Can't you feel its pain?"

So if I stopped to really consider that the flesh ground up and mashed between the two pieces of white bread in my hands once belonged to a living creature-- that this food source had once had great big long eyelashes framing giant brown eyes, that it had spent his days lowing, moving like a mindless adolescent in groups of other cows, and flapping its tail around its manure-covered butt-- I'd probably set the burger back down. Especially if I thought about the day he (he!) was herded into a processing plant, shot in the head, gutted, skinned, and hacked into bloody pieces for my consumption.

This doesn't bother some people. And that's okay. My sweet beautiful little nieces, for example, happily shoot and butcher their own deer. But since I would have to be pretty darn hungry before I could find myself capable of going out and killing my own animals for food, I probably shouldn't eat them so readily and so casually.

But even if you're the sort not bothered by animal sacrifice, it's still important to be mindful of where your food has come from and cultivate an awareness of whether the dietary habits you pursue are making an impact on the world in a way that aligns with your values.

For example, a lot of people don't know about the horrible living conditions that many egg-laying hens and grown-for-meat chickens are subjected to throughout their sad, short, hormone-injected lives. I don't know about ya'll, but I have no desire to continue to contribute to an industry that abuses living creatures this way.

Another consideration we often stifle during our daily consumption of meat, eggs, and dairy products is the environmental impact of our diets. Did you know that in in America 1/3 of all annually used fossil fuels go to producing animal food products? That the crops grown to feed food animals deplete soil nutrients more quickly than crops grown to feed humans? That it takes 10 times more energy and land resources to produce a meat-based meal than a plant-based meal? The meat-heavy diet to which we have become accustomed is unsustainable.

Lastly, I don't care what you were told in school or what you read in Self magazine, animal products are really not all that healthy for you. Vegetarians who eschew all animal products are far less likely than their meat-eating peers to develop osteoporosis, heart disease, kidney stones, type 2 diabetes, high blood pressure, hypertension, certain cancers, strokes, and obesity.

So what I'm saying is, I'm thinking about going vegan.

But it's hard. I was a vegetarian for a couple years as a teen, but that's because I didn't really mind cutting an entire category of food from my diet. Now I'm a bit more attached to food and have moved past a single food-choosing criteria ("What diet will make me the skinniest?") to a longer and more complicated list of questions, such as:

-What foods will provide my body with the vitamins and nutrients it needs, increase energy, and promote overall health?

-What foods will my husband and children eat?

-Will this diet fit into our budget?

-Will at least one meal I prepare during the week be deemed consumable by Briar, who needs her dietary sugar content thinned by something at least mildly nutritious?

-What foods are convenient and easy to prepare?

-Which foods will keep me from getting hungry again within the hour?

-How will eating/not eating this food affect my relationship with the people around me?

-How will eating/not eating this food impact the overall quality of my life?

-How is my diet impacting the broader world?

I'm quite entrenched in my current dietary habits, so change might be incremental and slow-going. However, since my conversation with Soren I have switched to buying locally-produced milk and eggs. The dairy farm where the milk is produced is located almost directly across the street from my office. I can go look at the cows any time I want and as them how they're doing and about whether they've been offered a 401K and dental plan. The origin of the eggs I am less certain about-- the girl at the counter said they were brought in by a farmer in nearby Ririe. (I wanted, couldn't bring myself, to ask if they had been produced by a non-oppressed chicken population. So if any of ya'll have contacts in Ririe, maybe you could do some sleuth work for me?)

I promise I won't judge you if I see you eating a meaty cheesy omelette. Eating is such a personal thing and many, many factors go into our food choices. You don't have to go vegan to be a good person. However, I would encourage you to think through the broader impact that your diet makes on the world and find a small way to change and improve that impact.

Love Scrapbook

At times I hear stories and experiences about love-- people loving people, God loving people, people loving God-- that make me stop and say: Yes. That is true. That is real. The substance of that story reaches down into my core self and gives it a firm squeeze, like it wants to make sure that I know I am awake, that I'm not dreaming, and that this loving reality is not just my imagination-- that it's solid, substantial, important.

I am not a woman of great faith, but I want to be. I want to open up my heart and become more acquainted with this love. I want to trust in it. I want to walk in it. I want to allow love to guide my life-- to be my life-- because, in the end, all we have is love. There is nothing else. God himself (herself?) is love.

Which isn't to say that I understand God. I don't. I won't pretend to. I tear my hair out in frustration at times at what seems to me to be the unfairness of a world in which some mothers worry about organic vs. regular baby food and other mothers worry about finding food for their babies, period. But, despite my inability to understand it all, I believe that God is good.

For a long time I've contemplated creating a "Love" scrapbook. Whenever I hear about a person or an experience that set off my inner truth-o-meter, I think, "That is Real. That is Goodness. I should put that in my Love scrapbook." But I've never actually made one. Today it occurred to me that I could share my Love scrapbook entries on my blog, so I'm going to give it a try. Though I will still continue with my Regular Blog Stuff, I will also occasionally post Love Scrapbook entries. My entries will be random-- "little" stories mixing with "big" ones, posted as I hear them, or as they occur to me, or as the mood strikes.

I'll start today with the story of my week:

Let's just say it rough week at work. Very rough. I had unintentionally hurt someone's feelings and she was making sure I suffered, though she wouldn't even tell me what I had done. I was hurt. Sad. Angry. Tired. Tense.

But I was given some little gifts from the universe to help me get through it all:

First, at our company meeting Monday night it was announced that we would be losing a member of our office staff. She was an excellent employee and will be missed. Many people expressed their sadness at her leaving. And then someone (who was oblivious to the uncomfortable situation in the office) piped up, "But if Rachel goes, we all go!"

Then a friend (who had no idea what was going on) took me out for a surprise lunch.

Another friend (who did know what was going on) stopped by just to give me a hug.

A coworker friend happened to stop by with a question during a particularly rough time. He saw my tears and took me out of the situation long enough for me to talk it out and get myself under control.

Yesterday an old man at the bank stopped me and said, "I know why it's so sunny outside! It's from you walking around with that beautiful smile!"

Other co-workers, my boss, and my parents all also offered support while we waded through the Junior High-esque drama at work. My dad assured me the problem was rooted in the fact that I'm just so wonderful in every way. :)

Anyway, the week is over, and things are looking up, and I'm grateful I was given these little gifts to buoy me up through a difficult time. Thank you, Love.

Haircut

It's all gone! And I'm loving it! Makes me feel frisky.

Turning

Lately I've been feeling wrung out. Exhausted. Spent. Empty. Dried up. Drained. I look at a sunset and feel tired. I sit down to write and feel tired. I am impatient with other people. Holidays make me cranky. Poetry, art, learning new things, connecting with God...they all take waaaay too much effort. I just don't have energy for such things.

At first I blamed the children. They wake up a lot at night and I just don't get enough sleep. Then I blamed my job. Too much pressure, too little paid time off. Then I blamed church. Two callings, plus three hours of church a week, suck away a lot of my time. Most recently I've blamed Abe. If that man would lift a finger to help out once in a damn while, I've thought, I would have more time to recharge my batteries.

Admittedly, all of these factors contribute to my stress. But the truth is that, at the very core, I am the source of my own stress. I am creating my own problems. And I need to change something in order for things to improve.

One of the big contributing factors is my obsession with productivity. I floss while I pee. I check my email while I talk on the phone. I plan menus and create grocery lists on one side of a computer screen while my children watch Sesame Street videos on the other. I get a little high thinking about all the things I've been able to accomplish in a day. Abe will come home on Tuesday (the day I stay home with the kids) and I'll immediately intercept him on his way down to the computer room: "Do you want to know what I did today? Do you? Do you? Huh? Huh? I cooked whole wheat pancakes for breakfast. I washed and folded (and put away!) four loads of laundry. I went grocery shopping, took the kids to the library, mopped the floors, vacuumed the carpets, cooked two nutritious meals (one for today, one for tomorrow), introduced the children to Beethoven while engaging in imaginative play, visited with both of my stay-at-home mom friends, and cleaned out the fridge! Aren't I amazing? Aren't I? Aren't I? Huh? Huh? Huh?" I despise being behind on things-- I never want to be scrambling at the last minute to do anything--but I've become so hell-bent on being ahead that not being ahead has become like being behind and I find myself scrambling anyway.

The second issue is that I have convinced myself that my children surely couldn't live for a single day without having me-- their sun! their soil! their water!-- there to nourish and guide and direct them. I feel guilty about having to leave them for thirty- six hours a week while I go to work. I feel guilty leaving them on Saturday evenings to go on a date with their father. I want desperately to be able to spend more time with them, teaching them, reading to them, crafting with them, taking them to play dates, creating structure and routine for each of their days. I do what I can, but it's never what I wish I could do. Because I'm gone much more than I would like to be, I feel compelled to spend all my non-working time lavishing the children with attention and nurture. Besides going to work, taking naps, and leaving for a weekly date with Abe, I don't go anywhere without them.

So my life is a series of identical days that go something like this: Wake up sometime between five and six a.m. with my wild little boys, who think this is a godly hour for waking. (They are wrong, of course, but try convincing them of that.) Then, from the moment they persuade me that I am not going to talk them into letting me sleep for another hour 'til the moment my head hits the pillow at 9 pm or so, I am a whirlwind of frantic activity. Cook a hot breakfast, bathe the boys, get ready for work, dress the children, play with the kids, family scriptures, family prayer, drive to work, work-work-work, come home, cook dinner, play with kids, get the kids ready for bed, family prayer, story time, admire the children, appreciate them as they are right now, enjoy them because they grow up too fast, now put them to bed, clean up house, wash dishes, fold laundry, read for ten minutes, and crash into bed. There's just not enough time! I always think. There's so much to do and just not enough time! I run around panicked all the time, terrified that I am not doing enough.

This isn't living-- it's wheel spinning. Something needs to change. I need to change. But the question is, what? And how?

I don't know for sure, but as I've pondered this question, the following thoughts have come to mind:

Delegate.

Seek quiet.

Love.

Trust.

Be mindful.

Let go.

As the New Year approached, I found myself identifying a lot of ways in which I could improve, areas in which I could use a lot of work. I was trying to figure out an efficient way to work through them as quickly and effectively as possible. Then I had a wild, gasping, sobbing breakdown at work last week (so embarrassing), and I realized that I wouldn't be able to do anything to better myself or heal the world if I didn't slow down, remember how to breathe, and reconnect with the simple joys of life.

So that is what I am going to do. Over the next twelve months or so, I'm going to dedicate some time to exploring, writing about, and trying to weave the above concepts into my life. If you find yourself pushing yourself to go, go, go at an unhappy and unsustainable pace, I hope you will join me.

Here's to a calmer, more joyful 2012.

Brothers

About a year ago, Soren finally accepted that he really wasn't going to be able to persuade us to return Liam. They still fight a little, of course, but they've also become friends.

No mistletoe needed. Just brotherly love.

Bedtime roughhousing.

I love how in this shot Liam looks like he's twice Soren's size.

Soren will be quick to point out that he weighs two full pounds more than his baby brother.

Every night when I come home to work, this is how I'm greeted. "Mommy! Mommy! Mommy! Mommy!"

Soren made this gingerbread house at preschool.

Here he's sharing some of the candy from the roof with Liam.

Toothbrushing time.

Fabulous idea from pinterest: add a little food coloring to cheap shaving cream and you've got some fabulous bathtub paint. The boys love this.

Liam: January 2012

Tonight Liam picked a piece of wooden railroad track out of the toy box and began "playing" it like a harmonica. As I tucked him in bed, he was happily sawing it back and forth across his lips while singing a tuneless, wordless song. That's a fun change I've observed in my littlest guy over the past couple of months: he has become very imaginative. He'll eat pretend food and make little chewing noises, saying "mmm!"while appreciatively nodding his head; he'll put on his lion mask and follow me around, grinning and gently saying "rawwwr! rawwwr! rawwwwr!"; he'll touch a picture of fire in a book and quickly pull back his finger, exclaiming, "Hot! Ouch!" One of his favorite things to do is stand in front of the couch, wave his arms around like he's losing his balance, say, "Woah...woah...woah!" and fling himself backwards onto the cushions.

The world's most adorable lion.

Liam loves to cook. He especially loves to stir things around in the electric skillet. He'll happily saute onions and garlic, brown beef, or stir together a sauce for me. When we bake bread and cookies, he helps by liberally sampling the dough.

When Liam wants a kiss he'll make smacking noises with his lips, then kind of suck them in and lean forward. It ends up being a lipless kiss, but he always makes a big popping noise and grins broadly afterwards. I love it. I'm sure the girls will too.

The child still can't consistently differentiate between "Mommy" and "Daddy" (I imagine him waving a dismissive hand in his mind, saying, "'Mommy,' 'Daddy,' whatever. They're just those big people who are here to make me happy.") but--as Soren has pointed out--he definitely knows who his brother is. It's so cute to hear him call out, "Sonin!' and have Soren answer, "What, Neeum?" and watch Liam pad off in the direction of his brother's voice. (Incidentally, Liam currently weighs just 2 pounds less than Soren.)

Today while Daddy walked the half block and back to pick up Soren from preschool, Liam (who, just for visualization's sake, was wearing nothing but a diaper) snuck into the kitchen, swiped a hunk of cheese, and took it to the front room, where he climbed up on the couch to savor his illicit treat in comfort. Then Daddy came home. Knowing he was in all kinds of forbidden territory, Liam tried to hide the cheese under his chubby little body where Daddy wouldn't see it.

Recently Soren bumped his head on a doorknob and was screaming loudly about the pain. Liam followed him around, repeating, "Sowwy. Sowwy. Sowwy." Finally Soren turned to Liam and solemnly said, "It wasn't you, Neeum. It was the doorknob."

If is not uncommon for the little Bubba to fall asleep while eating. He's such a Skousen.

He loves books, of course. Here he's reading Kevin Henkes' Birds.

Last month Liam randomly started having some foot/ankle pain in his right foot. We weren't ever sure what happened, but he stopped putting weight on it and crawled everywhere he wanted to go. It would get better, then worse, so it took us a while to take him to the doctor. The doctor sent us to a radiologist, who--while Liam screamed directly into my ear as though we were extracting his toenails without anesthesia--took an x-ray and sent it back to the doctor, who said, "Looks like he might have had a fracture that's healing. But it's hard to say. That might be how his foot always looks. But I don't think we need to do anything about it." A few days later Liam was walking on the foot like nothing had ever happened. Sigh. Another wasted co-pay.

Liam is a creature of comfort. You'll put him in bed and he'll nestle down under the covers, grinning with sparkly Disney eyes. He loves to snuggle under blankets, he loves to cuddle, he loves to be hugged and squeezed and kissed and adored. He is my little cuddlebucket of love and it totally blows my mind that the little pootums is going to be three next month. 'taint natural.

'Taint.

Soren: January 2012

I'm sure it's some sort of developmental phase, but Soren is constantly comparing things: size, height, strength, speed, age, toughness. He talks about it all the time. He can rank everyone in our family according to age or size, and does so frequently. The comparing also comes out in his story-telling. For example, last night Soren told me a lengthy story about a monster whose feet were the size of six houses and whose teeth were each as big as a skyscraper. The monster swalloed him and Liam whole but then pooped them out into a fragile toilet that didn't flush. Tonight he told me a story about a "minivan minivan minivan bus car" that was longer than a train and so tall you couldn't even see a monster truck semi truck from the windows. Soren's stories generally consist of lengthy wide-eyed, spittle-flecked descriptions of objects of incredible size ("Bigger than DADDY! Big enough to hold TRILLIONS of people, Mommy! Bigger than THIRTY SIX ELEPHANTS! Bigger than the WHOLE EARTH!" ) or speed ("Faster than a CHEETAH! Faster than WIGHTNING MCQUEEN! Faster than WIGHTNING!") These descriptions are generally repeated over and over, particularly if I don't give a sufficiently enthusiastic response the first five times. "Mommy! Mommy! Are you wistening? I said it was FASTER THAN WIGHTNING!"

Side note: Possibly the happiest moment of Soren's life occurred when we googled "biggest truck in the world" and he discovered that Monster Truck Semi-Trucks really DO exist.

My daddy was over for dinner one evening when Soren ran over and asked if I wanted to hear something. "Mommy! Do you want to hear blahblahblahblblbah?" What the something was, I didn't really understand, but I enthusiastically replied, "Sure, honey!" Soren then burst into an ear-splitting scream. I could literally feel the pressure on my ears. It was at that moment that my auditory memory processor flashed back to our prior exchange (imagine rewind sequence here) and I realized that he had said "Mommy! Do you want to hear the loudest scream in the world?"

The scream was painful, but look of utter consternation on my father's face was priceless.

(Unfortunately, Soren also utilizes the World's Loudest Scream when he's frustrated or angry or overtired or experiencing any form physical discomfort. At least one of these circumstances arises at least once daily; hence my inability to hear his request in the first place.)

Soren has lately become very interested in adding and subtracting numbers. We were sitting in sacrament meeting one Sunday when he randomly whispered to me, "Mommy, twelve and twelve make twenty-four." He'd figured that out from counting the numbers on the hymn board. One day he told me, "Mommy, Daddy has five more years than you. He's firty free and you're twenty eight. That's five years apart." And he can tell you how old Liam will be when Soren is any age up to twenty.

One evening Soren informed me that mice were poisonous.

"Ummm, no they're not," I said.

"Miss Misty says they are," he countered.

"Welllll," I said. "Sometimes if a mouse is sick its poop can make you sick. That's called Hantavirus. But mice all by themselves aren't poisonous."

"Or," added Daddy, looking up from his book, "Sometimes a mouse can have rabies, and then if it bites you it will make you sick. But mice aren't poisonous."

"But mice are poisonous," insisted Soren.

"No," I said.

"No," Daddy said.

"Wook," said Soren. "I know you beweeve they're not poisonous, but some people know that they are."

(This is a rhetorical technique he's been utilizing in other settings as well: "I know you fink that's true, Briar, but I know you're wrong.")

Soren's been exploring his relationship with Liam, trying on different perspectives to see how they fit. For a while he had it all figured that Liam was a naughty kid and he was the good boy. Liam would commit some minor indiscretion and Soren would be like, "That Liam. He is so naughty. Mommy, you're always mad at Liam, aren't you? It's a good thing I never do naughty things." (Just for the record, I think by the time Soren was Liam's age I had contemplated killing him TRILLIONS of times. I don't think I've considered killing Liam even once. Liam at two is the sweetest cakewalk in the world compared to the holiest of holy terrors that our two-year-old Soren was. Which isn't to say that Soren hasn't bloomed into an extremely sweet if somewhat emotionally volatile and loudly expressive five-year-old, nor is it to say that Liam is perfect. I'm just trying to point out that, while I may have lost double digits worth of IQ points through the sleep-deprivation torture of motherhood, the irony here wasn't lost on me.)

More recently, though, he's been trying out protector/protected roles for himself and his brother. Today the boys woke up from a nap and, instead of finding Daddy, they went into the kitchen where Soren microwaved them some hotdogs for a snack. Tonight he said, "Mommy, I would like to take care of Liam for four days while you and Daddy go somewhere nelse."

One Sunday morning I sat down on the couch and--exhausted-- burst into tears. Soren rubbed my back, got me a pillow and blanket, and had me lie down. While I was napping he very carefully decorated the house with his collection of silk flowers. (It looked like a hurricane had hit the Macy's Day Parade, but Abe, who watched the whole thing, said he was extremely careful about the placement of each flower.) When I woke up I felt much better. "I heawed you, Mommy," he said.

Soren loves his stuffed animals. Bucky (a stuffed rabbit left over from my own childhood) is his favorite. "Bucky is very special to me," Soren will say. Bucky is, according to Soren, six years old. But he's small, according to Soren, like a baby, so sometimes he gets carried around in a bucket baby carrier. Sometimes Bucky comes with us places in the car and has to be buckled in. Sometimes we have to make Bucky paper food. The other stuffed animals get in on the action too, though. Occasionally the stuffed animals will have birthdays and we'll have to have a party. Sometimes they attend a school that Soren teaches. Occasionally they sit around for hours and read a book together, as pictured below.

Soren, like his mommy, has a very active dream life. One night he woke up screaming and Abe went in to comfort him. "Daddy! I dreamed that Briar chopped mommy up into little pieces and I was trying to talk to the pieces but Briar put them in the crockpot and cooked her! Briar cooked Mommy! In the crockpot!" (He later climbed into bed with me ...I think just to make sure I was still alive.)

Here are some delightfully quotable things he's said recently:

"Mommy, I'm nicer than you."

"Oh yeah? What makes you say that?"

"Because you get food on your clothes like a baby without a bib. And I don't."

"Dear Hevnwyfather, Fankyoufrthsday. Fankyoufr Mommy and Daddy and Liam. Please help us to worship our bodies. And fank you for Jesus (that's you, Jesus)!"

"Briar, we're pretty much the same size, except that you have wonger arms and eat more candy."

"Mommy, I was just wying still and finking. And I was finking about how I will eat lots of healthy food and get a lot bigger than Koen so he can't push me anymore."

"Mommy, does Jesus live on a cloud in space?"

"There are three kinds of people: good guys, bad guys, and old people."

And what would a Soren update be without pictures of some of his latest creations?

A Christmas wreath. Materials and patience supplied by our friend Pam.

Snowman complex, complete with visiting Creepy Santa.

A Christmas hat, inspired by the book Christmas with the Mousekins.

A better angle.

A cottonball glitter snowman, made at my sister's house.

A "pillow puppet," also courtesy of Auntie Clee.

This is one of my favorites. It's an airplane.

He wrote and illustrated this book. It's bound with yarn.

And here are a couple of random snapshots:

Preview

I've been extremely busy over the past month, and whenever I had a few spare minutes they were usually devoted to reading The Good Earth or watching back episodes of House M.D.

But.

I haven't forgotten about you, dear readers. And I have a million things I've been wanting to blog about.

For example:

-A tribute to my Grandpa Hanson, who passed away last month.

-My car wreck.

-Learning to play the organ.

-Updates on both the boys, who grow (impossibly!) more adorable each day

-Christmas

-Creepy Santa

-Fun stuff we did over the summer (yes, yes, I know that was a while ago, but I have a tendency to blog about the everyday stuff and forget to write about holidays and trips and things. This is weird and oppositey to most Mommy Blogs, but it's how I roll.)

-Family goal setting

-Review of progress on last year's New Year's goals/New New Year's goals

-Cute stuff I've done to the house

-My piano (MY piano!)

I've also been wanting to start a new regular column-type thing on my blog called "Love Stories," featuring the kind of stories that fill one with hope for humanity, joy at the power of love, and a belief in God's goodness.

And I've been contemplating doing a whiny post about how tired and stressed out I am.

So there's a sneak preview, folks. Pray that I will find a way through our brambled labyrinth of scattered toys and piled up dirty dishes to find my laptop and follow through with my blogging desires.

Some Thoughts on Education

About two years ago, I shared some of my thoughts about homeschooling on my blog. The topic has been weighing on my mind again more recently because, if we follow the traditional American educational route, Soren will be enrolling in public kindergarten this fall. This causes me more than a little anxiety.

Here are some of my concerns:

1) I am a big believer in child-centered education, meaning that the individual child's interests and readiness to learn should guide the educational process for the child. I know this isn't generally how public school classrooms are structured: there is a boxed curriculum that each child is expected to adhere to, regardless of capability or interest. There are standardized tests to pass. I don't worry that Soren won't be up to the task-- he's a bright little guy and I know he'll do just fine in school--I just worry that the structure will suck away his love of learning, turning it into a chore rather than a joy.

That said, I do believe that the public school provides good opportunities for children to learn about structure, self-discipline, and responsibility. It also provides opportunities to learn about things that they might not initially be interested in but later enjoy.

2) I don't believe that the social environment at school is optimal. You know how it is...kids learn quickly to dislike anyone who is different, to be jealous of anyone who seems "better," do what they can to blend in, act "tough" and "cool," tell dirty jokes in the playground tires. I'll admit, I want to shield my boys from this for as long as I can. Maybe that's wrong. But my job is to protect my children and I want to do it. And I ask you: Soren doesn't fully grasp the concept of modesty yet....how do I equip him to not be dragged down by bad language, inappropriate topics, and even pornography at the age of 5?

That said, I believe that school provides wonderful opportunities for a child to develop his or her identity outside the home, learn how to cope with authority figures other than his or her parents, and develop friendships independently.

So what I'm saying is, while I'm not totally sold on traditional school, I'm also not ready to homeschool my own children.

This year Soren has been attending preschool three times a week for two hours a day. He attends school with six other little people. His teacher, herself a mother of five (five!), is an engaging instructor who has created a positive discipline and educational structure in which the children joyfully learn. They read stories, they sing songs, they dance, they snack, they craft, they learn about letters and numbers, they learn about people in the community. This week they went on a field trip to the bakery. Soren adores Miss Misty and he behaves himself perfectly at preschool. He will buckle down and learn for her in a way I know I could never get him to do for me. At the end of every day the kids sing a song and Misty gives each one of the children a hug, a handshake, a high-five, or a "homerun" (all three). I love this. He's also learning to interact with other children his age. At home, we reinforce and expand on what he's been learning at school. For all this, we pay $65 a month. Totally worth it.

So what I want, instead of public school and instead of homeschool, is for Soren to be in preschool forever.

I'm serious.

And I don't mean that I want him to be a fifteen-year-old sitting at a preschool table shaping letters out of playdough. What I do mean is that I really like the concept of formal learning happening in a small group in someone's home a few hours a day, a few days a week, with that learning reinforced and expanded on at home. The time spent in school could increase over time to four or five hours a day four or five days a week, providing opportunities for the participating child to interact with the outside world on a regular basis, develop an identity outside of the family unit, build self-control, and explore topics he or she might not otherwise pursue. The small group would allow for personalization of the curriculum and for closer monitoring and control of social interactions. And during the time the children aren't in school, they can be pursuing their own interests. Imagine a group of high school aged kids who receive formal mathematics and writing practice in their school and then are left to pursue and report about their other interests. Maybe they could form a Shakespearean reader's theater! Or a science club! Or a swim team! Or an art group!

I would be more than happy to make some financial sacrifices to pay for this individualized attention and education and supplement it at home. Imagine, if one teacher taught two classes a day (morning and afternoon), and each class capped out at ten children, and each child paid $100/month for tuition, the teacher would be making $2000/month. Not fabulous, but not terrible either.

So now I just need to find people willing to teach and mothers willing to participate in an educational co-op like this. What do you think? Am I out of my mind? Should I just buck it up and send Soren to kindergarten in the fall?

Book Reviews

A newborn baby's mother dies of cancer the day she is born. Left to her startled and recovering-alcoholic dad, Noel, Frankie is raised not only by her father but by a neighborhood of loving neighbors and family members who rally together to support her father in his new role. The story un-sermonizingly reminds its readers that relationships, family, friends-- these are the things that matter most in life. Maeve Binchy's books always give me hope that I can be a real writer someday. They're about simple people living simple lives...but they're always captivating. If you're looking for a gentle, hot-cocoa read, complete with adorable Irish-isms, check out Minding Frankie.

A wonderfully accessible and informative book about the Neuropsychology of decision-making. Loved it. And now I know what the amgydala is!

This is the story of Doc Holladay and the Earp Brothers while they were living in the rough-and-tumble frontier town of Dodge City, Kansas, before their infamous shoot-out at the OK Corral.

Mary Doria Russell excels at character development-- and this book was no exception. I was entranced with the flesh and blood she added to these old-west legends. In fact, reading this book made me develop a little love crush on Wyatt Earp.

When I first heard about the Duggars back in '04, they "only" had fourteen children. I was mildly horrified-- but also fascinated. Who in the world would have that many children? Would the children grow grow up to be wild-eyed overly sheltered conservative Christians, crippled by their unusual upbringing? So I've kept an eye on them over the years, and when I realized they had written books, I was over it like flies on jam. This is their first book. And I must say, as I read this book I found that my at-first-horror-filled fascination bloomed into love. I love this family. They are such genuinely good people and parents-- and their story is an inspiring one about allowing God to guide your life and receiving lots of joy and blessings as a result. By the end of the book, I even started thinking that Jim Bob was a totally legit name.

I was very sorry to hear about their recent miscarriage.

Hoping to Adopt

This is my friend Lara, with her husband, Justin, and their daughter, Jocelyn. Justin and Lara adopted Jocelyn in April 2009.

I know Lara through church but I've gotten to know her better through her blog. She's an excellent writer and has actually even written a novel....almost two! Reading Lara's blog has taught me a lot about infertility and adoption, much of which I wish I'd known and been able to use to help support our friends Mark and Rachel along a similar path (btw...Mark and Rachel are now the proud/exhuasted parents of two!)

One thing I learned from Lara's blog is that about half of all adoptions happen through word-of-mouth referrals, so I thought I'd do what I could to spread the word through my own little readership: Lara and Justin are hoping to adopt again. If you know anyone who might be interested in placing their baby in a wonderful home, please tell them about Justin and Lara.

(To read more about Justin and Lara on their adoption blog, click here. To read Lara's blog, click here.)

Justin and Lara have created a home that is a safe, creative, musical, joyful place. They are kind and consistent parents. They are thoughtful, intelligent people. They have faith in God and actively attend church. Their daughter is a healthy, adorable, bright little girl who seems secure in the knowledge that she has a mommy and a daddy who love her very much.

I can't imagine a better home for a child.

(In fact, now that I think about it....maybe instead of the gypsies, would Justin and Lara like Soren? Lara, what do you think? He doesn't bite! Okay, he does. But not that often! Of course I'm kidding. Sort of.)

Plus, any child placed with Justin and Lara would have this adorable child for their older sibling. And then, when Liam falls in love with and marries Jocelyn, the baby would be lucky enough to be related to me! Can't top that.

(All photos stalkerishly siphoned off Lara's blogs.)

In favor of Not Changing Time

When Abe was on his mission in California, he received a letter from his mother that read,

Dear Abraham,

We are no longer observing Daylight Savings Time in our home.

Love,

Mom

(Okay okay, I'm sure there was more to the letter than that, but this is the part I know about.)

That was fifteen years ago, and she has stuck with it ever since. When we visit New Hampshire to visit Abe's parents, I'm in a constant state of time confusion because every time I look at a clock I have to calculate: "Okay, that clock is set on that o'clock Home Time, which means that World Time it is actually this time, so it must be this o'clock in Idaho. So that's why I want to stay up until 1:00 AM!"

When I first heard about Skousen Standard Time, I will admit to maybe doing one of those whistle/eye roll things one does when one hears a story about a particularly nutty person. I thought, Wow. Sounds like Abe's mom is rather, um, eccentric. And I will grant you: my mother-in-law is not the most conventional person in the world. But neither is she as unconventional as, say, the spiky-haired alpaca-wool spinning respiratory therapist at EIRMC who kept trying to sneak me off somewhere so I could breastfeed my baby against doctor's orders. Truly, my mother-in-law is really not all that nutty. Just independent. But not in a stock-up-your-sawed-off-guns-and-rant-about-the-gov'ment sort of way. She just does things the way she wants to and gives very little heed to what anyone might think about it. This is a way of being I aspire to.

ANYWAY, the reason I bring this up at all is that I just wanted to say that I totally take back the whole whistle/eye roll thing because I have come to believe with all my heart that refusing to change times twice a year is really, truly a sensible thing to do. I, too, would boycott time changes, but the fact that I interact so regularly with the outside world makes it impractical.

My numero uno complaint with the time changes is that they throw a massive cog into the wheels of our family's routine twice a year. Since switching back to Standard Time a few weeks ago, my children have been going to bed at 7:00 PM and waking up at 5:00 AM. That means I see them for 30 minutes after I get home from work at night and a full hour earlier than I want to see them in the morning. And because they are little creatures of Circadian habit, it will take us MONTHS of effort to settle them back into a normal 8 PM to 6 AM sleeping routine.

Also, my observation has been that the hour change in daily wake/sleep rhythms increases fatigue, grumpiness, and depression in pretty much everybody. In fact, the strain that the change puts on our bodies is so real that studies have demonstrated that there is a 5% increase in heart attacks following the switch from Standard Time to Daylight Savings Time.

All this would be okay if there were a point to the changes, but the fact is that there is really no benefit to changing times around constantly. Maybe once upon a time Daylight Savings Time was an energy saver, but I truly doubt that is the case in our fast-paced round-the-clock energy burning society.

So I ask: Why are we as a nation still doing changing the time twice a year? Is there anyone out there who enjoys the time changes? How do we put an end to them? Will a letter to our representative cut it? Do we need to lobby somewhere? Can we march on Washington?

Being one who enjoys the extra sunlight in the evenings, I personally would advocate for staying on Daylight Savings Time round-the-clock, but seriously? I would stick with Zimbabwean Standard Time if it just meant that we wouldn't have to change times ever, ever again. So I'm going to advocate for Not Changing Time. Will you join in my crusade? Who will be strong and stand with me?

My Child Geniuses

I was reading to the kids one evening when I stopped and asked Soren, "Do you see a 'T' on this page?" But before Soren could reply, Liam shouted, 'T!' and pointed to a the correct letter on the page. That's interesting, I thought. Was it a coincidence? So I tried another one. "Is there an 'A' on this page?" And quick as Swiper Fox, Liam shouted, 'A!' and pointed at an A. I tried again, with 'S' and again, he got it. He also recognized 'O'.

As far as I know, nobody has ever coached Liam on his ABCs. He's just a super genius, I guess. He'll totally be using three-word sentences by the time he's three.

Our baby is as intelligent as he is adorable. And slobbery.

______

So while Liam's been sneaking off at night with Dick and Jane, Soren's been busy making stuff...

...like this hand-bound picture book.

I showed him how to do the yarn binding, but he did the sewing and illustrating himself.

...and this friendly little pumpkin.

Totally his idea. No help from me.

...a paper towel roll monster.

Also an original idea, held together with hot glue.

...a ginger bread house

Yes, I did the gingerbread part, but he decorated this all by himself. This was a welcome way for him to use up some of that never-ending Halloween candy. The blue thing is a lightning rod. Soren learned about lightning rods while watching a cartoon about Benjamin Franklin; now he feels they are essential for preventing gingerbread house fires. And don't forget to notice the ginger dog house!

....and (drumroll, please)...an art museum.

(Liam is acting as docent here.)

I did not prompt Soren to do this AT ALL. He just painted a bunch of pictures one day and told me he wanted to make an art museum. We pulled out a big freezer box we'd been saving, taped another box on top of that so it would be big enough for me to stand up in (a modification made at his insistence), hung up the art, added some lighting (a flashlight provided by Auntie Hillary), and...voila! Art! He even colored all the walls with crayon because he thought the cardboard was too ugly. He had me write a note on the outside wall: "This Museum Is Open."

I'm telling you people, I've got prodigies on my hands. Prod.i.gies. Real cute ones.