Far Beyond Pearls

Round Two of the chicken pox has finally caught up with us.  Brenna and Penny have it, but Penny doesn’t mind.  That’s a big benefit of being very young, I think.  They just assume that whatever state they find themselves in is normal and continue on cheerfully.

* * * * *

I’d been hoping Daisy-the-dairy-calf and I could peacefully coexist, sharing Maybelle’s bountiful milk without incident.  I hoped that because I wanted Maybelle to do the work of raising her calf and because I think she’d learn the art of being cow so much better from an experienced one.  What do I know about being a cow?  However, being such a dedicated mama, Maybelle wasn’t letting down her milk, holding it back for her calf.  Understandable, of course, but unacceptable. She’s a milk cow, after all, and we want milk.  That’s why we got her.  So yesterday, we separated them.  Maybelle is not particularly pleased with us and has not yet let down all her milk, but even subtracting the calf’s rations, we’re getting a lot more already.  As a bonus, that little calf likes me a lot better now that I’m the one with the warm milk!

* * * * *

We got a fair bit of snow last night, so today is house cleaning day.  And bread baking day.    I like when I get a day to stay mostly indoors and do some inside work.   It doesn’t happen so often anymore.

* * * * *

Thomas celebrated his first birthday yesterday!  I can hardly believe it’s been a whole year since he was born, and at the same time, I can hardly believe he’s only been here one year.  It’s funny how, when I’m pregnant, I just think about the logistics of adding one more: where will he sleep, what will he wear, how will we arrange the car seats in the van.  But then, holding that new baby in my arms, something happens, something changes, and suddenly I can’t imagine that this perfect little person ever wasn’t a part of my life.

* * * * *

Thomas has just recently begun kissing me.  Forcefully.  He grabs hold of my face with both his pudgy little hands, turns me right toward him, and lays a big wet one on me.  I just have to be careful that he doesn’t bite me, too, while he’s at it. 

* * * * *

Our garage school is working very well.  I was worried that I would get really behind on things like laundry, but I’ve actually noticed improved productivity all around.  At least, on the days when my back doesn’t hurt so badly.  I remember to take dinner meat out of the freezer early in the morning, so no last minute wondering about what to make.  I usually have all the laundry washed by the time we go out, since we’re up early anyway.   I just feel like we need to come up with a good lesson schedule out there, and plan for the younger ones better, and we’ll be good to go.  We all like this new arrangement very well.

* * * * *

I finished up that art history course last weekend.   Woohoo.  Or something.  Here’s hoping I’ve gotten rid of that college bug once and for all.    Anyway, I did well enough on my written assignments and got a 91 on my midterm, so the results of the final exam shouldn’t matter much as far as passing goes.  I’m glad to have that off my back, at least.  Now I can expend my energy on blogging again. 

Happy Saturday, friends!  Thank you again for your prayers, too.  Today, I am fairly mobile, luckily, since I wanted to do a few things and I actually can.  It doesn’t last for long, so I take advantage.  I know.  Maybe if I rested, it’d keep.  But I think you all know how that goes.

   11
 X14
_____
   44
+11
_____
 121

The mommy looked over two pages of math work done so consistently wrong, she thought there must have been some method to it, though she could not see what it might be. Perplexed, she called out to the owner of the workbook that she held in her hands.

Said the mommy to the young mathematician who appeared at her side, “I don’t understand how you got these answers. Can you explain them to me?”

The mathematician hung her head and, judging by her silence, pleaded the Fifth.

The mommy spoke into the void. “I can’t help you learn if you don’t tell me. I don’t see what you did to get these answers.”

The mathematician considered this for a moment, then looked up and pointed to the numbers after a plus sign. “I just added these together and put the sum in between,” said she.

Aha! The mommy engaged in an epic battle to squash her natural impulses, but failed mightily. It was several minutes before she could explain the proper methodology to her young charge. It took her that long to stop laughing.

Question: I noticed from by all that subtle linking that you just finished up a Brave Writer course with your kids. Which course did you take? What did you use? It looks so overwhelming!

Answer: I have had the manual, called The Writer’s Jungle, by Julie Bogart, for an embarrassingly long time. The whole philosophy, with it’s decidedly Charlotte Mason flavor, appealed to me. That’s the kind of lifestyle, the kind of education I want for my kids. But making it work? I struggle with implementation. I signed us up for the class because I love to write and I wanted and needed to know how to get my kids to love to write, too. And it worked! What I discovered is that my eldest two, at thirteen and eleven, actually want to write, love to write, and have so much to express, but they were bogged down in the mechanics of writing. This class let me help them to get their thoughts out first and worry about the spelling and punctuation later. My nine year old Meg was reluctantly participating. She took the course pretty much because I made her. Once she got going, though, she was eager for each new step on the road to a finished piece. And she’s proud of what she did. They all are. So am I.

It was so liberating for me to sit my kids down to write and be able to tell them -and really mean it- that spelling didn’t matter, that punctuation didn’t matter, that it’s all about their ideas. Every time I said that, they beamed. And every time I read their work with that thought in mind, it was like I was reclaiming my status as their adoring mother and stuffing that annoying teacher lady in a closet somewhere. I could just be happy with what was really some pretty good writing, even if it was raw and unreadable by anyone except the writer.

Everything we learned in that course can be transferred over to any other writing assignment we ever do. Sometimes, we’ll write just to write, with no expectations, but when we need to or want to, we know how to turn out a finished piece with no tears and no stress for any of us. That’s a priceless gift, if you ask me.

The course we took is called Kids Write Basic and it’s their foundational course. They offer others, but I’d say this one is a must if you are having trouble teaching your children to write. It’s fairly expensive at $175 for the first child plus $50 for each additional, but if you compare that with the amount of money you’ve spent on courses that aren’t working for you or your kids, you’ll probably come out ahead here. The course brings to life the information in the book. I like having the book to refer to when I need to refresh my memory, but you don’t need it to take the class.

And if you sign up for one of her courses, tell Julie I sent you. Maybe she’ll give me a discount on that Help for High School book. We’re coming up on that a little too fast for my tastes!

Nine year old Megan’s piece can be read here.
Eleven year old Delaney’s piece is here.
And last, but not least, is thirteen year old Brenna’s, here.

Next up in this brand spanking new Q & A series: The bare bones cloth diapering kit! Because my sister asked.

Got a question? Send me an email: armyofeight at gmail dot com.

1. We finished our writing class! Okay, that’s not a small one. That’s four weeks of a whole lot of work for all of us, resulting in one mama having a plan of attack to teach her kids to write and three kids feeling a whole awful lot like writers.

2. Diligent cleaning up of accidents and frequent reminders of where the barn is have resulted in a kitten who is NOT pooping on the porch. God is good.

3. Yesterday afternoon, Penelope suddenly decided that she knew where the potty was and she wanted to use it. No wet undies since sometime yesterday, and she didn’t wet her diaper last night, either. Okay, that’s not a small one, either. We’ve only been working on this for a week.

I don’t usually join in these carnivals, but I was feeling it this week. Cheer for the other moms at Faith and Family Live.

We just now, today, right this minute, finished up our Brave Writer writing class and we’re just so darned proud of the good work we’ve done that we wanted to share it. If you have a minute to read the girls work and leave them a little note, we’d appreciate it!

For the mama’s out there: Don’t worry, they don’t really spell or punctuate this well. I helped a little with the final edit in order to make it readable for you, but the words and the thoughts, and as much of the good spelling and punctuating as they were capable of, are all theirs.

by Megan

Anacondas are a kind of snake that live in swampy areas in the rain forest. The anaconda’s colors are usually black or gray with yellow and with polkadots, but sometimes they have black and red dots. An anaconda is usually 17 feet long

When an anaconda female is ready to mate, it will go to a swampy spot and let out an odd scent that makes all the male anacondas in the area come and wrap themselves around her. This is called a mating ball. In the mating ball, the female lays straight while the males wrap themselves around her. If you look closely you can see little spots of the female anaconda.

The anaconda males will fight for the female and after a while all of the males will leave except one. The one male will slither into the female’s body, with only its tail sticking out. They will stay like this for about a week.
After that, the male will slither out again. The male and female find a clear opening to give birth. It might take a few weeks to find a clear opening. Then the male anaconda will go out and hunt for food and the female will curl up and give birth to 50 live babies! Of course, there is danger for such young ones, so the female gives birth in tall grass.

By Delaney (11)

Blackbeard was having a bad morning. First, he got out of bed too late, so all the food was eaten. Later on, a French ship came and fired its cannons at Blackbeard, taking out some of the side of his boat. They tried to escape, but they were left without a choice. “Board!” cried Blackbeard. The men started swinging their boarding hooks and climbed up the enemies’ boat. Immediately, the battle started. Even Blackbeard abandoned his ship, the Queen Ann’s Revenge. He ran to the enemy captain, named Mayard, ignoring the enemy crew. They stabbed and sliced him until he confronted Captain Mayard. Captain Mayard beat Blackbeard some more, until he had twenty-five wounds. Bleeding heavily, Blackbeard took his last pistol and shot with all that was left in him. Too lightheaded to aim, he missed his enemy, hitting his sword instead. He fell to the ground, dead. Captain Mayard’s men rejoiced and cut Blackbeard head off and hung it off the bow of their ship. Blackbeard was a pirate for one year, from 1717-1718. The legend was dead.

Blackbeard was a Caribbean pirate, but there were Muslim and Chinese pirates, too. Chinese pirates mostly braided their hair and were found with two slightly bent swords. Their shoes were cloth wrapped around up to their knees and held together with strings. Behind their boat, called a junk, there was a sampan, a little house boat that worked as a life raft. Muslim pirates were usually dressed for the hot weather in long loose gowns and turbans. They also had two swords that were only used for close battle. They favored the rifle.

My favorites are Caribbean pirates, which were, of course, the ones with pistols and swords. Which they liked more depended on what they were doing. If out of sword reach, they would use pistols. A flask of pistols was a piece of fabric wrapped around the shoulder to the side. It had slots for a few (usually two or three) pistols because they could only use them once. They only held one bullet at a time and it was too hard to reload them during battle.

Pirates in general favored the sloop for its speed. While being the fastest ship out there, it could also go into shallow water, which was handy at times – but mind you don’t crash on the rocks! On the boat, a cannon was used. Several people manned the cannons: a lighter, a powder monkey to do annoying jobs, and a loader. A boarding axe could be useful when they jumped off the side of the boat and swam to another. They would hit it with the ax until they got a grasp and keep going until they reached the top. They also used boarding hooks. Boarding hooks were ropes with three hooks at the end. Pirates threw them at the enemy boat to board the boat to attack.

by Brenna (13)

When I wake up in the morning my servants and slaves are already there, waiting to help me dress. I stand up from my couch and nod to them. In a moment, I am dressed in a long loose gown with sleeves. (Though you might think I’m hot, I’m not because the fabric is so thin.) Of course it’s not as simple as a servant’s dress, so I wear a few bracelets on my left wrist and on my right, I wear a strange charm called an amulet. I wear it to postpone my death, for I was born on the 23 of March, a cursed date, meaning my death shall be by the crocodile’s mouth. I wear the image of the city’s god on a necklace around my neck. On my head is a black wig and around my eyes is a ring of black liner. (This helps me seem very handsome.) About my waist is a golden belt I wear to seem important at the Pharaoh’s court. One slave tries to hand me my earrings for parties. (Every Egyptian loves parties!) Since I’m not going to a party, this is ridiculous! This slave is a young boy, a new one I just bought yesterday, and already my paid servant must beat the living daylights out of him. Soon I’m sitting at the table waiting for breakfast. My servant barks to the slaves, “MY MASTER SHOULD NOT HAVE TO WAIT FOR BREAKFAST!” Slaves run here and there trying to set the table before I try using the whip. At last breakfast is ready: fried duck, assorted pastries, dates, figs, and my best wine.

“Your litter awaits.” says one of my burly litter carriers after breakfast. I look out the window at my beautiful litter. It is a small platform with short legs to keep it off the dirty street when I get off. A woman’s litter would be a type of bed, but I am something of a man, so mine has a chair attached to the floor. It is abounding with pillows and cushions and is most comfortable. It has a light canopy over it to keep the sun out of my face and curtains around it in case I’m not showing off and don’t want people to stare (which is rare). As I look past the litter I see a group of young ladies. “Bring me my chariot!” I roar. I want to show off to the ladies. (After all, I am a bachelor.) “Yes, sir.” In a few minutes my outlandish war chariot shows up. Its looks like a giant half-cup pulled by wild mares. Some chariots are made of wood. Mine is solid gold. On the front is a jeweled eagle, a sign of strength. I climb on and hold on tight while my driver takes off down the street. I wave to the people to stand aside as we go.

It doesn’t take long to get to the palace with those horses! In a flash, I’m through the gate. I hand my chariot over to the stable master and walk through the courtyard. “The Pharaoh is already here,” warns one of the guards as I stroll through the door. I am careful not to look at the Pharaoh’s sacred eyes, for if I do his holy power might burn me to the point of death. (To my people, he’s a god.) I walk over to my seat on the Pharaoh’s left with the other six noblemen over there, and on the Pharaoh’s right there are eight more. There are fifteen of us all together. (The Pharaoh could have more if he wanted them.) It’s our job to judge with the Pharaoh and to council him. First, a young man is put forth for his judgement. “Crime?” a booming voice asks. The voice belongs to Herald, the eldest of us all, and probably the most just. “Tomb robbing,” states the accuser. A gasp arises from the assembly. Tomb robbing is the gravest offense in all of Egypt, for if you rob the dead, the dead will haunt you. This young man shall be hung, by law, on the palace walls for all to see. The young man starts shouting in some foreign language as the guard pulls him away. Next, a woman is placed in front of us. “Crime?” booms Herald. “Blasphemy to the gods.” cries the accuser, who happens to be the high priest. This will go on all day. Accusation, judgement. Accusation, judgement. For me, it’s very tiring.

At the end of an exhausting day, I head back home for dinner. Sometimes, when there is a party, I do not have to go home. (I’d get too drunk anyway.) As I get there, all the lights are on, though I am very late. I eat a quick meal: goose, pastries and vegetables with wine. My slaves once again help me undress and I lie down on my couch. My pillow is a curved board on a stand. My day is over. Good night.

(Note from Mama: Spell checker keeps complaining about “judgement”. Research indicates that this is correct spelling if I’m British, but Americans leave out the first ‘e’. I think it looks just all wrong without the ‘e’, so… we’re British today. )

We are taking the Kidswrite Basic course from Brave Writer and this week, we’re working on freewriting. This afternoon, after reading her story back to me with great difficulty, eleven year old Delaney gasped, “That was hard to read without punctuation!”

Amen, sister. It sure is.

I was going over the Our Father prayer with Jonny, making sure he could recite it by heart. Almost. Halfway through, he started giggling. “You know, Mommy,” he said, “every time I hear ‘deliver us from evil’ I think of people by a scary house and the UPS man comes and delivers them away.”

Here, for your viewing pleasure, is “Deliver Us From Evil”:

God as the UPS man.