Hello, My Name is Linda

Yes, this is another blog relating the to car accident that I unwillingly participated in 3 1/2 weeks ago.  A deep fog has permeated my brain for three weeks leaving me wondering what my childrens’ names are, grasping for common words like “ride” and “sit”, and feeling vulnerable and alone.  Yes, it is drugs.  Yes, I’ve written about this before when I was on narcotics for tooth pain.  I had forgotten the lonely drug induced blanket that wraps itself around your neck for days on end.  Finally, when I was thinking homeschooling was pretty well done for the year (with two more months to go) I went to visit my doctor.  Sorry, pupils.

Typically I am an in-control woman.  Administration is one of my gifts, as well as teaching, organizing and being sarcastic.  But I could do none of those while the blanket hugged me like a scratchy wool scarf.  Sitting on the tissue papered table at the physician’s office, I tried to explain in my not-usually-wobbly-voice that I am on an involuntary emotional roller coaster because of the drugs.  My voice never wobbles.  But it wobbled woefully.  “I need to gain control of my life again,” I feebly explained.  “Is there a pain medication that conquers pain but doesn’t leave people in this fog?”  And there is.  Thank God!  It’s in a 3-day patch that transdermally inputs the drug into your system at a consistently controlled rate.  No more roller coastering for me, baby.

I am now addicted to a little 3/4″ x 1″ plastic patch.  And I’m okay with that.  I was missing me.  I’m partially back.  Doing simple tasks like showering or making waffles are still followed up with a two hour nap.  But I’m okay with that too.  I know my limits.  It’s two outings per day… only twice or three times per week.  More than that and I break out in a sweat.

Hope returned yesterday when I broke out the botany text book and decided school would be underway once again.  It will be more self-guided than teacher-ruled, as is my persuasion.  Flowers and pollination will be devoured by my little busy bees for the next few weeks.  I even found an activity requiring powdered donuts to demonstrate cross-pollination.  Homeschooling rocks…. or blooms in this case.

“Why I Love Nature” by Linda Ann Crosby

With the sun shining and the temperatures in the comfort zone, we have been spending far more time outside in March than in December, January and February combined.  Nature Journals have been forced upon my children and one out of three is loving it.  That’s pretty good odds… and I love it, so we’re even Steven.  I’m trying to teach them about botany, art, relaxing and creating in God’s creation.  You’d think a kid who doesn’t have to sit indoors and do math would jump at the chance to draw in the sunshine.  But no. If my boys ever lie on those long black leather couches and explain how I ruined them, I’m sure the Nature Journals will be mentioned.  But that does not deter me.  :o)

Last week we ventured out the front door to draw a Texas Ebony tree in our yard.  This is a REAL Nature Journal… not a fake Nature Journal… so there are rules to be followed.  AND this has to count for a botany grade for a high school student.  Not like a “draw-a-dumb-tree-and-color-it-green” journal.  NOOOOooooooo.  The requirements include, but are not limited to: draw the shape of the tree, the bark, the leaves, the leaf arrangement, the thorns (we’re in Arizona… all the trees have thorns), the flowers, the seeds, the pods.  And when you have all that drawn with exact measurements beside each, the leaves need to have their shape, venation and margin analyzed and recorded.  SEE?!  Not your average lame Nature Journal.

So, after the Texas Ebony had been admired from afar, with a magnifying glass and everything in between, we gathered around the kitchen table and I asked to see the renderings.   Three of four were identifiable.  The fourth tree, however, was ……  …….  interesting.  I questioned said artist, “If I gave your picture to Dad and sent him to the front yard, could he locate the Texas Ebony?” (We only have three trees in the front yard.)  “Probably not.”  “Go try again, son.”

And the nature loving just keeps on rolling here at L.A.K.E. Academy, a homeschool where gifted children thrive…. whether they want to or not.  heh heh heh.

It’s TRUE!

That ago old adage that I’ve heard since birth uttered from parents, “This is going to hurt me more than it hurts you” IS TRUE!  Be warned.  Be afraid.  Be very afraid.  Parenting is not easy, but it is worth it 27 gazillion times more than the pain it brings.  Yesterday was the first time I lived through “this is going to hurt me more than it hurts you” from the parenting side of the equation.  Details need to be kept to a minimum, but a HUGE decision was made by my husband and myself that not only affects one of our children, but is one of those examples to all of our children who will remember forever, “When mom and dad ask you to do something… they mean it.”

I think I cried more than the child did.  My husband called a couple of times throughout the day and asked, “How are you doing?” not how is the child doing.  The child will be fine… and stronger for it, we hope.  I was a mess.  I always want to be known as the dream builder, not the dream crusher…. but sometimes when we see discrepancies between what we have taught and how the child is behaving…. dreams have to be put on hold.  We have to go in reverse for a bit and re-learn a few character issues that were obviously taken too lightly.  Delay is not denial… I learned that from my baby sister.  It applies here.  Delay is also dumb when we are not getting our own way… which leads us back to character issues AGAIN.

This reminds me of when my mother, in a flustered and frustrated situation, would tell us, “Go to your room and holds hands with yourself.”  When I became a mother, I completely understood the meaning of that.  I changed it up a bit for the next generation and have been known to relay loudly, “Go to your room and pray to Jesus that He makes you nice.  And don’t come out until He does.”  It’s all good.

It’s all about character.  How you behave when no one is watching is KEY.  Priorities are KEY. Being obedient is KEY.  Not just for our kids, but for all of us.  Blessing follows obedience…. every stinkin’ time.  God is so good.

 

2011 the Year of Realization

My own baby girl was IN a wedding this past summer.  One of her high school friends who is a few years older than her…. got married.  I know that sounds like a DUH! moment, but it made me sit up and realize that marrying off my baby girl is not that far in the future…. like another 10 years maybe.  Maybe.

Today is a wedding of a daughter of one of my friends.  That means I’m old enough to have friends with daughters getting married.  I know that sounds like another DUH! moment, but I’m realizing again that marriage of ones children is inevitable.  But how can it be happening to young people MY age????  I am heading over early to help with decorating.  That’s what MY MOM used to do.  MY MOM!

So, as today slips by, remember to hug your little babies, who may be taller than you now.  It won’t be long until they come and tell you that they are leaving you FOREVER.  Sad but true!  Happy but true!  This IS what we prepared them for, but no one prepared ME!

Kung-Fu-ier

Not many kids’ movies make me laugh out loud.  But Kung Fu Panda did.  We have been awaiting the arrival of Kung Fu-ier for weeks.  Today is the day.  But we cannot go without Rick, as he makes the Kung Fu experience so much richer!  Last time, he laughed until he cried.  The big guy sat in the theater surrounded by children and wiped the tears from his eyes without shame.  Then all the kids laugh at him as well as the movie.  It’s priceless.  YES!  Tonight, the noodle dream is relived.

The Bean Dream Day

For the first time in our almost 23 years of marriage, my husband awoke this morning at 7:30 am and said, “I had a dream last night.”  This may seem usual to you, but not to me.  He never dreams!  Ever!  Or if he does, he cannot remember them at all.  I, on the other hand, have vivid dreams in shining colors almost every night and can retell most of them for days.  See, opposites do attract.

To make a really long story very short, we have talked about a new book idea that I have schemed about for almost six months.  We jotted down ideas at Chipotle one night last Fall…. which brought both of us to tears.  It’s obviously a topic near and dear to our hearts.  Of course it’s top secret, and I can’t share quite yet, so you don’t steal the brilliant idea.  I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.  (Name that movie.) 

Anyway, Rick’s dream was about this awesome marketing idea for the book that I haven’t written yet.  It is now affectionately called the Bean Dream, and goes down in history as the best idea God has ever given him in his sleep.  Well, that he can remember.   I’m sure part of Rick’s button bursting moment was the fact that in the Bible it says YOUNG men will dream dreams and old men will see visions.  This was definitely a dream… not a vision.  (hahahahaha)

Sleepily I listened and then pondered and then finally responded, “That is a good idea!”  Rick emphatically stated, “That is a GREAT idea!“  To which I agreed…. and then couldn’t go back to sleep.  So, the plan unfolded before my fingertips on the laptop in bed as the sun peaked its sleepy head over the mountaintop and spread its golden beams into our room. 

OOOHHHhhhhhh, this is good! 

Tonight I showed Larisa what we are planning and she read the whole schpeal and replied, “This is really good.  Where did you get this from?”  “FROM GOD!” and once again, my own child was totally impressed with her parents.  It was a happy mommy moment.  This is such a rare occasion, that I just had to blog it.  If I remember right, the last time she was impressed by one of her parents was in 1998 when I set up a tent by myself. 

An-ti-ci-pa-a-tion is making you wait.  Sorry.

Golden Rings

Onions go in 75% of the meals that I cook on a regular basis.  So at the back of my mind, when I’m in the produce section of a grocery store, I usually have a mental picture of exactly how many onions are currently in the bottom vegetable drawer of the fridge.  Lately that picture has become foggy… and I bought more than were necessary at any given time.  There were two full red-net bags glaring at me through the plastic drawer every time I opened the fridge. 

THEN, last Saturday I decided to buy produce in bulk from Bountiful Baskets, a local co-op where you get fresh fruit and veggies at a local park at 8 a.m….. and you have to bring your empty laundry basket in order to transport them all home.  (Of course I forgot mine!)  It’s $15 and well worth the “ugly wives club” trip early Saturday morning.  Last week there was an Italian focus…. hence…. MORE onions. 

So this morning I announced that I was going to make onion rings for the first time in my life.  The kids are used to off-kilter announcements, so no one really got excited or alarmed.  My daughter did ask, “Why?”   “There are probably 20 onions in the fridge and we need to use them up.”  She proceeded to tell me that she had recently learned about exaggerating and saying-what-you-really-mean in her writing class, and SURELY there weren’t 20 onions in the fridge.  I thought there might actually be 20, so I counted.  She was right.  I exaggerated.  There were only 17.

On with onion ring production.  I sliced.  I cried.  I sliced some more.  I cried some more.  Austin assisted me in making the batter and Larisa stood by while I scooped lard into the electric frying pan.  She was beyond grossed out.  I questioned, “Didn’t you know what FRIED food means?”  But, alas, the lard before her eyes brought fast food to a new and grosser level than ever before. (Good!)

The golden rings of grease were actually quite tasty, but not as good as the ones at Sonic, according to my youngest son.  (Then stop eating them with two hands full!)  I have not deep-fried anything for years…. maybe 10 years.  It is pretty disgusting.  Moving on, my son commented, “They are good, Mom, but they taste like they aren’t good for you.”  Both Rick and I said simultaneously, “You mean the grease on your lips?”  hahahahaha!

I informed that family that I had used fresh onions (a VEGETABLE!) and whole wheat flour and skim milk for the batter…. so they ARE good for you.  They ALL rolled eyes at me… their very own mother!

We’re having French Onion soup for lunch and then grilled onions for dinner.  It makes me feel so healthy and my sinuses are clear!

Stink Eye and the Last Green Egg

Thanks to one of my homeys in a denim jumper I awoke this morn with a flaming case of pink eye.  What in the world?  Did I shake hands with a six year old?  Isn’t this a childhood disease?  Anyway, my family is off to worship God at His place and here I sit….. only risking the contamination of our dog.  (Don’t laugh.  Trixie and Larisa gave pink eye to each other several times years ago…. back when we let them sleep together.)  Eeewwwwwwiiiiieeeeee.

Sadness has also enveloped our home as we bid goodbye to the only pets who were contributing members of the household, TJ (or Sidney) and Olivia.  The first time we had chickens (Thelma, Misty and King Pao) the kids bonded with their own and loved them and played with them daily.  Keeve especially loved Kung Pao and she rode in the power wheels jeep with him and clung to his bike handlebars as he rode her around the yard as she relished the wind in her feathers.  Those three girls went to a nice ranch north of Phoenix when we moved to a subdivision with an HOA.  So second time around, the kids built a coop and we went and picked up three peepers at Pratt’s pet store.  They are so adorable when they are chickies.  But the bond never formed and feeding and watering was a chore added to the chore list.  Not fun.  Personally I appreciated the yummy brown and green eggs, but it seems I was the sole appreciator.

Fast forward 18 months: a friend called and asked if she could come look at our coop and get some ideas about building her own.  My response, “It’s your lucky day!  Take ours! Can you come before Wednesday?”  So our feathered friends moved to their new abode yesterday and will be loved FAR more than they were here.  Farewell, TJ (or Sidney) and Olivia, already renamed Tina and Goldie Hen (Hawn, get it?).

And for those wondering why I keep typing TJ (or Sidney), we had two Rhode Island Reds because they are awesome producers of eggs.  But one died of heat stroke last summer when it was 118 degrees and I wouldn’t bring them into my airconditioned house.  (Please refrain from hate mail.) But we will never know which gal went to chicken heaven.

Peace out, Pink Eye Linda and Trixie

P.S.  Calling all cowgirls, new bags up tomorrow morning:  www.bagsforzaza.blogspot.com

Train Up a Child

Our goal with our kids has always been to train them in the ways of the Lord.  Period.  There’s not much gray area in that sort of thinking… well, maybe hockey fights…. but seriously, we’ve aimed at excellence as much as it’s been in our capabilities.  We’ve been those parents that the other kids use as moral yardsticks: “But even Mrs. Crosby lets her kids watch that movie!”  Which means Jesus would watch it.  We’ve thought long and hard about the kids’ friends.  We’ve prayed for new friends.  We’ve seen answers to those prayers.  We’ve prayed for wisdom in parenting over and over…. while the kids were listening.

But somehow, deep inside, we pray that it sticks.  You know what I mean?  We speak positive words to them and Biblical promises over them.  We pray the scriptures over each one, including Zaza, our Colombian daughter who is not home yet. 

But somehow, deep inside, we wonder if we’ve sheltered them too much.  You know what I mean?  Will all this time with mom homeschooling REALLY make that much of a difference?  I could get on my homeschool soap box  and spit out the plethora of worldly things they’ve missed by skipping public school… but I’ll spare you.  (This time.)

Every now and again, we are humbled and discouraged by the children’s behavior.  But hey, they’re just kids.  They try dumb stuff, push our buttons and say unbelievably stupid things at inappropriate times.  Once our son completely insulted one of our daughter’s friends…. and was rightfully punished and apologized… I was mortified.  Rick and I sat on the couch that night saying, “We are good parents.  We are good parents.  We are good parents.”   

And every now and again, we get a glimpse of the fruits of our labor.  Our soon to be ninth grader came home from highschool church camp this week.  It was her first time with the youth… who unashamedly pour out their hearts (and sins) for all to hear and forgive en masse.  The camp speaker called on the girls to forgive their father’s…. and 2/3 ran to the altar to pray.  Our daughter was shocked.  Her sheltered eyes were opened.  She had no idea of the circumstances that most teenagers live in today.  Her heart broke for them.  She prayed for them. 

And then, glory be, she came home and told us that she didn’t realize how awesome her parents were.  WHAT?  You’re not supposed to figure that out until you’re 27 and having your own kids.  DUH!  Why do you think we ride you like a drill sergeant?  Make you do chores?  Ask you to pray?  Teach you God’s rules from the Bible?  Drag you to serve Thanksgiving dinner to those without family??? 

Anyway, we know there is an uphill battle for each kid that parents wage for many years.  We’re in for the long haul.  Pray!  Pray!  Pray!

Garden Pests

There’s just something about growing food in my own backyard that creates in me a bond with my pioneering ancestors.  Just me and the dirt, a seed and God.  I feel organic, like I’m doing my part.  Ok, this is a stretch because I only have two fruit bearing species:  the never-yet-produced-anything strawberry plant that has healthy leaves… no berries, and the sickly-spindly-shriveled-leaf cherry tomato plant.  I have eaten every tomato that has come off of that pathetic plant…. with the exception of two.  One I lovingly shared with my husband, the other was a victim of a garden pest drive-by shooting.  Literally.

I had coaxed my thin waif of a plant through two ferocious wind storms that left the leaves mangled and brown.  Still I watered, talked sweetly and fertilized the cherry tomato hopeful.  Imagine my rush of pride when the first yellow blossom appeared, promising fruit.  I faithfully watered, sweet talked and protected the plant from the wind.  Eventually the little beauty appeared and grew to the size of the end of my thumb.  Daily I checked on it and watched the dark green turn pale, then yellow, orange and finally a scrumptious red.  I decided one day that the next day I would be savoring the sweet goodness.

D-Day.  I awoke feeling carefree and safe, not knowing that I had been victimized.  When I was at the kitchen sink that morning, I glanced out and the sight shocked me.  I could see the little tomato hanging on to the vine with it’s last bit of strength.  It was mutilated, I thought by birds, but I could see white dots that I assumed were insects.  Upon closer inspection, the white dots were indeed pellets from a youngster’s gun.  This was my first leaning toward gun control.  I could see how the bright red tomato was a tempting target, but for goodness sake, it was my FIRST one!  I returned to the kitchen and asked loudly, “Who shot my tomato?”  Laughter erupted.  Stern words were flung.  That was the last cherry tomato to die from gun wounds on our back patio.  Sheesh.