It's Like Some Sick Movie...

It's going on a week now, and the kids DON'T WANT TO LEAVE THE HOUSE. Not even for food.

I guess they may as well enjoy it, because starting next week I'm kicking all our sorry asses out of the house to get some fresh air, and use them feet. But for now, it's endless games of Sorry.

Me, I'm hiding at my computer looking up "Devil Monkeys." Son #1 claims there's such a thing. They look like kangaroos with monkey faces, and they apparently jump in peoples' second-floor windows and do agressive, nasty, monkey-like things, which is why he wants to come in and sleep with me. Note to self: "fat lot of good that'll do" was perhaps not the thing to say. Oh well. Oddly, I had similar nightmares when I was around his age, except I think the creatures were levitating or using pogo sticks. Kangaroos? RIDICULOUS.

Here's some other fun: a site listing disturbing things sold on ebay, including emotionally scarring toys: http://www.disturbingauctions.com

What did Santa bring you this year?

Have a Very Bokky Holiday

It’s the eve of the Winter Solstice (it was when I started this) and once again, despite my best intentions to bring the children in a merry line out to decorate a tree with popcorn garlands and birdseed ornaments, someone is yurking up their lunch in the bathroom. And again, this is a good reminder for the New Year: keep a willing heart but low-to-moderate expectations, and remember that anything that happens will eventually be much more funny, at least to someone else.

Right now the expanse outside the window is blanketed in snow, and if I sit in the right place the birdfeeder blocks the septic candy cane. Even in the wrong place, it’s beautiful and regardless, what’s true beauty without a little mephitic outgassing? (wondering now if I’ve scored any special favors with the writing gods for using “mephitic outgassing” in a Christmas letter). Sitting here I’m grateful for all the wonderful friends, adults and children alike, who’ve spent time here over the years, and I wonder how long it will take the kids to realize that the “spiral mountain” of their early days was really a septic field.

The past year has been a whirlwind, mostly of various types of fowl and prepubescent hormones. In April, we made the life-altering decision to get chickens, and after two months of waiting, finally received Shogun the rooster, Frida, Georgia, Artemisia, EmmyLou, Dolly, Ember, Semisweet, Bittersweet, Fluffball, and Nacho. In July, we added 16 guinea fowl, 6 of which were to go to some friends. Of course, all of these fowl needed to stay indoors for about 8 weeks, so for a good portion of the (shall we remind you, HOT) summer we had 27 fowl living in two wardrobe boxes in our small computer room. We explained to the kids that we weren’t going to name the guineas, since they would all look alike, so the kids decided to name them all “Bob.”

At long last, all fowl moved outdoors. The chickens are in the barn, and the Bobs have their own quarters. Due to some unexplained dumbness, we’ve recently realized that the once demure, little mop-topped EmmyLou is, well, actually a large rooster. We’re hoping we don’t need to find the newly-renamed “Louie M” a new home, though we might need to brainwash him into thinking he’s a guinea fowl. The guineas, despite being about as intelligent as dried paint, seem to realize that this is their home even though they’re ranging a ways down the street. Fortunately they’re fairly quiet, especially when you accidentally give “Loud Bob” to a friend.

The chickens will soon be starring in “Moses the Musical” as part of our home schooling endeavor. So far we’ve only completed casting and the scene breakdown, but the project received an unexpected boon in the arrival of the neighbors’ chickens in our barn for winter housing (“Yay Mom, more Jews!”). So, currently, our Jewish chickens are enjoying the remainder of our Solstice cake while the kids play with the Playmobil nativity set Kiran got for not wetting his bed for a month.

On the adult front, Sarath is busy at work trying to court various venture capitalists and has bought a big, orange tractor. He’s also lucky enough to be the first to witness chicken sex. I’m currently writing for a new secular homeschooling magazine, cleaning up vast amounts of fowl excrement, and reading lots of books (currently faves are Neil Gaiman’s The Graveyard Book, David Almond’s Secret Heart, Joe Hill’s 20th Century Ghosts, and the new collection by Stephen King). I’m also proud to say I’m finally able to work in my art room, having finally cleaned it out and repainted after the third Dunstable Artisans' show. Auggie, the old doggie, passed away this fall so we are currently dogless, but we’ve adopted a stray cat named Epaulette, who likes to sit on your shoulder and eat your face.

Wiley, 10, is well on the way to cultivating the “migrant farm-worker” look. He has gotten many favorable comments on his long hair, though so far the girls have only noticed that he’s drooled toothpaste on himself and his pants are stained with chicken poop. His current hobbies are walking around aimlessly making chicken noises, complaining that the Northeast is too cold to grow tropical plants, and having wild mood swings. We’re hoping another bucket of hormones will improve things. He’s close to earning his black belt in karate and has managed to survive a writing class with his friends despite lots of tears and frustration. Even though he claims he doesn’t like to write, he has quite a way with words and a good sensitivity to the nuance of character. This, combined with his seeming inability to do any form of actual work and his basic desire to spend his days at home in his bathrobe and chicken slippers drinking mulled cider or sipping chocolate makes it entirely likely that writing from home may be his only viable form of gainful employment.

Mira, 8, is now finally old enough to take horse lessons. She rides a handsome Arabian named Shaddad, and has learned how to use a whip (apparently there are two kinds of kids—the ones who use the whip all the time, and the ones who don’t, because they know they can. She’s the latter). She’s also gotten her first knife—an 8” carbon-steel Mora, courtesy of a wilderness class she took with Wiley & Sue. Despite being a year young for the class, she carved her own bow-drill set all by herself and is working on making fire. Currently, she’s enjoying taking a writing class and learning cursive. Everything else pisses her off, especially math, because it’s either too easy and boring or too hard (or sometimes both at the same time, just to make things fun for Mom).

Kiran, 5 ½, is wearing Wiley’s clothes from last year and is about as big as his sister. His hobbies are eating, drawing butt-cracks, and collecting faux weaponry. He is extremely annoyed that everyone but him has a really cool knife. We declared him first grade this year so he could be a tiger scout (he’s already as big as the older kids, and mostly plays with kids a year older anyway). Good thing we did, because he’s really cooking with fire. He’s now reading Frog and Toad mostly by himself and not only is he doing ok in his sister’s science class, but is also apparently taking complete notes. He’s already part way through the 2nd grade math curriculum, and can only go faster now that he’s reading. Unfortunately, he’s likely to catch up to his sister fairly quick, which no doubt will go over as well as a poke in the eye with a sharp stick.

All three children continue to home school because, as they all say, “if we were in school we’d have to work all day.” I’m so proud.

To all of you: may the New Year bring you peace and gainful employment, and may nothing cute or otherwise eat your face.

Please tell me this is just a stage

So last week I get back from my altered art club meeting, and when I go into my bedroom, I discover son #1 has lit EIGHT scented candles all around the room. He explains to me that this is to counter the negative feng shui from the "arrow point" of my closet wall poking inward toward the bed.

He's also complaining about the position of our doors and location of rooms and how things just don't feel like home to him any more.

I was good, and didn't point out that there's a perfectly fine debris hut out in the woods by our yard.

Pharaoh better watch out...

We accomplished not much of anything today.

On the plus side, we purchased mucho blue jello so we can create the stunt version of the red sea for Moses "The Cock" to lead his flock through. And son #1 is in the playroom happily reading about "Bedroom Feng Shui."

The Coolest Slippers

We got these on Ebay. Amazingly, there were no other bidders. That's Shogun in the middle. That's my son wearing them, though they do fit me. They're "just bokky!"

Mama Bok

Chickens have overtaken our lives, in such a good way.

If we didn't have chickens, my son wouldn't be calling me "Mama Bok" now.

Though, I've had to explain to him that "Mother Bokker" is not good.

How Do I Look?

I don't watch TV a lot, but when I do I generally watch "Bones" or "How Do I Look." My oldest son has taken to watching "HDIL" with me because after watching "Bones" once he said he couldn't sleep for a week.

Anyways, HDIL is one of those makeover shows where some poor, deluded sap gets nominated by a loved one and then goes to LA so they and their clothes can get trashed by said loved one, another accomplice, and a professional stylist. The three of these then go shopping for three outfits, choose hair and makeup, and aforementioned sap gets to choose one outfit/hair/makeup package. This is a serious chick show, because there's a huge amount of screen time given to the individual stories and how the process affects the makeoveree. Inevitably, peoples' outsides aren't matching their insides, or their insides don't even match their insides, and it's amazing what a little kick can do.

Anyways, I've had very little relaxation time recently, so there was a vast amount of HDIL's stored on the TIVO. So time for some major mom-son-tea watching time.

Unfortunately, I've very little relaxation time and a cold, so during this fashionista marathon I'm wearing my EMS blue thermal hoody (which I've been wearing for days, because I'm COLD), with the hood ON which, frankly, makes me look like a big sperm.

And my barn coat.

Which makes me look like a big sperm in a barn coat.

I'm very sure this isn't fashionable, in any way.

So now my son has decided *I* need a makeover, which is probably true. Perhaps the "I'm about to go hiking, really, really, once I finish this entire bag of microwave popcorn" look may not be working.

Anyways, so now I'm getting fashion tips from an unwashed ten-year old boy with long scraggly hair. In response to my question of "why should I take advice from you?" I got this priceless remark: "Well, if my hair was combed and my clothes weren't dirty, and I hadn't been wearing them all week, I'd look great!"

Drumming Workshop

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Our House is Poultry Free!

This morning the Bobs (Bob, Bob, Bob, Bob, Bob, Bob, Bob, Bob, Bob, and Loud Bob) finally moved into a new home OUTSIDE! Ten pigeon-sized guinea fowl in a wardrobe box in a small computer room during the summer is ten too many. It's so pleasant to work in a room that doesn't smell like chicken poop and wet turkey protein crumble.

This is very exciting. I caught myself in the car today saying "Yay, I have external bobs!" Hopefully no one was listening, because that probably sounded pretty strange.

Mole Babies

We found these guys when we were raking up some trash that was on the lawn. I think they're moles. It's pretty amazing that the lawnmower didn't take them out.

mild technical overwhelm

I'm posting this from my new iPhone. So far I've figured out how to make it quack, and that's about it. I think there should be an official sniglet "comstipation," referring to the state of technical overload in between digestion and productivity.

Another Point on Talent

One other interesting thing the Talented Teen brought up was that the authors discovered in their study that "average adolescents appeared to do chores around the house twice as often as the talented." The same spread also described how many had jobs outside the house.

So I'm torn. Part of me can see, yeah, if a kid is really talented, then maybe they should spend relatively more time pursuing their talent rather than doing menial labor. The other part thinks "Put down your #$&!ing accordion and bring out the @#$*!ing trash!" My big question is why should these things be mutually exclusive? Ideally, there should be time for pursuit of talent, and for the work that it takes to be self-supported or part of a family. I can't imagine that talented kids are better off for being let off the hook on these things.

A Lesson In Sticktuitiveness

One flaw I have found in myself is that I often get part way through something and then feel compelled to move on to something else. Halfway done with the laundry, it's time to clean off the counters. Those almost done? Time to check email.

I even have trouble flossing all my teeth at once. I kid you not. Two more teeth to go, and some little gremlin says "oh, you can do those tomorrow...if you stop now you can get to bed 7.5 seconds quicker!"

So today, after a therapeutic bout of lopping off rampaging bittersweet, I decided to take out one of the trees that's been growing in our front flower bed...uh...obviously long enough to have grown into a 15 foot tree with a roughly 4 inch diameter trunk. I sawed half way through, and guess what? Started thinking "this is really tedious and I'm tired..."

Then it occurred to me that having a half-sawed down tree is a tremendously stupid thing, and a thorough waste of time. If only everything else were so obvious :-)

The Nature of "Flow" and its Teaching Implications

I'm currently reading Talented Teenagers: The Roots of Success and Failure by Mihaly Csikszentimihalyi (thank you heartily to one of the previous BookMooch owners for the wonderful highlighting job). He writes:

"...flow in consciousness emerges when one perceives a well-calibrated balance between the challenges that an activity poses and the skills with which one can immediately respond. These conditions correspond to an experience of optimum balace in which just enough information is present to occupy attention fully without overloading it...over time as a young person learns to master this balanced tension, there will emerge an enduring personal project or life theme as well as a distinctive styleof engagement with the world.

Thus...(these) individuals should enjoy clear advantages in realizing the development of their talents to the fullest extent. On the day-to-day level, where others see only difficulty, their deep sense of interest aids them in recognizing new challenges, with new opportunities pitched just far enough ahead of current skills to mobilize butnot overwhelm psychic resources. In the long run, the emerging sense of a life theme ats as an organizing agent in consciousness, authorizing the devotion of extensive time to projects that reflect deep personal interests."

Now, it seems to me that it's a rare child that will have the natural balance to perch at that growing tip (to use a botanical analogy). Csikszentimihalyi (thank God for cut and paste) in fact describes this ability as a personality trait. So clearly the ideal role of the teacher is to guide a child to this point (ok, not my idea--I think some guy named Vygotsky came up with this) frequently enough that they can internalize the awareness and enjoyment of being there.

So my question is, how the heck do you do that? I imagine it takes quite an amount of sensitivity, a whole lot of mistakes, a few successes, and a good amount of self-knowledge.

What a job.

Thank God for box wine.

Artie

This is Artemisia, one of our ameraucanas. She likes to sit down a lot.

Enlightenment at Home

At a conference I went to a few years ago we were taught a form of meditation called tonglen to help us teach our children with more kindness and patience. In tonglen, you breathe in and imagine the most noxious place you can think of (a port-a-potty is a common choice) and then breath out and imagine the most wonderful, peaceful place you can think of.

I can’t remember what my noxious place was at the time, but right now this is it: trapped in a small room, no longer writing, with three whining children complaining about each other, cold rain keeping inside and cranky with pent-up energy, and an old dog whose farts smell disturbingly, exactly like last night’s meatloaf.

A deep breath.

Out.

But where to go? A beach? The mountains? The bathroom, all by myself thank you very much? But there’s these warm bodies here, good books, and suddenly lots of hugs and snuggling. Why move? In the blink of a moment, happiness.

But what kind of bizarre meditation is it when your bad place and your good place are one and the same? Does that work, or is this so messed up that it would make a zen monk’s head explode? Can anything other than family do this? Unless I start having really good experiences in port-a-potties, probably not for me.

One truth: home schoolers ask too many questions. Guess how many of us it takes to change a lightbulb? Again, I’ve failed to write, and failed to meditate, but at the moment, I’m entirely sure that that doesn’t matter. Maybe that’s enlightenment, or at least as close as I’ll get now that I’ve given up coffee.

One more truth: when dog farts, open window.