The Past Meets the Present

Today the Ladybugs and I have exactly two weeks of summer vacation left, and I am slowly coming to terms with starting a new school year.  In fact, I start teaching piano and voice next Tuesday, which means I only really have a week left of lazy summertime.

I have made some changes in the design of my homeschooling space - moved furniture, altered the placement of the existing furniture, and have begun to wrap my brain around a full week of homeschooling. I was even lucky to look through our curriculum, and set up a high level schedule for the school year.

Zoe and Evie's Kindergarten teacher came to visit us today.  She brought all over Evie's papers and such from the end of the school year.  I had contacted her through email and phone back in March, but I now realize that she wasn't avoiding me but just trying to save her own job, and/or finding a new one.  The school situation was heartbreaking for everyone involved, including her.  This woman, whom shall be called Barb, has always been a fantastic supporter of mine.  In fact, she was pleased to announce she will be teaching homeschool art in her new home art studio.  I'm really excited for her - and us (even though we already signed up for a fall art class, there is always future possibilities).

As much as I enjoyed our brief visit, I started having panic attacks last week as I remembered the hell my family experienced at school last year.

It has now been almost five months since I pulled the Ladybugs and quit my part-time job as music instructor at their private Christian school.  Some felt I left as a result of the blog post from February 25th: Not My Kid, in which I described the bullying that was taking place at the school.  Some parents sent beautifully written letters and note cards about how they will miss me and my family.  But most have never spoken to me, and have physically avoided me in grocery stores and other public places.  However, the sad part is that even after I was bullied by parents and my Zoe was bullied by students, I was bullied by the administration of the school.  I was not certain how other teachers felt, but I was pleased to have the opportunity to talk to Barb.
 
Barb suffered a lot of heartache herself, as she had been at the school for a very long time.  She was the matriarch of the school, and she also taught art classes.  The Kindergarten thru 8th grade classrooms have been replaced by a larger preschool, but Barb was overlooked for the job.  She definitely deserved the opportunity, but the administration was as narrow-minded as always.  They had their chosen few to run the program, and Barb did not fit their plans.  From previous conversations with the preschool teacher, I knew she didn't think Barb taught enough in her Kindergarten classrooms.  In fact, I'm not certain the preschool teacher even liked children, let alone parents.  The preschool matter was a difference of opinion, but I know that the school closed because of the group of people who wanted to expand the preschool and, thus make money for their already wealthy church.

The past is a chapter that I am happy to close, but I'm not sure why I always feel so horrible ending relationships with people.  Maybe it is that I hate to have people end relationships with me.  Regardless what is the reason for my feelings of remorse, I am going to acknowledge them and continue to move forward.

Here are two pictures of my homeschool area:

To My Grandma

Earlier this year I wrote a story for my Grandpa Brown's 90th Birthday.  Click here to read: The Knights of Bedford Street.

The book of stories from family and friends was a success.  Therefore, in May, my family did another book for my Grandma Brown, who was turning 85.  I never put my story on this blog, and since it is a good recollection of my past I would post it today.  Enjoy!

If God had intended us to follow recipes,

He wouldn't have given us grandmothers.

~Linda Henley

My family memories are sprinkled with a dash of Texas Sheetcake, a pinch of Deviled Eggs and a splash of Spaghetti Salad.  My Grandma Brown knew how to throw a party, and still does to this day.  She loves a reason to bring her family together, and what better way than to dangle yummy food in front of them while you are at it?

When I was little, I would often ask to help bake cookies, or cut vegetables for dinner.  My mother would lose patience quickly, because I had this habit of not listening to her directions.  Throughout the years, many tears were had in that kitchen of ours.  However, I was lucky to have two grandmothers who allowed me to express myself in the kitchen, even if I wasn’t completely paying attention.

My very favorite memory in the kitchen with my Grandma Brown was when my sister, Kelly, and I learned the fine craft of bread making.  I remember that we made the bread from scratch – no box mix for Grandma Brown.  She also mixed everything by hand, which was extremely exhausting.  We had to stir one way so many times, and then the other way the same amount of times.  And it seemed to go on FOREVER!  I remember getting flour over everything (especially ourselves), and I also remember learning how to kneed the dough the proper way.  I have been lucky to share the proper dough kneed with my husband, Jim, and my Ladybugs, Zoe and Eva.  There was a lot of laughter while we kneeded the dough, and waited for it to rise.  I was so happy to be allowed to have a true hands-on experience. 

Of course (I’m sure it is no surprise) we were not quick or efficiant in our doughy masterpiece.  I do not recall the temperature of the oven, what container we baked our bread in, what we ate for dinner that evening, nor can I tell you how the bread tasted.  However, the memory of that experience has remained in my heart all these years later. 

Happy Birthday to the quintessential grandmother: my Grandma Brown!

A snip-it from Through Her Eyes

There were three odd jobs my mom always requested of my sister and me: 1) watch for KMart or Sears commercials for a particular photo package, 2) keep an eye out for The Fuller Brush Man, and 3) look for Wandering Jehovah’s Witnesses.  My mom had us watch for commercials from Sears or KMart photo studios, and I still have the package memorized: 1 8x10, 2 5x7s, and 16 wallets.  Usually twice each year there were sales on that package, and the commercials often came during the breaks on PBS.  I remember Amyre Makupson talking about the upcoming 12 o’clock WKBD news, and then we were blessed with a commercial for the desired picture package.  It was always a fight between my sister and I to whom reached my mother first.  Quite often my mom would not have seen the commercial and thus she would not have the phone number necessary to make the appointment.  After awhile I would memorize the phone number as well, so that I could tell my mom where to call.  I truly loved commercials. Sometimes ask me to recite the Lee Press-On Nail commercial from the 1980s.  

My mother also loved having a visit from The Fuller Brush Man, as he always had new room fresheners, or special brushes, and sometimes she would sharpen her knives.  He was a novelty to my sister and I, because he pushed a cart down the block calling, “Fuller Brush Man!”  The only other service that made us known of their presence was the Ice Cream Man, however, in that case it was a rowdy rendition of “Pop Goes the Weasel.”  However, none was as mysterious as the wandering duos of Bible-carrying Jehovah’s Witnesses.  Even though they weren't selling pretty brushes, nor taking our picture, these people were fascinating just the same.

July Wrap-Up

This month was one of making decisions.  I made the decision to get the pelvic floor surgery, and I decided to homeschool the Ladybugs this fall.  This is a huge decision for me, as I am hoping I can handle it.  I also started writing my memoir about my time with Bonnie.  It is a memoir of love and friendship, and I have tentatively titled it, "My Faith Through Her Eyes."

Now for the updates"

Goal #1: Read all seven Harry Potter books on my new Nexus 7 tablet. Read as much as possible.

I spent the majority of my free time writing the memoir.  I read a few memoirs, preparing for my writing. I was also consumed with researching homeschool curriculum.  

Goal #2: Reclaim my body - mentally, physically, and emotionally.

As I mentioned above, I got the pelvic floor surgery.  Unfortunately I don't feel as if the leaking has decreased, and I am very depressed about my body and how it works.  I have an appointment tomorrow to speak with the doctor, and I hope things can be explained then.  Losing sight of hope.

Goal #3: Give more.

The donation for July (and August) was to The Henry Ford, which includes the Henry Ford Museum and Greenfield Village.  The Village is a sanctuary for me; that is, when there isn't a special weekend or event happening.  I am calmed by the simplicity in the living and inventions that made life easier.  It is a lovely place to visit, even a few hours, and the donation provides our family with free visits all year long.  

This year has been one of upheaval, but we continue to forge ahead into the unknown future.

Memories of Bonnie

After some encouragement, I have decided to write a memoir of my journey with Bonnie.  The tentative title is "My Faith Through Her Eyes."

I have been writing, as opposed to blogging.  Here is the current prologue:

Prologue

“They’re here, girls,” I heard my mother whisper emphatically as she quickly pulled the drapes closed.  Her white nightgown glided behind as she ran to secure the drapes closed.  As usual, my sister and I were watching cartoons and ignored her plea.  “Come on, girls, hurry it up,” my mother scolded as she shut off the television.  The sound of panic in her voice assured us she meant business.

“Don’t say a word, not even a whisper,” my mother said, as she motioned for us to join her on the floor.  We immediately fell to the floor, crawled beside my mother, and laid next to her hiding ourselves behind the front door.  I tried to peek through the sliver of light shining through the drapes, but my mother immediately covered my eyes with her hands and pulled me closer.  “Stay perfectly still,” she softly reiterated.  The three of us, concealed by an afghan my sister had grabbed off the couch, could have been mistaken for a pile of laundry left on the living room floor.  

There was a knock at the door, and fear pricked every nerve in my body.  I turned rigidly to look at my sister, and noticed streaks of tears running down her face.  This really wasn’t any different from any other day; my sister was always crying or complaining about something.  My mother had said they were here.  It was our turn.  We were next.

I said a silent prayer.  I prayed that they would leave us alone, and that we could return to as we were before.  But there was another knock, and another - much louder this time.  I tried to breathe without making a sound.  What if I gave us away?  I held my sister’s hand, closed my eyes tightly, and hoped the knocking would stop.  

My sister began to squirm under the midsummer heat of the afghan.  I began kicking away my sister’s feet, and a sound, barely audible exited with my exhale.  My mother’s eyes were round as saucers, as she held her finger over her mouth.  She knew we were being as good as two little girls could be in this circumstance.  We were on summer vacation, and kids are supposed to be laughing and having fun.  Now we were trying to evade them.

We stayed together that way for what seemed like an eternity, but what was most likely two minutes.  The knocking ceased, and my mother slowly crawled to the window and gently pulled back the curtain.  She sat down and took a deep breath, “They’ve gone girls.”  We all smiled and did a collective sigh of relief.  They had gone.  The Jehovah’s Witnesses had left us a magazine in our mailbox, which assured us freedom for another month.

If 38 is Midlife, I Need To Retire

This morning I read an article called, "This is 38"; if you are interested in reading it (since I am referring to it) click here: THIS IS 38

I am looking forward to 40, probably for only one reason: I will be traveling to Wales to spend time with my best friend, Dana.  However, I can unfortunately state that I do feel older this year.  I can also emphatically state I am much happier with 38 than I was with 18, but maybe not as physically happy as I was at 28.

No matter where you are in life, there is always moments where you take a breath and realize you are in a completely different place than you anticipated years before.

I had no intentions of every having children 12 years ago when I met my husband, Jim.  I was newly out of a disappointing marriage, I was focusing on grad school, and I had my own place.  I was happy; I was independent.  If I was able to travel back in time and talk to that 26 year-old, I would probably slap her in the face and say - WAKE UP!  But what good would that do?  Especially considering she would need to experience the loss of her dear grandma, the change of careers, falling in love, having two beautiful daughters, and making a home from a fixer-upper.  But to think this is the middle?  I completely disagree.

I have been very fortunate to have three of my grandparents live a very long time, and one live almost just as long.  My father's parents are 85 and 90, and my mother's father will turn 95 next month.  I sincerely believe in the power of genes, therefore, 38 is not middle age (maybe 45 is...but then again my grandparents are still aging).

Not my mother, nor my children.  However, you get the point.

When I think of living in "the middle" I think of my amazing mother. She takes care of her elderly father, who refuses to leave his home, and she watches my sister's special needs daughter at least once a week.  I do not think I'm in the middle of this life, but still diligently peddling up the hill.  I appreciate the point of Lindsey Mead in her above article.  We all hit the "middle" at different points, but I do believe we should no longer believe 40 is over the hill or in the middle of our story.

I am looking forward to writing new chapters to my story, one that will probably amaze me looking back 20 years from now.  Where will the road on the other side of the hill lead?  That is the excitement that keeps life exciting and unpredictable; and truthfully what writes a great story.  Let the future begin!

June Wrap-Up

This month has been a busy and quick one, if nothing else.  The Ladybugs are working Little House in the Big Woods curriculum from The Prairie Primer.  I was lucky enough to find a gently used book on ebay, but the curriculum is worth more.  So far we have made butter, a corncob doll, and worked on a lap book that was illustrated here: marinecorpsnomads.com 

I also got a new (vintage) vehicle.  Her name is Lady Bird, and she is a 1996 Pontiac Bonneville with only 27,000 miles.  My Grandpa, Ray, is no longer able to drive (pretty good run for a almost 95 year-old), and he passed along his gem to me.  After a charge to the air conditioner, the only thing that needs to be fixed is the tape deck.  I think an aftermarket CD player would be an easy addition to Lady Bird.

I could probably go on about our family, but it is now time for the monthly wrap up.

Goal #1: Read all seven Harry Potter books on my new Nexus 7 tablet. Read as much as possible.

I had a very good month when it came to reading.  I read two books that I could not help but recommend - "The Divergent" and "The Insurgent" by Veronica Roth.  I also read a very heartwarming book, "The House at Riverton" by Kate Morton.  I have also been deeply engaged in "The Well Trained Mind," which is pictured below:

Goal #2: Reclaim my body - mentally, physically, and emotionally.

I have found a new product for my face - Simple Skin Care  It is so gentle, that I have only been using witch hazel and the cocoa face mask on occasion.  I have also found a new tool that I must say is so cool, I cannot believe I never owned it let alone heard of it before this month.  It is called a pore extractor, and by God it is the coolest tool EVER!

This is the exact one I bought, from Target, for under $10.

I have also started using this new foot cream that has given me hope I will no longer need monthly pedicures to remove the hard crust from my heels.  It has been about a week and a half, but my feet aren't nearly as crusty as they usually are.  The product is called Epoch Sole Solution.

Tuesday is supposed to be my 6th and final visit for Pelvic Floor Therapy, however, I will be calling tomorrow to schedule a surgery consultation instead.  Unfortunately the therapy is just not working, which has caused daily depression for me.  Logically I realize that I'm fine, but it is really difficult emotionally to deal with peeing myself many time daily.  The depression is also affecting my decision to continue homeschooling. I don't want to do wrong by my Ladybugs, but my heart says to continue with the homeschooling.

Goal #3: Give more.

I gave $100 to our local NPR radio station - WDET.  I do not listen to biased radio or television news programs, nor do I listen to current music stations.  I love the programming, and I really enjoy keeping abreast of local and national news, without a political spin to it.  I also spent time cleaning out our back storage area (we have two areas under our front porch that serve as storage for us), and we donated A LOT of clothing, household goods, and other items to Purple Heart, 10 years worth of electronic devices to Wayne Country, and puppy pee pads (Maggie hasn't need them in a long time) to the Dearborn Animal Shelter.  The Ladybugs have decided to sell lemonade this summer to collect money to give to animals in need, which makes my heart smile. My Eviebug even said to me, "Mommy, does giving make you happy?" And I said, "Yes, it does!"  Eviebug replied, "Me too!"