Salvete

As Eric Belz's last research questions (hopefully) have trickled for the last time (hopefully) through my email box, I'm callin' it an eternity. That's right folks, this whole bloggin' thing has run its course. It's served its purpose, emptied me out, I mean, I've already shared all my best homeschooling tricks with ya, what more can I offer?

So fare thee well, princesses of all ranks and orders. May your paths be paved in gold (or silver, if you'd rather). Keep rootin' for the good guy, with all the hope you can muster, but in the end, remember it's only a story (oh yeah, I almost forgot).

THE END

Looking Ahead

Saturday, November 1st ~ All Saints Day
Sunday, November 30th ~ First Sunday of Advent

Sat. December 6th ~ Feast of Saint Nicholas
Sun. December 7th ~ Second Sunday of Advent
Mon. December 8th ~ Immaculate Conception (Holy Day)

Fri. December 12th ~ Our Lady of Guadalupe
Sat. December 13th ~ Feast of Saint Lucy
Sun. December 14th ~ Third Sunday of Advent

Sunday, December 21st ~ Fourth Sunday of Advent

Christmas Eve
Christmas (Holy Day)

Thursday, January 1st ~ Mary, Mother of God (Holy Day)

Tuesday, February 24th ~ Fat Tuesday (Mardi Gras)
Wednesday, February 25th ~ Ash Wednesday

Sunday, April 5th ~ Palm Sunday

Thursday, April 9th ~ Holy Thursday
Friday, April 10th ~ Good Friday
Saturday, April 11th ~ Holy Saturday
Sunday, April 12th ~ Easter

Sunday, April 19th ~ Divine Mercy Sunday

Sunday, May 24th ~ Ascension

Sunday, May 31st ~ Pentecost

Sunday, June 7th ~ Trinity Sunday

Sunday, June 14th ~ Corpus Christi

Assumption of Mary, August 15th (Saturday)

Busy week

Memoria Press
Latin-centered curriculum

Don't mind me

My husband finally ordered some Nespresso capsules.


He had this machine when I met him. You know, back when I first discovered he had a secret cabinet.


Don't you all just love Monster Garage
(I know, it seems so out of character).


But anyone who makes sweet toys, gets my vote.


So, back to the capsules. We've been out for about, oh, two visits to the cabin. So my husband got on the ball and ordered some up for me last night. Of course, that dream became a nightmare when he informed me that George Clooney is now a spokesperson for the company.


I'd say something stupid like, "Oh great, now they pay him extra to be even more arrogant (if that's possible). But then I thought, my husband and I have searched high and low for matching sets of these cups. He initially bought a standard set of four, back when he was just fiddling with the idea of rubbing elbows with his hot espresso-loving wife, someday.

And since we're not the dinner party-throwing types (and never will be), our only concern is, "what if one of these gets broken?" As is often a concern of parents who invest their lives in children instead of high society.

But alas, don't want to insult the prick (George, not my husband), he may have connections. And I do know he must know Julia Roberts, and I obviously respect her (can't act for the life of her, but she does clean her own house).

And consequently, some of these folks may claim to know Angelina (on a good day), and if Tim Gunn says she's got the best style he's seen in two centuries (hey, if you're gunna go throwin' sturm and drang around), then count me in for the next yacht party.

But only if I happen to pass you at Sundance this November, when I'm celebrating my ELEVENTH anniversary (you know me and elevens) with my husband. God better make sure none of my cups break in my luggage, 'cause when my husband finds out he's getting not just two sets, but three...

...well, you'll just have to wait 'til Christmas to hear the rest of that bugger, won't ya?

Baseball

Now, I wouldn't be saying a word about this, had I not spent the better part of my youth as the only girl on an all-boys baseball team. You guessed it, I was number 16, an Oriole. I should pull those pictures out of my trunk in the basement, which I'm planning to do someday soon. I was catcher most of the time, I'm not sure why, perhaps I was the only one who could be hit you-know-where without totally dying.

I loved the job, didn't mind the equipment except for that annoying face mask. How in the hell are you expected to see anything in that?! I was offered the pitching plate once or twice, and it was obvious I'd be a heck of a pitcher. Better than our current star (not even the coach's son), which was why I was patted on the back and told to return to my station. Oh well, Mr. Montrose delivered pizzas to our house, who was I to argue with him?

I did make it to the All-Stars, so I know a bit about that, if you must know. I recall being confused by the whole AL versus NL thing, you mean we're divided into DIVISIONS?(!) I should've thrown down my mitt right then and there, because to this day I have no idea where the Orioles even fall. But I had a game to play, and my team was counting on me, and once I saw those bright lights...I'd have been an idiot to refuse.

I sucked majorly, though (but never in the way you're probably thinking). Even the other girl on the opposing team was much stronger and up for the advantage than me. I was a pixie, a frail, bony blonde pixie whose hair sticking out of my catcher's helmet made me a dead ringer for Jodi Foster. Totally.

I was catcher again. You'd think they would've thrown me out into left field, or at least plugged me in short stop, both essential positions, don't get me wrong. But that pitcher, dude, he did not hold back for the sake of a delicate hand. After being stung again, and again, and again...um, I couldn't handle it, chose to sit out (and crying). I had no idea that's why they invented softball.

There's one particular story that stands out in my mind (and then I'm settling in with my hubby to watch Sean Penn's Into the Wild). The deaf kid, Jeff. I volunteered to play catch with him everytime during practice. I love getting to know people, of all times, even better if he felt he was somehow at a disadvantage. He lobbed alot, but I taught him to trust.

Jeff was awesome, not so much as a player, but as a person. And I was all set to accept him as part of the team, of course my boys would see he was exactly like all the rest of them. Wouldn't they? It was probably my coach who insulted the intelligence of everyone, when after a practice or two of warming up with the Jeffer...I was suddenly his life partner.

Coach looked at me as someone to pick up the slack, someone to take care of the deaf guy so's no one else would have to waste their skill or whatever, lobbing back and forth with a handicap. I can't hold it against him, I never would, just that so many guys missed out on teaching Jeffrey themselves, that nothing can hold you back from being good at baseball.

Except pizza delivery guys.

Lucky me!

Not only is today my oldest daughter's birthday, I can look back over the ten years we've spent raising her and know I wouldn't change a thing. From the time she initiated her Daddy into fatherhood by shooting hot yellow mustard all over his face and white Calvin Klein sleepshirt, his patient understanding of my wish to get a camera (now I have two!), as he blindly felt his way to the shower in St. John's Block...great beginnings don't always ensure a great ending.

All of the in-between parts take work, and they take sacrifice. You can look as far ahead as you like, envisioning the best dreamworld possible. It's the focusing on the dream everyday though, that tests your mettle and produces results. I'm not bragging, okay maybe I am. And when you see what I found at TJ Maxx yesterday, I'm totally bragging.

But this is about my daughter, who has enriched my life more than I ever knew could be possible. All you parents out there know exactly what I'm talking about, life just isn't the same once you discover the reason for living. Great friends are only second to a satisfying family life. As luck would have it, and as an old friend did say, one of the best ways to meet people is through the action of family.

Actually, he said it was through your children, I'm just taking it one step further. If it weren't for Jackie and her fine art classes, we would never have known Caprice who lives two blocks away. And speaking of making this girl's dreams come true, I've been admiring her gardening since the moment I saw her flowers!


How many species can a homeschooled child ponder?!!

But quickly, TJ Maxx...and then off to a movie (thanks dollar theater, thanks Nim's island). Can you believe I found this watch, it's identical to my husband's. Love the domed glass, don't you?

But this bag, so unexpected! Lacoste at TJ Maxx, doesn't it look high-end? As beautiful as my navy-rimmed Vera Wang stationery ($7.99!) CK says I should bring it on the yacht, which of course we don't have (it's so expensive!) And I asked, when you say "yacht" is it the bag itself that brings yachts to mind...or do you actually envision us on one?

It was the latter. Eerie!

Schoolhouse Rap

Well, of course I attended Thursday's talent show, all three of my kids were in it (we have the free kids meals from Boston's to prove it). Lauren really impressed me, she had her Fairy Song all memorized, but she prefaced her song with a story.

"You all know Peter Pan...." she begins.

I kind of think she acts like me, in a way.

And then Taylor, who was petrified since the day after she committed her talent to paper. "It's okay," I told her, "you don't have to perform." Secretly, I was disappointed, because when she sings "Twinkle, Twinkle" she makes up her own music. So what if she belts it like Britney or Hannah, it's the same soul that I noticed, my sparkly girl she's a star.

Even cuter is when she insists the lyrics are, "just like a diamond in the sky".

After two violinists, a pre-teen girl sang an accompany to a CD. Taylor scoots over to me and whispers, "Mommy, I need you to go home and get me a CD."

"You don't need a CD," I assured her. To further help matters, three more young girls stood up between the gymnast, the rapper, and the cellist...every one singing "Twinkle, Twinkle." Should I worry that public schools don't seem to be teaching more nursery rhymes? Probably.


Her stage persona was hiding though, her voice safely
a whisper.

And then Colton, his plan was to do gymnastics once he read the idea on the sign up sheet. Then later, he thought he might do magic, since I brought him home a deck of cards from the dollar store. My boy lives in the moment, so during the car ride to the library he decided he was going to do a "secret act". And you better believe it, I was surprised!

My face turned beet red, much darker than tomato, I so should've known my boy better. He took the "splits" idea from Mary's act (it had brought oohs and ahhs), if only he'd thought to bring a hula hoop, like she did.

The wave-your-arms-frantically threw us all off balance, then swish, the final surprise!


However, the rapper (not my child) was the act I was most looking forward to. What better way to get straight to the heart of a modern child, than to have him or her write a rap (also known as a spoken poem).

Guess Maxine's right, today's media really does shape our children's goals. Any moguls out there interested in revising your ten year plans, I'd be happy to bet the social security of your grandchildren.

ND Museum of Art

I don't listen to very much music, but some of you might enjoy...


Cast wax antlers by Marlene Alt



Museum Donor Wall,

designed by Barton Lidice Benes


a painted bubble, a gift for Chris


Nina's recovered photographs (a letter from Roddy)

Someday, we'll donate $10,000 and be joined...

Until then, my favorite painting of them all,

by a North Dakotan (it's right in the entrance).

The Hot Dog Bun joke

It was funny to me, okay?

So, I make my kids lunch everyday to send with them to camp. The first week, if you remember, there was extra candy included for new friends. Well, second week I decided to play a little joke on them.

You see, everyone always makes fun of homeschooled kids for being weird. And I'm not just talking about brilliant teasing, you know, changing my son's name from Colton to 'Nicole' because it's hilarious.

Besides, that's too easily resolved with, "I don't make fun of your name, so why make fun of mine?"

The best thing about making fun of homeschooled kids while they're still little though, is that they often trust people will never do such wicked things. They expect more of society, and that is their right as young citizens.

But as my homeschooled children's mother, I'm allowed a little fun every now and again, aren't I?


So here's the joke, thanks for sticking with me so far.

You know how everyone likes to make fun of homeschooled kids? And if quizzing them on things you don't even know yourself doesn't satisfy your vampiric spirit, then you can always make fun of their lunches.

I'm not talking hot lunches like waffles, pancakes, etc...that's our daily breakfast, or even tomato soup with crackers, that's healthy, not funny. And you can't pick something so obvious as the brown bread we choose for them over that white sponge Wonder variety.

Well you know me, I took this little prank one step further, observe:



You can guarantee every kid will ask, "What's that you're eating?"

Why, it's a tuna fish sandwich if you're the boy, or it's peanut butter and jelly if you're the girl.



What's so funny about that you ask?

Hee, hee, hee...I can barely hold it in.



(We were never even out of bread in the first place!)

Ahoy!

Draft horses, pictures

Crisp bills

One of the many delightful habits I gleaned from my husband is his preference for crisp bills over crumpled ones. "Do you have any with wrinkles, any with those annoying folds through the middle," he'll ask in the DQ drive-thru. "Ooh, hold onto that one, it looks freshly minted!"

You'd be surprised how you begin to look at money when the number in the corner is the least of your priorities. And the guilt you feel when passing off a dingy dollar on an unsuspecting recipient--worth ten Hail Mary's in my book.

Like all symbols of trade, be it beads, antiques, or what have you--the currency we use in our transactions speaks volumes about our intentions. I'm just glad I married somebody with the highest of standards, reflects well on me and I just stand beside him!

So at the YMCA last Tuesday, I took it sort of personal when garage-sale-girl didn't have change for my dollar. My third try at the vending machine, fresh out of my endless supply of quarters (I wish). I looked around, what were my options? I'd already overextended garage-sale-girl one week prior, she ran out to her car to grab me a diaper. Which, turns out, it was somebody else's baby I'd been smelling.

(Though the very next week I thanked God that I had it. Pampers, so much better quality than our generics from Target.)

How do I explain Amazon girl--large like many farm-bred women 'round here, but she definitely grew up in the city (our humble one). Outspoken, overly bold, crassly talking too loud about getting sloshed at the bar, night before. Her daughter, still one, a little jabberbox in the most adorable way, can't understand a darn word she's saying--too cute!

So when my dollar doesn't produce the goods at last Tuesday's vending machine, and GSG and Amazon both claim to be out of replacements, I say "No problem", and head straight to the front desk for four quarters. (Girl was sort of rude, causing a whole coin to jump out of my hand and land on the counter. Once she picked it up, she seemed much politer.)

It's two days later now, at the Y, and my dollar is the worst wear I've seen in forever. Not only has it been laundered at least twice (and I'm not talking dry cleaning) an entire edge is missing, the right-hand corner's ripped off!

Amazon must've known this would happen, me and my dollars. Before I could ask, she goes, "Here, use mine."

Are you sure you want this? I dangled it before her. She shrugged as if it made absolutely no difference.

Trade made, I settled down with my microwave popcorn, all-popped, some peanut butter M&Ms, and a cold Dr. Pepper.

GSG walks over, who I've kind of been ignoring, not about the dollar, or the diaper, just something told me she's annoying. She says, "There's something about popcorn that draws everybody in, isn't there?" I smile and nod, just glad to have finally found a seat at the Y that didn't drive me crazy.

I'm chatting with GSG about why I came to North Dakota, PhDs, and getting slightly offended (working girls!)...when my pop spills all over my popcorn. Takes me about three minutes to track down some towels, during which GSG joins Amazon's conversation about Sex in the City.

GSG has no problem being prude, though she didn't exactly call herself a Charlotte. "I've been watching the reruns on tv," she shares. "I get that Samantha has to be a certain character, but we'd still get the picture without having to see all those graphics." (I imagine she'd be a big fan of radio.)

Amazon pauses, but GSG isn't fazed. She continues to make her point, unapologetic. Then she asks Amazon, "Which one do you think you're most like?"

Snorting, "Um, hmm...I guess...oh, I'm probably a Samantha, when I was in high school I used to..."

I interrupt quite well-timedly, "Are you sure you're not Carrie?" She looks open to the idea. "I think you're a Carrie," I repeat to myself, gathering wet napkins and heading for the garbage.

Amazon suddenly changes her answer (wow, so gullible!) "I'm more of a Carrie, yeah I guess, because..."

She doesn't even have the words to follow "because" and leaves it open (such faith!) I walk past, admiring her long hair which extends to mid-back, "because you're smart like she is," I say as I pass her, loud enough for her to hear, but behind other people's mumbling.

She's now Carrie, a lifetime of whoredom nearly passed onto her daughter, perhaps she'll find she's a writer. Her conversation with mail lady's friend becomes much calmer, a new note of authority and self-respect in her stories. Maybe she won't be at the bar the following weekend, maybe she has some things to think about differently.

I won't be back to find out. My three pollywogs almost all graduated (2 guppies, one still a pollywog)...and those damn vending machines, insulting MY dollar. Maybe next fall, when we return for our lessons, enough time to forget, enough time to begin anew.

My daughter is a Summer Camp dropout

…again this year. Last year it was understandable, she was only 5 and I’d lied about her birthdate in order to get her in her brother and sister’s camp. I guess those counselors divide them by age groups for a reason.

After the first week she’d had enough of putting her head down until everybody could be quiet. And the big kids kept throwing their lunch bags around (with food in them!)

So this year, proudly 6, she volunteered to join in again. I was hesitant…the Park Board only charges $45 for two months of summer (we were early birds, for the rest of you it’s $50). The Y charges $100 a week, but they do throw adventures, of the most magnificent kind I might add. If only I had $1000 to throw back at them, per child! I guess I could gamble $45 to give Taylor the chance to enjoy it.

Taylor officially dropped out yesterday, or so I’d thought. It’s the first week I figured, give the teachers some time to sort out the dysfunction. When Cole told me about the Q-U-I-E- (don’t make me say T, or you’re losing a field trip) game…I felt so much better. The chaos we were seeing (they could write their own stories) made me wish for the teachers we had last year. I guess all parents feel the same (I do have an article with that very suggestion, but it‘s not written yet).

Last night I explained to her exactly the problem. You hate having to deal with the other kids’ misbehavior. I’m not prejudiced, but I care still. They’re from the public schools honey, you’re not used to that fact. Not bad kids (just not like you, sorry), they’ve got things to learn still. And the teachers, they’re doing the best jobs they can. It’ll be rough for the first week, but they’ll discover their style (hopefully it’s not Crocs, though I do love their leather!)

If you don’t want to put up with it, I don’t blame you. “We’re spoiled,” I told her, “all our activities are with homeschoolers.” Tears drying slightly, she asked, “well, can we just go to a camp with all homeschoolers?” Not in this town sweetie, not yet, and I don’t care if not ever (we all need a break sometimes.)

Today we were going to skip camp anyway. What with Hannah’s little play, and my need to sell some buffalos…plus Daddy has lots of work to do, and we're going with him.

I grabbed extra water bottles just in case.

But where were all the Shriners?

Oh look, Shriners...

...making fun of the law.

Ah, in front of beautiful St. John's Block.

Anonymous moms and their anonymous children:

~10:30 straight-up~

Oh look, another Shriner...

...illegally riding on the sidewalk.

Okay, here we go...

to see Jesus wearing yellow...(follow me here)

Hannah's Song

Takes deep breath…