Life Learning Family

Meet Doug

noreply@blogger.com (Elizabeth) — Tue, 05 Jan 2010 18:12:00 +0000

Medium received a bird cage for Christmas. The poor child is allergic to every possible furry animal, but really wanted a pet who would play with her. Reptiles seemed out of the question, not only because they aren't particularly cuddly, but also because of the mold and/or heat.

So, we decided on a bird. We went to the pet store for food and toys, looked at the parakeets there and then headed off to a local shelter. This shelter is really a cat place, but they take in small animals and birds.

I'm always appalled by shelters. So many animals in one place. This was a small store front with probably 50 cats, several rabbits, gerbils, hamsters and tons of birds. Doug was found in a cage with 20 or so parakeets, all dumped by the same guy, who gave the shelter little information about them. Doug was mostly off by himself, he has a couple of bent tail feathers and was definitely the under dog of the cage. Shunned and picked on. And that made him Medium's first choice in a pet.

The shelter also had 10 or so zebra finches in one cage, a pair of conures, a macaw, several sets of African doves and more parakeets further down. The cat cages were stacked three high and birds were placed on top of them. They had one center aisle with a double row of cages and then two side aisles. The small animals lined the front, also stacked two and three high. Is it that when you run a shelter, you just can't see when you are full? Or is the need so great and the options so bad that they take in more and more animals?

All these animals came from homes. I can't imagine taking my rabbit in, saying I don't want it anymore (even though we have good allergy reasons) and turning it in, seeing the overcrowded conditions right in front of me. Maybe those people are hoarders too? Maybe the shelter has to euthanize every once in a while? Why do people buy pets in stores when there are shelters overcrowded with pets? I know the pets, particularly birds, can come sick or diseased because of the overcrowding problem. But isn't it better to take that risk than feed the breeding and pet store systems?

Doug is doing fine. A little quiet. Definitely freaked out. He's warming up to Medium, letting her take him out to play every day, although he isn't quite socialized yet. Funny, a homeschool kids socializing a bird!

Why is that?

noreply@blogger.com (Elizabeth) — Wed, 16 Dec 2009 15:38:00 +0000

I've been talking to and corresponding with a lot of people since my father died. This has been fun in some ways, painful in others. Some of these communications make me end up wondering why we ever lost touch in the first place, others remind me of the why.

One thing I've been exposed to as a result, is an anti-homeschooling sentiment. Most of my life is spent in a supportive-of-homeschooling world. My friends are homeschoolers, or know my children and know how good homeschooling has been for us. My family is understanding and accepting. So, I don't venture out of this cocoon often, except in public places with my older kids when they "should" be in school. Our doctors, dentists, Trader Joe's, etc all know us by now. Even the kids' dance teacher was thrilled to see Medium and Large for Small's parent observation day.

But lately I've had such things as public school teacher/parents justifying to me their decision to send their kids to school. I've had people tell me it's OK for me to homeschool because I have easy, smart kids. People have asked me how the state can allow them not to be tested, how do I know they are learning, what I do to teach them, whether they ever get to leave the house. The whole gamut of homeschooling questions and insults I haven't heard since we made the decision to homeschool 8 years ago.

I'm not sure I've responded well in my grief. I'd like to issue a blanket, multiple choice response:

No, homeschooling isn't for everyone.
Yes, it's a financial hardship for me to be without a paying job. It's a decision we made after much careful consideration and have never regretted.
No, I don't lock my kids in the basement. They are out of the house doing something with other kids almost every day of the week.
I have nothing against public schools. It's an institution worth preserving for those who need it. It is an institution, however, and I want to keep my kids out of it. I pay at least $6000 a year in taxes to support the institution. We live in a good neighborhood with good schools.
Educational options are a personal decision for each family. Homeschooling works for my family. We like being together, my kids each learn differently and are free to pursue their own interests. (Oh, and yes, kids do have their own interests.)
No, I have not become a born again Christian. Nothing against any religious group, but not all homeschoolers are doing it for religious reasons.
Illinois treats homeschools as private schools, and does not impose restrictions on private schools other than attendance is taken and the same courses of study are taught - language arts, math, science, social studies - in English.

I think that may cover it. For now, at least. It's a strange world, viewed from the lenses of a fresh life change.

Watch this!

noreply@blogger.com (Elizabeth) — Mon, 07 Dec 2009 02:45:00 +0000

Back to our regularly scheduled programming, courtesy of my sister:

What I'm thankful for

noreply@blogger.com (Elizabeth) — Fri, 27 Nov 2009 17:53:00 +0000

Although my father's obituary has been in the newspapers all over the country, and even world wide, this one from The Regional is one of my favorites.

Here's the short list of what I'm thankful for today:

I'm thankful my father was able to hold and burp the first six of his ten grandchildren, while singing "I've been working on the railroad."

I'm thankful that he died in his sleep with pain management.

I'm thankful for John Markoff of the New York Times, who wrote a great article that has been picked up by newspapers around the world. It is somehow comforting to know that other people think my father was a great guy.

I'm thankful for my ever-supportive husband was able to drop everything when the call came in the wee hours last week.

I'm thankful that my children have such fond memories of my father.

I'm thankful that my daughter has the patience and understanding to help her grandmother set the table for Thanksgiving dinner.

I'm thankful for that neighbor of my mother's, whose name she can never remember, dashed out of his house with a jar of his homemade apple butter as a gift.

I'm thankful that my father took the time to show his special carving techniques to Mark, who spent time explaining them to Large yesterday.

Albert V. Crewe should not be remembered only as being a great scientist, artist and father, but as an influential person who worked hard to lobby for research funding and wasn't shy about expressing his rage over the lack of it. He was an intellectual who was as much a fixture in his laboratory as he was at our swim meets, the hardware store, piano and dance recitals.

Complicated Question

noreply@blogger.com (Elizabeth) — Fri, 30 Oct 2009 14:25:00 +0000

I have often been asked lately how I am doing. It's a difficult question to answer. On the face of it so simple, but when you get right down to it, extremely complicated.

Am I really "doing," for example? What am I doing and how am I doing it? A short glance around my living room or bedroom shows that I am not doing much. Not physically anyway. Some days I don't even shower. I am usually dressed by noon, though, so maybe that is something.

The kids get to their scheduled activities. Most of the time. They see their friends, attend their classes, get their basics done most days. They could be doing more. There's that gym class I want to enroll them in, the play dates I never get around to scheduling, the allergy shots that are supposed to be twice a week and sometimes we go two weeks between, the swim team and swim lessons, museum day - all these and more I have failed to organize and do.

My three siblings and I cannot seem to have a discussion over my father's care without someone getting angry and belligerent. We can't agree on the simplest of things and some refuse to even take a part in the discussion, preferring to criticize from the sidelines. I have been unable to forge a truce or maintain the peace. On the contrary, because I am the closest, I am the target.

My mother now needs more help than ever. I am able to help her twice a week. This I can say that I "do." Writing checks, buying groceries and supplies for my father's caretakers, making her appointments, managing her calendar, listening to her fears and worries. I get to go home, to put some distance between me and my dying father. My mother is home and the love of her life, the man she has been married to for 60 years, is slowly dying before her eyes. It's no wonder she needs more help, the emotional and physical strain on her is unbearable.

And then there is my father. I can help him try to stand up, he isn't able to do this on his own anymore. But he wants to try and I can hold one side while an aide holds the other. He was a tall man, but now his legs wont straighten and he is shorter than my 5' 8" frame. Not nearly as wide, though, his body isn't tolerating much in terms of calories. I can try to interpret for him, make sure his medicines are ordered and sufficient, help the aides with their questions, distract him when he is agitated.

So, I am "doing," or at least am active. I am not, however, doing anything particularly well. It took me a long time, probably a month, to realize that my kids were no longer active and engaged in their math program and that it needed to be changed. Little is still not a good reader, he is reading things that his siblings read a full year ahead of his age.

The friends still willing to talk to me - and there are several who cannot right now because their own grief is too fresh to be cut open by mine - are probably bored out of their minds when they ask how I am. I feel I have become a lead weight in their presence. So, when I am in town, I stay inside my house and limit my outings to the kids schedule. Yesterday I took Small to dance and then went to the library to reserve the room for our science class. After those two brief encounters with the outside world of small talk and business, I was exhausted. They simple act of smiling, so natural for me normally, is draining.

So how should I answer? Fine. OK. As well as can be expected. Or just smile.

Floating

noreply@blogger.com (Elizabeth) — Wed, 07 Oct 2009 03:12:00 +0000

I feel lately as if I am just floating in the ether. Not really a part of my life or my family's life, detached and floating. Occasionally I touch down for a moment of connection, of reality and the float up again into the amorphous space that surrounds me. Here are some of the things I have managed to touch upon:

My father calling for people from his past in the wee hours of the morning. Not frightened, often just calling "Hallo!"
My mother weeping with the understanding that her children may be saying goodbye to their father for the last time.
My siblings, laughing over a bit of family history and then brought back to reality by a sobering cough from the other room.
My completely unresponsive father when I said one day that all his children would be here the next day. Then seeing him the next day insisting on being dressed, forcing himself to stay awake until my brother made it through a storm from California at 3 a.m. He heard me.
My children enjoying their science lab while I was able to enjoy an hour with a dear friend who let me babble on and on incoherently in a Starbucks.
My doctor, two hours behind schedule, listening to my every word and telling me it was OK to let myself go while my father let himself go. But that it was not OK to only be able to sleep with the help of Tylenol p.m. Me relishing the relief from her acupuncture.
My brother complaining about the quarter mile inside the grocery store we had to walk from the meat to the wine.
The sight of my mother having her pedicure on a treat spa visit with my sister. Completely relaxed, composed and happy.
Me understanding deeply, for the first time, that Mark and I will not likely see the 60 years of marriage my parents have lived through.
The bizarre experience of all four siblings showing up at the local fitness center at the same time to sweat off the grief and anxiety. It must be genetic. We paid a guest fee for the privilege.

It goes on, these brief landings on earth to witness the world around me. Then I am back in the fog. Floating to the next touch down point. I do and do and do. But all I do is touch the surface and disappear. This can't go on forever.

But this ether can be seducing. I haven't summoned the courage for more than a cursory glance at my email in over a week. My father has been dying for seven weeks now. He managed until a week ago to have more lucid moments than not. Now he is in his own hell of incomprehension and hallucination. His brain was so important to him. And to us. He held on to it for so long and now it seems that the Parkinsons has taken the one thing left to him. His increasingly vocal worry since his diagnosis has turned into his whole life. Worry over the weather, his finances (where there is no need to worry), the condition of the house (where there is, but all fixable), his worry over my mother (again, founded in reality), his lab (long since dismantled).

We have much wind tonight and I know Dad will be shaking the bed rails, wanting to check out the damage. I had the aide move the electrical source for his bed to the outlet service by the generator - we had a minor tornado there in August and witnessed only a flicker of the lights. It will likely be a bad night for my father. And a bad night for me in the ether.

My New Heroes

noreply@blogger.com (Elizabeth) — Mon, 28 Sep 2009 18:47:00 +0000

Six weeks since my last blog post. And that post was so full of hope for my father, hope that he just had a broken hip and would get better.

But then he acquired pneumonia in hospital and has been home in hospice care ever since. We have had days where there was much hope. Days when he has walked, used the toilet, spoken coherently. We've also had many days when he did nothing but lie in bed, hallucinating, agitated or just sleeping. It's been a roller coaster.

The worst days were when he first came home from the hospital, terribly sick with pneumonia. The hospice nurses only thought he would last a few days. My sisters flew in. We made plans, he dictated notes to all of us, repeatedly begged us to take care of our mother. We all prepared for him to die. But he didn't, he got over the pneumonia and regained some of his strength.

But now we are back to thinking he only has a short time left. Kidney failure is likely now, his body may be shutting down. He's had hallucinations, anxiety, lack of elimination. I had thought myself better prepared to deal with his death, but it still hits me like a blow to the head. Have I really had my last conversation with him? Will he only be unintelligible from now on? No one can say.

These hospice nurses are unbelievable. Our whole family has received wonderful care, advice, concern, attention. Taking on that job is a true calling. They are my new heroes. Without them we would all be somewhat adrift, relying on doctors or nurses in a hospital. Uncomfortable and unknowing. With them, my father is able to rest in the house he built on top of the tallest sand dune, look out the window at the tree tops and the lake, be as comfortable as possible in his waning days.

Today is another day when the schedule was shifted in order to take care of my parents. No registration for Girl Scouts, no grueling trip to the north side. Instead we have a trip - equally as grueling - to Indiana. I hope my kids don't resent me for this time, and don't think they do. They are sad to give up their activities, but continue with their life learning wherever we are.

Complacency

noreply@blogger.com (Elizabeth) — Mon, 17 Aug 2009 03:07:00 +0000

Complacency is an evil thing. I've been tooling along the past year thinking things with my folks were improving and that we could continue along this path for a while. It's what I wanted to believe, what my own family needed. Complacency is why I took on the board of directors position for the InHome Conference (well, that and the sheer desperation I heard from friends who needed help), why I started teaching a physics lab for homeschoolers, why I branched out looking for new opportunities for my children.

And it's why I'm smacking myself on the forehead now. Just over a year ago, my father was admitted to the hospital. His EMS ticket read "failure to thrive." One of those medical terms like when I was pregnant with Small and the nurse told me he had a condition "incompatible with life." Last year, however, my sister and I convinced my father to have a feeding tube inserted. His Parkinson's had advanced to the point that he was malnourished and dehydrated. Without the feeding tube, he would starve to death. It wasn't hard to convince him, my mother needed him. And he wouldn't abandon my mother to her dementia. Just as last week he agreed to a partial hip replacement, after a struggle, so he could help my mother continue to have some independance.

My father's Parkinson's was diagnosed 8 years ago, but he suspected a few years prior to that. I remember him being jovial when a neurologist told him there was "nothing remarkable" about his brain. That's funny for a genius. Over time the disease has robbed him of his booming voice, his ability to move predictably, and his ability to swallow. After he had the tube inserted, he became almost robust, gathering strength and a quality of life he hadn't had before. Between that and the botox treatments he receives in his cheek, he was reading, participating in daily routines, taking care of my mother and their enormous house overlooking the lake, debating politics - this frail old man left the house to vote for Obama ("the first intelligent candidate in a long time") in Indiana, a state that really counted!

A week ago he tripped over his feet and broke his hip. It has been a week of anguish and frustration, a week of struggling to get the best care possible and a week of managing my mother. There are a lot of funny things that happened too and I'll try to share them soon, not to make fun of my mother or of dementia, but to point out that there is humor in crisis.

My father and I had what I would consider to be a strained relationship for most of our lives together. Like most people, I have felt not quite smart enough to be sharing the same space with him. Now I can see he has respected me all along, I just wasn't willing to accept his love and admiration. The strain was mainly on my side, this is an unspeakable loss. Now I stand armed at his hospital bed with his DNR and the Power of Attorney, telling everyone who walks in the room that he is not deaf and has no mental impairment. The no mental impairment part often has to be repeated, nurses and doctors just assume some level of dementia in an 82 year old who cannot speak. I hand out the spread sheet of his medication and feeding schedule, translate his concerns and worries from whispers to a roar and generally become a thorn in the side of people unable to adjust their prejudices. I am my father's daughter.

It has been an incredible strain on my own family, this past week. They have rolled with the punches, done their thing, taken time off work and play to help my father out. I've missed out on a week of their lives, and will miss some more in the weeks to come as my father becomes stronger. We have been shocked out of our complacency by this horrible disease and need to become ever more vigilant. And ever more efficient in our work to accommodate for these intermittent crises. They are only going to increase as nature takes its course for both my parents.

I am grateful, however, to be homeschooling my children and including them as active participants in my parents decline and death. Already wise, they are more aware of the world around them because of our care taking role.

Vindication

noreply@blogger.com (Elizabeth) — Mon, 03 Aug 2009 18:06:00 +0000

A week or so ago, Medium pointed out to me that she did not know what a Twinkie tastes like. We were not in a store at the time, and I don't remember how the topic of conversation came up. My first reaction was to say "You don't want to eat a Twinkie, " but I held it. I described the taste of a Twinkie, told her that I had a boyfriend in college who had toured a Twinkie factory and told me that Twinkies never see an oven and asked her if she wanted to try one. She said she did.

The next time we were in Target, we got her a package of Twinkies. Large and Small opted for Oreos in a big cup that fits into a car's cup holder. Small is still allergic to milk and eggs and amazingly Twinkies have both listed as ingredients. Also amazingly, Oreos do not. Medium did not like the Twinkie, gave the second one to Large, who ate a bite and put the rest in the composter. I now know that a Twinkie will compost.

We try to eat health, whole foods, avoiding processed foods whenever we can. But somehow it feels like snobbery to deny something like Twinkies, particularly as I was brought up on them, Ding Dongs and Ho Hos. Every lunch bag had some chemical reaction in the form of a cake inside. Zingers we discovered in High School when my brother and I had our own car and a gas card. We learned that gas stations sell food and filled up on junk until my Mom put the lid on our spending.

Junk food isn't evil, after all, and it's everywhere. My children are different enough by virtue of their homeschooling. They don't need other badges of distinction, like being denied Twinkies. They will probably never eat another one now. I remember telling Medium's Girl Scout leader that I had never been inside a Dunkin Donuts when she was wanting to take the girls to one, but wanted to clear the allergies first. I felt strange at feeling some pride at that. I have a sister who is proud of never having been in a McDonald's. It's a strange thing to be proud of. It's all wrapped up in that weird food thing we have in our family. I don't want my kids to have that.

Today we got slurpies as a special treat. Small and I have a summer cold, we didn't sleep well - when did his legs grow to the point that his toe nails can scratch my ankles when we are in the same bed? - and I had promised him a treat for skipping going out to breakfast and having to drop the other two off at the art camp in our pajamas.

I'll still cast a wary eye at junk food, chemical food. But I don't want the kids to either fear it or crave it because of my denial. The three of them had slurpies and have lived, so far, to tell the tale.

About face

noreply@blogger.com (Elizabeth) — Mon, 27 Jul 2009 13:27:00 +0000

I promised a friend to try facebook for one week. I always thought myself too old for facebook and it seems so narcissistic. So, I'm trying it.

It is still narcissistic. And limiting to someone who tends to use a whole lot of words. It's also really fun to see what others in the world are doing, a way of quickly catching up.

But I already spend too much time on the computer! I can see this facebook thing could become a huge time suck for someone as undisciplined as me. Plus, I'm not sure I really have the hang of it, learning the lingo and how to navigate has been a challenge. Maybe I'm just not smart enough for facebook. I need to channel my inner Al Frankin.

It has been five days and the jury is still out.

New Muse, Old Muse

noreply@blogger.com (Elizabeth) — Wed, 22 Jul 2009 15:19:00 +0000

I've started weaving again, after a long hiatus. My return to my old favorite art form was facilitated in part by my massive cleaning of the kids bedrooms. Once all the broken and unused toys, the long unread books, outgrown clothes and general junk was removed, I discovered that the boys room could really use a couple of chairs and a rug. I'm not all that into chair making, but have been saving old clothes and fabric for years, limiting myself to one giant Rubbermaid tub each for woven, knits and denim.

I took five pairs of Mark's old pants, put them in a dye bath so that each is a slightly different shade of denim blue, cut and stripped them, dressed the loom and began weaving. Dressing the room is a daunting task after three or four years off. Despite rereading my instructions, and with many interruptions, it took the better part of a week to get the warp wound and beamed. Even though I checked a few times, I managed to cross some threads in the heddle and did not admit to this until I had a good foot or two woven. Not being a perfectionist, I cut the threads and called it a design element. This left three threads loose at the back beam, so I weighted them with toys I found lying around. They look cute dangling there, don't they?

Another reason or the weaving is that I have two pairs of socks on needles, both knitted from the cuff down, both at the most boring part - past the heel and heading to the toe. All I have to look forward to is the toe and that doesn't hold enough interest. I could have just cast on another pair with different needles (I do two at a time on two circulars), but realized how ridiculous this is. So, I'm weaving when at home and knitting on the instep when I'm not. My blog has been suffering for the weaving, though. I have many, many projects lined up in my head now that I have the weaving bug back!

Getting to Know You

noreply@blogger.com (Elizabeth) — Tue, 30 Jun 2009 14:40:00 +0000

I've been mulling over an article in this past Sunday's Chicago Tribune titled "School's Out. Now What?" My children have never been to school, so I'm not familiar with the trails and anxieties of summer. The third paragraph reads: "Summer is wonderful, but it takes time to settle in."

Really? I guess we have trouble at time adjusting the the abrupt weather changes here in Chicago. And the sudden explosion of children on the block, in the neighborhood and at our museums. But really, summer is just an extension of spring, which comes after a long winter, preceded by fall. It's just a season for us. For some of us, it's our favorite season, for others, it's before or after their favorite one.

The author interviewed a developmental therapist who worked on a TV show I've never seen, "Super-Manny." He says that kids have "very little freedom" during the school year and that "They even have to ask to go to the bathroom." Well, yes. The kids on my block are gone from between 7:30 and 8 and arrive back home between 3:30 and 4. No sleeping late because they stayed up watching a documentary, no lounging around with a book because they have a cold.

But the most disturbing part of the article for me was the description of how the siblings have lost touch with each other, have done a lot of physical and developmental growing and "In a sense, they have to get to know each other again."

If that isn't one of the strongest arguments for homeschooling, I don't know what is. The picture Mark took above on a bike ride this weekend was of Large holding back Small while he was throwing rocks into the canal. Large was protecting his little brother, he wasn't asked to do it, he just knew Small's ability to get into precarious situations and wanted to make sure he didn't slide down the rocky slope to the algae-infested water below. Our kids know each other. Sometimes they know each other too well, they know exactly which buttons to push, and also how to use their strengths to help each other out.

The article went on to explain how to get the kids to know each other again. Who older kids can read to younger kids, how they can prepare meals together, where to find those "teachable moments" to form a community with other children in the neighborhood. Honestly, do parents really need this kind of advice? I'm hoping they don't.

This Credit Free Life

noreply@blogger.com (Elizabeth) — Tue, 23 Jun 2009 19:13:00 +0000

We've been leading a credit free life for 2 years now. We don't use credit anymore. Of course, we still have our mortgage and home equity, but we've been working at paying those off as well.

We followed most of Dave Ramsey's baby steps and were about to pay off over $20,000 in consumer debt in the first 9 months. We were very lucky to have some stocks to cash in, savings bonds lying around, a generous bonus and lots of patience. When our dryer broke, we went 2 months without. When a car died, we went 5 weeks without. Things recalibrated after a year and a half on the plan and we had 4 months in our emergency fund. Four months of basic living expenses saved just in case. I was comfortable with that cushion.

Then emergencies happened. From toilets to trees to cars to dishwashers, we are now down to less than 2 months in the emergency fund. We spent some of the money on non-emergencies (new lighting in the dining room, finishing a bathroom remodeling that began 3 years ago), but most of it was on basic items. The good news is that we used our emergency fund as a credit card, instead of piling on more debt. The bad news is that now we must work really hard to bring that balance back up. We have no more rabbits to pull out of hats and Mark's employer has announced layoffs.

On the other hand, we have that month and a half in the bank and know how to get more flowing into the emergency fund. One of our major decisions this week has been to repair the aging Volvo instead of getting a car loan for a different car. Next bonus maybe we'll plan for a new used car, but that's not until March. We'll just keep plugging along with what we have and stash more away for the future.

One Cool Idea

noreply@blogger.com (Elizabeth) — Thu, 18 Jun 2009 15:10:00 +0000

I'll update on the big dance recital when I get a chance to breathe, but wanted to pass along something really cool right now. I'm signing up for several of these.

What's Next?

noreply@blogger.com (Elizabeth) — Mon, 08 Jun 2009 18:31:00 +0000

OK, so in the midst of all the craziness my life has become - taking care of my non-compliant parents, the upcoming dance recital, making big decisions about whether or not to have a homeschooling conference next year, etc., etc., etc., I have to suffer through failing equipment that is supposed to make my life easier.

The dishwasher. Would cost a total of more than $400 to repair. We can replace one for nearly that. But we can't find the time to replace it or do the research to buy it.

The vacuum cleaner. Perhaps the most used appliance in the house, my trusty Miele Solaris. We've had it 8 years and this is the first major problem. I use it every day. On Saturday, I called a friend across the street hyperventilating and asking to borrow hers. She made me promise a solemn oath not to break it. She understands my pain.

The car. The Volvo with 120,000 miles on it - shouldn't it just last forever? For over a year now it's been doing this strange thing where the ABS system clicks in when accelerating, turning corners and occasionally while braking. Over the past week it's become loud. And then Saturday it was loud, refused to accelerate and showed that arrow signal that it was time to up shift, even in reverse. Transmission, you say? Likely, we dropped it off last night.

After losing the tree and shelling out a whole heck of a lot of money from the emergency fund for that and other tangential emergencies, our emergency fund is positively groaning. No longer do we have that nice cushion of 4 months living expenses saved in case Mark loses his job. Two, maybe. And we're in a recession here.

Maybe I can send Large out in his double breasted thrifted suit to look for a job? His hair is ever so slightly shorter now...

Back Home, Part Two

noreply@blogger.com (Elizabeth) — Thu, 04 Jun 2009 14:00:00 +0000

Returning home from vacation always leaves me longing to be back on vacation. Reality has a tendency to just smack me in the face. Today I find myself wanting to see some of the friends we made at our campsite and in the state park. The Cooper's Hawk was a favorite, coming by frequently to find a meal, possibly for his young. He started the Orioles off screeching each time and then would just hang out, scanning the weedy area on the slope down to the lake for easier fare. He wasn't so easy to photograph and was majestic when the swooped through the campsite.

Reality hit in the form of a broken dishwasher.

Oh, let's not wash the morning dishes. We can just put them in the dishwasher when we get home. Except that that dishwasher, a trusty 9 year old thing with far more bells and whistles than we need, wont wash. It dies mid-cycle. All that crusted on scrambled egg had to be washed the old fashioned way. The repair guy came out one afternoon and the thing worked just fine for him. Then he left, running an empty cycle and it didn't work. Sputtered through part of the wash and stopped. Red indicator lights angrily blinking "Wash Cycle!", "Energy Saver Dry!", "Rinse Aid Empty!"

When there was no satisfactory response, it would start up again, get to another point in the cycle and start screaming at us again in it's red light way. Next morning the repair guy, Alan, came back and pronounced we need a new heater element/on board computer kit that would cost $310, in addition to the $98 I had already spent for the service call. At least our debt-free living allows us some wiggle room of cash in our emergency fund. It feels wasteful, but I think it's time to get rid of the fancy dishwasher. We bought it when Medium was a baby and I insisted we needed the anti-bacterial wash and sanitary rinse. Hot water = higher gas bills so we don't use it.

See why I'd rather spend my time with a bunch of loud geese angrily defending their many, many goslings? Even the fox snake was more fun, gobbling up caterpillars on the bike path. Gnats are impossible to photograph, but there were lots of them too.

Aside from that I have conference things to do, issues to resolve, decisions to make. All volunteer positions can get so personal, I'm learning. I have been endowed with all sorts of new responsibilities to accomplish with one hand tied behind my back because there isn't an efficient system for knowledge and responsibility transfer. No succession plan. Bad. Would never work in the business world, at least not successfully. There is no doubt that it will all work out, and I have plans to fix the system so that the whole she-bang doesn't depend solely on the dedication of a few kind-hearted souls who eventually burn out from the pressure and burden of it all. That's the plan anyway. We all know about roads paved with good intentions.

So, I took refuge in the comfort of friends and enjoyed that so very much that I organized a whole slew of park days and outings for our little homeschooling community this summer. Turns out everyone had an idea of where we could happily spend our time and all I had to do was gather the information and post it. Now that's the kind of job I like. Plus, I'm ensuring my social needs are met. Oh, and I guess the kids social needs too.

Home Again

noreply@blogger.com (Elizabeth) — Tue, 02 Jun 2009 15:14:00 +0000

Because we can't fit all four bikes and Small's afterburner trailer on the back of the Volvo, we took two cars camping last week. This meant we could take more stuff! Here's what our stuff did on our vacation.

Some of the toys mostly stayed in the tent. Happily, they were safely in beds or in pockets when the rain came, so most of them didn't get more than damp.

Swano and Wolfie spent some time working on their laptop. The stump of this beautiful white oak was sad to see when we pulled up into our favorite spot. It affected the afternoon shade, but not enough for us to want to change spots next year.

Bobber fell in the lake within an hour of our arrival. He enjoyed hanging out with the dish gloves for a while, but ended up getting progressively wetter as the days passed and the rain came. He finally dried out on the last day.

The sketch books and pencils got a nice workout, we need to make more time for this activity in the future. We go for five days and four nights after Memorial Day, so at least one day is rained out. Sketching can be difficult in the rain.

Adjustment

noreply@blogger.com (Elizabeth) — Fri, 22 May 2009 03:55:00 +0000

Mark, that great stabilizing and equalizing force in my life, the most consistent, calming and confirming husband a woman could dream of, takes a lot of pictures of plants. He can take 20 pictures of the same plant with different apertures, light, focus, until he gets what he wants. He rarely deletes what he doesn't want, however, leaving me with a folder labeled May 2009, insert-your-favorite-nature-spot-here and 53 pictures of the same bleeping Solomon seal from 9 angles.

At least it's digital, right? Before it used to be box after $20 box of prints. But when I look under May 2009 to find pictures of the defining moment of the month, I see file folders of how Mark has spent his lunch hour and early weekend morning bike rides - Arie Crown, Braidwood Savana, I&M Canal, Maple Lake, O'Hara Woods, Ted Stone, Warrenville Grove and West DuPage Woods. There is a folder for Mother's Day and a smattering of dumped, un-foldered photos that I took of my Roots&Shoots group and science lab. But not one picture of the mostly dead tree. Or the plants we are moving underneath it.

Not one shot of a wild geranium or bellflower lovingly transplanted from the woods around my childhood home when my parents moved 12 years ago. Instead, I found this fallen no swimming sign, which I hope is a signal of the future of our backyard now that the rain garden is in. We moved many a wild geranium, hyacinth and bellflower in the past week. I'm feverishly painting one wall of the garage in order to move the scorned and despised non-native hostas and ferns to the only shady place left in our yard. All the native stuff we can salvage has been moved and transplanted to other areas of the yard, but it looks dreadful. And I've spread nearly 2 cubic yards of mulch to protect what we've put in.

I just hope the apricot's enormous stump is ground down soon. That's one image I'd like to be rid of. And once the sanctioned and native Hill's Oak we plant nearby is in the ground, I'll believe our life is moving forward. It's the limbo I can't stand.

A Sad Day

noreply@blogger.com (Elizabeth) — Wed, 13 May 2009 21:51:00 +0000

We are about to lose our tree. This tree is what sold me on the house, it was so magnificent and beautiful 14 years ago.

It was an overgrown apricot that never produced much fruit. The fruit it did produce was so high and so small that it was just weaponry for the squirrels to lob at us when we spent too much time in their space. The tree shaded the whole back deck, half the yard and much of the house. I used to leave Large and Small on the deck in their sandbox in the comfort of this tree while I went inside to do the dishes.

When we moved it, the tree was already cabled, holding it together in case of a storm. We've had it trimmed every year by the same company the previous owners used. The guy who comes out grew up taking care of this tree, he has admired it, held it together, trimmed it and has done all he can to keep it alive these past 5 or 6 years. Borers moved it and started killing the tree from the middle, there is no insecticide for this. Sap would come out in big globs as they did their work each summer, but we held out hope each year for just one more year.

As a fruit tree, it branched off into segments from one center point. My 80 year old neighbor, who has lived in the same house all her life, remembers that the original house owner chopped it down 50 years ago, only to have it grow back. This is a tree with staying power! The segments branched out over the deck, over my neighbors' driveway, over the addition to our house and over the back yard. The section over the neighbors driveway was the first to go, painfully cut off when nothing grew or bloomed on it. Then came parts of the sections over the back end of the house and the deck. Now the only live portions, which bloomed as beautifully as the picture taken four years ago, are the ones over the yard. These are straining against the cables, leaning on the power line. The dead portions are poised over the roof of the house. It's no longer an option to just nip off the dead bits and hope for another year. We've had our last year.

Part of the mourning of this tree is the digging up of the native (and some rare) wildflowers we planted underneath. Unfortunately, Chicago still thinks it is Bombay and we are in the midst of another monsoon.

Each time the tree was trimmed, it left a little hole in the canopy and took a while to grow back in. It was sad each year. These past few years have been like body part amputations, but we grew used to the new shape and hoped for the best. Now we will have an entirely new space in our lives, as unfamiliar and it will be unwanted.

Could it be?

noreply@blogger.com (Elizabeth) — Wed, 06 May 2009 14:58:00 +0000

I am hopeful, really hopeful, that we are done with winter now. Our last frost date here is May 15, but the long range forecasts look pretty good. We did a major spruce up of our outdoors last weekend and have an inviting front porch set up right now.

I like to sit in the rocker and knit. The kids like to sit on the swing or the Adirondack chairs to read. With the birds and the gardens coming in, it's hard to concentrate on much other than the life around us.

This time of year, I have a recurring dream of owning a little place, a hobby farm, out in the middle of nowhere. In my dream we practice sustainable living, no one ever complains about the work and we are happy all the time. After this past weekend of cleaning, painting and putting in a 64 plant rain garden, I should know better. Dreams don't know better.

Beyond Ribbit

noreply@blogger.com (Elizabeth) — Mon, 27 Apr 2009 16:34:00 +0000

We've been doing our amphibian monitoring, now that spring seems to be here and found this lovely specimen recently. It's an American toad, not the most attractive of our native species, and not particularly endangered. It does have one of my favorite calls, though. It's a long trill, lasting nearly 30 seconds. Strangely, this guy was out ahead of schedule. We heard him at night and found him in the morning. Don't these animals know we have a schedule for them, understand the temperatures they like and predict when they'll be around for us to observe? He's about a month early and the frogs I should have heard - chorus frogs, spring peepers, leopard frogs, etc. - were no where to be heard. Oh well, at least he was there.

We went on a bike ride as a family yesterday, using Small's new tag along trailer on the back of Mark's bike. It worked like a charm, mostly Small did no peddling, but got the hang of hanging out on a bike. And I saw a muskrat in the water! That was exciting. It was too windy for our warty friends, and a bit too rainy for some of those on the bikes, but we had a wonderful time.

Ta Da!

noreply@blogger.com (Elizabeth) — Fri, 17 Apr 2009 16:55:00 +0000

Probably the only good thing about us being sick for so long was that I was finally able to finish Mark's cabled sweater. Just in time for spring to arrive! He has managed to wear it on a few cool mornings, but a nice worsted weight wool isn't going to work again until November, I should think. Luckily he has been the same size and shape for years.

It was a really fun knit - Kathy Zimmerman's Rhapsody in Tweed. My only real problem was in reading the directions. I took Mark's measurements as the finished size and produced a cabled sausage casing.

Before seaming it together - and how I hate seaming - I added this garter edging from both sides and did a three needle bind off. That way I could add a few inches and avoid doing a side seams. It made the armhole and sleeves a bit trickier but was the right decision in the end. Only another knitter would notice my mistake, and only then if looking at Mark's armpit.

I'm not so afraid of seaming now and will keep my mind open to patterns in pieces. Seamless knitting seems so much more fluid, but a busy pattern like this would wind up with a jog anyway.

Go me!

What We Are Doing

noreply@blogger.com (Elizabeth) — Fri, 10 Apr 2009 18:17:00 +0000

Large has not left the compound in 2 straight weeks. He's barely left the couch, and then only to get to the bed. Today, however, he is reading and doing more than just whimpering, so I can see the light at the end of the tunnel.

Medium has taken a liking to pulling dandelions. This is an excellent hobby as our front patch of grass is mostly dandelions and I'm not interested in putting chemicals on it. As an added bonus, the rabbits and pig love dandelions and the carbon footprint of their meal is considerably smaller when we can forage.

Small has mostly spent his time driving everyone crazy. He's NOT sick, NOT interested in staying still and expends more energy running around the place than I would believe possible. Yesterday was nice enough that he could play outside for a couple of hours. Mostly, when he's in a quiet mode, he's been making get well cards for Large and I. These involve cutting tiny bits of paper, coloring them, gluing more little bits of paper on and presenting them with a flourish. It's very cute, very messy and a little bit wasteful.

I'm hoping that with the improvement today, much coughing but no fever and less of the sunken eyes and ghostly pallor, the kids can be convinced to play cork forts again. I had been saving corks and wanting to make something with them. The kids have taken them over, setting up forts and armies and elaborate rules of engagement.

We'll see. And maybe today is the day I will seam Mark's fabulous cabled sweater together. How I hate seaming. I made a rookie mistake in picking the size to knit (finished size versus body measurements) and had to fudge a bit to widen it. So, the seaming, which I normally hate, is even trickier than normal. Plus, it's a wool sweater just in time for spring. None of these things are as motivating as Brain Age's virus buster game! See, we really have been too sick for too long.

Tell Me Something Good

noreply@blogger.com (Elizabeth) — Thu, 02 Apr 2009 23:13:00 +0000

I know spring is just around the corner because I can read the calendar. But it's still cold. And we are still sick. This is our second time around with the flu and this one is even longer than the last.

Aside from that we went to a funeral for a friend last weekend, I got the flu the day after. He was only 50, a gifted musician, a loving father and husband, a kind and generous man. He broke into our house one Christmas morning to feed the cats after the keys were left inside. He spent a great deal of time assembling bunk beds we took off their hands when they decided to downsize and move to a smaller place. Even after they moved, the family remained a part of our community on the block here. Now that family is smaller and our world is sadder.

What else? Oh, yes, my sister has a lump in her breast and my brother just got laid off. And a friend's husband just had lymph nodes removed.

When you are in the midst of things like this, especially with a fever thrown in, it's hard to see the forest for the trees. But spring is coming, we will get over this minor illness, the Harry Potter exhibit will be at the Museum of Science and Industry in a few short weeks, soon we will go camping for the first time with no child in diapers. I'm trying to think happy thoughts.

Not again

noreply@blogger.com (Elizabeth) — Fri, 27 Mar 2009 19:15:00 +0000

Just when we thought we were safe. We had the upper respiratory kind of long flu in February. We had the gastro-intestinal kind of flu in March. I thought we were done.

And then came an awful cold from out of nowhere. A few days before it hit, we were hiking in the Indiana Dunes and saw actual wildflowers popping out of the ground! This cold came with complete exhaustion. No fever, but for two days Medium and Small didn't leave the bed or couch. For two days they ate nothing, drank little and slept 'round the clock.

Now they are better, a bit congested perhaps, but up and dressed for the first time in a couple of days. Large is acting cranky and has those tell-take circles under his eyes. Mostly, though, he's working hard at being in denial. Almost as hard as he pretends not to like math.