Seeing Christmas Trees

First of all, just let me say that I am photographically challenged.  I admit it.  I have been trying for weeks to get around to putting new (or at least different) photos up on my blog.  And it's not going well.  Long story involving multiple computers, secret passwords, and very old cameras, but just be aware that I am trying. 

I'm writing in my living room as I sit on the fainting couch.  (The couch is cool.  Trust me.)  It's about midnight and my house is mostly quiet.  The tree is beautiful with white lights, candy canes and simple ornaments.  I am remembering some very good Christmases.

The first Christmas we were married we were dirt poor, living in a tiny (actually, microscopic might be a better word) apartment in Provo, south of BYU campus.  We had no money for a tree or decorations, but one night there was a knock at the door (we had no doorbell) and when we opened the door there was a tree, a stand, and a box of inexpensive ornaments.  We decorated as if we were kings.  And every person I saw became a suspect.  Was it my Grandma and Grandpa who lived in Provo?  Another young couple from church?  One of the older couples on our street?  I have no idea, but I hope they had a wonderful Christmas.

Another year we were living in Korea and our friends, Dan and Wendy, had no tree.  I asked why, and Wendy said they had decided not to get one because of money issues.  On the way back from Seoul about a week later, a man was selling Christmas trees on the side of the road and I asked my friend Diane to stop so I could get a tree for Wendy.  When she heard the situation she said she wouldn't stop unless I let her pay half.  So we got the tree together and back in Osan found a Korean man and told him to take the tree to Wendy's house, but not to tell her who it was from.  He agreed, and she called me right after that to say, "Someone brought us a tree!"  =)  Several years later, just a few months before she died, she called and said, "If I ask you a question, will you tell me the truth?"  This, I might add, is an unfair trick question.  I agreed, wondering what I could have hidden from her.  She asked if I had brought her the tree.  Darn it all.  I confessed, and told her Diane's part.  What can I say?  She has done so much for me.  A tree is nothing for a friend like that.

When I was in highschool my family moved to Morocco.  At first I knew it was my parent's plot to destroy my life.  I could write several books on the whole thing, and might some day.  But it's Christmas that I've been thinking of lately.  Oddly enough.  We put up a tree and decorated it, and what would have looked like a full-sized, wintery tree in our house in Minnesota, looked small in our huge, open house in Morocco.  The polished stone floors and French doors with views of flowers and our banana tree, along with the complete lack of Christmas decorations and celebrations outside made the tree seem out of place.  But it was Christmas.  We had a maid who lived with us and was a wonderful cook.  She and her relatives kept our house clean and our family well-fed.  But one day she said to my mother, "Madam, can I ask you something?  Why do we have a tree in the house?"  We were all surprised, and tried our best to explain why, when we were celebrating the birth of the Savior, we brought a tree into the living room and hung things on its branches.  That year my friend, Pierre-Paul, invited me to attend midnight mass with him.  (There is a Catholic cathedral in Rabat.  Foreigners may practice their religions in Morocco, but the Moroccan people are required by law to be Muslim.)  It was impressive.  I only realized later, when he asked if I would like an explanation about why Christians celebrate Easter, that he was trying to convert me to Christianity.  (In case you are similarly confused, Mormons are Christian.  Notice, it's The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints.  Click here if you wonder if I'm telling the truth.)  

But an odd thing happened around Christmas time in Morocco.  You know that really intense Christmas feeling from when you were little?  It came back, full-force plus some, in Morocco.  And just like in the Grinch story, it came without tinsel or TV ads or store fronts.  Moroccans, being Muslim, do not celebrate Christmas.  At first I thought it was odd that I would feel so much Christmas spirit in a country with no decorations, but then I looked again.  We had shepherds that walked past our house every day, olive trees and dusty roads, and people who knew nothing of a Savior.  What better reminders of Christmas.  We also had poor people.  I don't mean people without cable TV who get food stamps.  I mean people living in dirt huts who walk to the well each day for water.  And so, on Christmas we went into the medina-- the old part of town-- and just like on the first Christmas, these people had no idea the day was significant.  We went to the beggars and brought gifts-- not of gold, frankincense, or myrrh-- but of durhams (Moroccan money).  Instead of giving out change, like we usually did, we gave out sizable amounts of cash.  I remember a lady sleeping while squatting on the dusty ground, her head in her arms, her hand stretched out before her.  We put money in her hand and she opened her eyes and saw the cash and clutched it to her.  It was a good thing to do, but how much more if we could have brought them to our house and fed and clothed them.  I wish we could have brought them freedom of religion and from oppression.  But we had durhams, so that is what we shared. 

When I look at my tree tonight, those are the things I see.  A tree on my doorstep.  A tree on the side of the road.  And a tree in Morocco. 

Beethoven's Fifth Symphony

I heard the most amazing bit of music today.  I was listening to NPR, and some lady with a British accent was interviewing an Israeli musician who conducts an orchestra (the West-Eastern Divan) comprised of Israelis, Arabs and Palestinians.  He said his orchestra is not trying to bring peace, they are trying to help people see the human-ness of each other.  He feels this is the only way peace can eventually come to the middle east.

But, the music had nothing to do with Arabs or Israelis.  It was Beethoven's Fifth Symphony.  I thought I knew this song.  I have undoubtedly played it on the piano.  Probably all of us can hum it.  But this was something different.  It was like having seen sketches of the clouds at sunset, and even some decent paintings, but then- suddenly, when you think you are about to see another drawing, someone throws open the curtains and-- 

Da Da Da Dum!  There are reds and yellows and blues in depths and emotions you had never considered before.  The song had layers and emotions I could almost see.  There was nothing harsh or angry about it, like I had always heard before.  I was pulled into an emotion and meaning that was beautiful and nearly tangible.  

Then, abruptly, the selection was over.  It had only lasted a few seconds, and they went back to the interview.  I pulled into my parking spot at the grocery store and turned off the car.  But I didn't get out.  I sat still, thinking of the music, and how I could incorporate that same feeling into a novel or story.  It gave me chills.  It would take a genius.  Then I thought of the genius that had created the song in the first place.  No wonder Beethoven is considered a great composer.  How pitiful my banging on the piano must have sounded to him, when undoubtedly he had something much more along the lines of this performance in mind when he write it. 

Beautiful.  And amazing.  I'm going to see if I can buy the song, by the West-Eastern Divan, on iTunes.  You never know.  It's not only Taylor Swift songs, you know.   =)    

Shopping

I started Christmas shopping on about December 26th-- last year.  I'm pretty sure that was the day I went out and bought some really cool stuff (can't say what exactly, partly because my kids read this blog, and partly because I don't quite remember) and stashed it in the back of my closet.  I felt SO prepared.  and thrifty!  The sales on December 26th make Black Friday look like a trip to Tiffany's in NYC.  Throughout the year I've found more cool things here and there, brought them home, and stashed them in the back of my closet as well.  The other day I decided it was probably about time to reach into the depths, pull everything out, and see just how brilliant I am.

Well... Not so brilliant, it turns out.  Some of those things I bought last December, when my older kids were...um...not quite so old, have since become The Things They Wanted Last Year That Are Not Cool This Year.  

Great.  Now what?  Do I give them last year's toys?  Try to return them?  (yeah, right)  Pass them on to younger siblings?  I really have no idea.

I can say, younger kids are so much easier to shop for.  They get a pretty doll or a train, and they're happy!  It doesn't matter if the doll comes in a Wal-Mart generic box or and American Girl box.  It's a doll!  And therefore it is worthy of love.  The train can be Brio or Target Cheap-O, and wither way, it's good for hours of driving time.

Enter the consumer-awareness, electronic phase of life, and Christmas turns from dolls and trains to cell phones and iPods.  Music is cool.  A digital camera/mp3 player/text-messaging/smoothie-making cell phone is even more cool.  And so Christmas shopping becomes a bit more tricky.

Thankfully, my kids are a good bunch and will be happy even if they all get is socks and toenail clippers from Santa this year.  I'm happy to have our tree up and to hear Christmas music on the radio.  I'm glad my girls will be home from college.  And I'm thankful for the wonderful life Jesus Christ lived so we could have a Savior, and a reason to celebrate Christmas.     

How life is going... or My Trip to Utah

I flew to Utah last week to visit Rachel and Elizabeth.  It was a quick decision.  On Friday afternoon I thought, "I wonder if I could get a cheap ticket to Utah?"  Sure enough!  I called Mike at work, told him the price, and he said, "You'd better go, then."  I bought the ticket and got on the plane the next morning.  It was such a relief to be there. 

When I called Rachel to tell her I was coming, she picked up her phone and whispered, "Can I call you back?"  A moment later my phone rang and she said, "Sorry, I am in the ER with Sadie.  She's having emergency surgery in a few minutes and Grandma is in Minnesota."  

What??  (Sadie is my 17 year old sister, so Grandma is Sadie's mom, just FYI.)

Then my mom called and said, "I hear you're coming to Utah.  Are you staying at our house?  Because we're getting tile laid in the dining room and entry way, repainting the kitchen, waiting for our curtains to be finished, and the furniture is all moved."

Elizabeth sounded relieved that I was coming.  Her current medical concerns were the straw that finally put me on the plane... so to speak.  (No camels or broken backs involved.)  And Rachel just about cried.    

While I was there, I got to go to class with Rachel and Elizabeth, watch Elizabeth fence at BYU's fencing club, watch Rachel dance in her clogging class, take them both out to dinner with their room mates, pick up some all-natural groceries for them at The Good Earth, and spend a lot of time just talking and being together.  It was wonderful!  =) 

I also took Elizabeth to the retina specialist.  A couple of weeks ago she developed a large blind spot in her left eye, and she's been to some different eye doctors.  The retina specialist said he thinks it's MEWDS (Multiple Effervescent White Dot Syndrome).  He gave her an injection of dye and then photographed the back of her eye (the retina) and printed the photos.  Quite interesting to see.  The good thing about MEWDS is that, if that's what this is, it should clear up on its own after several weeks.  (7-10) We are really hoping and praying that's what it is.  We welcome all of you joining us in praying for her.  

Rachel has also been struggling with hypoglycemia and stress from some very difficult classes.  Life just seems to be made of trials.  I guess that is why we're here.  

Now that I'm back home, it's performance time for The Hunchback of Notre Dame.  Bethany is an extra and Josh is running the sound board.  I took Peter and Naomi to see it last night, but Naomi was crying at intermission.  It was too scary and upsetting for her, so I took her home.  We talked about the characters and what bothered her.  ("The women should have been nice to the baby Quasimoto.  They were mocking him when they made him King of Fools.  No one should whip another person.  And they were going to kill Pierre just for not having a wife!")  She read scriptures and then we watched a silly movie together.  She was looking much better by the time she went to bed.  

Rebecca

who read The Map Thief on her trip, and recommends it, and also read The Spellbook of Listen Taylor, and thinks it was really weird.     

     

A Lot of "Why?"

There are a lot of unusual things our family does, and people often ask "why?"  In case you're wondering, I thought I'd answer a few of them here.

Why do you homeschool your kids?

I started homeschooling for a couple of reasons.  First of all, there was no room for Joshua in second grade at the school near our house, so he was going to be bussed for over an hour (each way) to another school when he was 7.  I was not ok with that.  And then there was Naomi.  She took all my time, energy and attention when school was out, so if I ever wanted to look at my other children, let alone talk to them, it had to be during school hours.  We started homeschooling as a way for my other children have a mother.  And it was So Great!  We loved everyone going at their own pace, having time together, and learning cool stuff as a family, so we continue!  (And, btw, Naomi is doing much better and is now homeschooled, too.)

Why do you eat all-natural food?

Or, around this time of year: Why don't your kids eat Halloween candy? 

A friend of mine (hello Jill!) mentioned a couple of years ago that her son had a better, more cheerful attitude when he didn't eat certain artificial food colors, flavors and preservatives.  I just couldn't help thinking, "I wonder if my son would be more cheerful on that diet, too."  So we tried it.  And guess what?  It wasn't just my son, and it wasn't just a small difference.   We do eat candy, but it's all-natural.  And life around here is much happier!

Why don't you have a television?

Yes, it's true.  No television.  We lived overseas for so long where there either was no TV, or the shows were WAY beyond the Super Bowl wardrobe malfunctions, that we just got used to it.  When we returned to the states we saw no reason to pick up an expensive, time-wasting habit.  We do play a lot of card games, board games and read a lot of books.

Why are you Mormon?

I'm a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints because I believe that God is still alive and well, and that he talks to living prophets on the Earth today just as he did in the Old Testament and New Testament times.  I believe He loves all the people on the Earth, and so gives His word to everyone, including the Jews and others who wrote the Bible, the people in America who wrote the Book of Mormon (another testament of Jesus Christ), and people today.  And I believe that He intends marriages and families to last forever, not just "till death do we part."  =)

Why did you adopt?

We felt like it was the right thing to do.  (think of a lightning bolt with a post-it-note stuck on the end that says, "Thou Shalt Adopt!")  We felt like there were two specific children somewhere in the world who were supposed to be in our family, and so we set out to find them.  

Why is your house such a mess?

Ok, nobody has actually asked me this.  But I'm sure any of you who have been to my house are wondering.  Let me see... we have 6 kids, we homeschool, Mike and I both have church callings, and if I get a spare moment, I write.

Why do you write?

Because it's a challenge.  Because there are so many good stories to tell.  Because I love words and the idea that an experience can be shared by people all over the world, through different times, by lines printed on a page.  And because I hope, in some small way, someone's life will be better because of something I've written.

Rebecca  =)

Madeline L'Engle

After years of thinking I should write to Madeline L'Engle, I finally sat down today to find her address, compose and mail the letter.  Her influence on my life has been enormous, and it would be inconceivable not to let her know.  (That word, I do not think it means what you think it means.)

I pulled up her official web site and sat.  Stunned.  "Madeline L'Engle, 1918-2007"   

I first read A Wrinkle in Time in 3rd grade.  That was a hard year for me in school, and Meg felt like a real friend.  I was intrigued by the science side of the book as well, and felt the truth of the universal battle between good and evil in my bones.  I knew it to be true.  So I re-read the book. Again.  And again. And again.  until I had most of it memorized.

I began looking for other science books to either confirm or deny the reality of the scientific concepts L'Engle presented.  Were tesseracts real?  I sat on my bedroom floor and drew pictures of the first, second, third, and fourth dimensions.  I read A Geometry of Four Dimensions in fourth grade, although most of it was well over my head, and gleaned pieces of information that I could ponder while sitting in class with nothing interesting to do.  (Thus my poor grades.  Not that they were stellar to begin with.)  

Some time in highschool I made a rule for myself.  I was not allowed to re-read any book until I could not remember how it began.  I quickly realized this was a near impossibility with  A Wrinkle in Time, so made it my one exception.  I continued to read it at least once a year. 

When I took geometry in highschool I thought I had fallen into heaven.  Here, finally, was a math class I understood!  Not only did I understand it, I cold have taught it.  It was nothing more than common sense spelled out.  Any serious Madeline L'Engle fan, who had spent years trying to understand tesseracts, could do this simple highschool geometry with their eyes closed.  No fourth dimension required, no non-euclidian strangeness to understand.  Just simple proofs of everyday reality.  Heaven existed!  

I don't remember the first time I read A Wind in the Door, which is about Charles Wallace having mitochondrial disease.  But I do remember thinking, "That feels like what is going on in my own cells."  Quickly followed by, "Yeah, right.  Like you can feel your cells.  And as if your favorite author just happened to write a book about a rare disease, and you just happen to have it.  Oh please."   I let it drop.  

But I did have, a few years later, my own little brother who was very much like Charles Wallace.  And I did go on to major in physics because of my love of science sparked by A Wrinkle in Time.  And I did do science experiments in the kitchen, and move to exciting foreign countries, and battle evil in my own small ways.  And when a boy Rachel was dating said, "Do you know what your family reminds me of?  Don't take this the wrong way, but, have you ever read A Wrinkle in Time?  Your family seems a lot like theirs," I didn't stop smiling for days.  

And then, our family's unusual medical stuff became more pronounced, and I began doing some serious internet research to try to find out what was going on.  And I came across something that fit.  Something that I could hardly believe.  Mitochondrial disease.  The thing Charles Wallace had.  The thing I'd thought about back in elementary school.  It fit.  How weird is that?

So I decided that it was time.  I had to let Madeline L'Engle know about her influence in my life.  So I pulled up her web site.  And felt as if the wind had been knocked right out of me.  

She died last year, on my little sister Polly's birthday.  A memorial service was held in NYC, and if I'd known I might have gone.  But then again, with life how it is, I might not have.  

Maybe in the next life I will find her, in the millions and millions of people that will be there, and I'll be old and dead, too, and hopefully also a published author, and we will sit and talk.  I know we will have a lot in common.  Or I think we will.  or I hope we will.  Maybe she can read this blog.

It is appropriate that she died last year.  It was the year of the funeral.  My grandpa, my little nephew, and one of my best friends all died within a few months of each other.  And, apparently, my favorite author too.    

I just wonder, How did I not feel this gap in the world before?  Maybe because there were so many gaps forming, so many little black holes in the universe that Madeline L'Engle's was lost in the blackness.  I should have written that letter long, long ago.

Rebecca 

who really, really recommends A Wrinkle in Time to anyone who has not had the pleasure of reading it yet, along with The Arm of the Starfish and of course, A Wind in the Door. 

=)

I opened the mail yesterday to find a non rejection letter!  

Lisa Graff at Farrar, Straus and Giroux has read the first three chapters of Jacob's Peak and would like to read it all!!  Woo Hoo!!

I spent a couple of hours today sweeping out the corners of the manuscript, making sure it doesn't have any red notes to myself in the "for publishers" copy, and tweaking the ending slightly.  I also ran to Office Depot to get more manuscript quality paper, since it is about 300 pages, and I don't have that much good paper around the house.  I've made enough changes since the last time I mailed it that I figured I'd better print it again.

Wish me luck!

Rebecca  =)

So much news!

I'm falling behind on my blog... if that's possible.  (Is that possible?  It's not like I have a schedule, or due date for postings.  But sometimes big things happen in life, and they are so big that I'm working on sorting them out, and only after the fact do I have the time and emotional energy to post about them.)

Anyway!  first, I get to brag.  It's a parental right, and one of the rewards for 9+ months of your clothes not fitting and several hours of excruciating pain and really, really hard work.  =)

Rachel has been asked by her animal anatomy professor to do some research and to apply for an ORCA grant !  If she gets the grant she will be doing research on rattle snakes and how varying levels of rainfall affect their health by looking at isotopes of certain elements in their rattles.  (did you get that?)  This is something that has apparently never been researched before, so her chances of getting a grant are pretty high.  One of the cool things is that, of all the kids her professor teaches, the professor asked Rachel to do the research and apply for the grant!  What a compliment!  Way to go Rachel!  =)

Back here in Virginia, many of our family members recently submitted writing and other art forms to the Book Arts Bash.  And several of our entries are being considered as finalists!  You can look on the Book Arts Bash web site to see our entries.  (If they are not posted yet, keep checking back.  Or I'll tell you here when they are up.)  You'll find some wonderful poems, great artwork, and all-around incredible writing, if I may say so myself.  =)  And the prizes?  

Drum roll please....

Having your work reviewed by some of the biggest names in the industry, including Lois Lowry (The Giver), Robert Pinsky (Poet Laureate), Sara Gruen (Water for Elephants) and Bruce Coville (Unicorn Chronicles and many, many others), to name just a few.  Holy Cow!  Who wouldn't write their heart out for a chance like that?  Keep your fingers crossed!  =)

Our well-entertained fish (see my previous post about Peter dancing for the fish) have been moved into new and improved, luxury dwellings.  I think this was filling some emotional need on my part.  Clearly the fish had not asked for the move.  But I've been feeling so trapped lately, (just think of the housing market!) that looking at them in their 2 cup containers only made me feel worse.  None of us could go anywhere!  Swim to the right.  Turn around.  Swim to the left.  Turn around.  Swim to the right.  Turn around.  Repeat.  Forever.  Until your eyes glass over, you go belly up and get flushed down the toilet.  I could relate a little too well.

Since I'm not going anywhere exotic any time soon, I moved my fish to new, exciting locations.  We got two huge (if you're a beta fish) 5 gallon tanks and decorated them with pebbles, a sandstone arch from our family vacation to Arches National Monument (one of my all-time favorite places on Earth), a lovely blue castle with a mysterious cave, and other lovely and exotic findings from places as distant as the garage and my kids' bedrooms.  I was sure the fish would be thrilled!  

But apparently beta fish are not the high adventure types.  The one we left in the front room seems to be faring well enough, although he spends most of his time in one corner of the tank, as far from that foreign arch as he can get.  The other one we moved, not only to a new tank, but also to a new room, and it appears that may have been a little too much change for his poor constitution.  His color is not looking so good, and instead of gobbling down his food, he just stares at it.

Darn it all.  I offer a little excitement and then find out they are fish of a different color.  They remind me of some of my in-laws.  No sense of adventure.  (sorry, family.  no offense intended.) 

Rebecca

who is dreaming of touring Antarctica, climbing to Machu Pichu, exploring the Galapagos, and sitting on the crumbling remains of Ancient Greece.... sigh....  

Chocolate-Covered Peanut

I took the kids to the pool today and while they swam, I read.  

As you may or may not know, my two youngest are adopted from Ukraine, and we have struggled as a family with the severe emotional disabilities Naomi has faced-- through no fault of her own-- because of her early life situation.  She has made Amazing, Miraculous progress in ways that professionals told us was not possible.  But I'm not a perfect mom, (is anyone?) and lately I've been feeling like I could use an injection of courage and good thoughts on our situation.   

So... the book I was reading is Attaching in Adoption, by Deborah D. Gray.  It's not the kind of book you recommend to your book club, any more than you would talk about suicide attempts in your preschooler with the moms' play group.  But for parents of kids with attachment issues, it is a God send.  Believe me.

I've read pieces of the book over the past several years, looking up information as I need it, being careful not to overwhelm myself with more info than I need. But today I read the last page of the book.  Let me share it with you.

A child with malnutrition and severe abuse in her background attempted to injure me several times.  As she improved, she was invited to her first-ever birthday party.  She brought me a chocolate-covered peanut from the party-- carefully saved in a plastic bag.  "I saved two, one for my mom and one for you.  Eat it," she said.  "It's good.  It's got a nut inside."

She shared her hurts with me; she shared her party.  When living in that moment, watching her face and her mother's, life was sweet-- and I have never savored a better nut.

I looked at Naomi doing summersaults in the pool and cried and laughed.  

It's good.  It's got a nut inside.

So, so true.  And, like Deborah Gray, I have never savored a better nut.

Rebecca  

Can You Fly?

I had no idea, when I went to the library on Wednesday, that it would be any more memorable than any of our other library trips.

My kids were scattered all over the place finding who-knows-what.  Books, magazines, DVDs... watching the snapping turtle paddle around his tiny world... talking to ever-patient librarians.... stuff like that.  I was in the young adult section looking for something good I had not already read  (this is a constant challenge to which I'm sure many of you can relate) when I became aware of someone beside me.  I kept reading, thinking it was one of my children, but when a voice said, "hello," I paused. 

I turned to see a black boy with huge brown eyes sitting on the tall chair beside me, swinging his feet, one shoelace untied and dangling toward the floor.  "Hello," I answered. 

 

"My name is Jamal," he said, as if this was what I wanted to know.  He was right.  Then he answered my next question.  "I'm four.  And this is a tall chair.  But I can get off it."  He jumped down.  "And I can get back up."  He climbed back up.

I wondered what I could possibly say to this amazing feat. "Wow!  You must be really good at playing on the playground!"

He leaned in closer, looked me right in the eye, and whispered intently, "I can fly."

I stared at him, shocked by the force and honesty of his statement, until after a moment I remembered that this was a four year old boy in the library, and that he probably couldn't really fly-- although something about his sincerity, or my gullibility, had caused me, for just a moment, to be totally impressed.  And jealous.   

He must have seen something in my eyes because he leaned in closer and asked, "Do you want me to teach you?"

I had to blink before I could hoist a smile onto my face.  "Sure!"  

He sat up and looked around the library, leaning back on his chair to see behind the shelves.  Then he turned back to me.  "My babysitter is here today.  How about tomorrow?"  

He looked so sorry, and I was disappointed as well.  "Tomorrow would be great," I said, although I must admit, I was wondering how he would find me tomorrow.  Thursdays are busy days.  But for flying lessons I could cancel just about anything, including peace talks to stall Armageddon. 

Our conversation moved on to other topics, like where my parents were, and if any of my kids knew how to drive cars.  Apparently driving cars impressed Jamal almost as much as flying impressed me.  After a while he jumped of the chair and went to find Peter and talk to him-- a great match, I have no doubt.  And then it was time to check out our books (I did find one I hadn't read) and go home.

It's now Monday and I'm still waiting for those flying lessons.  Maybe I should have given him directions to our house.  Or maybe he's waiting till he gets his driver's license.  I hope that babysitter is nice to him. 

Rebecca

who checked out The Swan Maiden by Heather Tomlinson, and finds it a tolerable substitute for flying herself

Changing Sheets

My back is killing me this morning, and I know why.  I helped Bethany change her sheets last night.

We have an odd collection of beds at our house, gathered from the many places we have lived.  Our first bed, right after we were married, was a king sized affair wedged into a furnished basement studio apartment.  We had to inch sideways to get past it into the kitchen.  The carpet was fire engine red shag, the gap under the front door was large enough to see visitor's shoes before opening the door, and we heated the place by leaving the gas oven on with the door open.  A visitor once asked, "How long are you going to live under here? --I mean, down here?"  Not long, thank heavens.

Our next bed was a mattress pulled from a garbage dump near our second apartment.  We kept it for years, one the floor, without a box spring, until I woke up one morning with cuts on my back from the springs poking through and we decided it really was time to actually buy a bed.  We pulled money together and bought an amazingly comfortable bed that causes us to be late for church and other important commitments because it's so dang hard to pull yourself away from.  Six months later we moved to Saudi Arabia and put our bed into storage. 

We didn't have to buy beds in Saudi Arabia, because our (huge) house there was furnished by the government, tab picked up by the Saudis.  We had nice stuff.  It did not come back to the states with us, unfortunately.

We started serious kids' bed shopping in Korea, ironically enough, where the natives (people from Korea-- not tribal villagers) sleep on yos.  We bought two yos-- thick padded things my husband confuses with European comforters, but much heavier than a comforter.  In the morning, to make your yo, you just fold the whole thing up and set it in a corner.  This would have made that studio apartment much more livable.  But we Americans like our large furniture, don't we?  

We also bought the back-breaking bed in Korea.  It's a trundle bed, and is really cute.  Just like middle school girls, it may look lovely, but watch out!  That thing is a killer.  The *!%^*?#! mattress and box springs are all one piece, weigh about 500 tons, and are set down in the frame that has cute little sides, just the right size and shape for holding fingers in place while the weight of the mattress crushes them.

When I told Rachel that Bethany and I were going to go change her sheets last night (it is at least a two person job) she said, "Mom, be careful.  Under no circumstances should you put your fingers under the mattress, no matter what.  It might seem like the right thing to do at the time, but don't-- under any circumstance, put you fingers under the mattress."  Words of wisdom.  Believe me.

So Bethany and I Heaved and Hoed and shouted things like, "Hurry, please!  Hold this part up with your feet while I struggle under here to lift this other part and pull the sheet over the corner."  "Don't drop it!"  and "Ok, move your hands and feet slowly away while I brace my back against the wall and keep you from getting smashed.  Now on the count of three I'm going to drop it.  Are you ready?"  It took about an hour, and at one point I had to go wake Josh up and ask for his help.  We needed a strong guy.

At the end of it all we stood back to admire our work and I think, "No wonder those Koreans sleep on yos," as I grab an ice-pack for my back, take 800 mg of ibuprofen and collapse into my own comfy bed (retrieved from storage after Saudi Arabia) beside my sleeping husband.

But Bethany has clean sheets-- at least for another couple of weeks.        

Joshua's Birthday and the 70's

He's 16, and tonight is his birthday party.  He's invited 15 people -- both boys and girls.  They've had cookies and ice cream, opened presents, and right now they are outside playing capture the flag.  Several of the boys brought their guitars, and for a while they all sat in front of the house playing and singing together.  Kind of cool.  It's nice that Joshua's friends are also Bethany's friends, so they are having fun together.  And I really appreciate that there is such a good group of kids around.  

Mike has taken to reliving the 70's by watching old television shows on the internet.  I think it's some sort of mid-life crisis.  I'm just waiting for him to walk in the door with platform shoes.  He's watching something called, (I think) "Welcome Back"?  He's shown the kids Sigmund the Sea Monster, Land of the Lost, and the old Batman show.  My kids reaction?  "Did you really watch this stuff?  No wonder Star Wars was such a big hit."   I personally think the 70's were bad enough the first time around, and I'm happy to forget them.  But, as Mike points out, I did wonder at the time why my Dad didn't dress more like Mr. James, my fourth grade teacher.  He (Mr. James, that is) was SO cool.  He had the biggest bell bottoms I'd ever seen, the longest collars, and an afro that my dad-- being white and mostly bald-- could never pull off.  But still, Dad could have tried.  Besides the wardrobe, Mr. James let us watch 3-2-1 Contact ever friday afternoon, and he read us a chapter from a Newbery book every day after lunch.  I thought he was the best thing since Holly Hobby.  

As I type, I have Brigitta, our tail-less, large gray cat sitting on my chest.  (I'm lying on the couch with my laptop propped on my knees so I can see over her.)  She's quite warm, and is purring loudly.  It makes typing a bit difficult, though.  And parents are starting to arrive to pick up their kids.  So I'd better go.

BTW, I highly recommend Evil Genius and the sequel, Genius Squad.  For some reason, they make me want to develop computer hacking skills.  But they are also a lot of fun.

Rebecca  =)

The Economy

I have been, along with the rest of the country, concerned about the current economic situation.  I've made some attempts to understand the situation, and here are my thoughts so far.

I've lived in a socialist country-- the Netherlands (aka Holland).  Although people are people wherever you go, there are some clear differences between life in the Netherlands vs the US, caused by differences in government.

In the Netherlands people rely on the government to provide for most of their needs.  While this may seem lovely and charitable in a Robin Hood sort of way, the reality is that they have a disincentive to work.  Trying to find a plumber when your bathroom is spouting water can be a huge challenge.  Why?  After earning a certain amount each year, the rest is taxed 100%.  By the end of the year, most workers have earned all they are allowed to keep, so why work anymore?  For the common good?  Yeah, right.

If you need to go to the doctor, you have one choice only-- the doctor the government has assigned to your neighborhood.  (Think public schools in the US.  You go where you are assigned.)  Charming idea-- neighborhood doctors.  But what if the guy assigned to your neighborhood barely passed medical school? Oh well.  And since doctors are paid by the government a set salary, they have no incentive to actually cure anyone, no need to attract patients.  Whether you get better or not, they are paid the same.  And since their clients are assigned to them, nice bedside manners are completely optional.  (It may seem they are in the US, too.  But at least we have choices.  If Dr. One is a total jerk, we can go see Dr. Two.)  

So what does all this have to do with the US economy?

Well, I happen to believe that the government should govern.  Not run our lives.  Because I think things run more smoothly when the bureaucrats keep their paws out of the stew.  I don't want the government taking control of our companies, our money, and our lives any more than they already have.  In fact, if they'd back off a bit, I'd be thrilled.

If all this has been caused by debt-- families unable to pay their mountains of debt, homes going into foreclosure, companies failing because of too much debt-- then why would we want to pass this all along to our government?  If families, mortgage holders, and huge Wall Street companies can fall from excess debt, then so can governments.  And, flawed as it may be, I am rather partial to the US government.  I really don't want them to collapse financially.  And I really don't want to set a precedent for the government owning, and bailing out, private companies.  (Go ahead, say the precedent has already been set.  But if we've made a mistake in the past, does that mean we should keep making it?)

I'm relieved the $700 billion deal didn't go through.  To be honest, I'm disgusted with Bush's repeated grabs for more power.  An unnecessary war, NCLB, and now the government soaking up debt for private companies-- this has got to stop.  I think the $700B deal is an attempt to stop the economy from failing on his watch-- "Just patch things together long enough for me to get out of office, and then let them collapse."  We, as individuals, companies, and a country, have made some bad choices, and now we are facing the consequences of our actions. 

Rebecca

-who does, btw, support a resolution to the situation in Iraq.  We can't just destroy another government and an entire country and then go home.  We have to help clean up. 

  

Ok... one more thing...

Take a look at Sadie's blog-- linked at the right, a little down, under family sites.  (She's my sister, in case you don't know, and was recently seen in Saving LiZZy Fish, the hit movie.)  She has posted the cutest pictures of my girls at BYU!  And herself, too!  I have such cute kids and sisters!  Not to brag, of course.  I'm just stating the obvious.  

A slide show test run

But also...

My apologies.  I think I got a bit negative with that last post.  (And if you're reading this on the blog, you're reading the new post before the old post.  Forgive me.  Technology.)

Sometimes life is hard, that's true.  But sometimes it's also wonderful.

Sometimes your daughters call from college to tell you about a cool new dance, and just to talk, and you can tell they love you.  Sometimes your son gets to work on a historic ship right here in northern VA, without the drive to Jamestown, and it doesn't start to rain till he's done.  Sometimes the pharmacy is still open at night when your son really needs his kidney meds.  Sometimes not only do you get to visit with your friend, but your kids play nicely-- without fighting!-- right where you can see them.  Sometimes your daughter comes home from play practice bubbling with happiness and excitement.  Sometimes you have all the ingredients to make bagel pizzas for lunch, even all-natural pepperoni.  Sometimes your teen-aged son helps cook dinner for the girls at church, all of his own accord.  And sometimes your kids cheerfully take care of themselves and are kind to each other while you run to the pharmacy.

All in one day!

Yes... what's a girl to do?

After ranting on her blog about how hard life can be, she might just feel better and notice that life can also be pretty darn good.  

But she'll still take that Mom's Night Out.     

Sometimes

Sometimes life is just hard.

Sometimes the other kids snub your child.  You forget important appointments.  Your doctor calls to tell you your tests are all normal so there's nothing wrong-- even though you feel like you've been trampled by elephants.  It rains-- reminding you your car tires have No tread left as you skid on wet pavement.  You come home to that flooded-basement smell.  Again.  Your son's kidney stone is making him cry.  And when you finally reach your husband by phone at 9 pm, it's on his office phone.  

All in one day!

What's a girl to do?

My current ideas:

Tell those goody-goody tweens who snubbed your daughter that their jeans look ridiculous, and you're sorry about their Really Bad hair day.

You can avoid all missed appointments if you just stop making appointments!  Who needs appointments?

Pull that doctor's diploma-- frame and all-- off the wall, and hide it under a stack of those flimsy, too-short, paper gowns while he's chatting with the nurse.  Flatly refuse to tell where it is until he figures out what the heck is causing the elephant stampede.  (This won't be during an appointment, of course.  You'll be a walk-in.)

Just quit driving.  Since you've given up appointments, it shouldn't be too much of a problem.  Order out for groceries.

Move to Texas.  They don't have basements.  (Oh, yes.  hurricanes.  Move inland.)  

And finally, call the top generals at the Pentagon and let then know, in no uncertain terms, that the whole $7 billion Congress is debating won't be enough to cover your husband's overtime, but you guess you'd be willing to let them start there.  Assuming they let your husband deliver the check to you in person.  Tonight.

And finally, schedule a Mom's Night Out.

I have now revealed my list of things to do tomorrow.  And at least one of them I'm actually going to do.

I'll let you guess which.

 

Princess Ben

She's fat, somewhat of a slob, interested only in herself, and a princess.  And I finished reading the book about her in about 24 hours.  In fact, when I woke up this morning I laid there and thought, "...morning... yawn... should get up.... Princess Ben!"  And I was out of bed, flying to the shower so I could get in a minute of reading before driving the kids to violin.  I laughed and cried and reread sections thinking, "Did she just say that?  Ha!  She did!"  It's a fairy tale worth reading.  Five stars.

DNA

While researching ancient Mesopotamian civilizations, I came across a very bizarre, but somewhat useful website on the Sumerian pantheon.  While it had lots of useful insights to Sumerian mythology and connections to other mythologies and religions around the world, it also proposed a somewhat unusual idea:  That humans on earth are the result of a genetic experiment by aliens from other planets, and that the experiment will end in the year 2012.  My first thought was- "The presidential elections are even more useless than I thought they were!"  Compared to the alien genetic experiment ending, Obama and McCain are nothing.

Phew!  That's a relief.

This did present a whole host of other questions the web site did not address, like What will the aliens do with us when their experiment is over?  And, Are the experimentees who are aware of their fate planing to do anything about it?  Build a spaceship and leave?  Beg the aliens for a little more time?  Join them?  Hmmm...  so many possibilities to consider.

But I digress.  What I really wanted to talk about was DNA.  The above mentioned web site also proposed that the ancient symbol of health-- two snakes twined about a pole-- was actually a representation of DNA left behind by the aliens.  What an idea.

Perhaps this stuck in my head because I've been thinking a lot about DNA recently.  Have you ever considered the pros and cons of being built from DNA?  Pros: You are a composite of your ancestors' DNA, including (most likely) their health, IQs, food choices (which can alter DNA), toxic exposures, etc.  Cons:  You are a composite of your ancestors' DNA, including their health, IQs, food choices, toxic exposures, etc.

How is this a pro?  Well, for one thing, as a parent raising biological offspring, you know what ballpark your child will be in.  You may think they are in left field sometimes, but at least they're not in a different solar system.  If Johnny gets sick you know to consider Uncle Joe's diabetes and Aunt Edith's paranoia.  Suzy's IQ may floor you, but you're at least likely to be able to carry on a conversation with her.  

How is this a con?  Well, that toxic lab you or your parents worked in years ago may manifest itself in Johnny's health.  And Grandpa Smith's tobacco addiction may haunt your whole family for generations to come.  And like it or not, what ever is wrong with your DNA is likely to be wrong with your kids' as well.

Then of course, if you adopt a child there is no "insert new family's DNA here" port, so when Johnny is in the hospital with odd symptoms-- good luck!  And talking to Suzy may be like trying to discuss the baseball game only to find out she's playing in a hockey rink up in Siberia.

And what about evolution?  (Disclaimer: I am a creationist who believes in evolution.  While you'd think this would endear you to everyone, it actually just ticks everyone off.)  I am completely certain that God created the universe, and that he's still alive and well and running the show.  I also know that even the most die-hard anti-evolutionists can't argue with the fact that over-use of antibiotics has led to changes in the germs we're trying to avoid.  This is evolution right before our very eyes, folks.  I'm sorry, but you just have to deal with it.  It's real.

So, why is it still the Theory of evolution?  Why not the Law of evolution?  Like gravity? Because there are actually two parts to the Theory.  

1) Living organisms can change and evolve to better suit their environment.  Proven.  Again and Again and again.  The antibiotic example is only one of many.

2) Living organisms can change and evolve so much that they become entirely different living organisms.  Theory.  While it may follow (somewhat) logically from #1, we have no direct evidence for this type of evolution at all.  Forget the "missing link", we're actually looking for any links. 

But what about DNA?  Don't we share huge amounts of DNA with palm trees?  Doesn't this prove something?  

Yes, we do.  And undoubtedly it does.  But what, exactly?  Looking at it from a purely scientific standpoint, it is still Just A Theory.  We can like the theory all we want, but that doesn't make it real.  Because, like it or not...

truth exists.

It always has.  It always will.   

Galileo proposed that the earth went around the sun.  (Which was not a new idea, btw.  It was a very old one being re-proposed.)  This didn't fit with the current politically correct (or religiously correct) view point, but it was still true, and all the arguments against it couldn't change the truth.

And the fact is, God either did create everything, or he didn't.  He either exists, or her doesn't.  We either evolved from plankton, or we didn't.  We are either the result of an alien genetic experiment or we're not.  And all the wanting and wishing and debating in the world can't change the truth.  

Truth exists.

We can just do our investigations in hopes that we come know what is true.   Sometimes, like Galileo with the earth, we hit it right on.  Sometimes we don't.  Sometimes the world loves us for getting it right.  Sometimes it doesn't.  But none of that changes what is true.  Truth exists.

Which brings me to the question:  How do we really know something?  But that is a topic for another day.  (Go ahead-- sigh with relief.)  

Rebecca

who forgot to mention that you have DNA both in the nucleus of each cell and in your mitochondria-- and they are not the same.  Cool, huh?  And they are passed along in different ways, too.  But that is also a topic for another day.

        

Writing

The other day I spent hours trying to find my old blog.  I tried everything I could think of, including Googling myself (which brought up some interesting results, by the way, none of which were relevant) and trying to hack into my own site.  I ended up just cursing my stupid brain and deciding there was nothing to be done.  The blog was lost.  

Then a few moments ago I logged onto this blog and noticed again the other blogs I have access to, including some of my kids' and, for some reason I don't totally understand, one of my friend's, and HEY!  There was my old blog!  Right There!  Right in front of me.  Waiting to be accessed.  And I just have to wonder... What really is wrong with my brain?  How could I have Not Thought of That?  Humph.  You'd think I was getting older or something.

Tonight Mike came home early.  Meaning before 11 pm.  My kids looked up and-- after taking a moment to remember who he was-- said, "Dad!  What are you doing home?"  Like he doesn't live here.  Mike asked if he could fix dinner (bless the man!) and suggested I take some time off from single parenting and go write.  Then it was my turn to take a moment to register.  Write?  You mean, like a book?  I did used to do that, didn't I?  And then I felt that moment of panic.

Now if you happen to be a writer yourself, you'll know exactly what I'm talking about.  You've had a few weeks when, for whatever reason, you have not been able to write.  (Like maybe your spouse has been living at the office and you've been running life single-handedly.  Just for instance.)  And then the thing you have been aching for-- time to write, to get back to that character that has been following you around while you fold laundry-- presents itself, and you freeze.  Can I still write?  What if I can't?  What if the characters won't talk to me after I have ignored them for so long?  What if they have gone back to wherever they came from, along with my muse, and I just stare at a blank screen? ...Maybe I should just fold some more laundry.  

But Mike was home, and that was a miracle in itself.  Perchance other miracles could happen, too.  Perhaps I could still write.

So I took my laptop and went to Borders where-- miracles Do occur!-- I found a seat in one of those comfy chairs in a warm spot and opened the manuscript I had been working on weeks ago.  It was still there, and I must admit, I still liked the characters.  I edited a bit and moved into the real writing when

Ding ding ding, Ring ring ring!

my cell phone rang.  And there was Mike, my sweet husband who was home with the kids, letting me know he could not pick up the Panera bread donations because we had left his car at the commuter lot that evening.

Ugh.

I saved my work, shut down the computer, and rushed to Panera to pick up the donations for Lakeridge this week.  They let me in, even though I was there a few minutes late, which was very kind of them.  And they gave me bags and bags of bread for hungry people to eat, which is very, very kind of them.  But I swear I could see little Annabelle, destined to overthrow the kingdom when she grows up, wearing her soft slippers and new green dress and scowling at me.  She's been waiting weeks to grow up, to get out of the garden where she spoke of her true identity to her uncle, the king's spy and-- although they don't know it yet-- were overheard by someone who stood in the shadows of the garden door.  But she will have to wait, although she's not patient by nature, because my children are ready to read scriptures before they go to bed and Mike is home and I should really spend some time with him, too. 

Rebecca

who finished reading Aurelia by Anne Osterlund recently-- was it yesterday?-- and enjoyed it quite a bit.  =)     

Winner!

Yes!!!

For the first time ever, I did it!  I beat my computer at the game Hex!  Go ahead.  Give it a try.

See if you can win. 

(But if you do, and if it's on your first try, just don't tell me, ok?  I don't want to hear about it.)

And hey!  no fair reading the hints before you give it a try.  I've been working on this in my rare free moments for a while now, and finally gave in a read the strategy hints tonight while waiting up for Josh to come home. Not that that had anything to do with my finally beating my computer.  The two were totally unrelated.  

Now, just as I was typing my phone rang and guess what?  It was Josh, ready to be picked up.  huh.  I thought they were dropping him off.  

I guess I'll go.

Rebecca  =)

proud winner of Hex    

Real Life

When I was younger-- like junior high age (middle school hadn't been invented yet)-- I used to cut out pictures from magazines and catalogs and create pictures of my future life.  I would glue the pictures onto sheets of paper to make maps of my future home.  These beautiful french doors will lead to my garden... This cute blond girl will be my daughter named Alice (after the Wonderland heroine).... This huge and immaculate kitchen will be in the west wing of my house.... and this tower will be just off the master bedroom suite, so I can have the smaller library of my favorite books close at hand.  I tried to find a picture of a husband that looked as much as possible like Joel, a boy in my school that I had a terrible crush on, but to whom I had never actually  spoken.  He would clearly make a wonderful husband.  After all, he had really nice hair. 

I thought of this the other day after the basement had flooded.  Everything non-perishable from the storage room was in the garage, our food storage was all over the dining room, and one of our cats had begun boycotting the litter box.  (From what I read online, rearranging furniture can be stressful to cats.  I figured the whole flooded basement situation probably qualified.)  I was fed up with not being able to use the garage or the dining room, with not being able to find anything (think construction zone mixed with a house just after moving) and with the smell of cat urine everywhere.

I tried cleaning the house, but everywhere I went to put something away I found another thing the cat had urinated on.  My cheerful "let's clean up the house!" attitude turned into something more like, "What are you all doing just sitting there?  Can't you see there is a disaster here?  Get up!  Work!  Be feverishly cleaning!"  My children started watching me carefully out of the corners of their eyes while scrubbing and saying things like, "It's ok, mom.  Don't hyperventilate.  We'll get it clean."  I bagged up smelly backpacks, stinky tennis shoes, and anything else that was unfortunate enough to be in my path.  But when I got to the garage with the trash, I opened the door and stopped.  Others had taken the trash out before me, and --unable to find a path through the piles of stuff to the trash can-- they had dumped bags of trash on top of the piles and all around the garage door.  I tried hitting the garage door opener so I could sidestep the mess, but it wouldn't open.  

One of my kids found me just then, and seeing the look in my eye, suggested this might be a good time for me to go get in the shower.  I dropped the trash bag onto the pile and went upstairs.  But when I opened my bathroom door, there were two huge Rubbermaid boxes full of Legos soaking in water and urine deodorizer-- one in the shower, the other just inside the door-- blocking my entrance to the room.  

I called to Joshua to ask how I was supposed to get in the shower with his Legos in my bathroom.  He pointed out that we have two showers in the house.  

oh yes.  

I gathered up my towel, shower cap, and a change of clothes and made my way to the kids' bathroom.  (When I told Rachel about this later, she groaned at this point, knowing the usual state of the kids bathroom.)  Let me just say, a couple of boxes of Legos were nothing compared to the swimsuits, soggy towels, hair brushes and clumps of wet dog hair I found in the kids' bathroom.  At least someone had bathed the dog.  

At this point I suddenly remembered those collage houses I had made in junior high... The french doors, the library tower, and the immaculate kitchen... Where had I gone wrong?  How had I gotten into this mess?

As I leaned my head against the bathroom door post and cried my kids came up the stairs and someone put their arms around me.  "It's ok, mom.  Just step over the wet towels and ignore the dog hair.  That's what we do."  

I did have a very long shower that day.  And by the time I got out, the kids' shower was sparkling like it hasn't been since we bought this house.   

We have since put about half the stuff back in the storage room, reclaimed our dining room (but not our garage), consulted a cat psychologist online and found a non-lethal solution to the urine problem, and put the fresh-smelling Legos back in Joshua's room.  Last night I gave the dog a bath myself and cleaned up the kids' bathroom-- which really didn't need all that much work-- when I was done.  As soon as I finish writing this I plan to have a shower in my own bathroom.  

And I guess I'll keep my kids (none of whom are named Alice), and my husband (who looks nothing like Joel, especially in the hair category) and make due with my square Colonial house without either a west wing or a tower.  But we Do have a library, so all is not lost.  And I don't know who that blond girl in the catalog was, but she can't possibly be as wonderful as my real kids.  Besides, since she was only slightly younger than me at the time, she is undoubtedly raising her own kids right now, perhaps also with cats, dogs and flooded basements.

Rebecca  =)

   

Hurricane Hannah, Homeschool and Health

One of my kids' vocabulary words this week was alliteration.  thus the title.  =)

On the hurricane front, we're getting rained on, but nothing serious.  Dan (my brother) is in southern VA on the coast, and I suspect he's seeing more action than we are up here.  My only hope?  I'm praying for a dry basement.  Although, considering that we have not really fixed anything yet, Einstein's definition of insanity comes to mind.  "Insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result."  Yes... well... 

We started homeschooling this week!  With only four kids home now.   The last time we had four kids living at home was the turn of the century.  (Doesn't that sound ancient?  Like we should have been riding in horse-drawn buggies and wearing long skirts!)   

This year Josh is taking Latin online, Greek Mythology online, astronomy, Geometry/pre-calc, English, and is hoping to get a job.  (He applied at Parkway Automotive and will probably have a job as soon as he turns 16.)  

Bethany is taking astronomy, pre-calc, English online, French, History of the Ancient World, and Physical Science from BYU (university class).  Hopefully also ASL from Jennifer H.  

Peter and Naomi have all the usual classes, including French with BBC's Muzzy (wonderful!) and Song School Latin (very fun!).  

And this year we are trying to actually do P.E.  For anyone who knows me, yes... this is a stretch.  But the kids are begging for active stuff.  So we'll give it a try.  We're going swimming once a week (Peter is taking swimming lessons, which he needs, and the others will do open swim during his lessons), we will try to hit the open gym, and I'm looking into a kids' track team in the area.  

Which brings me to the Health bit.  Naomi's EEG was normal, which does not mean she doesn't have epilepsy, it just means she didn't have a seizure during the test.  (Which I already knew.  I watched the test.)  It does mean she is at a pretty low risk for developing other types of seizures.  Some kids who have absance (or petit mal) seizures develop other types of seizures as they get older.  Apparently the kids who go on to have have types are more likely to have seizures triggered during the EEG.  So that's good news.  And she is clearly outgrowing the absance seizures.  So hopefully it will all just fade away.  

One interesting bit (don't remember if I posted this or not... sorry if I did) is that 25% of all kids who are autistic also have epilepsy.  When I first heard that, I thought "No way.  I know a bunch of autistic people, and almost no one with epilepsy."  But then I started counting, and guess what?  Exactly 25% of the people I know who are on the autism spectrum, also have epilepsy.  Weird, huh?  I thought it was.

Peter has been sick this week.  Coughing, coughing, coughing so much that it's hard for him to do much else.  Sleeping and just laying on the couch a lot.  And for the last two days having a low grade fever that gets up to 103/104 in the afternoons.  He's also passing another kidney stone. Poor kid.  And last night he threw up.  I think from the kidney stone.  All in all, he's not feeling well.

And I'm struggling to keep my blood sugar in the normal range.  I apparently haven't been doing so well, and on Wednesday I spent a good chunk of the day in a confused state of semi consciousness, wandering around trying to make my brain work and wondering what was going on.  I didn't see the obvious solution:  Eat!  After Mike talked to me on the phone he called back and told Peter to bring me a Vitamin Water.  I couldn't figure out what to do with it, but Peter helped me out. 

So I'm making a huge effort to get the wildly keeling ship back to a steady forward motion.  I'm eating something small (crackers and cheese, a bit of meat and an apple slice, etc) every hour on the hour.  Isn't it amazing how much better our bodies work when they have fuel?  aahhh... the wonderful feeling of being able to complete a thought.... and still have energy left over to communicate the thought!  =) 

Happy Birthday to my sister, Polly!  

Rebecca  =)  

Congratulations, Bethany! Way to go, Rachel!

Bethany entered a writing contest recently in the Homeschooling magazine.  The kids were given a starting sentence and had to write a story from it.  I'd forgotten she entered, and then a package arrived in the mail for her.  She opened it and said, "Hey!  Hey!  I won!"  =)  The prize was a book about the ocean.  (Unrelated to the topic of the story.)  Bethany said, "If they knew me, they would have chosen a different book."  She's afraid of things that live in the deep.

So, another writer in the family.  =)  Good job, Bethany!

And in other news, Rachel did a very brave things and went out on her own to get an apartment, with no established friends as room mates, in a new part of town.  She has an apartment, she has a computer, she's signed up for killer classes this semester, and she's showing a younger sister the ropes.  Another brave person in the family.  =)  Excellent job, Rachel!

Rebecca  =)

proud mom of 6 wonderful kids

DC/Hogwarts and life-changing days

I took Elizabeth to the doctor the day before she flew out to BYU.  It was a follow-up appointment with the endocrinologist, and it went about like all our doctor appointments lately.  (See the post titled What DO They Do?)

We left home around 2:00 for a 3:30 appointment in DC, and somewhere around the Pentagon, things became a little weird.  I've driven to this doctor before (it was a follow up, remember?) with No problems.  MapQuest worked!  Wonder of wonder and miracle of miracles!  But this time... 

I was supposed to turn right onto a street that, I swear, did not exist.  After crossing the Potomac and doing a loop-de-loop I came back to try again.  It still wasn't there.  So we tried to just get over into the general area in DC where we wanted to be, and go from there.  This plan ranks right up there with freeing the Iranian hostages back in the 70's.  Suddenly, the roads of Washington DC sensed, through some ancient powers, that they had a lost car on their roads, and they took full advantage of the situation.  

Streets suddenly changed from one name to another, in the blink of an eye, with no forewarning.  We turned off of one street, onto another street, only to find ourselves still on the street we had just turned off of.  We visited Reagan National Airport, the Mall, the Capitol building, Union Station, several scary neighborhoods in which minorities were NOT the minority, and thought we had things almost figured out-- we just needed to turn right and we'd be on the correct street-- when every street for miles decided to become One Way going left.  We rolled down the window several times to ask what happened to Madison Ave.  Or was it Massachusetts?  the first guy told us it was behind us.  We knew that.  We just came from there.  But why did it suddenly disappear?  The next person--a large black woman in a very small knit tank top that she was trying to wear as a dress--just shook her head and chewed her gum loudly with her mouth open.  I took that to mean, "I don't know where the street has gone."  I called the doctor's office to ask for directions and to ask where the street had gone, and the receptionist said, "It should just continue on."  I couldn't agree more.    

And then I realized what was happening.  I have always wanted to visit Hogwarts.  But airfare to London is a bit pricey right now, and I'm not sure about the whole 9 3/4 bit.  The Lord must have heard my unspoken wishes and given me a taste of the Hogwarts experience right here in DC.  It was the only thing I could think of that made any sense.  The moving staircases, the opening picture frames, and the secret passwords have nothing on our experiences driving in DC.

Sigh.  We are so lucky to have such incredible experiences.  Right here!  No airfare needed.  Although, I have to admit, meeting Dumbledore would have been great.  But he's dead.   So, DC will have to do.

On another note, my life has changed drastically in the past 24 hours.  My older two girls have both gone to BYU.  It was a big change a few years ago when Rachel left, and I cried.  But this feels bigger.  I think because they are both gone.  The two babysitters, dinner-cookers, and mature girl friends that I live with.  Both gone.  And I feel all alone.

It didn't help that after dropping them off last night Mike and the other kids went to church and I was home... Alone.  Completely Alone.  I cleaned.  And organized.  But with a lot of tears.  

And it didn't help that the basement was so Empty.  When Rachel left, the furniture did not get rearranged.  Bedrooms stayed the same.  But now... the basement, instead of being a bedroom, is becoming a family room.

And this leads to another way in which my life is changing.  The whole 4 1/2 years we have lived here, we have had--basically--one living space.  The first floor of the house is, essentially, one big room.  So if anyone wanted to practice the violin, or play the piano, or watch a movie, or have a friend over, it all happened in the same room where I was cooking dinner and someone was doing schoolwork, and another person was checking their email, and someone else was madly working on their paper that was due in 15 minutes while someone brushed the dog.  Yes, we have had The Family Circus meets Enslaved by Ducks meets Cheaper by the Dozen all in one room for 4 1/2 years now.  When suddenly...

We have another family room!  I have not seen most of my children all day today.  Even the four that still live here.  They have been watching movies and playing games downstairs.  Josh has had a friend over this evening, and it has not been a major stress factor.  I am writing on my computer, and there are not 5 other conversations going on around me.

It is amazing what one more room can do.  Truly Amazing. 

Trying to visualize my life this fall is almost impossible.  No older girls.  A new family room.  Josh not doing JROTC.  Seminary closer to our house.  And probably (ok, this one I have very mixed emotions about) no HTT this fall.  It's like we moved-- except that the same stains are still on the carpet.  Oh yes, and we still have to deal with the leaky basement.  But other than that, my life has not changed so much since the last time we moved.  Crazy.

Now, one last thing.  Just FYI, this morning I wrote chapter two of a new novel I'm working on.  I am still sad that my girls are not here, but writing 1200 words an hour makes a part of me feel happy.  And this afternoon I mailed the first three chapters of Jacob's Peak to Dutton, along with 5 queries to agents for a different book.  (And 6 boxes of life to Elizabeth at college)  And I took Naomi to the neurologist for her EEG, after both of us being up all night so she could be sleep-deprived.  

Book recommendation: The Dream of the Stone.  I'm not finished with it yet, but if you like Madeline L'Engle, you'll like this.  (I read A Wrinkle in Time at least once a year, usually more, from third grade until after I was married.  Then a few ears later I read it to my kids.)  It's strange, a good story, and fun to read.  

A little bit of good news!

When we were in the car this afternoon, Elizabeth asked if I'd seen the mail yet today.  I said I hadn't, and she said I had a letter.  I asked if it was a real letter or a rejection letter, and she said a rejection letter.  "Some day I'm going to get something that's not a rejection letter," I said.  And off we went to Costco to pick up boxes for the girls to mail their stuff. 

In case you're wondering, rejection letters are easy to spot.  They are written in my own handwriting, and the envelopes have been folded in thirds and then unfolded again.  In this business of writing, not only do you ask for rejection, you pay the postage on it yourself.

So this evening I went to find my letter to log it into my computer where I keep track of where things are.  But...

It wasn't a rejection letter!  It was from Dutton Children's Books, requesting the first three chapters of The Other Side of Jacob's Peak!  I had previously sent a brief query letter describing the book and my writing credentials.  And they would like to see more!  How kind of them!  How happy for me!  If nothing else, my query letter must have been well-written enough that they are willing to look at more.  They must have very good taste.

A small step.  But it is really very nice to open an envelope and find something other than a rejection letter!

Rebecca  =)

whose day, previous to this letter, was really not going so well-- but things are looking up!  

Breaking into Jamestown

First of all, Happy Birthday Naomi!  =)  She's getting so grown up.

This weekend we went to Jamestown for an employee/volunteer picnic.  We had to take two cars, since we only have small cars, and we have a large family.  Mike, Josh and Peter left first and picked up my brother, Dan, on their way.  I left later, after ELizabeth got done with work, planning to meet them there.

We got to Jamestown an hour and a half late (because of waiting for Elizabeth to get off work) and immediately suspected something was wrong.  There were no cars in the parking lot.  Surely they must have some employees showing up for the picnic?  I figured perhaps there was an employee parking lot I didn't know about.  We drove around and found a lot with a few cars, some parking spaces marked "Employees only" and two catering vans.  I figured that their employee picnics must not be very well attended, and we got out to try to find a way in.

All the building doors were locked, but one employee door opened when Elizabeth tried it, so we went in.  The place was deserted as far as I could see, but I figured they were probably down by the ships, on the grass.  We walked past the empty buildings, into the deserted Indian village, through the old settlement, feeling very much like the characters in Into The Woods wandering through the empty, cursed villages after the Pied Piper has taken everyone away.  

By this time we all really needed to go find a bathroom, and just past the silent settlement we saw signs to restrooms.  Hurray!

But they were locked.  WE could see down to the ships, and there was not a soul in sight.  Clearly the picnic was not here.  As we turned away from the locked bathrooms, an alarm began screeching.  I turned around to see Bethany shutting a sliding door and looking surprised.  Oops!

Suddenly a security guard came huffing along the path from the direction of the ships, waving his arms.  We just stood there, and I was reminded of my mother breaking into Monticello.  Apparently breaking into historic sights is becoming something of a family tradition.  We all have legacies we leave for our children.  Some are just more unusual than others.

I didn't give him a chance to ask anything.  "We're looking for the employee picnic," I yelled at him above the wailing sirens, before he could catch his breath.  

He shook his head, wobbling his many chins and looked at us.  "It's at the CSC."  

"The what?"  

He pointed off in some direction.  "Down 199, past the green 7-Eleven."  

Ummm...  "I'm from northern Virginia. I don;t know where that is."

He pulled out his walkie-talkie and told someone everything was alright, and to please turn off the alarm.  And we explained that we were just trying to use the restroom when we accidently pulled open the wrong door.

He kindly unlocked the restroom and let us relieve ourselves before ushering off the property.

We eventually did find the CSC, past the green 7-Eleven, and enjoyed barbecue sandwiches,  a giant slide, a hay ride and the live band.  It was good to see Dan, and the kids had enough fun to probably make the 6 hours of driving worth it.  Mike and Josh turned around the next morning and went back to sail the Godspeed.  They came home slightly burnt and worn out, but happy.

Have a wonderful Sunday.  This would be a great day to look at www.mormon.org.  Or www.lds.org.  For scriptures this morning I read part of the account of the Jaredites who left the Tower of Babel and were led to the Americas.  I read the bit about them taking honey bees and building their barges and wondering if they were really going to have to "Cross these great waters in darkness".  Don't worry.  They didn't have to.  It's a pretty cool story, and so ancient it feels.....ancient.  I love really, really ancient things, stories etc. 

Ok.  Gotta get ready for church.

Rebecca  =)    

Odds Fish, M' Dear

We've been enjoying the Scarlet Pimpernel lately, and Peter can do a wonderful Percy Blakney impersonation.  =)  If you haven't read the book, I can almost guarantee you'll love it.  The movie is wonderful, but the book!  It is apparently The Original spy romance novel, with fast action, a lovely romance, a brave heroine, and lots of laughs.  I cannot recommend it highly enough.

But lately the phrase, "Odds fish, m'dear" has been going through my head in reference, not to Sir Percy Blakney, but to Naomi. 

 

As I think I mentioned in a previous post, she fainted recently, and our doctor thought perhaps it was not a "regular" faint, but an absence (or petit mal) seizure.  I thought he was imagining things.  But I Googled it anyway out of curiosity.

Odds fish, m'dear!  Everything I read was a perfect description of one of Naomi's unusual behaviors she's had since we adopted her!  In stressful situations, she suddenly goes blank, eyes staring, face slack, unresponsive.  We call it the dead fish look.  And it is apparently, most likely a petit mal seizure.  

Since she has had so many other... umm... shall we say... odd behaviors... I did not think anything much of her dead fish look.  It's not as odd as some of the other things she's done.  I just chalked it up to Naomi-- an unusual girl.  

I had no idea it was a form of epilepsy.

Anyway, she goes in next week for an EEG in hopes of confirming the diagnosis.  We'll see.  

And then, yesterday, we got the official diagnosis of PDD-NOS, or atypical autism.  Also for Naomi.  Something I read suggested Mike and I may want counseling to deal with the prospect of raising an autistic child.  My thought?  I am WAY past being stressed about autism.  This is an improvement!  She's getting better!  =)  

(For anyone reading this who does not know our history-- -- it's a long story.  Very long.)

 Have a wonderful day!  or night!  If you happen to be in Nepal, thank you for the nice long email!  =)

Rebecca  =)   

Stories

First, a quote, which I found on Shannon Hale's blog, and which she got from G.K. Chesterton.

"We all like astonishing tales because they touch the nerve of the ancient instinct of astonishment.  This is proved by the fact that when we are very young children we do not need fairy tales: we only need tales.  Mere life is interesting enough.  A child of seven is excited by being told that Tommy opened a door and saw a dragon.  But a child of three is excited by being told that Tommy opened a door.  Boys like romantic tales; but babies like realistic tales- because they find them romantic.  In fact, a baby is about the only person, I should think, to whom a modern realistic novel could be read without boring him.

"This proves that even nursery tales only echo an almost pre-natal leap of interest and amazement.  These tales say that apples were golden only to refresh the forgotten moment when we found that they were green.  They make rivers run with wine only to make us remember, for one wild moment, that they run with water."

"The Ethics of Elfland," Orthodoxy, G.K. Chesterton

I have been writing down for the first time, and polishing, a tale I made up when I was about 16.  I told it as a bed time story for my little sisters, Emily and Elizabeth, when they were 3 and I would lay in between them on their double bed in Morocco and scratch their backs while I made up and told stories.  I made my little brother, Dan, the hero.  The story is called Prince Daniel, and since I know it so well, having lived with it for many years now, it took very little time to write.  I am thinking I may try illustrating it, as well.  Probably an exercise only, since picture books are not selling right now, but I can learn from exercises.  No learning is lost.  And perhaps someday, when the picture book market picks up again, I'll be able to do something with it.

I've also been turning over, researching, pondering and writing out plots for a novel set around 2000 BC.  It's a time period that has always fascinated me.  We'll see if anything comes of it.  I have a character in mind, and I know this is when she lives.  I just am not finding a lot of information on what people wore, ate, and did during the day.  Probably for very good reasons.

And I've been putting the finishing touches on another novel, very different from anything else I've ever written.  Since my "new" refurbished printer showed up in the mail yesterday, I can now print and mail stuff again.  Yay!  =)

Elizabeth is spending several hours a day trying to get a reliable copy of Saving Lizzy Fish burned for the Sundance Film Festival.  

Rebecca  =)

who hopes to go read Rapunzel's Revenge, a graphic novel by Shannon Hale that just came out.  Assuming she can get it away from her kids.     

What we've been up to...

I haven't had time on the computer lately-- other than first thing in the morning, when I write and do not allow myself to access the internet, lest I be sucked into something unforeseen and not find my way back to my manuscripts for several hours-- because life has been too busy.

Our basement flooded.  Again.  And the smell from it has been knocking us out for a few days.  We finally emptied Everything out of the storage room (no small task.  Thank you children!) and found moldy dry wall behind food storage buckets and the shoe shelf.  Ugh.  Joshua cut off the offending dry wall pieces, and we have the dehumidifier, the mega-air purifier, and a big fan running 24/7.  I think we need to scrub everything down with bleach, then seal the walls and windows-- but I'm not sure that will be enough.  This has apparently been happening with every major rain storm since the house was built in the 70's. 

While the kids were emptying the basement, I took Naomi to the doctor.  She haas not ben feeling well lately, and a few days ago she fainted.  I decided we ought to at least attempt to figure out what's going on.  (See my previous post titled What DO they do? for my thoughts on doctors lately.  No offense intended, doctor friends and relatives.)  Our Doctor said he doesn't think it's dehydration, (my thought) and he ordered some blood work (mono, lead, CBC and so on) and recommended visits to a cardiologist (heart problems?) and neurologist (petit mal seisures?)  I'll keep you posted.  I still think its just dehydration, possibly some low blood sugar, since she fainted first thing in the morning right after getting out of bed.  

I've been trying to print some query letters, among other things, but our printer is out for the count.  There must needs be opposition in all things.  (2 Nephi 2:11)  Every time Rachel tries to get her Sunday School lessons together, something happens to make it difficult, if not impossible.  Last weekend she tried to print the lesson, and the printer gave up the ghost.  

Thanks to our friend Jill (hi Jill!), we have info on a cool homeschool writing contest.  I am SO excited!  The prizes are to have your writing reviewed and critiqued by well-known authors, including Lois Lowry.  Very cool.  The kids are all working on things to submit.  And since there is a homeschool parent's category, I am, too!  =)

Mike has been working 15 hour days lately, and he just got home.  I'm so surprised to see him!  I think I'll go ask how his day was.  

Rebecca  =)  

Great Books!

I've read a couple of books lately I just have to rave about.

Do Hard Things by Alex and Brett Harris

Two homeschool brothers encourage other teens to rebel against the low expectations society places on them.  They cite examples from history and modern times of teens who made difficult choices to do hard things, and so made a difference in the world.   They host a web site (TheRebelution.com) dedicated to teens encouraging other teens in doing difficult, good things.  The book inspired me-- as an adult-- to get up off the couch and do hard things.  I'm making it required reading for my kids-- who are not balking, since it's pretty fun to read.  =)

A Curse as Dark as Gold by Elizabeth C. Bunce

This is a retelling of Rumplestiltskin that had me holding my breath and whispering advice to the characters.  A skillfully woven story set in England in the opening days of the industrial revolution.  It's been a long time since a book has gripped me like this one did.   

I Did It! =)

No, I didn't get a call from a publisher. Darn it all. But I DID figure out how to put a slide show on my blog. (You should all be impressed, in case you wonder-- except Dan. But hey! I'm not Dan!) The only problem... I haven't figured out how to get it up toward the top of the blog. And I have to go to the library right now, so I'm done fiddling with this for a while.

So... Please feel free to scroll to the bottom of the blog and see my cute kids. Just FYI, since this was an experiment, I just uploaded some rather random photos. There was no rhyme or reason.

Rebecca =)
who is feeling so technical. No laughing, Dan. =)

What DO they do?

First of all, Happy Birthday to Bethany!  =)  

Now, I have a serious question.  Please tell me if you have an answer.  And please take a look at the new survey.  

What do doctors do?  Do they ever actually diagnose anyone?  With anything?  I mean, if a person shows up in a doctor's office with unusual symptoms, but without already knowing what the diagnosis is, do they ever leave knowing what the problem really is?

We did have one good doctor. Once.  Years ago.  His name was Dr. Cosgrove and he was a pediatrician in Salt Lake City.  No matter why we were in his office-- ear aches, Legos in the nose, or heart failure-- he would pull out his little note pad that was preprinted with a checklist of things for him to examine, note, and tell us.  "Heart and lungs are clear, pulses are strong, ears show no sign of redness, eyes look good..." etc. etc.  It took only a couple of minutes, but occasionally he caught something during this.  "Did you know Joshua's right eardrum is about to break?"  As Joshua is climbing over the doctor to get a look out the window, grinning from one infected ear to another, yelling, "Truck! Truck!" at a passing dump truck.  No.  I didn't know that.  We came in for something else totally unrelated.  

And then there was Dr.Cosgrove's unorthodox idea that mothers were the best judges of how sick their children were.  Shocking!  He once told me, "My diagnosis needs to match the mother's anxiety level.  If I find a mild ear infection, and the mother's concern level is a 9 out of 10, I've missed something.  On the other hand, if I find something very serious, and the mother's concern level is low, something is wrong-- either with my diagnosis or at home."    

How unusual is that?  How ingenious?  How revolutionary it could be if others adopted the same idea!

But, Dr.Cosgrove aside, my question remains.  What do doctors do?  I mean, other than say, "I don't know," and remind you to fork over your co-payment as you leave.

Last year Peter was in the ER.  He had a fever of 104 that wouldn't go down even with Tylenol and ibuprofen together and cold compresses.  He wasn't drinking, and hadn't been for about a day.  I knew he needed IV fluids, so I took him in.  

The doctor ran a couple of tests, didn't find anything, and came to give us our discharge papers-- all without any IV fluids.  I was aghast!  I pointed out that his fever had not gone down, his eyes were dry, he was not totally coherent, and I would like him to get some fluids!  

The doctor brought Peter a cup of water and told me to prop him up so he could drink it, which I did.  The doctor said, "See?  He's taking fluids.  If he has trouble keeping them down, bring him back in."  Peter promptly threw up the water all over the doctor's pants and shoes.  I just about shouted, "Bravo, Peter!"  But I refrained.  The doctor looked down at himself and said, "Here are his discharge papers.  Sign here."

My mother had a very good idea, later, for what I should have done at that point.  I should have said, "If you'll sign a paper stating that you refused IV fluids when I though that was what he needed, we'll leave."  

But I didn't think of that.  So I took Peter home.  We found out in the next couple of days that he had pneumonia in both lungs, influenza type A, and mono.  All three.  At the same time.  And I now am quite certain he had kidney stones that day, too.  But the doctor couldn't be bothered to find any of that out.  

Check you in, check a couple of tests, check you out, check the box.  Check please!  Next patient.

The reason this comes up right now is that I took Elizabeth to the doctor yesterday to get the results of her (second) sleep study.  The doctor is a pulmonologist who specializes in sleep problems.  She had ordered the sleep study because Elizabeth has been so tired for the last couple of years that she's having a hard time functioning.  The sleep study showed that Elizabeth woke up (micro-arousals) 25 times an hour.  That's a lot.  Even for someone who has wires glued on their head and is sleeping in a hospital.  Her sleep stages were not normal, and there were extra waves of a certain type in stage two sleep.  The doctor said E's oxygen and CO2 levels were fine, though.  So she had no idea what was wrong.  Something.  But she doesn't know what.  So good-bye!

Two sleep studies have now confirmed that Elizabeth is Really tired.  Wonderful.  We already knew that.  But no doctors involved feel any responsibility to find out why?  

Just like Rachel's muscle problems (constant jerking), Bethany's toe problem (it turns white with apparently no circulation sometimes), my heart problem (LBBB-- the electrical system apparently quit functioning properly recently),  Peter's fever and dehydration problem, any of my kids fainting (which Naomi did this week-- but I'm not taking her in-- and Josh and Elizabeth have done in the past) and many of my siblings problems (medical =) I mean).  

Does anyone ever go into a doctor and walk away with more info than they brought with them?  Do doctors ever find out what's wrong?  Why on Earth do we pay these people?  Couldn't there be a system as I've heard China used to have?  You pay the doctor regularly when you are well.  If you become sick, you quit paying your doctor until you are well again.   I think it's a brilliant plan.  That would be the best health care reform of all.  Perhaps I'll see if some politician will go for it.

In the mean time, I think I'm just done with doctors for a while.  The seriously toxic prescription the neurologist handed Rachel, with assurances that the only possible side effect would be some weight gain (liar), combined with the complete lack of useful information all around, lead me to believe we should just say home and try to figure things out ourselves.  

Rebecca

who will post about the wonderful book she's reading soon!  =)