Sunshine After the Storm

After lunch the sun came out and so I took Bella out for a walk. She was very happy to get out and enjoy the day.



When we got to the park, I pushed her on the swing for a goof fifteen minutes. She cried when I finally pulled her off; but cheered up as soon as we were moving again. She's been in a much better mood this afternoon and is now taking a nap. I hope she sleeps for a long time. (2 hours, not bad.)

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RIP Mstislav Rostropovich

When I lived in Dallas immediately after I graduated from college, I spent a couple of years working for a group of psychologists. They were all great people and it was a very good company to work for. One of the doctors had been a concert flautist before she changed direction and to become a therapist. On a couple of occasions she gave me her tickets to the Dallas Symphony Orchestra when she couldn't make a performance. It was a rare treat. She had seats in the orchestra pit, about the tenth or twelfth row. I could never have afforded those tickets and would never have thought of spending what money I did have even on nose-bleed seats. (I did later because she'd sparked in me a desire for more.)

But the best performance I saw was one I attended with her. Her usual date (husband? friend? I'm not sure) couldn't make it and so she invited me along. It was a benefit concert, for what cause I can't recall. And these seats were front row, center.

Cellist Mstislav Rostropovich was the soloist and we were close enough that had I stood up and leaned forward just a little, I could have touched his foot.

I've been to the symphony many times since, but nothing has even come close to the experience I had that night. I can't find words to describe it. I've never been so moved by music. Especially the piece he did as an encore. I no longer recall what it was, something by Dvorák, I think; but Rostropovich had tears on his cheeks as he played with his eyes closed. And I'd be amazed if there had been an eye in the house that wasn't at least a little tear blurred.

And thus when I flipped on the classical station in the car on Friday and at the end of a beautiful cello piece heard that the cellist, Rostropovich had died, I paused for a little, and said a prayer: May God in his merciful kindness grant him eternal peace.

From his obituary in the Washington Post:

"It is my aim, my destination in life to make the cello as beloved an instrument as the violin and piano," Rostropovich liked to say, adding that in the making of music, emotion was more important than technique. "You must play for the love of music. Perfect technique is not as important as making music from the heart."

But I knew that long before I read those words. He played from the heart and loved the music and his love was infectious.

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Weekend in Maine

This week my sister-in-law, Francesca, had a birthday and so the family headed up to Maine to celebrate. We were only gone one night. We left early Saturday morning and returned last night.

It was a fun trip. We had a picnic by the lake, went to mass at the cathedral in Portland (oh the music was wonderful!), Bella got to play with her cousins and practice climbing stairs. We had birthday cake, of course, and homemade ice-cream. And spent Saturday night sitting around the table laughing and laughing and laughing until I thought I was going to have an asthma attack.

Bella took two long naps in the car on Saturday and slept pretty well Saturday night; but yesterday she didn't have a morning nap, just a short snooze in the car after mass. And no afternoon nap either. We thought the two hour car trip would be a perfect opportunity but she only fell asleep when we were about ten minutes from the house.

Then she was so tired and cranky last night, she did what she usually does when she gets tired: she fell. This time she split her lower lip open on the edge of the coffee table and then took a spectacular tumble backwards onto the floor.

So this morning we're paying for the fun. Isabella is having a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day. Not only does she have a fat lip, her top teeth are coming in. (The bottom incisors have fully erupted now.) She screams and yells every five minutes or so. Cannot be satisfied. Only took a half-hour morning nap. And I can't even take her out for a walk because it's raining and we've had two pretty close lightning strikes just now.

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Prayer Request

For my cousin, Brandon, and his wife, Mary. I just learned that they have had a second miscarriage. They've only been married a couple of years and have really been hoping to start a family right away. I know this must be a very difficult time for them.

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The Bride Violated

Adoro te Devote hits the nail on the head with this great post about the Church as Bride. Here's a selection:

The Church has always been feminine in nature; from the music, the trappings, the contemplation and mysticism, the beauty and serenity in architecture and in liturgical practice. Amazingly, men have also been drawn into this, as they cannot help but be drawn into the mantle of Our Lady who comforts them and gives them the strength they need to be true men after the example of Christ.

What we see today, however, are churches stripped of beauty, music divested of devotion and artistry, lyrics which sing to the people and not to the God we are there to worship. We see a complete de-personalization of Truth. We see bland, lackluster worship which cries out for innovation. We see masculinity in style rather than what is intended, that of the trappings of the Bride waiting to receive her Beloved.

Ironically, the radical feminists, under the guise of their ideology, have put our Mother Mary into the back seat, choosing to ignore her humble fiat in favor of seeking the secular understanding of power in the form of "ordination" and their misguided sense of "participation" stemming from their misreading and misinterpretation of Vatican II documents.

The Church has, as a result, actually been stripped of her feminine nature, which has resulted in the mass exodus of many worshippers, especially men. Men who are Marian remain and become involved as defenders of the feminine, which is what they are wired to be. But when the feminine mystery is stripped from the Church, what is left to defend? Where is the honor and the beauty? Where is the purity? Why should the men remain when there is nothing apparent to identify the Bride as what she is? Why defend an androgynous anomoly? From what?

Read the rest here

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Nature Study with Bella

Daddy has just left and Bella is crying inconsolably. So I scoop her up and head out the front door. Immediately she calms down and begins to look around her. She loves being out of doors.

I put her down on the sidewalk and she stoops to investigate some dry leaves. She takes a few steps and begins pulling at some green ground covering plants that have survived the winter. She continues toward the chain-link fence and rattles it for a minute, pulling at some ivy leaves.

She moves down the sidewalk in front of the house (Does she notice the warm sun that shines so brightly in her hair?) and begins toddling towards the neighbor's house. Does the sidewalk feel rough on those tender bare feet? After a yard or two, she plops down and begins to intently finger the little stones in the aggregate concrete. Then she crawls a few more feet toward the stone curb that surrounds the neighbor's flower beds. She pulls herself up to a stand and spends some time examining the bark mulch. Then she turns and resumes her walk, laughing and shrieking loudly.

She heads toward a tree, then veers toward the street, pausing as a car zooms by. I turn her around and we head back toward our house. She spends some time digging in the flower pots on the front steps, scooping up handfuls of dirt and letting them fall from her fingers. She manages to sneak a handful into her mouth while I'm not looking. I admonish her and wipe her face. Thereafter I'm more vigilant and stop subsequent handfuls from reaching her mouth.

Later, I put her on the bottom step and show her how to crawl upwards. She manages the next three steps on her own as I hover behind her anxiously. Her first stair climb.

We head inside for lunch and I wonder what she has learned today. She can't tell me, it's locked away in that head of hers. Later when daddy comes home, she babbles to him at length. Is she reporting on our morning adventures? We'll never know.

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Prayer Request

Forwarded to me by my dad, who is a secular Carmelite, from one of his sisters in Carmel:

My family in Carmel,
I humbly ask for prayers for my son, Justin, and daughter-in law, Cristina. They suffered a miscarriage yesterday. Cris was 10 weeks along. May God bring them comfort and peace.

In Jesus' name,

Olga

Please pray for them and for all parents who have lost a child. I pray that they are given the same abundant consolations I have received through the intercessions of all who have been praying for me. God is a loving Father and never abandons us in our time of need. May he send his Spirit upon Justin and Christina and fill them with his peace.

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Spring Cleaning

What is it about simply rearranging the furniture that can make a space that felt cramped, stale, unlivable suddenly feel open, alive, welcoming? After a long winter and dreary, rainy spring, the living room was feeling like a prison.

First I vacuumed and straightened it up and that made it a little better. Then, we gave away the love seat that we inherited with the apartment (My former roommate, our landlady, said she didn't want it and we could keep it or trash it as we pleased.) and we moved the television from the back room and put it in the corner where the love seat once sat. (I didn't want the tv in the living room, we had it tucked away in the spare bedroom; but for several reasons the arrangement really wasn't working, so I've had to compromise.) We also brought the recliner out from the spare room and stuck it in the sunny corner in front of the plants.

I thought the recliner would make the room seem cramped, but I can tell I'm going to want to sit there and read, it's a very comfy corner now. I still wish we had a nice armoire to hide the tv in; but that will have to wait. At least that corner now has more room for Bella to play in. Now if we can only keep her from punching the buttons on the VCR....

At least the new arrangement works for me. Even though today was rainy and cold and we were stuck inside instead of getting to the park, I was feeling pretty happy. Bella, however, still frants and fumes when she doesn't get her afternoon walk. I don't think she's very impressed with the new arrangement.

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Another Poem about a Daughter

I just found this poem, Interstate Highway and can't stop reading and re-reading it.

These lines especially:

we not yet thinking a child

though impossibly guessing her features

the feathery, minutely combed lashes



the tiny perfect nails, though not yet

the many later trees at Christmas.

And then these:

I recall the ways that time once gave us--

distracted by signs for meals and clothing,

travelers, heavy with ourselves



defining the gift that bodies carry,

lighting the one, inner room, womb for

our daughter. Seeing from above, I read

this love our child embodies.

Go read the whole poem here.

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Poetry Friday

Father's Song
by Gregory Orr

Yesterday, against admonishment,

my daughter balanced on the couch back,

fell and cut her mouth.


Because I saw it happen I knew

she was not hurt, and yet

a child's blood so red

it stops a father's heart.



My daughter cried her tears;

I held some ice

against her lip.

That was the end of it.



Round and round: bow and kiss.

I try to teach her caution;

she tried to teach me risk.

from The Caged Owl: New and Selected Poems by Gregory Orr

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Just Showing Up Is Half the Battle

In the vein of this discussion about what makes a good day of homeschooling, Willa writes:

When I think about it, I know a good day when I see one, but I can't MAKE one happen. Flannery O'Connor said that the writer's part in writing is to sit down at that desk and be prepared, and make the moves of a writer. You aren't guaranteed to have a great writing day. You may struggle through thorns for 4 hours. But without that sitting down and preparation, it is almost guaranteed that you won't have a good day. You won't write at all.

I think homeschooling is a bit like that. You have to show up. I spend a lot of my homeschooling effort, I realize, setting things up so that a good day CAN happen. This is good. Most writers only write for a few hours a day, but they are writers full time -- preparing themselves, gathering thoughts, pondering, even when they are feeding their peacocks (as Flannery did in her spare time). I think it is similar with homeschooling. You may only officially teach for a few hours, perhaps much less -- or MORE, turning the picture the other way-- if you are an unschooler. But the crucial part of that preparation is simply showing up. There will be slow days, thorny days, miraculous days. But if you are there, they will be good days. They will balance themselves out in the long run. You will see what needs to be done, and do it.

It's a bit of a tangent, but what she says about just showing up reminds me that the same is true of prayer too. I have good prayer days and bad prayer days. Some days I just open the book and I fall asleep on others I am distracted at every turn. (Today it seemed Bella needed attention once every ten seconds.) But the worst days are the ones when I don't make any effort at all and never even attempt to carve out a space for prayer. On those days I find that everything goes wrong, my temper flares at the tiniest provocation and, as I tuck myself in at the end of the day, I find I have much to apologize for.

To bring it back to homeschooling, I think an essential element is that everything must be rooted in God. If we don't start in prayer and end in prayer all our works will be found to have been in vain. And that's one reason I feel so called to homeschooling.

When I was a teacher at the state college, one of my biggest frustrations was the wall of separation between my faith and my work. I love teaching, but I often felt like I was spinning my wheels and getting nowhere. I know homeschooling will have plenty of those frustrating days, but at the same time it will be rooted in Love in a way that my teaching career never could be, much as I tried to breach that wall. When I contemplate my decision to homeschool Bella, I feel as if I've finally connected the dots. I've found my vocation at last, to be both a teacher and a mother.

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On History

"But part of the reasoning needed to convince man of his freedom must include reaffirming sacred history. And that must include remembering and retelling the fundamental choices made by Adam and Eve and Mary and Jesus and all the intermediate choices for or against God in that history. In hearing our faith narrated, it becomes recognizable as a history of choice, leading us to the present moment of choice, right here and right now. So the first requirement in regaining human freedom is to regain human history, to tell the human story as a chronicle of free will."

Archbishop Chaput from "Religion and the Common Good" in First Things.

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Food Recognition

Isabella has a first word: "yummy-yummy". (She says mama and dada but it isn't always clear that she distinguishes those sounds as words.) But yummy-yummy, also pronounced "yumMay-yumMay" clearly means that she's hungry.

She attaches it especially to a few favorite foods: bananas, cheerios, and frozen peas. Yes, frozen peas, not re-heated but still ice-cold. As soon as I open the freezer: "Yummay yummay," she cries.

Which brings me to the hilarious incident at the grocery store the other day. We were walking down the frozen food aisles and evidently Bella recognized the frozen peas bags: "Yummay-yummay," she said. Oh great, thought I, she's going to want to be fed. But she was content to hold the bag of frozen mixed veggies and smiled cutely at the woman who stopped to admire her pink Red Sox outfit.

Then she tried to stand up while I was putting the groceries into the cart, but that's another story.

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"Educational" Toys

Instead of composing my post about toys, I continue to blog about other people's ideas. Here, from the archives, are two good stories that I meant to post long ago, stuck into in a file, and forgot about.

First, via papa familias, comes this story about the effectiveness, or lack thereof, of leap frog and other electronic "educational" toys:

But two recent studies suggest that the oft-touted educational benefits of such toys are illusory, and child development experts caution that kiddie electronics, even those bought purely for fun, can have negative side effects such as inhibiting creativity and promoting short attention spans.

[snip]

Such warnings apply to other electronic toys as well, which experts worry discourage the kind of unstructured play that is crucial to children's cognitive development and undermine the formation of basic motor skills. "A lot of these toys direct the play activity of our children by talking to them, singing to them, asking them to press buttons and levers," notes Kathy Hirsch-Pasek, co-director of the Temple University Infant Lab, in a recent research summary. "I look for a toy that doesn't command the child, but lets the child command it."

I'm no Luddite, obviously, but I just plain don't like the talking books for kids from Leap Frog (and others), or all the other talking toys which supposedly promote reading. If I want my child to learn to read, I'll sit down and read a book (or two or six) to her every day. Mind you, I'm not saying parents who use these kinds of toys occasionally are bad or neglectful parents; but I fail to see the point. (And if the studies are right and these toys do promote shorter attention spans, then thoughtful parents might want to at least reconsider their use.)

I simply don't like toys that chatter and make noise. I'm the kind of person who rarely turns on the stereo, even though I like music. I like quiet more. We have to make a conscious effort to occasionally put on classical music for Isabella to enjoy.

When we do get such toys, I remove the batteries; but I prefer not to have them at all. Right now Bella doesn't know when we remove the batteries, but later it might become a battle. And toys whose only purpose is to chatter at baby, ugh. I'll let baby discover how to make her own noise by shaking a rattle or banging a spoon. Let her bang on piano keys or pound a drum or shake a bell. But
I won't give her pianos that play on their own, drums that command her to bang on them or all the other nonsense. How is she going to learn, to explore, if the toys do all the work for her? She's just on the way to becoming another passive consumer of entertainment.

In a related post, Jen at Suburban CEO shares her thoughts on baby Einstein and other educational toy trends:

Of course people have always wanted their kids to be intelligent, but good manners, religious values, etc. were equally if not more highly prized. But these days it seems to be the sole fixation of parents that their child be smart: every toy must be educational; hot brands have names like Baby Einstein, Baby Genius, Little Smarties, Little Laureate, etc.; every toy that plays music must have some Mozart in there on the off chance it increases kids' IQ's by a quarter point; parents of teenagers act like low SAT scores are punishable by death. I could go on.

This has been one of my biggest surprises upon entering the world of parenthood. Other parents are unbelievably competitive about their kids' intelligence. I just can't hang. When I was a more inexperienced mother I naively told a funny story at a playgroup about some clever thing my son had said. Rather than the amused chuckles I expected, the response I got was more like, "OH YEAH? MY SON DERIVED DE BROGLIE'S EQUATION WITH A CRAYON WHILE EATING THE ORGANIC BROCCOLI SOUFFLE I MADE HIM FOR LUNCH!"

I'd add to her list the odd trend I've noticed for letters and numbers to be on all sorts of toys for infants under a year old. They were on the Exersaucer, for example, a toy that kids outgrow long before they're ready for shape recognition, and I've seen them on other toys as well. Is it a marketing gimmick, designed to make parents think the toys have some sort of educational value?

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"Plastic Toy Elimination Campaign"

I haven't yet collected my thoughts enough to write my post about toys, wooden and plastic, my love for one and dislike for the other. Fortunately, Regina Doman writes beautifully about her love for wooden toys. I'll hopefully follow up with more of my own thoughts later.

So why do I give my kids only wooden toys to play with? Honestly[...] it's all about what I have to pick up off the floor.

I spent the first seventeen years of my life picking up toys, my own toys and the toys of my nine siblings. And I grew to hate so many different kinds of toys (particularly Legos and Fisher Price, sorry to say).

So when I started life as a parent some eleven years ago, I was adamant that I wouldn't be tricked into being in the position of caretaker of a quarter acre of Lock-Blocks, Polly-Pockets, Lincoln Logs, Barbie shoes, and Fisher-Price, no matter what I had to do. I became a Present Nazi to all my relatives, fiercely opposing gifts of Legos and electronic gimmicks with lights and sounds (what child needs more and louder sound effects than the ones he was born with?). I exchanged, I threw out, I gave away, I passed on -- and today, I am happy to say, wooden toys have prevailed in our house.

Yes, okay, we do have some plastic toys, but I'll explain what I do with those later.
But the main things lying around in our house are wooden toys. Brio tracks, wooden baby rattles, wooden push toys, and pieces of the wooden castle a carpenter friend made for my sons a few Christmases ago, which I photographed above.

Because it's all about beauty, for me. Even when they're lying in a dishevelved way on the floor like above, I like looking at wooden toys. Maybe that one writer was onto something when she said they were more natural. They don't jar the senses. They don't scream for attention. They "fit."

Her feelings about the subject aren't exactly the same as mine, but they resonate. I also love wooden toys and wish we had more of them. And yes, much of it is about aesthetics. To me wood is beautiful and plastic simply isn't. Plastic toys may be functional and fun, but they don't pull at my heart strings the way wooden ones do.

I also love Regina's suggestions for replacement gifts, which she titles "plastic toy elimination campaign":

A child can't have too many beautiful good books. Leastaways, that's what I feel (my husband has begged to differ). So whenever relatives or friends wanted to give our children toys, and I had a feeling they would send us plastic toys, I would suggest that they give us good and beautiful books. This can be a wonderful strategy for reducing gift-toy clutter and it's worked for us!
But of course, not all children's books are created equal, and some toy-spinoff books (ie: Barbie, Transformers) are just as as obnoxious as the toys themselves (and create the need in the child for the featured toy). Plus there are some children's books that are simply stupid.
So what to do...? You can suggest titles. And I had another idea from Sandra Miesel: she observed that the best children's illustrators out there won't illustrate junk. So if the pictures are breathtakingly beautiful, chances are the story is up to par.

I can't agree more. Which is why Isabella has her own Amazon wishlist with suggestions for both books and wooden toys.

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How full should a day be?

La Paz Farm blog asks: What makes a good day of learning? And provides some beautiful answers.

Then there's Suzanne Temple's take: Inch by inch

And Karen Edimsten's first thoughts ont he subject of a good day's learning and second thoughts.


And then Melissa Wiley addresses the topic, from the perspective of slowing down, finding a rhythm, and not trying to cram too much in.

I don't really have any thoughts of my own to add, as I'm not homeschooling yet. For me a good day is one when I put my own needs and desires aside and get down on the floor and laugh with Bella. For Bella learning happens naturally as breathing and painfully as the dozen times a day she falls and screams. I hope that learning will continue to be as natural and beautiful but that we can keep the bumping and screaming to a minimum.

Update:

(Because I have to be a completist.)

Karen responds with a post collecting good learning days. She includes some that I missed and says some very nice things about me. Thanks, Karen.

Karen updates the list here.

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Received in the Mail this Morning

The above picture was taken about five minutes after the DHL guy rang the doorbell. Well, I had to check them out. Make sure they work properly, nothing was broken or missing. Right?

I know I'll probably be enjoying them a bit more than Bella for a little while. But I foresee fun mother-daughter architectural ventures in the not-too-distant future. (Probably mainly consisting of mother building and daughter destroying....)

Thanks, mom and dad!!!! (Good to know you're reading closely.)

Update:

Bella finally awoke from her nap (2 1/2 hours, a new record!) and added her approval for the new blocks:


"Woo-hoo, I love my new blocks! Thanks, Grandma and Grandpa!"



"They taste good, too."


Buy these blocks here: Melissa and Doug Standard Unit Blocks (60 - Piece)

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Recently in Isabella world...

Yesterday being another gorgeous spring day, I took the cranky, teething Bella for our usual morning walk to the park. So much more in bloom now than even on Friday: forsythia in full golden glory, magnolias glorious in white and pink, daffodils, tulips, hyacinth, dandelions even. The windows have been open the past few nights and the songbirds are coming back.

Inspiration struck as I passed the playground where we seldom stop. I pulled Bella out of the stroller and plopped her in the swing, unsure whether she'd howl or love it. Love it she did. Not quite full giggles, but definite smiles as I pushed her. She swung for a good ten minutes before I pulled her out. Her first swing ride: success. Sadly, I forgot to bring the camera so no pictures.

We continued on to a nice grassy spot overlooking the harbor where I let her down to roam around at will. She played with the grass a bit and then found a nice long stick which she kept trying to suck on. I tried to show her how to hit stuff with it instead and so she walked along the park bench, banging on it with her stick, occasionally squatting down to draw in the dirt with the stick and then trying once again to shove the end of the stick down her throat.

Then we had to head home for lunch. And the rest of the afternoon and evening she was quite cranky, except for our quick trip to the grocery store. The poor thing has another bottom tooth coming in and it looks like the top two won't be far behind.

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First Time at the Beach

This morning my sister-in-law called and said she was taking the kids to the beach that is about ten minutes from our house. So we dropped our plans and packed up our beach toys and took off for our first beach trip of the season. Bella's first time.


Bella at the beach.

I wasn't sure how she was going to react. When Dom first put her down on the sand she kinda stood there for a second but she didn't cry. Then we held her hands and walked her along a bit. When the sand on her feet didn't seem to bother her, we let go and she took a couple of steps on her own and then dropped down and started to crawl. Before we could blink, she was off, crawling at full speed up the beach.


All alone in the big world.

Freedom! What a heady experience. Since that long ago day in the fall when I plopped a little girl who could just barely sit down on the last of the green grass, Isabella has not been able to simply crawl around on the grass, on her own in the big wide world. She didn't look back, just headed for the horizon. No walls, no barriers, no bookshelves she can't pull books from, no outlets.


Bella shows Daddy her rock.

We didn't stay long. Maybe an hour or so. Long enough for Bella to pick up a rock and lick it, for Dom to attempt a castle, for one of my nieces to get soaked to the chest, for several grapes to fall into the sand and for Bella to attempt to eat them anyway, for sand to make its way into her diaper, and for a good time to be had by all.


Bella makes her getaway.

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Spring in Salem

Finally, sun! Mom, Bella and I took a walk to the park and I took about 80 pictures. Here are a few of the best:

By the way, if anyone can help me identify the flowers in the top row, I'd be very grateful.

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The tragedy of a meaningless life

"Millions all around us are living the tragedy of meaningless life, the "life" of spiritual death. That is what makes our society most radically different from every society in history: not that it can fly to the moon, enfranchise more voters, have the grossest national product, conquer disease, or even blow up the entire planet, but that it does not know why it exists."

--Peter Kreeft Heaven: The Heart's Deepest Longing

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Poetry Friday

Sea Fever
by John Masefield

I must go down to the sea again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea's face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
All I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the seagulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull's way and the whale's way, where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And a quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trip's over.



Thanks to The Common Room for reminding me of one of my favorites. (I also really like "The Fairy Folk" which she also posts; but poaching two poems might be a little bit too much of a muchness.)

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Good News

My doctor's office just called. The test results were fine. No cancer found.

Thanks be to God!

Thank you again to all of you who have been praying for us.

Update:
Kelly Clark just reminded me, of what I should have added originally: Please continue to pray for all those who are not cancer-free.

Ever since my diagnosis I've added that intention to my evening prayers and I'm glad Kelly reminded me again.

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Received in the Mail Yesterday

In This House of Brede by Rumer Godden. I've seen it recommended so many times on various Catholic blogs, I finally got curious. Found a copy on Book Mooch and it arrived yesterday.

I'm going to try something new with this one, I'm going to read it slowly. No more than a chapter a day. I read a couple of pages last night and then put it down.

I've been curious about slow reading in the CM homeschooling method, and have been wondering about its effectiveness for not just children but for myself. I have always had poor self-discipline when it comes to my reading. I devour books and miss out on much that they have to offer.

I have so many books waiting to be read (between a couple of Amazon gift certificates and all the wonderful packages from BookMooch) and I think reading a little bit each day out of several books will help me explore the great fest of knowledge I've been hoarding. Maybe I'll try to read from one homeschooling book and one classic book as well as one for fun book. (I'm also currently in the midst of re-reading the Little House series.)

I'll try to post updates occasionally to let you know how I'm doing with this project.

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Poetic Narration

Another great idea from Higher Up and Further In. I love the way Linda Fay writes about homeschooling lesson plans and curricula, she makes them seem so easy and attractive.

File this under cool homeschooling ideas I'd like to implement someday.

Once you have exposed your child to a wide variety of good poetry and they have learned to enjoy it, then they are old enough to begin poetic narrations. For us, that was around 11 or 12 years of age. My children really enjoy these. I simply ask them to write a narration about a specific passage, but it must be written as a poem. When they become comfortable with this, I add another requirement- copy the style of a recent poet they have studied or are currently studying.

For example, my daughter is reading Ivanhoe. Once a week, during this term only, she writes a poetic narration about the chapter she read that week or about just a portion of the chapter. Since she is reading, copying and memorizing Alfred Lord Tennyson's poetry this term, she is writing poetic narrations in the style of Tennyson, particularly his free verse form from 'Idylls of the King'. Last term, she learned a little about the alliterative form because she read 'Beowulf.' So, I asked her to write a poetic narration similar to Beowulf from Twain's Joan of Arc- the book she was reading at the time. Next year, when she studies Shakespeare's sonnets, she will write some poetic narrations from her literature books in sonnet form.

I had aspirations to write poetry when I was younger, but never had any of the self-discipline necessary to master poetic forms. I only wrote when inspiration struck and I never tried to write anything other than free verse.

I wish that I'd had to do this kind of poetic narration, then maybe I might have had a chance to become at least a decent poet.

One thing I really like about the idea of narration in general and poetic narration in particular is the emphasis on retelling another person's ideas rather than on creativity and coming up with original ideas.

It was a radical realization for me when I read a CM homeschooler who said that she didn't assign any creative writing. If it happened on its own, it happened. But she argued that being assigned such things can actually put stress on students. And looking back on my own brief experience as a writing tutor, I can see that my students would have done much better if they could have practiced the tasks of composition separately from the need to come up with original ideas. Not having to come up with original form or content can actually be very freeing.

Also see Linda's post on creative narration.

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Bella is 11 months today

I can't believe that in just a month she'll have been with us a whole year. That both seems far too long and far too short. It seems like it was just yesterday that I held her for the first time in the hospital and it seems like she's always been with us.

In the past week she's grown so much more confident in walking. Now she easily crosses five or six feet between pieces of furniture. And she's so proud of herself.

She's started making this really cute "yummy, yummy" or "nummy, nummy" sound when I pull out the dropper with the Tylenol. She also makes it when I get a banana for her and with other favorite foods as well.

She's started to push the ball toward me when I roll it to her. And she will put the letter and number blocks into their box. This is the first time she's put stuff in rather than take it out.

The last few nights she slept right through with no disturbances. And Sunday and Monday morning she slept in past six.

She's having so much fun with my mom. I'm really glad we have the chance to have her here for a nice long visit.

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Wooden blocks

Browsing around the internet the other day, I found these beautiful handmade wooden blocks. Aren't they gorgeous? I am smitten with block envy.

I love wooden blocks. Perhaps my favorite toy when I was little was a set of wooden blocks. I remember spending hours setting them up into castles on the steps between the living room and the front door.

I loved the way two triangles made a square and two squares made a little rectangle and two little rectangles made a bit rectangle. I loved the smooth feel against my skin and the way their very plainness opened doors for imagination. Much better than the Sesame Street Little People playhouse. All my dolls and action figures could inhabit the world of my block houses.

I still love blocks. Last year at Easter at my mother-in-law's house I was still building a block tower long after all the children had wandered away to play other games. Perfectly symmetrical-- I can be obsessive about symmetry-- a block tower is a thing of surpassing beauty. And then the baby knocks it down and the page is empty, ready for a new creation.

I aspire to get a beautiful set of blocks for Bella. Well, for me, mostly; but I'll let Bella play with them. After all, one of the wonderful things about blocks is that they are virtually indestructible, baby-proof.

Here's the first set I want to acquire: Melissa and Doug Standard Unit Blocks (60 - Piece).


And then there's these: Melissa and Doug Architectural Unit Block Set.

There was another set I saw, but I can't find the link right now.... I may add it later.

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Because I love book lists...

Check out Thirty Books That Every College Student Should Read. My list would be a bit different, of course. But I think this one is pretty good.

Of course, I must now confess to not having read several books on the list. I'm going to go hang my head in shame now.

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Book Review: Eifelheim

When I read the review of a new science fiction novel,Eifelheim, that was excerpted by Julie D, I was hooked. The book review from Claw of the Conciliator made the novel sound almost too good to be true:

What if the first contact between humanity and an intelligent alien species occurred in the Year of Our Lord 1348?

Some sf authors would have taken this concept and written a cautionary tale in which benighted priests declare the aliens to be demons and whip mobs of superstitious peasants into a killing frenzy. After all, was that not the Age of Faith, an era of theocracy, ignorance, and fear?

What Flynn has done instead is marvelously refreshing. Eifelheim is a carefully researched depiction of Rhineland in the 14th century, showing both the bright and dark aspects of medieval civilization and the small renaissance that was underway before the Black Plague. He illuminates some of the roots of the Scientific Revolution among natural philosophers like William of Ockham, Jean Buridan, and Nicholas Oresme.

Thus when grasshopper-like aliens, the Krenken, crash near the small Black Forest village of Oberhochwald, it is in fact their good fortune to encounter the local priest. Father Dietrich is a thoughtful and discerning man, who studied under Buridan at the University of Paris, and is adept at inquiring into the natural causes of things. His somewhat cool rationality is combined with deep Christian faith, which motivates him to display charity and hospitality to the stranded travelers.

Who could resist a science fiction novel where faith is treated intelligently and does not conflict with science and where the priest is not a superstitious bumpkin? i didn't even click through to read the rest of the review (which you should do). Instead, I headed down to the library and picked up a copy of the book. I wasn't disappointed with my haste. In fact, I was delighted.

Eifelheim felt like a cross between a historical novel and science fiction. Michael Flynn takes great pains in exploring the worldview of his medieval men, which is almost more alien than that of the creatures from another star. Not only that, both men and aliens are real people, not cardboard cutouts. They are sinners and saints, wise men and fools, and some are likable and others are not.

I had one or two very minor quibbles with things said by Catholic characters. But they were minor, very fine points that could simply be chalked up to character flaws and not a misunderstanding of Catholic teaching.

I'd also like to add that I was struck several times by apt descriptions, witty remarks and good dialog as well as a few laugh-out-loud funny bits (that may not be funny to anyone else but me).

I give Eifelheim two thumbs up. One of the most enjoyable books I've read in a while and science fiction the way it should be done.

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"T.S. Eliot: Things That Can Just Barely Be Said"

A good reflection on the importance of reading difficult poetry. (And it's about my favorite poet too!)

Think of the world as divided between things easily labelled and things just barely describable. Civilians work with the easily labelled things, but when something just barely describable confronts us, we call in the language marines: poets. But then, out beyond that, there’s Eliot and the type of poetry he represents. It’s another step beyond. It agrees that special tactics need to be applied to the nearly-unspeakable. Eliot argued that, given the way the twentieth century was turning out, “it appears likely that poets in our civilization, as it appears at present, must be difficult.” Why? Because in a complex world, “the poet must become more and more comprehensive, more allusive, more indirect, in order to force, to dislocate if necessary, language into his meaning.” Eliot knows he’s asking words to do things they’re not trained to do, and that the odds are against him...

Read the whole thing here.
hat tip to Wittingshire

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Reason #152,903 to homeschool: "Teacher Makes Students Cry"

Via The Common Room comes this disturbing story about a high school English teacher's experiment with her students.

I said, "It’s come to my attention that some of you heard there were some people in class who didn’t have to do the project."

And the entire classroom exploded with that simmering, pent-up indignation. I calmed them down, then said, "Tell me how you feel about that."

Over the course of the two periods in which I conducted the experiment, I heard them challenge me, question me, and downright dis me. I heard them complain about how smug their friends were being, about how unfair it all was. I even found out later that my first period conspirators had gone above and beyond by telling their friends in the next class I’d gotten so angry about people not doing their work I’d just surprised them with an extra project as punishment.

Then I asked them, "And yet, none of you came to ask me about it." You could have heard a pin drop.

One student said, "That’s because we heard it from all the people you took outside."

I said, "I could have taken them out there to talk about their grades. I could have taken them out there to talk about tardies, or graduation, or anything at all. But what you believed was what they told you. Why didn’t anyone come to talk with me?"

The experiment itself is rather disturbing: lying to students, manipulating their emotions, feeding their darkness, treating students like test subjects (for their own good, of course). But it is actually her response to the students that really chilled me:

The best response of them all, when it was all over and they’d heard about the experiments and Abu Ghraib (which few of them knew about), came from the same kid who’d said after viewing A Clockwork Orange he felt like he had to go home and cry.

He said, "GOD. Everything I do for this class makes me feel like I need to go home and cry."

I knew what he meant, and had little comfort to offer him, especially knowing what they’re about to encounter in LOTF. And yet the fact that this young man is bold enough to admit out loud his despair over certain human behaviors gives me hope. It’s also reminded me I need to do something with them, before the end of the year, that will send them off into the world with the notion that there is goodness too - and they, if they choose, are about to become part of it.

Disturbing. The world can seem a dark enough place, and there are certainly enough bad things in the nightly news to make a strong man give in to despair. But instead of feeding children with images of hope, courage, love, honor, friendship, loyalty, she gives them even more images of darkness, more reasons to despair. The idea of goodness comes in at the end almost as an afterthought.

A teacher's job should be to fill a child's mind with positive images, role models, ideals to strive for. I don't mean we should pretend that evil doesn't exist or that we should be feeding them candy-coated lies. The Lord of the Rings, for example shows a world filled with darkness but it also shows the struggle to defeat that overwhelming evil. It shows the value of honor, courage and love.

Is it any wonder the rate of suicide among teens is climbing when they are fed a steady diet of this kind of stuff "for their own good"?

I've read before about children fed on a constant diet of the kind of books that now seem de rigeur for English classes, problem books, I think they're often called. There's this misguided idea that we have to give kids stuff that holds up a mirror to the worst parts of their lives in a misguided attempt to be relevant. The Headmistress at the Common Room refers to what this teacher is doing as indoctrination and I think I agree with her. They are being taught to feel guilty for that which they cannot control. By the teacher's own admission very few of the students knew about Abu Ghraib. So she felt it her duty to make them aware. In the process, breaking their innocence and feeding the darkness with ugly images. Because that is the goal of schools, in her way of thinking, to indoctrinate students into a certain kind of social awareness.

Just like the torturers in A Clockwork Orange ( I can't believe she had them watch that movie!), the teacher sees herself as a benefactor. She thinks she's upholding law and order. But what she's doing is just as insidious. Just as the hero of the movie comes to be sick at the very sound of Beethoven, the children in this class will come to associate literature with guilt, pain, horror. And so they'll close the books, certain there is nothing for them between the covers, and turn to television for their escape from reality.

I know, I've met these kids in my college classes. They are convinced that all literature is an unending litany of things they should feel guilty for. It's the Holocaust and slavery and all the hot-button social issues that are currently in vogue.

But I don't think it's all conscious indoctrination. There also seems to be this mindset that kids need to emote. It almost doesn't matter what they are emoting over. Just the fact that the kid cries is a victory for the teacher. I've seen this kind of thinking in Catholic youth ministry as well. The goal for some ministers seems to be to get the kids to cry. As if that is the only way to know you've touched them.

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Because I'm Camera Crazy

Bella helps me with my blogging.




I take a break from blogging to play ball with Bella.




Bella shares her teething ring with Daddy.

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Isabella and my mom

Bella shows grandma her books. The Very Hungry Caterpillar, one of our favorites.



But when mommy pulls out the camera, both books and grandma are forgotten.

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By way of the cross, Christ weds his Church.

A little late for Good Friday. But never too late. Fr. Stephanos posts a beautiful way of the cross in haiku form, a love song of the Bridegroom for His Bride.

The second station:

II. Acceptance

Bride of sin and death,
with this cross I do thee wed.
Mine now what was yours!

Read it all here

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Today's Procedure

I woke up at five this morning from a very restless sleep and an anxiety dream about waking up more than an hour after the time we were supposed to be at the hospital. Tossed and turned until the alarm went off at 5:30.

Dom went and woke up Bella-- we really hated waking up a sleeping baby!!! Wouldn't it figure this was one of the rare mornings she didn't wake up howling at five-five-thirty?!? I nursed her for a half hour or so while Dom took his shower and dressed.

Then we left Bella with my mom while we went to the hospital. She cried for a bit, of course, but was then fine until right before Dom came home. (I told him there was no sense in him sitting in the hospital waiting room while I was in the OR. We live not five minutes from the hospital.) Bad enough for Bella to have a morning without mommy. No daddy, I figured, would be really hard for a little girl.

As for my part, it went very smoothly. Thanks in large, I'm sure, to all those prayers everyone's been saying. They didn't use a general anesthesia, just a sedative and a local. I thus expected to be awake and aware during the procedure as I was during my c-section, a thought which actually distressed me a bit, even though I knew the sedative should keep me calm.

But I recall going into the OR and chatting with the nurses and anesthesiologist as they put warm blankets around me and set up the "Cadillac" stirrups, as one of the nurses called them. Then, the next thing I knew I was waking up from a very peaceful dreamy sleep and they were telling me the procedure was done and they were moving me to the recovery room. Once there, I was tucked in under warm blankets again, had a very welcome glass of ice water, and then fell back to sleep. Then I woke up and had some juice and hot buttered toast and drifted back to sleep. When I woke again, I had more water and then began praying the psalms and canticles I know by heart. Then, I said a rosary, the sorrowful mysteries, on my fingers. I was very calm, relaxed and prayerful.

Finally, I woke up all the way and read my book (Eifelheim) for a while. I was so glad the nurse had agreed to carry it into the OR for me so I could have it with me when I woke. I hate staring at the wall with nothing to read. Eventually I was ready to go home. Dom came up and chatted with me, then went back to the waiting room to be with Bella and my mom as I got dressed and was discharged.

When I got to the waiting room, I saw Bella in my mom's lap with her back to me. I called her name and she looked about, joyfully, and finally spotted me. I sat down and they put her in my lap and she just clung to me, a very sleepy, very happy baby. (She wasn't able to go down for her morning nap without me to nurse her to sleep. As I knew she wouldn't.) Bella fell sound asleep just as soon as the car had pulled out of the parking lot. Poor tired little girl.

We stopped by McDonald's to get some food. Dom hadn't eaten yet today both because he was too busy and too anxious to think about eating and, he said, because he knew I'd not been able to eat and he felt so helpless with nothing to do. It was the least he could do to feel some solidarity with me. So sweet. We wanted to eke out Bella's nap as long as possible so we drove to my favorite little park in neighboring Marblehead and sat in the car looking out over the Atlantic as we ate our burgers and fries. Bella finally woke as we pulled up to the house, about a half hour after we left the hospital.
She had lunch, played for a while and then had her regular afternoon nap. (I slept too.) So she seems back on schedule.

My doctor called Dom when I got out of OR, while I was still in recovery. He said everything went well and looked fine. Of course, we won't get the pathology report until next week, probably Wednesday or Thursday; but it's good preliminary news, at least.

I'm taking it easy this afternoon; but I feel fine. Minimal cramping. Much less than I expected. More like the biopsy than the miscarriage and easier than most of my menstrual cramps.

Thanks again to everyone who has been praying for me. I've really felt all those prayers sustaining me and am sure that today went so smoothly because of your prayers and support. (I've been praying for all of you as well.) Just a little longer and this will hopefully all be behind us and we can get on with our lives.

Though in some ways, I'll never be the same. This experience has changed the way I look at so many things, especially intercessory prayer. I will never look at a prayer request in my inbox or on a blog in the same way again. I have been so blessed, I know I am called to pray that others will receive some of the same blessings and consolations that have been given to me.

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Mom's Visit So Far

Didn't get off to the greatest start. Her plane was was a bit early and we were running a bit late to pick her up at the airport so didn't park and go in but pulled up to the curb. I jumped out to hug mom and help her into the van, Dom jumped out to put her suitcase in the back, mom got in, sat down in the back seat next to Bella and we pulled away. And Bella began to scream. And screamed and screamed for fifteen minutes, tears pouring down her face.

Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to give mom the back seat, I thought. But we couldn't pull over to switch. Bella couldn't see me and the sound of my voice wasn't consoling her. But mom just sat there calmly, holding the banana I'd handed her to give to Bella. She talked to her quietly and sang a little song and eventually Bella's screams became heaving sobs and then the sobs subsided to a silent stare. But she wouldn't take the banana from mom, usually her favorite food.

Finally after about fifteen minutes of screaming and sobbing and another ten of silent staring, Bella began to warm up a bit. First a little smile and then a little chattering and finally after mom took a bite of the banana, Bella decided she might try a little bit too. Then she ate the rest of it.

When we got to the house, I put Bella down in the living room and chatted for a bit with mom until she seemed comfortable. Then I had to run to the kitchen to get dinner started. I figured with Dom in the living room, Bella might possibly be ok with my leaving for a little bit, but would most likely start screaming and need him to hold her.

But no, she hardly noticed I was gone. Instead, she was busy showing Grandma all her toys, chattering and climbing all over her, demonstrating her walking abilities and generally having a great time. When Dom left to help out in the kitchen, she hardly noticed. And even when I walked by the door and she looked up and saw me, she didn't freak out. I guess Bella has a new best friend. I think this is going to be a great visit.

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Enjoying the Feast

Are you still feasting? It's still Easter. Liturgically, Easter lasts eight days and the Easter Season another forty days.

I've been feeling bad, guilty almost. After the Lent I've had, I don't feel like I deserve to feast. But Suzanne Temple had a timely reminder on her blog that knocked me out of my funk. We never deserve the feast. We are all the Prodigal Son, stumbling home. And no matter what state we arrive in, however smelly and dirty we are, our even more prodigal Father welcomes us with open arms. He loves us even in the midst of our imperfections. Jesus dies for us while we were still sinners. Because there was no way we could become saints without his sacrifice.

Alleluia! Christ our passover is sacrificed for us. Therefore, let us eat the feast. Alleluia, Alleluia!!!

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What I'm reading

I promise that I'll get back to blogging about books and things other than the cuteness of Isabella. (Dom thinks I'm driving all my readers away by the constant barrage of pictures. He says I'm in danger of becoming one of those people who thinks their child is the most beautiful thing in the world and that everyone else must therefore must be as interested in her as I am. Probably guilty as charged.)

Right now I'm in the middle of a couple really good reads: A Mother's Rule of Life by Holly Pierlot and Eifelheim, a science fiction novel recommended by Julie D. at Happy Catholic. Book reviews will follow shortly. I'm dying to share all my thoughts and impressions.

Well, come to think of it, they might actually be delayed a bit because my mom is arriving tomorrow afternoon and will be here for almost two weeks. Blogging will probably be light while she's here though I will definitely post an update with the results of the next round of medical tests when I have them. Probably the middle of next week.

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First Tooth

My suspicions were correct. Today I finally felt it as well as saw it, a sharp little point just peeking through her lower gums.

I've been giving her some children's Tylenol because she's seemed a bit cranky. I tried to give her a cold teething ring that I bought today while out running errands. She was fascinated with her new toy but didn't put it in her mouth at all that I could see. However, she did very much enjoy the stalk of frozen broccoli I gave her to munch on at dinner.

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Final Thoughts on How Children Fail

I definitely liked this book much less than How Children Learn. It doesn't work as well as a book about educational philosophy because it spends too much time diagnosing problems in the existing system; but as a critique of the school system, I suspect it's rather dated now. That said, it was definitely a worthwhile read and I spent a lot of time reading bits of it to Dom, always a good sign.

I have one major beef with Holt, and that is over the issue of curriculum:

The notion of a curriculum, an essential body of knowledge, would be absurd even if children remembered everything we "taught" them. We don't and can't agree on what knowledge is essential....

The idea of a curriculum would not be valid even if we could agree on what ought to be in it. For knowledge itself changes. Much of what a child learns in school will be found, or thought, before many years, to be untrue. I studied physics at school from a fairly up to date text that proclaimed that the fundamental law of physics was the law of conservation of matter--matter is not created or destroyed. I had to scratch that out before I left school. In economics at college I was taught many things that were not true of our economy then and many more that are not true now. Not for many years after I left college did I learn that the Greeks far from being a detached and judicious people surrounded by chaste white temples, were hot-tempered, noisy, quarrelsome, and liked to cover their temples with gold leaf and bright paint; or that most of the citizens of Imperial Rome, far from living in houses in which the rooms surrounded an atrium, or central court, lived in multi-story tenements, one of which was perhaps the largest building in the ancient world. The child who really remembered everything he heard in school would live his life believing many things that were not so.

Moreover, we cannot possibly judge what knowledge will be most needed forty, or twenty, or even ten years from now....

Holt's questions are good; but his conclusions are faulty. Perhaps because he is crippled in his own understanding of what education is and should be.

Part of the problem seems to be in Holt's definition of curriculum; indeed, in his definition of knowledge. He seems to be thinking of a series of facts crammed into a child's head. But a curriculum, properly speaking, means a course of study (it comes from the Latin word for race course). A curriculum isn't, or shouldn't be, so much a set of facts to be learned as a series of disciplines to be explored.

Look at his examples. Physics is not a set of facts to be memorized, it is a system of thought, a particular mindset and a kind of question a way of exploring the universe. When properly taught, students should know that theories change, models change, but the principles of exploration, the means of questioning, stay the same. And so it is with all the disciplines.

History is not merely a set of facts, names, dates and events. It is the stories that we tell ourselves about ourselves and other people and those stories changes as we uncover more evidence, find new facts, see things from different perspectives. History is the principle of exploration. You don't stop exploring because you might uncover new evidence, it is the hope of uncovering new data that drives the historian onward. Holt sees these changes as a problem, but the to the historian it is the process of discovery, of piecing together the stories that is the point. Holt misses the point and so wants to jettison the entire project.

Holt does have a good reason to complain, there are good reasons for him to be dissatisfied with his education. But he misunderstands where it went wrong. The problem is that he never learned what physics is for, how to think like a physicist. He never learned to think like a historian, how to look at documents and piece together the stories of the past. His education was lacking, he never really learned what it is that historians do or physicists do. And thus he never learned that even if data changes and models change, the disciplines are vital.

A curriculum exists because we have no way of knowing beforehand what a child's interests and aptitudes are likely to be. Therefore, we spread out before him the entire feast of human knowledge. We introduce him to the various ways of asking questions and looking for answers because, as Holt rightly acknowledges, humans are creatures that learn. We are naturally curious, we ask questions, we want to know how and why and when and where and who, and what. Disciplines are merely the sets of tools we use to explore the various avenues of knowledge. A curriculum is merely the set of various disciplines, a series of introductions to ways of knowing about the world.

Of course the models change, that's what models do. And if we are teaching properly children will come to understand that learning is a process, that knowledge itself grows and changes. And that is what is truly exciting: because learning is lifelong and knowledge is infinite, we can hope to be active participants and not merely passive consumers. We can hope one day to add to the vast sum of human knowledge.

A child should be introduced to all of the disciplines, not only the ones that happen to interest him when he is six or ten or fifteen or twenty. In part, because we do not know who the child will be or what he is capable of becoming. Tastes change and develop. Dom thought he wanted to be an astronaut and is now a writer. If he'd been allowed to self-select only math and science classes and ditch the English, he wouldn't be where he is today. But even if we could determine where the child would end up, there is still a benefit to being introduced to all (or at least many) of the various branches of human knowledge.

Holt continues:

How can we say, in any case, that one piece of knowledge is more important than another, or indeed, what we really say, that some knowledge is essential and the rest, as far as school is concerned, worthless? A child who wants to learn something that the school can't and doesn't want to teach him will be told not to waste his time. But how can we say that what he wants to know is less important than what we want him to know? We must ask how much of the sum of human knowledge anyone can know at the end of his schooling. Perhaps a millionth. Are we then to believe that one of these millionths is so much more important than another?

Again, I think he identifies a genuine problem: we must strike a balance between moving through a set curriculum and introducing the child to the various things we deem important for him to know and giving him the latitude to discover his own interests in his own time and at his own pace. But just because school have tended to err more on one side of the balance at on point in time, doesn't mean they can't lean too far to the other side. What Holt proposes in throwing out the curriculum altogether goes too far.

He is right in his recognition that no individual can be a master of everything. But wrong in his conclusion that therefore we should attempt to provide children with a broad curriculum. Rather, I would argue, we must have reasonable expectations as to how much we can expect from them. We must allow children to have a thinner knowledge in some areas so that they can delve deeper in others and we should be careful that they have time free to develop their own interests and pursue their own inquiries.

Holt claims that, "Learning is not everything and certainly one piece of learning is as good as another." There is a truth in that, even if I think it is very badly stated. Most of us have the rather bad habit of valuing our favored avenues of study to the exclusion of those that don't appeal to us. But as parents and educators, we must respect the child's autonomy and allow him freedom to discover for himself his own interests and aptitudes and ultimately his own vocation.

I suspect that if I had the chance to sit down with Holt and have a good discussion, I would find that we agree far more than we disagree and that even our disagreements are probably more over language than substance, differences in style and personality and emphasis rather than in principles and philosophies. I look forward to reading more of his books and seeing the development of his thinking.

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Thoughts on Easter

We had a very good day yesterday.

8:30 mass was nice, music selection was actually pretty good. Nothing too cringe-worthy. Not too crowded but a few more faces than usual. (I'm sure the 10:30 was packed.) They even read the sequence!

Then home for breakfast. When Dom asked how I wanted my eggs, I broke with habit and asked for hard boiled. A little nostalgia for Easter morning eating the eggs that had been dyed and hidden. (Dom didn't dye ours.) And then after breakfast I even managed to scare up some leftover candy bars. (I totally forgot to buy any Easter candy.)

We had a late lunch with one of Dom's brothers (honey ham, squash, asparagus, potatoes au gratin, peas, turnips, pulled pork, fruit salad and more) and then went to the other brother's for dessert and a visit with grandma, who'd had dinner with them. Bella loved all the noise and commotion of cousins, aunts, uncles, the attention and the good food. She fell asleep in the car on the way home but woke when we got here and took forever to fall asleep again. Poor thing.

I had a good time, but I have to confess that this Easter was a bit of a let down. No Triduum. No Holy Thursday mass with adoration in front of the Blessed Sacrament. No Good Friday Adoration of the Cross, no Stations of the Cross. No Holy Saturday vigil with the candles and the light shining in the darkness and the Exsultet and all the alleluias and coming home tired but exhilerated and full of joy.

But then this Lent has been a roller coaster ride and not in a good way. I haven't really felt spiritually grounded. I only started to get back on track with my prayers in the last two weeks. And everything just seemed to slip and slide and I just felt unprepared for Easter. My heart was cobwebby and I was ashamed to welcome in any guests for fear they'd notice the dust bunnies under the furniture. No this Lent hasn't been good for improving my spiritual housekeeping. But the good thing is that I'll get another chance. I just have to remember that each day brings a new start, new decisions. And it doesn't matter what I did yesterday, even if I lost a lot of ground, I can still move forward tomorrow.

And the important thing isn't me, anyway. He is risen and that is the cause of our joy!

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Teething?

Bella had a very rough night on Saturday. She woke up at 11:30 and cried until after 1. At which point, knowing we had to be up for mass and had a busy day visiting family ahead of us, I gave in to her screaming and nursed her back to sleep. She then woke up again at 5 or so, screaming again. Last night was a little better but she still woke up screaming several times.

She often cries at night, but this was a bit different, more shrill and angry.

Well, today at lunch I think I might have identified the culprit. There are some suspicious looking patches on her lower gums. Is it possible she's finally going to get some teeth?

I'm torn between being excited at this new stage and being a bit sad. I'll miss that gummy, toothless smile. And I must confess being a bit nervous about the damage that teeth can do during nursing as well...

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Isabella's first Easter

Here Isabella is in her Easter dress (a lovely hand-me-down from her cousin Theresa).



Isabella and her Daddy right after mass on Easter Sunday. I had to snap the picture quickly before Dom's suit disappeared.



Isabella and her Easter "basket" from Grandma Bettinelli. The basket contained plastic beach toys which will come in handy this summer. No candy, though. Maybe next year she can go on the egg hunt with her cousins and acquire a big stash.

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HAPPY EASTER!!!

He is Risen Indeed! Alleluia!!! Alleluia!!!

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Baby Steps

This morning I was down on the floor playing with Bella and, suddenly inspired, I stood her up at arm's length in front of me. Then I let go and coaxed, "Walk to Mama," and she took three little steps and tumbled, giggling, into my arms.

Then we did it again. And again.

This wasn't her first time taking unsupported steps; but it was the first time she'd walked to me. And how sweet it was.

By that point Dom had run into the office and retrieved the camera. But then, of course, she started to crawl towards him. She finds the camera irresistible. But then, by the simple expedient of my holding another camera, we did get a short little video of her walking. I'll post it as soon as I figure out how to format it properly for the blog.

In the meantime, enjoy this picture I took the other day of Bella standing on her own:



"Look, mom, no hands."

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Holy Saturday

I love this ancient homily, the second reading in today's Office of Readings.

Something strange is happening - there is a great silence on earth today, a great silence and stillness. The whole earth keeps silence because the King is asleep. The earth trembled and is still because God has fallen asleep in the flesh and he has raised up all who have slept ever since the world began. God has died in the flesh and hell trembles with fear.

He has gone to search for our first parent, as for a lost sheep. Greatly desiring to visit those who live in darkness and in the shadow of death, he has gone to free from sorrow the captives Adam and Eve, he who is both God and the son of Eve. The Lord approached them bearing the cross, the weapon that had won him the victory. At the sight of him Adam, the first man he had created, struck his breast in terror and cried out to everyone: “My Lord be with you all”. Christ answered him: “And with your spirit”. He took him by the hand and raised him up, saying: “Awake, O sleeper, and rise from the dead, and Christ will give you light”.

I am your God, who for your sake have become your son. Out of love for you and for your descendants I now by my own authority command all who are held in bondage to come forth, all who are in darkness to be enlightened, all who are sleeping to arise. I order you, O sleeper, to awake. I did not create you to be held a prisoner in hell. Rise from the dead, for I am the life of the dead. Rise up, work of my hands, you who were created in my image. Rise, let us leave this place, for you are in me and I am in you; together we form only one person and we cannot be separated. For your sake I, your God, became your son; I, the Lord, took the form of a slave; I, whose home is above the heavens, descended to the earth and beneath the earth. For your sake, for the sake of man, I became like a man without help, free among the dead. For the sake of you, who left a garden, I was betrayed to the Jews in a garden, and I was crucified in a garden.

See on my face the spittle I received in order to restore to you the life I once breathed into you. See there the marks of the blows I received in order to refashion your warped nature in my image. On my back see the marks of the scourging I endured to remove the burden of sin that weighs upon your back. See my hands, nailed firmly to a tree, for you who once wickedly stretched out your hand to a tree.

I slept on the cross and a sword pierced my side for you who slept in paradise and brought forth Eve from your side. My side has healed the pain in yours. My sleep will rouse you from your sleep in hell. The sword that pierced me has sheathed the sword that was turned against you.

Rise, let us leave this place. The enemy led you out of the earthly paradise. I will not restore you to that paradise, but I will enthrone you in heaven. I forbade you the tree that was only a symbol of life, but see, I who am life itself am now one with you. I appointed cherubim to guard you as slaves are guarded, but now I make them worship you as God. The throne formed by cherubim awaits you, its bearers swift and eager. The bridal chamber is adorned, the banquet is ready, the eternal dwelling places are prepared, the treasure houses of all good things lie open. The kingdom of heaven has been prepared for you from all eternity.

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Bella's Library

This slide show is from pictures I took back in February. The shelf she's in front of is my little library of children's books, both those I've kept from my own childhood and those I've begun to collect for Isabella. As you can see, Bella's already begun to take possession of the collection. I especially admire her choice of C.S. Lewis. That's my girl!

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The Children's Museum

Yesterday morning Bella and I met my brother- and sister-in-law and their kids at the The North Shore Children's Museum in downtown Salem. A good time was had by all.

My nieces, Kateri (6) and Chiara (4) had fun playing dress up (What girl can resist beautiful princess dresses?) and making pinwheels. Isabella loved crawling around and exploring a new space, pushing a wagon full of Legos, watching the other kids play, and chasing her cousin Joshua (2) around--he was pushing a shopping cart she wanted.

I enjoyed watching the kids and chatting with my sister in law. And it was nice to have a little excursion from the house. I tend to be a real homebody and will sometimes go for weeks with no trips except to the grocery store and post office and not seeing anyone but Dom and Bella. But a break from routine can also be a good thing.

The Children's Museum is run by the Salem YMCA and is not fancy and shiny-new. I saw some negative reviews online that complained about the worn-out toys and general shabbiness. But you know, kids don't notice such things. I would say that it's less of a museum than a fun, inexpensive play place for the 2-6 crowd. The educational activities definitely took second place to the "just for fun" stuff and weren't the same quality as say the Boston Science Museum; but it's much closer and it was free for adults and for kids under 1 so all I paid for was the parking meter.

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Dinner with Bella

I created this little slide show from pictures I snapped of Bella at dinner one night while my sister was here last month. (That's my sister, Theresa, kissing Bella in a couple of the shots.)

The pictures were all so cute, I couldn't pick just one or two of them to put on the site. Plus, I think you get a sense of her many moods and expressions as it flips through the series of shots. One thing I love about a digital camera is that you can just snap away and not have to worry about film or developing costs. And it is so much easier to share digital as well. I can't believe I was ever a skeptic about digital cameras.

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Bella's new noises

Her latest sounds are disturbing me. She's been making this noise that I'm pretty sure is an imitation of my clearing my throat. It's a fakey kind of imitation throat clearing, cuh, huh, huh, that really grates.

Then there's this growling whispering sound she does that's halfway between an asthma attack and a horror movie possession (like something from The Exorcist). It isn't asthma because she starts and stops it at will, grunting and rasping one moment and warbling high and clear the next. But it kinda creeps me out.

I really hope this is a phase she grows out of soon.

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Update

Today we had the consult with the doctor and signed the paperwork for the surgery. He explained the details of the procedure and the risks and everything. Dom was there to ask all the questions I never remember to ask and to get all the info firsthand so I don't garble it in translation. Bella sat on his lap and ate her lunch and made faces at the doctor.

Friday morning I meet with the anesthesiologist at the hospital. It seems a bit ironic, Good Friday and all that. A week from Friday is the surgery. Which the doctor reiterated should be very simple, recovery should be a day or so. He doesn't expect to find anything.

I must confess, I'm dreading it. I just want to get it over with. But the doctor did say that if he doesn't find anything, as he expects he won't, then this will be over and done with. I can get back to my regularly scheduled life. Oh, I pray that that's how it goes.

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"How can I love Thee as I ought?"

Alice writes about the hymn her daughter will sing at her first communion. Here is her description of the children's practice:

A jumble of children tumbled into three standing rows—an adorable hodgepodge of tall and small, sharp and scruffy, calm and clamorous--boys and girls with eyes and hair and faces of every description--some from Mass-going families and others who may find themselves inside the Church but rarely.

When the music began, a palpable and unifying change in expression and demeanor came over each and every one of them, and, as they lifted their voices to sing, a range of emotions could be read upon their earnest faces:

“Jesus, my Lord, my God, my All,”

Reverence.

“How can I love Thee as I ought?”

Ardor.

“And how revere this wond’rous gift,”

Depth.

“So far surpassing hope or thought?"

Joy.

“Sweet Sacrament, we Thee adore! O make us love Thee more and more! O make us love Thee more and more!”

Pure Elation.

Something perceptible and heartfelt had taken root in all of them, no mistake.

Understandably impressed and not a little bit surprised, the musical director blurted after one round, “You are the best First Holy Communion singers I have ever had!” The children gladly began the hymn once more, their second rendering no less heartfelt than the first.

This time, the director could not help but wheel about, hoping to find some adults catching this singular performance. Most of the moms were chatting in clusters, but I stood watching with a broad smile on my face, and she made a beeline toward me.

“I can’t believe how well they are singing,” she began happily and without any introduction. “When this song was chosen, I had my doubts. I thought it would be too hard for young children.”

“It is wonderful!” I agreed wholeheartedly. “I think the words of the hymn have inspired them!”

“I don’t know,” she said, still beaming toward the children, “maybe,” before slipping back to the front to cheer on her little band of singers.

The children resumed the hymn for the third time in a row, their faces still as alight and ardent as before. By this time, I had tears in my eyes, and, as if in silent accompaniment to the melody, the words of St. John’s Gospel rang out in my mind:

“Simon, do you love me? Feed my lambs. Simon, do you love me? Tend my sheep. Simon, do you love me? Feed my sheep.”

Our Lord’s lambs were right there before me and populating the First Holy Communion group. There they were, frisking and frolicking and kicking up their heels, having just been fed the hardy grasses of Truth and Beauty. I can only imagine how vibrant this flock will be when nourished by the Bread of Angels.

It seems to me that too often we choose over-simplified little ditties for young children, as if perk and pep would stand in for substance. For seven and eight year olds, insipid, shallow strains hold about as much spiritual significance as “I’m a Little Teapot.” But give them Truth articulated in rich and beautiful language, and their ready hearts soak it in like well-tilled gardens in April. Young though they are, children are eternal beings made in the image and likeness of God, longing—no living--to know Him. The question, “Jesus, my Lord, my God, my all, how can I love Thee as I ought?” is a challenge for all eternity and an aspiration that cannot be embraced too soon. It is the battle cry of the saints.

I frequently get frustrated at the state of music at our parish. Sometimes I even try to tune it out lest the music become an occasion of anger and distraction during mass. Things have got a little better since we stopped singing "This Little Light of Mine" and "Jesus Loves Me" but not by much. How I yearn for good music, music that soars to the heavens and gives God the praise that is his due. I pant for substance, for beauty, for truth, like a deer yearning for running streams. I strive for patience and calm and fail miserably. Because I know there is good music out there and I don't understand why it is passed over for mediocre glurge. Anyway, I'll stop ranting and be grateful for the good music that is out there and that occasionally sneaks its way into our parish. And I'll keep praying that there will be more and more of the beautiful and less and less of the mediocre. St Cecilia, pray for us!

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A Tribute to Papa

Today is the anniversary of the death of our dear papa, John Paul II. Two years ago Dom and I, just recently engaged, were at a conference with Scott and Kimberly Hahn. Dom was working for CWNews at that point and thus was frequently dodging back to the lobby to check on the latest news so he could post the update on CWN when it came. We were pretty certain it could come that day. When the news did come, Fr. Clark, whose parish was hosting the conference, quietly told Scott who then led us in prayer. There, among my brothers and sisters in faith, at the threshold of my new life with Dom, I paused to pray for our dear Papa and remembered what my sister had said the day before: imagine him dancing with Mother Teresa. Oh the joy in heaven!

Many people have been sharing their reflections and remembrances on this anniversary, but so far the best thing I've seen on the internet on the subject is Elizabeth Foss's reflection. She shares her memories and experiences, here, a loving tribute to the Papa we all loved.

Update: Another beautiful reflection from Karen Edmisten. I especially love this part:

... although I knew his prayers for “all the faithful” included me, I also knew that on a practical level, JPII didn’t know me. He didn’t know for whom or for what I prayed, he didn’t know my private struggles and many weaknesses. He didn’t know how much I personally needed him. Now he does.

As I prayed at Mass, on Divine Mercy Sunday, I felt an overwhelming need to cry out to my papa. I asked him to pray for me. I felt drenched in his love and paternal concern as I imagined his beaming face. I felt convinced, down to my bones, that he now knows. He knows every private struggle that I reveal to him in prayer and he will lay them before my Heavenly Father’s throne, in urgent and loving intercession. He is now present to me as never before.

Another update: Oh, I'm crying again! Suzanne Temple of Blessed Among Men writes about her son Simeon, who like so many children I know, like my own nephew JohnPaul, was spontaneously attracted to John Paul II, in love with him not because of parental prompting but because he was our Papa and inspired such love:

"Oh, Simeon," I said gently,"Pope John Paul died today."

He looked at me with surprise. This was the first he had heard that the Pope was even unwell. He hadn't been expecting this like I had been.

"Really?" he asked as his eyes filled with tears.

"Oh Simeon," I said and embraced him. As he sobbed in my arms, I let go my own emotions and cried, too. Quite suddenly and unexpectedly, I saw my six year old son in some way as an equal. Not so much that he had grown up or that I had become very little, but we met somehow on a plane outside of time. For one beautiful moment, my son and I were a brother and sister in the Faith, comforting one another because we had lost our dearly beloved "Papa in Rome."

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Thoughts on narration

At The Common Room blog, the headmistress revisits the topic of narration. Lots of helpful pointers here. Interesting that she says they narrate every book they read. She's also of the opinion that fewer books enjoyed slower and more deeply is better than many books read hurriedly and with less attention. I've been guilty many times of devouring books in big gulps and retaining very little of what I read. Things to ponder...

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Prayer Request

Prayers for blogger Jennifer F. who is entering the Church this coming Sunday and for all who will be receiving the sacraments and joining the family. Jen asks especially "for prayers that I am able to stay spiritually focused this week amidst the chaos of moving".

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