Learning By The Way

Yesterday on one of the forums I occasionally visit, someone wished a happy Pi day. You know, it was 3/14, and Pi is 3.14 etc., etc. So I threw an impromptu Pi celebration at supper. Everyone had circles on their plates, and we measured the circumference and diameter. A CD, an LP, a jar of molasses, a battery- all were measured. Then we figured pi. Turns out our measuring apparatus (a sewing tape) was not precise enough to accurately figure the real pi, but we did come up with a couple of 3.15’s. After dinner, we had apple pi, umm, I mean pie. Then the children and I watched a Pi video on YouTube. Wild, geeky fun. A belated Happy Pi Day to you all!

I have recently been introduced to the TED talks, and find them wonderfully stimulating. Here is one by Sir Ken Robinson asking the question of whether schools kill creativity. I love his illustration of schools strip mining minds for that one element that is prized, but leaving devastation behind. Our family approaches learning in a joyful way, completely different than most schools, and you might catch a glimpse of what that means as you listen to this talk. As a mama/teacher, I nurture 6 unique people. I do not desire to have them memorize and regurgitate facts, but to grow to flourish rampantly at what God has called them specifically to do.

Sir Ken Robinson: Do Schools Kill Creativity?

These pictures have been delayed by the onset of the flu here. The girls went to Maria’s Tea Room for a birthday celebration with some of their friends. As you can see from the pictures, they had a grand time!

Thank you, Grandma, for such a lovely time.

Yesterday, James was feeling yucky and didn’t go to church. Margary stayed home with him so she could get her full nap and so I could actually hear the sermon without Miss Wigglepants distracting me. By all accounts she had a great time at home with her papa reading from the Bible and playing together. The part that is pertinent to this story is where Margary finds her sister’s digipet on the floor and starts pushing buttons. Moriah got this digipet for her birthday, and it is currently a 9 lb. cat pet that she ‘takes care of’ by pushing the proper button (Evidently you can change the type of pet which it can be. It used to be an 11 lb. butterfly. That’s one butterfly you don’t want to meet in a dark parking lot, late at night). It beeps when it has needs that it wants you to take care of (food, water, read to it). James doesn’t want Margary to mess up Moriah’s pet by pushing random buttons, so he puts it out of her reach. On the nightstand, right by our bed.

Some of the children are on a Beverly Cleary kick, and last trip to the library there were several of her books checked out. Toby spends part of his Sunday afternoon amused by the antics of Ramona the Pest. Come bedtime, he puts the book down on the floor by his bed. I sing and pray with the children, and then we all go to bed…

Except for Little Red, of course, Toby’s Red Eared Slider turtle. He is happily swimming around in his pond in the corner of the boy’s room. Probably thrilled with his sparkly clean environment (Toby and I cleaned the pond this weekend). Maybe even doing a back flip or two. Certainly never noticing that in his swimming, he has somehow managed to disconnect the water return tubing coming from the filter.

I am almost asleep, or perhaps I have been asleep for a few minutes, when a “beep, beep” sound catapults me back to awake. I recognize the sound of a digipet in need. I think perhaps I can ignore it and fall into a deep sleep where small beeps will not disturb me. But sleep is like a fog which envelopes you, you cannot hold tightly to it as it dissolves away. “Beep, beep” Doggone it. “Beep, beep.” I get up and carry the digipet down the hallway to the bathroom. No one is sleeping in there, it can complain all night without disturbing anyone, I hope. Besides, I think the digipet’s beep might indicate that it needs to relieve itself and where else would it go?

On the way back down the hallway, so close to my sweet, sweet bed, I hear Margary crying. I stumble quietly in to check on her. She is asleep, evidently having a bad dream which causes her to scrunch her little face up in sobs. Probably dreaming that her will has been thwarted and that mama has told her “No, NO, Margary. Give Elsie’s glasses back right now.”, or some such nightmare. I rub her leg and she quiets down with a sigh. Covering her back up, I then turn toward the doorway to make my escape.

Why is the floor to the boy’s room so shiny? I’ve never seen it that shiny before. I want to shrug and go back to bed, unbothered by inexplicably shiny floors, but instead, I cross the hallway and step in. With a splash. I estimate there are about 15 gallons of water washing over the floor, guessing from the amount missing from the pond thus far. I lean over to pick up a sodden item. A waterlogged copy of Ramona the Pest. Someone is going to be having a not so fun talk with a Peoria Public Librarian, and I think it’s going to be me. I unplug the filter and come up with what seems to be a reasonable plan of attack. Remove all wet items that need to be taken care of tonight. Like Toby’s large, stuffed lion that I can’t ever remember the name of (Sweet Pea? Sir Chuckles? Fuzzy Snuggles?) but who already sports a large scar over most of his torso where he almost got ripped limb from limb but is fine after I mended him, and will now add drowning to his list of near death experiences. I put him to drain in the bathtub. Spare blanket and towels mop up enough of the water so that the laminate flooring shouldn’t warp. The rest of the clean up and filter reassembly can wait till tomorrow when Samuel and Toby can help.

Sometimes when I am out with all 6 of my children, a stranger will comment to me, “My, you have your hands full.” I have several stock answers for this. One I use frequently is “Never a dull moment!” And that just covers the half of it. My life is more interesting than most movies on the shelf down at Blockbuster. And I wouldn’t want it any other way. Though a little more sleep would be nice.

Birthdays are wonderful, a chance for stopping to rejoice in the beautiful people that God has given us. Elsie on the 6th, and Moriah yesterday. Happy Birthday, my sweet daughters! (Raquel and Noah kicked off the birthday season at the end of January). I am glad to have a chance to get back to a more normal schedule, however!

We continue to work on the Heroscape reports. Everyone has a rough draft done, but the polishing work always takes longer than I think it will! Maybe next week…

I ordered a math book for Peter this week. Hurrah! I had decided not to get him a workbook until his reading was better and he wouldn’t need someone constantly by him to read the directions. When I announced at lunchtime one day this week that I thought he was doing well enough to get his own workbook, everyone cheered, including him. Samuel then started throwing out math problems for him to solve. I thought Peter did amazingly well, and realized that I would need to give him a placement test. He tested out of 1A, so will be starting his math career in Singapore Math 1B. The reason he didn’t test out further was because of his lack of time and money skills, not math skills. Elsie is heading into workbook 3A when the shipment comes.

If you have artsy and/or sciency tendencies, you will be sure to love this page I just stumbled upon this week. It is a Periodic Table of the Elements, put together by 96 printmakers. Does the fact that I think this is uber cool qualify me as some type of uber geek? I don’t know, and I don’t care. I do care to share it with you, in hopes that some of y’all will enjoy it, too.

You know how a love story goes. Boy and girl meet. They fall in love against all odds. And after some thrilling, heartpounding moments, there is a happily ever after. It is shame that the story ends there. Because it is the happily ever where true love shines like a jewel against the nitty gritty of the real world.

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The anesthesioligist tells me to relax and breathe normally. I know I have no choice on the relaxing part. I can feel that he has put something in the IV. My muscles are awash in warmth and become limp, the awareness that I have left is hard to focus. “Think of something good, and when you wake up, you will be thinking of that.” He says, confident. So I imagine that my husband James sits beside me on one of those metal stools on wheels, one foot braced on the OR floor so that he will not roll away. He looks into my eyes and takes my hand, his fingers curling around mine and dwarfing them. He smiles, and I know that everything will be all right. I think of this and see his face vividly in my mind’s eye, framed by that silly, pouffy hair net. This is how he has sat before, and where he would be this time if only he could.

The Doctor has lied to me though, for when I wake, there are no good thoughts of James, my rock. I know not who I am, only that I am dying. My lungs struggle for breath, and I gasp, but cannot draw in the sweet air. I cannot see, but I can hear as the doctor gives orders about epinephrine and IV’s. After this my awareness come and goes, I remember scenes that swirl and ebb as I cling desperately to awakening reality.

“I talked to the husband about the surgery. Call down and tell him he can’t come to the recovery room.” A male voice, must be the surgeon. I hear the nurse talking on the phone, and I know it is to my love. “Hospital policy…” she explains, and hangs up. “He wants know what the policy is. Has anyone seen the three ring binder?” Her voice sounds stressed. My vision returns at some point and I can see the jagged line of my heartbeat, but the voices are all behind me. I can hear her talking on the phone again.

“Is that my husband on the phone? Can I talk to him?” My voice sounds high and thin to me. There is no reply from behind me, but I hear them moving within feet of my head, and I know they are ignoring me. The dark haired nurse comes over to take my vital signs and write on my chart, but she is avoiding eye contact, and leaves quickly.

I try to move to see what is behind me, but find that I cannot. I locate the problem. A strap across my chest holds me down. I pluck weakly with my fingers and succeed in loosening it a bit so that I can roll slightly to my side. I still can’t see anyone.

“The husband’s at the door! He’s knocking on the door!” The nurse sounds even more stressed. “Call security.” The doctor’s curt reply.

I want to reason with them, to explain why we so desperately wish to see each other. “You might have lots of surgeries today, but this is probably my only one this year. Can I see my husband?” I beg. No reply. Then it dawns on me that they will not do lots of surgeries today, for it is Saturday. They were on call, and if it hadn’t been for me, they would not have to be here. That is why I see and hear noone but me and the nurses who will not look me in the eye. I am the problem patient with the husband that wants to come in.

The dark haired nurse comes over to write on my chart again, and when she sees the tears that are squeezing out and sliding down my face, she says “If you don’t stop crying, you’ll be in here longer.” Her’s is not the stressed voice. That belongs to the other nurse. Her voice is an angry one. (There is a third nurse, the one from the OR, that comes and speaks comfort to me, and tells me she is sorry that I lost the baby. But this is not her story). I wait an indeterminable time in tearless sorrow.

And then the door crashes open, and in comes the transport lady, smiling. She must not have heard that I am the problem patient. She cheerfully comes and informs me that it is time to go to my room, and she will take me there. “Hey, did you know your husband loves you an awful lot?” I smile in return, and am glad to be doing so. She has seen what the doctor and nurses treat so cheaply. That outside waits my true love, and we want to be together. “Yes, I know.” I reply. She helps me onto the new stretcher, and we crash again through the door. I immediately see my James, flanked by security guards, calm and waiting. “Hi,” he says. He looks into my eyes and takes my hand, his fingers curling around mine and dwarfing them. He smiles at me, and I know that everything will be all right.
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Happy Valentine’s Day, James, my own love. May our happily ever after never end, whatever hell or highwater comes our way. I love you.

I love tea, and the other day I came across a new one. Coca Tea. In learning more about it, I came across a website selling Mint Coca Tea with this description:

“The mint infusion is one good stomach when it has to do with discomfort, you nauseate or vomits.In the upsets gastrointestinales that go accompanied of flatulence, Spasms and fetid feces you perform on the mint rapidly. Stimulate the liver and the biliary vesiccula for the flavonoides that contain the mint, increasing the flow of bile.”

Perhaps this is effective, because now I am a trifle nauseated, and the tea is supposed to help with that. I am however, not really feeling inclined to buy the tea…

The children continue to make progress in their learning. Peter is sneaking up on reading more and more. Elsie has started multiplication and shown marked improvement in writing her numerals in the last couple weeks. I rarely have to make her go back and write one again now. Toby is still ahead in his math book, but Moriah and Samuel are making good progress. Moriah wants to catch up and even did an exercise today, even though math is not required on Saturday!

They watched a DVD on building a bridge across the Bering Strait, and Toby got out the globe afterward to check out the geography. (So glad to be back with Netflix, where they actually have documentaries ready to mail! Blockbuster always said they had it, and then never sent it).

The reports are going in spurts. I hope to share them with y’all next week. They have been learning a lot about Norse legends.

They have been on a Jonathan Park kick this week, and I can’t walk through the kitchen (where our CD player is) without hearing about some scientific evidence for a young earth. They then try to recount the best parts of the story to me, as if I haven’t heard this episode at least three times before!

Margary loves the phone. She gets very excited when it rings, and yells loudly until someone answers it. She likes to pretend to talk on the phone, but won’t say a thing if we put her on a live call. Lately she seems to like best watching intently the person talking on the phone, as if trying to figure the whole thing out. Here she is holding the phone just like a big people, mostly.

Another way she likes to mimic us is by rolling dice when we play games. Here she is holding a heroscape die. She gets so pleased with herself when it is her turn to roll.

The three ‘big kids’ lined up on the couch reading after our trip to the library.

Did you know that if you have those handy beepy things attached to your remote, that allow you to whistle and locate them, that they will announce their presence frequently during Wagnerian opera? It’s true. We haven’t finished Part 1 of Wagner’s Ring of the Nibelung yet. Not sure if we’re going to.

The children have been gung-ho in researching their reports. I think 2 of them will finish much earlier than I anticipated. Then they can start a new report!

Moriah and Samuel begged for a spelling bee last night before bedtime. I complied. Moriah won, but it was a good, close match.