The Puppy in Our Pool

I'm cooling off after mowing the lawn, goofing off on the computer while the girls swim outside. Suddenly, I hear weird animal-like noises from outside and the door opens as Big Girl strolls into the half-bath near the door.

"Um, what's that noise your sister is making?"

"Oh, we're pretending she's a puppy, and she's howling because I walked away to go to the bathroom and she doesn't know where I am."

"So ... she's crying like a puppy."

"Yup. Because I'm in here and she doesn't know where I went."

Why do they need an actual pet when we can have this kind of fun?

PS: Little Girl howled the entire time Big Girl was in the house, plus a little extra for good measure. Just like a real puppy might whimper at you when you come back as if to say, "See how scared I was? You are so mean!"

My kids are awesome.

Adrenaline Rush

Dear IRS Agent Miss Jordan,

You were very nice to me and very calm as we figured out why our money was delayed. I'm glad our money will be put back into our account this week (God willing), and I will be very sorry to see you unemployed should the Fair Tax be passed.

You really were pleasant, but I'd still like the IRS to go the way of the 8-Track, but with fewer good memories.

Love,

Christine the Soccer Mom

Like Prom, Only Better ... But Not With Less Hairspray

Travel Man made his Fourth Degree this past weekend. We got all dolled up (it was black-tie), and I felt like a princess! We got professional pictures done (like prom), but here's a shot a friend of ours took for us. I think I used about as much hairspray as prom, too. But I thought it was worth it!

And can I tell you how totally AWESOME Travel Man looks dressed like this??? Good golly, Molly! I'm ready to buy him a tux to just wear around the house every day. Seriously. I didn't even want to go to dinner, you know.

And if you think that's bad, wait'll he gets the Regalia!!

At the Parish Picnic

There was a silent auction, including several boxes of books. One box I was really interested in had The Everlasting Man in it, in addition to a couple of other books, including The Audacity of Hope. Travel Man said, "Well, the downside is Obama's book."

But I wanted Chesterton, so I bid on the box. I checked back about 20 minutes before the end of the auction only to see a new bid. One new bid.

I could outbid the person, but I am not sure what the Purgatorial time is for outbidding your priest on Chesterton books. So I told Father K. it wasn't exactly fair.

"You could outbid me. It's okay."

"No," I teased, "I think I might go to Hell. I won't outbid you."

And neither would anyone else, though Father did mention he'd loan the book to us when he was done. I might take him up on it sometime, but it's not like I don't have other reading I could do. It's tough to be a bookworm without being able to sit for 20 hours a day and read.

Hey, everyone needs to sleep, right?

To What Degree?

When I tell people I homeschool, most are supportive, even if their reaction includes a "I could never!" comment.  Occasionally, though, someone questions that I am sheltering my girls.  My reaction these days to that rare instance is, "You bet your bippy!  It's my job to shelter them!"

I do shelter them, unapologetically, from things that might do damage to their souls: immoral or amoral lessons in sex ed, exposure to media (including books) that Travel Man and I deem to be inappropriate, ideas about family that are in opposition to our faith, and even history skewed against the truth about the Church.  To some degree, I am also sheltering them from the trials and travails that they might encounter in the clique-ish school culture.

And I say "to some degree" because I know that as long as we are involved in extracurricular activities (and we are), they'll encounter some of that anyway.

This was never so painfully obvious to me as it was a little more than two weeks ago, when I was getting Little Girl ready for dance lessons.  It seems that the day before, some boys at Sunday school laughed because she doesn't have "Summer vacation."  In other words, we school all the time, taking breaks when we need to for mental health or for family vacations or, in the case of the end of this month, for family celebrations.  But try explaining that to second graders.  All Little Girl knew is that her tender little heart was hurt by their laughter.  And then, something that had been bothering her for some time came to a head as I went to pull her hair up for dance.

She started to cry.  About dance class.  "I don't really want to go any more.  I think I want to stop dance after the recital!" she wailed.

This is a child who will not cannot stop dancing.  I practically have to strap her to a chair for meals, she's in motion so much!  And she wants to quit?!?

A little inquiry on my part revealed that she was dealing with "mean girls" in her class.  Girls who laughed when others fell down.  Girls who wouldn't talk to her.  Girls who didn't ask if she was okay when she fell.  Girls who made fun of her for wearing tights from a Winnie-the-Pooh dance from last year - tights!!  Girls who were getting clique-ish.  

This was new, mind you.  The class dynamics changed when a few new girls joined the dance studio.  Before this year, she had no problems like this; all the girls got along, they all talked and laughed together, and there were no little groups sneering at others' mistakes.  (They all enjoyed the Winnie-the-Pooh dance, too, including the very plain beige tights.)

This is a struggle for me.  I want to protect her.  I want to kick butt and take names - of the mothers who let their little girls act this way, mind you.  I want to lecture the girls and make them cringe.  I even think about switching dance schools to protect her from these girls.

But that wouldn't change a thing, and it would potentially damage her character.  Running off to another school won't protect her; mean girls are everywhere.  (I never even took dance, and I encountered them!)  Kicking butt and taking names won't help, because then the mothers and I won't even get along, and that would probably only feed into the problem in the long run.

So we talked and I got specifics.  And I asked her, "What do you want me to do for you?"

"I want you to talk to the teacher for me.  I might start crying again if I talk to her."

"When, honey?"

"Today."

I gulped.  I HATE confrontation, but this is important to take care of.  "When today?  Before class or after class?"

"Before, please."

So I had about fifteen minutes to craft my part of the discussion.  Little did she know how nervous I was to bring it up, but I was glad that she said something.  She almost never complains about anything.  So for this to come up at all means that it's been bothering her for quite some time.  (Almost the whole school year, it turns out.)

When I pulled the instructor aside, she acknowledged that it had been slowly escalating, and the idea of Little Girl quitting was horrible to her.  "She's too good to let those girls push her out.  I'm not losing her!"  She's known Little Girl for three years now, and knows how shy and sensitive she is.  So she spoke to the class - without revealing who it was - about respecting others and not being mean.  

Even though it didn't help Little Girl suddenly have the old camaraderie back again, she felt better that someone would be looking out for that kind of behavior.  

I know I can't shelter her from this.  I can limit it, for sure, but there are mean girls everywhere.  Another school would have different mean girls.  If she left dance forever and started something else, there'd be mean girls there, too.  Not everyone can be "homeschooled Catholic girls like me," which was Little Girl's wish.  But until she learns how to deal with situations like this, it's my job, too, to step in and help her.  We'll work on dealing a little at a time, but I'm not ready to throw her to the wolves.  I'm not ready to let her work it out on her own.  And she's not ready, either.

So, yes.  I shelter my girls.  You bet your bippy!

But I'm teaching them how to go out into the world, too.  And when it's time, they'll be ready for it.

ARGH!

Lenten morning, as planned:

Wake up with enough time to say Morning Offering, get a cup of coffee, and log into work.  Day begins nicely with prayer and caffeine.  (Caffeine optional, of course.)

Actual Lenten morning:

Wake up and stretch.  Realize that it's a bit too light for 6-something in the morning, not to mention how incredibly well-rested I feel.  Start to panic.  Grab glasses.  Look at clock.  Realize that you are 1 hour late logging into work.  Curse, jump out of bed, start logging in.  As log-in ensues, call husband and berate him moments before his class for turning the alarm all the way off yesterday instead of resetting it the way you like.  Log in late, have a crappy shift, start thinking about stupid customers and their stupid problems.  Finish shift (only 30 minutes left to it, anyway), realize you haven't said a Morning Offering and you were incredibly mean to your husband, who did nothing to prevent you from actually looking at your alarm last night before going to sleep.  Bang head against wall and proceed to apologize online, in email, on voicemail, in person on the phone at lunch time.  Say Morning Offering at 9:30 instead of 6:30.  Thank God husband is the forgiving sort!  

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At least I know I'm in good company, what with the doing what I don't want to do and not doing what I want to do.  Saint Paul, pray for me!