1. Are you the type of person who jumps into new ventures or do you prefer baby steps?

Hmm....I guess I'm a jumper at heart, but finances usually require that we take baby steps. The master is a planner. He plans a thing to death.

2. Who do you feel believes in you the most?

My kids.

3. When was the last time you were on a stage?

Two weeks ago I made an update announcement in church. Also, the stage is still intact in our sanctuary-turned-daycare-gym. And I swept that on Friday.

4. Tell us about the worst boss you ever had.

O.K., I had this principal when I taught along the coast. I was brought in after the school year started and children were reassigned to my classroom to reduce overcrowding. The parents did not really have a choice in the matter, and they took all of their disgruntled, resentful feelings out on me. They were constantly picking apart EVERYTHING I did. Instead of supporting/defending me, she basically fed the fire all year long by pandering to their silly (I mean bordering on the ridiculous) complaints. It kept the heat off of her very nicely.

5. If the NCAA Men's or Women's Final Four basketball tournament was played in your hometown arena or within easy driving distance from where you live, would you try to attend one the three games?

Definitely not.

6. Of all the clothes you own, what do you feel most comfortable wearing, and why?

Scrubs. Can you say, 'ELASTIC'?

7. On what television show—either past or present—would you like to make to make a guest appearance, and what role would you play?

I would say "StarTrek," but I shudder to think what I would like in those tight spandex body suits. I would have to be of some alien species....a moo-moo wearing one.

8. St. Patrick's Day is on Wednesday March 17th. Do you celebrate and wear green? Drink Green Beer? Ignore it?

I think Mama is sending me a new St. Patrick's Day scrub top.

9. If a leprechaun told you that you could have any amount of money from his pot of gold but it had to be a specified amount for a specified item, how much would you ask for and what would it be for?

$80,000 for this building. But if he wouldn't qualify a building as an item, $24,000 for a commercial quilting machine.

Train Up a Child?

Through a set of recent, sad events at church (some of those non-bloggable topics), I’ve learned that a general criticism of our family is that we are “too tough” with our children. I find it ironic, as pastor’s children usually carry the stigma of wild hellions, and pastors have historically been faulted for not exercising better control over their households. You certainly cannot please everyone. The idea is that this carries over into the way I teach the children in my (church) classes and the way the master councils families in crisis. Apparently, we come off as not being mercy givers, full of love and understanding.
I’m trying to shake it off. No one has said anything directly to me, and perhaps that is what is most upsetting. An upfront critique is preferable to hearsay and innuendo. Then again, I don’t know how I would respond should someone accuse me face to face. Probably not as Christ-like as I should.
And, after all, this Great Experiment is still in the works. Who am I to say that my kids will turn out all right when the youngest is still in diapers and the oldest hasn’t hit puberty? Even in my few years of experience, I’ve known children who were buck wild heathens who grew up to be fine upstanding citizens and vice versa. Is there really no rhyme or reason to it? I am set adrift by this idea: all of our careful study, hard work, and heartache…for nothing?

My children do not tell me “no.”
They ask for permission before doing something.
They do not ask again if the answer is no.
We tell them what to do. Once.
Our children are expected to take on responsibilities in their own care, that of their younger siblings, and the running of the household.
They are punished swiftly and firmly for disobedience.
We do not remove natural consequences
We do not offer bribes for our children’s obedience.
We demand respect—including the manner in which we are addressed—from our children and require them to extend it to others

Does this strike you as particularly oppressive? They seem to be healthy, happy children. Are they really just chafing under this “heavy yoke,” waiting for the day they can throw it off in exchange for shame and humiliation? It may sound as though I am being facetious, but truly I am in earnest. Though we have read extensively and incorporated many parenting strategies (particularly in regard to bringing up Marina) that were not used on us as children, for the most part, we parent as we were parented. Among my peers, I always felt (and was told) that I had the “meanest” parents growing up, but I never felt unloved, and never struggled with true rebellion. As a young child, I feared deserved punishment and as a teen I had too great a respect for them. By that point, I was—for lack of a better phrase—in the habit of doing as they asked. My parents have a three of three record and the masters’ a four of four. But is it just a crap shoot in the end?
I remember when we were going through the process of adopting Cara, the agency director, a lady who we greatly respect and admire, made several comments about our parenting style during the time we were having our homestudy and following. Once—when complaining about her grown children not lending a hand when they came to visit—stating, “Of course, I didn’t raise mine the way you are raising yours.” I didn’t know whether to feel complimented or censured. I am uneasy any time this woman, whose career it is, to a large extent, to evaluate how good of a parent a person will make, points us out as odd or unusual. It is as though she, too, is curious to see how our method is going to play out in the end. It all strikes me as grossly unfair; the results only becoming apparent when it is far too late for remedy.

Goodbye?

I'm considering closing the blog. I think my post record over the last two months proves that I don't have the time for it. In addition, the master has forbidden me to post anything in regard to the you-know-what. The children and parents I serve, the funny things they say, and the heartrending, too--all taboo topics. What's really frustrating is he is probably right. I just hate it when that happens.
Since the daycare is consuming about 99.9% of my life at present, there isn't much left over to blog about. Actually, over the last two years, more and more non-bloggable themes have crept into my life. I feel as though I am projecting an incomplete, superficial image. If I can't be honest, what is the point?
I think when we start our Ugandan adoption I will open a new blog, but that will be many months (years?) from now. I will still be reading your blogs, friends, when I can, and posting those inconsequential, centimeter deep, updates on facebook.

Sureal

I went to bed in Texas and woke up in Alaska. I know for some of my friends a measly 6 inches of snow is hardly noticeable, but around these parts, it's a blizzard. This winter will go down in local history as the year of the "big snow." School was shut down, but my daycare was open, by golly. We tried to squeeze all of those fun educational ideas for snow play in to this day, as for most of my kiddos, it may well prove the one and only of childhood. We built a snowman, painted the snow with colored water, and held a colossal snow ball fight. Here are the few pics I captured of just the S_____ kids:

Here is the S*nnyside snowman. Don't worry, the yellow on his belly is snow paint.

These last two were taken yesterday, before the heavy snow fell. Notice Abby's devilish expression as she pummels her father with a snowball. Probably just as well we live in such a temperate climate.

A Post in Which I Do Not Mention The You Know What

Long time, no post. My family is all alive and basically well or returning to health after respiratory nasties. Here is a brief update on us:
The master-Is settling into his role as Mr. Mom. He excels in laundry and clean kitchen counter tops. Other areas have been generally forsaken, but we're surviving, and our socks are downy fresh.
K-Looking forward to a number sense meeting this weekend.
Abby-Says she is "overwhelmed" by Odyssey of the Mind. I still don't quite understand what that is exactly, but it something akin to UIL. Anyway, she's certainly been spending long, extra hours at school preparing for it.
Side note--How did I end up with such brainy kids?
Ian-was in BIG trouble yesterday for being written up on the bus and getting on yellow in class. He is eager for baseball to get underway, but if his behaviour does not drastically improve, he will not be playing this season.
Marina-Is starting to read. It is looking as though she is going to be at least an average student, maybe above average academically. I am both hugely relieved and also anxious over this development. More on this later
Randy-Loves his new child care situation. And can that child talk? My word! I suppose K and Abby possessed similar vast vocabularies at his age, but then I had Ian, the deaf and silent signer, and Marina of delayed language acquisition, so I've forgotten.
Cara-Still not walking. She takes steps on her own, but she has no confidence. Her steps are still the halting, hands raised, "first steps" she was taking two months ago. Neither I nor her therapist knows what to do about her.

Sunnys*de Kids and Various Asundry

I've limped over from the center and am now waiting--exhausted--for the master to return from W*llmart with hot dogs. When he arrives, we will top them with the homemade chili he prepared earlier in the week. The master makes an excellent Mr. Mom. I make a so-so business owner.
I'm just tired and discouraged. Things are going well, but it is hard work and long hours. I found out that I'm licensed for 58. That's ALOT of kids. Right now, I have 11 counting my own. That may not sound like much, but I'm working alone (not strictly true as the master has been coming on his lunch break to get the meal on the table and clean up afterwards) and I have two babies. It feels like a 110! My first employee joins me next Monday. I think the load will be much lightened at that point, if I can just hold on till then. Of course, it also means that most of the tuition will be going to make payroll, at least for now.
I guess since Christmas is over I should change my blogskin, but I haven't an ounce of creativity left to tackle it.
And if I ever get my doctorate in early childhood education, I'm going to title my thesis: "America's Feral Generation." Just so you know.

Institute the Tithe

Last Sunday, we were visiting my mom and dad, and we went to church with them on Sunday morning. At my home church, the interim pastor--an older gentleman--preached a quintessential Baptist sermon. Of course, he touched on the topic of tithing (as well as drinking, dancing, vulgar language, and the evils of wild women), commenting that if every member tithed, the church's various funds would be funded, and they would have to hold an emergency finance committee meeting to determine what to do with the excess.

***

I know D*ve R*msey, among others, recommends giving your children a regular allowance so that they may practice money management and giving at an early age. We've never been very successful with that. For one thing, five children on allowance would require a lot more wiggle room in our budget than we have heretofore possessed. Also, I dislike paying my children for doing chores around the house. I'm not sure why-I know many families do and I can totally see the logic in it--but it never set right with me. However, the master and I do tithe off of our income and it is definitely something we want to instill in our children.
We have a non-conventional way of teaching the concept of tithing here in the S____ house. One of those things that sort of happened, not something we read about in a parenting book. But I have evidence this week that it is working, so I will pass it along.
I guess it developed out of our frugality (or poverty, however you want to look at it), but I refuse to spend money on a plate of food for the baby when we eat out, and sometimes, there just isn't quite enough of a certain dish or item to go around at home. In these instances, we require the older children to "give a tithe" to the youngest child. At W*ndy's, this means a tenth of their french fries goes to Cara. After a birthday party, a tenth of their goodie bag may go to Randy. You get the idea.
On Wednesday, Abby thought there was just enough grape juice for everyone when she drained the bottle. But after we sat down, I realized that they had forgotten to fill Cara's cup. So I said, "Everyone give a tithe of juice." The children--from long habit--gladly passed their cups to K who oversaw the transfer to Cara's sippee.
As he was topping the now brimming cup and twisting on the lid, he noted, "Mom. You know, that preacher was right. If everyone gives a tithe, there is more than enough. There isn't room in her cup for more. And look! My cup has plenty. We won't even miss the little amount we gave."
Yes, it is amazing how God's way works! From multi-million dollar building funds to a toddler's sippee cup. Every time.

Bring all the tithes into the storehouse so there will be enough food in my Temple. If you do," says the LORD Almighty, "I will open the windows of heaven for you. I will pour out a blessing so great you won't have enough room to take it in! Try it! Let me prove it to you! Malachi 3:10 NLT