Posted in Good ol' days, Photos, Who's the mom here?

September 28th

Poison ivy produces urushiol to protect the pl...
(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I repost this, now and then. Today’s the day….

Today would have been my mom’s birthday. She would have been 84.

Life was hard when my mom was a kid. People had very little in the way of excess. She told us of having only three outfits: one for church, one for school, and one for choring. When a mom went to the trouble and expense of making a dress for a daughter, she would be sure to make it larger and take up that slack by making the seams deeper or thicker. Then as the owner of the dress grew, the seams could be let out. Same goes for deep hems.

My mom never was allergic to poison ivy. I’ve inherited this tendency from her, although I do get a bump or two if I am in it a long time. It is wonderful, though, to do all the weeding, including pulling up poison ivy, and not worry. My mom used to stand in poison ivy that was waist-high and pick wild grapes for jelly.

Because my mom could tolerate exposure to poison ivy, she was the gate person for their entire family. The gate had poison ivy growing on it and when the family left for an excursion, her job was to climb out of their vehicle and open the gate.

my mother
my mother

She also was the tornado warning person. If the skies looked threatening, it was her job to stand sentry and keep a lookout for tornadoes. Everyone was very sober and stern about this job of hers, so she diligently looked and looked for tornadoes during haying times. Only one trouble was that she did not know what a tornado was and imagined every sort of boogy except a cloud. Had a tornado come, she would not have known it.

She did encounter one, one day, though, and I am glad I had her on my side then.

Here’s to one good mom.

Posted in Home School, Inspiring, Sayings, Wisdom

Do NOT Try Homeschool – Part 3

homeschooling afternoonOkay, how about a look at what success in home schooling really IS? The first axiom is:

The commitment is to your child, in obedience to the Lord.

Forget excuses about having tried; it is about your child and God. It is a sober-minded decision to do the right thing with the children He has given you. No matter what, you will blaze past trying, to continuing, which is the best way to prevent becoming a quitter.

Just as you would not think of quitting on the commitment with your spouse, do not do so regarding your children.

Another very obvious help to success in home school is this:

Be at home.

Yes, there are exceptions, such as my friend who managed the very first semester of her home school in hospital waiting rooms because of a tragic accident in her family. Still, that is not the goal, as my friend would assure you.

We do not want to plan to home school on the run. When we home school, we must change our lifestyle so we can be at home.

So many parents self-prescribe home school like a capsule for the remedy of problems in their children. Rather, it is you, Mom–your scent, your voice, the feel of your skin, something no other woman on earth can provide–you are the medicine that your child needs. (Did you know that hugged children are healthier, grow more, and learn faster than abandoned ones?)

The most important motto that I would suggest is:

Listen to God and follow what you know.

The world of home school advice is overflowing with counsel that is very good, but most of it is for someone else. You must mature to the place of knowing, instead of wondering or doubting.

How can we stand if we do not know what to do or even what we are doing? No matter if your whole support group is doing differently from you—or if they are doing the same—you must do what you know is perfect for you and your children, because you received it from the hand of God. There is a lot that I cannot tell you, but He can. Learn to hear Him.

The main subject and the main goal in all home schools should be Godliness. Many of us realize that. The trouble is that most folks do not realize this truth:

When we model Godliness, then we teach it.

The reverse, sadly, also is true. You must model Godliness even when you are teaching something as seemingly neutral as math. If you fret or yell to teach math, you are mostly teaching impatience, not math. Oh, they may also learn the math that you are presenting (just about anyone can) and with many reviews will probably retain a lot of it.

They will learn the impatience that we are modeling, though, in just one easy lesson and they will remember it a long time.

Modeling Godliness is the main ingredient in the successful home school. Without it, there is little benefit from teaching the rest.

So, I would hang a few mottoes on my walls, after all, I suppose. You can use them, too, if you want:

  • Commit, for your children’s sakes.
  • Be at home.
  • Listen to God.
  • Model Godliness.

Determine to obey Him and He will give you success in teaching your children.

Then you can quit trying to homeschool.

Posted in Believe it or not!, Good ol' days, Inspiring

She Came Crying, Begging, and Trembling…

It happened during our tiny tornado that passed over us and never did a bit of damage except for felling one oak tree in the woods.

Storm CloudsWe saw the clouds coming. We knew the predicted danger was upon us. Watching it was like watching time-lapse photography. I’ve never seen clouds approach so fast.

We were ready. We have a basement and I was about to suggest we go there, except the amazing display of the skies held me entranced. There was no funnel cloud, just incredible force.

Incredible force.

Think: Can you move a tree? Even a small tree, such as an apple, is difficult to shake, even when we desperately want those apples. Yet, huge trees, with branches as large as some tree trunks, were swaying as if they were grass, as if they were dancing. Do they like tornadoes? Do they love the chance to sway like the grass? It seemed it.

Yet, reality kept me in check: Water was leaking under the front storm door, impossible except during tornadoes. As I fetched a couple of old towels from the laundry room, to protect our living room floor, I heard the honking of an automobile through the exterior door. I heard the wild, mad, honking of someone desperate.

My husband had the sense to open the door, exactly at the moment the banging began. There stood a rain-drenched woman, blonde and petite.

“Oh, PLEASE let me come into your house! Please let me come in!” she begged, trembling all over and almost jumping in the door once we opened it.

Who could deny such a request at such a time?

So it was that she stood just inside the laundry room, dripping, running, water all over the tiles. She blessed us, thanked us, and blessed us again. And I stood, dumbly, astonished, with two towels in my hands, finally thinking to thrust them at her. She began drying herself as if she were a family member. Mentally, I remembered the flooding front door, and I remembered the Scriptures: do not neglect entertaining strangers, for thereby, some have entertained angels, unaware… (Or something like it–that was how I was remembering it.)

As if she were an angel, we encouraged her to come inside the rest of the house. We anticipated a black-out and wanted her where we could seat her if darkness made our unfamiliar house a hazard to her. We offered her more towels and a drink. We showed her the astonishing view outside our front door, as more storm flew over us. We apologized as we needed to tend to that water coming in with more towels.

She, feeling SO at home, asked to borrow a phone. She told her mother she was okay, but would be late. We chatted. The storm passed.

Then she apologized: She usually drives through a storm unafraid, she said, but this one was like NOTHING she had ever seen before. We assured her we felt the same and she was extremely wise not to drive in such wind with the ground so saturated that trees might fall across her path, or even on her car. She thanked us profusely and promised to bring us a cake. We told her we would love a cake, but she owed us nothing.

Then she left for where she belonged, and, just like that, this golden moment of people helping people was over.

I miss it.

_______________

Storm Clouds (Photo credit: mcdett)

Posted in College, Guest Post, Husbands

How to Find Your True Love!

How did I know? How did I find the man of my dreams?

As if looking for an outfit that I could not imagine, I told myself, “I’ll know him when I see him.”
I hoped I was right.

The first time I saw him, he was sitting down. I was standing up, and I was not impressed.

It was a homecoming float decorating meeting, and I’d had some responsibilities in that barn where that flatbed was stored, and when I turned around, all available seats were taken.

Then it happened. He offered me the upturned bucket he was using for a seat and I was impressed, after all.

And he sure was good-looking!

Thus began many days of talking, talking, talking. We ate out once a week because I had to miss dinner when I tutored. We stood in sheltered places on campus to keep warm in the winter blasts. We tried to find acceptable pass times and finally thought of playing chess together.

It delighted me that he was intelligent, that he enjoyed playing chess. I was not very good at it, although I’d taught all my siblings how to play. But I was attracted to this intelligence that would prefer doing something mentally difficult for fun.

That’s when I knew. I knew he could easily be the one, but not because of playing chess. It was because of the chess board he brought with him that night.

You see, I was raised very poor. My folks had little to go on and every cent I got, I earned myself. We had no hot water tank. One door in our car had to be tied shut for safety.

That poor.

I was looking for a guy who could, first, accept me within my poverty, and second, deliver and keep me from ever going back into it. I did not know how to attract such a man, though, since I was sunk so deeply in poverty, myself.

Who would have a poor girl? The question plagued me.

When I met this, my future husband, I quickly learned he was strong, self-motivated, farm-orientated, and smart. That told me he knew how to survive. But because I perceived him as having come from wealth, he scared me, actually.

Until I saw the chess board.

On our first ever chess-playing night out, the board he brought was made of cardboard, drawn, literally on the side of a box with felt tip pen. And the pen had run out of ink, so some of the black squares were only briefly scribbled, not really blackened. Not only that, but the chess playing pieces were the dime-store kind a person could pick up for $1.50.

When I saw all that, I knew. Here was a man who I thought could have anything and chose to save money by drawing a chess board on a side of a box.

I loved that chess board. It spoke to me. It told me this man would not care if my folks were “that poor”. This man would understand the lack of hot water in our home. He would understand the poverty. In fact, I suspected there was a background of wisdom and training born of poverty in this man. I suspected we might share the same goals of lifting each other out.

From that night, on, I looked at him differently. He no longer was a “maybe”; he’d become a “must be”.

Although no one can know the future, I knew that if all went normally, I’d never be totally poverty-stricken again. I knew he’d work hard to make what he needed. I knew he’d turn down expensive frills for a sensible lifestyle. I knew he’d be smart about money.

Besides that, he grew up around home canning, home-sewn clothing, and eating whatever was set before him.

I was sure this was going to be very good.

And I was right.

We have enough; we save; we do not go without any thing of great importance. We work hard for everything but the wealth here is not measured only in dollar signs. There is a great wealth, in my heart, of knowing he’s the one. He’s always been the one. He’s taken good care of me all these years and I’ve been blessed.

He’d wanted to be rich someday, and that has never really happened, but there is a wealth that goes beyond dollars.

How I knew it would turn out this way, I do not know. A chess board? It cannot have been that. It was an attitude that went along with it and matched what I hungered for. It was a drive to do one’s best, a big drive to be the most he possibly could, for me.

I knew it when I saw that board.

Now we’re old.

He’s made us many things since then, furniture, cabinetry, and even including a chess board made of plywood that we play on occasionally.

I’m still not a very good player.

But I was right.

And let me ask you this: Who else in history won His Bride by arriving humbly, accepted her in spite of her poverty, rescued her from it, and has kept her faithfully ever since?

Posted in 'Tis the Season, gardening, Guest Post, Husbands

When Enough Is Enough

Second and Third bouquets of the year

Hellebores and Daffodils

I do not normally ever think there are enough daffodils in my house. Ever.

However, when I think of all the daffodils my beloved has brought me over the years, I get a soft, satisfied feeling I cannot explain.

Fulfilled? Maybe. Or maybe just content?

Anyway, I promised to show you the very first bouquet from this year on the 21st, but I guessed wrong at the date and today is the day!

Posted in Believe it or not!, Food, Husbands

In Honor of the Peanut Butter Thing…

Today is National Peanut Butter Day?

So they say.

Well I decided to share with you my connection to the lowly peanut, and the butter we make from it.

Forty-five years ago (tomorrow!) I acquired a wonderful, brand new husband. Never looked back. However, it wasn’t long before we were sharing a tad of morning sickness and he had the cure!

It was not something I would have chosen to swallow that morning, not at all. It sounded gross.

But his enthusiasm (plus the fact that he could stand up without fainting and I could not) won the day.

I found myself eyeball to eyeball with a bowl of canned chicken noodle soup and the most amazing combination of foods I could ever imagine in a sandwich.

It was not even a good color combination, and the aromas from it were less than what a newly prego lady would want.

However, it all was served to me while I was still in bed, and with such youthful exuberance, I had to smile to myself at the awesome idea of this young man serving me, his young bride, breakfast in bed with such a hopeful expression, no matter WHAT the menu.

So I sipped on the soup, for starters. (Soup is supposed to be the first course, anyway, I remembered from home ec class.) The soup was fine. He actually knew how to open a can of soup, dilute it properly, and warm it without boiling it over; a factoid worth mental note, indeed.

And he was truly caring and attentive, I also noted, with pleasure.

But the sandwich!

It was time. I had to take at least one bite. How on earth could anyone be so callous as to ignore any part of this loving offering, right?

So I took a bite. I chewed.

The unbelievable flavor combination of white bread, peanut butter, and dill pickle awakened my taste buds to a new world.

And I’ve never looked back

Happy 45th, a day early, Sweetheart! ❤

Peanut Butter and Dill Pickle Sandwich
Counter-top breakfasting at its best!
Posted in Connect, FREEDOM OF THE PRESS, Home School

Big Money-Saver!

Robinson
Robinson

Found an amazingly helpful post today at one of the curriculum providers we discuss on this site!

I totally wish we’d known all this about two months ago!

Hope you enjoy!

“Because printing is central to the use of the Robinson Curriculum I know a lot of you have questions as to which printer would be best.  The good news is that technology is now delivering the ideal printers at a lower cost than ever before.  Someone said that the power of the press is for those who own one – and have something worthwhile to print!  Your computer, one of these printers, and the Robinson Curriculum give you that power.”

Read the rest here!