Update on the pedophile neighbor

I wish I had been blogging, but honestly, I just had too much to do. Okay, in truth, my free time was taken up with my Facebook addiction. Luckily, I’m finding Facebook less addicting now. Turning off the email notifications has helped immensely with that.

Really, I was a little freaked out.

To just get down to it, my neighbor swallowed a lethal dose of unknown pills two days before the election. His trial would have been on Election Day. He was facing 20 felony counts for child pornography (plus tons of evidence and a confession) and such and I guess he couldn’t take the heat.

I had weird thoughts: Didn’t he wonder if President Obama would win? Why not the day of the trial? Why not three weeks ago? Why on a Saturday night? Where was the dog?

As those who know me well know, the month between when he posted bail and when he killed himself was challenging for me. I usually let things roll, but with the brain surgeon working weird hours and having the loose canon right next door, I had trouble sleeping and felt on edge often.

I knew he was going to kill himself. I worried he would shoot himself and a stray bullet would go through our wall or that he would take out more than just himself.

In some weird way, I feel very conflicted about his death, though. He was somebody’s son.

My children’s swim teacher, who had become our friend, killed himself just a short time before the pedophile neighbor did. It was so hard to understand, as suicide will always be. The brain surgeon was very torn apart about it – and he’s pretty tough, considering what he deals with every day. I was hysterical. It seems so senseless to me even now. Michael was this beautiful force of positive energy, loved by so many people. I know I will never understand.

We never really know people, I guess. People have their dark feelings.

So, when Michael killed himself and the pedophile posted bail, all I could think was, “Why do people like Michael kill themselves and people like [pedophile] don’t.” I wished the pedophile would. I wanted him to just disappear. Now I feel some terrible sense of guilt that he did.

He was a sick man. Everything I’ve read and heard says that you can’t rehabilitate a pedophile, but I’m not sure wishing death on them is the kindest course of action, either. The lead detective on the case, who had kept in contact with me, said there was no telling what he would have done if he remained free or when he was released.

The night of his discovery, I went into some sort of shock, even though I expected him to do it. I knew something was up all day. I didn’t see him or hear his dog. His morning paper remained untouched on his doormat. His Audi hadn’t moved.

When they found him, I sat plastered to my front window, watching the fire trucks and the ambulance come and go. I spoke to the police. I waited until the coroner arrived at 2:00 a.m. Then I watched them wheel him away. I’m not sure why I did any of this, because in doing so, I gave myself a permanent memory of the end of a sad waste of life that I don’t need. It isn’t exactly positive energy.

Now, a month later, there is still a police sticker on his door. His Audi is still there. It is eerily silent.

But I don’t have to worry about going to the park anymore or about him slamming his door or swearing at us when we walk by. In some sense, this five-year voyage to a little section of hell is over. Yet, he will always be in the landscape of my mind. Unwelcome in every way.

Perverted Pedophiles

Maybe it was foreshadowing, but about a while ago I took a break from blogging because my search engine data showed that some (I’m assuming) pedophile found my blog by searching (I’m going to put asterisks in hopes of not attracting more freaks) for “n*ked children v**inas.” I went through my blog and sure enough, I have all three words in it, though never together. Eeewwwwww.

Well yesterday morning (is this drama month or WHAT?) when the brain surgeon was brushing his teeth, we heard this POUNDING sound. Long story short, it is the police (lots of them) pounding on our neighbor’s door. They had a search warrant because somehow they figured out he was into child po*nog*aphy. See the California Penal Code he's arrested under here.

(Don’t worry…I’m sure I’ll get less paranoid and stop putting asterisks in everything).

The weird thing is this man has been awful to my children. I mean, nasty, rude, dreadful. He definitely doesn’t fit the: “Ya want some candy, Little Girl?” stereotype. Especially because we now know he’s into little boys. I have both, and either way, it’s creepy.

He isn’t bad looking, but he has always acted strange and angry. He drives an Audi A4, which he keeps remarkably clean. He used to go to work, but has been home for about two years, I think.

What I’m finding interesting now is how much we protect criminals to protect our values of innocence until proven guilty. It’s a tough balance, for sure. If he posts bail, he gets to come home and live next to our three children and us – and enjoy the view out of his bedroom of the toddler park – until his court date.

And he could come home. His bail is set at only $20,000, which means he needs to put up just $2,000 with a bail bondsman. And if we post warnings about him or notices of what happened, he can sue us for slander. Cool, ay?

Look: This guy in Barbara Boxer’s office was arrested last Friday for involvement in a kiddie porn ring and he’s already out of jail. Ick.

I hope that the freakshow cannot come up with the cash and will stay behind bars. Pedophiles are not so treatable, rumor has it, and I don’t even want him *looking* at my children in their winter clothes. If he gets to come back, we need to go, and that’s inconvenient on 10 different levels.

Plus, I’m now scared at night when the brain surgeon isn’t home.

Thanks freaky pedophile.

I Have Been Shat Upon Before, but Today Takes the Cake

Here's a little something that happened on September 19th.

My oldest child is so psychic, and this story alone will sound like a silly way to say so, but let’s just leave it at that.

So today, after a couple of quick conference calls, we went to see the Animal Guys . (more on this and animal consciousness soon). Our playgroup had arranged for them to come to the park for a potluck show, and one of the other children was having a birthday party with a bounce house, too. It was cool and definitely educational for all, especially my daughter, since we are studying mammals.

Now, my youngest, who will be two in November, was in full potty training mode, refusing to wear diapers and such. I’d been indulging her for a couple of days and putting her in big-girl pants. She had been making it to the potty for the most part. I didn't use this video to train her:



As we approached the park, she started to yell “pee pee” while still in her car seat, so I told her we were almost there and to hold it. After we parked, I got all three kids out of their car seats (yes, even my 6-year-old) and we headed for the bathrooms. The older two were walking like snails, grabbing sticks and so on as children do, so I said, “Please hurry up or she’s gonna pee on my shirt.” My oldest said, “Mommy, you always pack us extra clothes, but you never pack any for yourself. Maybe you should.” “Good idea,” I said, but I’d never really needed one before, so I wasn’t really planning to follow through. (I did think it was a good idea, though).

Fast forward two hours and 10 trips to the bathroom made every time the one-who-is-now-fascinated-with-all-things-toilet-related yells “PEE PEE!” Mothers with 3-year-olds in pull-ups looked on with envy. I was a little proud, even though I had nothing to do with the early urge to potty train.

Well, somewhere between bounce house and birthday cake, I swooped my little one up for some reason (no idea) and plopped her on my hip, as usual, when yucky, hot, runny something landed upon my waist. I didn’t even have to look. I didn’t even want to know. I asked another mom to keep an eye on the older two and headed to the bathroom, pooh all over my hand and under my fingernails.

Too bad my eldest hadn’t had her little premonition about me needing a change of clothes, oh say, a day earlier. Poop was everywhere. Lots of it. Everywhere. I never understand how such little people can produce so much poop.

So, there I was, topless(and getting the top off without getting crap in my hair was no small endeavor) in a Los Angeles public bathroom with my naked baby, both of us covered in a river of crap. Literally. Luckily, I had clothes for her. I, on the other hand, had to wash my shirt out in the sink, during which time a nanny type came in with a baby. She initially looked at me stark-eyed like I was a homeless woman getting ready for the day, but then seemed to realize what happened.

Anyway, I could go on with all the gruesome details, but let’s suffice it to say that I’m glad it was warm out as I went back out to the gathering in my wet t-shirt and let’s all thank God it wasn’t white, or I would have been trapped in the bathroom for a while.

I have been shat upon before, but that was a pooh-athon to beat all pooh-athons.

Well, it’s time to get back to blogging. I can attribute my lack of blogging lately to two key things:

1. A slight (okay, slightly more than slight) Facebook addiction
2. My stat counter. It shows what keywords get people here and last month, one pervert found me by searching keywords that I will not repeat here (don’t need more perverts ending up here). Go away, Sicko!!!

Let’s start with a little Sarah Palin, because I just can’t get enough of her. This one’s worth watching.



On a personal note, life has been colorful, eventful and downright violent this week. First, the brain surgeon had a near-fistfight with someone who wanted to discipline our 3-year-old son for hitting his daughter. I have to admire my beloved’s restraint in the situation. I wasn’t there, but from what all of the bystanders said, the man deserved to get slugged.

It did bring up the question: When is it appropriate to discipline someone else’s child? My gut answer to that question is “never!” but it also depends on how one defines “discipline.” I happen to be a very gentle parent (unless I’m getting my period…go away hideous hormones!) and strict parents would likely call me “permissive.”

But there is a method to my ways. I don’t believe in spanking or doing time-outs. Why? I don’t believe either are effective, nor do I believe such discipline tactics help children learn to negotiate their way around the social intricacies of the world. Rather, they foster feelings of shame and resentment.

In the aforementioned instance, this man attempted to grab my child and “discipline” him for hitting his child. I don’t believe he was intending to hurt my little boy physically, but I do believe he was going to chastise him and try to force a fake 3-year-old apology. For whatever reason, my children say “sorry” freely, despite a lack of traditional punishment and despite the fact that I don’t force them to apologize, so aggression as a means to that end was just ludicrous.

When violence occurs, I remove the child from the situation and we talk about using words and not fists (or teeth!) and we talk about how the other person would feel. We often discuss whether or not we think people will want to play with kids who use their bodies rather than words to express feelings. We take time together to calm down. Usually at this point, my children will volunteer to apologize, because, in reality, they are gentle souls who lost control of their emotions in the heat of the moment. When the heat dissipates, they feel sad about what they’ve done.

Sound familiar?

Yeah, to me, too.

To that man, I want to say: If grown men lose control of their emotions and almost get physical over my 3-year-old, I think it’s okay that my 3-year-old has not learned to control his emotions. He needs guidance, not punishment.

Luckily, I have a 6-year-old daughter who is ridiculously gentle now, despite also using her body to communicate when she was 3. It gives me confidence in our parenting choices despite the jerkface trying to do the job for us because he clearly thought wew were inept.

But on the violence and setting a good example note, I failed miserably yesterday. I punched someone in the face and split her lip open.

Yep. It’s true.

In one of the more surreal experiences of my human existence, I pulled behind a white Jeep SUV yesterday at the exit of a parking structure. There were no lines and a minimal wait. The driver of the SUV decided she was in the wrong lane and signaled for me to reverse, which I did. I then pulled into the next lane.

Apparently Jeep SUV lady didn’t like this, because she began screaming at me to move. I tried to back up again, but couldn’t, and she kept swearing at me and yelling to let her in front (by this time, we both could have easily gone). I calmly and inappropriately said, “I would if you weren’t being such a b***h.”

Well, turns out soccer mom #2 didn’t like soccer mom #1 (moi) calling her names, because she got out of her car (which I later found out had kids inside), walked around my car, reached in my front window, grabbed my ponytail and smacked me in the face.

So, I punched her in the mouth (thanks, cardio Thai boxing class!) and then somehow kicked her in the chest (I’m flexible, but did scrape my leg on the window). She walked away and called me the C word, and then kept yelling with blood covering her front teeth.

I honestly did not hit her that hard. It feels really weird that I made someone bleed.

The security guards and parking attendants at Hollywood and Highland were useless. They got on their walky talkies, but just observed her attack and called the police. They didn’t come help me during the attack. They wouldn’t let her out, however, and signaled to me to block her in, which I did until she reversed and threatened to hit my car with her car.

Then, psycho soccer mom reversed all the way through the parking lot to escape, but they caught her at the other gate.

Then it got complicated, because she claimed she just walked over to “talk” to me and that I randomly hit her. To make matters worse, she was swollen and bleeding and I was unmarked. Luckily, witnesses corroborated my story, but for a good while, I thought we were both going to jail. That would have been something to blog about!

In the end, I didn’t press battery charges. Her children would have ended up in custody, since her husband was out of town and she had no one to pick them up. She cried and said she was under a lot of stress and so on, and I figure that being held for two hours with fear of arrest likely taught her a road rage lesson.

Late last night, the brain surgeon and I were laughing about how comical the whole thing must have looked...Two soccer moms in t-shirts, leggings, tennis shoes and ponytails brawling through a minivan window.

Classic.

Paul Newman dies and my former sorority sister is senior advisor for McCain

Rarely am I saddened when a celebrity, especially one I don’t know (said as if I know so many) dies, but I’m really sad about Paul Newman. He died yesterday at the age of 83, having lost his personal battle with cancer.

Although he’s nearly as old as my own grandparents, there was such a young spirit about him. Besides being a phenomenal actor, he was also an activist and had a warm heart. How could anyone resist old blue eyes?

Goodbye Paul Newman. I know the whole world will miss you.



On a weird note, I’m not sure how I missed the fact that the former president of my sorority house (my pledge and initiation year) is the senior advisor for McCain. She’s all over the airways right now. Perhaps it’s because I don’t watch television very often and have to wait for it all on YouTube.



That makes a few Pi Beta Phis in the news this year (my personal fave is the brilliant and beautiful Eyee Hsu, who did some fabulous Olympic corresponding from Bejing), but I have to say, when you’re a flaming liberal like me, the news of Nicolle Devinish (now Wallace) is just plain fun.



Nicolle Wallace was always a staunch republican, even in such a liberal place as U.C. Berkeley, where we all went to college. That’s one of the only things I remember about her (besides the fact that she frequently spent the night at the Zate house). As our president, she had political fortitude even then and a way of staying pleasantly neutral and cute.

Did I like her then? I think I did. Although she had a reputation for being phony, she was always sweet on the surface.

I cannot judge Nicolle Wallace as a person today. I haven’t seen her in over a decade. But as a political figure, I can only say I’m thoroughly unimpressed with her positions, although she definitely remains poised, yet strong, under pressure and delivers her lines eloquently. She usually makes McCain and Palin look as good as they could ever look, which isn’t great considering their myriad deficiencies, but not for a lack of effort on Nicolle’s part.

Oh, and she isn’t so nice to the media, of which I am a member.

However, like our President Bush, Mrs. Wallace can party. Was it I who held her hair back while she bowed to the porcelain gods after that college party?

I’ll never tell.

Happy, Happy Birthday...Baby

On the East Coast, my daughter is now 6 and I have just over an hour until she turns 6 here on the Pacific Coast.

It is so cliché, but my how time flies.

This song from Mamma Mia makes me so mindful of it all, but it also makes me CRY CRY CRY...



And this one my dear friend played for me a few years ago, after her mother played it for her, and I still can't get through it without sobbing. Although I'm not a huge country fan, Martina McBride sings it so beautifully.



My firstborn and I had a little ritual tonight to say goodbye to 5. We had our last snuggle while she was 5, our last goodnight kiss and then a last 5 photo. Then we talked about how 5 will always be a part of her and that it isn’t really goodbye 5…just hello 6.

Less than a decade ago, I was such a different person. The rapid aging of my firstborn continually reminds me of how little time I have to get it right.

Not sure what “it” is, but I do have a constant yearning to get “it” right.

I remain in awe of the way the birth of this child transformed me. I was a feminist. Now I’m a new kind of feminist. I never believed I could stay home with children (How boring! How mindless!), and I never considered homeschooling (What wackos!), but now I spend the majority of my time finding ways to do both.

When I left medicine (and when medicine, in turn, left me), I felt like I’d go back. Medicine seemed the perfect combination of care giving and intellectualizing. But it is not that at all. While it is another topic, I know that what I do now is so much more important than what I thought I’d do then.

By virtue of my checkered past, many of my friends are physicians. Lately, by virtue of our age, many of those same friends are having children. They bear them while full of guilt for leaving their colleagues when they take blunted maternity leaves. They enjoy their babies a precious 6 weeks or 12 weeks or even 4 weeks before handing them off to spend much of their waking hours cared for by someone else (in the best cases, a relative) and it’s really hard. It’s heartbreaking.

As my daughter turns 6, I’m even more grateful that I have been so blessed to be able to provide for our family in such creative ways.

A few friends have given me such deep perspectives on life and the value of these children I’ve chosen to have, as have the children, of course. Really, there is nothing more important than raising them, nothing more precious than these moments that I am fortunate enough to share with them.

My daughter has taught me so much in her 6 short years. She truly has transformed me. As she grows, I miss every person I lose along the way. I will never hold that newborn again. I will never again watch her learn to walk. I will never again have to help her remember her ABCs. That baby is gone and if I think about it too much, it makes me profoundly sad.

Yet, I’m so excited to see who she is becoming. It’s hard to stay sad when there is so much to look forward to.

And each moment gone reminds me of how important it is to cherish every second...every silly tantrum, every funky desire, the 100,000th step...everything. These will be the stories we will share. This is the creation of our family history and our individual life histories. These moments -- each one of them -- create the person she will be regardless of which hat she eventually chooses to wear.

I asked her how the last 5 years have been and she said, “Really happy!”

I hope she always feels that way about her life.

I’m grateful for each moment of every day with her.

Happy birthday, Baby.

Homeschooling Fashionistas!

I’m only on my computer to write, but when I hit a block, I take 5 to 10 minutes to either:

• Check and respond to email
• Play on YouTube
• Mess about on FaceBook
• Google my friends (current and long lost) to see what they’re up to

So, I’m messing around on FaceBook yesterday, searching groups. I’ve added some groups on FaceBook and I have no idea why. Is there a purpose? Whatever.

Anyway, I’m into homeschooling, so I decided to check that out and I came across the VICTIMS OF HOMESCHOOL FASHION group.

Thank God I had a toilet near me, because things like that make me wanna pee. I mean, denim jumpers. Seriously.

So do things like this:

(The best part, is Mr. T is totally for real in this 80s fashion extravaganza.)

It all brought me back to thinking about the homeschooling community and the weird factor.

The truth is, not all homeschoolers are alike. I’ve seen fashionable homeschoolers.

But not many.

And I really don’t care what people wear. My friends come in all shapes and sizes, and many simply have different priorities – though some of my friends are extremely fashion oriented and make fashion really fun for moms and women in general.

However, after that conference, this fashion thing continued to weigh on my mind. I finally realized that what has piqued my interested isn’t really the blatant disregard for personal appearance on the part of more than a few in the homeschooling community, but the fact that looking purposely blah seems to be part of the culture.

In the group settings, lipstick wearing feels almost sacrilege and high heel wearing feels just plain hookerish.

When I had this epiphany, I had to call my friend who had attended the homeschooling conference with me. When at first I mentioned this homeschooling fashion thing a while ago, she simply said, “Seek help.”

Gotta love authentic friends.

She finally got what I was itchy about…AND admitted they were actually discussing this in one of the sessions.

In truth, there is an idea among some (many?) homeschoolers that you have to be ALL about the children and if you are a hottie mom, then you must be all about yourself.

I’ve also heard derogatory remarks about clean houses. Like, if your house is actually clean, you must be one of those parents – more interested in sterility and appearances than in letting your children play and enjoy equality in the household.

But that’s not true. Some people just have plenty of energy to do it all. Other people have housekeepers. Still others simply go out a lot and don’t have a lot of time to mess the house up. And still more are into FlyLady (I love FlyLady!).

The homeschooling community is very diverse and it is pretty much impossible to generalize, although I won’t say I saw a lot of Jimmy Choo or Prada at the CHN Expo.

But it brings me back to my thoughts about whether homeschooled kids are weird. Really, I didn’t meet a lot of weird ones. There were a few, for sure, but mostly because they were freaky smart, and there certainly weren’t any more than there are in the general public.

On a VERY POSITIVE note, those who were on the weirder side of the spectrum seemed happy and confident compared to their schooled counterparts, probably due to being spared a lifetime of teasing and bullying and to having the freedom to be their authentic selves.

And I think weird is a good thing. I really do. Still, appearances matter. They do. Call me shallow, but I’m not buying a denim jumper. Ever.

Well, maybe if it looks like this hee hee.

Today’s gratitude journal:

1. I’m grateful that I don’t own, and never have owned, never will own, nor does my (insert mother, sister, best friend, etc.) own a denim jumper.
2. I’m grateful that my dog doesn’t shed or drool, and usually doesn’t stink too badly.
3. I’m grateful that the brain surgeon got a raise in his pathetic salary.
4. I’m grateful that I’m writing regularly.
5. I’m grateful for the chance to carry, birth, grow and nurture my babies.

Toodles!

Boobs are multipurpose, and it's a beautiful thing!

I read this article the other day about women giving up on breastfeeding and it made me sad.

I have major issue when women decide not to breastfeed or give up due to some little thing. I try not to. Mostly I'm annoyed with the medical community and their casual attitude about it. Then I think about formula and the millions of people raised on it (myself included, for all but my first three months) and I think, well how bad can it be? People who resort to formula always say everyone turns out alright.

Of course, I do wonder, is everyone really alright? The formula generations are coincidentally coinciding with the obesity generations. That’s just one example, but numerous studies show the benefits of breastfeeding for everything from cancer risk to obesity to intelligence.

Still, I try to shut my mouth, because – for many people – being a mother is hard work. I find myself riding a hard line constantly between being supportive of the mother and advocating for the child.

For example, do I share my (likely unwanted) opinions and be one of those women who makes uncomfortable, judgmental comments that make other mothers feel bad? No. That doesn’t get anyone anywhere. Do I shut my mouth and control my lactivist urges? No. Then I’m not authentic.

Somehow, I try to find some middle ground. I try to support the woman and her baby. I try to be a positive example of breastfeeding and always offer to help.

And often I ask myself, why do I even care what other women feed their babies? The truth is, I have no idea why I care, but I do – even though I try not to.

But, Geeze, how weird is our society? People think it is just fine for children and adults to drink cow breastmilk (though baby cows don't even drink it as adults), yet they think it is weird to feed their own babies.

Strange, isn’t it?

Here is a beautiful breastfeeding video:



That video likely makes some people uncomfortable. Part of the problem is that many people cannot get the either-or mentality out of their minds. In other words, the breasts are sexual OR for feeding children and not both. But the truth is, they are sexual...and they are for feeding babies.

For more information,
Read this about the ingredients in formula.
Also, here’s a study on MSG in formula (which is a neurotoxin). Remember, there are many other names for MSG.

For breastfeeding entertainment, check out the comics by this great comic creator - who also happens to be a very cool homeschooling mom in Southern California.

Learn about breastfeeding. Encourage mothers. Support mothers. And if you have some weird issues with boobs, get therapy or do whatever you need to do to get over them. They are just boobs, after all.

Also, I'm not buying a stupid Hooter Hider until someone invents a Hairy Butt Crack Hider.

Did you seriously click on that link? If you did, well, you know. If you didn't...I really did find a hairy butt crack for you. Yummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmy.

Oh, and I love this t-shirt. Hilarious. Making milk is just one of my superpowers. The brain surgeon will attest to that.

Boobs are multipurpose, and it's a beautiful thing!


Toodles!

Unschooling Recordkeeping, Week 1

After going to the Expo, I had the inspiration to see what our life really looks like and how that fits into unschooling. Do we do “enough?” Am I a sort of unschooler? Are the kids really learning all the time? Should I practice keeping records in light of the fragile state of homeschooling in California?

By the way, our rights have been upheld for now, as of last Friday. Hooray! Support local homeschooling organizations to keep this an option for all families. Think twice before you withhold support: I was totally against homeschooling before and have had a complete turnaround, so I highly recommend learning all about it before forming an opinion.

First, here is one of my favorite YouTube videos ever, which has nothing and yet everything to do with homeschooling and childrearing:

Anyhoo, I downloaded this unschooling record keeper from The Home School Mom. I filled it out for a week and this is what it looked like:

Books I read aloud or with DD5:
M: A few chapters of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz by L. Frank Baum
T: A few chapters of The Magician’s Nephew (book 1 of the Chronicles of Narnia by C.S. Lewis)
Th: A few more chapters of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz and a few chapters of Peter Pan.
Th through Su: Finished the Magician’s Nephew.

Audiobooks we listened to this week (all read by Jim Weiss ):
Stone Soup
Puss in Books
Rapunzel
The Brenen Town Musicians (Grimm)
Rumpelstiltskin (Grimm)
Things Could Always be Worse (Jewish folktale)
The Shoemaker and the Elves

Movies/Videos/TV watched:
M: Dragontales (PBS)
T: Maggie and the Ferocious Beast (Noggin)
W: Sesame Street (PBS)
F: Maggie and the Ferocious Beast, Franklin (Noggin)
S: Miss Spider’s Sunny Patch (Noggin)
Su: Miss Spider’s Sunny Patch (Noggin)

Classes/lessons attended:
Sa: Time-4-learning lessons (she volunteers to go do these and picks what she wants)
1.Background: It's Puzzling! Sound (Language Arts Extensions)
2. Story: Pasquale Goes to Market Read Along (Language Arts Extensions)
3. Story: Pasquale Goes to Market Read to Me (Language Arts Extensions)
4. Background: It's Puzzling! Consumers and Producers (Language Arts Extensions)
5. Phonics: Review ed (Language Arts)
6. Phonics: Review long o (Language Arts)
Su: Home cooking class (vegan agave apple pie with whole wheat crust) with discussions about nutrition, fractions and measuring.

Miscellaneous academia:
T: 1 hour French Lyric lessons in car
W: Verbal Math lesson 1
Th: Ocean ecology and marine biology at beach; 15 minutes French Lyric lessons
Sa: Human anatomy from “Looking into my Body” book and daddy’s spine model
Daily: Counting to 100 dance

Projects:
M: Painting and art at the Boone Children’s Gallery
T: Painting
W: Play-doh and Floam free sculpting. (If you haven't played with Floam, you must, even if you aren't a kid. Also, try Moon Sand. Buy it or, for even more fun, make your own.) Planted a thyme plant and forget-me-not flowers.
Sa: Creating cards and drawings for upcoming birthday invitations at Libby Lu, which my daughter loves, although it might just be the future shallow anorexia victim training unit.

Field Trips:
M: Boone Children’s Gallery and the Broad Contemporary Art Museum at LACMA
T: Kidspace Children’s Museum free family night
Th: Beach (marine biology and ocean ecology talks; sandcastles; swimming)
Sa: Grocery store (budget help; discussed different stores, picking fruits and veggies); took dogs to dog park.
Su: Courtyards Children’s Play Group. Brought felt solar system and taught the adults all about the planets. (FYI, not one adult there could name the planets in order from the sun, although most knew Pluto is a moon).

Discussions:
Helping out. DD5 would like to have "jobs" around the house, like clearing the table, vacuuming and feeding our lovely dog.
She really wants to master reading so she can read the big books (like the Narnia books) by herself.
She really likes verbal math, but doesn’t like worksheets.

Skills observed:
Many, many, but my favorite thing was when DD5 made up a story called “The Owl Who Was Not Nocturnal and His Friend the Bat.” It was deep.

Side note: As we all know, relationships and life in general become complex when we go against the norm. What a struggle for the owl and the bat! We decided we're going to co-author a children’s story and her Grandma Teri will illustrate it.

Physical Activity:
Lots of running, dancing, swimming, biking.
Th, F, Sa, Su: Pool
Th: Beach

Sa: Long bike ride

Okay, that’s what I recorded. Of course, there was much more to the week with lots of amazing, imaginative play and bonding with our friends who were in town.

Really, how could school ever beat such a rich and full week? The best part is that EVERY week is this great.

Here's my gratitude journal for the day:
1. I'm still feeling grateful that my mom is recovering from an infection and not another bout of breast cancer.
2. I'm grateful for the brain surgeon and how he always manages to give so much of himself to us, even though he gives and gives and gives at work all day long.
3. I'm grateful for my terrific friends.
4. I'm grateful for my children and the wonderful family members that surround them.
5. I'm grateful for FlyLady, because I've finally listened to her about the laundry and I'm loving it!

That line about the laundry is kinda pathetic, huh?

Toodles!

Mommy Breast Cancer Scare

I have to thank you guys for the occasional reminder email when I get behind or don’t finish what I was trying to say. I dropped off the face of the earth (though not off the FaceBook of the earth!) for a variety of reasons.

The main reason for my absence is that my mother suddenly developed unilateral cellulitis in the breast that she had cancer in almost exactly five years ago. The scary part of the whole thing is that it looked exactly like inflammatory breast cancer (IBC), which is the most aggressive form of breast cancer there is.

I tried not to freak out, but I did. I don’t want my mother going through breast cancer treatment again. She’s already had a lumpectomy, lymph node dissection, radiation, chemotherapy in addition to multiple biopsies and boob-squishing procedures. Plus, she’s on the most awful follow-up medication on the planet, which makes her walk like she’s 100 years old rather than 60.

Anyway, we are all so so so thankful it was just an infection. I had no idea, really, that cellulitis could be so well-demarcated on one breast and look just like IBC. The only clinical difference, really, was the low-grade fever she had and the fact that the antibiotics are working.

I had a wonderful grandmother (my mother's mother) who developed breast cancer when I was about my DD5’s age, and who died about 5 years later. That was my Grandma Irma and I still miss her so. I have such vivid memories of her. And that was so much of what was with me this last week…My DD5 is so very close with my mother and I couldn’t bear the thought of either of us losing her or her going through what I went through with my own grandmother at such a young age.

What a scare.

Okay, well, onto requests. How's that for an abrupt subject change?

I love hearing about favorite posts and so first I’ll tell you what people are reading most on here:
One of the most read posts is the Guinea Pig Gas Chamber Confession and a related post here. The next most read is I Have Fake Nails and My Children Swear so I had a Brain Surgeon Dinner Party.

I enjoy musing about why people like reading about my role in guinea pig euthanasia, but the fake nails post is particularly kitschy, so I get that one.

I also put up a lame pole for fun (see on right) and although people are reading this page, hardly anyone votes, a testament to its true lameness. I’ll get more creative. I promise.

Okay, so I’ve been reminded that I didn’t finish talking about the California Homeschool Network 2008 Expo, so I will do that briefly.

On Saturday, my two favorite sessions were “The Unradical Unschooler” and “Will the Real Unschooler Please Stand Up?” I think I’ve mentioned that I’m very fascinated by the unschooling concept in general, and these sessions were very cool. I read multiple Radical Unschooling boards regularly, but I’m not 100 percent aligned with the concept and its cultish feel at times. Still, I learn much. For now, I’m still categorizing myself as “relaxed eclectic,” because I’m am a bit of a dork who gets a rush out of buying curriculum type things (although I never use them as the creators intend) and of creating plans and schedules.

I ended up speaking up quite a bit in the “Will the Real Unschooler Please Stand Up?” session, and I was pretty excited that I could answer a lot of the newbie questions (even though I’m not a total unschooler myself). That was fun.

The most terrific part about Saturday was the Grandparents session and the Dad’s session, as my children had three grandparents and their dad present. They all went to the sessions. They found the crowd interesting and entertaining at their respective sessions, but really, the grandparent session seemed to be more about the naysayer types. Our kids are so lucky to have such loving and supportive grandparents who already are so on board with homeschooling.

The brain surgeon liked the dad session, especially because they kept talking about expectations and mentioned a few times how not all kids will grow up to be brain surgeons. You have to love the constant barrage of brain surgeon comments when you actually are one. We also have a scientist friend in our DD1’s playgroup who happens to work on rockets.

One rocket scientist and one brain surgeon, coming up!!!

However, they did mention in the dad meeting that we should have a "Board of Education" meeting (comprised of the two of us) once a month, so we decided that was a great excuse for a dinner date.

We went to a French restaurant, and as president of our private school, I told him what my current (constantly changing) unplan was, he said "okay" and we noshed on viddles.

So Saturday at the conference, we mostly hung out as a big happy family and had fun. I won a few door prizes and a $25 gift certificate to the vendor hall.

I was a bit annoyed because the brain surgeon was sick all weekend. He is always overworked and exhausted, so he is often worn out on weekends off (which really sucks because he only gets one every 12 days). It's not his fault so I know I'm being a major bi-atch to even be annoyed, but it is annoying. ANNOYING.

Sunday, my favorite session was Disney Schooling, although it was challenging watching my three kiddies during the session and listening from the doorway (since said brain surgeon was in bed recovering from work). That was a VERY cool session!!! I’m going to add Disney Schooling to my homeschool adventures (and maybe Hogwart Homeschooling, too!). I’ll keep ya posted.

Gratitude entry for the day:

1. I’m SO SO SO grateful that my mother has a breast infection (as hideous and horrible as it is) and not inflammatory breast cancer.
2. I’m SO SO SO grateful that my mother has a breast infection (as hideous and horrible as it is) and not inflammatory breast cancer.
3. I’m SO SO SO grateful that my mother has a breast infection (as hideous and horrible as it is) and not inflammatory breast cancer.
4. I’m SO SO SO grateful that my mother has a breast infection (as hideous and horrible as it is) and not inflammatory breast cancer.
5. I’m SO SO SO grateful that my mother has a breast infection (as hideous and horrible as it is) and not inflammatory breast cancer.

That one was worth repeating!

Okay, that’s it for now.

Toodles!