"Because my dreams are bursting at the seams ....."

While my blog updates have slowed to a pre-Christmas halt, our life has been charging on.

There have been rain and soccer trophy parties, field trips and concerts, Disney Land trips and bike rides, laundry and drama, lots of Christmas baking and running.

Kip’s parents spent a week with us in early December. We took time off from our regular routine and ran around LA like we were on vacation. Then we jumped right back into school and work and getting ready for Christmas break.

This past week I’ve had some really nice moments with the kids, and I’m looking forward to spending some time in Oklahoma with my parents over the holidays. But for now, in lieu of a decent update, I wanted to share a little video Kip made last night. Where I express myself in written language, he loves music and images.

A couple notes on the video: a few weeks ago our daughter heard the song “Fireflies” by Owl City and instantly fell in love. I like it too, and paired with images of our kids and their grandparents enjoying life, it kind of chokes me up. I hope you enjoy it.


Riding Bikes

I'm Amazing

This weekend one of my friends introduced me as “one of those amazing people who homeschools her children.”

Amazing?

I offered an uncomfortable smile.

I have been in this conversation before, and for some reason I always freeze at this point. I sense a trap. My instinct is to say, “It’s really not that big of a deal, anyone can do it,” which is what I truly believe.

The problem with that bit of humble honesty is that it disarms the flattery with a subtle accusation. “You could homeschool if you wanted to…”

There is a strange tension between successful career women and educated women who choose to forgo employment to spend more time with their kids. It makes me uncomfortable because I think I could probably happily be either.

I admire women who are successful in their chosen careers. At times I envy them. But I don’t regret my life choices. I love my life. I’m happy. My kids are happy. My life is full.

But selfishly, I really want to be understood.

So this time, I ignored the undertones and responded with my best logic.
“Homeschooling is not that difficult.”

Some people think you have to be a certified teacher or something like it to homeschool, so I was not surprised that her defense was “Well, I just didn’t learn enough in college to homeschool.”

At this point in the conversation I should have perceived that she was convincing herself that she couldn’t homeschool because she didn’t want to homeschool. And I should have said something graceful about “it’s not for everyone,” which I do believe.

But instead I said something else that I believe.

“It doesn’t matter what you learned in college. I’ve learned more homeschooling than I did in college. I learn with the kids.”

Maybe I need people to understand that it is intellectually stimulating to be surrounded by children. It is not the same as being a 50s housewife, eternally ironing the man’s shirts.

But I guess it really doesn’t matter what people think. I should just accept the compliment.

I am constantly learning.

This afternoon I learned what it means to tessellate (Squares do. Circles don’t. Google it.) I also learned how Eli Whitney changed human history by more than just inventing the cotton gin. And incidentally, it only takes the space shuttle 90 minutes to orbit the Earth.

But more importantly, I got to be there when my daughter excitedly showed her brother a diagram in her science book of how “bees” see differently, specifically how they “see” flowers differently than humans. She asked me, “but how do scientists know what bees see?” My son looked the pictures over and said, “But who is right?”

They want to know the answers, of course, but the undertones of their questions amuse me too.

Her excitement doesn’t fully mask the skepticism that guides her learning style, “how do they know what bees see? Can they ask bees? Can they “see” inside bees heads?”

And his question, “who is right?” reflects his life stage. "Tell me what is right, Mom. Make it black and white and simple so I can know the rules and win this game of life."


On afternoons when we are home I like to read The Landmark History of the American People to the kids. It is a fascinating historical text. My daughter loves it when I read it to her, but it is just a little over my son's head.

Almost accidentally I discovered that my son remembers more of the story if he is playing while I'm reading. The Lincoln Logs seemed like a good tie in that day as I was reading about Western expansion, and it has somehow became a tradition. Today I read about how Eli Whitney set out to create a mechanized process for creating guns, to fortify America against the perceived threat of Napoleon, and incidentally created an entire system of mass production. It was exciting to see my kids understand how technology shapes history as much or more than wars. Why do we always teach history like it was a series of wars?

I'm not amazing. I just love having the time to enjoy learning with my kids.

Thankful for the Weekend

Saturday morning chess and coffee -- does life get better?

Something about this past weekend reminded me of long holiday weekends in college when Kip and I packed our laundry in our little station wagon and drove through mountain roads home to wash the clothes and let our parents worry about being the adults. We would inevitably spend the weekend sleeping in and play cards with my younger brother and sister who were still living at home.

Even though we are adults with two kids and a mortgage now, it has felt relatively carefree this weekend: watching movies with the kids, reading books, playing cards, having Thanksgiving dinner with LA extended family including my brother, his fiancé, her family, my cousins and aunt and uncle. We even helped initiate my brother's fiance into the family with an "enthusiastic" round of Nurtz.


This weekend Kip has also been finishing a home improvement project that he started a month ago. And I’m finally happy that he chose to do it himself instead of spending the thousands it would have cost to hire it out – although a month was a long time to wait without a sliding glass door. It is a good thing it hasn’t rained here.

Almost done

My daughter and I even did a little Christmas shopping together. I am not really a shopper. I go to the mall/store when I have to and usually at the last minute. My daughter is more “gifted,” at picking out special presents for people. So she was my helper.

We also tried to go sailing Saturday. Kip was pretty excited to get out into the steady autumn breeze and crisp sunshine, but there was a high swell advisory that we didn’t know about. As soon as we left the marina and faced the 8-foot waves rolling our boat parallel to the surf, I freaked out.

I know logically that it is very unlikely that the boat could capsize, but I couldn’t feel that knowledge as we were being tossed around and blown over. It is kind of like walking past a chain link fence with a snarling, angry Pit Bull on the other side. You know it is very unlikely that he would be able to jump the fence and attack, but it doesn’t make walking past him any more comfortable.

So I guess my lack of adventure ruined Kip’s. And that was depressing.

Chilly wind

But we came home and made Jambalaya, watched the Incredibles on TV and played Nurtz with the kids.

Simple days.

Advent began this weekend too. The kids really enjoyed helping put the Christmas tree together at church.

Death of a Pet Rat: Part II

A few weeks ago I posted about my daughter's pet rat dying.

When my dad read the blog entry he sent my daughter an e-mail response with his thoughts on animals and death. My dad is not a theologian or a pastor, but a physician who deals with life and death daily. His love for scripture and life and everything in between came through so beautifully in this response that I asked him if I could post it here.

So here are Dad's thoughts.

We're sorry to hear about the premature passing of your beloved pet.
It was nice that you were there to comfort him at just the right time.

May I give my opinion about animals and heaven?
It is, of course, just opinion, but based on the Bible, so I think you can trust it.

God's Word (the Bible, words Jesus said would never pass away - see Matthew 5:17-20, for example) talks about animals living together peacefully, not hurting each other. When Jesus brings in the new heaven and new earth, I believe that everything that is wrong with the world will be corrected and restored, like it was in the garden of Eden, before Adam and Eve sinned. At that time there was no reason to be afraid of a talking snake, until Satan deceived them. Anyway, here's a picture of the kingdom of God, from Isaiah's prophecy, chapter 11:


11 The wolf shall dwell with the lamb,

and the leopard shall lie down with the young goat,

and the calf and the lion and the fattened calf together;

and a little child shall lead them.

7 The cow and the bear shall graze;

their young shall lie down together;

and the lion shall eat straw like the ox.

8 The nursing child shall play over the hole of the cobra,

and the weaned child shall put his hand on the adder’s den.

9 They shall not hurt or destroy

in all my holy mountain;

for the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the Lord

as the waters cover the sea. (esv, copied from http://bible.logos.com )


So, I think all the animals and insects, all the life-forms God created will be there, but restored to their original, beautiful, harmonious purposes, including rats and spiders.

Once I heard a man talk about having a vision of heaven in which he walked across a field of beautiful flowers. He was afraid to step on them, but when he did, and turned around to see where he'd walked, the flowers stood back up and smiled at him. Jesus knows that we love our pets, and I trust that he'll satisfy our desire to have them restored in heaven. It may not be exactly the way we imagine it, it will be even better.

God will comfort you about losing George. He even comforts us about people who have died. In fact, I think God lets us go through grieving about losing pets to prepare us for losing people. It is especially comforting to understand that we'll see them in heaven, restored, never to get sick and die again. Isn't God good to us, to give us those promises? Jesus even went through death for us, to show us a glimpse of what it is like on the other side (we're told that our new bodies will be like his).

I love the pictures you've had on the blog of you and George.

Love
Grandpa Bob

Seeing Purple

It has been nearly 10 days since the Malibu Marathon, and I have a purple medal hanging from my bedroom mirror and a matching purple toenail to remind me of the good times. But it already seems like a long time ago.

I have only been running once since the big race. I took a few days off and then I caught some kind of fast-moving, flu-like virus that only made me miserable for about 12 hours but left me with a stuffy head.

Saturday Kip and I took the kids on a bike trip down the coast along part of a 20-mile route I ran last month. It still seemed like a long trip, even with a pair of wheels. Feeling the distance like that made me realize how big of an accomplishment running a whole marathon is. Which is probably good, because the way my mind works I had already started thinking about how it was only a marathon, not like a 30, 50 or 100 miler. I’m not sure why I do that.

I am thinking about running the LA Marathon in March. There is a new and improved race route from Dodger Stadium to the Ocean. I’m sure that it will be cool. I am just not sure I need to run it.

Malibu Marathon

The Malibu Marathon in brief: beautiful sunny day, amazing ocean view, challenging hills, least crowded marathon ever, wonderful personal support and encouragement from my ever faithful friend Kip, and overall the most enjoyable long run that I can remember.

I finished in 4:57, just barely under that 5 hour mark, and nearly 20 minutes slower than the LA marathon, but not too bad considering I had trained less for this race and the course turned out to be significantly more challenging than the LA race. Most importantly, I finished the race feeling fine. I was certainly ready for the race to be over as I crossed the finish line, but I was strong enough to enjoy the rest of the day.

Unlike the LA Marathon in May which attracted at least 15,000 runners, only about 370 runners ran the Malibu Marathon, which made it feel comparatively like a quiet, laid-back run along the beach, sort of. I’m not sure 26.2 miles will ever really be “laid back.” But it felt relaxed, and I ran it feeling relaxed.

The race began just after dawn in Ventura County, along country roads in a sample of California’s beautiful farmland. My marathoning partner from the LA Marathon, Jon, and I played name-that-plant/vegetable for the first hour. Having spent some of my childhood in rural farming communities, where rolling acres are devoted to the same crop, tobacco or cotton in Alabama, corn in Wisconsin; I was delighted by the diversity of plants growing at every turn – artichokes, cabbages, celery, and strawberries.

El Caballo really wanted to run with us.

When I passed mile 10 I remembered that 11 months ago my goal had been to run 10 miles before the end of 2008. I ran that on New Year’s Eve and was so exhausted that I zonked before we were able to ring in the New Year. I could barely walk the next day, and here I was, less than a year later, passing mile 10 with a smile.

About half way through the race the route turned along the Pacific Coastal Highway, and the runners were treated to the world famous views of mountains and ocean. Sometimes the wind blew against us, and at one time I had to turn around and chase my hat.

Let the hills begin!

Up hill ..against the wind

Around mile 18, just when I started to really feel tired, we hit a series of challenging hills that continued until mile 24.

Jon, who had been taking it easy, (he is training for more challenging races over the next few months) decided to speed up around mile 20 and he ended up finishing quite a bit before me. But being alone for the last few miles gave me time to focus on the run and dig deep for that perseverance that makes runners into marathon finishers.

Through the whole race Kip was the most amazing support person ever. At the beginning of the race he noticed that I had dropped my energy snacks, a little stick of strawberry-flavored jelly chews that stick to my braces and give me that little extra boost. And by the time I rounded the first big intersection, he was there, camera and energy snacks in hand.

I had not expected to see him often along the route, but he was able to follow me all the way, driving a few miles ahead and waiting for me, taking pictures, offering Gatorade, smiling, cheering, doing his best impression of Chariots of Fire – which actually became less funny around mile 22. He even changed into a pair of running shorts and ran up a hill or two with me.

Because the hills were so difficult, I forgot about the actual mileage at one point and just focused on running. I was actually surprised when I passed the Malibu fire station and someone yelled, “just two more miles to go.” I thought about that in terms of circles around my neighborhood park, and I knew I could make it. It was helpful that the last two miles were mostly downhill too.

The foot I sprained about a month earlier was throbbing by this point, and I just wanted to make it to the finish. Focus. Finish. Focus.

I also started listening to a podcast of This American Life at this time, which made me laugh. I realized that it was probably not a very competitive strategy to start listening to NPR in the last leg of a marathon, but it was relaxing in a way that helped me zone out of my discomfort.

finishing at 4:57

At the finish line, after receiving my medal and commemorative beach towel, I took my shoes off and waded into the chilly ocean water. It felt great on my swollen feet.

Calling Mom and Dad to tell them all about it.

I told one of my friends today that I really don’t want to see myself as a 5-hour kind of marathon runner. I think if I run another marathon I’ll work on improving my time, but for now, I’m happy that I enjoyed this run. My constant prayer had been, “help me to run well and finish strong.” And I felt like God helped me do that.

My sister asked me a few weeks ago why I wanted to run a marathon, and I wasn’t quite sure how to answer her. Maybe I run marathons (hey, I can be plural now) because it feels really great to set a huge goal and accomplish it. But it must be more than that because I don’t quite get the same feeling from finishing my taxes or organizing the hall closet. Maybe I just like the medals.

Not sure why, but I think I want to do it again.

Death of a Pet Rat

This morning one of my friends told me the story of how his daughter found her beloved pet rat dead and how they had held a simple backyard funeral service for it, complete with a star-shaped, gift-box coffin.

I thought it was sweet, but I didn’t really relate.

We had recently lost a pet rat too. But it was the mean one, the one that the kids quickly shut into the cage and hoped it would not try to get out and bite them. When he died in the middle of the night, Kip double bagged him and slipped him into the dumpster. We told the kids in the morning, and they seemed relieved. Now they could play with the nice rat without fear of his vicious roommate.

But this afternoon, when we came home, I noticed our precious little furry friend looked strange. His body seemed contorted and he looked emaciated. I tried to break the news gently.

Sweetheart, I don’t think George is doing too well.

We brought him his favorite foods and tried to coax him into drinking from his water bottle. He let us pet him, and I told the kids I thought he might be dying.

NO! NO! NO!

Can we take him the emergency room? Can we call 911? Can we get a pet doctor to come here?

I called Kip for the ok on the vet. He had grown to love George as much as the kids and he okayed a potential vet visit for our $5 pet store rat.

I started calling around to find a rat doctor, and even made an appointment. But when I went to check on George, I realized he was not going to make it to the vet. His breathing had slowed and while my daughter was petting him, he died.

She wouldn’t believe he was dead. His eyes were still open. He was supposed to live for five years.

He didn’t even have a birthday! January 7th is his birthday! We never finish anything we start!

In a torrent of emotion she began to list disappointments and heartaches I had not realized held a claim on her soul.

He knew his name. He stood on his hind legs when he wanted us to pick him up and pet him.

She was crying. I was crying. The little brother was wailing, wrapping himself in his baby blanket.

My son said, “I loved him, but I don’t want to look at him anymore.” So I covered George with a piece of newspaper. He was quickly becoming much more dead looking.

I felt like I should say something parental, something spiritual, something meaningful.

I didn’t have anything. I was sad too.

He was a rat with a creepy long tail and beady red eyes, and I really liked him.

The only thing that came to mind was a Bible verse about giving thanks in everything. So we made a little mommy-and-kids huddle and thanked God for letting us have such a nice pet rat.

My son asked if George was in Heaven. My daughter looked at me with big soulful eyes and answered him, “No, I don’t think so.” She later explained that it wouldn’t make sense for rats to be in Heaven because some people might not like rats and it would not make sense for them to be there if other people didn’t like them.

What if a boy had a pet spider that died? Would God let spiders in Heaven?

It made sense to me. The brother, however, continued to talk about George being in Heaven. (FYI -- He is double-bagged in the dumpster.)

I decided it would probably be kinder for me to clean out the rat cage myself, so I downloaded some episodes of a Disney comedy sitcom that the kids really like and I let them watch that while I took on the worst part of pet ownership.

Even with yellow rubber gloves, I could hardly bare to pick up the now cold, stiff body of the rat that no longer resembled our furry, fat friend. I don’t deal with dead things much. But I could hear the children laughing in the living room and I powered through it. Sometimes I don’t like being the adult.

As I finished rinsing the cage in bleach, I heard my son yell.

“I’m over him now. Can we get a new one?”