Vindication for the apple eaters!

One of the friends who was with me on Saturday called the orchard to see if protocol was breeched when people ate the apples while picking. I am happy to report Megan’s report:

As one of the apple eaters I needed to justify my actions and make sure that this unspoken rule of apple picking is okay. I have now spoken to two apple orchards (one of them being the orchard we were picking at on Saturday) and both places confirmed the practice of eating/tasting the apples as you pick them!!

I think it’s great Megan cared enough to call not just one but two orchards to check out the rules. Just proves I was right in my assessment about Megan in particular, and the rest of the group as well: they really are a good bunch.

So the quandary of eating apples in the you-pick orchard has been solved. We wrapped this one so quickly I think Congress should put us in charge of the bank bailout.

A little help here, please

We’ve been in Michigan three years but I still feel like such a newbie, especially when we do something so very Michigan-y like we did this weekend.

On Saturday the kids and I went to an apple orchard where we picked our own apples. We’ve gone to apple orchards before but the apples were pre-picked (the way I like them, to be honest) and (again to be honest) we really went for the cider and doughnuts. This orchard had cider and doughnuts, too, and they had apples, of course, but we had to go pick them off the trees.

The orchard worker handed us a sturdy plastic bag and rake-like picker thing, collected our money, told us we could take as many apples as we could fit into our bag and sent us off to gather our choice of apples.

As soon as we got to the trees, we noticed a few people were eating apples.

I was a little amazed, and my kids were as well. (They’ve heard my grapes spiel at Kroger too many times: “We don’t eat the grapes until we’ve bought the grapes.”) We silently sent glances to each other, the kids hoping I’d say, “Go ahead and eat some apples,” while I hoped they would remember the grape lecture. My mental telepathy skills didn’t work so I spelled out why we wouldn’t eat the apples: We paid for a bag of apples. If we ate some apples, then filled our bag full, the orchard would be cheated out of payment for the apples we ate while picking.

We overheard some people saying, “Everyone eats apples when they pick them,” so I did let the kids eat one apple apiece - yes, I succumbed to peer pressure. But I left room in the bag to account for the apples they ate.

And that incident got me wondering if I was right in my assessment or was I a few apples short of a bushel? But no amount of mental wrangling could allow me to think eating those apples wasn’t stealing. Would anyone dream of doing the same thing in the apple section at Meijer?

Does that analogy miss the mark? Am I being too legalistic? Is that just something that happens at you-pick orchards and I missed the memo? I am seriously looking for feedback on this one.

By the way, the apple cake I made last night was pretty good. But I’m trying another recipe today because, holy cow, we brought home a LOT of apples.

______________________________________________________

PS: If you were one of the apple eaters, please know I still think the world of you; I'm just going to be really careful the next time you're near my pantry...

Is it Saturday yet?

I’ve always said homeschooling isn’t for everybody. Today I’m pretty sure it’s not for me.

I am four weeks into my fifth year of homeschooling. Over the last few years I’ve had moments when I thought I’d lose my mind, moments when all I wanted to do was throw my children on the school bus and go to lunch all by myself, moments when I was sure I was screwing up my kids into tangled knots even the most seasoned Boy Scout couldn’t untie. Usually those meltdowns came around Thanksgiving and again in March, both just in time for the Turkey Break and Spring Break. So the fact that I’m having a mini-crisis right now at the end of September with no significant break in sight and with the knowledge that Sean will be out of town all next week… well, all that to say the school bus is looking really good right about now.

Domestic Tuesdays got moved to Fridays, so as I type, three bathrooms are being cleaned. Well, three bathrooms are each occupied by a child and a bucket of cleaning supplies. Somewhere along the line the Clorox wipes became the cleaning tool of choice and the scrubbing bubbles and sponge became persona non grata. I’ve explained the, “Touch the counter top and see if it feels smooth. If not, it’s still dirty so you need to spray it with cleaning stuff and use the sponge and wipe it down again” method, to which each child dissolves into the, “I’m trying so hard and it should be perfect!” routine.

A side note: I do not know where my children got it into their precious little heads that everything they do should be perfect the first time they do it. And if not the first time then most certainly by the second. If they are corrected a third time it’s like they’re worthless creatures who will NEVER get anything right. (For the record, they did not get that from me.)

And we haven’t even started school yet.

Thank goodness it’s Friday.

PS: Did anyone else see ER last night? What's with killing off Dr. Pratt in the season opener? The episode was slow with way too many musical montages. The only good thing I saw last night: Dr. Carter's coming back! Woo hoo!

What is that?

I've gotten a few emails, calls and one comment asking just what, exactly, is on that plate:

In advance of our dinner, Sean arranged for the message to written on the dessert plate we had at Rhapsody, a lovely little restaurant around the corner from Symphony Center. The little cake is a Lemon-Yogurt Cake with Lemoncello Sabayon, Rhubarb Jam and Chamomille Gellee. It was good, but so tiny - since we split it we each had three bites.

Rhapsody was good but it was definitely one of those frou-frou restaurants where teeny-tiny portions are served on ginormous plates with an even larger price tag. I cannot imagine going back, but my opinion didn’t seem to be shared by many other diners there; several were greeted by name by the hostess and it appeared for others the place was a home-away-from-home. It caters to the Symphony crowd (it's adjacent to Symphony Center) and it was very good at getting us in and out in time for the concert.

All that to say, the picture's of cake. A petite little cake to be sure, but a cake nonetheless.

Reality Bites

We are back from Chicago. I thought the weekend away had refreshed me, given me new vim and vigor for the next stretch of homeschooling, recharged my batteries and a whole host of other clichés that mean I was ready for a few more weeks of life. That refreshed feeling was sucked out of me 3.5 seconds after the garage door announced our arrival. Dang. How can I go from being so relaxed to feeling stressed out simply by walking through the door?

So it was back to the grind today. After being gone only the weekend I didn’t imagine having a hard time getting in the swing of things. I was incorrect. Over the weekend I enjoyed not getting breakfast for anyone but myself. Ditto for lunch and dinner. I enjoyed talking about stuff I’m interested in, like where to eat lunch and dinner. I was not at all excited about working on Amy’s insect collection, nor did I relish the idea of reviewing never-ending lessons of Algebra I with Michael. Rebecca’s borrowing with subtractions I could handle but didn’t really want to.

Nothing has made me more aware of my sinful, selfish heart than homeschooling. I am no different than the kids: I want what I want when I want it. I’m just more adept at making my selfishness clandestine.

Thankfully the Lord’s mercies are new each morning and tomorrow I will grab hold of them for myself and in turn try to offer them to my children.

It would be a whole lot easier if they would just do everything my way. Which, I'm sure, is exactly how God feels about me.

I can't believe it!

There are some people who win things and those who do not. I am in the latter camp; I am not known for having won many things. So tonight, when I put my name in the hat for the Wicked lottery, I was fully prepared to lose. I entered my name because I would have kicked myself for not trying, so enter I did.

For the uninitiated: the Wicked lottery happens two hours before each show’s curtain. You put your name in the Wicked Witch of the West’s hat; if your name is pulled you get the opportunity to purchase two front row seats for $25 each. This is done before each Wicked performance whether on Broadway or Los Angles or Chicago or on tour. You never know the odds because they vary depending on how many people show up for the lottery. I entered twice in Lansing but to no avail.

So tonight, as we stood with 50 other lottery-winner-wanna-bes, I could not believe it when my name was called. Could. Not. Sean was laughing, I was laughing and the lady doing the drawing just looked annoyed that I didn’t run up faster. You know those people on The Price is Right who sit stunned for a second after their name is called? You know that deer-in-the-headlights look they have? That was me.

So even though we didn’t plan to see the show, we did. From the front row! We could see the mics taped to their heads and hear individual people sing and watch all the different facial expressions… it really was wonderful.

My adoration of Wicked is bordering on being nearly as severe as my Amy Grant obsession from my teen years. And twenties. And thirties. Okay, nothing can rival that, but Wicked’s giving Amy a run for my money.

Happy Anniversary to Us

I’ve not posted since Wednesday because I’ve been busy getting ready for our anniversary trip. Our 16th wedding anniversary is today and we are celebrating by leaving the kids at home with my Mom (oh, thank you, Mom!!!) and heading west to the Windy City, which I can only imagine will be a major improvement over last year’s anniversary date.

We’re actually in Chicago right now. I know, I know, you’re thinking, “Why the heck are you typing on your anniversary trip?” Sean’s taking a quick nap before our wild night on the town (those of you laughing should just stop right now) so I’m taking a moment to check in.

The drive to Chicago was easy; we took the turnpike to South Bend so we could lunch at Chick-fil-A – those nuggets and cole slaw were worth the extra hour on the road.

We’re staying downtown and one side of our room is wall-to-ceiling windows with a view of, well, buildings. But the room’s great, spacious and well-appointed. And Sean had arranged to have an anniversary card and red rose waiting on the bed for me. He’s learned a lot in 16 years…

For all those who’ve asked if we’re seeing Wicked: We have no plans to see Wicked. We may waltz by the theater and put our names in the lottery drawing for tonight, then again for tomorrow’s matinee and maybe on Sunday for its matinee, but other than that we have no plans to see Wicked.

We’re off to for a walking tour of our little area – I can only hope your weekend will be as fun as mine!

With Friends Like These

I got an email from Jeff a few minutes ago. Seems he has an opinion about my hair cut:

"Christy,
Maybe short hair is the best choice... "

And when I scrolled down I saw this:

All I can say is I cannot believe what Jeff and Molly - my friend MOLLY! - did to my picture. You know, some people just shouldn't be trusted with Photoshop.

On to Stage One again

I showed my stylist the pictures of the haircut I thought I wanted. She jumped on board immediately, nearly falling over herself to reach the scissors, which made me think she’d been dying to really cut my hair for a long time. I got a Glamour magazine from the waiting room, flipped to a picture of hair I’d kill to have and flatly said, “Can my hair ever do this?”

I still had a flicker of hope. A small flicker, but a flicker nonetheless.

“Well, Christy, if you let it grow a lot more, used hot rollers every morning, maybe. But your hair just doesn’t have the texture to hold a curl.”

Oh, that hurt. It is truth I’ve known forever, but just because I’ve known it doesn’t mean I embraced this truth. All I could think was where the heck was this stylist 20 years ago?! If I’d been told this in high school I could have been moving through all my Stage Ones much more rapidly!

As I was sitting in the chair I got a call from my sister: "Don't cut it! Just give it a bit more time!"

Oh, my poor, poor sister. Still in Stage Two. Surly there has to be a support group for us somewhere...

This is the picture from Glamour:

And this is my new cut:

Trauma for the day

I am getting my hair cut today. This is Stage Four of my hair-trauma cycle.

Stage One: Hope

This stage is initiated when I decide to grow my hair out. At this point I am full of youthful optimism that this time my hair will grow out into wonderful full, bouncy, shiny, full hair, a la Brooke Shields (or, to be honest, Amy Grant).

Stage Two: Denial

A few months pass and the nagging suspicion that once again my hair is growing out but is growing flat, dull and lifeless makes itself known. Reality is quieted by the thought that I just need to give it a little more time. Surly if I give it just a few more weeks I’ll see a miraculous turn-around and one morning I’ll wake up movie star hair.

Stage Three: Clipper

For the next four weeks I will pull my bangs back with a clipper, desperately clinging to the hope that my hair will grow and be pretty. Just a few more days…

Stage Four: Acceptance

Reality sets in and I once again admit I do not have the makings of movie star hair. I have hair that grows out but grows straight with a little wave here and there that won’t hold a wave everywhere.

So I’m going in for a major cut today. I showed Sean some pictures and by now he knows the drill: “That's fine, honey. Just don’t shave it.” Because that is what I threaten to do at this point. I honestly have a mind to walk in and say, “Sinead O’Conner, please.”

Stage One resumes in about four weeks.

Take two asprin and get a second job to pay the bill

12:24 Monday morning: I’ve just returned home from the emergency room where I found out Amy’s finger is not broken. Yes, that’s good, but if we’re going to the ER there’s a small part of me that wants something to be wrong - not cancer-wrong; just broken-finger-wrong. I could have buddy-taped her finger right here in the comfort of my own home with tape that cost 2 bucks a roll. The tape at the hospital will probably run us $35.

The entire time we were there I tried to figure out how much we’d end up paying for this visit. I just wrote my fifth and final check to pay off Amy’s broken arm from this summer. It was hard enough to understand what the resident with the unbelievably heavy Indian accent was saying; it was even harder when all I could think was, “I bet every word she’s saying will cost $10.”

Doctor bills used to be a non-issue for us; GM’s health insurance was excellent. But over the last few years the white collar health insurance has been one of the items on the corporate chopping block and now we pay a whole lotta moolah for each and every visit. Knowing that makes me very cautious when I make doctor’s appointments and even more cautious when we go to the ER. I wouldn’t have gone tonight if Amy’s finger hadn’t swelled up like a giant sausage and she complained the pain was an 8 on the 1-10 scale.

Which, of course, makes me a prime target to believe the government ought to provide health care for everyone, right? Not so fast, Sparky. If we were operating under a government-controlled health system we’d still be at the ER... actually, we’d probably be on some waiting list where we could expect to be seen in a few weeks.

Think I’m exaggerating? My uncle lives in Canada. He had a small spot of skin cancer on his face. He had to wait six months for the surgery to take it off and by that time the cancer had spread and a much more invasive procedure had to be performed in order to cut it all out. By contrast: my sister found a spot on her back and one week later it was gone. I vote for that.

So no, I don’t want the government to “give” me free health care. Just exactly where do you think they get the money to “give” anyone anything anyway?

Oh, my – when did I get on my soap box?

All that to say, thankfully Amy’s finger is only badly sprained (which happened this evening as she was playing with the four-year-olds at church) and she’ll simply need some Motrin for the pain and ice for the swelling. And hopefully we won’t need a second mortgage to pay the bill…

Tina Fey as Sarah Palin - Wow!

Okay, they made some snide (and untrue) comments about Palin, but you have to give it to Tina Fey for looking and sounding exactly like Sarah Palin. She completely nailed it. Sean and I were watching the clip this morning and the kids honestly thought it was Palin until they realized it was SNL.

Sorry - you have to put up with an ad before the skit runs.

Welcome to our World

Yesterday our family welcomed its newest member into our clan. Hannah Amelia joined parents Ashley and Stephen, excited grandparents, aunts and uncles and first cousins once removed like me.

Welcome to the fam, Hannah!

Still Unbelievable

I didn’t get any sleep last night. This cold I’ve convinced myself is going away seems to be hanging around and likes to make itself known between 9 pm and 1 am. Last night I slept on the couch so I wouldn’t keep Sean up with my coughing, and this morning I feel a bit beat upon.

Which is exactly how I felt seven years ago on 9/11/01. I’d been up all night with precious Rebecca who had yet another ear infection. I was up early to get us ready for one more trip to the pediatrician’s office to be given one more round of ineffective antibiotics so I could make one more trip to the pharmacy and start the merry-go-round again. The cycle seemed never-ending.

I don’t have the TV on in the mornings but I am a compulsive AM radio listener, so I had the radio tuned to my favorite news/talk station, WSB when I heard a report of a small plane flying into one of the World Trade Center towers. I couldn’t believe it, but I was in the midst of getting Michael out the door (carpool was late once again) and I was scurrying around making sure Amy and Rebecca were ready for us to leave around 9.

But Scott Slade came back on the radio and announced it appeared a commercial jet had flown into one of the buildings, not a private plane as he’d just reported. With that, I turned on the TV and saw Diane Sawyer reporting the same thing with b-roll to back her up. I couldn’t believe it, but I didn’t have time to process the information because we were late for our doctor’s appointment.

When I got to the doctor’s office no one was talking. The TV’s were tuned to the Today Show and a palpable sense of unease permeated the room. We were called back, Dr. Cox confirmed Rebecca’s ear infection, gave us another round of antibiotics, assured me she didn’t need tubes, that she’d be better by her third birthday and we were on our way, back into a world that was far different than the one we’d left.

By the time we got home the first building was collapsing. When Michael walked through the door at 12:30, both buildings had fallen. Life was not going to be the same again.

Rebecca’s ears did heal by her third birthday, just as Dr. Cox promised.

Some days the Psalms come to life

Often the sky up here is just amazing. The blue is so blue and the clouds so amazingly white and cotton-y... as I drove home from church this afternoon I was mesmerized by the wonder of the sky. I took this picture from our deck and it doesn't do the beauty justice.

I think the years I spent in the haze of Atlanta make me appreciate the clear, clean sky here. And Psalm 19:1 means that much more to me now.

Psalm 19:1

The heavens declare the glory of God,

and the sky above proclaims his handiwork.

Sorry Danielle and Chris

A sweet family at our church recently had twin girls. There were some complications and the babies have been in the NICU for two weeks. Friends from church have been organizing meals for the family and I eagerly signed up to take dinner over because I remember what it’s like to have a baby; I cannot even imagine what this mom is going through, having two new babies she can’t bring home to join the two precious big sisters who are waiting.

So I took a chicken casserole over this evening. I doubled it so I didn’t have to make two dinners – swell thinking on my part, I thought. Well, we just ate it and I must have left something out; it was not tasty. I won’t say it was bad but it certainly wasn’t good. With each bite all I could think was this poor, exhausted family is eating tasteless chicken casserole… maybe they’re so tired they didn’t notice. At least I also took salad, bread and brownies. Surely the brownies will make up for the lackluster casserole, right?

I should have taken ice cream, too.

Game + Math = YUCK!

Molly invited us over to dinner Friday night. I was prepared for a fun evening with Molly, Jeff and their sweet girls. I was unprepared to have to do math, because, you know, when I get invited to dinner, I don’t assume equations will be on the menu.

But Molly borrowed a game we loving refer to as redneck golf (if you know the real name please let me know). You play with a ladder made from PVC pipe and a rope with two balls tied to either end. You throw the ball-rope thing toward the other ladder and hope you can get the ball-rope thing to wind around one of the rungs. We played it with my sister and husband back in May and I remember it being lots of fun. Of course, the way we played it didn’t involve hard-core addition and subtraction to come up with the score.

Here’s how Jeff explained the scoring procedure: Remember how many points are attributed to each rung on the ladder. After each person has thrown his golf ball-on-a-rope three times, add up your team’s points. If your team’s score is higher than the other team’s score you subtract the other team’s points from your points, and presto! You have your points for that round. Add those points to the points you have from the previous round and you have the total score.

I tried to work within this crazy, engineer-driven way to score for about, oh, four second. Then I just said what everyone else was thinking: “Okay, that is a stupid way to score this game!"

Why should I lose the points I earned just because the other team can’t manage their ball and rope?! If I got that contraption around the ladder at all I deserve some points. Why can’t I count all my points? And why should my team be penalized just because your team didn't score as many points as my team? Are you kidding me?

Michael and I were on a team against Jeff and Amy. Michael and I won, but I don’t have a clue how many points we scored, number one because Jeff kept taking away our points and number two, because I enlisted Sean’s help to score for us because, as I said before, that was a stupid way to keep score.

I guess what I’m really saying is this: Look, if you’re going to invite me to dinner, don’t make me do math. And if you do, at least provide pen and paper so I can try to keep up.

No Talking

I didn't stay up for the McCain speech. The nagging cold I ignored to watch Palin decided to make its presence known yesterday afternoon, so I went to bed early. Truth be told, I’ve never been a fan of McCain, (McCain-Feingold act anyone?) and am only excited to vote for him because of his VP pick. And even that is qualified because I know precious little about Palin.

All that to say, I didn’t hear it. I went to bed to try to avoid the cold that this morning seems to be saying, “You should have listened to your body four days ago!” But it was the first week of school and I cannot be sick the first week of school. Or the 11th or 18th or the 23rd week for that matter. I am the homeschool mom! I cannot be sick.

Yet this week, I’ve been sick. I lost my voice Tuesday evening and woke up Wednesday unable to do anything but whisper. Thursday was about the same and even though I went to bed early last night, today seems to be a repeat.

I did a lot of whispering and abbreviated sign language. But I couldn’t talk normally which meant I had to do a lot of motioning and gesturing and doing a lot myself that I would normally ask someone to help me do. (By the way, pointing urgently and repeatedly is about as effective as speaking loudly to someone who doesn’t understand English.)

Losing my voice the first day of school made me think of the quote by St. Francis of Assisi:

Preach the Gospel at all times and when necessary use words.

I’ve thought about that the last few days, wondering how I can apply it to homeschooling as well as evangelism. Perhaps as I’m going through the year I need to remember that more is caught than taught (oh, I hate clichés) and perhaps I should listen more than talk.

Great in theory.

I just hope I can remember that in week 11, when we’re behind in science, math is again confusifying and Spanish still seems foreign…

Palin Speech Transcript

If you'd like to read her whole speech, here's a link: http://tinyurl.com/6fdfgt

Glad I didn't go to bed early

Last night I'd planned to hit the sack 10; I've had the feeling a cold is coming to visit so I thought I'd try to head it off at the pass. But I got busy getting dinner ready for tonight and then I heard Sarah Palin begin to speak and I thought, "Oh, another 30 minutes can't hurt..."

I am so glad I heard her speech! She was poised, confident and delivered each line with near-flawless perfection.

Conservative, liberal, Democrat, Republican - no matter your political affiliation you had to be amazed that someone plopped onto the national stage from near obsurity could handle herself so well.

I was thoroughly impressed.

One more thing to blame on Mom and Dad

I am tired this morning and I blame my parents. It is their fault I got up at 6 to get the kids to school by 7:30 because we had a mandatory informational meeting for the co-op they are in. Mandatory. I received several email reminders emphasizing the mandatory-ness of the meeting, so, because of the way my parents raised me, I was at the mandatory meeting, even though I’d predicted the night before I would learn nothing new and the speaker would simply read stuff that is clearly posted on the website, stuff I could read on my own in the comfort of my home, in my jammies.

But I went, because my parents taught me if you sign up for something, you go to all the something’s stuff. Meeting? Go. Practice? Go. Ceremony? Go. And don’t just go; be early. So at 7 this morning I was hustling Michael and Amy out the door so we could be early to the mandatory meeting I knew would be pointless.

Guess what? I was right. And to all my friends who were smart, slept in and didn’t show up: number one, why the heck didn’t you call me and tell me you weren’t going?! And number two, next year, I’m sleeping in, too.

Of course, even as I’m typing those words I know exactly what will happen next year. I’ll be at the stupid meeting. Because like it or not, I’ll hear my parents’ voices in my ear: You signed up; you go to the meeting.

Ugh. I hate being responsible sometimes...

I need a nap.

The Summer's (Almost) Over

There’s a lot of groaning and gnashing of teeth at my house this afternoon; seems the reality that this is the last day of summer has come crashing down and at least one of my little people is not happy. Not. Happy.

I’ve been laboring a bit this Labor Day, getting weekly schedules written, dividing up the chore list and marking up my calendar with endless VB days – Amy’s on a volleyball team and our lives will be overrun with volleyball practices and games this September and October. I’ve written up everyone’s Domestic Tuesday chores through January and have planned out our writing and vocabulary curriculum through October. I’m still waiting on a few books to arrive and thankfully I don’t need them until next Monday; I didn’t give myself much cushion, but I do think I’ll have everything I need by then.

Bwahahaha! “I think I’ll have everything I need…” The lie all homeschool moms believe the day before school starts. Oh, I needed that laugh, even if I gave it to myself.

So tomorrow we meet at the kitchen table at 8:30, bright and early to start our fifth year of homeschooling. We’ll work until 10, then head out to the airport to pick up my Dad who’s coming for a three day visit, which will completely derail all my hopes of organization. I often say we shouldn’t let school get in the way of a good education; I guess in this case the saying should be I shouldn’t let school get in the way of a really fun visit with the grandfather.

We’ll get back on track next Monday…