Captain Me Planet

This is not as bad as it sounds. 

So.  We told Private One the intimate details of how babies are created a few weeks ago.  After nearly vomiting, he rallied, digested, and has gone on his merry way.

Untill today.  Today, he asked me why married couples (because that’s the context in which we’re teaching him the Lord gives us the greatest blessings in this area) have sex,  if they don’t want a baby.  How can a baby be a surprise?  He pondered.  Just don’t do it.  He said.

So in addition to the basics, he got a quick rundown on how birth control can work, or not, and how we are created for this act, aside from the reason of having babies.

And I was just getting over it from the first time you told me about this!  He moaned. Now you tell me people want to do it?!?

Flash forward to this evening.  He wants us to elaborate just a bit.  OK, he says, so people want to do it.  I thought they just had to get used to it if they want a baby.  You know, get over how gross it is to have kids.

Um, no. 

And he goes off to bed.

7 minutes later:

Mom.  Dad.  I have a question about sex.  Okeedoke.  We’re all up in it.  Shoot.  We’re cool here.  Open, honest, Godly communication. 

Um, do you guys do it, or do you want to get pregnant again, or what?

Well, son, we, um, do it.  Yesserie, we do it.  With nothing whatsoever to do with wanting another baby.

He blanches.  And maybe starts to gag.  And nervously laugh.  Why?, he pleads. 

His father answers.  Because it’s fun, son.  It’s just great fun.

He looks confused.  How can it be fun when the very thought sends shivers up his nearly 11 year old sweet spine?

The Colonel thinks fast.  Um, son.  You know how you just love Frankie’s Fun Park (a local arcade, pizza, go-cart, skeet shooting sort of birthday/weekend place)?

Yeah.  Frankie’s rocks.

Well, sex for adults, who are married and love each other is like a Frankie’s Fun Park for grown-ups. 

The first Private is stricken.  Fun like Frankie’s?  For adults?  Sex???  You mean like Frankie’s Sex Park??? Groooooooosssssss, Dad! 

Yeah.  Like Frankie’s Sex Park.  But better.  And no tokens or game debit cards.  It’s all free.  Trust us.  You’ll see.  But prayerfully, not for a good, long while. 

After that, he willingly went to bed.  And we haven’t heard from him since. 

Last night, at dusk, I saw the children out the front windows.  They were all three deeply ensconced in some imaginary world.  They were each either flying, with arms flapping in slow mo, or swimming, with breath held, cheeks puffed out, and hands, slicing their way through the water I couldn’t see.

It was awesome.

Just had to say something nice, because really, this being a mother rocks. 

 

in which, I feel I must be going mad.  It’s been busy around here, the Colonel overloaded.  The kind of overload to agree to for the money, oh, we’ll pay of this, we’ll get that, and then you find yourself wrung out and thinking you were stupid.  Colonel being busy, to which I agreed, means Captain Mom is on her own with the privates.  Every. hour. of. every. day.

And today, it may mean they meet their maker.

I have. had. it. with them.  And they aren’t even being bad.  Just constant.  Constant noise.  Constant needs.  Constant desiring nutrition and clean clothing.  Today, it’s like nails on a chalkboard.  Sandpaper in my eyeball.  Just go on and back the car over me now.  The Colonel even left the truck.  It’s heavier than the MPV.  Oughta work out fine.

Upstairs.  slam, bang, run run run, thump whack thud.  Scream. Hysterical laughing.  Door slamming.  Nooooooooooooo, doooooonnnnnn’t.  That’s miiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiine!  Stop stop stop, I’m telling mooooooommmmmmm, run, laugh, cry, you hit me, did not, you meant to, did not,  I wanna try, I wanna try, no I wanna try, no I wanna try.  That hurt.  I told you.  No you did not. Scream scream run run, thud thump whump whack.

Want some more?  I’ve got more. 

Private 3 decides to bring the fun downstairs.  With 2 small kitty figurines.  

The scene: Private 3 trying to balance the kitties on the edge of the bar, back feet on, front feet off.

The outcome: Constant dropping, clinking, clunking while I fill out the Title forms for the DMV, for our new car.  He tried again to defy the odds of gravity.  Over and over and over.

Next scene:  Me, calmly telling Private 3, you must stop doing that now, while he holds one tiny plastic kitty on the edge of the counter again, it’s making too much noise. 

The outcome:  Clunk, clink, chunk as a plastic kitty nose dives to the hardwood floor again.  I thump Private 3’s head.  Oooowwwwwwww, why did you dooooooo thaaaaaaaaat?  You did it AGAIN.  AGAIN.  I just said not to do that!  What did I say, huh, tell me, what did I just say?

His reply:  Ooooh, I thought you meant the other kitty.  This one has a purple bow. 

Today, just might be the end of me.  THE END OF ME.  Send my husband covered dishes after the memorial.  He really doesn’t know how to cook. 

then a happy day to you.  One day late.

My day of honor started out like this:

Sounds slowly infiltrating my brain, that had been resting so beautifully under the sun streaming in the window, bouncing off the rippling waters of Lake Lure.  Sounds that rose in a cacophony, mosquito like in quality, when the bug gets closer and closer to your ear before it dawns that you are indeed about to be bit…I was there, no you weren’t, yes I was, no I was, that’s my spot, I want to be by Mommy, but I was, it’s my spot, no it’s mine, no it’s not, yes it is, no it’s not, move, no, yes, no…

…our two youngest, arguing over who could crawl in bed and rest by me on one of the 3 days a year I get to sleep in with NO guilt.  So, naturally, I handled it thusly:

Do you realize, I began so calmly, that in your effort to bless me with your sweet little selves, you’ve managed to WAKE ME UP to the sounds of bicker bicker bicker?  On one of only 3 days I get to sleep in with no latent guilt of not doing my job of tending to your every need and desire, while the good Lord above works the kinks of selfishness out of me, by giving you to me, so that I  must never think of myself, or that I may be tired, or would like to pee without telling you how many rings Saturn has, or how nice an actual hot cup of coffee would be, instead of the repeatedly nuked one I always have because I get your seconds and thirds of breakfast first, or about how you get all the new clothes, and took my beautiful belly button far far away to never be the same, and how you are convinced that you are each planets about which I was created to spin…GO AWAY.

So.  They did.  But then, I couldn’t go back to sleep.  Drat.

We ate breakfast out.  I did not cook.  Or clean the dishes.  For that, I am grateful.  We drove home from the lake.  Without our friend’s very whiny spoiled and grating precocious 3 year old.  Very grateful here.  And at home, although I cooked something because it was just what I wanted for dinner, the Colonel and our Privates did their best to serve me.  I received 3 fantastic presents, and they did mess duty.  The Colonel took full charge of bed time, and the day came to a close.  And although he stayed up till 3 am working, he made sure the kitchen was clean when I came down this morning.

A good man, he is.  And I’m glad, if I have to learn that the world does not spin around me, that I can do it with him, and these 3 character builders, called children, who qualified me to have such a day, in the first place. 

 

We teach at home for many, many reasons.  To be able to cater to each child’s learning styles.  To have a really flexible family schedule to get to really be a family.  To sleep in when I feel like it. Camp out in the backyard on a Sunday night, with their Dad.  To avoid after school activities rush hour (that makes me cranky).  And because I hate tons of worksheets. 

But very primarily, because we dearly desire the children to be able to be children, while they are children. 

And in our society, that’s tough request.  Girls and boys are growing up, being exposed, earlier and faster than ever before.  And at home, our children are free of the pressures of this going on around them (yup, it’s a bubble, and we love it).  We can incubate them.  Guide them.  Protect them from too much, too soon.  

Specifically when it comes to S-E-X.  

And things, sexual in nature.   

We protect from certain media images.  Video games.  Manga books.  Even some PG movies.  From the mall, for Pete’s sake, where a ginormous woman with ginormous breasts all pushed up in black satin leers at us from the wall outside Victoria’s Secret.  For us, and I won’t cite references here, we believe the studies that suggest all kinds of detrimental effects on children from too much media.  Specifically, too much sexually charged media.

So.  Yesterday, for the first time, at 10 and a half, our oldest child learned about the nitty gritty specifics of just how he got some of my characteristics, and some of his Dad’s. 

And, he was horrified.  Actually shuddered.  Said he couldn’t get it out of his head, the images!  And we all had a good laugh together, as the Colonel and I explained, earnestly, that we had the exact same reaction, the first time we heard this bit of info. 

He didn’t have a lot of questions.  Yet.  As I think he’d like to try to forget the entire affair.  And I wish that the subject didn’t even need come up for another 2 years or so.  Till he was actually beginning to experience adolescence.  And would begin to not have quite the blessed childish perspective on it, that he did yesterday.

That’s not really afforded us.

In our society, we’ve waited about as long as we can, if we want to be the first to share, the way we want to share, the details of sex, and just how we feel God wishes we handle it.  At 10 and a half, most kids are already figuring out, or have been told.  Or worse, think they’ve figured it out, and want to spread the word.  He has friends that have older siblings.  Sure, parents tell their children to maybe not share such intimate info with buddies, but do our children always do what their asked?  He has a friend who’s 18 year old sister is pregnant.  And not married.  We’ve told him babies come from marriage, and love, and the Lord.  So now what?  We have other friends, who divorced, and then decided to have another baby together.  Explain that one, when Private One just said, they can’t help if God wanted to give them another baby.  It just happens.

And he’s asked questions.

How come I have Dad’s cowlick, when I was in your belly?

Does the Dad cut his finger just a bit and rub it in the umbilical cord right as they cut it?

Or does he do a dance over you, like a rooster?

Did he hug me reeeeaaaaaal tight, right after I was born?  Or hug your belly when I was in there? 

So yesterday, it was suddenly heavy on our spirits, after toying around with the idea for more than a year.  He thought he was in trouble, when we had him alone with us upstairs.  I think he’d rather have been in trouble!  

But I feel so grateful.  Like we’ve won something.  Reached a goal.  As he gains on 11, he has remained innocent of this knowledge.  Been a little boy, without the burden of carrying more adult info than necessary, when he was a little boy.  Now, he’s beginning to transition, and we had the blessing and privilege of being the ones to talk with him.  Share our perspective.  Make sure the real facts were covered.   Laugh with him when he was grossed out.  Hey, you break down the facts like that, and really, it is not very pretty.  Even though he doesn’t believe us now, we were able to tell him he will feel differently.  Boy, will he ever.

He said it’d be easier, and less disgusting, to just cut his finger in the delivery room.   

Yeah.  He says that now.  Just he wait and see. 

In the meantime, I’m just so amazed at how quickly that time is coming.  No baby boy here, any more.

We consider ourselves unschoolers.  Because I can’t stick to a schedule more than 3 days in a row.  Because our oldest hates workbooks.  Because we all like to sleep late when we feel like it.  Because we like to do what seems  best for that day.  Because there is no boxed curriculum that really fits all of us, and it is too expensive to buy per child.  Per interest.  Per phase. 

And, because, I love the idea of child interest led learning.  

Private Girly wants to knit a scarf?  We get Knitting for Dummies (me, not her).  Private Youngest wants to make a car out of a cardboard box and blocks?  Here’s the duct tape.  We need to build our math chops?  Hey, get some construction paper, a marker and make a life size board game, with the prize of a buck to the one who makes it to the end fastest (each right answer gets a child one construction paper block further ahead).

But Private Oldest is giving me gray hair.  If left to his own devices, it’d be  media, media, some Gameboy, a little more media, and a couple of hours on my computer, surfing the Lego site.  He cannot be left strictly to his own child led interests.

He reads voraciously.  He loves to build with Legos.  Writes stories.  Plays hard outside.  Has just earned his second belt in Karate.  He has other interests.  He just prefers to, if he were able, to either watch, or participate in and watch, something on a screen.  A computer screen, TV screen, video screen.  He’ll play with an old cell phone or digital watch for half and hour.  He is the child that will literally watch the test pattern.  Once, when I told them they could not watch cartoons because it was just too noisy, he said, fine, I’ll turn off the sound.  Right, that’ll last long, thought stupid me.  I told him to cut it out after 45 minutes.  45 minutes of soundless cartoons.

So around here, largely due to our media monger, we’re SemiSchoolers.  A routine helps.  Waking them up by 8:30 most days helps them fall asleep sooner in the evening.  Having lunch within the same 45 minutes period of time daily gives them something to count on and serves as the transition time in our day, from Mom-directed, to self directed. Giving them specific tasks to accomplish, including lessons, leaves less time to want to gorge on media. 

Is there a typical day?  Yeah.  First of all, I had these children, sacrificed my bikini worthy belly for them, and they make a big mess.  So I put’em to work. Arise, get your own room ready for the day, if it’s a wreck, and come down for breakfast.  Help me with breakfast.  They’re big enough.  Brush those teeth we’re spending a fortune to straighten, and come back to give me a hand.

Basic laundry sorting.  Bringing it down to the mudroom.  What needs vacumming, spit shined.  Is the dishwasher emptied and ready to receive the first of probably 3 loads for the day?  Do sheets need cleaning, or towels cycled, and is there toilet paper in each bathroom?  And has the dog been fed this week?  Are the gerbils still alive?  Next month, I’m thinking baseboards.  Muwaa haaaa haaaa haaaaaaaaaaaa.

And then I consult a loosely laid out set of lesson plans.  Instead of Mon., Tues., Wed. and so on, I just label them, 1., 2., 3. etc.  That way, if something comes up, like we go see the great grandparents, or work all day in the yard, I don’t feel like we’re behind.  I hate feeling behind.  So this way, we’re not.  We just stopped at lesson 3, and can pick up at 4 when we’re back to lessons.  However long it takes, like if the children visit their grandparents in Atlanta, or Texas, for the week.  And if lesson 4 ends up taking 3 days, because they really get into it, then we’re still unschooling.  With a plan.  See?  No guilt. But no hard agenda.  Semischooling.  Is this word in the Urban Dictionary?  I need to get credit.

It also helps me stay atop of math progress, and carve out time to make sure I work with Girly and her reading.  It keeps me disciplined, just enough, but not too much.  And then we have lunch, and they get free time.  Or we run errands.  And it’s only 4 hours til time to gear up for dinner, baths, etc.  Know what else?  They bicker less.  Probably because they have less time to get bored, and pick pick pick.  Which seems to be the past time of choice when they’re bored.  Which drives me to drink.  And it’s a bit awkward when I break out the Pinot at 2 pm.

What am I communicating, rambling on about?  We shift and change when the needs of the children shift and change.  At one time, more structure wasn’t needed.  Now, it is.  And this is the beauty of schooling at home.  I can appraise what’s going on, and add, delete or shape what the children need.  No teacher with 25 or 30 other children can assess so intimately what I am blessed to assess.  Is it constant?  Exhausting?  Confusing?  Nerve racking?  Intimidating?  Yes.  All of the above.  

But between the gifts God has given us, and His absolute love for our children, and their well-being, we’ll figure it out.  They are not alone.  Even if I’m occasionally completely imcompetent.   Or, more accurately, often completely incompetent.  In the end, we, as their parents, know them better than anyone, trained professional, or not.  And I’m grateful for the chance to use this knowledge.