I Just Couldnt Think of a Title so I put a : )

Reading, it is essential to my well-being. I do not remember what it is like not to know how to read. My father is a big reader and he taught me before I started Kindergarten. Lol And that’s back when kindergarten was half days and the main curriculum included learning your phone number and address. 

Books, Books, Books, they are all I ever wanted for Christmas. My parents would let me open the wrapped goodies and then confiscate them only to ration them off later. If they didn’t do this, I would just read through them in one day. In 5^th Grade, it was not inconceivable for me to put away a 200 page book before bedtime.

I always did well in school and I believe whole heartedly that this is due to my love and ability to read. If I read something, I remember it. Tests were never a problem for me and book reports and research were great too because they still involved reading. Math, ahhh, math, now that was a problem for me. My brain just does not compute numbers well.

Now, to my youngest son, the one this post is meant to be about. He has struggled with reading all of his life. He never had the patience to lay down at bedtime to read books with mom. It was mostly me reading with him asking random questions about whatever popped up in his head. As, he was older, reading became something that I had to force him to do. We got tutors, work with reading “specialists” and hooked on phonics. Nothing. His brain computes words like mine does numbers. He is a number specialist. The boy loves his math. He begged to learn multiplication tables in 1^st Grade.  We now practice “reading” by doing math story problems. For awhile, I struggled with anxiety that he will struggle all through school because he has a hard time with reading.  I mean reading is what helped me coast through high school and college, what would my boy be up against. The other hard thing is in elementary school so much of the day involves reading “out loud” in class, would this effect his self-esteem to struggle in that way in front of the whole class? Kids, the greatest source of “freaking a mother out” as one can get.

As I ramble, I should say that this post boils down to a conversation this morning that I had with my boy over his breakfast. He said if he is half me and half his father then his brain got only our stupid parts. Um, heartbreaking.  I just swooped his ever growing body up and hugged my little boy and I told him,  I don’t make stupid. You see, my children watched me graduate college with honors. They saw all the pretty color cords and sashes I got to wear with my cap and gown and somehow that registered “Moms a genius” in their heads. I told my boy that he got the best part of my brain, he took my numbers away, my love of science and social studies,  and he got my determination and my stubbornness. These are all the things he needs in life to over come how hard reading is for him now, because he really is brilliant.  

Now, I am writing this as he gets dressed and I am preparing to send him off to school. Have I said enough this morning? Will he doubt himself again as soon as that school bell rings?  Why can’t we just hold them and keep them small forever?

Hey Diddle Diddle

 Last night, as I was finishing up washing dishes, I noticed we are getting low on spoons again. How does one get low on spoons? Well the proverbial sock eating dryer does not reside at my house. Oh no, we have the run-away spoons.  It seems that every so often, I have to make a trip to the store just to purchase more silverware. The pretty spoons that came with the set that I purchased when we bought our first house are long gone. I have remnants of forks and knives but alas the spoons have deserted us.  

“Hey diddle diddle,

The Cat and the fiddle,

The Cow jumped over the moon,

The little Dog laughed to see such sport,

To which the Dish ran away with the Spoon.”

I can’t help but think of the nursery rhyme Cat and the Fiddle and its dish running away with the spoon. There must be some old myths underlined with truth in this rhyme.  You see, our spoons are not the only wayward thing at our house. The bowls must have also seen what fun the spoons were having and they too up and leave.  Now, I could very easily be persuaded and sure that the spoon and bowls are left outside by 2 boys that also reside in my house. They could have been thrown away without a look back because a friend knocked on the door, but the nursery rhyme loving girl that resides in my heart likes much better to believe that the bowl and spoon have up and eloped. I am sure they are honeymooning on a beach somewhere. Enjoying the sun and the crash of waves, even though as the snow melts, I am likely to find them nestled under a bush next to my front porch, victims of a spur of the moment football game in the yard. 

Image from http://able2know.org/topic/138648-1

Chicken Therapy

Chicken Therapy, what can that possibly be? It is the profound sence of simple and natural and organic that comes over a person while they watch chickens just being chickens in their yard. Heck, it doesn’t even have to be in their own yard, Chicken Therapy can be done in other peoples’ yards. The main component is the chickens, the place can be anywhere. 

Today, February 4, 2012, was a beautiful day. For Michigan, the weather was unseasonably warm, a balmy 43F degrees. The sky was that of the bluest blue with spots of fluffy bright white clouds. There was a gentle breeze that still held the chill of February within its wafts but the smell was the perfume of coming Spring.  It was a perfect day to indulge in some Chicken Therapy.

Silver Laced Polish

I wondered out to our coop and opened up the run. The chickens, 5 pretty little hens, sauntered out into the yard. They pecked at yellowed grass, scratched at the soft dirt and just generally went about the business of being chickens. It is just so peaceful. It can also be comic relief. You just never know what those fat little hens will do. They chase each other for worms. It cracks me up every time. I have 2 chickens that are referred to as Polish breed of chickens. They have puffs of feathers on the top of their heads in place of combs. One, the Silver Laced Polish, has a puff that sometimes makes it hard for her to see. She is known to walk into things and then squawk loudly at an offending stick or coop door for being in her way. Sweet girl. 

These hens provide my family with eggs daily. Their poop is great in the compost pile which I use for our garden. Chickens also thrive on the bugs they find in your yard.  Beyond all the pest control, food and manure, you know, the usual things one might think of when considering the benefit of chickens, they bring peace.  It is Chicken Therapy at its best. The chickens will be chickens no matter what else is going on in the world. They are chickens and they are ok with that. Chicken keeping is just good for the soul…

Carrots

Carrots

Yesterday, my youngest boy came home from school and told me that the kids in his reading group all teased him for eating red, orange and yellow bell pepper slices for snack. He told me that the kids all said the fresh peppers stink and were gross. In a Benadryl haze, I am suffering from Spring allergies in January, I told him they were wrong but that I was proud of him for eating healthy. What does this have to do with carrots you might be wondering by now, lol, well cut to this morning... I decided that a nice crock pot of chicken and dumplings is just the thing to make myself feel better from this wacky January’s weather that has me having spring time allergies.  In my chicken and dumplings, I like carrots. This may not be the traditional way of making it, but I had it somewhere and I like the color and sweetness the fresh carrots add to the dish.  So, there I am peeling carrots and my mind wondered in the quietness of the kids are at school and my dog is snoring louder than a freight train, silence. Those poor children in the reading group who do not know the goodness of fresh sliced bell peppers. And for the record,  I do not know who was in his reading group that day so I have no idea who they are or if they just don’t like peppers but in my head at that moment those anonymous children were “poor little deprived children”.   Then I thought, how many kids today think that all carrots look like those prepackage baby carrots you can buy at the super market? I wonder if they realize just what carrots look like. Now, I’m not knocking anyone’s preference to fruits and veggies, I myself am no fan of kiwi fruit, so I understand there are personal taste involved, however, baby carrots are real carrots cut/sand blasted down to that mini size. In my opinion, they lose all the sweetness of what a carrot is in that process. Maybe I’m lucky and my children like fruits and vegetables, but it worries me for the up and coming generations that they are losing touch with where their food comes from and what its natural form is.  The natural form of chicken is not the pink sludge that is deep fried at fast food restaurants just as it is not the natural form of a carrot to be all mini and smooth and uniformed. It is not natural for all eggs in the carton to be of the exact same shell consistency and color. It’s just not natural. 

The moral of my story, if there must be one,  going along with my “back to basics” mantra, is it’s time to go back to basics with food. Experience food in its natural state a little more often. I understand the appeal of processed and precut and the convenience of it all but perhaps this spring and summer as the farmer markets are getting up and running, buy some fresh produce, in its natural state.  Let your children experience the markets, picking out produce, smelling melons to check for ripeness. It is such a wonderful way for children to learn about where food comes from and just maybe they will be more willing to try a new vegetable if they pick it out themselves.  Well, it is food for thought anyway.

January 29, 1925

January 29, 1925, this is the day that my grandfather was born. Living though the Great Depression and many Wars, taught him the value of family and hard work. Everything I am today is because of who he was.  He worked his way up from switchman on the Grand Trunk Western Railroad to the Train Master.  He was a man who would go out in the rain, snow, sleet, whatever to care for his animals; he worked many jobs to take care of his family. He loved my Grandma with all his heart. He was not afraid to stand up for what he believed in and to fight for it, but he was kind and caring with his wife, kids, grandchildren and pets. I always knew that I was safe from whatever boogeyman was out there because all boogeymen were afraid of my Grandpa.  I was lucky to grow up with a knowing, a sense of belonging and confidence because I knew my Grandfather was in my corner and no matter what happened he would be there. He taught me to be tough and kind. To love my family and show kindness to those less fortunate. He had such a mischievous streak, one that I could recognize in myself.  His grin often got him out of trouble with Grandma or into it deeper depending on the situation. He taught me to ride a horse, to saddle them up and respect the power and the intelligence of the animal. He never judged me when I had a baby at 19 and was unwed and I named that baby after him.  At that point he lived in Texas and was raising cattle so he was not as close as I would have liked him, but he sent my son photo albums of all the cows. On the back he wrote, the prices and weight of them, where he bought them. Maybe it was his way of imparting some wisdom to the next generation, but I treasure them. He sent my son cowboy boots and that summer when he came up to Michigan, my son was 3, we took him to his first rodeo. Grandpa sat with him on his lap. He loved his family, no matter how old or young.  It has only been 2 months since he has passed. I hung his spurs and his favorite horse’s bridle from hooks in my bedroom. It’s my tribute to such a wonderful man, a man who shaped so much of who I am.  He was my partner in crime from the day of my birth to the day of his death. 

Happy Birthday Grandpa! I love you and love doesn’t die.

January

January for me has always been a month of promise. It’s not just the promise of a new year, but the promise that the seasons are changing. The days are slowly starting to get longer instead of shorter. It may still be incredibly cold here in Michigan, however the Spring season is on its way. There is a promise in the air of January that simple says life goes on and the circle will continue. 

Winter itself does not bother me. It is a chance to reflect, turn inward and recharge yourself. It’s a slower time of year in my family. The Spring, Summer, Fall sports have wound down, the schedule of school has become a good routine, and most importantly the lawn does not need mowed. It’s a time for baking and large family meals, indoor games and movies to catch up on.  The cold, snow and ice are not the hardest part of Winter for me, it is the lack of daylight.  January days are still not all together long here in Michigan, but they are starting to get longer with each day.

Soon, January will give way to February and February to March, and this will bring back Spring, and the return of the busy season in my life. Sports, homework, lawn mowing, they will all return with gusto. My quiet evenings slowly turn to long evenings filled with one busy activity after another. The chance to snuggle on the couch to read a book takes a back burner to planting and weeding gardens.  Don’t get me wrong, I welcome the change of seasons and the warming weather and longer days, but I also appreciate what January gives us too.

Tonight, while typing this blog, I can feel the simplicity of life, the way of nature that promises life to go on, seasons to change and I am thankful for the quiet of the house around me. The laundry is done, the dryer is quiet, and the dishes are washed and put away. There is a steady hum to the furnace as it works to keep the house warm.  It’s a cold quiet night, but one that is good for the soul.