Friday, July 26, 2013

Home School at My House

Here is my kindergarten schedule for this year:

Character Trait

Character Review







History, Biography

Foreign Language
First Aid, Safety, or Fire Prevention

Foreign Language
Hand work
Foreign Language

Here is my reality:
(taken from a text conversation with my husband this very morning)

Me: N's first attempt at handwriting today. Pray for his teacher

Now his elbows itch. Mercy.

Dr. N, this text is notice of my resignation as head instructor, effective immediately. I am no longer able to meet the high educational standards of the N Family Academy. Furthermore, with "satisfaction" being my only income I find myself woefully impoverished today. I give you hearty encouragement as you search out my replacement.

My Man: Resignation denied. Not accepted. If at first you don't succeed. . . .pray more.

No, no, I quit.

One assignment in a whole curriculum does not constitute failure.

He had about 15 minutes worth of worksheets today. 2 hours later, we're still not done. Don't think we're going to make it to the store today.

Failing to go to the grocery store is different issue. Perhaps the ad should be for a housekeeper not a teacher. :)

The punk just aced reading an analog clock, adding, subtracting & spelling. 100% on all of them. He makes me insane and happy all at the same time. 

I would absolutely accept a housekeeper. Speaking of which, when are you coming home? 


Was it T's elbow itching?

No, N's. 


He was just stalling.

He also said his fingers hurt after about 2 minutes of handwriting. The dawdle king has identified his least favorite subject & does what he can to avoid it.


N just asked for a cat. When I said no he asked for a dog. When I told him no he said, "How about an elephant?" I said we would see.

But if we get an elephant we might inherit a nest of birds. 
*Please see There's a Bird on Your Head by Mo Willems to understand this reference*


And now, I'm going to take a nap. . . 

copyright (c) Elizabeth, Bug's Beef. All rights reserved.

Saturday, July 20, 2013


1. removed from contact, circulation, etc.
2. reticent, quiet, reserved, detached
3. me


I haven't blogged in four months. It's not just you, though. I've withdrawn from almost everybody. My rather thin journal still has empty pages in it. The first entry records my thoughts from October 30, 2009. An inch-thick booklet of my musings remains unfilled after almost four years. A week or so ago I asked my husband how he felt I had changed in the year since our move. One of the things he mentioned was that I am more quiet. I share less of my thoughts and feelings.

Speaking of my man: though I have withdrawn from most of the world, I do continue to live up close and personal with three particular dudes. Since my silence has left you image-less as well as wordless, here are some recent pictures of the faces I get to see and love and smile at each day.

Now who in their right mind could not love these guys? (I am hoping to distract you by showing you my men.)

I've backspaced this paragraph a few times, because I still don't feel like talking. But this post has been tumbling around my mind for awhile. Hopefully I can get it out and go back to my simple silence.  

I think one of the main reasons why I have slipped into silence is because there is no one to talk to. Not about things that fill my heart and mind. Sure, I get to talk about sandboxes, and screen time and fighting bad guys all day. But those are the things that captivate my children, not me. 

I can't decide if this quiet is a good thing, or not. My mouth has gotten me in trouble many times throughout the years. I find myself regretting my words less often now. That's a good thing. However, I do feel my heart growing distant, as well. Despite deep loneliness, at times I want to sever the few friendships that remain. That would not be good.

To be quite honest, the only reason I am sharing now is because I dread going back to look at the Core Curriculum Standards for kindergarten. I am working on my school goals for the 2013-2014 year. After dragging myself through language arts I knew I could not tackle mathematics without a break. I'll keep you posted on how it goes. Maybe. Depends on how this whole withdrawn-thing shakes out.

copyright (c) Elizabeth, Bug's Beef. All rights reserved.

Thursday, March 14, 2013

An Open Letter

To the Mom of the healthy child,

Hello. My son has food allergies. And by allergies I mean allergies. Life threatening. Shock inducing. Anaphylaxis. Wherever my son is, his epi-pen is near by.

I know that other spastic moms misrepresent their children's intolerances as allergies.  It makes me want to roll my eyes, too. You're right, an upset tummy does not an allergy make.  Though nasty diapers are not fun, they are not allergies.  I might be a spaz, but I am not making an intolerance out to be an allergy.

I have sat in the back of a zooming car, wedged between carseats, fighting to help my baby maintain consciousness.  I have dashed into emergency rooms holding a limp child in my arms. I still remember the look on my son's face as the tourniquet slipped and squeezed his eyes as the nurses frantically tried to gain IV access through his head.

I don't say this because I want pity. I want you to believe me and try to understand me.

I know your kid can't make it through the morning without their goldfish. But my kid can't sustain life if he eats that goldfish.

Imagine if you walked in the nursery and saw my baby playing with his epi-pen. It is more dangerous for my son to eat your child's snack than it is for your child to be injected with mine's medication. One of your crackers is more threatening than a whole vial of epinephrine.

You just want your sweet thing to stay happy, I want mine to stay alive.

There's a solid chance you think I should just stay home if it's that scary. Could you? Would you? If your kid is out with mine there's a good chance that one of you needs a break.

Do you remember how annoying it was when dudes gave you advice when you were pregnant? Or when the mom who was in pre-pregnancy clothes at her six week check up said that breastfeeding was her weight loss plan? Please don't tell me that chicken broth will fix this. Or that if I had only taken probiotics while pregnant I could have avoided everything.  It's not true, and it's not helpful.

I don't expect you to accomodate our medical restrictions. Please understand, though, that seeing your child with their milk is the same as seeing a cobra coiled in the corner. Yes, we will work on teaching my son self control. He will know to never try anyone else's food or drink. But for right now, we're working on walking.


Mom of the child with food allergies

copyright (c) Elizabeth, Bug's Beef. All rights reserved.

Monday, January 28, 2013

My Breathness

A few years ago I stood beside the coffin of someone I had known for more than two decades. One of the things that I noticed was the barely perceptible pull at the lips where they had been sewn shut.  Seeing that took the knowledge of the inevitability of my own death deeper into my heart. One day my lips will be sewn shut and people will be peering into my coffin.  

I have never truly felt myself invincible. Attending funerals at various intervals throughout my childhood and youth helped me know that death was a possibility. That knowing, though, was superficial and didn't penetrate into my depths.

As a senior in nursing school I did my last semester's rotation in the Emergency Department. One morning my preceptor and I assisted another nurse in turning her patient to his side. His trach proclaimed that he had some serious health problems, but had coped with them for years. A habitual glance at the monitors showed stable vital signs. A few hours later my preceptor volunteered us to do a "bag and tag" to prepare a body for the morgue to add to my educational experience. I was shocked to walk in the room and see his body. I had no idea he was dying. I tore back through my memories to determine if I had been kind, gentle & patient. I was relieved that I had been. But if I had known that my hands were going to be some of the last to touch him, would I have been even kinder? The reality of death sunk deeper into my heart at that moment.

I continued to see death throughout my career. Sometimes I fought it hard, quietly determined, focused on restoring life. Sometimes I helped ease it in, comforting the departing and the remaining. One time I raged against it. A patient died, who I knew would die, who didn't want to die, but his body gurgled to a stop anyhow. He is the only patient I ever cried over.

But death never sunk deep until I stood in the mausoleum.

I knew that if I were to die soon, there would be countless people who mourned me. I felt their ache, praying that they be spared the pain. But I also knew that in a few generations, no one would mourn. I don't miss my great grand parents. I know where just one of them is buried. I don't even know all their names.

I am not that far removed from being a skeleton whose memory is limited to name and dates. Even if my descendants research my life, they will not know my mannerisms or my character.  I am a vapor. This life will pass quickly, leaving little to no trace on humanity. There are a few hundred people on the planet who know me. Less than that have been impacted by me. Fewer still love me. The men and women who are known by millions eventually become names in history books.  How much smaller am I? I am a fool to build my significance in this life.

I haven't figured out what I am to do with this. The deep knowledge whispers to me frequently. I will soon be a skeleton. My life is as quick as a breath. Just as individual breaths go unnoticed in our body, so will I. The paradox, though, is that breaths matter. Each inhale/exhale cycle has sustained life, has contributed to health.  So I am nothing, but I am crucial. I do not matter to the world, but I matter to my family.

Perhaps I am learning this lesson because I inherited a pride that convinced me of my importance. Maybe it is to help me focus on what will last, namely the spirit of each person.  Or maybe, I'm just getting older. *gasp!* Then again, if I realize how little I am, it is a lot easier to bow to Almighty God and proclaim His glory. He alone lasts. He will never be a skeleton. It thrills me to know that some prairie woman may have camped at this very spot and read the Bible. It said the exact same thing then as it does now. God does not change. His love remains, His judgment remains. Only His word abides forever.

As a father has compassion on his children,
so the Lord has compassion on those who fear him;

for he knows how we are formed,
he remembers that we are dust.

The life of mortals is like grass,
they flourish like a flower of the field;
the wind blows over it and it is gone,

and its place remembers it no more.
But from everlasting to everlasting
the Lord’s love is with those who fear him,
and his righteousness with their children’s children
with those who keep his covenant
and remember to obey his precepts.

Psalm 103:13-18 NIV

copyright (c) Elizabeth, Bug's Beef. All rights reserved.

Tuesday, January 8, 2013

A Lazy Winter Afternoon

The sun is happily shining and the month-old snow is melting. I should be making bread or shaking my groove-thing with the ZumbaFit Wii game I got for Christmas. But alas, I am feeling lazy this Tuesday afternoon.

My husband left for the other side of the planet on Sunday. That evening I went into hyperactive mode. I changed linens, did laundry, made my faucet shine & exercised. All while still parenting my boys. I was so full of energy that I planned to exercise twice a day, every day for the next two weeks. I had a lovely daydream about my husband's jaw dropping in the airport as he beheld his shockingly thin & toned wife.

But then I woke up yesterday. My energy did not wake with me. I dragged myself through the day. Mid-morning I made myself stand up while talking to N to keep from falling asleep. I took a long, hard nap yesterday afternoon. I didn't exercise one bit.

Today I think I have returned to baseline, though the laziness is hanging on some. I ran an errand this morning, I held it together while N tested every boundary he's been given, I emptied the dishwasher. There is laundry in the dryer, but it has promised not to walk off. There are baby clothes soaking in the sink, but I'm thinking those stains are so stubborn that they'll soak awhile longer. When I'm done with this little update I'll probably make myself start on the bread. It depends on how long I dawdle. I have to time it right so that I'm not kneading bread when T wakes up.

There are a number of things I've been wanting to write about lately. But the list is on my phone, and it is plugged in. A whole ten feet away. So for now, know that there are some brilliant, deep thoughts rolling about in my head & soul. You will be thrilled and challenged by them. If you are anxious to know, or just irritated, you can pray that God strengthens me to overcome my laziness.

In an effort to not completely waste your time with my ramblings, here's a picture of N putting T's sock on. He was frustrated at how wiggly T is, but didn't give up. It is interesting to see N take so much responsibility on himself. Since my man and I are both first born children we planned on never making our oldest feel responsible for his younger siblings.We want him to know that family watches out for each other, but we are the parents. His main job is to enjoy his brother. Perhaps it is just his personality, or maybe birth order effects us more than we know, but most days we are encouraging N to be a brother, not a daddy.

copyright (c) Elizabeth, Bug's Beef. All rights reserved.