Intentional Weekend: Thinking about Thanksgiving

P is for Pilgrim
Another winner from Sleeping Bear Press of our Monday Night Football Geography fame.

This First Thanksgiving Day: A Counting Story
This is a lively counting rhyme with bright, cheerful pictures. Easily memorized in time to impress the grandparents at Thanksgiving Dinner.

N. C. Wyeth's Pilgrims
This is my absolute favorite Thanksgiving book. The clear, crisp, astonishingly beautiful N. C. Wyeth paintings are so very memorable.

Cranberry Thanksgiving
A Five-in-a Row favorite. It's out of print. The recipe for cranberry bread is quite good.

Autumn Across America

This is a photography book worthy of the coffee table. I can't for the life of me figure out why it's out of print. (Shhh...there are 15 used ones available at Amazon).

 

In November

Cynthia Rylant makes poetry of November. This is a sensory feast, filled with warmth and snuggling and the gathering of creatures.

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Eu-cha-rist (ykr-st) The Eucharist is another name for Holy communion. The term comes from the Greek by way of Latin, and it means "thanksgiving." It is used in three ways: first, to refer to the Real Presence of Christ; second, to refer to Christ's continuing action as High Priest (He "gave thanks" at the Last Supper, which began the consecration of the bread and wine); and third, to refer to the Sacrament of Holy Communion itself. [Middle English eukarist, from Old French eucariste, from Late Latin eucharistia, from Greek eukharisti, from eukharistos, grateful, thankful : eu-, eu- + kharizesthai, to show favor (from kharis, grace; see gher-² in Indo-European roots).]

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Revisiting a big kids' lapbook to make plans to do it all over again with the little ones:

Here is a narration of Cranberry Thanksgiving on the left and a Thanksgiving poem for memory and copywork in the middle.

Mary Beth has written things for which she's thankful on the turkey's feathers. The purple matchbooks open to tell about the events on the Mayflower.

The map shows the journey from England to Plymouth.In the centerpiece are the steps for planting corn (I think this, the map, and the Mayflower pictures are from Enchanted Learning.). There is a folded Venn diagram just below the map (it's hard to see because it's yellow). Mary Beth compared our Thanksgiving dinner with the Pilgrim dinner.

On the right in this picture (really the bottom flap) is a four part shutter book with picture of spring, summer, winter and fall reduced from N. C. Wyeth's Pilgrims.  This is a really beautiful book!Beneath the flaps are narrations of each season that I keyboarded so we could fiddle with the font and make it fit.

Intentional Weekend: Liberate Yourself from E-slavery

"During the thousand years between the fall of Rome and the Renaissance, what defined human life in the Western world was the Christian religion. People’s daily actions and experiences aligned to the
liturgical calendar, which itself proceeded throughout the year in harmony with the rhythms of the natural world. People knew that this life was preparation for the next, but they also knew that this world was a part of the world to come...[Then] Human life no longer was informed at its center by worship of God but by worship of man...[Now,]...man has also passed and that the age in which we now live—The Age of Technology...In the process man has become a slave. C.S. Lewis called this “the abolition of man,” and his book thus titled explained how three technologies—the radio, the airplane, and the contraceptive pill—all promised greater freedom for mankind but instead became the means for a few to control the lives of the many. Lewis saw these inventions serving the designs of totalitarian regimes. Half a century later, many of us have of our own choosing surrendered our freedom to technology."

"Faithful Catholics see well enough the tyranny of technology in the wicked laboratories where human reproduction is torn asunder from human love. They recognize that the first device aimed at this end, the contraceptive pill, is the bastard offspring of the previous age’s two lies: the perfectibility of man (eugenics) and the total autonomy of man (unlimited sensual gratification without consequences). Where Catholics are less able—or less willing, perhaps—to see technology’s tendency to enslave is in the operation of the machines and systems of modern communication technology: computers, iPads, smartphones, e-mail, social-network pages, chat-rooms, blogs, Web forums, Twitter, the Internet, texting, and so on. We have given our lives over to these devices and habits. My colleague Aaron Wolf has coined a term for this condition: e-slavery."

"The story goes that when Evelyn Waugh at last succumbed to having a telephone installed in his home he answered it this way, “Is this an emergency? If not, write a letter!” None of us could get away with that now, but Waugh, even if he was not what we would call a “people person,” recognized the effect of communication technology on human relationships. It lowers discourse to the trivial.
Scroll through a day’s worth of teenage texting. Read the Tweets or blogs of those whose vanity has convinced them that the whole world is interested in their shopping and sexual habits. Watch the cell phones come out the moment your airplane lands, or read the posts on any Web forum. You will realize that, as Chesterton says, “[i]t is the beginning of all true criticism of our time to realize that it has really nothing to say, at the very moment when it has invented so tremendous a trumpet for saying it” (“The Proper View of Machines,” Illustrated London News, February 10, 1923)."

"“The impotence of the receptive party”: The phrase perfectly describes man’s servile relationship with the images and sounds of modern communication technology. Moving images so influence our lives that we conform our tastes, our clothes, our manners, and our behavior after that of our favorite stars. Some of us are perpetually starring in the movie about our own life, and our iPods provide the neverending soundtrack for this alternate reality."

"St. Augustine identified this human failing long ago, in Book Ten of his Confessions. He called it the lust of the eyes. Our desire to know about these things only drives us further from the divine because they crowd our imaginations when our imaginations should be filled with the contemplation of God. As long as I stay plugged into the noise, the flashing images, and the gossip, I do not risk facing the terrifying silence during which I would be forced to confront that which is most real—the state of my interior life. If my iPod headphones are blaring, I need not acknowledge the supplication of the beggar. If my iPod headphones are blaring, I will not recognize the beggar that is my soul."

Read the entire excellent esssay here and see what the author proposes instead of slavery to technology. I think a slow, thoughtful reading, pondering the message, praying about it, and then acting intentionally could truly be lifechanging.

As for me and my house, I think change could be a good thing.

Crafting Home

When all the children in a home are little, it’s easy to see the purpose of home. It’s a place with parents to guide every wee step; it’s where cribs and beds and bedtimes stories are; it’s where every meal is taken, often with someone who loves holding the spoon and gently guiding it to mouth. There is an obvious need for a dedicated place for all of that — a haven for a small child, sheltering strong against a big world.

But what about when the children are bigger, when they aren’t even children anymore? What is the place and the purpose of home? I think that home might be just as important then. As children grow and go out into the world, as they make their marks — and their mistakes — it is so important that some place remain steady, stable and solid.

As children grow into the people God intends them to be, they test themselves against the world. They might flirt with elements heretofore unknown. Does this work? How about that? Can I be this person? Or am I really that one? To be sure, there will be some painful learning experiences in this experiment. But when all is said and done, they can come home and home is where they truly are who they are.

I think that women who are called to be homemakers are called to create a place of haven and consolation for our families that is the closest place to heaven that they will visit while still here on earth. Even once we’ve finished the real labor of co-creating people with God, holding them cradled within us, and even when they no longer need us for their every physical and emotional moment, we are called to be creators, crafting home.

We are called to provide for those who come and go a place of gratitude. A place where the habit is a song of thanks and children are ever aware of God’s goodness, even in grief, even in failure, even in sin. Homemakers (whether devoted fulltime to the task or not), make havens, places of consolation, of new beginnings, of forgiveness.

When a child, however large or small, or a husband, crosses the threshold of home, is he met by words of praise? Not made up, hokey, “You are special, I am special” nonsense, but genuine words of appreciation and honor? Or is he met by a constant barrage of criticism? In the words of the classic poem, “If a child lives with criticism, he learns to condemn.” What if a teenager lives with criticism? A grown man? Is the house punctuated by praise or poisoned by the perpetual drip of nagging discontent?

As children grow and home changes shape, the call to be intentional about the haven within those four walls is all the more urgent. Home is a safe place to land. It’s a reference point as they venture into the world. It’s the hope and the haven God provides for us here on earth, to give us just the faintest glimpse of heaven. And it’s up to us, by the grace of God, to make it so for our families.

Daybook Today

Outside My Window

Rain. Lots of it. .

I am Listening to

Ballet music. The girls are dancing in the other room, twirling to begin their day. I love ballet music; it easily could be the soundtrack of my days.

I am Wearing

a sweatshirt over my pajamas. I'm freezing again. Clearly my thyroid meds need adjusting.I"m eyeing my sweaters and thinking that I need to replenish there. Sweaters are my friends.

I am so Grateful for

truth.

I'm Pondering

“Everything in all the books I once pored over is finished for me now. Penelope Leach. T. Berry Brazelton. Dr. Spock. The ones on sibling rivalry and sleeping through the night and early-childhood education, all grown obsolete. Along with ‘Goodnight Moon’ and ‘Where the Wild Things Are,’ they are battered, spotted, well used. But I suspect that if you flipped the pages dust would rise like memories.”

“…the biggest mistake I made is the one that most of us make…I did not live in the moment enough. This is particularly clear now that the moment is gone, captured only in photographs. There is one picture of the three of [my children] sitting in the grass on a quilt in the shadow of the swing set on a summer day, ages 6, 4, and 1. And I wish I could remember what we ate, and what we talked about, and how they sounded, and how they looked when they slept that night. I wish I had not been in such a hurry to get on to the next thing: dinner, bath, book bed. I wish I had treasured the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less.” 

--Anna Quindlen

I am Reading

mostly teacher's manuals this week as I get up to speed.

I am Thinking

my wedding anniversary is next week. And September has been for me, for many years, a month of awaiting birth and celebrating birthdays. I'm thinking a lot about all these years and all these babies since that wedding day. I'm thinking about things I regret, things I'd do differently if I had them to do again. Thinking about all the new things I want to do and wondering if I'm too old. Mostly, though, I'm thinking about how blessed and beautiful this life really is.

I am Creating

sewing:

I have two red-riding hood capes finished and third well underway. I stitched most of the day yesterday--such a cozy sewing day.I'm a big fan of rainy days, particularly when they follow very active weekends. Karoline loves to be in the sewing room with me, just chattering away and playing with wooden dolls. She keeps me entertained. And warm.

I'll be back in this space a little later today to show you the capes.

knitting:

still working on last week's projects.

On my iPod

nothing new...But I will be watching Ann Voskamp and Lysa Terkeurst Yes to God Webcast tonight at 8:00. All the details here.

Towards a Real Education

Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain and Drawing with Children. Today, we draw:-)

Towards Rhythm and Beauty

This is the final week of staggered schedules. Mary Beth still hasn't begun her full dance schedule and we add in one more soccer training. Yesterday was a holiday. We're ramping up and I'm adjsting as we go.

I am Hoping and Praying

for the wildly successful launch of a new show on ESPN next week

 In the Garden

I'd like to plan some autumn crops. Any ideas?

Around the House

Things are a bit untidy this morning. The weekend was full of running hither and yon for soccer. I didn't get home until after 9 Sunday night. We were up super early yesterday for the finals and then the boys went back to Maryland to go to the University of Maryland football game. They've been home just long enough to make messes and laundry and not long enough to do chores. We'll set that to rights this morning. 

From the Kitchen 

Right now, just a cup of Earl Gray tea with a splash of almond milk. Perfect for a very gray morning that promises only a grayer day.

One of My Favorite Things

Mike. Well, he's not a thing, but he's a favorite. Sarah's new favorite thing to talk about: "Daddy's in love with you mommy? Yes, Sarah. And you are in love with Daddy? Yes, Sarah. And you are married? Yes, Sarah. And you love me? Big hugs all the way around. About a dozen times a day. Favorite.

A Few Plans for the Week

Settle in to the new routine; settle well. Summer's truly finished. I'm sorry to see it go.

Picture thoughts:

 
 
morning soccer in style

The First Day Never Goes as Planned

I've been homeschooling something like 17 years, give or take a year because I'm too lazy to do the math. And, I promise you, in this house, the first day of a new term never goes as planned. After all these years, though, it always goes predictably.

I can predict that it's going to be a bit rocky.

It begins with me arising early, super early, because I am eager to have everything just so. The environment is readied--I've spent hours getting everything just so. I'm very visual and I find a certain peace in the order and the color. All good.

Then, I awaken the children, earlier than usual, because I want them to be eager to begin also. The details from there vary from year to year, but they go something like this:  Despite great provisioning just days before, we don't have eggs for breakfast. Littlest Darling has a runny nose, a fever, and a croupy cough and she doesn't want me to leave her to go to the store. Two little girls mourn the absence of the neighbor's child who slips in and out of our family life. She is going to "real school" today and will join us at 2:30. There is a bit of envy over lunchboxes and school shoes. Little boys are not so little any more and not so eager to be awakened, either. Everyone wants eggs for breakfast.

We begin determinedly, my enthusiasm ebbing a bit as my lofty plans meet reality. I remember a morning over a decade ago when I had such awesome things planned, such an elaborate environment readied, and three little boys responded ... well, they didn't. I'm not even sure they noticed, but they certainly weren't impressed. Those were days before blogs, before the temptation to leave my disappointing crew in our dining room-turned-learning room and go look again at the beautiful pictures of other women's learning spaces (here's where I am resisting the urge to link like crazy--y'all can find them;-) and to download page after page of other people's plans. No, I didn't leave my regular, ordinary, unimpressed boys in my regular, ordinary home and head off to the computer to escape to some sort of blog perfection. I called my husband and I cried. He didn't get it. Well, he got that I was crying, but he didn't get that I thought those things that were so important to me would inspire the boys. And on that day, I learned it's not about me. It's about them.

Flash forward a dozen or so years. Now, the plans grate up against reality on the first day and I'm not surprised. I know this day is the day I test drive my philosophical underpinnings and see how it all works in real life. And when that beautiful basket with the multi-colored gems is gleefully dumped all over the wood floor and the wee one with the big eyes and runny nose delights in the sound so she does it again, I remember.

They haven't been clicking around Pinterest.

They haven't been trading stories on Facebook.

They haven't been reading wonderful, inspiring books about family rhythm and prepared environments.

They haven't been planning curriculum all summer. 

They are why I am doing this at all.

They are the same today as they were last week. We have to meet in the middle. I have to look realistically on all my ponderings and plans and adjust them according to the real life I live here. With them. I have to recognize where I haven't left margin. Where I didn't consider.

Room.

Room for stopping to wipe noses and to swish toilets. Room for cooking and eating and cleaning up afterwards. Room to be alone, each of us in our own spaces, to think and dream and create.  Room for balance.

Reading and running free. Staying on task and stopping to notice and wonder. Pencil to paper and needle to fabric. Still at the table with close up tasks and quick on their feet with a ball beneath them. Discussing what I planned and pondering things I never would have considered. Planning with diligence and moving away from the plans.

The first day is always a little off balance. These days, I plan for that, too. This is as it should be. The grace of the plans that just don't work sheds glorious light on the beauty of educating at home, together. I can adjust the plan. I can allow them to force me to consider each one of them individually and to see where my notions meet their needs and where they fail. When I see that the first day is their day, I begin to understand that the first day might just be the day when I learn the most.

I learn that I can't do this on my own strength. I am reminded that I must see the child, each child, and meet him where he is. I learn anew that this isn't school at home. It's a lifestyle of learning that requires an incredible amount of sacrifice and even more grace. 

 

It's just the first day. It didn't go according to plan. But that was actually part of the plan.  I embrace the rough spots, the weak places, the small failures,  knowing that He is teaching me; He is begging me to show my children that I can be taught.

Oh, I can!  Show me, God. Show me your holy will.  How does it all fit together? How do we all grow together? What is Your plan for this family? Grant me the grace and the humility to set aside my plan for your better one.