OK. I am talking about my husband here. Because he is a dynamo of energy, a man who is driven, who gets things done, who has a full plate and puts more on it. Which makes it hard to play on the weekends.

This is something I’ve been wanting to change in our family dynamic. I think more than anything weekend playtime requires a little more foresight on our part. We are very spontaneous people. We don’t make plans, and more often than not when we do they are overridden by some familial obligation or disturbance. For instance, this past weekend we had planned to go to the School of Americas protest at Fort Benning, Georgia, but a constellation of events made that trip too difficult an undertaking. So instead we went on Saturday to see Harry Potter at our local theater ($5 a head!) and on Sunday we went up the mountain for a long and luscious hike.

Renee wanted very much to take a nap on this moss.
I had to be quick to snap this photo–
it was the one moment McKinley wasn’t trying to give Renee a wet willy.

Clearly hiking is good for the soul!
(That’s Mount Mitchell in the background).

It was a lovely weekend.  Not too hurried, and filled with good times.  And with a little bit of foresight and our usual spontaneity,  we can make it our family practice to recreate on the weekends.  Now, on to Monday and math practice!

]]> http://woodbyrd.com/wordpress/2010/11/about-sunday/feed/ 0 http://woodbyrd.com/wordpress/2010/11/a-november-parade/ http://woodbyrd.com/wordpress/2010/11/a-november-parade/#comments Sat, 20 Nov 2010 04:11:38 +0000 stephanie thomas berry http://woodbyrd.com/wordpress/?p=2909 Mid-afternoon and the angle of the Sun is already obtuse. We, however, are not. After some fine teamwork in Jay’s shop and a late egg salad lunch, all of us amble down the lane to the road: three dogs leashed, one girl on a bicycle, two rambunctious boys, one intern, and a happy husband and wife. We are our own parade.

We stride along, slowing with our numbers the sporadic cars that approach us. A neighbor’s Jack Russell, fierce and sharp-toothed Betty, doesn’t know what to do with such a crowd, and so she attacks at all angles. The big dogs get annoyed with their leashes. They’d like to set this little one straight. I, however, know a thing or two about Jack Russells, and urge them onwards. She might be one-fifth their size, but she makes up for it in sheer tenacity.

As if the fighting spirit is catching, the rotting windfalls from the apple trees further on become ammunition for the boys, who get carried away, hurling their tree-gifted missiles at the innocents. They move from apples to acorns and back to apples until we all get annoyed with them and hurry out of their range.

But it doesn’t matter. The sunlight is caught in the upper branches of the oaks. The air is brisk and fine. The dogs trot loyally by our sides. It is a fine Friday afternoon.

It has been a full week: the woodstove was installed in my studio, my last writing class met on Wednesday, and Jay had a very productive week in the shop. The kids have been doing great, and on so many levels–piano, math, art, and reading–and they are happy, engaged, and creative.

The kitchen renovation, begun in May, is finally nearing its end. The fridge had been installed in the outdoor kitchen, and was finally moved back inside. We had talked about getting another fridge for inside, but the one we already have is a Sunfrost–a highly efficient appliance–and even if it isn’t as efficient as it used to be, or as new-looking, it still knocks the socks off of most refrigerators in terms of its energy appetite. This matters to me! So we decided we would just keep the one we have, inside. Come summertime we’ll cook outside again, but the fridge will stay inside. And by then it will be covered in cork tiles. (Since it’s not magnetic, it’s always been a little tricky to have an artful refrigerator. But I discovered some stick-on cork tiles this week on one of my rare Wal-mart excursions, and I will cover our dear old frugal fridge with cork, and then we will give it the fine artistic treatment it deserves. Just another simple thing to make life grand).

And this evening Jay installed the Fisher & Paykel cooktop we purchased off of craigslist. I made hot fudge to go over ice cream tonight, and in the morning I will make Chai for breakfast. I will sit in my nearly complete kitchen and watch the morning light grace the crowns of the oaks, lighting them golden. I will go and wake my children, kissing the tops of their bed-tumbled heads.

And so I did. The sharp strike of a match brought forth the burst of flame that licked hungrily at the wood. There was no second match. The fire grew and its warmth radiated to our skin as we stood around it, admiring its beauty. Denali turned off the lamps, and the apple-shaped window of mica glowed red in the darkness.

There is no small significance to this fire. So many people have stood around me and supported my creative life. Carl Davidt made this stove for me, so inexpensively as to be considered a gift. He is a metal sculptor who has been a good friend for many years, and I can feel the love that went into this stove. Emily, Andy, and neighbor L, have put in many hours helping out around Berrytown. But my husband’s support has been unwavering and his encouragement consistent. Watching that apple glow, feeling the warmth from the fire, my own creative fire was rekindled. So many times assorted frustrations have given me an excuse to back away from my creative life. Now, with all the support and love warming up my studio, I don’t think I can do that anymore. The space swirled with possibilities and mingled with the smoke that had escaped from the door of the stove. I breathed it all in.

This measurement of success is so unlike anything I experienced in school that it feels almost reckless at times. In all my years of schooling, no one ever asked me after a test or completed project how happy I felt about it because of course I didn’t, with a few exceptions. Happiness just didn’t enter into the equation of education. But I can’t imagine what could be more important to a human being of any age than happiness. I consider joy to be the primary indicator of whether or not I am doing a good job as learning facilitator.

I suppose that most of us, myself included, have made the assumption that education can’t be an inherently joyful process, but I am here today, doing what I do, to challenge that assumption. I remember clearly that the few exceptions of joyfulness that I experienced in school all revolved around things I loved to do. There was the literary magazine, the cartoons for the newspaper, the story-writing, and endless stacks of horse-drawings, their anatomy refining bit by bit. So I have to pay careful attention to what really engages my children, Here’s what it looks like, so far:

Sleeping late; Reading poetry, prayers, or meditations; Talking about the night’s dreams; Reading Harry Potter in bed, sometimes for hours, while they finger-knit or snuggle; Jumping on the trampoline (while practicing multiplication facts); Playing piano; Crafting in our craft lounge; Reading beautiful books together; Watching Dragonball Z, then writing about it in the Dragonball Z Journal; Having interesting discussions about ethics, sustainability, and politics; Drawing; Trips to the skatepark; Playing Super Mario Brothers Wii, Quarto,  Qwirkle,  Made for Trade, or another of our many fascinating games; Looking at photographs on the web or in books; Sewing projects; Hanging out laundry together; Watching movies together; Snuggling in the evening

We also practice math daily, five problems a day in their notebooks. I myself am practicing the method used in Japanese schools, where the word problem is presented first, as a group project, with manipulatives.  After spending good money on assorted math books I’ve observed that we can make more headway with this minimalist  hands-on approach.   I also have a little guideline: math, reading, and two other things, every day. Those two other things usually take care of themselves. Often we look at news photographs, talk about our favorites, and point out where they are on the globe. Today we looked at the book “Love Thyself: the Message from Water III” by Masaru Emoto, and talked about how our emotions can have a powerful but invisible impact on the world. A few days ago we watched Joel Burns’ message to gay youth, wherein I burst into tears when I explained to McKinley that one of the boys that committed suicide was just three years older than him. Last night we pulled out the sewing machine.

Anyway, like I mentioned earlier, it’s imperative that we stretch beyond our limits.  More joy!  More joy!  Here’s what I think more joy might look like:

Walks to the river; Stargazing; Dream journals; Game nights with friends; Getting friendly with the sewing machine;  Going on bicycling outings;  Getting that microscope working!;  Setting up the pottery studio;  Making Christmas presents, Cooking snacks, cookies, and breads together; Traveling; Enjoying podcasts and new music together;  Girl outings to the Tea Shop

And of course, just when I think I’ve got it all planned out, my kids remind me that they are the first and foremost authorities on what makes them joyful. Yesterday they spent a good part of the afternoon working on their treehouse up in the woods. I can’t imagine anything better than that.

But technology is like alcohol. Moderation is key. We’ve been having a little trouble with that lately. We’ve been getting a little drunk off Facebook, Netflix Instant Watching, XBox, and Wii. Yes. We partake of all these things. Should we be in a 12-step program? Can we moderate our relationship with technology? I’ve been wondering if we need to take a step back, give the Waldorf “no media” principle a try.

I’m not there yet. I’m a homeschooling mother, and an artist, and a writer. I also garden a lot. I have a little chart to keep track of how I spend my time, and I have charts for McKinley and Renee as well. Sometimes, however, I simply must spend a large block of time on something that requires my full attention. Which means shutting the door and telling my kids they can make do on their own. And, oooh baby, technology makes that easier.

The other night, though, I made an announcement: “No screens for a month! No laptops in the house!” Computers could be in the shop and the studio, but not the house. My laptop included. The Wii and the XBox were going to jail, since they’re Evil.

But this is what happened: intense negotiation. McKinley had just purchased a used Spiderman XBox game. The thought of not being able to play his new game was driving him mad. Our compromise? The XBox and Wii could be kept up in my studio loft.

Oh boy. Have I lost my mind?

Maybe. This is my gamble. I don’t get enough time in the studio. There’s a certain gravitational force to my home, and usually I don’t have the energy to get past it, to the outer atmosphere of my own creativity. I think mothers everywhere can relate to this. This morning, my kids were hounding me to get up to the studio, because they wanted to play their new games! Is this a good thing?

Like all gambles, I don’t know how this one will play out. We’ve started this on a weekend, when I’m more lax about how they spend their time anyway. McKinley is away at a friend’s and Renee is happily trading reading for Wii time. How will things pan out on Monday? Will we all climb the short, steep hill to my studio and delve into assorted projects? Or will it be a relentless battle to engage them in anything other than technology? Because what I want for my children is their full engagement with the world, the thrill of living an every day affair. It’s the same thing I want for myself.

Nurture the brain. I love that phrase. When I first listened to this podcast back in November of 2009, I knew nurturing the brain was my primary goal as a homeschooling mother. And I learned that the part of the brain that needs the most nourishment is the prefrontal cortex. Evolutionarily speaking, it’s the newest part of the brain, and the most fragile, and it is responsible for our ability to “pay attention, problem solve, collaborate, and work creatively. Facility in these skills, research shows, is a stronger predictor of success, even academic success, than IQ.”

And here’s what jumped out at me and lingered in my thoughts for days after: Joy nurtures the prefrontal cortex, and stress, even mild stress, shuts it down.

So when I am fighting with McKinley to just finish his math worksheet, I am not nurturing the brain. But when we play a game of rummy, or use math by baking cookies, we are nurturing the brain. Honestly, though, we can’t bake cookies every morning. And rummy will only go so far.

How does one incorporate joy into math practice, other than the obvious baking of cookies every morning?  I’m more of an unschooler than not, but I do believe that self-discipline and daily practice are important.

Make it fun, keep it short, but do it every day.  That’s my goal. Especially for math.

To accomplish this I have an assortment of tools.  I don’t buy into any curriculum (although we will be doing Singapore Math this year).   What I do buy are lots of logic puzzles, analogies, reading detectives, and math puzzles.   It’s clear that these engage the brain and promote high-level thinking skills.   A lot of times we snuggle up together in my bed and do a few in the morning or evening.  Mindware is a great resource for these types of workbooks.

Last year I designed a weekly chart to help me keep up with our daily tasks, and I will  be using these again this year.   I am not a super-organized person, so these charts really help me keep on top of things.  I use them more as a guide than as a rigid structure.  I also redesigned them so that I could include a more rounded account of all our activities—chores, movies, games, etc.

And we play games!  I’ve discovered that my three favorite games of all time all begin with a Q. There’s Qwirkle, which Renee will play with me if I take it easy on her, but nobody else will (because I won’t take it easy on them?).  I’ve introduced Qwirkle to a lot of friends and family, and they’ve all gone out and bought the game.  It really is that fun!  Then there’s Quarto—-a recent purchase that is quick-playing game, perfect for after dinner.  It is billed as “the most awarded game of all time,” and I’ll believe that.  It certainly teaches one to pay attention.  And Quinto, an older game that I can’t find anymore (there’s a new game with the same name that otherwise bears no similarity).  In Quinto there are number tiles, from 0 to 9, and each player draws five tiles from the pile.  Each player must lay down up to 5 tiles on the board, in crossword fashion, and each row must add up to a multiple of 5.  There’s lots of math-thinking in this game!

I suppose we have officially begun our homeschooling year, because Renee has been carrying around the Perplexors workbook, doing logic puzzle after logic puzzle, and not only did McKinley break out the chess game after dinner last night, but he also asked for some math and cheerfully did some reading before indulging in his Star Wars video game.

Now I need to design a weekly chart for myself, so I can keep up with all the things I need to do!

I’ve been thinking about what it means to do something every single day. Our piano teacher encourages her students to practice every day. She told us how a famous pianist remarked that if he skipped a day, he could tell a difference in his piano playing. If he skipped two days, his family could tell a difference. And if he skipped three days, the whole world could tell. For awhile we practiced piano every single day, and the results were dramatic. I’ve seen for myself how much easier piano practice is when it’s done every single day, and how difficult it can be when several days are skipped. I want to apply this to our home learning.

So I’ve been rummaging around for ideas of how to practice math, reading, and writing every single day. The math isn’t all that difficult. We are moving to Singapore Math this year, and we can just work on it every day, with just a few problems on the weekends. The kids might balk at this at first, but curiously, the more they practice the less they balk. When we were practicing piano every day there were a few days I forgot until it was past bedtime, but we would sit down and pound away at it, and it wasn’t nearly as difficult as I expect tonight’s practice will be. (While I should be optimistic about this, my previous experience tells me a drink before piano today might not be such a bad idea!)

So math, check. Reading, that’s not really difficult at all. But writing. Writing. Last year I had them write in their journals every day, just a little bit, determined by their skill level. This sounds good, but the reality was more of a rushed practice in simple sentences. I’d rather them engage in writing, find it fun and challenging at the same time. I’m thinking of having them keep a blog. We started this last year, but I opted instead for the handwritten journal. I think this year, since there will be enough laptops about, we might each do a blog entry every night, maybe post a photo and write about it, or just say “today I….”. A sort of diary. Post links to Facebook. The cool thing about facebook and blogs is that they generate comments. Which leads to more writing….

We shall see if this works! There is a level of discipline which I was cultivating early this Summer but which disintegrated in the July heat. I can see it coming back, and I am hopeful! In the meantime, I still have to:

• Administer the  Singapore Math placement tests
• Order the appropriate books
• Sort out what “short classes” we might want to do (videography, pottery, garage band?)
• Get set up with Rosetta Stone SPANISH
• Redesign our Homeschool Calendar, which helps us keep track of what we are doing, and what we are not doing
• Subscribe to Home Education
• and plan a Homeschooling Meeting for my fellow homeschooling friends!

I’m already excited, and a little anxious!  It’s how every school year begins, no matter where you go!

We talked a bit about his work, and then I made my pitch.

“Let’s try something new,” I suggested.  “Let’s make our midday meal our main meal of the day.  Before then, we can all work together, in the garden, on your carcycle, whatever.  After the meal, you can go to your shop, I can go to my studio, and the kids can have free time.”

I had this idea that morning, as my children fought downstairs with a vengeance.   I was trying to get a small task done, and had left them to their own devices.  Of course this was a recipe for disaster, but only a minor disaster, the type to which I am somewhat immune.  I need some sort of shift, I thought, as Renee screamed at McKinley at the top of her lungs downstairs.  There has to be a way for us to move more into the life we desire with less stress and more beauty.  There just has to be a way!

As it has been, our life very loosely resembles a traditional set-up, whereby Jay goes to work in the morning, albeit just next door, and usually around 10 am, and I stay at home with the kids.  That is about where the resemblance ends, since “staying home with the kids” might mean swimming in the river, or it might mean discussing the current crisis in Gaza, as we did yesterday.  Still, being the only one with the kids for most of the day means that when I can break away to the studio, I usually don’t have the energy.  Making dinner at the end of the day usually takes what last bit of energy I might have had.

So in our constant quest–sometimes joyful, sometimes not–to do everything, we are attempting a shift change.  We’ll try it for a week and see how it works.  Today was the first day, and oh, today!

We started the day with coffee, as usual, sitting at the table in our outdoor kitchen.  I woke the children by reading some of “The Island of the Blue Dolphins” to them.  Reading with them in the morning, rather than at night, has proven to be the trick to getting my children from sleep to wakefulness without yelling.  Then we read together from “Opening Doors Within,” which is a daily meditation book by Eileen Caddy, one of the co-founders of Findhorn.  Breakfast was followed by jumping on the trampoline, and then into the garden we went, weeding and planting 8 butternut squash plants.  The clouds came and cooled us from the hot Sun, and then the rain began to fall upon us, big thick drops, sporadic and delicious at first, and then a torrent.  We rushed to the house, wet and laughing.

For our midday meal, Jay and Renee made a stack of handmade tortillas (thirty-two to be precise), while McKinley made hummus, and I made a frittata.

I sent McKinley to the garden to take pictures of the row of butternut squash and the limbs of our peach trees, which are laden with peaches.  We have so many peaches that I’ll be making peach preserves, peach chutney, and peach pie come August.  Anyway, here’s the pictures he took:

Baby Butternut

Rose

Baby Peach

My Marvel of Venice beans are coming up strong, and the arugula I planted with the kids a few days ago has made a fine green appearance.  We’ve been getting good rain this week, so the other beans I planted, and the sunflowers, should be showing pretty soon.  The garden grows, the river warms, and summer really is upon us. With my husband joining me in the garden, I feel like anything is possible!

Rather, she is incredible. And McKinley isn’t so bad at the piano game, either. When he sits at her piano, which admittedly sounds angelic compared to ours, his fingers begin playing all sorts of things he’s picked up from the aforementioned brother. He does this in between actual pieces he’s playing for his lesson, and he does this whenever his teacher has momentarily paused in giving him guidance. It’s maddening for me! “Lesson manners!” I remind him, but she just smiles back at me. She understands, she tells me, she had one like this, so full of life and energy. And today she asked him the title of this one thing he’s played over and over until my ears hurt.

“You won’t like it,” he tells her.

“That’s okay, what matters is that you like it,” she smiles, ever so generously.

“It’s Death Clocks Thunderhorse,” he rambles off, then makes some heavy metal air guitar motions. I roll my eyes.

“Okay, I’ll see if I can find the music for it, so you can learn to play it CORRECTLY,” she smiles again, this time her evil-piano-teacher intentions revealed to me by the glint in her eyes. McKinley is oblivious. She’s very good.

Renee got back from her four-day trip to Washington D.C. with friends on Monday. The highlight of her trip was seeing baby ducks at the Botanical Gardens. No surprise there. She was also very impressed with the hotel, a Holiday Inn, because the kids ate free for breakfast AND dinner. There was also a pool, and she had packed three swimsuits in anticipation of this, only to be deeply disappointed that there turned out to be no time for swimming. Instead they walked all over the place looking at museums.

I had told her that when she got back I would take her to a pool so she could go pool-swimming. Poor thing, she’s grown up swimming in a mountain river. Now all that she wants is to swim in a pool. Go figure. But I came down with the dreaded Strange Virus, and was out for two days, during which not only did she have to entertain herself, but she did NOT get taken to a real swimming pool. Now that I could walk up the stairs without my head swimming, it was time for me to take her to the pool down the road.

This I did not want to do. There was so much that needed to be done, I’d missed Monday going to Charlotte to pick her up, and Tuesday and Wednesday with the Strange Virus. My day had already been set back with the rescheduled piano lessons. Since she also wanted to make some chocolate chip cookies (this girl is always planning something) I thought maybe we could do the cookies today, swimming tomorrow. Much girl-grief ensued with this suggestion, which escalated to a small argument in which I got testy and she got upset, crying, “I’m sorry, Momma,” which is really code for, “I’m sorry but will you please give me what I want anyway?” So I called the pool. They’re not even open yet. And of course she doesn’t want to go swimming in the river, which is right across the road and absolutely divine for swimming in.

So we made cookies instead. I had become stressed. I was thinking about my garden. How I’m always behind with planting. How the weeds are everywhere. She wanted to make the “Best Ever Chocolate Chip Dip Cookies” and I wasn’t even sure what she meant by that. We got out some cookbooks, reading over different recipes. This one used three sticks of butter. No, thanks. This one used ricotta cheese. Whatever. Like I just happen to have ricotta cheese in my refrigerator because I might want to whip up some homemade ravioli or lasagne or chocolate chip cookies. OK. Next recipe. Double Mint Chocolate Chip Cookies. Score! Renee LOVES mint, and we have lots growing, well, everywhere.

Renee was really into making the cookies. She did a great job, and enjoyed herself thoroughly. I enjoyed helping her. When we spread the dough onto the cookie sheet, she revealed her secret plan for what a “”Chocolate Chip Dip” cookie would be–one that had a chunk of chocolate hidden in the middle! I was impressed with her innovation.

After the cookies came out of the oven and had been appropriately devoured, she changed into a scarf wrapped about her and began singing about her cookies. They were magical cookies she had decided, and she talked with me at great length about this, peppering our conversation about belief and magic with outbursts of glorious song. “This is just the best day,” she told me. I had reverted to weeding the front flower bed while she sang to me and was now covered in wretched grass pollen that made me feel as I was on fire. “Yes, it is a beautiful day,” I told her, “and I’m going to go inside and relax for a minute or two.”

I washed off and laid down for a little while. I was not in the best of moods, regardless of my delightful daughter, regardless of how the rain came up while we were cooking in our outdoor kitchen, a sudden breeze wafting over us, regardless of the peonies, geraniums, and borage I had picked from my garden and set on the table earlier. Sometimes we are just in a foul mood, no matter what beauty befalls us.

So I went to the garden, chiding myself as I transplanted collards and basil and rhubarb, the last of which I put at the back of the garden where it could grow big and unfettered and perhaps form a sort of border against the weeds that inevitably encroach upon my garden.  I checked on my lettuces, which are doing swimmingly well, and my broccoli, which is looking good.  My tomatoes were stunted by a late frost but are coming back.  And I still have more tomatoes to put in the garden.  Also in the ground are potatoes and onions.  And the beans I planted a few days ago.  So maybe things aren’t so off in the garden department.  And the peonies are blooming.  What could be better than that for a May afternoon?

I remember as an elementary-aged girl, I would write and write and write.  In second grade I got to write my first book report, in which I mostly rewrote the whole book.  I remember this clearly.  The book was, “A Pony for the Winter,” and my teacher had to take a moment to explain to me that I needed to work a little more on summarizing. When I was in sixth grade I would take my weekly vocabulary list and instead of writing one sentence with each vocabulary word, I would write entire stories that used all the vocabulary words.

McKinley and Renee are not that thrilled about writing.  I tried a few tricks and then just told them they needed to write a certain number of sentences per day.  Getting them to do this was difficult. And really, anything that’s difficult or stressful shuts down the prefrontal cortex, which is exactly the part of the brain we really want to nurture and enliven.  So today I tried something new.  I remembered this morning on my walk what my sister (who is an awesome teacher) told me some time ago about writing: sit down and write with the kids.

Our project this week was for them to pick their native bird  and write a story about that bird, writing a little bit each day.  Today is Wednesday, and things weren’t looking so good.  Renee had been writing these ridiculously short and simple sentences, and McKinley’s story revolved around a bird-hunting incident that incorporated a lot of onomatopoeiae (I had to poke around a bit to get the plural of onomatopoeia).

But today!  Oh, today!  We sat down and I decided I would write a story about my native bird, which was the white-breasted nuthatch (since McKinley picked my real favorite–the pileated woodpecker–before I got a chance).  I decided I would write three sentences each for  Monday, Tuesday, and today.  By the time I had finished writing, I had found a flock of white-breasted nuthatches (which, as far as I know, doesn’t really happen) all under a crowned nuthatch perched in the crown of an oak.  This definitely got their attention!  And I kept it by having them tell me their story.  I would write it down, and then they could copy it.  (They really didn’t like the copying idea, but I explained to them that doing things with our hands builds neural connections, and so they at least understood why they had to copy what I had written down).

Renee went next, gradually weaving together a story about a chipping sparrow, and by the time she had written three sentences for each day, she didn’t want to stop!   Then it was McKinley’s turn, and he, too, didn’t want to stop!  And of course, their sentences were elegantly structured, not simple sentences or attempts at making “BOOM!” a sentence.  Because we all know how to speak, and if we can just get our voice down on the paper, we are on our way into the world of writing.

At the end of it, McKinley said, “That was fun, Mom!  Let’s do it again tomorrow!”

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Kitchen chores have long been a source of bickering in our home.

Last week my friend Nicole began a series of cooking classes for a gang of homeschoolers at my house.  At the end of the class, after we had all eaten a delicious bowl of handmade pasta and sauce, it was time for clean-up.  On thin slips of paper she wrote out the assorted chores:  washing dishes, washing pots, drying and putting away, sweeping, wiping down the table and counters.  Then each kid drew a slip of paper.  There was no bickering, and the kitchen was clean in a swirl of towels and eleven to seven-year-olds.

“This is marvelous,” I thought,  “because no one can get angry about the chore they drew.  It’s a matter of chance, and all the chores are pretty evenly divided!”  I resolved to try it after dinner.

Well, that was nearly a week ago, but I finally got those slips of paper stashed in a hand-crafter McWhirter goblet, which I then placed in the center of the table.  Tonight after dinner everyone except the cook (me) drew a chore.  All the older kids (the workhorses) were delighted to have one simple chore to do, and the littles were eager to do their part.  Renee’s chore for tonight was  “Clean the Bathroom You Use,”  and up the stairs she trotted to my bathroom, proceeding to put it in fine form.

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And to top off the day of advancements is one that seems ridiculous!  I love my goats, but I hate to trim their hooves.   It is such a pain, and their hooves grow really fast.  But I noticed when the snow on the ground got rather gravelly, it also perfectly wore down their hooves.

So I have decided to start taking my goats on my walks.  One goat a day, in rotation.  Today was my first trial of my theory that walking on the road would wear down their hooves, and I was pleased to see that my theory was correct.  Now I just have to figure out the right amount of walks to trim foot growth.

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We’ve had three or four really deliciously warm days in a row.  Most of the snow is melted, and lots of rain has fallen, so the ground is really wet.  In the morning and in the afternoon a skim of fog rests just above the ground.  It is enchantingly beautiful.

Silly me, I had a camera on me and I didn’t even take a picture of it!