Speak Softly and Carry a Big Sticker Chart

I sometimes secretly wonder what I'm trading by being such a stickler about good grades, playing an instrument and going to lessons.  Am I trading too much peace for accomplishment?  Is every family toiling away like this, or does it just come easier for some families?  Are there moms out there whose kids just excel at everything without strife, nagging, incentive charts and parenting books? 

After a long day of practicing and then a long night of homework, Freestone said to me, "Mom, how come you care about everything more than you care about people?"

OUCH!

I took his cute little face in my hands and said, "I care about it because I love you, so I love you more than I love violin or homework.  I just have to be the one who helps you with it."   Mom doesn't always get to be your best friend.  I have to be a teacher and an enforcer, so I have to sacrifice some warm fuzzies along the way.  I place value on everything we allow into our lives, from music lessons to dance and sports.  Every activity we're involved in has a place in our schedule because it is important.  So I can't see throwing up my hands and giving it all up because there's friction.  That would be like not going to church because it's too hard to find socks or someone whines about not wanting to go.  I love what we're working for in our little family.  What I want to remember, though, is that Scott and I are doing all of this teaching, driving and pushing because we love our kids.  I never want the kids to get the idea that we love their accomplishments more than we love them, or that we'll love them less if they disappoint us.  On the other hand, not having high expectations for my children would be, for me, telling them that I don't care.  I guess I have to show them that I care in a more loving way.  "Speak softly and carry a big sticker chart?"  Hmm...

Poor little Freestone clearly wasn't getting the "love" part of my parenting philosophy the other day.  I'll have to make sure he gets a bigger dose of that.  Because if your mama doesn't love you, what good is a finished homework packet?  No good at all.

Study Guide

Does anyone follow the Tiger Cub's blog?  I love it. I don't know why those two sentences are red, but apparently my computer feels strongly about them.  Anyway, it's fun to get a peek into the life of a college freshman at Harvard through Sophia.  When she posted "How to Study Like a Tiger Cub" on her blog, I had Golda and Ruby read it.  Ruby based the next night's study on some of the ideas, so I think she liked it.  I like it, too.  As the kids wrap up second term and go into a new semester, there is a lot in here they can use.  Hey, if it works at Harvard, it's gotta have some merit at Ffjh!

 How to Study Like a Tiger Cub

I’m publishing this over break, while I still feel qualified to give advice before my soul is crushed by new classes. This is the first in a series of posts I’m working on, which will take the form “How to _____ Like a Tiger Cub.” My mom’s book is not a how-to guide. This is. I’d like to stress the following:  there is no good reason you should do anything the way I do. This isn't necessarily the right way; it's my way. But if you so choose, ask in the comments and ye shall receive my advice. Today, I give you:

HOW TO STUDY LIKE A TIGER CUB

Q:  I was just wondering if you could share some studying tips? 

Like how to study smart or more efficiently?

Preliminary Steps

1. Choose classes that interest you. That way studying doesn’t feel like slave labor. If you don’t want to learn, then I can’t help you.
2. Make some friends. See steps 12, 13, 23, 24.

General Principles

3. Study less, but study better.
4. Avoid Autopilot Brain at all costs.
5. Vague is bad. Vague is a waste of your time.
6. Write it down.
7. Suck it up, buckle down, get it done.

Plan of Attack Phase I: Class

8. Show up. Everything will make a lot more sense that way, and you will save yourself a lot of time in the long run.
9. Take notes by hand. I don’t know the science behind it, but doing anything by hand is a way of carving it into your memory. Also, if you get bored you will doodle, which is still a thousand times better than ending up on stumbleupon or something.

Phase II: Study Time

10. Get out of the library. The sheer fact of being in a library doesn’t fill you with knowledge. Eight hours of Facebooking in the library is still eight hours of Facebooking. Also, people who bring food and blankets to the library and just stay there during finals week start to smell weird. Go home and bathe. You can quiz yourself while you wash your hair.
11. Do a little every day, but don’t let it be your whole day. “This afternoon, I will read a chapter of something and do half a problem set. Then, I will watch an episode of South Park and go to the gym” ALWAYS BEATS “Starting right now, I am going to read as much as I possibly can...oh wow, now it’s midnight, I’m on page five, and my room reeks of ramen and dysfunction.”
12. Give yourself incentive. There’s nothing worse than a gaping abyss of study time. If you know you’re going out in six hours, you’re more likely to get something done.
13. Allow friends to confiscate your phone when they catch you playing Angry Birds. Oh and if you think you need a break, you probably don't.

Phase III: Assignments

14. Stop highlighting. Underlining is supposed to keep you focused, but it’s actually a one-way ticket to Autopilot Brain. You zone out, look down, and suddenly you have five pages of neon green that you don’t remember reading. Write notes in the margins instead.
15. Do all your own work. You get nothing out of copying a problem set. It’s also shady.
16. Read as much as you can. No way around it. Stop trying to cheat with Sparknotes.
17. Be a smart reader, not a robot (lol). Ask yourself: What is the author trying to prove? What is the logical progression of the argument? You can usually answer these questions by reading the introduction and conclusion of every chapter. Then, pick any two examples/anecdotes and commit them to memory (write them down). They will help you reconstruct the author’s argument later on.
18. Don’t read everything, but understand everything that you read. Better to have a deep understanding of a limited amount of material, than to have a vague understanding of an entire course. Once again: Vague is bad. Vague is a waste of your time.
19. Bullet points. For essays, summarizing, everything.

Phase IV: Reading Period (Review Week)

20. Once again: do not move into the library. Eat, sleep, and bathe.
21. If you don’t understand it, it will definitely be on the exam. Solution: textbooks; the internet.
22. Do all the practice problems. This one is totally tiger mom.
23. People are often contemptuous of rote learning. Newsflash: even at great intellectual bastions like Harvard, you will be required to memorize formulas, names and dates. To memorize effectively: stop reading your list over and over again. It doesn’t work. Say it out loud, write it down. Remember how you made friends? Have them quiz you, then return the favor.
24. Again with the friends: ask them to listen while you explain a difficult concept to them. This forces you to articulate your understanding. Remember, vague is bad.
25. Go for the big picture. Try to figure out where a specific concept fits into the course as a whole. This will help you tap into Big Themes – every class has Big Themes – which will streamline what you need to know. You can learn a million facts, but until you understand how they fit together, you’re missing the point.

Phase V: Exam Day

26. Crush exam. Get A.

Edit: Yes, feel free to share this with anyone you like!

Living With A Teenager

 

 These teenagers...not the problem!

 It's THIS one!

 What, who did you think I was talking about?  Golda and Ruby are wonderful.  Ptolemy is the grumpy, surly kid who swaggers around with bedhead and a bad attitude, making demands and doling out threats.  It's like living with a 15-year-old.  Not to mention the fact that he always has some sort of wispy chocolate mustache to add to the teen look.  In the car when I got out a wipe to clean his face, he growled, "You're NOT washing my face!  Put your wipes away!"

Later I said, "Look at those big trucks, Ptolemy!"  He said, "No!"  and then, "You're SO mean, Mom."  Doesn't that sound like the unreasonable moodiness of a teenager?  He gave us attitude about church, too, saying, "I don't NEEDA go to church!  I needa stay home!  I want my drink, Circe!"   So he's calling us by our first names already, as if he's on the verge of moving out, piercing his eyebrow and starting a garage band. 

Of course, he's really sweet, too.  What would mood swings be without the highs? I had to take him to the zoo this morning to see if my two-year-old was still in that tiny body.  He was.  He ran and laughed and jumped off rocks, but he also demanded a corn dog and then claimed my cheeseburger, too.  So the teenager is still lurking, but I hope we can keep it at bay for a few more years.  With enough "tuffed amimals" and trips to the zoo, I think I can keep my baby little for awhile longer.

Good Sabbath to You

http://www.youtube.com/user/MormonMessages#p/c/1B78F559C3886939

I Am the Walrus

This is Ptolemy's picture smile.  He says, "I gotta smile."

I have new year's resolutions.  I have goals, aspirations, inspirations.  I have dangerously strong nesting instincts that are telling me to paint rooms and rearrange furniture.  But my head full of fabulous ideas is weighted down by a severely pregnant body that feels more like a beached walrus than a human.  I tell myself I feel great, but do I?  Do I?

All things considered, I do.  No complaints other than the usual pregnancy symptoms:  All internal organs crushed into spaces half their size, chronic sinus infection, groin muscles popping like old mattress springs, inability to get enough oxygen into my lungs, stomach the size of a cashew, and wondering whether to call the paramedics after climbing a flight of stairs.  No big deal.  At least I look great.  That's what people keep telling me, anyway, after I tell them the baby is due in three days.  (It makes me seem smaller.)

If you watch Ptolemy closely, you'll see exactly what a 40-year-old pregnant lady looks and acts like, because he's picked up some interesting behaviors.  He groans whenever he sits down or stands up.  He pants going up the stairs.  He lifts up his shirt and scratches his belly.  He gets agitated if there's no chocolate.  He makes these aggravated little sounds whenever something is hard, like, "Uuuuuuugh!  Rrrrrrrrrrgh!"  As if life couldn't possibly get more frustrating.  It's the sound I usually make when something falls on the floor and I know I'm going to have to somehow pick it up.  Ptolemy even stuck out his tiny tummy yesterday and said, "I have a Tziporah in here!  Two Tziporahs!"  Oh, he's so confused!

With only five short weeks left until the baby is born, I'm trying to savor each moment.  I don't care about the aches and inconveniences; this is my very last chance to carry a baby and call that bond my own.  It's hard not to wish the time away when something as exciting as a baby is on the horizon.  I have to stop and appreciate what's around me:  six fabulous kids, a great husband, a cozy home and a baby who, for just a short time longer, is mine alone.  It is a miracle that she is here, waiting and growing, so this day, and every day, is miraculous.  And fortunately, it doesn't take any physical strength or agility to ponder a miracle.  That, I can do.

A Stolen Poem

What do we call this season?
Is it a season at all?
When winter is late, and still hasn't come,
When spring is still just a hope buried in the ground.
When the earth is ready for a blanket of white,
Just waiting in a bleak, beige, dry stage.
When Mother Nature's clock is broken
And the Earth's axis is one degree off.
When clouds don't offer a single drop of rain
To wake the flowers up and add color to the landscape.
But then the next day it starts to snow,
Finally a season claims Utah as its own!
(But I was hoping it would be Spring.)

-Golda's poem, shamelessly stolen from the blog she does for English.  
Love it, Golda!

New Adaptive Class for Kids

Check out Jennie's blog for a new class in Davis County for kids who, for whatever reason, need a little more than community sports.  There is a description of the class at the bottom of the post.  What a fabulous idea!  Jennie, you're amazing.

Heavenly Peace

The Christmas break ruined me as a functioning human being.  I can't even imagine having to get up early, get all the kids dressed in something that's not polka-dot flannel, and send them off to school.  Practicing?  All those insipid pages of homework?  Reading charts, packing lunches, overlapping lessons, bedtimes.  How did we ever do it?  And how are we going to do it again, and without the aid of large amount of fudge, no less?

This Christmas break brings two words to mind:  Heavenly peace.  I can't remember a break I so thoroughly enjoyed.  I want to write down the secret recipe for stress-free bliss with Scott and the kids, but I don't know exactly what we did to make it so fun.  Some things I remember through the nog-induced fog:

-Don't plan anything after Christmas.  Make the break completely different from real life.  "A change is as good as a rest."  The week after Christmas is uniquely quiet.  Let it be still.
-Ask Santa for some games and say yes whenever the kids want to play them.  A good game of Battleship is a better memory than going to bed on time.
 -Clean up Christmas right away - the gifts and wrapping, etc - so we can enjoy the tree and holiday atmosphere without a big mess.
-Have lots of food on hand.  Rolls, cold cuts, salads, pots of soup, ham and eggs, chips, fruit, plenty of egg nog and Coke and enough chocolate to kill a horse.
-No practicing.  I really had to gear up for this one, but it was so worth it.  No accomplishing stuff.  This is vacation!  Perfect the art of doing nothing.
-Let the kids do what they want to do.  Don't ask them what they want to do.  Just let them be.  And since their pajamas are brand-new, let them wear them all day.  Just wash them whenever the kids take them off!
-And speaking of laundry, keep it going, along with the dishes and keeping everything picked up.  With all those kids to help, order can be restored several times a day with minimal interruptions to Wii time.
-You know that exhausting job of being a parent every minute?  Let it go.  The kids are fine.  Read a book.

There you go, my notes to myself for next year.  Who knows how we'll feel by then, though?  I just hope something happens to me before tomorrow, like a jolt of energy that will propel me out of bed and back into a world devoid of twinkling lights, sparkling drinks and cozy flannel.  Oh, why does Christmas have to be over?

Happy New Year!

Usually, when guys get together to watch football, do they pose for a couple of pictures first?  Do they eat on Lenox china?  Do they have centerpieces on their buffet tables?  Are the forks arranged in a perfect pattern?  No, this bowl game party was at least a couple of steps above your average beer-and-chips, man-cave chest beating.  When ten-year-old Tanner saw the spread, complete with perfect fork arrangement, he said to his dad, "Girls.  They have to have everything so perfect."  Uncle Jeff said, "Uh, I'm pretty sure Uncle Scott did that!"

He was right.  Uncle Scott knows how to throw a party!  (And has lots of restaurant experience!) Of course, the Utes almost ruined it but managed to pull out a win right after Ryan left.  He must have been hindering their performance by watching.  Good sacrifice for the team, Ryan.

And that's all there is to report for New Year's Eve.  We are not New Year's people.  Enough disastrous/boring/lame New Years have taught us that it's better to put your pj's on at six, provided you have enough good food and entertainment to last for six hours, and stay home.  No expectations.  That's what we did.  We got out all the good holiday food and had a big dinner at 6:30, followed by a countdown and a toast to the new year at 7:22, just for Xanthe.  I don't know if she believed that that's all there is to New Year's; she looked skeptical.  The important thing was that she was in bed by 7:30.  My dad told Scott, "Xanthe is going to grow up to be on Dr. Phil saying that her parents were mean and put her to bed every night at seven."  Scott said, "It's better than her going on Dr. Phil and saying that her parents used to beat her every night at eight!"  It's true.  After sweet little Xanthe went to sleep in her adorably cute, sparkly room, the energy level dropped to a nice, mellow level.  Games were played, books were read, movies were watched, snacks were consumed and before we all knew it, it was 11:30.  At 11:50, I found Ari and Freestone snuggled in my bed, about to "take a nap."  We managed to postpone the nap for a little Dick Clark, a little shouting on the front porch and some firework viewing.  (Not ours...remember the 4th of July??) 

We got a text message from Coco shortly after midnight saying, "Happy New Year!  Here's to 1012!"  I texted back, "Yes, here's to the Middle Ages!  Whoo hoo!"  And with that, we sleepily entered a new year, but with a laugh.  Happy 2012 to all!  I bet it's a better year than 1012, what with the invention of penicillin, electricity, indoor plumbing and a living model that doesn't include farm animals in the house to provide warmth.  It's going to be a great year!

Freestone's World

Freestone wanted to take a video of the car ride home from dropping the girls off at the junior high.  At the time, I thought I could just erase the meaningless footage later, so I gave him the green light on his project and forgot about it.  When I watched his video later, I saw our lives through Freestone's happy, carefree eyes and I saw something peaceful.  I liked it.  Just a moment in the life of an suburban eight-year-old son, a boy who is fun and thoughtful, loves nonsense and jokes, but has a sweet heart.  We were watching a movie last night and Freestone said to me, "Do you hear the violins, Mom?  I do."  If he had known how much I loved hearing him say that, he probably wouldn't have said it.  Later, on his way to bed, I said, "Good night, Freestone."  With a mischievous grin, he said, "Good night, Circe."  He's just a great kid and I'm lucky to have so many car rides ahead of me full of his banter, his ideas, his presence.