St. Ambrose feast day. Pray for us, Bishop of Milan!
The Te Daum, attributed to Ambrose:
We praise thee, O God :
we acknowledge thee to be the Lord.
All the earth doth worship thee :
the Father everlasting.
To thee all Angels cry aloud :
the Heavens, and all the Powers therein.
To thee Cherubim and Seraphim :
continually do cry,
Holy, Holy, Holy :
Lord God of Sabaoth;
Heaven and earth are full of the Majesty :
of thy glory.
The glorious company of the Apostles : praise thee.
The goodly fellowship of the Prophets : praise thee.
The noble army of Martyrs : praise thee.
The holy Church throughout all the world :
doth acknowledge thee;
The Father : of an infinite Majesty;
Thine honourable, true : and only Son;
Also the Holy Ghost : the Comforter.
Thou art the King of Glory : O Christ.
Thou art the everlasting Son : of the Father.
When thou tookest upon thee to deliver man :
thou didst not abhor the Virgin's womb.
When thou hadst overcome the sharpness of death :
thou didst open the Kingdom of Heaven to all believers.
Thou sittest at the right hand of God : in the glory of the Father.
We believe that thou shalt come : to be our Judge.
We therefore pray thee, help thy servants :
whom thou hast redeemed with thy precious blood.
Make them to be numbered with thy Saints : in glory everlasting.
[added later, mainly from Psalm verses:]
O Lord, save thy people :
and bless thine heritage.
Govern them : and lift them up for ever.
Day by day : we magnify thee;
And we worship thy Name : ever world without end.
Vouchsafe, O Lord : to keep us this day without sin.
O Lord, have mercy upon us : have mercy upon us.
O Lord, let thy mercy lighten upon us :
as our trust is in thee.
O Lord, in thee have I trusted :
let me never be confounded.
07 December 2011
14 October 2011
Theodore's baptism
Little Theodore was baptized Wednesday. Everything went well, he didn't make a fuss at all, even after he was immersed. I'm very proud of him. He looked handsome and healthy in his gown. Our oldest son was able to serve the same evening and I am also very proud of him- he did things he's never done before to help the priest. Beautiful to see them together in front of the altar.
It is strange seeing your small baby plunged into a tub of water. Three times. I waited for him to cry after our priest pulled him from the font... and I waited, my heart pounding- then my baby boy sort of shuddered and cried out. I immediately thought of his birth, and the same feeling of watchful anticipation waiting for a first cry. An interesting juxtaposition, methinks.
Life is good. I should probably write more about homeschooling here, but I just don't have the time. It's going well this year, I am pleased. I am, as per usual, learning more than I am teaching.
Many years, Theodore!
It is strange seeing your small baby plunged into a tub of water. Three times. I waited for him to cry after our priest pulled him from the font... and I waited, my heart pounding- then my baby boy sort of shuddered and cried out. I immediately thought of his birth, and the same feeling of watchful anticipation waiting for a first cry. An interesting juxtaposition, methinks.
Life is good. I should probably write more about homeschooling here, but I just don't have the time. It's going well this year, I am pleased. I am, as per usual, learning more than I am teaching.
Many years, Theodore!
04 October 2011
Orthodox baptismal robe, and Just so
The baby is doing great. He's a fantastic sleeper, and just a really sweet little guy. His baptism will be next week, and his godparents have gotten him a baptismal robe that I am very excited about. I was hoping any Orthodox (or Catholic, or Anglican) readers of this blog might order their children's robes from this Orthodox lady, Anna. Handmade! She's been very patient and helpful to me and to Theodore's godparents. While I haven't seen his robe yet in person, it looks well made and lovely. Here is the website, and please share it!
My life as late is pretty much safely summed up like this: 'There is a Baby in the Cave. He is new and pink and fat and small, and the Woman is very fond of him.' (from The Cat That Walked By Himself from Just So Stories by R. Kipling)
My life as late is pretty much safely summed up like this: 'There is a Baby in the Cave. He is new and pink and fat and small, and the Woman is very fond of him.' (from The Cat That Walked By Himself from Just So Stories by R. Kipling)
22 September 2011
radical thoughts
I suppose the thing I am about to write is radical to some (but of the barely ten people I know of read this blog...maybe some will agree). I have recently had to have a check-up most women have 6 weeks after their baby is born. I've been through this before, and they always ask if you need to start birth control for family planning. Usually, they recommend the pill.
I've shared what I've come to know about this before. A few years ago, I had no idea what birth control pills actually did. If you read the insert of any type of hormonal birth control, you'll see three ways listed in which pregnancy is avoided. Usually, the inserts say something along these lines: The pill effects hormones so a woman does not ovulate. A woman cannot get pregnant if she doesn't ovulate because there is no egg to be fertilized. The pill also works by thickening the mucus around the cervix, which makes it difficult for sperm to enter the uterus and reach any eggs that may have been released. The hormones in the pill can also sometimes affect the lining of the uterus, making it difficult for an egg to attach to the wall of the uterus. It's this third part I take issue with, and it's the part I have noticed gets the least amount of press. We don't want to hear this, and take into account what it really means is possible.
If you believe life begins at conception, and profess it, then you might want to look closer. If a fertilized egg is life, because that is conception, then an insufficient uterine lining disallowing a fertilized egg to attach to the uterus and thrive does what?
Pro-life and pro-the pill? Not possible. Does "sometimes" really matter? Yup.
I've shared what I've come to know about this before. A few years ago, I had no idea what birth control pills actually did. If you read the insert of any type of hormonal birth control, you'll see three ways listed in which pregnancy is avoided. Usually, the inserts say something along these lines: The pill effects hormones so a woman does not ovulate. A woman cannot get pregnant if she doesn't ovulate because there is no egg to be fertilized. The pill also works by thickening the mucus around the cervix, which makes it difficult for sperm to enter the uterus and reach any eggs that may have been released. The hormones in the pill can also sometimes affect the lining of the uterus, making it difficult for an egg to attach to the wall of the uterus. It's this third part I take issue with, and it's the part I have noticed gets the least amount of press. We don't want to hear this, and take into account what it really means is possible.
If you believe life begins at conception, and profess it, then you might want to look closer. If a fertilized egg is life, because that is conception, then an insufficient uterine lining disallowing a fertilized egg to attach to the uterus and thrive does what?
Pro-life and pro-the pill? Not possible. Does "sometimes" really matter? Yup.
18 September 2011
Churched!
Today my little Theodore and I were churched. It's rather a satisfying feeling for me. That sounds odd, but I mean I am glad to finally be in a place where I can be churched, where it's normal. I asked to be churched in the Anglican churches we went to, as soon as I read about it and found it in the prayer book. At the less (read, much less) traditional church the "priest", and I say that in quotations because he later asked to be just called by his first name, and not by Father, gave me a confused look when I asked about churching. At the more traditional Anglican church, where the priest taught catechism with a Roman Catholic book, and the congregation liked to pretend Anglo-Catholicism exists, the priest was at least aware of the existence of the practice anciently, but he had never done it and wasn't too interested in it. I am glad, now, to be actually churched, and to watch my son carried through the altar. Theodore smiled big at our gentle priest, and didn't make a peep. As soon as his churching was over, several women converged upon us to hold him. I watched my littlest boy gazing up at Christ Pantocrater on the ceiling in wonder from a good friend's arms. It was sweet to see.
02 September 2011
27 August 2011
liquid bread
I'm not pregnant anymore. It's a little bittersweet, as I have quite healthy and easy pregnancies. You do miss having a little one wiggling in your tummy, it is quite an experience. And the fact that they were very safe and warm in there and now they're out in the world exposed to all sorts of things is a tad unsettling...but my son is healthy and happy. Oh, and he's really, really adorable.
Anyway, I can drink a little again, without worrying what trimester it is or only being able to have one drink, or not having any drinks because I am worried about stalling labor. Beer is actually very helpful for nursing mothers. Like I needed an excuse.
So my love affair with Samuel Smith's oatmeal stout is back on. And it's beautiful. I also saw a Sam's Nut Brown Ale at Kroger that I need to try soon. I've also enjoyed some great New Glarus coffee stout, a lovely pinot grigio, a Guiness Stout, and Yuengling, among others. I don't know how some people don't have at least the occasional drink. I know some that don't because they were exposed to alcoholism and are trying to avoid it, or something like that. My father was a big alcoholic for many years (quite frankly he drank cheap, cheap beer which is a travesty), and so are many of my aunts, uncles, and my grandfather on my dad's side. My sister and I have had a few times when we drank too much when we were a little younger, but I also considered myself a "straight-edger" (with much less punk music than is mandatory) for a few years. She doesn't drink anything but girly wine anymore, and I hassle her about this as is necessary. Drinking good stuff moderately-and even occasionally a little irresponsibly-is an experience I consider a finer part of my life.
...come on, it's just beautiful.
This beer is very dark, slightly-sweet with a pleasant fizziness. It's called oatmeal stout because -- yes, you guessed it -- it's brewed with a little oatmeal, in addition to dark-roasted barley. You could almost have it with breakfast. I promise I haven't considered it...
Anyway, I can drink a little again, without worrying what trimester it is or only being able to have one drink, or not having any drinks because I am worried about stalling labor. Beer is actually very helpful for nursing mothers. Like I needed an excuse.
So my love affair with Samuel Smith's oatmeal stout is back on. And it's beautiful. I also saw a Sam's Nut Brown Ale at Kroger that I need to try soon. I've also enjoyed some great New Glarus coffee stout, a lovely pinot grigio, a Guiness Stout, and Yuengling, among others. I don't know how some people don't have at least the occasional drink. I know some that don't because they were exposed to alcoholism and are trying to avoid it, or something like that. My father was a big alcoholic for many years (quite frankly he drank cheap, cheap beer which is a travesty), and so are many of my aunts, uncles, and my grandfather on my dad's side. My sister and I have had a few times when we drank too much when we were a little younger, but I also considered myself a "straight-edger" (with much less punk music than is mandatory) for a few years. She doesn't drink anything but girly wine anymore, and I hassle her about this as is necessary. Drinking good stuff moderately-and even occasionally a little irresponsibly-is an experience I consider a finer part of my life.
This beer is very dark, slightly-sweet with a pleasant fizziness. It's called oatmeal stout because -- yes, you guessed it -- it's brewed with a little oatmeal, in addition to dark-roasted barley. You could almost have it with breakfast. I promise I haven't considered it...
06 August 2011
A new love.
My newest son is here. He arrived on August 4th, at 10:09 am. His birth was perfect, short, easy, and he came into the world peaceful and alert. He's thriving already, and is sleeping well. I feel he will be the easiest baby of any of our children. His name is Theodore Owen Eugene. I'm so very happy.
It was funny this labor, asking for the intercessions of St. Anne, St. Theodore, St. John Maximovitch (my priest anointed me before the birth with related oil), my own patron St. James, and of course, the Theotokos and Christ God, the strength was not my own.
With prayers to say to Christ who rose from the dead and bestows life, saints who lived like me to ask for their intercession, with an image in my head of the Theotokos enthroned, looking on proudly with her newly born son...the whole experience was fuller. I don't really know exactly how.
I also cursed less. Which is probably good for my soul.
Many years to Theodore!
It was funny this labor, asking for the intercessions of St. Anne, St. Theodore, St. John Maximovitch (my priest anointed me before the birth with related oil), my own patron St. James, and of course, the Theotokos and Christ God, the strength was not my own.
With prayers to say to Christ who rose from the dead and bestows life, saints who lived like me to ask for their intercession, with an image in my head of the Theotokos enthroned, looking on proudly with her newly born son...the whole experience was fuller. I don't really know exactly how.
I also cursed less. Which is probably good for my soul.
Many years to Theodore!
21 July 2011
no subject, rambling post
This isn't going to be that relevant of a post. Sometimes, when you're 40 weeks pregnant, you sit down and type stuff.
The Santa Barbara PD is great. Lateral entries are paid over 70k, top out at over 80k, and they have gratuitous benefits and even a $1000 and up uniform allowance.
I looked them up on a whim, as my husband and I have looked at police departments in pretty much every state seeking a place where he could still do work he loves but actually be able to support our family and have hope of some sort of future.
When I was 17, I traveled from Las Vegas, Nevada, to Santa Barbara with my sister. My sister was stationed at the Air Force Base in Vegas, and I was staying with her. I'd come from a very small, very country Mennonite and Amish community in Northern Indiana. Within six months, I'd been all over Vegas and to L.A. as well. What a shock! I pretty much didn't understand much of what I saw, but was rather impressed with the architectural aspects of a big city and not to mention the great beauty of the ocean. The people were frightening, but I didn't know quite why I felt that way. Going from Amish who keep to themselves and don't regularly meet your gaze to hard city dwellers who talk to you at the gas pump and have too many fru-fru coffee and emotionally driven poetry joints was odd.
From people my age, I was suddenly hearing terms like "emo", "anime", "goth", and "cutting", for starters. These things were cool, everyone did it there, apparently. The farthest I actually got into the youth subculture of Las Vegas was dying my hair so I looked like a My Little Pony and buying a few outfits at Hot Topic. I spent a few evenings riding the (excellent!) public transportation to one of the coffee/tea/poetry places and thought I'd heard better poetry in my small town 2nd grade auditorium.
On a trip to L.A. my sister and I had driven out to a restaurant that was a ten minute walk out onto a pier, so you were eating breakfast sort of in the ocean, with a trendy old guy playing acoustic guitar, seagulls overhead and surfers to the sides, aqua sky and aqua water everywhere: the whole gamut. I remember leaning against the pier wall thinking, "I've made it." My mom had lived in small town Indiana her whole life, barely finished high school, and only seen the ocean once in her life. It took me a while to see that it was no big deal to everyone else, but that blue world out there that looked so free and easy, backed up by golden sand and cute shops selling shell necklaces for $50 bucks.
I was pretty bent on being a photographer so I spent most of my time, outside of endless hours waiting tables to save for a car, sitting in a Barnes and Noble sipping coffee drinks I'd never had (no Starbucks in Topeka, Indiana) and reading photography books and magazines. In one of those magazines, I saw an article on a photography school in Santa Barbara. I read more about it and then called. Within weeks I was going to an orientation.
We drove from Vegas to Santa Barbara. It was great fun, being sisters, young and silly, with loud music on desert highways. We got pulled over multiple times for speeding. When we arrived, I knew Santa Barbara wasn't like L.A. It certainly wasn't like Vegas. The homes were all huge, beautiful, and well kept. The people were athletic, tanned, and as well kept as their houses. There was a Starbucks on every corner and we stopped in at some of the boutique shops, only to slowly and inconspicuously retreat after seeing the price tags. The photography school was on the ocean, and I sat through orientation with a bunch of rich high school kids...I was the only one in the group who expressed concern in a question answer session over the price of tuition. The extravagant price of tuition, I was assured, could be covered by loans. I knew immediately I couldn't get enough loans or aid...We toured the school with the group and it was very impressive. Afterwards we were offered refreshments on the balcony behind the school that overlooked the ocean. Goodness, it was picturesque. I leaned over the railing, nibbling on a fancy cucumber sandwich, and thought about what life was like for the people that lived in the neighborhood of the photography school, what life would be like for their kids that got into the photography school, as well. What does it feel like to spend your life without any financial struggle, doing whatever makes you feel good, having what you needed readily provided, without worrying how much it would cost you or how much your feet would hurt after hours of working, just earning enough to pay for a small room and your food?
After that trip to beautiful Santa Barbara, I was tired of the West coast. I spent some times camping in Utah trying to figure out what to do next. Go home to Indiana? Since I had discovered that my only option for college would probably be the community college of Las Vegas, I wasn't thrilled with the prospect of staying there. Besides, other than the flashy downtown strip, Vegas is not really an ideal place to live. There's really nothing to write home about, so to speak. I couldn't imagine living there for more than a year of my life and that year mark was looming.
Thinking back to Santa Barbara now, as an adult with a growing family, I wouldn't want to live there. I've earned a few eccentrically driven ideas that make me think about earthquakes and California falling into the ocean, not to mention radiation and the proximity to nuclear facilities. But those aren't the first thing I think of when I consider if I'd like to raise my kids there. I want to raise them in a cabin in the woods or the field somewhere. They should see the ocean, but not live by it's tides. I don't want manicured lawns and perfectly tiled roofs to block their view of the world. I don't want them to never know what it means to work hard with their hands. I don't know if I can show them that, but I hope I can.
I can make them mow the lawn, at least.
If only the mid-south paid cops 70k.
That would be nifty...
The Santa Barbara PD is great. Lateral entries are paid over 70k, top out at over 80k, and they have gratuitous benefits and even a $1000 and up uniform allowance.
I looked them up on a whim, as my husband and I have looked at police departments in pretty much every state seeking a place where he could still do work he loves but actually be able to support our family and have hope of some sort of future.
When I was 17, I traveled from Las Vegas, Nevada, to Santa Barbara with my sister. My sister was stationed at the Air Force Base in Vegas, and I was staying with her. I'd come from a very small, very country Mennonite and Amish community in Northern Indiana. Within six months, I'd been all over Vegas and to L.A. as well. What a shock! I pretty much didn't understand much of what I saw, but was rather impressed with the architectural aspects of a big city and not to mention the great beauty of the ocean. The people were frightening, but I didn't know quite why I felt that way. Going from Amish who keep to themselves and don't regularly meet your gaze to hard city dwellers who talk to you at the gas pump and have too many fru-fru coffee and emotionally driven poetry joints was odd.
From people my age, I was suddenly hearing terms like "emo", "anime", "goth", and "cutting", for starters. These things were cool, everyone did it there, apparently. The farthest I actually got into the youth subculture of Las Vegas was dying my hair so I looked like a My Little Pony and buying a few outfits at Hot Topic. I spent a few evenings riding the (excellent!) public transportation to one of the coffee/tea/poetry places and thought I'd heard better poetry in my small town 2nd grade auditorium.
On a trip to L.A. my sister and I had driven out to a restaurant that was a ten minute walk out onto a pier, so you were eating breakfast sort of in the ocean, with a trendy old guy playing acoustic guitar, seagulls overhead and surfers to the sides, aqua sky and aqua water everywhere: the whole gamut. I remember leaning against the pier wall thinking, "I've made it." My mom had lived in small town Indiana her whole life, barely finished high school, and only seen the ocean once in her life. It took me a while to see that it was no big deal to everyone else, but that blue world out there that looked so free and easy, backed up by golden sand and cute shops selling shell necklaces for $50 bucks.
I was pretty bent on being a photographer so I spent most of my time, outside of endless hours waiting tables to save for a car, sitting in a Barnes and Noble sipping coffee drinks I'd never had (no Starbucks in Topeka, Indiana) and reading photography books and magazines. In one of those magazines, I saw an article on a photography school in Santa Barbara. I read more about it and then called. Within weeks I was going to an orientation.
We drove from Vegas to Santa Barbara. It was great fun, being sisters, young and silly, with loud music on desert highways. We got pulled over multiple times for speeding. When we arrived, I knew Santa Barbara wasn't like L.A. It certainly wasn't like Vegas. The homes were all huge, beautiful, and well kept. The people were athletic, tanned, and as well kept as their houses. There was a Starbucks on every corner and we stopped in at some of the boutique shops, only to slowly and inconspicuously retreat after seeing the price tags. The photography school was on the ocean, and I sat through orientation with a bunch of rich high school kids...I was the only one in the group who expressed concern in a question answer session over the price of tuition. The extravagant price of tuition, I was assured, could be covered by loans. I knew immediately I couldn't get enough loans or aid...We toured the school with the group and it was very impressive. Afterwards we were offered refreshments on the balcony behind the school that overlooked the ocean. Goodness, it was picturesque. I leaned over the railing, nibbling on a fancy cucumber sandwich, and thought about what life was like for the people that lived in the neighborhood of the photography school, what life would be like for their kids that got into the photography school, as well. What does it feel like to spend your life without any financial struggle, doing whatever makes you feel good, having what you needed readily provided, without worrying how much it would cost you or how much your feet would hurt after hours of working, just earning enough to pay for a small room and your food?
After that trip to beautiful Santa Barbara, I was tired of the West coast. I spent some times camping in Utah trying to figure out what to do next. Go home to Indiana? Since I had discovered that my only option for college would probably be the community college of Las Vegas, I wasn't thrilled with the prospect of staying there. Besides, other than the flashy downtown strip, Vegas is not really an ideal place to live. There's really nothing to write home about, so to speak. I couldn't imagine living there for more than a year of my life and that year mark was looming.
Thinking back to Santa Barbara now, as an adult with a growing family, I wouldn't want to live there. I've earned a few eccentrically driven ideas that make me think about earthquakes and California falling into the ocean, not to mention radiation and the proximity to nuclear facilities. But those aren't the first thing I think of when I consider if I'd like to raise my kids there. I want to raise them in a cabin in the woods or the field somewhere. They should see the ocean, but not live by it's tides. I don't want manicured lawns and perfectly tiled roofs to block their view of the world. I don't want them to never know what it means to work hard with their hands. I don't know if I can show them that, but I hope I can.
I can make them mow the lawn, at least.
If only the mid-south paid cops 70k.
That would be nifty...
09 July 2011
weirdos and a tribute of sorts
"The thing I like most about the bible is all the weirdos in it. Here's a song about one of those wierdos." -Rich Mullins
Elijah
The Jordan is waiting for me to cross through
My heart is aging I can tell
So Lord, I'm begging
For one last favor from You
Here's my heart take it where You will
My heart is aging I can tell
So Lord, I'm begging
For one last favor from You
Here's my heart take it where You will
This life has shown me how we're mended
And how we're torn
How it's okay to be lonely as long as you're free
Sometimes my ground was stoney
And sometimes covered up with thorns
And only You could make it what it had to be
And now that it's done
Well, if they dressed me like a pauper
Or if they dined me like a prince
If they lay me with my fathers
Or if my ashes scatter on the wind
I don't care
And how we're torn
How it's okay to be lonely as long as you're free
Sometimes my ground was stoney
And sometimes covered up with thorns
And only You could make it what it had to be
And now that it's done
Well, if they dressed me like a pauper
Or if they dined me like a prince
If they lay me with my fathers
Or if my ashes scatter on the wind
I don't care
CHORUS:
But when I leave I want to go out like Elijah
With a whirlwind to fuel my chariot of fire
And when I look back on the stars
Well, It'll be like a candlelight in Central Park
And it won't break my heart to say goodbye
But when I leave I want to go out like Elijah
With a whirlwind to fuel my chariot of fire
And when I look back on the stars
Well, It'll be like a candlelight in Central Park
And it won't break my heart to say goodbye
There's people been friendly
But they'd never be your friends
Sometimes this has bent me to the ground
Now that this is all ending
I want to hear some music once again
'Cause it's the finest thing I have ever found
But they'd never be your friends
Sometimes this has bent me to the ground
Now that this is all ending
I want to hear some music once again
'Cause it's the finest thing I have ever found
But the Jordan is waiting
Though I ain't never seen the other side
They say you can't take in
The things you have here
So on the road to salvation
I stick out my thumb and He gives me a ride
And His music is already falling on my ears
Though I ain't never seen the other side
They say you can't take in
The things you have here
So on the road to salvation
I stick out my thumb and He gives me a ride
And His music is already falling on my ears
There's people been talking
They say they're worried about my soul
Well, I'm here to tell you I'll keep rocking
'Til I'm sure it's my time to roll
And when I do
They say they're worried about my soul
Well, I'm here to tell you I'll keep rocking
'Til I'm sure it's my time to roll
And when I do
CHORUS(2x)
My husband's department lost a very good man, father, officer, and husband this past week. It was senseless, useless death, over domestic issues. But everything I have heard of Timothy Warren's life and all the love I have seen for this man speak of that person you'd think was probably one of the ones ready to see the Jordan. My heart aches for his family and children, and I am trying not to think too much about how easily it could have been our family in mourning. Lord, have mercy and deliver us from ever facing that. I pray another MPD officer will never be killed in the line of duty again, and we'll never see the news coverage of the Sea of Blue, or hear the bagpipes playing a funeral dirge. Rest in peace, Officer Timothy Warren. I hope there was a whirlwind and a chariot of fire.
My husband's department lost a very good man, father, officer, and husband this past week. It was senseless, useless death, over domestic issues. But everything I have heard of Timothy Warren's life and all the love I have seen for this man speak of that person you'd think was probably one of the ones ready to see the Jordan. My heart aches for his family and children, and I am trying not to think too much about how easily it could have been our family in mourning. Lord, have mercy and deliver us from ever facing that. I pray another MPD officer will never be killed in the line of duty again, and we'll never see the news coverage of the Sea of Blue, or hear the bagpipes playing a funeral dirge. Rest in peace, Officer Timothy Warren. I hope there was a whirlwind and a chariot of fire.
01 July 2011
Crooked? Or just plain stupid? *edited
The City of Memphis sent a letter to the city employees on June 30th, 2011. In this letter it was stated that the $10,000 death benefit given to a designated beneficiary if an employee dies will remain. They said the projected cost is $130,000 in fiscal year 2012. That would mean that 13 employees would have to die for the $130,000 to be required (simple math, 130,000 divided by 10,000).
Remember that the $10,000 is intended to offset funeral costs. So for the family surviving the employee, that $10,000 is helpful, but already spent on funeral arrangements.
Seemingly recognizing that a funeral is expensive and additonal help would be needed by the family, an additional $5,000 traditionally has been given to the beneficiary as short-term income. The City stated in their letter that this benefit is being cut, as it would cost the city $500,000 in fiscal year 2012. Let's look at this: If the projected employee deaths are only 13, and each of those 13 beneficiaries of the deceased were given 5,000, that equals how much? $65,000. So, um, where is the 500,000 coming from? Apparently, somebody can't work with numbers. Ladies and gentlemen, it's not hard to see that either A) there has been a gross miscalculation on the part of the City of Memphis, or B) somebody is lying to the city employees, and lining their pockets with "projected funds".
Now, let me ask you this: out of those 13 projected deaths of City of Memphis employees, which professions are more likely to see losses? Office workers? Nope. It's the police officers and firefighters. Not only is this death benefit being cut, but a 4.6% pay cut is looming as of July 1st. So, for my husband, he can rest easy knowing paying his bills monthly is going to get harder, and if he dies his wife and children will not receive help from the city and department he works for. That's a real daily motivator. I know my husband is a good man, and loves his work and is honest. But is every officer on the department going to continue in honesty when they can't pay the bills at home? When their honor is at stake, and their memory is freshly imbued in their personal financial crisis, what choices will they make? When you are in need, and that squad car comes roaring up, who is going to come into your home and help you? I can bet you aren't looking forward to a stressed, overworked, underpaid police officer who just doesn't give a damn anymore.
Thanks, again, City of Memphis. You obviously don't want to show appreciation to your first responders. When your city is further overrun by miscreants, and crime rates again skyrocket, please refer back to this post if you're confused about how that happened.
EDIT: It has been brought to my attention that the $500,000 could be including death benefit to retirees. However, I then wonder why the 10,000 benefit does not include them...and also the city's letter did not mention retirees at all.
Remember that the $10,000 is intended to offset funeral costs. So for the family surviving the employee, that $10,000 is helpful, but already spent on funeral arrangements.
Seemingly recognizing that a funeral is expensive and additonal help would be needed by the family, an additional $5,000 traditionally has been given to the beneficiary as short-term income. The City stated in their letter that this benefit is being cut, as it would cost the city $500,000 in fiscal year 2012. Let's look at this: If the projected employee deaths are only 13, and each of those 13 beneficiaries of the deceased were given 5,000, that equals how much? $65,000. So, um, where is the 500,000 coming from? Apparently, somebody can't work with numbers. Ladies and gentlemen, it's not hard to see that either A) there has been a gross miscalculation on the part of the City of Memphis, or B) somebody is lying to the city employees, and lining their pockets with "projected funds".
Now, let me ask you this: out of those 13 projected deaths of City of Memphis employees, which professions are more likely to see losses? Office workers? Nope. It's the police officers and firefighters. Not only is this death benefit being cut, but a 4.6% pay cut is looming as of July 1st. So, for my husband, he can rest easy knowing paying his bills monthly is going to get harder, and if he dies his wife and children will not receive help from the city and department he works for. That's a real daily motivator. I know my husband is a good man, and loves his work and is honest. But is every officer on the department going to continue in honesty when they can't pay the bills at home? When their honor is at stake, and their memory is freshly imbued in their personal financial crisis, what choices will they make? When you are in need, and that squad car comes roaring up, who is going to come into your home and help you? I can bet you aren't looking forward to a stressed, overworked, underpaid police officer who just doesn't give a damn anymore.
Thanks, again, City of Memphis. You obviously don't want to show appreciation to your first responders. When your city is further overrun by miscreants, and crime rates again skyrocket, please refer back to this post if you're confused about how that happened.
EDIT: It has been brought to my attention that the $500,000 could be including death benefit to retirees. However, I then wonder why the 10,000 benefit does not include them...and also the city's letter did not mention retirees at all.
27 June 2011
what I don't see
We pray for our sins to be forgiven: what has been done, what has not been done, what has been seen, what has not been seen. Today I saw something I tend not to see. It's easy to forget what we don't see- we forget that it exists and is very prevalent. The statistics in Memphis alone are devastating.
My OB's office is in Germantown, which is a nicer extension of Memphis. The general patient in the waiting room with me is black (my doctor is black, too), and well-dressed, seemingly educated. Today, one such mother came in while I was waiting. She had a girl with her, and the appointment was for the girl. I thought something for a second like, oh, bet she's here for a Gardasil shot, or do girls get PAP smears that young? Then when I was called back, the girl was, too. I was in a "cubicle" type pre-exam room getting weighed and having my blood pressure checked. So I overhead the nurse asking the girl some questions. I couldn't help listening after I head the nurse say, "Have you had the pregnancy confirmed anywhere else?"
The girl's reply is what really struck me: "Have I what?" She didn't understand the question. The nurse rephrased it, and the girl still didn't understand, replying simply, "That stick said I pregnant." I'm probably not doing her justice, but that is the exact grammar she used. When asked the date of her last menstrual period (to determine possible age of the baby) the girl was again flustered, not understanding what was being asked. The nurse worked with her and it became clear that the young lady didn't understand that menstruation cycles relate to fertility. If she didn't understand that...no wonder she was pregnant.
I also felt shock when the girl mentioned she had just turned 14. I'm just hitting my middle 20s, and having my 3rd baby. People react with shock that I am about to have three kids, not to mention my step-children who are for all practical purposes and heart reasons my kids as well. This girl is a child, and pregnant. She is pregnant, and doesn't really know why. She surely knows how, or her boyfriend knew the "how".
Dear reader, please pray for this child having a child. She's been on my mind all day. One of my Catholic friends likes to quote Mother Teresa, who said that "Any country that accepts abortion is not teaching its people to love, but to use any violence to get what it wants." "It is a poverty to decide that a child must die so that you may live as you wish." Pray for the millions of other girls having babies (or worse, not having them). And for those of us who are pregnant and have children, and are completely conscious of that beginning life...remember the poverty, not of wealth, but of ignorance. Rejoice, parents who are trying to raise children who know God, that you are able to know your children, and how they were created, and to Whom they belong. Not every child that is born lifeless is aborted. Many of them are alive and grown, in the exam room next to you, and the child in their womb is already facing a looming darkness.
My OB's office is in Germantown, which is a nicer extension of Memphis. The general patient in the waiting room with me is black (my doctor is black, too), and well-dressed, seemingly educated. Today, one such mother came in while I was waiting. She had a girl with her, and the appointment was for the girl. I thought something for a second like, oh, bet she's here for a Gardasil shot, or do girls get PAP smears that young? Then when I was called back, the girl was, too. I was in a "cubicle" type pre-exam room getting weighed and having my blood pressure checked. So I overhead the nurse asking the girl some questions. I couldn't help listening after I head the nurse say, "Have you had the pregnancy confirmed anywhere else?"
The girl's reply is what really struck me: "Have I what?" She didn't understand the question. The nurse rephrased it, and the girl still didn't understand, replying simply, "That stick said I pregnant." I'm probably not doing her justice, but that is the exact grammar she used. When asked the date of her last menstrual period (to determine possible age of the baby) the girl was again flustered, not understanding what was being asked. The nurse worked with her and it became clear that the young lady didn't understand that menstruation cycles relate to fertility. If she didn't understand that...no wonder she was pregnant.
I also felt shock when the girl mentioned she had just turned 14. I'm just hitting my middle 20s, and having my 3rd baby. People react with shock that I am about to have three kids, not to mention my step-children who are for all practical purposes and heart reasons my kids as well. This girl is a child, and pregnant. She is pregnant, and doesn't really know why. She surely knows how, or her boyfriend knew the "how".
Dear reader, please pray for this child having a child. She's been on my mind all day. One of my Catholic friends likes to quote Mother Teresa, who said that "Any country that accepts abortion is not teaching its people to love, but to use any violence to get what it wants." "It is a poverty to decide that a child must die so that you may live as you wish." Pray for the millions of other girls having babies (or worse, not having them). And for those of us who are pregnant and have children, and are completely conscious of that beginning life...remember the poverty, not of wealth, but of ignorance. Rejoice, parents who are trying to raise children who know God, that you are able to know your children, and how they were created, and to Whom they belong. Not every child that is born lifeless is aborted. Many of them are alive and grown, in the exam room next to you, and the child in their womb is already facing a looming darkness.
15 June 2011
A poem I recently read to my littles.
Night comes
Night comes
leaking
out of the sky.
Stars come
peeking.
Moon comes
sneaking,
silvery-sly.
Who is shaking,
shivery quaking?
Who is afraid
of the night? Not I.
Beatrice Schenk de Regniers
26 May 2011
23 May 2011
boating and other stuff, like pregnancy
I've heard this notion that becoming Catholic after being Protestant, you swim the Tiber. I find anyone who thinks it's a rigorous swim to be a dolt. If they say "wade the Tiber", I'm all for it. If you've been a member of the Orthodox church, and decide to be Catholic, you might want to cut the swim and the wade from your hyperbole. Then it's more like floating on an overly prepared and comfortable raft. Let us not look a gift horse in the mouth, or something like that. To be fair, you're also a dolt if you are Orthodox and think your piety is !AWESOME! and are depending on public motions and the right phrases it to get you through.
It's the things in life that you don't know that sting and nag constantly, and drag at your will. You know those anchors. The things you work to know, and work to follow, mostly feel complacent much faster than you're comfortable with. Initial zeal is particularly dangerous, and full of the kind of emotion that sinks ships which otherwise, not burdened with the weight, could have weathered the storm. I've done zeal, too many times, and looked to have it in too many places. I haven't found exhaustion within Orthodoxy. There is a fullness that is emotional, physical, spiritual, and that isn't rigid and inflexible. Though, goodness, there are plenty of cons in Orthodoxy. They're endless and perfection in worship and prayer in any church filled with other people who aren't yourself-exactly cloned and unchanging-is going to be rough and ugly. I'd probably find my cloned and perfect selves annoying after a while, anyway. Pretending the congregation of persons you worship alongside are going to be the kind you really prefer and don't struggle to identify with is a sad joke. I've tried many places and many denominations looking for something unbroken. I won't say that in Orthodoxy I've found some gleaming palace of perfection. That would be a lie and a gross mistake if I thought so, especially after where we've been in the world of religion. I think the church is my mother but I haven't really had good luck in mothers. Good thing Doubting Thomas wasn't voted off. There is hope.
I do know playing The Angel Cried for my daughters as they fall asleep is good. The one time my littlest daughter will release her favorite thumb from her mouth and passively cross her tiny arms over her chest is to receive the bread of life, and that is good. The way the similarly roving morning sun moves over the halos of the icons and draws your wandering eye is good. The new baby held up in the sign of the cross and marched to the altar is good. Praying ceaselessly for the dead is good. Doing things that make your pathetic soul uncomfortable is good. Whatever is good and profitable for your soul...
I have all these little fragments. A few of them gleam. A few of them are rusted. I'm going to keep trucking along until I don't look for the gleam and I don't notice the rust.
Enough with the boating metaphors, already. However, the best way to boat is in a well tested and worn canoe on a small, placid lake (even better if it has navigable tributaries for when you get bored) that is shallow, well-known, and full of easily caught bluegills. Too bad we all pine for the colossal yacht in the middle of the rolling Pacific with the whale beneath waiting to swallow us.
It's 5:28 am and I have been up for hours trying to sleep. Haven't slept in days. The end of pregnancy is rough.
Then comes the infant stage again. It helps that my babies are the cutest things on the planet, but jeez oh pete at this point I could use about 5 years of make-up rest.
It's the things in life that you don't know that sting and nag constantly, and drag at your will. You know those anchors. The things you work to know, and work to follow, mostly feel complacent much faster than you're comfortable with. Initial zeal is particularly dangerous, and full of the kind of emotion that sinks ships which otherwise, not burdened with the weight, could have weathered the storm. I've done zeal, too many times, and looked to have it in too many places. I haven't found exhaustion within Orthodoxy. There is a fullness that is emotional, physical, spiritual, and that isn't rigid and inflexible. Though, goodness, there are plenty of cons in Orthodoxy. They're endless and perfection in worship and prayer in any church filled with other people who aren't yourself-exactly cloned and unchanging-is going to be rough and ugly. I'd probably find my cloned and perfect selves annoying after a while, anyway. Pretending the congregation of persons you worship alongside are going to be the kind you really prefer and don't struggle to identify with is a sad joke. I've tried many places and many denominations looking for something unbroken. I won't say that in Orthodoxy I've found some gleaming palace of perfection. That would be a lie and a gross mistake if I thought so, especially after where we've been in the world of religion. I think the church is my mother but I haven't really had good luck in mothers. Good thing Doubting Thomas wasn't voted off. There is hope.
I do know playing The Angel Cried for my daughters as they fall asleep is good. The one time my littlest daughter will release her favorite thumb from her mouth and passively cross her tiny arms over her chest is to receive the bread of life, and that is good. The way the similarly roving morning sun moves over the halos of the icons and draws your wandering eye is good. The new baby held up in the sign of the cross and marched to the altar is good. Praying ceaselessly for the dead is good. Doing things that make your pathetic soul uncomfortable is good. Whatever is good and profitable for your soul...
I have all these little fragments. A few of them gleam. A few of them are rusted. I'm going to keep trucking along until I don't look for the gleam and I don't notice the rust.
Enough with the boating metaphors, already. However, the best way to boat is in a well tested and worn canoe on a small, placid lake (even better if it has navigable tributaries for when you get bored) that is shallow, well-known, and full of easily caught bluegills. Too bad we all pine for the colossal yacht in the middle of the rolling Pacific with the whale beneath waiting to swallow us.
It's 5:28 am and I have been up for hours trying to sleep. Haven't slept in days. The end of pregnancy is rough.
Then comes the infant stage again. It helps that my babies are the cutest things on the planet, but jeez oh pete at this point I could use about 5 years of make-up rest.
18 May 2011
I think then that we're doing ok.
Value of Afflictions
"This is the will of the Holy Spirit, to be His beloved in continual reality. The Spirit of God does not dwell in those who live in rest because the Most-Good God wished that His beloved servants should not have rest in this life, but rather live in suffering, difficulties, worries, poverty, and nakedness, in solitude and debts, in sicknesses and defamations, in battles and crushing of heart, with sickly body and image detested by others, in a state which does not compare to other people's, and a lonely, peaceful, and quiet dwelling, completely invisible to men and free of anything that produces earthly consolation. Therefore, these people weep, and the world laughs; these sigh, but the world enjoys; these fast, but the world amuses itself. During the day, they wear themselves out; and, during the night, they prepare for deprivation. There are some who offer themselves to weariness voluntarily and also submit to afflictions; some are persecuted, while others were killed, and some hid in cellars. In them was fulfilled the word that says, "You will have afflictions, but in Me you will have joy," because the Lord knows that the ones who live in rest cannot remain in His love. Therefore, Christ the Saviour has prevented these from rest and satisfaction. He Whose love is more powerful than death of the body wanted to show also in us the power of His love. Amen."
11 May 2011
Oh good grief.
A distant friend of mine, who is my age, recently posted this link on her facebook, and heartily agreed with it's contents:http://shine.yahoo.com/channel/parenting/i-gave-birth-of-course-i-want-a-gift-in-defense-of-the-push-present-2482207. Wondering what in the world a push present was (I like traditions), I clicked and began reading. From the first sentence, I was annoyed. What a strange and ugly thought...I deserve more than just a baby after all that. It's not an idea I've ever had, through two births and on my way to a third. I hope that if my husband ever heard me demand a gift for having his baby, he would give me a good slap. Ugh, what a way to start out motherhood- selfish and demanding.
This article is along the same lines much of what I see from women regarding childbirth, pregnancy, and sex. It's all looked at as a chore, a pain in the backside, a real degrading experience, embarrassing, you name it. I have complaints during pregnancy, don't get me wrong- I'm no saint. But I've never felt anything like, "It's my body, and this baby is ruining it!" or any other similar thing. I am also lucky, I have a good husband and family who are excited to meet the new baby. I don't have to work, I don't have to worry much at all. I do have 4 other children, but we have fairly established routines, they're mostly good, well-behaved kids, and life isn't that rough.
I know I speak from a bit of a polished place, and I am very thankful for my home-mommy life, yet I don't know what it will take for the majority of women who have not so bad situations themselves to love their babies and the miracle that is the power of their bodies in pregnancy and childbirth. Why aren't we women taught to revere the short time of our pregnancy? It is a hard job but an experience that can't be matched. With healthy habits, and proper care (which should be mostly hands off!), pregnancy can be enjoyable and sweet. I think we have too many ultrasounds, too many tests, too many stresses from inexperienced doctors who want to schedule the birth of a child around their work schedule.
I hate, hate, hate that childbirth is proposed as this terrible, scary, stressful, ugly time that everyone wants to get past quickly with no discomfort whatsoever. There is little reverence for the ability of the female body to peacefully bring forth a child without induction, C-section, drugs, or any other "helps". Many women have no idea there are many exercises to tone the body for childbirth. The hospital environment is many times stressful on new moms, and that is why I advocate midwives in the home. I don't go to a midwife, never have and probably never will, but after experiencing a hospital birth with my first child, and being filled with fear from it, I don't want that for any new mom. There's a clinical feeling to hospital birth, and a "you don't know what to do so just take some drugs and get it over with" air about the whole thing. There is little space for natural, peaceful childbirth. I have been lucky that my OB is a saint of a woman, and one hell of a fighter. She makes sure I get what I want, like a walking monitor, the ability to move around, no suggestions of epidurals, etc. With my daughter's birth, which from hospital entrance to her entrance into the world lasted two hours, I was asked if I was Asian. It became apparent that this was because Asian women are calm and quiet in childbirth. Perhaps they are taught to trust their bodies, I don't know. When I was at 8 cm and smiling and talking, experiencing little pain, the staff was in disbelief. There must have been 7 staff members in the room to see a natural childbirth.
The article above says that most women don't ever push in childbirth, anyway. They're unable to reach that point, uneducated about how it works, and terrified of having to feel discomfort. I find this very, very sad. Giving birth is one of the things I've done that I know is one of the only things I've done unselfishly and with great thankfulness to God. It is immensely filling, empowering, whatever the self help books are all looking for- understanding how your body is able to grow a baby, and how each day prepares that baby to enter the world, then bringing that new life into the world...what other gift could compare?
How ugly, also, is this quotation:
"Honestly, I think that much too little respect and appreciation is placed on mothers, not only by partners but also by children and others around her. Why not take a couple minutes of your time to brainstorm a thoughtful gift to show your partner or wife how much you truly appreciate the miracle she has worked so hard to give you?
This article is along the same lines much of what I see from women regarding childbirth, pregnancy, and sex. It's all looked at as a chore, a pain in the backside, a real degrading experience, embarrassing, you name it. I have complaints during pregnancy, don't get me wrong- I'm no saint. But I've never felt anything like, "It's my body, and this baby is ruining it!" or any other similar thing. I am also lucky, I have a good husband and family who are excited to meet the new baby. I don't have to work, I don't have to worry much at all. I do have 4 other children, but we have fairly established routines, they're mostly good, well-behaved kids, and life isn't that rough.
I know I speak from a bit of a polished place, and I am very thankful for my home-mommy life, yet I don't know what it will take for the majority of women who have not so bad situations themselves to love their babies and the miracle that is the power of their bodies in pregnancy and childbirth. Why aren't we women taught to revere the short time of our pregnancy? It is a hard job but an experience that can't be matched. With healthy habits, and proper care (which should be mostly hands off!), pregnancy can be enjoyable and sweet. I think we have too many ultrasounds, too many tests, too many stresses from inexperienced doctors who want to schedule the birth of a child around their work schedule.
I hate, hate, hate that childbirth is proposed as this terrible, scary, stressful, ugly time that everyone wants to get past quickly with no discomfort whatsoever. There is little reverence for the ability of the female body to peacefully bring forth a child without induction, C-section, drugs, or any other "helps". Many women have no idea there are many exercises to tone the body for childbirth. The hospital environment is many times stressful on new moms, and that is why I advocate midwives in the home. I don't go to a midwife, never have and probably never will, but after experiencing a hospital birth with my first child, and being filled with fear from it, I don't want that for any new mom. There's a clinical feeling to hospital birth, and a "you don't know what to do so just take some drugs and get it over with" air about the whole thing. There is little space for natural, peaceful childbirth. I have been lucky that my OB is a saint of a woman, and one hell of a fighter. She makes sure I get what I want, like a walking monitor, the ability to move around, no suggestions of epidurals, etc. With my daughter's birth, which from hospital entrance to her entrance into the world lasted two hours, I was asked if I was Asian. It became apparent that this was because Asian women are calm and quiet in childbirth. Perhaps they are taught to trust their bodies, I don't know. When I was at 8 cm and smiling and talking, experiencing little pain, the staff was in disbelief. There must have been 7 staff members in the room to see a natural childbirth.
The article above says that most women don't ever push in childbirth, anyway. They're unable to reach that point, uneducated about how it works, and terrified of having to feel discomfort. I find this very, very sad. Giving birth is one of the things I've done that I know is one of the only things I've done unselfishly and with great thankfulness to God. It is immensely filling, empowering, whatever the self help books are all looking for- understanding how your body is able to grow a baby, and how each day prepares that baby to enter the world, then bringing that new life into the world...what other gift could compare?
How ugly, also, is this quotation:
"Honestly, I think that much too little respect and appreciation is placed on mothers, not only by partners but also by children and others around her. Why not take a couple minutes of your time to brainstorm a thoughtful gift to show your partner or wife how much you truly appreciate the miracle she has worked so hard to give you?
Seeing a third surgical delivery in the next 10 days of my life and knowing this is our last child and that all my husband has done to bring them into the world is sex … yeah! That warrants a gift!"
I guess real women should be disgusted with their bodies, their babies, and their husbands. Good grief. What a crazy world we're living in.
06 May 2011
whether you like it or not
Perhaps the must valuable result of all education is the ability to make yourself do the thing you have to do, when it ought to be done, whether you like it or not; it is the first lesson that ought to be learned; and however early a man’s training begins, it is probably the last lesson that he learns thoroughly.
~Thomas H. Huxley, 1825-1895
(because once or twice that Darwin's bulldog agnostic said things that made sense)
~Thomas H. Huxley, 1825-1895
(because once or twice that Darwin's bulldog agnostic said things that made sense)
29 April 2011
Orthodox
Well, I'm Orthodox. Officially! Our chrismation was Holy Saturday. I could ramble on and on but here's the short of it: It was a beautiful day, we were early (wow, with all 4 kids dressed nicely, too!), I managed to buy some comfortable shoes which helped the pregnant lady make it through, the kids (and the husband) were impeccably behaved and I am so very proud of them, and it was completely different than Anglican confirmation with a bishop who I didn't think had apostolic succession. Praise God!
Watching our priest repeatedly pray, kneel, then rise, kneel, then rise to anoint all six of us plus two other catechumens who were coming in the Church made me love him more. I didn't think I could appreciate him more after all the trips he made to our house for catechism, and all the time he spent at our kitchen table with us. I'll miss seeing him there on Wednesdays, sipping coffee and cracking jokes. He's a great, gentle, loving priest and I hope he lives forever.
Pascha was beautiful, even though I was half asleep and sure everyone could hear my stomach growl. The deep slumber of the days after Bright Monday, when things finally slowed down for us, has been nice. All the meat and cheese and feasting of Bright Week celebrations has been great.
He is Risen! Now I look forward to learning more, growing more, and seeing my baby son baptized and chrismated all at once. I can't wait to meet the little guy! He has a personality already, and responds to noises, voices, temperature, and has a distinct sleeping pattern. I love him! I can't wait for this summer, minus the heat+pregnancy.
I'm trying to finish a semester of college and decide whether I will take a term break when the babe is born or not. Probably not, I'll just take fewer classes. We're also getting ready to order homeschool materials to go back to what we love in the fall. Pray for me and for my family in the coming flurry of responsibility!
Watching our priest repeatedly pray, kneel, then rise, kneel, then rise to anoint all six of us plus two other catechumens who were coming in the Church made me love him more. I didn't think I could appreciate him more after all the trips he made to our house for catechism, and all the time he spent at our kitchen table with us. I'll miss seeing him there on Wednesdays, sipping coffee and cracking jokes. He's a great, gentle, loving priest and I hope he lives forever.
Pascha was beautiful, even though I was half asleep and sure everyone could hear my stomach growl. The deep slumber of the days after Bright Monday, when things finally slowed down for us, has been nice. All the meat and cheese and feasting of Bright Week celebrations has been great.
He is Risen! Now I look forward to learning more, growing more, and seeing my baby son baptized and chrismated all at once. I can't wait to meet the little guy! He has a personality already, and responds to noises, voices, temperature, and has a distinct sleeping pattern. I love him! I can't wait for this summer, minus the heat+pregnancy.
I'm trying to finish a semester of college and decide whether I will take a term break when the babe is born or not. Probably not, I'll just take fewer classes. We're also getting ready to order homeschool materials to go back to what we love in the fall. Pray for me and for my family in the coming flurry of responsibility!
21 April 2011
Pascha preparations, kitchen-wise
Today the Pascha cookery began. First, Elijah and I made a lot of hard boiled eggs. Then, using the egg wraps my godmother gave us, we slipped each egg in a wrap, and dipped it in boiling water for a few seconds. What a great and easy way to make these beauties!
I've also had fun trying a new recipe for Scotch eggs.
This was labor intensive. Once I found a rhythm with the wrapping in sausage, frying, and baking it was easier. I had a few of these last year at the feast and with typical pregnant woman obsession I locked into the idea of making them.
I looked over a few recipes before I started. Hard boiling the eggs only until a few minutes after the water boils seems to keep the eggs from being overcooked. This one has the most important tips and tricks, like the chilling between steps which makes everything easier. I fried the breaded eggs, though, for a few minutes in vegetable oil, and then cooked them in the oven for 10 minutes to make sure the sausage inside was fully cooked.
The result? Delectable. These are delicious, and while they take a while to make (it took me 2 hours to cook 20, which since they are halved before servings equals 40) , I think it's worth it a few times a year. Especially with a little mustard...
I've also had fun trying a new recipe for Scotch eggs.
This was labor intensive. Once I found a rhythm with the wrapping in sausage, frying, and baking it was easier. I had a few of these last year at the feast and with typical pregnant woman obsession I locked into the idea of making them.
I looked over a few recipes before I started. Hard boiling the eggs only until a few minutes after the water boils seems to keep the eggs from being overcooked. This one has the most important tips and tricks, like the chilling between steps which makes everything easier. I fried the breaded eggs, though, for a few minutes in vegetable oil, and then cooked them in the oven for 10 minutes to make sure the sausage inside was fully cooked.
The result? Delectable. These are delicious, and while they take a while to make (it took me 2 hours to cook 20, which since they are halved before servings equals 40) , I think it's worth it a few times a year. Especially with a little mustard...
18 April 2011
parents
Anyone who has read the lives of the saints may have noticed this common factor: "He/She was the son/daughter of pious parents." Or, sometimes, a pious grandparent or godparent is named and their role in the life of the saint duly noted.
My prayers during my current pregnancy have revolved around this idea of parenthood a lot. I am far from someone that anyone in their right mind would describe as pious. My husband is a great father but even he would own that he is not a great, world altering Christian. I know some parents who have grown children, and I would say those parents are pious. Their children love the Church and God and it is evident that their upbringing had something to do with this.
Pray, reader, that somehow I can at least be a little, teensy, weensy bit pious and manage to have a good influence on my growing number of children. May their godparents, patron saints, guardian angels, the Theotokos, and foremost Christ be their guides and intercede for them. I know my own prayers alone are not enough to raise a gerbil, let alone a house full of babies.
My two-year-old daughter who lights up my life asks me often, "Will you help me walk, Mommy?" just because she wants me to hold her hand and go beside her, not because she needs help walking at her age. When her tiny fingers are grasping mine, I feel inadequate and know I need something more than I have if I'm going to really walk through life with her, and be an important part of who she becomes.
My prayers during my current pregnancy have revolved around this idea of parenthood a lot. I am far from someone that anyone in their right mind would describe as pious. My husband is a great father but even he would own that he is not a great, world altering Christian. I know some parents who have grown children, and I would say those parents are pious. Their children love the Church and God and it is evident that their upbringing had something to do with this.
Pray, reader, that somehow I can at least be a little, teensy, weensy bit pious and manage to have a good influence on my growing number of children. May their godparents, patron saints, guardian angels, the Theotokos, and foremost Christ be their guides and intercede for them. I know my own prayers alone are not enough to raise a gerbil, let alone a house full of babies.
My two-year-old daughter who lights up my life asks me often, "Will you help me walk, Mommy?" just because she wants me to hold her hand and go beside her, not because she needs help walking at her age. When her tiny fingers are grasping mine, I feel inadequate and know I need something more than I have if I'm going to really walk through life with her, and be an important part of who she becomes.
15 April 2011
a storm
Storms kept us up last night, well, the dog, the baby girl, and I. Ella insisted on sleeping on me, to make sure the thunder didn't get her. Sometimes I am terrified by my children's faith in my protecting them. I want to tell them I can't help and we're not safe, Mommy would be next to useless without a gun or something if it came down to it. When I have nothing else to say, and know the truth is cruel and sad, I try to say that God and his angels will protect us and we shouldn't worry. I usually believe it.
It's even harder to believe that the heavenlies will intervene with our finances. Money seems a trivial thing, in the face of a God who raised Lazarus after 4 days, but I met a man today who told me he's been unemployed for 3 years. That isn't trivial. He had to have been over 50. His job was the sort that didn't lead into another career easily. He was expressing joy that he finally has a part-time job with the company that laid him off. He said he'll have to be careful because the job didn't come with benefits. When he worked in the same capacity 3 years ago, benefits were a part of the position. He shook his head, "They take everything from you and then look for what else they can cut away. But it's a job, I have a job. After three years unemployed you just take it."
A while later I ran into a homeless man who comes to our church regularly for a bag of groceries. I help organize the food pantry and until recently haven't witnessed food being given out, it's often when I am not there. I've heard this man say several times that he's just had a hard week, as if every week hasn't been hard, and hard is surely an insufficient word. I was trying to get my son to open the door for me, as my hands were full of baby, bags, and purse. There I was, headed to buy Chinese food for lunch. Not because I couldn't eat something at home, but because I was sure after being up with the storm I just was too tired to cook. This man hastily put down his groceries and jogged over to open the door for me. He's always polite, and those aren't the manners of someone who never met society. How did he end up where he is? Thank God he can come to the church and quietly take a few things he needs. I look at him, and judge him, even fear him, while he looks at me only to see if I need a hand. I drive a nice minivan home to my loving husband and my beautiful children and my home while he rides his bicycle only God knows where and pops open a can of Campbell's. Where is his family?
To so many, the unemployed man is nobody. The polite man is nobody because he is homeless. But I have a strong feeling these men are definitely more Christ-like than me, more Christ-like than most of us.
It's even harder to believe that the heavenlies will intervene with our finances. Money seems a trivial thing, in the face of a God who raised Lazarus after 4 days, but I met a man today who told me he's been unemployed for 3 years. That isn't trivial. He had to have been over 50. His job was the sort that didn't lead into another career easily. He was expressing joy that he finally has a part-time job with the company that laid him off. He said he'll have to be careful because the job didn't come with benefits. When he worked in the same capacity 3 years ago, benefits were a part of the position. He shook his head, "They take everything from you and then look for what else they can cut away. But it's a job, I have a job. After three years unemployed you just take it."
A while later I ran into a homeless man who comes to our church regularly for a bag of groceries. I help organize the food pantry and until recently haven't witnessed food being given out, it's often when I am not there. I've heard this man say several times that he's just had a hard week, as if every week hasn't been hard, and hard is surely an insufficient word. I was trying to get my son to open the door for me, as my hands were full of baby, bags, and purse. There I was, headed to buy Chinese food for lunch. Not because I couldn't eat something at home, but because I was sure after being up with the storm I just was too tired to cook. This man hastily put down his groceries and jogged over to open the door for me. He's always polite, and those aren't the manners of someone who never met society. How did he end up where he is? Thank God he can come to the church and quietly take a few things he needs. I look at him, and judge him, even fear him, while he looks at me only to see if I need a hand. I drive a nice minivan home to my loving husband and my beautiful children and my home while he rides his bicycle only God knows where and pops open a can of Campbell's. Where is his family?
To so many, the unemployed man is nobody. The polite man is nobody because he is homeless. But I have a strong feeling these men are definitely more Christ-like than me, more Christ-like than most of us.
13 April 2011
My dear boy.
My middler son (yes, after the baby born he will be in the middle of our boys by age) turned 4 at the end of March. We just had his party last night. Other than a dud piñata that Daddy had to manhandle to get the candy to fall out and some birthday party blues from Eli, it was great fun. I love that Elijah has so many young friends who are such darlings.
Here he is with his newest round of wooden weapons from Burnt Mountain Crafts (www.rentoys.com). We have been ordering knight gear from them for a couple of years now and have been pleased not only with the quality but the durability of these handmade toys. I am very pleased when my children play imaginatively, and these newest toys have set off a whole new round of medieval scenarios. Modeled after ancient weapons, these are fantastic and fun. They have a new line of durable helmets, and Elijah just got the "Great Helm", the warrior shield, and a one-handed battle axe.
Here he is with his newest round of wooden weapons from Burnt Mountain Crafts (www.rentoys.com). We have been ordering knight gear from them for a couple of years now and have been pleased not only with the quality but the durability of these handmade toys. I am very pleased when my children play imaginatively, and these newest toys have set off a whole new round of medieval scenarios. Modeled after ancient weapons, these are fantastic and fun. They have a new line of durable helmets, and Elijah just got the "Great Helm", the warrior shield, and a one-handed battle axe.
22 March 2011
love songs
So there is this Jars of Clay song I found out about recently. It's about love, and called Closer. Yeah, that's right, like the dirty Nine Inch Nails song. This is the sort of song that non-denominational church goers are swaying and crying to. This is the way I was introduced to "Christian worship", by witnessing the rock band playing love songs to God while the followers of Jesus drink it in, moving sensually and rhythmically. At the time, I was extremely uncomfortable...but I wondered if this was really Christianity, and I was looking to know God. Thankfully, I was exposed to much more of the religious spectrum than non-denominational type fellowship. My discomfort with the idea of lovey-dovey praise music hasn't changed. Don't get me wrong, I love God. But it is a reverential love, not the love I have for my husband. Though for me, loving God doesn't mean experiencing God, and "my Jesus" doesn't exist. Jesus Christ the Son of God exists, he is, was, and is to come.
The lyrics to the song say things like in the following selections:
'Cause the rockets we're in get so cold and I miss your skin
If you need more love, well you've gotta get close to me
If you want my love, well you've gotta get closer to me
No unreachable itch, if you hemorrhage I'll stitch
I don't understand why we can't get close enough
I want your kite strings tangled in my trees, all wrapped up
I don't understand why we can't get close enough
I'll be the comets that are falling from the sky you light up
And there is more of the same throughout the song. It ends with "I don't understand why we can't get close enough, I miss the shivers in my spine every time that we touch". This is serious stuff, folks, that is what people are gathered together moaning to God. I don't know how anyone reads the Psalms and then thinks the songs we might compose to God in worship should sound anything like "Closer" by Jars of Clay. Have we learned nothing from the VERY IMPORTANT Bible that we tote around in trendy covers?? I guess when there is no place of reverence in the church, there is no reverence to be placed.
A commenter on the lyrics engine I found wrote: I think that since God is Love; this is a VERY DEEP song. If we want, need LOVE, we are simply needing to get more God in our lives, and we experience that LOVE through other people that also NEED His LOVE. I cry through this entire song and I can't even get past the message of it, yet! God is LOVE! We are His hands and feet and His voice, when a lost heart needs Him. We receive LOVE by giving LOVE. Love is NOT self-centered, however.
So, uh, we give love by giving physical pleasure to other people, huh? Get more God. A lost heart just needs to get closer and closer. The good concepts here, that we need God, God should be the center of our lives, etc, is so twisted up with the physical and emotional that nothing spiritual can remain.
Lord, have mercy! I just won't ever understand this kind of undeniably lustful, tearful worship.
I thank God for the stillness in my church, for the quiet and fearful presence of the cherubim and the seraphim, for the softly flickering candles, the softly written colors of the icons, the quick press of lips against the hand or feet of Christ, the feel of the floor against your head during the prayer of Saint Ephraim. There's more than I can list here, plenty of physical things that are reverential.
Pray before you start and driving, and THEN play your rock n' roll and bang your head. I love loud, raucous music on the radio, too, but please in church act like something created by a God who isn't your dream girlfriend.
disclaimer: I know it's Lent and I am probably a little closer to the hell reserved for the judgmental for this post.
18 March 2011
I've been taking many moments to read up on Saint Theodore the General lately. His feast day was just before we found out we are having a boy.
10 March 2011
I spent a couple of hours at the pediatrician renewing asthma prescriptions for my seven year old. Her asthma is back lately, after a few years reprieve, and it's back in full force.
I sat in the waiting room listening to her wheeze. She was reading a biography on the life of Walt Whitman to me, and reading his poems which were interspersed through the book. She is a fantastic reader. I've not heard her read for so long in the last six months- when we were homeschooling I heard her much more. Her inflection is soothing to listen to, as she reads more like an adult, pausing mostly in the correct places and reading at a speed that is refreshing. She also has the funniest facial expressions, especially the way she screws up her face when puzzled.
She has always been the hardest kid of them all. We crack heads like there's no tomorrow. I pray a lot that I could learn every day ways to be a better mom to her. She's very smart and sometimes that gets her in trouble. She's also had a hard life. She is my step daughter, and her infancy was not pleasant with a mom that left her and then she lived in a tent for quite some time while she fought RSV.
I'm always driven nearly to tears at how God answers our prayers. Sometimes, it's just in being able to hear a child reading Walt Whitman at length in a colorful waiting room that can change your heart and give you that added strength you've been asking for.
I sat in the waiting room listening to her wheeze. She was reading a biography on the life of Walt Whitman to me, and reading his poems which were interspersed through the book. She is a fantastic reader. I've not heard her read for so long in the last six months- when we were homeschooling I heard her much more. Her inflection is soothing to listen to, as she reads more like an adult, pausing mostly in the correct places and reading at a speed that is refreshing. She also has the funniest facial expressions, especially the way she screws up her face when puzzled.
She has always been the hardest kid of them all. We crack heads like there's no tomorrow. I pray a lot that I could learn every day ways to be a better mom to her. She's very smart and sometimes that gets her in trouble. She's also had a hard life. She is my step daughter, and her infancy was not pleasant with a mom that left her and then she lived in a tent for quite some time while she fought RSV.
I'm always driven nearly to tears at how God answers our prayers. Sometimes, it's just in being able to hear a child reading Walt Whitman at length in a colorful waiting room that can change your heart and give you that added strength you've been asking for.
04 March 2011
R.I.P.
Our dog died yesterday, in a stupidly tragic way. He was scared by our yard man blowing leaves and, being the renowned jumper he was, scooted over our fence like a gazelle and took off. We looked for him, drove around calling his name, called the shelter. Nothing.
A neighbor came to say she had him in her backyard, and it looks like he jumped her fence, which from the outside was 4 feet high because it backs up to a hill, but jumping down into her yard was a 9 foot drop. Sydney landed on a bunch of clay pots, splintered them all, and died right there.
He was a good dog. We've only had him a year and a half but he was very patient with the kids and calm. They miss him and I can't live without a dog. I have serious doubts we'll find another dog as laid back.
A neighbor came to say she had him in her backyard, and it looks like he jumped her fence, which from the outside was 4 feet high because it backs up to a hill, but jumping down into her yard was a 9 foot drop. Sydney landed on a bunch of clay pots, splintered them all, and died right there.
He was a good dog. We've only had him a year and a half but he was very patient with the kids and calm. They miss him and I can't live without a dog. I have serious doubts we'll find another dog as laid back.
27 February 2011
a simple exhortation
My parish priest, Father John Mashburn, said something today that I think is worth repeating.
It was simple, his sermon, and eloquent as usual. Father said, "If you do a good work, forget about it, and move on to another good work."
Like I said, simply spoken but really a grand challenge. Especially if you're like me: I tend to be the type who remembers I'm a good Christian by the two dollars I gave to a homeless man two years back. Forget it, and move on...
It was simple, his sermon, and eloquent as usual. Father said, "If you do a good work, forget about it, and move on to another good work."
Like I said, simply spoken but really a grand challenge. Especially if you're like me: I tend to be the type who remembers I'm a good Christian by the two dollars I gave to a homeless man two years back. Forget it, and move on...
26 February 2011
I miss the things that are cold and rough.
Remember?
Pale ice on the sidewalks teaching you slow, steady,
snow down as soon as you clear it away-
two paces and the frozen gravel is shrouded again.
You learn to measure each stroke,
careful not to strip
the gravel drive.
not mud
not dripping
nor flat cement stretching
itself over all the earth in every direction, in every thought
slithering with trails of dank slush:
in its place
show me a field of corn stubble.
Show me a cow whose flared nostrils
leave a cloud of ashen smoke.
Or give me deep summer, even black Ohio muck,
I'm not afraid to sink
now.
Great-grandfather Ashley Reed in coveralls
and the hat Gran Olive knitted
starts creeping hitch-trudge, hitch-trudge
to the hen-house in his old, gray skin,
and I've already darted beneath the heavy boughs
of the old willow where he cuts our switches.
Not to hide,
no, Ashley's no old man winter,
his quick eyes move, younger than me,
to seek and wink. Eyes that have lost their color,
now so pale blue; you see
a stretch of snow in the evening,
an encroaching quiet.
"Expecting a storm, child,
come inside." An ancient sandpaper hand
encloses mine-
rough and cold.
When the wheelchair ramp goes in,
I slide down it, but keep waiting
for Grandfather to be standing at the door
telling me how to improve,
but he's inside with a flock of nurses
and I only know the chill,
deadly as she can be.
Now Memphis
is stone cold and statuesque,
dotted with Roman pillars
holding up churches. Holy places
reflecting homeless
vagabonds with apathetic eyes.
I see geese wheeling overhead
and am perplexed. Childhood left me
sure they flew down here, yet they move on.
You can call it solidarity,
but I swear their formation
was superior in an Ohio sky.
23 February 2011
Public schooling
If I was asked what my experience, as a home schooler, going into a public education system is, I would have to reply truthfully: it has been truly a waste of my children's lives and an undue stress on my family.
Yesterday we received a letter from the state informing us that my daughter had too many unexcused absences and that we were in danger of being charged a truancy fee. This blindsided me, as I was unaware of any unexcused absences.
Come to find out, my daughter's teacher had reported a week she had the flu as unexcused, therefore listing my daughter as truant. Also, to put the icing on the cake, she had reported a feast day, that we kept our children out of school to observe, as a truancy. I immediately contacted the school administration, and found them as puzzled as I was. The principal apologized and after listening to my explanation, assured me since I had sent excusal notes and explanations, the fault clearly was not mine, and that the matter would be resolved and I needn't worry. She urged me to write a letter of explanation that she could file, which I did and sent to school with my daughter.
The next morning, the attendance officer at the school called my husband, and asked him if we are, "Orthodox persons." He replied that we are an Orthodox Christian family, yes. She said that the feast day I had explained in the letter was not on the list of approved Greek Orthodox holidays. Since the woman was condescending, and her tone was one of a person who is greatly annoyed, my husband chose not to bother explaining to her that we are Antiochian Orthodox, and in fact the Greek Orthodox church here has a liturgy for even more feast days than our church. She demanded a letter from our priest, on church letterhead, to verify our claims of church attendance, but again reminded him that this most likely be considered an unexcused absence because it was not on the list of approved church holidays. My husband, knowing the school system cannot make a list of "approved religious obligations", told her we'd send in the letter immediately. Then, she said they also required a doctors note for our children's sick absences, to prove those.
I had been told the previous evening by the principal that no notes were necessary unless the children had ten consecutive unexcused absences. This is according to the school system policy, and we had made no violation. So, when the attendance officer approached us with demands of evidence, we were incensed. We have done nothing wrong, and have assented to the system. We have not lied, and our children have not missed school habitually. However, after the threat of truancy charges of $50 dollars a day, we did not want any discrepancies in our children's records. We contacted our priest for a letter, and our doctor for confirmation of our children's sickness and her recommendation they be kept at home and on Tamiflu for a week. It was a hectic morning.
While we were loading up to go retrieve the required "evidence" to deliver to the school office, the principal called me and began another long apology. She pleaded with me not to bother getting notes, as the attendance officer should not have demanded them. She said there must have been a "disconnect in communication." As the attendance officer had directly quoted my letter in which I had laid out every single detail of why our children's unexcused absences were incorrect, there was no basis for this idea of a "disconnect". Someone didn't like the religion they were unfamiliar with, and gave a knee-jerk reaction. That is not my problem, and I assured her that because of the discrepancies in what were being told, we were going to obtain and deliver the letters to make sure WE at least had dotted our I's and crossed our T's. The principal accepted the letters from my hand with more meek apologies.
I have a feeling this is not the last of this. The principal told me I should be contacted by my daughter's teacher, and too look for it. I have not been contacted today thus far. I am already annoyed with my daughter's teacher, who disciplined my daughter in the classroom for her absence when we went to Liturgy. I asked her why she had done this, via email (which she said is her preferred method of contact), and she did not reply, other than to say shortly that "family days" would not be excused. Yesterday, she told my daughter, Bethany, that she could not vacation with us this weekend (taking Thursday and Friday off school) since Bethany was "habitually absent". (remember that habitually absent is defined by the school system as ten, consecutive unexcused absences) The woman went on as she handed Bethany the letter from the state declaring we would have to pay fines, that "your parents are going to have to send you to school or face fines, you are not allowed to be absent." I emailed asking for an explanation of this false statement, and have received no reply to it.
The principal has promised to talk to the teacher. We shall see. What a mess, and a waste of time. The worst part is this should have never happened. If Bethany's teacher had correctly reported her absences, and not flagged the board of education, we wouldn't have gotten at truancy letter. My son had the same absences, at the same school, and his teacher did not respond like this.
What a merry day to remember that I have the right to homeschool, and give my children an excellent, fair education that does not constantly include the erroneous opinions of a woman who has spent 30 years learning to teach to the middle. The school's own tests have proven that my children are exceedingly bright, and they are on the honor roll. I would have some understanding of the teacher if my children were failing, and if I had not been at every parent meeting. I am a member of the PTA, I am room mother. There is no reason for the teacher to act this way, other than ignorance and personal bias against us.
Pray for peace.
Yesterday we received a letter from the state informing us that my daughter had too many unexcused absences and that we were in danger of being charged a truancy fee. This blindsided me, as I was unaware of any unexcused absences.
Come to find out, my daughter's teacher had reported a week she had the flu as unexcused, therefore listing my daughter as truant. Also, to put the icing on the cake, she had reported a feast day, that we kept our children out of school to observe, as a truancy. I immediately contacted the school administration, and found them as puzzled as I was. The principal apologized and after listening to my explanation, assured me since I had sent excusal notes and explanations, the fault clearly was not mine, and that the matter would be resolved and I needn't worry. She urged me to write a letter of explanation that she could file, which I did and sent to school with my daughter.
The next morning, the attendance officer at the school called my husband, and asked him if we are, "Orthodox persons." He replied that we are an Orthodox Christian family, yes. She said that the feast day I had explained in the letter was not on the list of approved Greek Orthodox holidays. Since the woman was condescending, and her tone was one of a person who is greatly annoyed, my husband chose not to bother explaining to her that we are Antiochian Orthodox, and in fact the Greek Orthodox church here has a liturgy for even more feast days than our church. She demanded a letter from our priest, on church letterhead, to verify our claims of church attendance, but again reminded him that this most likely be considered an unexcused absence because it was not on the list of approved church holidays. My husband, knowing the school system cannot make a list of "approved religious obligations", told her we'd send in the letter immediately. Then, she said they also required a doctors note for our children's sick absences, to prove those.
I had been told the previous evening by the principal that no notes were necessary unless the children had ten consecutive unexcused absences. This is according to the school system policy, and we had made no violation. So, when the attendance officer approached us with demands of evidence, we were incensed. We have done nothing wrong, and have assented to the system. We have not lied, and our children have not missed school habitually. However, after the threat of truancy charges of $50 dollars a day, we did not want any discrepancies in our children's records. We contacted our priest for a letter, and our doctor for confirmation of our children's sickness and her recommendation they be kept at home and on Tamiflu for a week. It was a hectic morning.
While we were loading up to go retrieve the required "evidence" to deliver to the school office, the principal called me and began another long apology. She pleaded with me not to bother getting notes, as the attendance officer should not have demanded them. She said there must have been a "disconnect in communication." As the attendance officer had directly quoted my letter in which I had laid out every single detail of why our children's unexcused absences were incorrect, there was no basis for this idea of a "disconnect". Someone didn't like the religion they were unfamiliar with, and gave a knee-jerk reaction. That is not my problem, and I assured her that because of the discrepancies in what were being told, we were going to obtain and deliver the letters to make sure WE at least had dotted our I's and crossed our T's. The principal accepted the letters from my hand with more meek apologies.
I have a feeling this is not the last of this. The principal told me I should be contacted by my daughter's teacher, and too look for it. I have not been contacted today thus far. I am already annoyed with my daughter's teacher, who disciplined my daughter in the classroom for her absence when we went to Liturgy. I asked her why she had done this, via email (which she said is her preferred method of contact), and she did not reply, other than to say shortly that "family days" would not be excused. Yesterday, she told my daughter, Bethany, that she could not vacation with us this weekend (taking Thursday and Friday off school) since Bethany was "habitually absent". (remember that habitually absent is defined by the school system as ten, consecutive unexcused absences) The woman went on as she handed Bethany the letter from the state declaring we would have to pay fines, that "your parents are going to have to send you to school or face fines, you are not allowed to be absent." I emailed asking for an explanation of this false statement, and have received no reply to it.
The principal has promised to talk to the teacher. We shall see. What a mess, and a waste of time. The worst part is this should have never happened. If Bethany's teacher had correctly reported her absences, and not flagged the board of education, we wouldn't have gotten at truancy letter. My son had the same absences, at the same school, and his teacher did not respond like this.
What a merry day to remember that I have the right to homeschool, and give my children an excellent, fair education that does not constantly include the erroneous opinions of a woman who has spent 30 years learning to teach to the middle. The school's own tests have proven that my children are exceedingly bright, and they are on the honor roll. I would have some understanding of the teacher if my children were failing, and if I had not been at every parent meeting. I am a member of the PTA, I am room mother. There is no reason for the teacher to act this way, other than ignorance and personal bias against us.
Pray for peace.
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