kids – Page 16 – SIMCHA FISHER

Why we’re dropping out of home school

A couple of people have asked why we’re not home schooling any more. We will be, a little bit — my six-year-old son will be at home for first grade, and my four-year-old daughter keeps handing me notes composed of random letters, in a pathetic plea to be taught how to read and write.

And of course we’ll keep our feral three-year-old, whom no school can hold, and the smartest baby in the world (16 months old), who is not only putting together two- and three-word sentences, she can say “Come ON!” just like Gob Bluth. So clearly, we will be maintaining a richly educational atmosphere, even though I’m sending the oldest four off to a classroom.

I don’t know, is it too passé to say I’m burnt out? It wasn’t the hard work that wore me out; it was the crappy job I did, and the worrying about it. That’s what was so exhausting. And then there was this:

(This was the first day of school last year. We wondered why she was letting us get math done.)

We had nice times, when the kid would have revelations about free will, or when they’d groan because it was the end of our Latin lesson. The dining room is still decorated with the heraldic coats of arms we designed for our Medieval unit, and there were some thrilling moments in stovetop meteorology experiments.

But I was sitting here ordering the math books for the school year (yes, now. Shut up! It isn’t even labor day yet) and feeling nothing but weariness. We enjoyed some of the benefits home schoolers promise: the closeness, the leisure, the freedom, the intensity, the depth. But really just not often enough. We did it for six years, and I’m about ready for something different (not necessarily easier!) for a while.

If I’ve learned anything in the last twelve years (and I haven’t), it’s that you never, never know what your life will look like this time next year– so who knows? Maybe we’ll go back to home school next year. Or maybe the world will come to an end, and I won’t have to explain place value again.

The four oldest kids have a lovely, rural charter school to go to, and I want them to be happy and busy. Also, a couple of them turned out to be more complicated than we thought. And I’m not the kind of mother that it’s okay to be around all day.

I do know that all my kids have learned that reading is a wonderful way to spend your time, and that figuring out things and hearing new ideas is thrilling. They aren’t embarrassed to talk about ideas, and they have no idea how dorky they are. So I feel more or less okay with the start I’ve given them.

Boy, I wish I still had that gin in the photo.

The blessings keep rolling in.

So I was sitting there, refusing to get up. My six-year-old wanted a glass instead of a cup, the eight-year-old kept doing his evil laugh even though it makes him throw up, and the four-year-old wanted to tell me a story about how first, see, she forgot to flush, but then she suddenly remembered to flush, but then. . .

And remember, I have five other kids, too.

My husband is back at work after eight months of unemployment (and may I say: heckova job, Barry), and I miss him. It’s not just that suddenly, everything that needs to be done, said, investigated, cleaned up, controlled, and decided by an adult has to be done by me, me, all me. I just miss having him around. And I’m back to being surrounded by kids in a way that I wasn’t surrounded when there were two parents around. The days are so long!

So despite my relief that he’s working again, I was feeling pretty mopey and despondent. The kids were eating their stupid supper (in the fridge, waiting for husband, was ziti with chicken sautéed in olive oil with fresh garlic and basil. The kids were eating naked noodles and poached chicken chunks. That is a stupid supper) and I just wanted to sit down and feel sorry for myself, because I cut my toe on one of the plates the baby smashed while I was sautéing.

While I was fending off the needy ones, I read this little article from The Daily Beast(via Slate’s XX Factor blog): I Refuse to Freeze My Eggs! (UPDATE: Ooh, looks likeZoe beat me to it, and she chose the same quotes, too!)

The author is single and childless at 35–the age when, as she says, “all the petals fall off [your] vagina and dozens of cats suddenly park themselves in a circle around [your] cobwebby old hope chest.” She’s enduring a gynecological exam, and her doctor starts harassing her to start freezing her eggs, just in case.

It’s super easy, she said. All you have to do is inject yourself with hormones a couple of times a day for about fourteen days, then you go to the doctor, and they scrape your eggs out of your body! Hopefully a few will be ripe enough to make a baby. They put those in the freezer. The rest are thrown into the river. I think that’s what she said. Something like that.

My doctor, who I adore, asked if I wanted to take home some “literature” about the procedure. (I never understand why these medical pamphlets are called literature, as if Faulkner was up all night feverishly writing about NuvaRing.) And in that moment, I made a decision. A decision about how I’m going to handle the fact that I’m thirty five (today!) and I don’t have kids and a kid-making partner isn’t currently on the scene. I decided I didn’t want the literature. And I don’t ever want the literature about anything related to the world of Fertility. It’s my big thirty-fifth birthday present to myself.

I’m sharing this story with you for two reasons: first, because it’s refreshing to hear a (presumably) secular woman say what she says:

[W]hen I think about my uterus (which is rare) I don’t have any desire to bully it into doing something it may not naturally feel like doing. In vitro fertilization, artificial insemination, egg transplants, surrogacy, fallopian Xeroxing—I have no interest.

Hear, hear!

The second reason is to share with you my delight at an unexpected benefit of having all these little kids around. I mean, I’m used to all the regular blessings: always surrounded by love, the peace and serenity of being open to God’s precious gift of life, the constant howling, and so on.

But it never occurred to me that there’s something else: even though I, too am 35 years old, no doctor ever, ever tries to push me into freezing my eggs. I think I have my twenty-seven children to thank for that.

Also, around about the time you have your fifth baby, the doctor stops trying to sneak a plain cardboard box of condoms into your hospital bag. They’ve given up. They think you’re an idiot; you know you’re an idiot. Everyone’s happy, and no one tries to talk you into anything when you already have your feet up in stirrups and can’t fight back.

See what I mean? Children are a blessing, and the blessings keep rolling in.

7 Quick Takes: “Fair’s Fair” Edition

Don’t worry, it’s not another scholarly fisk of the cultural significance of Billy Jean. I’m talking about the county fair! The fair! Who doesn’t love the fair?

If you’re taking your kids to the fair for the first time, you are going to hate it.

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It will be, second only to the birth itself, the most miserable, sticky, disappointing, and ludicrously expensive day of your life as parents. You will go home wondering why you just paid hundreds of dollars to make your kids this dirty and unhappy.

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Also, you’re fairly sure you had eight children when you left the house, and now you only have six.

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But it doesn’t have to be that way. We kept trying and failing to have fun at the fair, and eventually we worked out some guidelines. And this year, it finally happened: we actually had a good time! All of us, even the wimp, the show-off, the escape artist, the malcontent, the spoilsport, the worrier, and everyone.

Well, the baby actually hated it, but she kind of hates everything right now.

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So here is how we managed:

–1–

MONEY

Start saving money last year. I’m serious — this is an expensive day. You have to just accept that it costs what it costs, and there is really no point in making the effort if you’re not going to go whole hog. Be prepared to shell out for admission (and possibly parking), ride tickets or passes, food, souvenirs, and possibly for special rides or shows — plus emergency cash for something unexpected, like bug spray or a bail bond.

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And do some research. There are usually a few cheaper days and a few expensive days, so work out exactly how much it will cost to do everything you want to do. I recommend going on an unlimited pass or bracelet day. We tried individual tickets, and it was not only more expensive, but made us very anxious, because we had to pace ourselves and conserve tickets.

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–2–

WEATHER

Check the weather report! A wonderful day can be ruined by clothes that are too hot or too cold. Once we went on a rainy day, and lost a whole hour off our unlimited ride time. And once we went on such a hot day, everyone just wanted to sit on a bench and suck down lemonade. Which we could have done at home for much cheaper, with slightly less of that nauseating barnyard smell.

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Bring sunblock and lots and lots of drinks. The screaming, walking around, and the general excitement will make your kids even thirstier than they normally would be after a day outdoors. There will be drinks for sale, but they will be EXPENSIVE. Have I mentioned this? It’s not because I’m a cheapskate; it’s because I don’t want you to have to tell a weeping 7-year-old girl, “I know I said you could ride the pony, but Mama spent her last $6 on your fourth lemonade!”

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–3–

GETTING LOST

Make sure your kids know what to do if they get lost. We tell them to first yell and yell (in case the rest of the family is right around the corner) and then they can go to a policeman, someone behind a counter, or someone who looks like a nice mother, and say, “I’m lost – can you help me find my parents?”

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Make sure your kids know their parents’ actual names (a surprising number assume Daddy’s name is “Daddy”), and what their parents are wearing (my daughter once described me as “the one with the haircut”). Dress your kids in distinctive clothing and write down descriptions of everyone (“black sweatpants, a Jack Kemp T-shirt, and a homemade haircut”) in case you need other people to help you find them, and are too flustered to remember what they look like.

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The earlier in the day you go, the smaller the crowds will be. Know which kids are likely to bolt or wander away, and give them a special lecture beforehand. (We didn’t need one of these until kid #7 could walk, and then we needed it desperately.)

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–4–

PACING

Plan for variety, especially if you need to stretch your money. Do something thrilling, then something where you sit down, then something where you wander around, then a snack, then something for the older kids, then something for the younger kids, etc. Save something primo for last, so when it’s almost time to go, you can say, “Okay, the fair is over . . . but not before we do such-and-such!” Makes your exit much happier.

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Bring the roomiest stroller you have. The fair is completely exhausting for little ones, so kids who’ve outgrown the stroller might need a ride. Also, it’s helpful to have somewhere to stash all those drinks.

–5–

FOOD

In order to make the effort and expense worthwhile, you will want to be there for several hours — which means you will be there during a meal time. I recommend packing a picnic for the meal, and spending your money on snacks, instead. Kids don’t appreciate an $8 steak sub, but they will always remember getting a cloud of cotton candy or a caramel apple with rainbow sprinkles.

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What we do is arrive at lunch time, but then go on rides right away before eating. The kids would have been too excited to eat at first, and would have just pecked at the meal, and then begged for snacks later. After a few rides, they were happy to take a break for sandwiches and chips.

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–6–

STICKINESS

Succumb to the stickiness. Your kids will be just disgusting by the end of the day: sweaty, sugary, dusty, and, yes, possibly throw-uppy (although that never happened to us, miraculously). It’s a good idea to have them wear clothes you don’t care about. Be smart about timing: they can ride the Neck Snapper, but not right after eating one of Doody’s Famous Fried Pickles.

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Bring a change of clothes for the youngest kids, and plastic bags. Trust me on this. Sooner or later, you will be stuck holding something that desperately needs to be wrapped up in a plastic bag.

–7–

EXPECTATIONS

Discuss expectations ahead of time. Before you even enter the grounds, let them know what they will be doing, and what they will not — and stick to it. How many rides can they expect to go on? Will you be playing games, buying a meal, buying snacks, buying balloons, buying toys, riding the pony, seeing a show, seeing the animals? Especially if you have lots of kids with various desires, just winging it will lead to someone feeling disappointed. (We skip the games of chance altogether, and just let them pick out a souvenir. Not as exciting, but cheaper, and less heartache.)

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My husband and I discuss our expectations, too: we remind each other that our #1 goal is to give the kids a super fun day, and that we will both try our hardest to be patient and generous, and do our best to give the kids what they want (within reason). A day of fun is no time to teach lessons. It’s okay to be over-indulgent once in a while, as long as you’re doing a good job on most other days.

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Also, this may sound silly, but unless you’re getting home late at night, it’s a good idea to have some mild treat waiting for them at home — lollipops or a special movie. Kids are tricky, especially if they’ve been looking forward to something for weeks– and now it’s over. You will expect them to be grateful and satisfied, but they will likely feel exhausted, let down, and cranky.

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So go easy on them. Tomorrow, you can go back to the old routine, but it’s nice to do whatever you need to do to keep things pleasant today. And once the kiddies are in bed, you can have a nice little drink and put your feet up.

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And for goodness’ sake, take better pictures than I did. Never before have so many knees, ears, and backs of heads been captured for posterity.

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Oh, before I forget: check out the other 7 Quick Takes hosted by Jen at Conversion Diary, and leave a link of your own! Or, wait, it’s actually at Betty Beguiles this week, I forgot!

Simcha’s guide to financial empowerment

Does your library give out copious prizes just for checking out books in the summer? Ours does: ice cream and pizza coupons, tickets to sports events, T-shirts and toys, games, stickers, etc.

But the prize that thrilled my kids the most was something new this year: ten dollars! Their enthusiasm was only slightly dampened when we explained that no one was actually going to hand them a ten-dollar bill–they’d have to open an account at a local bank, which would credit them $10.

Daddy was glad to help. He would bring the happy little misers to the bank, sign them up for accounts, go home, and then truck them right back to the bank again as soon as humanly possible to close out their accounts. They would then zip on over to the Dollar Tree to blow their glorious cash on sticky hands, expanding dinosaurs, and expired Laffy Taffy. You know, the American dream.

Not so fast.

Don’t ask me why I didn’t see this coming, but there was a catch. Of course there was a catch! Sure, they’ll deposit $10 in your Young Saver account. They’ll even waive the $4 monthly fee, as long as you’re age 18 or under. All you have to do, kids, is keep a minimum monthly balance of $250.

$250! Stupid jerks. What kid has $250 seed money to start a Young Saver account? No one. Okay, maybe some enterprising Eagle Scout mowed enough lawns to save up $250, but I guarantee that all the other Young Savers got their minimum deposits straight from mom or dad’s wallet. Bah.

When I was a kid, our local bank that gave out little cardboard boxes for collecting quarters to put in your junior savings account. There were no minimums or monthly fees–it was all about teaching you that money doesn’t just materialize out of nowhere. If you don’t spend it, you’ll still have it; if you keep spending it, eventually it will be gone. But the most you could possibly save up was maybe $20 before the box fell apart.

I really don’t want my kids to have a meaningful financial portfolio. That’s the idea of being a kid: you learn the lessons, but you don’t get any of the actual benefits. You don’t need benefits, because you parents are taking care of you.

When you get older, then you learn how money really works. In a nutshell, adults have two choices. You can turn over your finances to a ravening monolith that will (1) warn you by mail that, four days ago, they charged you a monthly fee for your overdraft protection plan, which will (2) hit you at a bad time and make your balance dip below zero, at which point the bank will (3) charge you an overdraft fee for letting your balance dip below zero, and then (4) charge you a second overdraft fee because you didn’t have sufficient funds to cover the first overdraft fee.

This is called “customer service.”

Your other choice is to keep a wad of cash in the freezer. This is a bad strategy if you are an avid collector of half-empty cartons of old, drippy ice cream. In that case, a workable counter-strategy is to invest in the really high quality brands of Ziplock baggies, which really keep your money dry.

Our financial adviser (who speaks directly into my ear at 4 a.m. She has a querulous voice tinged with panic, and sounds just like me) has counseled us to diversify our portfolio. So now we keep our Regular Money in the bank, and our Frivolous Whim/Horrible Emergency Money in the freezer.

For an even niftier fiscal maneuver, try letting your prudent, thrifty super-ego save money, while allowing your idiot, scatterbrained id to forget all about it. Then, one day, your ego (who is in charge of cooking) will be gloomily surveying the dark landscape of Dinners Yet to Come, and in between the freezer-burned pork chops and the eleven chicken carcasses that never will be soup, you will see something. Something . . .

Could it be? Yes, yes, it’s a Ziplock bag! And inside it is . . .

Aw, you thought I was going to say $250. No, it’s only $42. The label on the bag says $250, but you had to spend part of it on a new spinner thing for the washing machine, and part of it on the great Tooth Fairy Amnesty Pay-Off, in which each child aged 5 to 12 got $5 and was counseled to move on with their lives.

But that leaves $42! Enough to settle either your bank fees or your library fines, with some left over to buy some brand new ice cream for the freezer.

Isn’t that a good system? God bless America.

Dear Justine

Today’s guest post is written by a fine woman who more or less strong-armed me into being her friend. Like so many fabled relationships, it all began online. And, if a restraining order means anything at all anymore, it’ll stay there.

However, I want it known that this post was published entirely of my own free will, and has nothing to do with blackmail, coercion, or any kind of weird, contagious, free-floating Italian guilt (is that a thing?). We both like to tease, but deep down are decent people; and so most of our correspondence begins: “Um, you know that was just a joke, right? I like your hair!” or “Stay away from my husband, homewrecker!”

Again, for the record: Justine Schmiesing is the kindest, bravest, warmest, most wonderful human being I’ve ever known in my life, and that is the reason she’s writing this guest post today. That and that she’s damn funny, and should probably stop being a blog hog and open up her writing for public consumption again.

One more thing: if you have a question for Dear Justine, send it to me at simchafisher [at] gmail [dot] com and I will be sure to forward it to her.

Enjoy!

_______________________________________

DEAR JUSTINE: When a Spoonful of Sugar Just Isn’t Enough

Dear Justine,

School’s out for the year, and now my kids are complaining about having to help around the house. I’ve read parenting articles that encourage turning chores into games, but the games are never ones my kids want to play. Any suggestions?

Signed,

Doubting Mary Poppins

Dear DMP,

Ah summer! Those crazy, lazy days when everyone stops eating, using the bathrooms, and wearing clothes.

No wait, that’s heaven.

So unless you LIKE being the only one stuck slaving away inside during the pool party, it’s perfectly reasonable to mobilize your troops and make them pitch in to clean up the mess that they are, very likely, responsible for.

My kids hate chores, but they are always up for a game. Of course, MY favorite housecleaning games are based on movies I don’t allow the little tykes to watch (likeAliens and Predator), but here are a few of my kids’ picks that are almost equally fun and effective.

Hot potato

(One player)

Player is handed an object by parent and instructed to put it away where it belongs. Player then pretends the object is too hot to carry all the way and shoves it in the first available hiding spot. Player loses if parent finds the object before they forget who they told to put it away.

Unfreeze Tag

(Single or multiple players)

Game begins with parent assigning a chore (like clearing the table or picking up toys). Players perform assigned duties until parent steps out of the room, then players freeze in place and do not move again until parent returns.

Players win if chore takes three times longer to complete than it should have.

Town Cryer

(Multiplayer)

Players are assigned a task that involves them working at a slight distance from parent, anywhere from the next room over to the backyard. Players take turns shouting at the top of their lungs, “So-and-so, why aren’t you HELPING?” “So-and-so, GET UP and HELP!” Game is won if parent shows up and spanks So-and-so. Game is lost if parent shows up and spanks everyone. (Town Cryer can be played in conjunction with Unfreeze Tag for double the fun.)

Telephone

(Two player)

Game begins with parent giving a message to one player assigning a chore to the second player. First player delivers the message, with the option to add their own embellishments (like, “Ha-Ha”, and “I don’t haaave to”). Second player may choose to obey the messenger, ignore the messenger, or shoot the messenger. If messenger is ignored or shot, they may choose to tattle on the second player or shoot back. Game ends when both players are separated and assigned double chores.

Blind Man’s Bluff

(Single player version)

Player cleans their bedroom in such a manner that parent can’t tell whether or not a blind man did it.

The Blame Game

(Two or more players)

Game begins when parent (preferably Mom) questions why an assigned group chore has not been completed. Players take turns blaming each other and saying “Nah-AHH!” while parent tries to sort out the truth through all the confusion. Game is won if Mom starts crying. Game is over if Dad comes home.

Last, but not least, Daddy’s favorite…

Concentration

(As many players as necessary)

Players who are have lost their focus and motivation to do chores properly use paper and pencil to hand copy Pope John Paul II’s encylical Laborem exercens, (On Human Work) until they are found again.

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So the next time you pull out the vacuum and hear a loud whining sound before it’s even plugged in, just remember that even though Julie Andrews’s charges were only kid actors who cheerfully did what they were told because they got paid a lot of money, she sure got it right when she sang, “Find the fun and SNAP! the job’s a game!”

My Two Sons

I was shopping with my eight-year-old son, and the checkout lane was the usual gauntlet of trashy magazines. I was about say my usual warning line, which is, “Do yourself a favor and don’t look at that garbage,” when I heard him GASP.

“Look!” he said, “–Kittens!”

Sure enough, it was a picture of kittens:

I love that kid.

I also love my other, 6-year-old son, of course, but he would not have focused on the kittens. He’s more this kind of guy:

Anyone have a nice six-year-old daughter who goes for the handsy type? I’d like to arrange a marriage now.

7 books you will enjoy reading to your kids

Boy, this list was much harder to make than I expected! Too many subcategories. I’ll just have to be satisfied with a general theme of “sevenness,” but I’d like to do more reading lists later. Or is that boring?

These are just seven books which I enjoyed as a child, which my kids read or wanted to hear over and over again, and, most importantly, which I didn’t mind reading to my kids over and over again.

There are so many books which have good stories, but aren’t told well – they’re clunky, wordy, repetitive in the wrong way, or just aren’t crafted with any understanding of how kids listen or think. But these seven are books that got it right, and have fantastic illustrations, too.

Check out Conversion Diary for more links to everyone else’s 7 Quick Takes!

Seven Books You Will Enjoy Reading to Your Kids

–1–

Half Magic by Edward Eager.

I never understood why this book isn’t more widely-read (and I think it would make a great movie, too). One summer, four children find a magic talisman which grants half wishes, which leads not only to complications and surprises, but ethical dilemmas (they accidentally made an iron dog half-alive. Should they make it turn back into iron, or bring it fully to life?). The story is incredibly original, it moves along so nicely, and the children and their relationships with each other are so funny and real–it’s a perfect read-aloud book. The illustrations by N. M. Bodecker are also charming and really add something to the story. The author wrote six other books in the same vein, and all are worth reading, but Half Magic is by far the best.

–2–

The entire Frog and Toad series, Owl at Home, Fables, and Mouse Tales and Mouse Soup written and illustrated by Arnold Lobel.

Lobel also wrote several other books, but these are the best. So simple and deft, so gentle and witty and full of affection. Frog and Toad are imbued with more personality than any character in a modern novel that I can name — but Lobel does it in five pages of easy-reader words. The vocabulary is simple, but it’s no Go, Dog, Gophonics slog– his prose is a delight to read, never a chore. You never have to go back and reread, because you said some dialogue with the wrong expression–it’s all there. Arnold Lobel ought to be studied in writing classes, and “The Dream” ought to be required reading for first confession classes.

–3–

Tales From Grimm told and illustrated by Wanda G’ag.

All the unvarnished truth about fairy tale characters, bloody feet, gouged out eyes, and all. These aren’t just stories, they’re little masterworks of rhythm. The illustrations are otherworldly and unforgettable, and the book includes many less familiar stories, too. Snip, snap, snout, my tale’s told out! (Also by this author, and recommended: The Funny Thing, Millions of Cats, Snippy and Snappy)

–4–

Granfa’ Grig Had a Pig and Other Rhymes without Reason from Mother Gooseselected and illustrated by Wallace Tripp.

I feel like my kids should know Mother Goose, but in most editions, the illustrations are creepy, sappy, or bland. This is because the subject matter of nursery rhymes is often bizarre, and no one is sure how to handle the weirdness. Wallace Tripp, one of my favorite illustrators, lets the lunacy and hilarity come through (often providing sly commentary on the rhyme). They are full of detail to fascinate kids, and they’re just funny and refreshing. He also has inluded lots of lesser-known rhymes that you will be glad to know (“Slug abed, slug abed barley butt, / Your bum is so heavy, you can’t get up” comes to mind).

–5–

D’Aulaires’ Book of Greek Myths

Demeter and Persephone

All of the books written and illustrated by Ingri and Edgar Parin D’Aulaire (I just like saying those names!) are wonderful, but Greek Myths is the one I liked the best as a kid. The illustrations always make me think of William Blake on summer vacation: the same primitive feel, the same slightly over-determined composition, and the same naked emotionalism of the faces — but more color, more flesh, more fun. And the stories are just right: they have lots of action, lots of humor and pathos, but manage to be decorous–no easy feat. Those gods were weird.

–6–

Zlateh the Goat and Other Stories.

“The Mixed-Up Feet and the Silly Bridegroom”

For a wonderful introduction to Jewish storytelling, here is a collection of seven sweet, strange, and funny stories by Isaac Bashevis Singer, unforgettably illustrated by the master, Maurice Sendak. I’ve read other books written and illustrated by this pair, but this one shows them both at their best.

–7–

Homer Price, More Homer Price, and Centerburg Tales.

Another undeservedly neglected collection. A young boy in a rural town (where, without explanation, several of the inhabitants are named after classical heroes and authors) gets into peculiar adventures with skunks, superheroes, balls of yarn, giant ragweed, mysterious mousecatchers, and disastrously catchy rhymes. Just satisfying and entertaining, and, again, lively and funny illustrations by the author, another favorite of mine, Robert McCloskey.

links to image sources:

Happy weekend, everyone! I’ve been in a fog all week, and can’t get ahold of my syntax. Sorry if anything above doesn’t make sense.

7 Quick Takes: “Snappy Answers to Stupid Questions” Edition

Many mothers of big families are at a loss for words when strangers make personal comments about their family size. Other women are able to use their conspicuous presence in public as a chance to witness to the joy of this lifestyle. Still others see it as an opportunity to ditch one or two of the slower kids in the crowd.

No matter which description fits you, there will come a day when you are urging an unruly string of children down the narrow hall of the hospital, where you are late for an appointment to have the blood of several of them painfully tested for something you know perfectly well they don’t have. Some of them will be licking the walls, one will be wailing about losing her vending machine puppy in the parking lot, and two will merely be going silently boneless.

It is at moments like these when some sweaty bozo in an AC/DC T-shirt will appear, plaster himself comically to the wall to let you pass, and remark, “Haw haw haw, looks like someone don’t have a TV!”

(photo source)

So the following guide is for you, mom. If one of your damn wiener kids hasn’t shoved a fig newton into the printer, feel free to make a copy, laminate it, and keep it in your ludicrously enormous purse. It will help you respond to people who see your presence as a challenge, when really all you want to do is mail a letter, buy some diapers and few pregnancy tests, or pay the librarian for the books you ruined this week, and go home.

7 Snappy Answers to Stupid Questions About Your Big Family

–1–

Boy, you’ve got your hands full, don’t you?

Congratulations! As the ten billionth person to make this clever remark, you are a winner! As your prize, please accept this delicious baby.

–2–

Don’t you know what causes that?

Yes, it’s brought on by being in the presence of morons. Every time I leave the house, I feel the urge to rush home to my husband and, for the sake of future generations, try to outnumber people like you. Whoopee!

–3–

Are those all your kids?

Quiet, you fool, my husband’s listening!

–4–

How many kids do you have, anyway?

I dunno. [I don’t know if it qualifies as snappy, but it’s often true, and it shuts people up.]

–5–

You’re stopping now, right?

Of course! Lots of people have eight kids. Eight kids is nothing. Of course, our van is longer than most people’s driveways. We own two milch cows just to supplement breakfast. And with the money from our Additional Child Tax Credit, we bought a Learjet. That’s life with eight kids.

But to consider having nine kids? That would be cuh-razy.

–6–

[This next one is for kids who are members of big families. It’s a direct quote from lunch recess at Disnard Elementary School, and partially explains why no one liked me in sixth grade.]

Hey, huh huh huh, you have seven brothers and sisters? Boy, huh huh huh, your parents must really like to dooo it!

Yeah, boy, I guess that proves they had sex eight times. And you’re an only child, so I guess your parents just don’t love each other very much. Ha ha! Now, who wants to be my lunch buddy?

–7–

Don’t you have a TV?

If you think TV is better than sex, then you are doing it wrong.

————————————————————————————————

So long until Monday, folks! Don’t forget to check out Conversion Diary for links to everyone else’s Seven Quick Takes. And don’t forget the most basic rule of appearing in public with lots of children: it’s everyone else’s job to get out of your way.

Excuses, excuses

We just discovered a new family game! My 12-year-old daughter, who taught it to us, scornfully insists that it’s actually called “Excuses,” and not (sneer) “Excuses, Excuses,” but I think it’s funnier my way, and anyway, who is she? Does she have a blog? Oh, well, actually, she does. But we are good parents, and don’t let anyone look at it. Ha ha!

Anyway, we’ve been playing this new game in the evening after supper, when it’s too darn hot to be inside, but no one wants to fish the football out of the bushes. It’s good for ages 6 to adult, I would say, and it’s very easy to drop in and out of. It’s also entertaining to watch, if you can’t, won’t, or are too fat to play.

The basic set-up is this: one person is the boss, one person is the employee who is late for work, and one person is the co-worker. The boss faces the employee, and the co-worker stands behind the boss, so the employee can see him, but the boss cannot.

The boss barks at the employee, “Why were you late?” The employee starts to make his excuses — but he has to describe what the co-worker is miming. Remember, the boss can’t see him.

So the co-worker is marching, dancing, swatting imaginary flies, being strangled, fighting invisible gorillas, etc., and the employee is narrating it.

Then the boss, at any point he wants to, whips his head around to and yells at the co-worker, “What are you doing?” And the co-worker has to instantly come up with a plausible explanation for whatever he was caught doing. If he was acting out “killing a bear with my teeth,” for instance, he might say, “Oh, I was just eating one of these crullers. Thanks for the crullers, boss!”

If the boss likes the excuse, he says, “Okay,” and the game resumes. But if he doesn’t, he says, “You’re fired!” and the next person gets to be the co-worker.

Did I explain that right? It’s seriously a lot of fun, and I’m so happy to know it, because if we had to play Simon Says one more time, Simon was going to say–

Well, I gave it a whole hour and a half, and even Googled “go play in traffic,” but I didn’t get to the end of that joke. Sorry, folks. Refunds at the door.

Old Year Resolutions

Back around New Year’s Day, when people were making resolutions, many of the good ladies of the internet were sharing their plans for self-improvement. They all had long and laudable lists to accomplish, but they wanted to avoid that all-too-common problem with good intentions: losing focus, petering out, or just plain forgetting.

To avoid this pitfall, they planned to distill their finest aspirations into a single, pregnant word. They would post this word in a prominent place where they would see it often, and they would be encouraged and redirected throughout the day.

To this idea, Jen from Conversion Diary responded in a way that I could have done myself:

“Here’s the problem,” I told a friend. Ann Voskamp’s word is YES, Rachel Balducci andArwen Mosher are both doing JOY…I feel like holy people like that can do this sort of thing, but I’m too much of an overly analytical grouch for it.” I thought that if, say, I were going to try to be more joyful, I would need specific, measurable goals in that department, lest I end up just rolling my eyes at the “JOY!” sign posted on my refrigerator as I shuffle around joylessly.

She’s a better woman than I am. I’m pretty sure that the first time I glanced at “JOY!” on the refrigerator while crawling around with a wad of rags, trying to sop up the rapidly-congealing jello soup that someone forgot to tell me they spilled all over the floor, where they were, incidentally, storing their math books and their collection of unwashable fairy costumes, I wouldn’t be rolling my eyes — I’d be gnashing my teeth, and possibly actually biting someone. Yeah, I got yer JOY right here.

So, no, this plan wasn’t for me. (Jen, however, ultimately decided to go with “Fortitude,” which is a good, versatile word, and realistic.)

But why am I bringing this story up now? Because I recently sorted through a bunch of old papers, and in among the long division worksheets and Cub Scout permission slips, I found a homemade valentine.

It was from my eight-year-old daughter to my seven-year-old son, and in a very few words, it illustrated such love, such consideration, and such a profound understanding of her brother’s character and basic constitution, that I decided to make it my mid-year Word.

I hung it in a prominent place, and every time I pass by it, it gives my heart a lift. Even on the darkest day, I smile, and I remember anew what true love is all about.

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