At the beginning of the month, I blogged about my goals for the year. They are not hard-and-fast, pass-or-fail rules, because knowing myself, that just sets me up for failure. They are, however, targets to shoot for this year, things I want to keep in mind in my day to day life. Accountability is a good thing, so here I am revisiting how I did on my goals, the first month I set them.
1. Focus on Scott
Can you believe it, we went on two dates this month? If you count a political function, we went on three dates (and, let's face it, any meal we get to sit down at, together, without the kids, counts as a date)! I've also been very intentional in praying for him. Sometimes (often) I forget that my big, strong man needs my backup prayer support. I've tried to develop the habit of praying for him on my morning walks, as well as when I'm doing mindless household tasks. On this goal, I give myself an:
A
2. Focus on the Kids
I've been pretty consistent with homeschool this month. We have done about an hour and a half a day, four days a week for the past few weeks. Sophie can now make change with pennies and nickels. She knows about 7 sight words (from the Dolch sight word list), and her fluency / confidence in reading has improved. Xander can now pick up a pair of scissors and hold the properly on his own, and can cut along a line (although he has trouble staying on it). His one-to-one correspondence (counting) is improving, but he gets confused after number 13. He can also now dress himself.
I've added many chores to their list (thanks to the handy schedule I made), and am happy to report that cleaning has become part of our morning routine. They clean with me, and I'm starting to feel like we're a team. It's a good feeling. I have my friend Althea to thank for that (you can read the guest post that inspired me about her homeschooling experiences with her kids on my other blog). They now: vacuum their rooms and the living room. Wipe down the toilets and bathroom sinks with Lysol wipes. Wipe the surfaces in the living room and TV room. Keep their toys organized. Set the table. Keep their rooms clean. Pick up the living room and TV room. Empty the bathroom trashes.
We've been diligent this month, so I give myself an:
A
3. Focus on the House
No remodeling yet, but a project to put in french doors in the living room is underway, budgeted for, and scheduled to happen the last week of February. I have, however, done a good job keeping up with my housework. Again, thanks to the schedule. The hour by hour schedule may seem over the top, but I've learned that I really don't do well without structure in my life. There have been mornings when I just don't feel like doing anything. I'm not sick, or particularly pregnant, just unmotivated. These are the mornings when my schedule really helps me. I can just go to it, and take one task at a time. Before I know it, a few hours have passed and the house is clean.
In addition to maintaining a clean home, I: organized the study this month. I've also kept the pile of clothes that seems to reside continually in the laundry room folded and put away. I cleaned out the fridge. Go me.
A
4. Focus on the Whole
I've done moderately well with my exercise this month, walking about 2/3 of the times that I plan to. That bed is just so darn comfortable at 5:00 in the morning! If I do get up, I then have time for my morning devotions, so I'd say I did those about 2/3 of the times I intended to, as well. Pilates has gone out the window, I do not have the energy during nap time. I nap during nap time. I did really well with my eating for the first half of the month, but the past two weeks, I have started craving sweets big time. Since I only cave in about half the time to the cravings, I consider myself a success on my goal to eat well. Apparently I have entered the biggest growth (and eating) phase of my pregnancy. So considering I'm 24 weeks pregnant, I feel that I've been a very good girl on this goal, and kindly give myself an:
A
How about you? How have you done on your New Year's Resolutions / Goals this month? Was it an easy month, like it has been for me? I expect my motivation to take a nose dive in a month or so.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Evening Prayer
Luaniua's Anglican church sits in the center of the village. Its whitewashed, cinder block walls rise only four feet, leaving the sides open to the ocean breeze. It really is more of a pavilion than a church, except that at the front there is a raised dais with the alter, preaching podium, candle stands, and seats for the priest and catechists to sit.
Every sunrise and sunset the catechist rings the bell that hangs from the eves, summoning the faithful. The church's 'bell' is really just a hollow, rusty propane cylinder, but it serves the same purpose. When struck with a hammer, it echoes as far as the island's sandy tip.
I used to go to the evening service every night. Our house stood just opposite the church, so my walk was a short one, past the carefully tended bushes that ringed the pavilion. The old man who cared for the building kept the flowers meticulously trimmed, and at sundown every night they opened tiny, trumpet-shaped petals to release their soft sweetness into the air.
It was through this lingering incense I walked, prayer book in hand, to take my place on the woman's side of the church. The sides were strictly divided by sex, with the women on the left and the men on the right. Children sat at the very front, their little butts squirming on the worn, 1 x 8 benches. Behind them were the teenagers, with adults at the very back of the church.
The village catechist ran the weeknight services. They were always the same, read with comforting predictability from the Melanesian Anglican Prayer Book. Opening song. Liturgy. Sing the Magnificat. Scripture readings. More singing. Prayers. Benediction. Dismissed.
The very last prayer, read as the sky purpled and the first star appeared, was a hushed request to the unseen God.
Every sunrise and sunset the catechist rings the bell that hangs from the eves, summoning the faithful. The church's 'bell' is really just a hollow, rusty propane cylinder, but it serves the same purpose. When struck with a hammer, it echoes as far as the island's sandy tip.
I used to go to the evening service every night. Our house stood just opposite the church, so my walk was a short one, past the carefully tended bushes that ringed the pavilion. The old man who cared for the building kept the flowers meticulously trimmed, and at sundown every night they opened tiny, trumpet-shaped petals to release their soft sweetness into the air.
It was through this lingering incense I walked, prayer book in hand, to take my place on the woman's side of the church. The sides were strictly divided by sex, with the women on the left and the men on the right. Children sat at the very front, their little butts squirming on the worn, 1 x 8 benches. Behind them were the teenagers, with adults at the very back of the church.
The village catechist ran the weeknight services. They were always the same, read with comforting predictability from the Melanesian Anglican Prayer Book. Opening song. Liturgy. Sing the Magnificat. Scripture readings. More singing. Prayers. Benediction. Dismissed.
The very last prayer, read as the sky purpled and the first star appeared, was a hushed request to the unseen God.
Shine on our darkness, we pray you, Lord, and by your great mercies keep us from all troubles and dangers of this night, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
Monday, January 23, 2012
Media Monday - Downton Abbey, Season 2
Happy Monday, folks. Time to bring you yet another movie / documentary / show I have found (for free) online. I've already heard a lot of buzz about today's selection, but couldn't resist adding my own two cents:
This is one for all you period drama lovers out there. "Downton Abbey" offers an enthralling look at the inner workings of a post-Edwardian English manor. It showcases both those living upstairs and downstairs, following the drama and intrigue of their lives as they interact with each other and the changing world around them. As the first World War collides with their aristocratic paradigm, each character struggles to cope with the shifting times, and discover where his or her place is in this new world.
The character development in this series is fantastic. I lived, suffered, loved, laughed and despaired right long with the residents of the Abbey. The plot takes unexpected twists, and sweeps the characters masterfully through the historic setting. The costuming is fantastic. I now want to bob my hair and get some drop waist dresses.
As of today, we are three episodes into the 9 episode second season (I reviewed the first season last Spring). You can watch all the episodes streaming on the PBS Masterpiece Classic website here. The website also has cool extras like a look into the style of Downton Abbey, and a fun quiz to discover which character you are most like. Definitely worth checking out!
*** Edited to add: After some wiki reading, I discovered that this entire series has already aired in the U.K. Lucky you! A third season is in the works, to be aired in the United Kingdom in September 2012. It will be set in the Roaring 20's. So we know the costuming will be fabulous!
This is one for all you period drama lovers out there. "Downton Abbey" offers an enthralling look at the inner workings of a post-Edwardian English manor. It showcases both those living upstairs and downstairs, following the drama and intrigue of their lives as they interact with each other and the changing world around them. As the first World War collides with their aristocratic paradigm, each character struggles to cope with the shifting times, and discover where his or her place is in this new world.
The character development in this series is fantastic. I lived, suffered, loved, laughed and despaired right long with the residents of the Abbey. The plot takes unexpected twists, and sweeps the characters masterfully through the historic setting. The costuming is fantastic. I now want to bob my hair and get some drop waist dresses.
As of today, we are three episodes into the 9 episode second season (I reviewed the first season last Spring). You can watch all the episodes streaming on the PBS Masterpiece Classic website here. The website also has cool extras like a look into the style of Downton Abbey, and a fun quiz to discover which character you are most like. Definitely worth checking out!
*** Edited to add: After some wiki reading, I discovered that this entire series has already aired in the U.K. Lucky you! A third season is in the works, to be aired in the United Kingdom in September 2012. It will be set in the Roaring 20's. So we know the costuming will be fabulous!
Sunday, January 22, 2012
A Few Pages Sewn Together {or} The Problem With E-Readers
I've reached the stage in my pregnancy where the nesting urge is kicking in ... big time. Good thing, too, because all these piles of stuff that have accumulated around our house need to be dealt with before my head explodes from the disorder. Yesterday I took myself to the study, to straighten the piles of books that were threatening to avalanche if I didn't do something about them.
Books, to quote another missionary kid I know, are my oldest and truest friends. There are some I just cannot throw away, no matter how tattered and worn their pages get, or how many times their covers are taped back on. The characters that live within them have never changed through the years. No matter how much I grow and change, Emily Starr still spins her mystical stories in the garret of old New Moon, Meg Murry's stubborn inquisitiveness continues to motivate her in her search for her father, and Digory and Polly always put on the rings when Uncle Andrew tells them to, even when I urge them not to every time.
These books, my old friends, greet me when I open the pages with the elusive, musty scent of old paper. A new book's pages are stiff, shiny, impersonal. But an old book has pages soft and supple as muslin, feathered at the edges by years of turnings and reshelving. The covers have faintly ringed watermarks and faded grease spots, testimonies of all the tea and toast consumed over years of readings.
An E-Reader, no matter how much storage it provides or how convenient it is, can never become a personal friend. The tears I shed over Fred Weasley's death won't stain the pages, and the random crayon scribble by my one year old daughter won't still be inside the back cover when she's five, ten, or fifteen.
Here's my call to you. Buy books. Real books. Books that will become treasured and worn. Books that will age with you even as the characters within them stay young. Or visit the library and get books for free that hundreds of others have read, loved, marked up and coffee ringed. Become part of the faceless community of book lovers, connected by the pages they read and the characters they love.
Books, to quote another missionary kid I know, are my oldest and truest friends. There are some I just cannot throw away, no matter how tattered and worn their pages get, or how many times their covers are taped back on. The characters that live within them have never changed through the years. No matter how much I grow and change, Emily Starr still spins her mystical stories in the garret of old New Moon, Meg Murry's stubborn inquisitiveness continues to motivate her in her search for her father, and Digory and Polly always put on the rings when Uncle Andrew tells them to, even when I urge them not to every time.
These books, my old friends, greet me when I open the pages with the elusive, musty scent of old paper. A new book's pages are stiff, shiny, impersonal. But an old book has pages soft and supple as muslin, feathered at the edges by years of turnings and reshelving. The covers have faintly ringed watermarks and faded grease spots, testimonies of all the tea and toast consumed over years of readings.
An E-Reader, no matter how much storage it provides or how convenient it is, can never become a personal friend. The tears I shed over Fred Weasley's death won't stain the pages, and the random crayon scribble by my one year old daughter won't still be inside the back cover when she's five, ten, or fifteen.
Here's my call to you. Buy books. Real books. Books that will become treasured and worn. Books that will age with you even as the characters within them stay young. Or visit the library and get books for free that hundreds of others have read, loved, marked up and coffee ringed. Become part of the faceless community of book lovers, connected by the pages they read and the characters they love.
Thursday, January 19, 2012
When Change is Constant
My mom said the other day, "I have left pieces of my heart all over the world." She and my dad have only been back in the States since last summer. I understand that feeling of being caught in transition, trying to balance on the tectonic plates of multiple cultures that shift and bump into each other, change the only constant in your life.
I've had some time to heal, to put down roots, to come to a safe place where my feet are firmly planted and my heart can grow. Interesting fact: when infants begin to develop, they can only develop one skill at a time. They are born with their voice boxes high up in their throats, for example. At first they can only cry. Loudly! But then their voice boxes begin to drop, and they begin to make other sounds. When they start to crawl, however, an interesting change happens. The vocalizing takes a back seat to the developing gross motor skills as baby tries to figure out how to coordinate his arms and legs. Only one area of the brain can develop at a time.
I think our hearts act the same way. When we're in constant shift and transition, we focus on adapting to each new change. The heart issues of who we've left behind, broken relationships, and denied self, take a back seat. It's only when we've stopped moving that the heart can then start to sort all the backlogged emotions.
I've had some time to heal, to put down roots, to come to a safe place where my feet are firmly planted and my heart can grow. Interesting fact: when infants begin to develop, they can only develop one skill at a time. They are born with their voice boxes high up in their throats, for example. At first they can only cry. Loudly! But then their voice boxes begin to drop, and they begin to make other sounds. When they start to crawl, however, an interesting change happens. The vocalizing takes a back seat to the developing gross motor skills as baby tries to figure out how to coordinate his arms and legs. Only one area of the brain can develop at a time.
I think our hearts act the same way. When we're in constant shift and transition, we focus on adapting to each new change. The heart issues of who we've left behind, broken relationships, and denied self, take a back seat. It's only when we've stopped moving that the heart can then start to sort all the backlogged emotions.
Monday, January 16, 2012
Discrimination
Kohimarama is the Solomon Islands' Anglican seminary. The nation's training ground for new priests sits about an hour or so down the coast line from Honiara, nestled against the rising mountains, surrounded by cocoa and pineapple plantations. There is a potholed dirt road that connects Kohi with Honiara and the rest of Guadalcanal, cutting through the jungle but never out of sight of the beach. It was down this road that I bumped in a public transport van, sharing the seat with a local friend.
I was excited, high on the thrill of independence. My parents had never let me take this trip alone before, but it had been determined that I spend the weekend in Kohi with some friends. And best of all, I would ride the jungle road on my own. So I sat hugging my backpack, watching the trees reach over the road and relishing my happy freedom.
Every fifteen miles or so the van would stop at wayside villages, picking up and letting off passengers. There weren't many travelers today, or perhaps there were more transport vans than usual, but either way the seats in our little van remained relatively empty. My legs stuck to the vinyl, sticky from countless sweaty passengers before me. My friend was closest to the window, her head leaning out so that the breeze could lift the curls from her neck. I said a silent thank you that we didn't have to share our seat, which was made for three, with a stranger. I didn't want to be stuck between two perspiring, swaying bodies.
My luck lasted to the next stop. When the van slowed and the door opened, people started piling in. We all began the inevitable dance that repeats itself in elevators, buses and subways across the world. Who shall sit where? The seats filled up quickly, until the only places left were the seat opposite me. And beside me.
I should stop here and say that I was the only white skin in the van. I was used to being the conspicuous on Guadalcanal, my blond hair and pale skin made more obvious by my height. On Luaniua, everyone knew me, and familiarity had long ago nullified any gaps caused by physical differences. But in other places in the Solomons, I was immediately categorized by the strangers around me as loose, easy, and rich. Most Islanders' exposure to Westerners came from movies, and most white women in moves filled these stereotypes. The weight of men's assessing eyes and women's judging ones became a familiar, if not easy, burden whenever I was on the mainland.
So I sat there on the van, trying to ignore the invisible bubble the Islanders had created around me. My friend's leg pressed comfortingly against mine. A woman boarded last with her daughter and a large basket of taro. She quickly took in the situation, and barked at the girl in Pidgin, "You sit with the Arokuao. I'll sit here."
I could feel my friend stiffen beside me. The woman had used the Island equivalent of the 'N' word we use here in the States, except it was their word for a white person. The daughter was looking at me, her face betraying her hesitance at having to sit next to the white skin. I gathered grace around me and smiled at her.
"You can sit here, there's room," I said, in flawless Pidgin.
As the girl slid down next to me, I looked over her head and watched her mother's slowly dawning realization that I had understood what she said.
To quote the inestimable Dr. Martin Luther King Jr, "Darkness cannot put out darkness. Only light can do that."
I was excited, high on the thrill of independence. My parents had never let me take this trip alone before, but it had been determined that I spend the weekend in Kohi with some friends. And best of all, I would ride the jungle road on my own. So I sat hugging my backpack, watching the trees reach over the road and relishing my happy freedom.
Every fifteen miles or so the van would stop at wayside villages, picking up and letting off passengers. There weren't many travelers today, or perhaps there were more transport vans than usual, but either way the seats in our little van remained relatively empty. My legs stuck to the vinyl, sticky from countless sweaty passengers before me. My friend was closest to the window, her head leaning out so that the breeze could lift the curls from her neck. I said a silent thank you that we didn't have to share our seat, which was made for three, with a stranger. I didn't want to be stuck between two perspiring, swaying bodies.
My luck lasted to the next stop. When the van slowed and the door opened, people started piling in. We all began the inevitable dance that repeats itself in elevators, buses and subways across the world. Who shall sit where? The seats filled up quickly, until the only places left were the seat opposite me. And beside me.
I should stop here and say that I was the only white skin in the van. I was used to being the conspicuous on Guadalcanal, my blond hair and pale skin made more obvious by my height. On Luaniua, everyone knew me, and familiarity had long ago nullified any gaps caused by physical differences. But in other places in the Solomons, I was immediately categorized by the strangers around me as loose, easy, and rich. Most Islanders' exposure to Westerners came from movies, and most white women in moves filled these stereotypes. The weight of men's assessing eyes and women's judging ones became a familiar, if not easy, burden whenever I was on the mainland.
So I sat there on the van, trying to ignore the invisible bubble the Islanders had created around me. My friend's leg pressed comfortingly against mine. A woman boarded last with her daughter and a large basket of taro. She quickly took in the situation, and barked at the girl in Pidgin, "You sit with the Arokuao. I'll sit here."
I could feel my friend stiffen beside me. The woman had used the Island equivalent of the 'N' word we use here in the States, except it was their word for a white person. The daughter was looking at me, her face betraying her hesitance at having to sit next to the white skin. I gathered grace around me and smiled at her.
"You can sit here, there's room," I said, in flawless Pidgin.
As the girl slid down next to me, I looked over her head and watched her mother's slowly dawning realization that I had understood what she said.
To quote the inestimable Dr. Martin Luther King Jr, "Darkness cannot put out darkness. Only light can do that."
Saturday, January 14, 2012
2012 Goals - Weekly Schedule
Warning before you read: This is just a little update on my 2012 goals, and therefore will be pretty dry. Feel free to skip :)
This year, one of my big focuses is organization - household organization, and organization of my time. I found a few years ago that as a stay-at-home mom, I do best when I create a schedule for myself to guide me through the day. If I don't, I end up wandering from one task to the next, leaving each half done, and feeling overwhelmed because there is SO MUCH TO DO and I don't know what to focus on first. With a schedule, I know that the kitchen floor will be mopped on Friday, and the cabinets wiped down on Monday. So on the other days, I don't worry about it! It's pretty freeing.
I used Microsoft Excel to create my schedule, creating it just like I used to make my weekly schedules when teaching. It's posted below. I'll let you know how it works for me, and if we're able to stick with it.
This year, one of my big focuses is organization - household organization, and organization of my time. I found a few years ago that as a stay-at-home mom, I do best when I create a schedule for myself to guide me through the day. If I don't, I end up wandering from one task to the next, leaving each half done, and feeling overwhelmed because there is SO MUCH TO DO and I don't know what to focus on first. With a schedule, I know that the kitchen floor will be mopped on Friday, and the cabinets wiped down on Monday. So on the other days, I don't worry about it! It's pretty freeing.
I used Microsoft Excel to create my schedule, creating it just like I used to make my weekly schedules when teaching. It's posted below. I'll let you know how it works for me, and if we're able to stick with it.
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