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Showing posts from September, 2009

The examined life

The top of the chalkboard in my high school Western Civilization class was emblazoned with this quote: "The unexamined life is not worth living." - Socrates A sophomoric sophomore or an eleventh grader acting like an 11-year-old would sometimes venture to alter the quote, either by erasing part of it or by adding letters here or a word there. Each time this happened, we would snicker and await the reaction of our teacher - Mr. L.R. Smith - when he entered the room. It was always the same. He simply rewrote the quote and started class as though nothing had happened. At first glance, it's obvious that Mr. Smith was following classic teaching (and parenting) advice by not reacting to this non-destructive, rebellious behavior from the children he was charged with teaching. I believe there was much more to his lack of a reaction, however. By writing the quote in chalk instead of using a more permanent medium, he was actually encouraging us to alter it. And, by altering i

It all comes out in the wash

Sunday is a special day for me. It's the one day I can sleep late, even if sometimes that's only by half an hour. I don't feel compelled to check my email or - on some weeks - even turn on my cell phone. Sunday is my day to relax, hang out with the kids, and watch Mike play video games. In short, Sunday is my "guaranteed" day off. But you can't fully appreciate the sun without clouds, and there is one big cloud that hangs over my Sundays. Laundry. In the litany of household chores, doing laundry has to be the least satisfying and the least appreciated. Unlike cooking, washing the dishes, or grouting the shower, laundry is never truly "done." Even if you insist that your whole family spend Sunday in their birthday suits just so all their clothes can get washed, there is always the stray sock or pair of jeans that somehow escapes your notice and the washing machine, never mind that you walked by it a half dozen times while hauling baskets of soi

Everthing I need to know in life, I learned from the weatherman

"There are two types of people in this world...." That phrase is the introduction to some of the finest examples of egotism on the market. The most conventional way of completing the phrase, "There are two types of people in this world," is to put oneself (and whomever one is addressing) in the lofty position of being "right" and everyone else in the inferior position of being "wrong" or in some way lacking, at least by the speaker's self-centered set of standards. Then there is the oversimplification factor. There are, of course, many types of people in this world. How boring would it be if there were only two? Life isn't about me, and life isn't that simple. But, when it comes to living life to the fullest, there are two types of people in this world: those who jump in with both feet and live with the consequences of their actions, and those who over-think every little detail to the point that no action ever gets taken. More oft

The week the Lord has made

I've had one of those weeks. You know the kind: you're rolling along, enjoying the sun on your face, not a cloud in the sky.... Then out of nowhere comes a bit of bad news. The "bad news" isn't even really that bad; it's just a little cloud over the sun that shone on your life a few minutes earlier, but it's enough to rock you back on your heels. You take a little breath and start to regain your balance...and another piece of bad news comes blowing in from the south, gusting at about 35 miles per hour. Not so bad as Oklahoma wind gusts go, but since you were already off balance this gust knocks you to your knees. It's starting to look a little darker outside your window, but the weather could hold out. After all, your personal forecast didn't call for rain. You take a deeper breath and get one foot under you, and then the phone rings. Fortunately, it is clipped to your belt, so at least you don't twist an ankle rushing to answer it. But

Putting yourself out there

Since I am "the writer" in the family, I am in charge of my 10-year-old son's English classes this year (my husband and I homeschool our children.) I say I am "the writer" because I haven't written anything other than business letters and e-mails for more than five years. Still, as Mike and I were assessing the curriculum for this school year we both decided that it was time for Ian to move beyond basic grammar and - since I am the parent with the most writing experience - that I should be the one to teach all the joys of composition. This was one of the most exciting prospects I had encountered in quite some time. Not only would I finally have an active role in our homeschool, but I would be teaching writing, something I have always loved to do. We just completed day 4 of the school year, and I've lost count of the number of times I've made my son cry. I think we're up to seven. Now, I realize that Ian is only in fifth grade and that I can