A Log of Eccentric Homeschooling Activities

Homeschooling ActivitiesWhat to do on a steamy fall morning, after the school books have been taken off the table? The traffic had calmed, the stores were full of retirees—the perfect time for a homeschooler’s outing.

First Up: The Hardware Store

The mid-morning sun was hot enough to turn the plastic handle on the fancy race car cart to the temperature of scalding dishwater. I stood there in those strong golden rays at the store front, while the children had a good educational examination of the lawn mowers for sale. The tot nearly tripped over the fat yellow cord that is either there to trip up the schemes of thieves, or to trip up toddlers that want to climb on them. Maybe both.

The boy knows a lot about riding lawn mowers. He quickly popped the hood.

“Here’s the oil! Let’s check the battery,” he said, shuffling around the machine. The tot climbed aboard, gripping the steering wheel like she was ready for a bumpy ride. “Look! Here’s the gas!” Continued the boy.

I eyed the passersby, all nice retirees thinking the kids were cute. I wondered when a sales associate would show up and tell me that children are not supposed to open the gas caps. None were in sight. The kids moved onto the next mower. A quick examination of oil, battery, and gas tank was made. Then the boy got comfy up on top, moving levers that made uncomfortable clunks. I was beginning to sweat. The boy hopped off the row of green mowers and onto an orange one.

Homeschooling Activities
The tot shaking the skeleton like a puppy shakes a toy.

“Look! This one is like ours because it is not a John Deere!” The boy said. I hadn’t realized that all mower manufacturers could be lumped into two categories: “John Deere” and “Not John Deere.” I felt like the boy should be wearing a baseball cap with the John Deere logo on it. Maybe he ought to be staring in a commercial with that line.

Moving Right Along

I managed to usher the kindergartner and the nursery school tot into the race car cart and into the air conditioning. Shop class was over. We strolled through the store, through the appliances.

“This place is a house!” The boy said, pointing to all the display kitchens. “How do they get those kitchens home?” If only kitchens could be installed with a crane, the entire room dropped down inside as though it were part of a doll house.

We meandered over to the Halloween section. The tot looked with trepidation at a large blown-up pumpkin-headed creature. We kept the cart moving.  There was no fear of the green-faced witch, or the growling wolf-man, and some genuine affection for the skeletons. We squeezed in a little bit of anatomy in today’s lessons after all.

We headed home.  The children then took it upon themselves to take home economics class. Today’s topic covered was cookie making, in addition to flour scattering, raisin eating, and other more minor skills required in baking.

The results were quite impressive.

Homeschooling Activities

The Twelve Inch Tire Version of Life

Twelve-Inch Tire“Hurry! We’ve got to catch those people!” The boy yelled, picking up his bike where he had tossed it on the road. There was something reminiscent of a person hopping on a motorcycle and blasting off, the way the boy hopped onto that twelve-inch-tired bike and sped off.

“Oh no! We’ve got to catch the people!” The tot shouted in the twelve-inch-tire version of a voice. She started the twelve-inch-tire version of a run, which I could manage to keep up with pretty well with my twenty-six inch tire version of legs.

I ambled onward, looking at the sky. The Florida version of Mother Nature isn’t convinced that the seasons are shifting. Today she took a day off from her work toward autumn, and decided to sic some nasty summer thunderstorms on us. The clouds were still swaying about the sky, slowly clearing off, as the sun gave over to the moon.

“We’ve got to catch the people! We’ve got to catch the people!” The tot chanted, her words garbled up here and there as she stumbled over nicks in the road. I picked up the pace a bit, dragging an umbrella stroller with a mind of its own along with me. The thing was bent on turning in any direction that wasn’t straight, and we skittered along together to the sound of the tot’s garbled chant.


Down the curving streets, as twilight started to seep in. There were no other kids out so late on a school night; just us homeschoolers. Nobody in our house is getting up at 6:30 in the morning to pack a school lunch tomorrow.

“Hurry! Hurry!” The boy egged us on, held back by the rule of not getting too far ahead, dragging us along like a rusty anchor. “They turned the corner!”

We soon stood at the crossroads.  A left turn to be homeward bound; a right turn to further the chase. I looked up at the moon, almost full, shining down on us. My mom used to say that walking in moonlight was good for you. I decided I agreed.

Moonlit Walk
Chasing the Moon

“We’ll take the long way tonight, because the moon is full,” I told the children, who cheered and continued on. The suspects were getting away—they had to act fast.

The moon followed us, sneaking a glance at us through the pine trees. I watched how the branches of live oaks, so normally appealing in the daylight with the stately way they stand horizontal to the ground, suddenly looked eerie in the growing darkness. Everything loses its comfort in the dark. All that full moonlight soothes us.

Win or Lose

The boy was still held back, dragging along his anchor; a breathless tot made a false move in a shallow ditch and landed her butt in muddy water. Tears were shed, mud was sloshed, and then again: “We’ve got to catch the people!”

By the next bend I could see our heroes were growing tired. The tot’s trot was becoming a waddle. The boy’s enthusiasm had waned. The sun sent out its last burst of color, bits of pink here and there—a backdrop of light to all the silhouettes of Florida: Short needle pines, miscellaneous under-story scrub, and palmetto fronds.

Florida Sunset
The dramatic version of Florida, that exists in my imagination.

Sadly, the people’s distant figures disappeared around a curve, too far off to be pursued any further. The scent had gone cold. I don’t know what the neighbors did to be chased like that, but no doubt it was something very offensive—the twelve-inch tire version of offensive, anyway.

Cooking with Children: Teaching Skills and Vulgarity

Big gold eyes stared at me from the darkness.  Unblinking, full of misery—the stare of determination. His breath was held, as he waited for my response. I gave none. Finally, he folded. Give me the cheese, he said with his eyes.

Teaching Children Cooking
In case you wondered what I look like, here is my self portrait—forty-one eyes.

“It’s been a long day,” I said, “You’ve got dog food you know.” The house is very quiet now, so quiet I can hear the summer insects singing through the walls. Everything has its balance. Twelve hours ago it was all noise.

Scout Meeting Number Two

Today I handed over my newly cleaned house on a silver platter to our Spiral Scouts circle. As their fearless leader, I ushered seven kids under seven into the dining room to continue work on our cooking badge. I got lucky. The first badge my circle is working on is something I enjoy teaching children.

As per the badge requirements, the children are learning the seven-year-and-younger version of self-sufficiency. Self-sufficiency began today with making a side salad, largely because I could incorporate a bunch of physical skills into it.

The Procedure

My dining room table would have looked very elegant set up with various shining metal bowls of water for washing the lettuce leaves, if it were not for that ugly red bowl. Scouts’ dues don’t exactly pay for beauty—they barely pay for lettuce.

Teaching children cooking
That blasted red bowl…

After washing the leaves, the scouts had to break them into appropriate sized pieces and put them in their own bowl. I should have gotten pictures of the salads. There were many almost intact lettuce leaves. I heard one parent saying “Are you going to fit that in your mouth?” The kids either learned to break salad greens, or learned how to have vulgar eating habits. Either way.

Teaching children cooking
Banana-Split Carrots and Tomatoes

The children then traveled to the west side of the dining room table, where I had put seven carrots in a pretty little banana-split dish. Who makes banana-splits in a fancy dish? Clearly, it was made for holding carrots. Reverse psychology—now I really want to make a banana split in that thing. Anyway, the kids then had to peel their carrots, and grate them over their salads. This, thank goodness, resulted in no skinned-knuckles. I heard more than one parent say “Now we don’t want any thumbs in our salads.” I love these people.

Teaching children cooking
The Aftermath

Then they added a few cherry tomatoes, and moved onward to the east end of the table, where I hovered over the bottle of expensive olive oil. It was time to make my standard vinaigrette, which was almost guaranteed to repulse any child, but did require a great deal of measuring and pouring for practice’s sake. The children poured their olive oil and balsamic vinegar, measured out their sugar, salt, and garlic, and then got to shake the mixture up in a mason jar—the fun part. Miraculously, three out of the seven children (including the refined taste buds of my son) actually liked the vinaigrette. The other children were given your standard American ranch dressing to mask the garlic/balsamic vinegar.

Teaching children to cook
And then the return of quiet, to balance it all out.

Then, all restraints gave way. The children ran circles around the house like screaming banshees, just blurs of the same colored polo shirt uniform. Another scout meeting under my belt, complete with a side salad.

I gave the cheese to Big Dog. Those sad gold eyes—he’s too good.

Those Pretty Sparks Don’t Stay Lit in the Sky Long

I woke up bright and early because there was a toddler sitting on my chest. “Read books, Mama,” she said with enthusiasm, her bright blue eye gleaming. Good god it’s too early for this. I read one book and persuaded her away from the other by saying: “Today is the fourth of July! It’s a holiday.” I slipped out of bed while she was still thinking that over.

image-2018-07-05.jpgFirework flowers that drop sparks into the pool.
The boy had already updated his calendar, glad to finally be able to use the little “Independence Day” magnet. Like a doting homeschool mother, I allowed him to nix our schooling activities for the day and replaced it with a five minute discussion while holding the globe. I explained how tiny little England, way over in Europe, owned the USA, and already I felt us falling down the rabbit hole. Explaining history to kindergarteners is complicated. The United Kingdom does not even accurately appear on my preschool-appropriate homemade globe of only the basic shapes of the continents. Explaining how the tiny mystery island had control over the enormous piece of land that is the USA is confusing. “Well, back then there were only 13 colonies – like states…” I said. We escaped the rabbit hole with the knowledge that it is officially time to get out the real globe. I gave the boy a stack of American themed mazes and slipped out of there.

image-2018-07-05 (1).jpgNature’s fireworks
I went into the kitchen. I needed to knock out a couple things before the guests arrived. I started a peanut butter pie—one meant to be uncooked and kept in the fridge. I proceeded to make a beautiful crust—every piece of butter was blended smoothly into a beautifully textured dough. The edges were scalloped to perfection. The peanut butter filling was fluffy as whipped cream; the chocolate layer atop gleaming gloss. I went to put it in the fridge, and then it hit me. I never baked the crust. Shit.

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So then the guests arrived. Children poured into the house like water bursting out of a busted hose. Similar to being soaked by that hose water, joyous noises saturated the house. Covered dishes and bottles of alcohol, bags spilling over with bathing suits and towels came in too. The French doors clip-clapped against each other with a steady rhythm throughout the afternoon. The stack of fireworks on the buffet was continually visited by children.When is it time? They knew the answer to that question, but the sun was so lazily moving through the sky. Stories, jokes, vodka and sprite cluttered in around the dining room. A good friend set the tarot cards on the table, for the seasonal reading. Gold light trickled in through the thin curtains, setting the mood despite the background revelers. Three mysterious looking cards were flipped upward onto the table, and the interpretations began.

Children burst in again. Still not time to do fireworks. Paper crafts and glue hit the table, and four new Statutes of Liberty dawned the dining room with their crowns. The statues paraded through the house in one quick swoop, before returning to ask about the fireworks. The peanut butter pie was set on the table and good news! Baked peanut butter pie tastes just like one enormous Reese’s cup. Success.

Mother Nature began her fireworks just prior to dusk. The clouds were lit with delicate pink and gold. The preparations began: Hosing the children down with bug spray made of something fancy, finding eight misplaced little shoes. Flashlight? Check. Does anyone have a lighter? Scramble, shuffle. The dogs started to pace nervously—Old Man Dog ready for the excitement, Big Dog stressed by the anticipation. Outside, blue light had fallen on everything. There were loud pops and giggles. Finally, a lighter was located with stern instructions. Point the sparkler away from everyone! Pictures and pictures and more pictures of the obligatory child-with-sparkler pose.

image-2018-07-05 (3).jpgA grainy picture still preserves a moment…
Us folks in the quasi-country like fireworks, so much so that observing a show requires not a lot of effort on our part. The neighbors lit the sky in every direction with out-of-state fireworks to rival the professional show downtown. We did our part with a few spinning UFOs, and a couple sparkly fountains. The night grew lazy with all those stars; the mosquitos grew ambitious. One more sparkler? Can I do one more? One adult was left in charge of a box of matches and the Sparkler Children. The adults went inside to the fake light of the sleepy dining room. Yawning adults started to collect their wet bags of bathing suits and towels and empty casserole dishes.

I tinkered around the house, picking up a few things, but not really making an effort. Holidays aren’t for cleaning. I tucked exhausted children into bed under a fan on high speed and the very distant booms of parties still partying. Another beautiful summer holiday on the books. Time just keeps moving forward—got to enjoy it. Those pretty sparks don’t stay lit in the sky long.

Firefly Magic (for any age)


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Beautiful lace.

Gleaming neon butts blinking away to the dark night are completely fascinating to Floridians. I can’t say with certainty that Florida does not have fireflies, but we only see them once in a blue moon. My three favorite things about coming up north to visit my grandmother are Queen Anne’s lace, fireflies, and rocks—in that order.


We were all tinkering around my grandmother’s porch as dusk approached this evening. My grandmother was sitting on the porch-swing telling me a story about her high school days.  She once had to ride on a logging truck while wearing an evening gown, in order to attend a special event for her graduation. During this story, the tot found a miniature version of a mop and was scraping it haphazardly across the boards. The boy was counting cars, shouting out with enthusiasm what the models were. It was then I caught the first glimmer of the blinking neon butts.

The boy ran down the porch steps with his little glass jar and aluminum foil top. He is far from a bug catching novice. He knows the importance of speed and dexterity—gentle but not too gentle. He is very effective at what he does. But soon he was back, imploring me to assist with controlling the captives while new captives were shuffled in. I walked down to the dry green grass, dotted all over with clover. The woods was painted with odd shadowy shapes, having taken in night before everywhere else. The fireflies looked like happy little nightlights gleaming on and off against it. They looked like pure magic. I had been wanting to catch them in a jar—like I’d seen in books and on TV when I was a kid—but until recently I had no real excuse to do so. Finally, the boy could be the excuse to get those little blinkers in one place for a proper examination.

image-2018-06-20 (3).jpgWonderful, useful rocks.
It should be pointed out here that “firefly” is not the correct terminology for where I am visiting. Apparently “firefly” is a northern term. In the dialect of my location, they are “lightening bugs”.


The tot, intrigued with the fireflies lightening bugs but lacking the concentration stamina of the boy, ran around the grass carrying a paintbrush she’d picked up somewhere while yelling out random things. I was busy manning the aluminum foil. The boy kept catching them, and I kept tapping on the top saying to them “Back, beasts! Back!” as I resealed the aluminum foil. Calling them beasts was maybe a little harsh. They are so lovely, they deserved better.

“Come up here and let me see what size jar you’ve got,” my grandmother called from the porch steps—cane in one hand, hammer in the other. A proper sizing and holing of the top was done, and we were prepared to take on the lot of them with our new, efficient equipment.

The tot ran up to me, putting her face within two inches of mine, and with wide eyes declared “Fireflies!” Toddler excitement is so contagious.

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The best I could do.

The boy beckoned me down toward the deep, dark woods where they were plentiful and magical like a gathering of fairies. Who should a female lightening bug pick? The one that flashes the most frequently, or the one that flashes a millisecond longer than the other? Or just the first flasher she comes along? Decisions, decisions.

We captured what I thought was ten, but got confused because there were many escapees, and many additions, and too much movement to get a proper count. We carried them up to the porch where I kept telling the boy to startle the jar to make them flash. I was bent on getting a flashing picture. After all, I’d been waiting for this opportunity for years.

Eventually we went in to eat homemade chocolate chess pie. Now I sit awake in bed with a jar of lightening bugs on the night stand.

The stinkers are not flashing though.

The Creatures of Nightmares, a Field-trip.


“Where’s that food shipment for the T-Rex? He’s getting pretty grouchy,” a woman’s voice chirped out from a radio overhead. “On its way,” a man said. “What about the Velociraptor issue? There’s a lot of noise over here.”

A camouflage colored fabric surrounded the corridor, keeping us on track. We passed the four foot long skull of a creature lying abandoned in the sand just outside of our hallway. The boy eyed it, squinting. I could feel the adrenaline rising in his little four-year-old self. The radio continued with its alarming rattle of static and voices squawking out concerns. We passed a nest the size of a sandbox, tall as the boy’s chin. He strained himself to see the large eggs inside. He looked cautiously. Anything could be in there. Anything could be coming out of there at any moment. The tension was mounting.

We rounded a corner and there was the entrance into the danger. A large map told us we had entered Pangea. The boy didn’t look at it – he’s always wanted to see Pangea, but now that he was there he must keep his wits about him. Pangea made a gentle transition. The first creature in sight was small and looked like it could be the boy’s pet. It shook its tail back and forth, shuffling along the ground. This did not calm the anxieties from the distant rumbles and groans pounding through the woods. We rounded the next corner and saw a Protoceratops. A swamp surrounded the trail on one side with thick tangles of vines and low hanging plants. More humans crowded in behind us. There was no escape, only forward.


The sister, only two years wise, walked at his side. She did not know fear. She did not know dinosaurs, either. I awaited a change in heart. She stopped in front of a grouchy looking fellow, as tall as her papa. It spat at her and she did not flinch. She looked him square in the eye and said in firm toddler words, “He have water.” This little tot had proved herself. She was then our guide.

Onward ho, past the freakish Archaeopteryx, around the angry pounding on a shed marked “velociraptor”, next to the formidable Dakotaraptor.

Things took a sudden alarming turn. Out of nowhere stood the story-tall Spinosaurus. He nodded his thin face back and forth, his mouth open wide displaying his sharp teeth and his tongue flicking back and forth. He towered over our guide and the boy. The boy stared on with trepidation, declining a photograph with the beast, but no doubt absorbing his monstrous proportions. The Spinosaurus never again would be an inch tall orange plastic model bought from the dime bin at the thrift store. It would now have new life.


We continued past the mild triceratops and a freakish looking tractor-sized reptile coated in white hair. The boy was growing more comfortable; the guide was walking with complete confidence. We reached the finale. Peeking through the tree branches, sneakily watching until we approached, and then letting out an almighty roar with a shake of its massive head and barred teeth, was the inevitable Tyrannosaurus Rex. He roared on, and fool-hardy tourists took pictures beneath him. The boy stood still briefly for one, because he knew the others would be the first to go should the T-Rex attack.

The guide earned a two dollar tip, the equivalent of a carousel ride.

This is a homeschooling fieldtrip: learning about dinosaurs, and scaring the tarnation out of your student at the same time.

Our Lamborghini is the Shop. Homeschooling is a house full of car parts.

“Some days are diamonds, some days are rocks.” Yesterday was a diamond kind of day, or at least some sort of gem stone. Today was a rock. Or not even a true rock—a block of concrete.

Yesterday, we stayed home and took it easy. The boy spent his free time working on his extracurricular pursuits. He has high hopes of being a toy vehicle mechanic. First, he figured out how to properly put in AA batteries into his electronic trucks. Then, he had to figure out how to remove screws from them, and before I knew it, the boy was taking them all to pieces. We have a truck graveyard on the kitchen counter—six inch long bumpers, colored plastic headlight squares, and screws rolling all over. He learned an important lesson: When taking something apart, it may never fully go back together. This knowledge hasn’t slowed him down in the least.

Right now there is a milk truck in my living room flipped upside down, exposing its underbelly and a missing battery cover. It looks as though it is waiting for anesthesia before surgery begins. A large Hess tractor trailer is taking up part of the free space on the couch next to me. It has a cracked flatbed. Half the screws have been removed and an intricate system of internal organ/wiring is exposed. This is a difficult case, but what the mechanic lacks in experience he makes up for with enthusiasm.

A Lamborghini has its top casing off, revealing an electronic board—the brain. I don’t know what is wrong with the Lamborghini that would require brain surgery. I just hope the mechanic remembers to count all his tools before sealing it back up this time. A Lamborghini with a rattle would be an embarrassment, especially for the Italian police. This is, for the record, a Lamborghini Polizia car. It says so on the side. I had no idea Italian police drove Lamborghini’s—you learn so much when you have children.

There is a Hess Gasoline helicopter sitting at my feet. I have no idea why Hess needs helicopters, but apparently they do. At present it is missing the door to the cockpit, which looks exceedingly dangerous and likely the cause for it to end up in this repair shop. The first fix of tape did not work. The door was lost, hopefully without taking the pilot with it.

A random boom with a roller attached to it has been dropped in the middle of the living room. It is kind of like seeing a detached robot arm. I don’t know why it was removed from the tractor, or if it will be returned. Who knows, maybe it is going on the Hess helicopter – the Frankenstein of helicopters.

Today—concrete day—I accomplished nothing. I spun my wheels all day. While wasting time, I found screws and car pieces beginning to invade normal areas of the house. Stray screws were falling onto my clean dishes. There are car parts on my bed. I’ve begun to invent and enforce ordinances—no trucks in the kitchen, no screw drivers on the floor, no tune-ups during meal times, etc.

Last I heard, there was mention of making a “toy store” of truck parts. Tomorrow, all may be hauled off to the toy truck junk yard. They will be salvaged, for what mechanical research I do not know.

Learning While Not Learning: Skins, Wings, and Shells

I was up to my elbows in soap suds this afternoon, when my son came in to ask me to look at a snake he had found. I assumed it was one of two scenarios: he’d managed to find some discarded toy that was snake-like, or by the time he had meandered in and I meandered out any real-live snake would be long gone. Neither inspired me to drop what I was doing, but I went out anyway. Can’t be too careful with children and snakes. As it turned out, there was a snake. Or rather, part of one.


This is a great specimen for our nature table. Unfortunately the snake managed to squeeze himself under a picket fence while shedding it, and it tore easily into multiple pieces. It now looks something like a strip of papery bubble wrap. At the moment that it was found I had a bit of indigestion, and the look of the tube on the inside of the skin made my weak stomach want to empty itself. Something about that tube, yuck. The stomach turning papery bubble wrap is now on display with our other odds and ends.

Here is our bug collection. Of course, looking at and handling a real specimen is a much better learning tool than any picture. Better still, having them all together for viewing the characteristics of an insect. Do they all have six legs? Yes. Exoskeletons? Check. Perhaps wings? Antennae?


I am not too easily intimidated by bugs, unless they creep up on me. Since this bug collection was started, zombie bugs have managed to startle me. Mostly it has been by way of my son suddenly dancing them around in front of my face like a puppet on his finger.

The thing that catches my eye most about this collection is the cockroach. That is the only bug in the group that has a negative association with it as being a “dirty” insect. Not considering its habit of invading human homes, it does have a repulsive look to it. It is so shiny and such an unattractive brown. Poor, disgusting creature.

The nature table also sports a bit of ocean. I snuck some writing practice into my kindergartner’s examination of seashells. We both learned a lot of shell names and there were a lot of good questions. My son kept wanting to know more about how the shells once had creatures similar to a clam living inside them. It is hard for a four year old to grasp that the slimy, sluggish blob is a living creature.


Sneaky homeschool teachers are always finding ways to push some learning into times outside of the teaching schedule.

The Virtues of Nursery Rhymes

I love children’s books. Long before my children could understand, I was reading to them. When my son was a toddler I would read to him things far above his attention span while he played toys. Initially it seemed like only a soothing activity to me, but now I realize that I genuinely love the content of children’s books. They are likable for a few obvious reasons: the stories are happy, beautiful, or peaceful; and if not, they are exciting stories of adventure. They are a short reprieve from the reality of adulthood.

My toddler daughter has been very interested in Mother Goose lately, so I have spent a lot of time with our tattered copy. The poor thing has tape on almost every page.

As a child I learned many Mother Goose rhymes by heart. I was surprised how many rushed back to me once I started reciting them for my son. There is all sorts of virtue mixed into the classic stories of childhood. For instance, there is the classic rhyme:

Row, row, row your boat,
Gently down the stream,
Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily,
Life is but a dream.

I struggle to take this philosophy to heart, but I would like to.

There is also a lot of sneaky wisdom in Mother Goose. For instance, we have the importance of details:

For want of a nail, the shoe was lost,
For want of the shoe, the horse was lost,
For want of a horse, the rider was lost,
For want of a rider, the battle was lost,
For want of the battle, the kingdom was lost,
And all for the want of a horseshoe nail.


The itsy bitsy spider
Climbed up the water spout.
Down came the rain
And washed the spider out.

Out came the sun
And dried up all the rain,
And the itsy bitsy spider
Climbed up the spout again.


They that wash on Monday
Have all the week to dry;
They that wash on Tuesday
Are not so much awry;
They that wash on Wednesday
Are not so much to blame;
They that wash on Thursday,
Wash for shame;
They that wash on Friday,
Wash in need;
And they that wash on Saturday
Are lazy folks indeed.


Speak kindly to your dog, my boy!
All things that live know pain and joy.
Speak harshly to your dog and see
How sad and shamed he seems to be;
His head, and ears, and tail all say,
Oh! Let me go far, far away!

And for patience:

Little Maiden,
Better tarry;
Time enough next year to marry.
Hearts may change,
And so may fancy;
Wait a little longer, Nancy.

Then there is the more well-known side of Mother Goose, which leaves the reader full of questions.  Like this one about the ultimate party:

Hey, diddle, diddle,
The cat and the fiddle,
The cow jumped over the moon.
The little dog laughed
To see such sport,
And the dish ran away with
The spoon.

And lastly, one relevant to conclude this post:

The man in the moon
Looked out of the moon
And this is what he said,
“Tis time that, now I’m getting up,
All babies went to bed.”

Goodnight World.


I am a reasonably young person, with an old person’s mind.  My body might be thirty-one; my mind is seventy-one.  If reincarnation is possible, I was likely a headmistress with a well pressed dress, hair tied up in a fierce top knot, a scowl across my face, and a ruler in my hand for slapping knuckles.

In most other facets of my life I am a disorganized mess, but when it comes to my children I have high expectations and become a strict, and at times intense personality.  It is simply because I want them to not be a procrastinating, disorganized mess (i.e. me).  The trouble is, I feel like most of humanity has a bit of a rebellious streak.  There is something about being given a forceful command, which makes a child want to do the opposite.  I have been slowly accepting that my role as scowling headmistress is not going to fly.   You catch more flies with sugar, I believe the saying goes.

I need balance, and patience, and…maybe a sugar high.

This sketch is my reminder to fight my alter ego tooth and nail–to save our little schoolhouse and my forehead from those deep set wrinkles.