Weekly Happenings: Extreme Flexibility in Action

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No, not yoga. Homeschooling.

I wrote about my Dad's surgery earlier this week. On Tuesday morning, I drove two hours north to be there with my family. I left Himself in charge of the girls. He was armed with a schedule of their activities; they were armed with a detailed list of assignments, organized by day.

I took my laptop with me, and I was able to use the hospital's guest wifi to hop online any time I wanted to do so. The girls emailed me narrations, photos of artwork "narrations," questions, and a short composition piece. I responded to each email.

They really seemed to enjoy it. There was an element of independence in this style of work, combined with  the sense of closeness technology provides. Was it perfect? No. But did it work when we needed it? Yes.

It helps, of course, that my children are in middle school. They are ready for a bit more independence, whether they realize it or not. In fact, these few days away proved to me that I can -- and should -- increase their level of responsibility for their own education, as well as increase my expectations for the quality of their work.

They are growing up. Right before my eyes.

I'm linking up with:
Weird, Unsocialized Homeschoolers
HammockTracks
The Homeschool Mother's Journal

Confessions of a Mediocre Cook: Tiny Apple Pies

Many of my culinary successes are totally serendipitous. This is one of them.

If you'll recall, we visited a local apple orchard back in the fall. I sliced, peeled, and froze quite a few of the apples I brought home. If you plan to use them in cooking, this is an excellent method of keeping them.

In December, I attempted to make angel biscuits and failed. I think my yeast was too old because they didn't rise. They tasted pretty good and, since I made a double (failed) batch, I froze at least thirty of them, unbaked.

And then I had an idea.

The dough wasn't good for biscuits, but it might be nice for pastry.

Thank heavens for the muse of culinary inspiration!

I thawed 12 biscuits and five apple slices. I chopped the apples in my Pampered Chef food chopper (love that thing!) and then pressed out the excess water so my little pies wouldn't be soggy. There is very little worse than a soggy pie to ruin one's hopes. Since frozen apples are already soft, there's no need to worry about pre-cooking them.

I flattened each biscuit round into a bit larger circle, spooned some apple (which was like chunky applesauce) onto one side, and then sprinkled the apple with cinnamon sugar. I folded the other biscuit half over the apple, crimped the edges with a fork, and sprinkled a bit more cinnamon sugar on top. Then I baked them at 425 degrees until they were golden brown. Ta da!

I am ridiculously proud of myself. You'd understand if you knew how much I long to be a great cook but seem destined to slog away in mediocrity.

They were really tiny bites of happiness. In the photo above, three tiny pies rest on a Fiesta saucer!

Keeping Vigil

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My dad is undergoing surgery this morning for a cancerous stomach tumor. After the surgery, he'll be in ICU for a couple of days and then recuperating in the hospital another five or so days. My sisters and I want to be there with my mama as much as we can, so I'm driving up right away.

I've spent many hours over the last few days creating detailed schedules and lists for Himself and the girls, organizing help from friends where needed, and taking care of the bits that need doing when one is going to be away. I've put my Amazon seller and PaperbackSwap accounts on inactive status. I've done laundry. I've labeled all Tiny Girl's costume pieces with her name; "crunch" for her production begins tonight. I've held meetings with Himself and the girls, making sure all ducks are in a row.

As for school, the girls' lesson load is a bit lighter than normal. They will be emailing me some narrations, and I've asked for two "drawing" narrations, both of which are novel to them. I've tried to play up the independent aspect of this type of learning -- if they buckle down, they should be able to wrap things up quickly each day and have a good bit of free (reading) time.

Fortunately, Himself will be able to work from home most of the time. He has two meetings he can't reschedule, but the girls will be fine. Two friends are handling the crunch carpool and two others are helping us get the girls where they need to be when he can't.

All this preparation has been exhausting and worrisome, but it will be worth it. The end result is this: when I'm at the hospital keeping vigil with my sisters and mother, I can be completely in those moments. I can focus on the most immediate needs.

Keeping vigil demands all our attention, all our resources. I've done all I can to settle things here at home. Now all I can do is trust that all will be well.

The Power of Really Good Books

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My daughter is crying, and I'm happy about it.

I know that sounds harsh, so let me explain. She's crying over a book -- something she's never done before and has even criticized her sister for doing. "It's not real," she has said with a superior air. "It's only a book."

Only a book.

It's not that she's never connected with literature prior to this. Both my daughters are avid readers, and we make time in our day for plenty of pleasure reading. This child in particular reads while she eats breakfast and lunch. In fact, at lunch we all read. And she's known for reading aloud funny parts to share with me. She loves to read.

Over the last few weeks, she's been reading through L. M. Montgomery's Anne of Green Gables series. We have them all. I've only read the first, myself. She is now on Rilla of Ingleside. Rilla (for Marilla) is one of Anne and Gilbert Blythe's children, in case you didn't know. This story takes place during World War I, which is natural fodder for some complicated and tragic circumstances. One of the boys who goes off to fight is killed in France.

My daughter was devastated. She brought me the book, tears on her cheeks, and said, "Read that part," pointing to words on the page. I read it, my mouth dropped open, and my eyes flew back to her face.

She nodded and began to cry in earnest. "I can't believe he's dead!"

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Later in the day, she made several comments, such as:

"I know he's just a character, but L. M. Montgomery makes everyone seem so real."

"Poor (name of love interest), she's going to be so sad."

"Have you ever read books that made you cry?"

And at bedtime: "I can't believe I've cried so much about him. I didn't know he and I were so close!"

She and I had a lovely discussion about books that touch our hearts.

Isn't that the power of really good books? To take us out of ourselves and into another world? To be drawn in by characters so well created they seem real to us? To be delighted with their good fortunes and heartbroken at their tragedies? And to never forget them?

Finally my daughter understands. It's never only a book.