Laura Ingraham called this bribing students to do well, and she disagreed with it. She wondered why parents didn’t expect their children to do well of their own volition. Dr. Alonso pointed out the percentage of his students in foster care or homeless.

Neither was able to articulate that they were talking apples and oranges. The students Ingraham was talking about were children that had homes and loving, involved parents. Dr. Alonso was talking about children that were growing up essentially wild, having to raise themselves. These students could and do take advantage of everything Dr. Alonso and the Baltimore schools throw at them, including money for improved test scores.

He has had remarkable success.

I was troubled with the word, “bribe.” We have a system of positive and negative rewards in our home. If a child does well, they earn a positive reward. If they don’t do well, they earn a negative reward, which looks like a punishment. Everything in society is based on these kinds of rewards–why not prepare them for it at home?

What do you think? Do you consider it bribery or incentive to succeed?

I know, that sounds random and disconnected; I quit going to book club when my mother died. But it was my mother’s book club. I just crashed it at Carol’s invitation some 14 odd years ago. Most of the women in the club are older, in their 60s and up, my mother’s peers and friends.

When she was there, I thought it was cool to be in a group having intelligent conversation with her peeps, many of them movers and shakers in our town.

But after she died, the club was a painful reminder that she was gone, so I stayed away.

Now Carol is back, and she is applying that subtle pressure again. I feel a tug to reconnect. But it feels like a selfish reason. The club started a book writing project years ago, when Carol was still in town the first time, I was still active in the club, and my mother was very much alive. I think I may want to return to the club so I can be part of that book.

Carol told me of her writing homework. I remembered our sessions where we were directed to write for 5 minutes straight on a topic, then read what we wrote aloud to the group. We never discussed editing this stuff. I’m embarrassed by some most of what I wrote. But they’re using some of my stuff as a sample.

Then Carol told me she didn’t know who wrote this piece on beauty. It began: “Beauty is a thicket I’ve been tangled in my whole life. . . ”

I got a shiver down my back. I would know that writer anywhere. It was my mother. As Carol read on, I remembered the evening we wrote those passages, and I could hear my mother read it.

She wrote, “my mother and her sisters were beautiful in the traditional sense. They had light skin and long hair, and with my brown skin and nappy hair, I was sure that I was not. . .” And I was plunged back into my mother’s pain. I felt the weight of her perception of her inadequacy the whole time she was alive.

I remember talking to my friend Claudia after the funeral. She told me that she knew my mother, or had seen her. “She was what they call a handsome woman,” Claudia told me.

I think my mother would have been surprised to see how hard her cousin Tona, whom she envied forever, took her passing. How Tona felt she’d made a spectacle of herself kissing the body and weeping openly.

My mother had tried to keep me away from Tona and her family for many years, so I could avoid the pain she’d felt growing up being compared to her porcelain doll of a cousin. When I’d been born very pale, some of those people tried to welcome me into their group. My mother resisted them, and we didn’t see much of them as I grew up.

I may have had some of their coloring, but I got my mother’s nappy hair, so I wouldn’t have completely fit in over there anyway. My mother passed on her own ambivalence about the hair and the beauty. Beauty was not a priority for her, even though she did keep herself well stocked with Barbara Walden cosmetics.

It was weird getting a hippy-type programming about beauty from her and then rubbing up against her mother, who thought beauty was important. She gave me this ancient girl’s book about beauty etiquette, and wrote this dedication: “Dearest Angela, I expect many thing of you. Beauty is one of them.”

I was an angry teenager, and didn’t want anything to do with that book or my grandmother’s demands. I was completely irrational about it. When our church started a library, we donated that book.

I discovered it much later, when I was a wife and mother of 2, taking my hungry baby to the church library to nurse him during service. I thought the 50s girl book was so charming and quaint. I couldn’t believe how wrong I’d been in judging my grandmother.

I find myself struggling with some of the skewed beauty values I’d gotten from my mother when I deal with my daughters, especially the oldest. She likes to experiment with make-up, wigs, and costumes. I am uncomfortable about all that. I hear my mother’s voice chastising me for constantly looking at myself.

But I know that at her age, my daughter is trying to find out who she is. It’s a good time to do that, before she’s got a family to take care of. She has a sense of self I never had. She knows she is beautiful—she doesn’t know she’s gorgeous, but I think she’s getting an inkling. She needs to continue her exploration until she finds what she’s looking for.

I look in the mirror sometimes and I see my mother looking back at me. It startles me. Did she know she looked like that? Did she know how many times I am told I am beautiful? And I look just like her?

What beauty issues do you have? How do you pass them on or stop yourself from passing them on to your daughters?

It broke my heart to hear how this child, the same age as my son Esteban, would get a message at school that she was scary and to be avoided, just because she is black.

I know there are those who would say that kids have to be exposed to that kind of thing sometime, and you can’t shelter your child always, blah, blah, blah. But I would ask them, “how young would you like to expose your child to attitudes like that?” And, do you really think a 5 year old is equipped to deal with such a reaction? I don’t think any elementary aged child would know what to do with that.

As for the argument that this is a teachable moment? I don’t think it’s the child’s job to teach her peers anything. Why does she have to take eat crap and teach too? Are you kidding me? Where is the other child’s responsibility here? Where is their contrition? Now the child just has the scar, the stress, and the impetus to deal with it.

I don’t know where the justice is in this situation. Maybe if the mother talks to the teacher and the teacher addresses the class? Maybe talk to the other girls’ parents?

Or homeschool in the beginning and deal with people as families, rather than exposing unsupervised children to Lord knows what out in the world?

But there was an unwelcome spirit that came across, even in the syndicated shows. All the children on Disney were sexualized. It was too weird seeing even little children having crushes on older people, and it was all ‘perfectly normal.’

One by one, we stopped letting the children watch shows on Disney, (I’m ashamed how long it took my addicted self)–until we stopped watching it altogether.

Then we discovered Hannah Montana, etc., and have subsequently cut that off as well.

I just saw this. It got my gander all up, reminding me of when I saw Dumbo, The Jungle Book and Song of the South. Then, right at the end of video, it mentions Disney’s history of pedophilia.

That stood the hairs up on the back of my neck. So I googled it. That was an eyeful. And I read that it was not just historical Disney, but current day Disney with the pedophilia issues. Like the incident in 2007 when they ‘accidently’ broadcast porn through Comcast over the Playhouse Disney channel.

Or how in 2007 they canceled an ABC news piece on pedophilia in Disney, but ran a piece on 20/20 in 2008 that was more favorable towards pedophiles.

And the list of Disney employees arrested for child molestation makes my skin crawl.

Disney is like the old man in UP–luring children in with colorful balloons. We can’t fall for this trap. We must protect our children. Do the research yourself. Tell me what you think.

The second group to watch out for potential terrorism is the common law movement proponents. These people are opposed to drivers licenses, among other things.

The third group identified as potential terrorists are lone individuals. Why are individuals so threatening? Because they are less likely to fall for the one-world religion united world characterized by solidarity.

The mindset that would shift the focus from catching confirmed terrorists to identifying potential terrorists does so in the name of ‘prevention.’ The concept of prevention introduces a by any means necessary mind-controlling strategy. It would point fingers at homeschooled children who might be considered loners, independent thinkers unwilling to compromise or who prefer to work alone rather than in groups. Wow! I knew loneliness was bad, but it may become illegal!

I’m not saying it’s socialist–yet. This is the kind of thinking that sets the stage for socialist control. Socialist control looks like targeting people who oppose social, economic and political change.

If isolationism paints a bullseye on your back, why not band together with the common goal of preserving our liberty? Or is that the same thing as ‘solidarity?’ I would think it was different. We’re talking about preserving our liberty to be individuals; they’re talking about how everyone is the same. What say you?

I hear questions like “what is there for homeschoolers, or what do they do for gym?” Questions that don’t have anything to do with freedom. When I hear people say “my child’s teacher let me come in the class. .. “ I think, ‘what?’—Isn’t that your child? You’re not free to be in the place you send them all day? How abdicating, how hands- off!

I didn’t know I was stepping off into freedom. I knew I was stepping into the unknown, and I expected have a guide—the person I blamed for our doing homeschooling in the first place—for many years. Of course, I wouldn’t have done it (homeschooling) if it weren’t for God, and it was really cowardly of me to try and blame my decision on someone else.

And blaming that person was unfair to her, and totally missed the point. I’m sorry for that. Because this was about freedom! There is no guide. I didn’t get that.

I think I sensed that freedom can be isolating. You are free to make decisions that nobody else has ever made, right? So you have no guide, and a darkly lit path, if any. You may be forging your own path.

And sometimes I wonder at what cost freedom? For example, our children are free to decide whether or not they want to play on a team together. They are free to skip practice, or attend. They are free to wear whatever shoe color they want on the team, and free to choose their numbers.

They don’t look as cohesive as other teams they play, especially school teams. When they lose games, the coaches like to blame the schools and their daily practices. But we could choose daily practices, too. We have the freedom to do that. Instead, we choose to practice maybe 3 days a week, if we can make it. Maybe our attitude of complete freedom is not as conducive to a team situation as an approach that would emphasize community? Maybe?

As homeschooling parents, we are free to decide what our children should learn. Then we are responsible for what they learn. That is the case, whether we homeschool or not. That idea just didn’t hit my radar before I jumped off into the homeschool abyss.

That freedom can be a heady thing. They say after slavery was abolished, some folks just wandered aimlessly, looking for their people, not sure where to go or what to do. That’s easy to do without a plan.

I would urge anyone considering homeschooling to survey the landscape carefully and decide where you want to end up. Then you have the freedom to carve your path to that destination. It is an awesome responsibility, and an amazing journey.

Not to be entered into lightly. What do you think?

And I am trying to hunt down their books for the year. Yes, I know I am behind. Yes, I know, I should get kicked out the homeschooling union for that.

Frankly, I’m overwhelmed. There are just too many choices!

I almost wish someone else would choose and buy all the books for me. But that would be school, so nevermind.

It’s already been established that I’m a bad shopper, but this is deeper than that. I read this article last year that summed it up very well. You should go follow the link, but I’ll try to paraphrase what he was getting at. Essentially the illusion of choice just serves to distract us from more important matters.

I totally get that as I work myself into a near panic about which edition of Shakespeare to get for Xay. After reading the basic synopses, it became clear that Shakespeare is going to be hard no matter what. So maybe I should just hope for uniform books, an inspired teacher, and maybe get a discount if I can. Instead I worry that maybe the just right edition will be all Xay needs to comprehend the Bard.

Yanni’s math teacher removed one major source of worry for me. She canceled her class. And I was worried that her choice of textbook was going to be a problem for Yanni. She just got used to Saxon Math last year, and was going to do University of Chicago math this year. Phew. We can go back to Saxon.

Should I be worrying that I’ve failed to find all the books for my two little girls that I plan to teach full-time? And what about their extra-curriculars? Should I sign them up for ballet, or gymnastics, or both? What about the GAMES group, or some other support group with our homeschool organization? Or should I try to build up my own support group instead?

I have so many spread sheets started to help me make these decisions and organize my life. I really don’t have time to write this post.

What do you do to help you make good decisions?

Our church moved to a new building a week or two after that. We had just finished a long building project, where we renovated a large grocery store into a church. During the tour of the construction site, we were shown where the nursing mothers’ room would be. I was excited to have a place for my baby and me in the new building.

After the building was completed, the nursing mothers’ room was not ready yet. I could nurse undercover in the sanctuary, go to the bathroom, or try to find a discreet place in the hall. . . I started to want to stay home. At 6 weeks, my baby was old enough to go in the nursery; I would be called to her during every service until she was 4 months old.

I’m on my 5th baby since then. The original nursing mothers’ room was finished and given to the praise dancers as a dressing room. The church now has a quieting room, outfitted like a nice living room. There is a TV with the service playing in front of leather couches, rocking chairs and other comfortable chairs. Every wall has a sign that reads, ‘nursing mother’s please inquire in the nursery about a nursing room.’

I took Chanya in the quieting room a couple weeks ago. It was empty except for Xay, Chanya and me. I covered the baby and myself with a blanket and proceeded to nurse. A woman nearly broke her neck backflipping through the door to ask me if I wanted to nurse in the nursery. I asked her if she wanted me to. She said something about so many people wanting to get into the quieting room. I silently wondered why they didn’t just come in. It was about 15 minutes until the end of service. I took Chanya to the nursery. In the storage room of the nursery they have two rocking chairs, a TV and a partition. That’s the nursing mother’s room. I thought that was a typo. Surely they didn’t intend to say that there is only one nursing mother in the church. But that’s about how much room they’ve made for us. And I’ve only heard of one other woman in the whole church who ever nursed her child.

Gee, with such a warm reception, I wonder why?

You can hear it a mile off from some people. The ingratiating smile. The cursory ‘how cute,” and then, “How’s the baby sleeping?”

How do I answer that? I mean, do I say what’s on my mind? Something I read in The Womanly Art of Breastfeeding? Which said that question doesn’t mean anything to someone who is sleeping with their baby.

And, let me tell you, after the ride Chanya and I have had with our breastfeeding, the last thing I want her to do is sleep through the night.

But since nobody really cares, and it’s just small talk, Curtis’ answer should be sufficient: “I don’t know about her, but I’m sleeping just fine.” Which then starts up a firestorm of knowing aaahs. Which imply, ‘so she has to get up with the baby. . . ‘ to which Curtis answers, “Angie’s sleeping just fine, too.’ And he’s done.

Except women still pry deeper and deeper to find out what the deal is. And I wonder why that question is so important to them. And why they are so concerned about where Chanya sleeps.

I know all the stuff about spoiling and having the baby learn how to put herself to sleep, and I prefer to deal with all that at nap-time. Night-time is the time Chanya has actually learned how to nurse, which to me is way more valuable than her sleeping all night long.

But to talk about those things points out how much of a granola I am. I am too old to still be worried about fitting in, but, come on! Homeschooling? co-sleeping? breastfeeding? How much more of a freak could I be? The next thing you know, I’ll tell you I’m a swimmer. . .

Or maybe I’m too busy living to sit around wondering what makes me tick.

I was just thinking about this exchange with Y. She picked out a thoughtful present for her birthday mate, and she commented, “I guess if you’re a gift person, you like giving them too.” I thought, I’m not so good at doing service for others. . . and she pointed out that I’m good at giving quality time. Mind you, before last year, I thought my love language was words of affirmation. Clearly, I don’t know what it is, and it doesn’t matter. It’s probably better for me to notice Curtis’ love language, and Y’s etc., and let them worry about mine.

Kind of reminds me of that picture of heaven and hell. There’s a table with a sumptuous feast in both heaven and hell. In both scenarios, the only thing to feed yourself with is a spoon that is so long you couldn’t possibly get it into your own mouth. In hell, the people are crying and tormented and hungry. In heaven, everyone is happy and well fed. Why the difference? In heaven, the people had learned how to feed each other.

I think that’s time better spent.