Mud Bogg, Anyone?

Yesterday, while we were traveling the highways after delivering our daughter to music camp, we passed an amusing sign. It said, “Garge Sale.” I laughed.

We also passed several signs that said, “Mud Bogg July 5.” I would think the second g was superfluous, but what do I know? I’m not a frequent attendee at these sorts of elite cultural events.

Of course, my husband had to follow the Mud Bogg signs just to see what was going on. We drove down a dusty road to where a sign stated that entry to the Bogg would cost “$5.00 each.” We scratched our heads as we pondered whether “each” meant each vehicle or each person.

We ventured a little further to where we could see the crowd amassed for the entertainment. Nothing seemed to be happening at the moment, there was no apparent place to pay our “$5.00 each” or to ask questions about the meaning of “each,” and since I was still dressed in my church attire from that morning, I convinced my husband that I wouldn’t feel comfortable joining the gathering.

In other news, the Independence Day weekend has passed. We saw two displays of fireworks. For the one on Saturday night, we were about as close to the launch area as we could be without crossing barriers erected to keep the audience safe. The explosions were almost directly over our heads, and we experienced the full impact of each big bang.

We try to limit ourselves to one late-night massive traffic jam per July, so last night, instead of heading over to a second fireworks display, we simply sat in our living room and watched from a distance. As the crow flies, I think we’re about six or seven miles north of the launching point, but we could see the majority of the fireworks right from our house. We couldn’t hear them, and the experience was something less than thrilling, but I’ll bet we were the first ones home in bed after the grand finale!

Blogging Break

I've been neglecting my blog lately. I've even contemplated sending the whole thing into the cyber-abyss and calling it quits.

Sometimes you just burn out on something and need a little break. Sometimes the ideas stop flowing. Sometimes you get caught up in things like reading books and shuttling kids here and there and cleaning your basement and participating in other real-life activities.

I like blogging, but after more than a year, I've decided that it's okay to take a break for a while. I've given myself permission to say, "Maybe I'll blog again someday. Maybe I won't. Who really cares?"

I'll try to resist the urge to delete the whole thing. One of these days, in a sudden flash of creativity, I may have a profound thought, and I'd hate to have to set up a whole new blog.

Update

Still alive.

Nothing to blog about.

Life goes on.

You Know You're a Homeschooler When

. . . things like this excite you.

Saxon Math has finally published a separate geometry course!!

Geometry is embedded in the Algebra 1, Algebra 2, and Advanced Math books, but now there is a separate book dedicated to geometry.

Hurrah!

Now there is a workable alternative for students who have been on the Saxon Math path through the years but who may not be ready, willing, or able to tackle the Advanced Math book in eleventh grade.

This is very good news for the soon-to-be-eleventh-grader in this house who is pretty much ready to grind the Algebra 2 book to pulp and would make my life absolute misery next year if she were forced into the Advanced Math book.

I'll be placing my order soon. This is indeed an exciting development!

Where Has Kelly Been?

It seems that I've been quite busy lately, too busy to think about blogging.

Doing what, you ask?

Just the mundane, menial tasks of life. Cleaning dust and dirt and grime out of cracks and crevices and corners. Washing this and washing that. Reorganizing here and there. Vacuuming and sweeping and shaking and scrubbing.

Running to and fro, hauling this person here and that person there. Going to this appointment and that gathering.

Trying to keep two kids on track with school work even though they are both itching to call it a year.

Yesterday, I sat down and wrote all the soccer stuff and the driver's education stuff and the camp stuff and the miscellaneous other stuff on the calendar. Summer. Time to run around like a maniac for three months.

In my spare time, I've been reading Gone With the Wind. I think I could write a whole book about that book. Maybe when I'm done, I'll share my thoughts with you here.

Or maybe I'll be too busy to think about anything.

Joy

Yesterday, I went into a thrift store, and I came out of it with a smile on my face.

My guess is that some college literature professor was cleaning out his or her office and decided to get rid of piles of anthologies that were cluttering up the bookshelves.

One person's trash is another person's treasure.

These are mint-condition books. They're probably sample copies that were sent to the professor in hopes of getting him or her to use them in class. Brand new. Perfectly clean. No bad odors. I tremble with joy.

Anyway, I came home with at least twenty pounds of literature (four fat anthologies). Sure, there is much redundancy. All "intro to literature" courses seem to concentrate on the same works. Still, even though I now own about ten different copies of certain stories and I have more case studies about Langston Hughes than I'll ever need, there are plenty of whole books, short stories, poems, and plays that just happen to appear in only one of the books. And then there's all the analysis and commentary that is different in each book.

Sometimes, I just happen to be in the right place at the right time.

The Beat Goes On

We’re entering that dreaded time of the year when homeschooling requires the most perseverance and commitment. Every time the month of May rolls around, my desperately tired mind starts trying to convince me that after eight months of diligence, I deserve to slack off and start shirking my responsibilities. The dark side of the force starts telling me that my Jedi-like dedication to educating my children is unnecessary.

But our school year is nine months long, not eight. I must keep on keeping on. There are a few more chemistry modules to complete. Another month of Algebra II is required. There are exciting stories to be read. Just because the snow is gone and the sweet smells of spring are beginning to float on the air, that doesn’t mean we get to pack up all the books and call it a year.

Three months of summer vacation will be more than enough to drive my children to distracted boredom. Three months of summer vacation will be more than enough to let me regroup, refresh, and rejuvenate. Three months of constant running around (for soccer, VBS, camp, etc.) will be more than enough to make me crave the daily routine of the school year.

But there’s one more month to go before we get to that three-month break.

For now, school goes on.

A Little Rant

I don't want to be a whining complainer negative, but I have to say that I absolutely despise don't like grocery shopping. As the years go by, I find that I loathe dislike it more and more. Maybe it's because the prices keep climbing and climbing. Maybe it's because I'm getting really old not as young as I used to be, and I think I've earned the right to whine wear out much more quickly these days. Maybe it's because I'm just getting grumpier less easy-going in my declining mature years.

Anyway, when I get home from grocery shopping, I always have the same things on my mind:

1. I need to wash my hands. They have had way too much contact with way too many things.

2. Someone else needs to haul in the bags because I really need to go to the bathroom, pronto. Kids, if you want to eat any of it, haul it in! And don't you dare get in the path between me and the bathroom!

3. Now I guess I need to wash my hands again.

4. I need a cup of coffee. And I need it NOW.

5. Someone else needs to put this stuff away. After all, I've touched all of it enough already, and I don't want to have to wash my hands a third time. Kids, if you want to eat any of it, put it away!

6. Where's my recliner? I need to put my feet up.

The really disheartening thing is that all of the junk food good stuff is going to be gone in two hours a day or two, and then we'll have to scrounge around for a week or two before I'll have the energy to go back and do it all over again.

Ah, well, I guess we must eat.

Small Town Life

I took my son to the dentist this morning. I brought along the chemistry book so I could get a head start on the next chapter.

I walk into the building, and an acquaintance of mine is at the receptionist's window.

"Hi. How are you doing?" etc.

She has paperwork to complete, so the chatting is cut short.

I sit down and read a few pages.

My son is called in for his appointment.

The door to the inner hallway of the office opens, and out walks another acquaintance.

"Well hi! How have you been?" etc.

Chat, chat, chat.

She goes out the door, and I try to read again.

I look out the window and see my daughter's (pre-college-days) hairdresser coming up the sidewalk. She enters the office, sits down, and sees me.

"Hi! How are you? How is your daughter doing?" etc.

Chat, chat, chat.

My son returns.

Time to head for home.

Life in a small town. It keeps you from getting too wrapped up in stuff like chemistry.

Such a Dilemma

Yesterday, my husband came in the house and asked me why he had bothered to build a dog kennel. He told me to look outside.

This is what I saw:


Jack has been on many work excursions around the estate. He has jumped onto and off of this trailer many, many times. But for some reason (maybe a change in atmospheric pressure?), he couldn't figure out how to dismount this time.

My husband declared that none of us could go out there and show him what to do.

It was pitiful.

He paced and fidgeted. He started whining and crying. We went out on the porch and told him to come. He couldn't. (We even lied to him and told him to "get the squirrel.")

After about ten minutes of this, I put a small dog treat on the porch.

Now he was pacing, fidgeting, whining, crying, and salivating. He tried to see if he could squeeze between the rails on the sides of the trailer.

My husband stood on the porch, calling him, encouraging him, begging him to come and get the treat.

Finally, his quivering body leaped over the side. He was free.

He'll probably never get on that trailer again.