Thursday, May 26, 2011

Loss

The irony of writing this post immediately after my previous one is not lost on me. It feels a little weird, like when you accidentally tell the birthday boy about his surprise party an hour before the party. 

A little foolish. 

A little embarrassing. 

A little awkward.

The truth is that I did struggle through the several weeks of this most recent pregnancy for reasons that don't really make sense, but were there nonetheless. I believe it might have been God preparing my heart to more readily accept His plan in taking this baby home much earlier than any of us could have anticipated. Whatever the reasons, my fears of losing the pregnancy were confirmed on Monday when an ultrasound showed that my pregnancy was no longer viable. Ironically, gestation ceased at around the same time I was taking my first pregnancy test.

There are a million and one things that can go through your mind when you are faced with loss. Questions, doubts, peace and pure logistics all crowded into my own brain when we left my doctor's office Monday. I was sad. But I had such an amazing presence of peace surrounding me. I didn't fall prey to blaming myself, or asking questions to which I'll never know the answers. God softly spoke to my heart, reassuring me that the mess I saw surrounding me was in fact part of a design that would someday be made known to me.

And this time that was enough for me.

It hasn't always been enough. Facing the exact same situation in the past left me hurting for weeks, crippled with fears and doubts. I don't think I have hit on some magic solution that saved me from that fate over the past few days. And I am not prideful enough to believe that I have weathered all possible difficulties with only blue skies on the horizon. However, I do believe that a greater appreciation for the grace of a sovereign Lord has ministered to me in ways I could not fully grasp in younger years. A deeper sense of joy in my healthy, living children keeps me rooted in the here and now. I am thankful for those things.

I am sad that I will not be meeting a new little person in December. This Christmas will be tinged with some melancholy thoughts, I'm sure. I am confident that it will also be filled with joy, a brightness for the things worth celebrating during the yuletide. As for now, I am thankful for my incredible husband who walked every step of this journey with me. I am grateful for lovely children who care for me. I am indebted to friends who stepped in when I needed help. 

I am in love with my Savior who is tenderly caring for a child I have never met, but completely adore.

~Dear Mama, I'm really, really sorry about the miscarriage. Here are some Orange Stars to try to cheer you up. (don't worry, the flowers fell off). I love you very, very, very, very mush (much). 
Your daughter, Hannah ~


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Saturday, May 21, 2011

You Might Be Pregnant If...

I have experienced a phenomenally easy first trimester this pregnancy. In fact, being so asymptomatic caused me some nervousness, and I took another pregnancy test a couple of weeks ago just to be sure. I don't know exactly what I expected it to read. 

It was still positive.

So, I decided to accept the blessing and move on with my life. Until today. I am no longer asymptomatic.

The children and I had a park day for our homeschooling group in Monterey. Trying to save a buck on gas I decided to stop at the grocery store next to the park on my way home. Besides carrying the brand of seltzer water I like best it would save me the hassle of fishing dinner out of my freezer. Chicken fajitas were sounding delish. I pulled into the parking lot of the largest Safeway on the peninsula confident that I could be in and out within 5 minutes. There were 4 items on my mental list:
- fizzy (seltzer water)
- peppers (2 sweet, 4 hot)
- chicken breast
- chicken taco seasoning

I headed straight for the produce section upon entering the store. I don't know what the reasoning is behind all the "floating" displays, but trying to find peppers in a fresh produce area larger than my entire house is no small task. And don't even think about something logical like alphabetizing the veggies. Why can't peppers simply rest between onions and quince? I was pretty near ready to have a chat with the head of the department over the total lack of systematic organization when I finally spied my veggies hidden amongst the fresh cut herbs. That makes sense.

After rounding up my peppers I raced to the soda aisle. "Why soda," you ask? Because seltzer WATER is not kept on the water aisle. No, no. You can purchase it in either the soda aisle, bordered by its high fructose corn syrup counterparts like Sugared Fizz and Cola Candy, or it is tucked next to the mixers in the "over 21" corner. And when I say "tucked" and "corner" I mean them literally. It would take Ethan Hunt a solid hour to discover there whereabouts. However on this lovely day seltzer water was not to be found in either location. Once again, Safeway was sold out. Apparently the new idea in inventory marketing is to discover those items that are sold regularly and they wait until they are entirely gone before ordering more. Let's make sure we have pig's feet in the butcher's case always, but seltzer water is only on a semi-monthly restocking shipment. That makes sense.

Frustrated but not giving up my dream of saving myself the hassle of freezer fishing I proceeded to poultry for my chicken. The one item I had no difficulty finding but had a seizure when I drew close enough to grab a package. FIVE DOLLARS & EIGHTY SEVEN CENTS A POUND. For crying out loud, I'm not serving top sirloin. For roughly twelve dollars I could have walked away with enough chicken to feed 4 members of my family. 

Already irritated that I only had two of the four items on my list I finally swung around to grab some chicken taco seasoning. I walked up the "ethnic foods" aisle where the sign marked Hispanic Foods rested over refried beans, corn husks and salsa. No taco seasoning. Huh, silly me. Why would taco seasoning be in the aisle where all the other taco products are kept? I wandered down the spices aisles, the packaged food aisle, the canned meat aisle all to no avail. I finally stopped a worker who told me the taco seasonings are kept on Aisles 16. Perfect. Aisle 16 is the prepared dairy aisle with cheeses, yogurts, butter and such. Sure enough, right across from the Greek yogurt sat a whole wall of packets containing every given type of taco seasoning you could imagine. Low sodium, original, hot, mild, brand or generic were all on full display. Everything except any chicken taco seasoning. I easily shrugged it off and looked for chicken fajita seasoning. Nope. Nada. There wasn't even an empty space for it. Apparently no one in the greater Del Rey Oaks area makes tacos or fajitas with anything other than beef.

I left the store (after a typical line story I won't even go into) holding my small bag of peppers and brimming with angst. I would have to stop at another store in order to finish my shopping. I headed home, calculating the location of the store with the best chances of having both chicken and seasoning within a reasonable distance to my home, and without requiring a small loan to make the purchase. I decided on Walmart.

Again, I pulled into the parking lot and rushed inside to get my two items. The chicken was easy, and at $1.88 a pound for boneless skinless chicken breast you can save your breath on why I should boycott Wally World. I trudged over to the dried goods aisles hoping my sense of organizational genius would prove correct in ferreting out the seasonings. No such luck, but after a much shorter hunt I found the seasoning packets (remember, my Walmart has decided to make its grocery section 85% processed frozen meals leaving the bulk of real food to fit into a rather tiny space consisting of 3 "half" aisles). Perfect! But not really. Once again, there was every known seasoning available in 3 different variations but nothing for chicken. Seriously? Please tell me SOMEONE else fixes chicken tacos and fajitas occasionally?

At this point I was nearing tears. I stumbled out to my van, slammed the door behind me and just about lost it! I kept trying to figure out what was wrong with me, and why I was so upset about the seasoning. The entire time I drove to the 3rd store, saving not an ounce of gas, I continued mulling over in my head what was going on in my life that made me feel so crazy at that moment. By the time I got to SaveMart I realized:

I'm pregnant!

Because the SaveMart I was driving to was our regular grocery store before we outgrew it and moved to Costco, I knew where everything was located. I quickly ran inside, located the seasoning, found both chicken taco and chicken fajita packets, grabbed six and made a bee-line for the register. The ease of the entire transaction made my heart swell with appreciation, and as I walked back to my van my eyes misted over. What a beautiful thing to be able to buy chicken taco seasoning.




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Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Josiah

J
     jaunty. Josiah has a natural charisma that exudes from every pore. He faces the world with a trademark glimmer to his eye and ease in his person. 

O
     obstinate. I don't think any of my children require discipline like my Josiah-Boy. It doesn't seem to matter what threat we make, he is sure to trespass within 10 minutes. We are only sure of his obedience when he sleeps.

S
     smirk. It's a classic look. He lowers his chin ever so slightly, gives just a hint of a raised eyebrow,  twinkles his eyes mischievously, and grins. He is utterly disarming when he lays it on this thick.

I
     impatient. Even before Josiah was verbal he had this incredible way of letting everyone know that he was frustrated - usually because he wasn't getting a toy fast enough. Screaming quickly became his favorite sound to inform all in the house that he wasn't getting what he wanted NOW! As he has grown, and his vocabulary with him, he now resorts to asking... a million times.

A
     affectionate. Josiah loves to snuggle. He is a mama's boy! One of his favorite activities is to tenderly brush my hair. He cuddles up next to me on the couch, or embraces his sisters for a good movie. 

H
     hilarious. All of our children make us laugh. Some of them by their jokes, some by their faces and idiosyncrasies. But Josiah beats them with his sheer personae. He struts around the house like a peacock, showing off his tail feathers. He unabashedly proclaims that he wears panties, and gleefully wears his sisters' frilly dress-up clothes. He revels in his own little personality, and we LOVE it!

Sunday, May 15, 2011

Proof Of The Fall

There are many things broken in our world that show us how far from perfection we live. Mosquitos, hanging chads and freezer burn come immediately to mind. But I think, without argument, the proof most clearly visible of creation turned horribly perverse is: Poison Oak.

It is not a stretch to say that poison oak is the manifestation of all plantly evil ever made possible by Adam's sin. I am particularly susceptible to this great tragedy of flora. It hunts me down like a heat seeking missile, and targets me with its maniacal schemes.

You may think I exaggerate. I assure you, I do not.

Growing up I was bound to get the dreaded itchy rash every spring when the bloom burst forth in the forest surrounding my home. I would swell up to roughly the size of a blue whale, eyes closed to slits and skin covered in scabbing pustules while my mom diligently used a cotton ball to dab pink calamine lotion all over me. Cotton ball dabbed pink calamine lotion on poison oak is akin to 7 water droplets used to extinguish a grease fire -  highly ineffective and strangely comical. We would also employ ice packs to help numb the painful sores but the condensation from the packs just served to moisten the rash and keep it from drying out as quickly as possible. To say I hate it is a gross understatement.

As I grew I learned to avoid the deadly plant like the plague. I memorized the cute rhymes meant to teach children what to look for, like: leaves of three, let it be; and berries white, poisonous sight. This knowledge, along with a godly sense of fear for any contact with the detestable shrub kept me from my nemesis for years.

Then I had children.

To be fair, they are not trying to be tools of the enemy. But any one trained in tactical arts will tell you that getting the target's loved ones to do the dirty work is worth bonus point. Poison oak is a powerful tactician. Most recently my beautiful 2nd born daughter Bethany was beguiled by the insidious weed while spending the night at a friend's house. However, not satisfied with one victim it also left its toxic oil all over her clothes for me to "find" while doing laundry. Within 24 hours the tell-tale rash with its itchy burn erupted on my left shoulder. A few days later we were both covered from head to toe.

Thankfully today there are a great deal more robust and proactive measures to use in the fight for justice. Topical steroids, oral steroids and even injectables all give much greater relief in a much shorter time... 

except me.

Apparently I am one of the few random people who continues to erupt in the hateful breakout for weeks after the contaminate should have washed clear of my system. Why do I know this? Because 5 weeks after my initial contact (and with no possible options for fresh exposure) I am breaking out in a new wave of pustules in the EXACT same location as the initial scourge. Nice.

I'm telling you, there is no greater proof needed that we have fallen woefully short of the Garden of Eden. In fact, I think maybe the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil was a pre-cursed poison oak plant.

Thursday, May 12, 2011

And baby makes... 10!

To be honest, I was quite surprised. It's not that a positive pregnancy test is such an unheard of occurrence in our home. However, Phoebe weaned over a year ago and my modus operandi up to this point had been a mere one or two months from weaning to new pregnancy. So when months one and two passed without any significant happenings I shrugged it off as odd, but nothing extraordinary. But when months 9, 10, and 11 also passed without anything extraordinary I began to wonder...

Could we be done?

I had prayed for the Lord to allow us a little more time between babies after Phoebe was born. I was extremely convicted over my poor stewardship of health, and I felt strongly God's conviction that I needed to address those concerns. Not becoming pregnant right away would make some of my necessary changes in eating and exercise significantly easier to employ. But while I prayed that God would give us a bit more space I certainly was not ready to throw in the towel.

God is so gracious, and knows us better than we know ourselves. He heard my cries for time, and honored my desires to regain lost health and vitality before going through a pregnancy. He also heard my cries for his hand to once again choose a broken, sinful human to help bring the next generation into this world. I am forever humbled when I see those two pink lines show up on the pregnancy test.

Why me?

I make so many mistakes in my parenting. I don't deserve the responsibility He already placed on me with the gifts of my first seven children. I hardly deserve more! Yet He loves to lavish blessing on those who love Him. I am awed that once again He chose to lavish His blessing on me.

We are thrilled to announce the newest Randall, joining our family sometime towards the end of December, 2011.




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Monday, May 09, 2011

Patience

Merriam-Webster defines patience as: the ability to wait for a long time without becoming annoyed or upset; the ability to remain calm and not become annoyed when dealing with problems or with difficult people; the ability to give attention to something for a long time without becoming bored or losing interest. Essentially the gist is that you don't let things get under your skin. It is probably the virtue I am most commonly anointed with by strangers, and the trait I feel most lacking in my own possession. However, I have happened upon a few things that I believe are essential in understanding what patience is, and what it is not.

First, what it is not. Patience is not the ability of a person to spend 1 hour with your small children, never minding the insatiable curiosity or arbitrary repetition that plagues youth. By its very definition it must be exhibited over a LONG TIME. I no longer feel any guilt when friends or loved ones tell me that they have more patience for a certain situation because they aren't around it all the time. That makes them untried, not patient. Patience is also not the misapplication of authority creating an environment devoid of spontaneity or childishness. If I think myself patient while my children are simply squashed cabbage leaves for fear of inciting my anger I am missing the mark.

So, what is it?

Well, we already saw what the literal definition says. It is the uncanny knack or ability to keep the same reaction to your child's 85th question about why blood comes out of their skin when it is cut as their first - especially when the questions are posed during a highly necessarily but poorly timed trip to Costco. It is gently reading the same book, watching the same program, saying the same thing over, and over, and over again. 

The assumption that because I have so many children I must be simply oozing patience never fails to amuse me. I believe, actually, quite the opposite is true. You see, your patience isn't tested until you have been at something for a LONG TIME. Remember, that is what patience requires... length in the trial. So, for instance, where other moms might have worked through two, four or maybe six years worth of toddlerhood I have no less than fourteen. Fourteen. To say I am over my fascination with the endless need for crying before peeing in the toilet would be a significant understatement. In fact, I could probably survive without ever hearing another whine, ever again. But that's not my life, so I digress.

Because my home harbors so many opportunities to express patience I began wondering how I could get more of the stuff. I can tell you straight away, willpower won't do it for ya. Trust me. If anyone could white-knuckle their way through parenthood it was me. I tried for years. Tried is the operative word in that sentence since I also failed. And, also contrary to popular opinion, patience doesn't come simply by merit of difficult circumstances. Being in the middle of a snowstorm doesn't necessarily mean you are prepared to effectively handle it; it just means you are surrounded by snow.

Then I stumbled upon a wonderful bible study by Beth Moore called Living Beyond Yourself. It covers the 9 attributes of the fruit of the Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. I was eager, above all, to read the chapter on patience. As a Christian I already knew that these were not optional, or even occasional characteristics required by Christ. If I truly have the Spirit of God living in me than His qualities must pervade me. It is a necessity. So, I snuck a peak at the patience chapter and read this perplexing phrase:

Patience through mercy

Huh. That didn't seem nearly spiritual enough for my way of thinking. Where was all the "just pray for patience" stuff? And I had no idea how Beth Moore was going to connect patience with mercy. The two appeared entirely incongruous in my mind. I somewhat disappointedly went back to the current week, and settled in to wait for the patience lesson to arrive. In hindsight I should have been ecstatic that I didn't peek at that chapter and read the dreaded "just pray for patience" mantra I had so often heard from both inside and outside of my head. I am happy to say that I am quite elated at this point in my journey, and regularly remind myself of the joy that comes from understanding that enigmatic phrase: patience through mercy.

The bottom line is that since I can't make myself feel patient my patience has to come from somewhere other than my feelings. And that it now does. Mercy is defined by Merriam-Webster as, "a blessing that is an act of divine favor or compassion." It essentially means sympathy towards another person's distress with a view to help alleviate it. Sometimes that distress is a consequence of their own foolishness. Sometimes it is not. Come to find out, it apparently doesn't matter whether the person is responsible since we are to act towards others with Christ-like love; and he certainly bears with us through all manner of distress brought about as a direct result of ongoing (often belligerent) actions of great foolishness and disobedience. He sees us for what we are: broken, afraid, and hurting. He responds to us through that truth. He doesn't try to candy-coat our weakness or hide our imperfections. He is never patient with us by burying his head in the sand and pretending we are not, once again, rebelling against his righteousness. He doesn't ignore anything. And neither can I. That was my big hang-up. You see, I thought that in order to have patience, to feel patient, I must simply ignore the things that really drove me nuts. The faults of myself and my loved ones couldn't be genuinely acknowledged, because somehow recognizing their rub was itself an act of impatience. But the bible tells us that the truth will set us free, and that's exactly what patience through mercy sets up for us - a freedom through truth.

When I acknowledge that my child's behavior is taxing, frustrating, juvenile and even perhaps ludicrous I am freed to choose, of my own volition, to bear with that child in mercy. I can bless that child through compassion even though their actions are foolhardy. I am free to recognize my feelings of exasperation even while simultaneously choosing not to allow them to control my choices. Patience is suddenly nothing whatsoever about how I feel in a given moment, but how I choose to respond. I no longer need to strain, grunting and groaning, towards the elusive prize of feeling blissfully ignorant of any irritants that might come my way. Now I can clearly face my day square in the face, and actively walk out:

Patience Through Mercy.








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The Perfect Randall Pet

I really wanted a dog. I mean I REALLY wanted a dog. Christopher didn't think it was such a good idea for us to commit to yet one more responsibility considering our already responsibility-oozing lifestyle. He was right. But I still pleaded, begged and brazenly campaigned for a four-legged Randall.

When we purchased our home a few years back the agreement was finally struck that we could get a dog once our backyard renovation project was complete. This was sensible, and upon completion I began earnestly seeking after my dog.

I did the research. I read the reviews. I spoke with dog trainers. All on the quest for the perfect, family-friendly, hypoallergenic puppy. I finally settled on a Cairn Terrier. To be sure they can be feisty and rambunctious, but I wanted a playmate for my children and all roads pointed to this little guy.

Of course all roads did not point to the price tag associated with buying the Perfect Randall Pet.

So, when a military family from our church were preparing to leave, and mentioned their desire to relocate their beagle to a new family I jumped at the opportunity. Sure, beagle wasn't on my list for the Perfect Randall Pet but hey, free was an awfully large word.

Enter Daisy.


Daisy Lou to be exact. You have never met a mellower dog. Ever. In the first year that we owned her I think I heard her bark out of excitement once. The only other times she ever barks is to remind us that she doesn't like her crate at night. That's it. She sits on the couch and sleeps 14 hours a day. She lies in her kennel and sleeps for 7 hours at night. She lounges on the rug in the living room for another hour and 30 minutes. She sits at our feet during mealtimes for an hour and 15 minutes each day. She eats and meanders outside for her business during the remaining 15 minutes of her day. That's it. But she eased Christopher into dog ownership with her calm ways and quiet personality. She has definitely become an integral part of the Perfect Randall Pet.

Oh, and she loves Christopher.

Yes. Our dog that I wanted so badly adores my husband. She wags for him, runs to him, snuggles with him, listens to him and obeys (when she is in the mood) him. I was cheated, and I felt it!

Then, about a week ago Hannah and I had an interview with the SPCA to begin volunteering in the adoption center. Hannah has a passion for animals, and is excited about putting that heart to use. When we were done speaking with the volunteer coordinator we decided to take a peak at the dogs.

Enter Rodger.


Rodger Thursten to be exact. Rodger is a rescued Irish Terrier mix and at 2+ months old is one cute puppy. I fell in love. I sat in front of his kennel for 30 minutes playing with and enjoying Rodger. When I arrived home that evening Christopher met me with a smile and one simple question: So, which one do you want?

My very sweet husband knew how much I still longed for a dog that would play with our children, and even perhaps love me. He took time off the very next day and we went out as family to the SPCA to see if Rodger was meant for us. We came home with our second dog.

Rodger loves to play. He adores Daisy, who has miraculously begun to move! She wrestles and bears with great equanimity his puppy ways. We are all quite speechless to watch Daisy, the lover of sleep, bound around engaging her new friend in a game of chase. Rodger is sweet, and loves to cuddle. He is excellently crate trained, and we are working on finalizing his potty-training. He plays very well with the children, and will gleefully run around the backyard for hours chasing and being chased by little Randalls.

Together I believe Daisy and Rodger make the Perfect Randall Pet.

And Rodger loves me.




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Tuesday, February 15, 2011

Josiah's First Joke

Tonight, during our ritualistic bath routine, Josiah shared his first-ever original joke. It bears repeating.

Why did the fire cross the water?

Because he was being rude.

*Here is where you break into spontaneous and unstoppable laughter.*




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Wednesday, January 12, 2011

Mary

M
     modest. Mary is quite shy, and inwardly drawn around unknown people. Her quiet reserve are often mistaken for submissiveness, or meekness. Don't be fooled. However, her modesty is not simply bound by her timorousness. She often shows genuine acceptance of honest praise or critique for her work, and the work of her siblings. Mary does not require flattery, and signs of a sensible head peak through more and more.

A
     assertive. Mary's middle name is Ellen. Because of her penchant for howling when she did not get what she wanted as a baby we nicknamed her Mary Yellin'. She has no problems with asserting herself. This can be a good thing when seen against the backdrop of a large family - she won't be overlooked. I think that as maturity and life-experience round it out she has the potential to be greatly effective in her generation.

R
     regal. I'm not sure who wrote the rule, but if you are going to play dress-up properly you must use a British accent. You may not realize it, but Mary was born in Buckingham Palace. Her flounces and jewels are second only to her dainty voice and precise tea-drinking habits, replete with raised pinky.

Y
     young. Mary somehow got stuck at 3 and a half. She simply refuses to grow beyond it. The sliding glass door for the backyard can be opened by every other member of the family (including her 3 year old brother, and at times her 1 year old sister) but never by her. She literally hops an eighth of an inch off the floor to show she can not be expected to reach anything above her shoulder. And the idea of gaining responsibility is anathema. She obviously discovered the Fountain of Youth and had herself a drink.




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Thursday, October 28, 2010

Like Father, Like Son

We utilize an educational paradigm called, delayed academics. I have mentioned it in passing, but never fully explained why we take the position. Here is why:

Caleb is a lot like his daddy.

That's a compliment that I happily assert. My husband is handsome, loyal, incredibly willing to encourage me, and tells me how much he loves me regularly. Caleb is all these things in junior form. Christopher was also diagnosed with ADD (probably would have added the "H" in there if they called it ADHD 30 years ago) when he was a small boy. For a time he was medicated with Ritalin. Were Caleb in a traditional classroom he to would be facing some of the same issues his daddy faced. Like father, like son.

Caleb is quickly distracted, has a hard time maintaining focus, and doesn't easily retain spoken information. For instance, a while back I was working with him on verse memorization for our church's Wednesday night youth program. He was studying the books of the New Testament. After 45 minutes he was still unable to fully repeat a mere 6 books in the correct order without any prompting. His attention span simply can not keep his focus long enough to work on detail oriented seat-work. What would he be doing in school for 8 hours a day in 2nd grade? Detail oriented seat-work.

I struggle with the ways Caleb does not automatically "learn." But what do I think learning is? For his father it was "learning" he couldn't do what the other kids did. His notes were pinned to his shirt because he was not able to remain focused on the task of delivering them home safely. It was feeling inferior, and inadequate because concepts, lessons, indeed learning did not click for him the way he was told it should. However, my husband is now a highly respected, well-paid senior level software architect who oversees enterprise-wide design solutions. He counsels teams of people through the decision making process for website protocol and design in places that are receiving hundreds of thousands of hits a day. In other words he succeeded. He is, I believe, the exception and not the rule.

So many children, namely boys, are labelled, misdirected, and pigeon-holed by our scholastic requirements. At an age when kinesthetic development is literally causing their bodies to jump we often expect them to sit like well-mannered lap dogs. The maxim, "Girls mature faster than boys," is so well accepted in our culture, and even proven true based on dozens of research studies, statistics, and overall observation. Yet, what is the maturity these studies, statistics and observations are measuring? Often the ability to succeed in a controlled environment more readily embraced by girls. Even with this understanding of the already slanted concept of maturity, rarely are the findings from these studies used  in tailoring educational programs, or expectations. "Boys will be boys," is another highly used proverb that points to the idea of boys being more aggressive, less compliant, and generally more raucous then their female counterparts. Yet again, in the typical school classroom the rules focus on those aspects that come much more naturally and easily to the girls - namely: being quiet; focusing for extended periods of indoor time; learning auditorily or visually as opposed to kinesthetically; working cooperatively and not competitively; and verbalizing needs articulately.

And we wonder why our boys are vacillating so wildly between effeminacy and machismo.

We did not want our own son to have the monkey on his back that often haunts young adolescent boys in traditional classrooms. We wanted to encourage him that the way he was designed was not an accident. That's part of the reason we chose to homeschool. But even within homeschooling many parents are hung up on the local public school's standards for determining what should or shouldn't fit in their home. I don't think I need to state the obvious, but in CA those standards aren't exactly something that should instill trust and respect in our minds. For instance, much of the prevailing thought on how to raise obnoxiously low test scores is simply increase seat-work. Yeah, 'cause if the student didn't understand it the first time you explained it then the additional 30 minutes of working identical problems with the same explanation will definitely help.

Note the sarcasm.

Delayed academics asserts that children learn academically in much the way they learn physically - through involuntary leaps and bounds. I say involuntary because children do not determine when they will learn to walk. If given the right environment, support and encouragement they will develop the skill as their body allows - not in a smooth curve of perfect progress but rather in a one-day-she-couldn't-and-now-she-can kind of way. Mental development follows this same course. Therefore academics are rarely any different than the physical progression of maturity. If given the right environment, support and encouragement most children will "click" with book learning in a sudden, and often mind-boggling way. How many times have you said, or heard the phrase, "The light just suddenly came on for him!" And more times than not there wasn't anything different about the approach of the subject in question - the mind was simply ready to make the leap.

I don't want to waste my time trying to get Phoebe to walk when she isn't physically ready for it. Similarly, I don't want to waste my time, or my children's time teaching them academic rhetoric if they are not ready to learn it. However the rise in single-parent families, and the increase in dual-income families means parents need institutions that can help in providing childcare. With public school already an accepted norm in the vast majority of American families it seemed only natural to put the burden of responsibility on them for the care of our youngsters. But these are schools, so we also expected that our children's time there would create more academically robust students, if for no other reason than to assuage our guilt at leaving them in these classrooms for 8 to 10 hours every day. The result? The expected age for children to "click" with book learning has dropped significantly over the past 30 years. Instead of character being the greatest lesson beyond fine and gross motor skills for the average five, six or seven year old it is paragraph reading and complex fractions.

Now, let me add a quick word for the onset of better and more intuitive means of education. There have been some incredibly amazing inroads made in the connection of small children and academic achievement. Teaching communication through sign language to the pre-verbal, understanding phonics, raising the expectation for literacy across gender and socioeconomic backgrounds are wonderful, and I support all of these developments. What I don't support is the unapologetic use of generalized standards based on convenience and lies.

For a mainstreamed child to read by age 6 is convenient. Therefor, it is necessary that all mainstreamed children read by age 6.

The convenience.

The lie.

There are countless others that follow this same pattern. It simply takes too much time to create a dynamic lesson that can encompass all levels of learning in one room. And in fairness to the traditional classroom, you have to break the children into groups based on something. Age is the most obvious, so assumptions of academic progress based merely on age were bound to occur. Those generalizations were given merit as scores of averages proved them correct. The average age for understanding a concept was noted, birthing the standardized testing phenomenon where administrators, teachers, and parents could check to make sure their Suzy Q reached her potential.

Since when did the average become equal to the potential?

I want my children, both male and female, to set high academic expectations for themselves. I want life long learners who love to read, explore concepts, and not be afraid of asking questions. I want well-adjusted, confident children who have a security in their body's design and development. I am firmly convinced that can not happen when academic pressure is added to the already mounting list of responsibilities placed on children in traditional classrooms during their younger years. I am convinced that children are designed to be children first and foremost - not scholars. Learning through play, interaction, and experience extends well beyond the toddler years. Yet we stifle that natural flow of cause and effect far too quickly creating unnecessary work on our parts, and years of frustration for our children.

So how does delayed academics answer these concerns?

By looking at those same averages used for standardized tests, but zooming out for a slightly wider context to their findings.

On average children reach a learning plateau at age nine, or roughly the equivalent of 3rd grade. During this time the vast majority of students who previously didn't "get it" suddenly understand concepts that alluded them for years. Likewise, many students who were exceptionally bright are quickly absorbed into the norm. In other words an evening works itself out, and from 9 years old on a new game is played. Delayed academics takes advantage of waiting for the new game before ever beginning. Rather than drive concepts into hardened earth it says to wait until the soil has been softened with the fullness of the young child experience. At nine the cognitive abilities are more advanced, and the physical discipline more inline with the demands of book learning for hours each day. The rigors of detailed seat work and rote memorization no longer compete against six-year old bodies bursting with excessive energy. Delayed academics keeps your seven year old from feeling like a failure when it really is just a matter of time. And if there is a genuinely significant learning delay the maturity of the nine year old to handle the truth of their situation will surely be an asset.

Christopher came out of the academic system a victor, though most of his early markers generally pointed in the opposite direction. I have confidence that even though Caleb would be receiving the same marks were he in a public classroom he too will be like his Daddy, emerging as a bright, capable and educated man.

After all, like father, like son.



Friday, October 22, 2010

Leah

L
     loquacious. Yep, she talks. Leah loves to babble about anything, but most especially she likes talking about her babies, imaginary friends, and health maladies. I can't remember the last time she spoke when something didn't tickle me. I regularly have to cover my mouth in order keep my mirth under cover, lest I spoil her transparency and ruin the moment. But really... how does one keep a straight face while being told that Ariel, her mirror-living friend, is the daughter of Satan?

E
     empathetic. My 4th born is bothered by her siblings hurts, fears, or mishaps. She quickly seeks out help on their behalf, usually trying desperately to console the injured party at the same time. Her empathy can even get her in trouble. She has been known to cry more demonstratively than a sibling receiving punishment, lending total chaos to our house.

A
     appetite. At first glance you may suspect me of giving a glowing report on Leah's robust love of food. I am not. While I will say that she knows how to chow down, she apparently forgets that knowledge every other day; forcing her father and me to resort to ultimatums at least twice a week. No, the appetite I do intend to give a glowing report on is Leah's zest for life. She is insatiable. Her personality alone requires a tremendous amount of caloric intake, and feed it she does. She is a walking non sequitur. You can not be around her for more than a few minutes before genuinely laughing yourself silly.

H
     higgledy-piggledy. There isn't anyone in my immediate circle of friends or family who leaves a bigger disaster in their wake than Leah. Seriously. Her version of "clean" makes my version of "messy" look tame. Of course, there can be seen a benefit to this penchant for clutter. For instance, Leah is free to move with inspiration from one project to the next, never fearing that her ideas may grow stale in the brain vacuum of cleaning. And, I must admit, her dance through life leaves me breathless with its wonder and curiosity - never masked or hindered by the fear of what consequences she may leave behind her.




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Monday, October 18, 2010

Marriage

I love listening to my little people muse about their future. Whether it is Caleb sharing about which blue-color job is for him, or Bethany wishing she could be a prima donna, listening to their ideals about what they want to do when they grow up always makes me smile. However, there are times when a real gem pops out, all bright and shiny. 

This morning it was Mary's turn to deliver.

She and Bethany were sitting next to one another on the couch perusing the latest catalogs to arrive in the mail. Bethany somberly read American Girl. Mary animatedly gabbed away while thumbing her way through The Company Store. Every few moments Mary turned her eyes upon one of the dolls in American Girl and asked what its name was. Bethany obliged her with the doll's name before turning the page. Mary immediately dropped the just-spoken-of-doll's name into a sentence that included a product on her own catalog page. For instance:

Kip just loves to use these towels in her bathroom.

The game was working fine for Mary, but Bethany was growing weary of being interrupted every few seconds and began to give off the "don't bother me" vibe. Mary took the hint, and began to simply use her own names in her advertisements. Over and over I kept hearing the same four names in reference to bed linens, bath towels, personalized robes and sheets.

Elizabeth. Isabella. Grace. Josephina.

Peeked with curiosity, Bethany asked Mary about the four girls' names.

"Who are they, Mary?"

"They're my children's names."

"Oh. So you have four daughters?"

"Yes." She smoothed her hair and looked directly at Bethany as she added, "I want four kids, but I don't want to be married. I don't want to have to kiss."



 .

Sunday, October 17, 2010

Sleep

Phoebe sleeps in her own bed. She has always slept in her own bed. Recently, however, she began showing us that she didn't like that plan so much.

Because our home is rather tight on bedrooms (3 of them for 9 people) we tend to get creative with our sleeping arrangements. For Phoebe this means going to bed in a pack-n-play at the foot of our bed until we can transfer her to a crib in her own room. Why can't she simply start in her own room, you ask? Because she goes to bed when her sisters are still awake, and would never actually fall asleep if she could watch their antics. She also must nap in our room so that the other four girls can have access to their bedroom during the day.

But I digress.

This system was working excellently until a few weeks ago when Phoebe discovered that she could fold the bottom pack-n-play "mattress" into a triangle, and made a fairly handy step stool out of her playpen and onto our bed. The first time it happened caught me quite by surprise. I was sitting on the couch in the living room when I thought I heard the fast-busy sound of the phone when it has been left off the hook too long. Sure enough, I checked the phone (on the table immediately to my left) and the screen indicated that it was in use. Funny, since I am the only one old enough to use the phone without permission. I took a quick mental count of my children, and their locations.

Hannah: school
Bethany: dishes
Caleb: trampoline
Leah & Mary: littlest pet shop
Josiah & Phoebe: naps

Then I heard Phoebe babbling from my room. In her preverbal ranting I could easily make out the intonations of a conversation. I slipped down the hallway to see what had her gander, only to be met with a peek at an empty playpen. Pushing the door open wider, I saw Phoebe sitting contentedly on my bed chatting away on the phone while it beeped back angrily. She saw me and grinned. My entire nightstand was a disarray of books and papers. Christopher's alarm clock was missing entirely from the other side of the bed. Someone had been busy.

Laughing, I scooped her up and took her out of the room. Nap was obviously not going to happen that day. Oh well, I thought, she just wasn't tired. She'll sleep tomorrow.

Ha! I seriously doubt I need to elaborate on the last two weeks.

And so my story reaches tonight. Up until this time we always managed to win the game by either: a) taking her out of the room until she was more tired, or b) redepositing her into the pack-n-play until she stayed in it. This evening it seemed that route b was the winning ticket. She eventually fussed at the grievous misfortune of being forever daunted in her quest for freedom, but the room silenced soon enough, and we knew she was asleep.

Christopher went in to transfer her. The first thing he noticed was the dark room. We always keep a small light on to help us see through the transfer process, but for some reason it was not lit. Then he bent over the pack-n-play, and there was no one inside. Startled, he shot a glance around the room until, his eyes adjusting the dim light, he saw Phoebe.


Sunday, October 03, 2010

Efficiency

Caleb, always thinking of the newest, fastest way to produce results, came to me this afternoon with a bold, new move to improve efficiency in our meal preparation. However, before I tell you about this bold, new move you should probably have a quick peek into the workings of my kitchen.

I generally cook 3 meals a day, every day, for 9 people. Breakfast, lunch and dinner see my entire family sitting around our table. In between meals the dishes are done, and preparations begun for the following menu. At any given point in time someone can usually walk into my kitchen and find the counters clean, dishes washed, stove wiped down and general orderliness reigning. I don't say this to toot my own horn; I say it so you will fully appreciate the "help" my son is about to offer me.

Tacos were on the menu for dinner. I am teaching Bethany how to cook, and this is her first recipe to tackle entirely on her own. She is doing a great job! I was especially proud of her tonight, because she recognized the need to open the refried and chili bean cans while the ground beef was browning. She carefully opened each one, put the can opener away, and then prepared to add the cans' contents to the meat.

At this point Caleb offered a new solution for the horror of opening cans

"Mama, you know what would be great? If we built shelves above the stove that went across like this (slashes his hands horizontally through the air in front of him). Then we put the cans of beans on the shelves so they sat there. Then I could take a baseball and throw it at the cans (he winds up and gives me a full pitch so I fully appreciate his superior ball-throwing skills). The cans would just explode in half (jerks his hands from closed fists to palms-out in the international sign language for bomb), and the beans would fall right into your pot. You wouldn't have to mess around with all that can opening any more. It'd really make it a lot easier."


Taco Beans
1 - 1.5 lbs lean ground beef (depends on how "meaty" you want it - great without meat, too!)
3 8oz cans Rosarita refried beans
1 15oz can Bush's chili beans in zesty sauce (mostly drained)
1/2 packet McCormick Taco Seasoning
1/2 yellow onion (optional)

Saute onion in olive oil. Remove from pan and set aside. Brown hamburger and drain fat. Add seasoning and onion, stir. Add cans of beans, combine well. Turn heat to med. low and simmer until thoroughly hot. Serve with fixings.


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Wednesday, September 29, 2010

Run-On Sentence

Mama, me and Grace got to play together as much as we wanted, it was so much fun, and the park was funny when we were on the slide together, and Grace laughed at me so, I like her house when I went over there a long time ago, and we played in her room, and then we had dress-up so I wore church shoes because I didn't want to have bare feet, because Grace's mom was okay that I wore them, but I didn't ask, but I think it was okay, and I want to wear the special dress when I am there again, but Grace whined about her dress, and I don't think that was nice even though I wanted to wear the one she had, so I can't remember if she has a backyard or not, so I don't remember if we played in it, but I think we might have, but I can't remember, oh yeah, we did play in her backyard after dress up, then I played with her alphabet on her refrigerator while her mom was cooking dinner, because I played with all the letters, even A, G and Y, wow, I am just talking so much to tell you all about it, but now I am tired of talking, so I think I am going to stop for a while.

Tuesday, September 28, 2010

Caleb

C
     creative. I don't think I have met another boy who is able to come up with the degree of ingenuity necessary to pull off his more hair-brained ideas. For example, Caleb decided to test out how well an IKEA reusable bag would work as a parachute. Of course, there is the infamous roof to trampoline story, which you can read here. And don't forget the plan to swing from a rope off the play-set using nothing but his mouth, which ended in the loss of a tooth. He simply takes these minor setbacks in stride, and continues to push the envelope of his creative genius.

A
     agile. At 4 he could skate, unassisted, on a standard skateboard. Riding his bike came naturally, and within moments of his daddy removing the training wheels. He recently learned how to skim-board while at the beach and took to it like, well, a fish to water. He has a natural capacity for hand-eye coordination, which stands him in good stead during any sport he has tried.

L
     loving. Caleb really soaks up the love; he gives it as well. Hugs, compliments and genuine concern are often expressed by him with transparency and thoughtfulness.

E
     entertaining. There is never a dull moment in our house, thanks in large part to our first son. Need a ridiculously absurd knock-knock joke? Caleb's your guy. Want to watch someone sacrifice their body for the gag? Again, Caleb's your guy. Everything from his laugh to his cry can provide an immense amount of valuable entertainment.

B
     boy. Of course. Recently Caleb said something that was typical of his testosterone-washed brain. Bethany and I made the obvious statement in complete unison, "Such a boy." His pain tolerance has nothing to do with his brain tolerance. He impulsively asserts himself in dangerous situations. He asks questions that defy logic. And he insists that he is the man of the house whenever Christopher is away - even to the store.

Tuesday, September 21, 2010

Medical Care

Leah regularly regales us with stories of her babies, their wounds, and the treatment required for their care. Sometimes the treatment is successful. Sometimes it is not. In fact, a few weeks ago she pointedly announced that her baby was going to die, "because the medicine didn't work."

Our family has grown accustomed to these tales, but tonight's version brought a fresh wave of hilarity to Leah's audience. Bethany whispered to me, "You need to blog that one." She's right.



Mama, did you know my baby needs surgery on her leg?

No, I didn't. What happened?

Well, her leg is broken.

Oh no!

Yep. So she needs to have surgery.

How did she break it?

Well, there was a hook attached to a rope. I had tied the rope to the middle of the street, and I was pulling my baby with the hook. Well, I was pulled into the middle of the street from the rope, and I didn't get run over but my baby did.

Wow!

Yep. By a monster truck.


And with that, she bounced out of the room.



Monday, September 20, 2010

A Whole New Walmart

Walmart store 4488 has a new, improved look. They are calling it a mini-super because it has a substantial grocery section (including fresh produce), but it doesn't quite cover everything. I must admit, I am not a huge fan of Walmart. It's not that I carry a personal vice against the largest majority private employer in the United States. I simply prefer Target as my box store. But, truth be told, I was actually excited when the announcement was made that the mass merchandiser would be moving into my neighborhood. I am all for micro-businesses, definitely preferring organic, locally grown, responsibly managed outfitters who care about all the "right" things. But let's face it, a mom of seven needs a little Walmart once in a while. So, when the home we purchased happened to be 1 mile from the store I was looking at the proximity as a good thing.

That proximity is proving to be useless.

First it was the several months of inconvenience related to the total store makeover. Now, let me clarify my annoyance before you think I am a complainer simply because I had to learn to go to a different part of the store to get that quick gallon of milk. Yes, I had to go to a different part of the store to get my milk. In fact, I had to ask directions every trip I took because the milk, diapers, baby food, pasta and vacuum cleaner bags were always in a different place. Always. Then, there was the frustration associated with Walmart's need to downsize stock in order to make moving merchandise easier. Need oven cleaner? Oops, sorry. We sold out, and aren't ordering any more until the store is completed. And don't try to find nonfat milk, either. That's gone, too.

I worked to roll with the punches. After all, I was being promised that the end would be a newer, better shopping experience. I grew up in retail. My family owned their own business for over 50 years. I can appreciate the need to occasionally make some mess in order to ultimately provide a better product. Unfortunately, my mom doesn't own Walmart.

Well, the newer, better shopping experience began about a month ago. I even picked up a flyer Walmart made especially for the occasion. It contained a map, and a few explanations for some of the changes.

What a piece of propaganda.

Here are a few excerpts from the pamphlet:

Where convenience is everything.
     We've always brought you the lowest possible prices. Now we've added more of the products you buy most often - all in one location. Why? So you can save even more time and money.

I realized upon my first newer, better shopping experience that the "products you buy most often" are not the products that I buy most often. Rows upon rows of frozen convenience items, chips and soda were added but try and find a can of chili beans and you are outta luck. In fact, I had no idea there were so many prepackaged, sodium laden, frozen food choices. 

Simplified Shopping
     Less clutter and clearer aisles make it easier to find just what you're looking for.

At first glance this sentence makes it appear as though Walmart did a total reorganization from their previous store model. In actuality, they simply moved the pallets and cleared the final debris from their months long remodeling project. Then there is the irony that the new store lacks clear signage to guide you in your quest for their "easier to find" products. I recently went looking for coffee for my hubby and finally found it down the "Cookie" aisle next to the small "Tea" subsection. Nothing noted coffee anywhere. I didn't realize coffee was such a speciality item, and not in need of its own sign because of the small number of people purchasing it. After all, don't you see everyone going into Walmart to buy 5 gallon drums of ground tea? I need to note, for my hubby's benefit, that he was not asking me to purchase him one of those 5 gallon drums of ground coffee. He can't stand pre-ground coffee. He was getting ready for a business trip, and needed a few of those Starbucks Via packages.

Lastly, we have my favorite:

Smart Choices
     We've simplified our assortment to help make your shopping easier. All so you can save money and live better.

This is where the rubber hits the road. Remember in the beginning when I acknowledged that a mother of seven occasionally needs a little Walmart? Things like diapers, lotion, and eye drops are nice to grab a mere 3 minutes away from home. And I must admit, my choices have definitely been simplified. There isn't much guess work to be had between no baby food and... no baby food. Okay, maybe that's a slight exaggeration. But seriously, it's WALMART for crying out loud. Isn't that where you should expect to find a plethora of baby food choices, diaper sizes and styles, cleaning supplies, and all manner of health and beauty selections? I have one, maybe two options to chose from in order to allow mass amounts of square footage to be devoted to Pancho's Pizza Packages in cheese, pepperoni, sausage, combo, vegetarian, and seven other extra high cholesterol varieties.

It's time for me to go back to Target.



Friday, September 17, 2010

Bethany

B
     bubbly. We used to joke that Bethany's middle name was so aptly chosen for her because she really did bring us Joy each and every day. She still does. Bethany works hard to find the brighter side of life in just about every circumstance. She has a great laugh, and shares it readily.

E
     early. Especially of the bird variety. No one in our home willingly gets up as early as Bethany. She loves those quiet hours in the morning when the house is still.
  
T
     thrifty. I think the penchant for earning, saving and spending frugally has found a secure home in the heart of my second-born. She could figure out a way to spend $1.50 on two items at the Dollar Store. Bethany keeps me in the loop on current sales, circulars and adds relevant to our home.
     
H
     humane. We have rescued injured rabbits, birds and insects. Our family picks up children for events, brings cards and meals to the sick, and more all as a result of Bethany's penchant for the destitute. I can only wonder at the altruistic activities she will be involved in once she has her own transportation.

A
     artistic. Whether it is a drawing, a piece of music, or theatre Bethany is our family's lover of the arts. She sings, dances, paints and sculpts. Her handwriting was beautiful before she even really knew how to write because she treated writing like drawing, carefully crafting her letters to be distinct and lovely.

N
     nurturing. Simply stated, she is the second mom in the house. Bethany is adept at cuddling babies, helping cook and managing the emotional ups and downs of her younger siblings. She really cares when one of her brothers or sisters is hurt, and works to find a solution for comforting them regardless of what it costs her.

Y
     youthful. I chose this word not because Bethany is "only" 9. I chose youthful to sum up a part of her character that I find lovely - her transparency. Many adolescents at her age are already starting to pretend they are something they are not - older, more mature, more experienced, more... Not my girl! I am proud of her willingness to be exactly how God made her.

Monday, September 13, 2010

Language

Once upon a time people used language with respect, deference, and even a little bit of awe. I adore the scene in My Fair Lady where Henry Higgins denounces Eliza Doolittle's deplorable vocabulary. And she wasn't even using filthy curse words! But our society has lost so much appreciation for healthy communication that it must resort to the same handful of loathsome obscenities for virtually all its dialogue. There are literally millions of words aching for the opportunity to make themselves useful, but I consistently overhear the youth of today resort to a single 4-letter word to describe:
an adjective of shock
an exclamation of joy
a noun of filth
a verb for jesting

Really? You can't come up with something even slightly more original? The real shocker is that these same boys and girls feel their awesome use of vocabulary grants them mastery over the English language. Well, I guess children will push the envelope of appropriate behavior in their ongoing battle to define themselves. Except, where are these children coming into such consistent contact with flippantly abusive language?

Oh, that's right... adults.

For every teenage boy I hear spouting off defamatory curse words to establish his prowess with the Burger King drive-through waitress there are at least half a dozen adult men and women doing the same thing. 

Ridiculous.

And, might I add, shame on them.

Remember the old school rule of thumb for mixed company: If you can't say it to your grandmother then maybe you shouldn't say it? I want to bring back that rule. I am tired of knowing that the only place I am  guaranteed to hear civil language from the beginning of an exchange to the last is the President of the United States' State of the Union Address, and my children's puppet shows. Just about everything in between seems fair game.

Now, before anyone slings me with mud for being an overly demanding moralist let me elucidate my gravest concerns. I do not become personally irate when I inadvertently overhear a private conversation which uses words I find vulgar and distasteful. I have my doubts about the honor of such vocabulary being used in public places where it can be overheard, but really it isn't any of my business. My issue arises from the shameless manner in which recognized curse words are bandied about as though every human over the age of 14 desires to be initiated into the fraternal bond of coarse slang.

I do not.

I do not want a five-minute conversation to qualify as grounds for "language-intimacy." Frankly, if it involves the use of unnecessarily graphic or odious jargon then a lifetime of conversation does not qualify it.

Professor Henry Higgins to Eliza Doolittle:
Eliza, you are to stay here for the next six months learning to speak beautifully, like a lady in a florist's shop. If you work hard and do as you're told, you shall sleep in a proper bedroom, have lots to eat, and money to buy chocolates and go for rides in taxis. But if you are naughty and idle, you shall sleep in the back kitchen amongst the black beetles, and be wolloped by Mrs. Pearce with a broomstick. At the end of six months you will be taken to Buckingham Palace, in a carriage, beautifully dressed. If the king finds out you are not a lady, you will be taken to the Tower of London, where your head will be cut off as a warning to other presumptuous flower girls! But if you are not found out, you shall have a present... of, ah... seven and six to start life with as a lady in a shop. If you refuse this offer, you will be the most ungrateful, wicked girl, and the angels will weep for you.