December 26, 2009
Another Boppy cover
I had a lot of fabric left after sewing some pillow covers for a friend, and she let me keep the extra. A good bit of it became this Boppy cover for another friend’s baby shower.
I have a new favorite way of sewing zippers, which I found on some website I neglected to bookmark. You first baste the opening close, then pin and sew the zipper in, then remove the basting. That way, there’s no distortion, and the two sides meet perfectly in the center of the zipper.
Christmas 2009
All is calm, and all is bright dark. Everyone’s snug in their beds again, visions of today’s sugarplums dancing in their heads.
We had mini-Christmas with Mark’s folks on Monday in Indianapolis, celebrated our thirteenth anniversary that evening, then bright dark and early the next morning we headed out here to New Jersey where my folks live.
Fifteen hours. Amy did remarkably well.
Last night’s dinner didn’t agree with her, though, and she threw up four times between 9pm and 1:30am. She woke feeling fine, other than tired. We started her with dry toast and sips of flat ginger ale and coke, and by evening she was able to have a taste of roast beef and cheesecake along with her rice, applesauce, and banana.
There were presents, of course. Mostly for Amy, of course. Mark was very pleased and surprised by the vintage mechanical cuckoo clock I found on Ebay. Everyone (me, too!) was pleased with their gifts.
My sister and my brother and his family arrived in the afternoon, for more presents and dinner and dessert.
Amy enjoyed her cousins and aunts and uncle, although she had to ask a few times which cousin was which.
Tomorrow I hope to make pecan sticky buns, thanks to a facebook friend’s provocation. Sunday we’ll be at my brother’s house; my nephew arrives tomorrow and so Sunday’ll be Christmas for him. Tracy’s boyfriend Eric will join us then, too; he was with his family today.
Tuesday we’re off to VA to spend some time with Amy’s godparents.
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Pictures later.
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Oh, one more thing: I was worried about holiday food this year. I haven’t been exercising, and I’ve been having arguments with my willpower. But there were only two kinds of cookies, which I’ve been enjoying quite moderately, and there was no snacking today between late breakfast and dinner. I was hungry for dinner and thoroughly enjoyed it, as well as dessert — cheesecake and a few chocolates. I would have liked one linzer cookie and three nut-filled cookies, but otherwise I didn’t miss the usual plethora at all, nor did I miss the midday snacking.
The last time we were here for Christmas, two years ago, I was a mess… it is good to be in a better place now.
December 23, 2009
because he is good
This post has coalesced from a few conversations, readings, and situations lately…
A friend is worried about a high-risk pregnancy, among other things. Another of her friends and I were commenting to her about trusting God — how scary it is, and how dangerous, because God doesn’t promise that bad things won’t happen to us. It all hinges on the question — is God really good, despite the bad things that may indeed happen, the fears and worries that might come true? And it’s a vortex that can suck me in often enough, and I remember a few things that can help me hang on.
I remember that a toddler has no idea how the shot at the doctor’s office could possibly do her any good. Disease is meaningless to her. And the shot hurts. And mama doesn’t even try to stop it. But mama is still good.
I remember Joe describing a scene in Last of the Mohicans, where a girl (I think) has to trust the hero and go willingly into one dangerous situation (was it jumping across a waterfall or something like that?) in order to escape another dangerous situation, something that the hero can see coming but she can’t. The hero is still good.
And, the old standby, all the mentions in C. S. Lewis’ Narnia Chronicles, about how Aslan is not safe, but he is good.
And that’s also the crux of this other thing, an article another friend linked to, by a fellow named Shane Claiborne. Among other things, he talks about how the reason he turned to God wasn’t so much about fear of hell or hope for heavenly reward, but “because he is good.”
What else has led to this post?
Let me just say that some people I know are dealing with some very difficult things, and some of them do not know the goodness of God. It’s what I most want for them this Christmas — that, between whatever obstacles stand in the way, whatever fears, misconceptions, academic questions, and past experiences, they would see Jesus, as he really is, and see that he IS good.
That his goodness would be evident as the light that shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it, however deep and thick that darkness is.
And, Lord Jesus, show me this, too, more and more.
December 19, 2009
Wooden spoon wand
Select a wooden spoon with a nice long handle. Trace around the bowl of the spoon and a bit of the handle. Sketch a star shape, or scale a template to fit.
Cut out two fabric stars, and two batting stars. The bit at the bottom will be tucked in — it doesn’t need to be quite that long. Pin each fabric star with a batting star.
Here’s my machine prepped for free motion quilting. Thanks to some site (I forget where, sorry!) I found the idea to tape business cards over the feed dogs since I don’t have a darning plate or a way to lower the feed dogs. My machine also doesn’t have a darning foot, and the manual says to just not use a foot.
First I practiced on a scrap and didn’t like it, so I did some stippling with the feed dogs active and a regular zigzag foot. It’s quite lovely, but it required raising the foot to turn the fabric every other stitch or so, and using the hand wheel, so it was ridiculously tedious even for such a small item.
So then I tried the free motion thing again. That’s really tricky! I think I could get it, with more practice, though.
Once you’ve quilted each star, stitch right sides together all around except at the bottom, then turn right side out.
Hand stitch the bottom closed, tucking in the bits that go across the handle, and tucking in some ribbons at one corner. I pinned the fabric on either side of the handle to keep it centered while hand sewing.
December 8, 2009
December 2, 2009
Observation(s)
Today Amy and I visited the Montessori Academy at Edison Lakes.
We met the administrative assistant and the executive assistant to the head of school (the person who answered my email), and then Mary McIntosh, the head of school, came to give us the tour. For some reason I wasn’t expecting the head to do that — and I liked that she did it. I told her how I used to work at Richmond Montessori, where she used to run the Montessori teacher training. This school has a teacher academy, too. She was quite pleased, and then asked me questions about the school that I couldn’t answer — I only worked summers in the extended care, so I didn’t have much contact with the regular folks.
First we visited the junior high area. The vast majority of Montessori schools are preschools, and new ones usually start with preschool and build up from there. RMS had a middle school, too. This area included a science lab, an art room, and a presentation room that are all used by elementary students as well. We were able to walk right in to the classrooms, talk briefly with the teachers, and at one point Amy “helped” a student with the work she was doing, which the student handled quite graciously. I didn’t hear a sound from either of them.
Amy also got to meet a guinea pig. Fish tank, too, in the main office area. (I know, fish and guinea pigs are common school inhabitants.) As I was asking some questions Amy was looking at the fish. A teacher walking up stopped to kneel down and talk to Amy about the fish, and then moved on.
Next we went outside and down the path to the other building, where the toddlers and early childhood classes were. The school started in a church, then moved to the building where the main office is, then added on the extension where the junior high is, then this building. There are four early childhood classes. They all had one-way glass in the windows (not just door windows, but windows onto the hall, as well) so parents and visitors could observe the classes without disturbing the students. Two are full day programs, and they occupy two large rooms connected by a door, and mingle quite a bit. One is a half day program that meets five days a week and includes kindergarten. The other is a half day program that meets three days a week, and goes from age three to age five.
(Montessori schools have multi-age groups in their classes — 3-6, 6-9, and so on. The older help the younger and thereby reinforce their own learning, and the younger learn from the older as well as from their teachers. It’s also more like family, home, and the world, to be in multi-age groups.)
By now some other parents had arrived (we were a bit early), so as the head showed us the classroom used for the teacher academy, she suggested Amy and I hang out in there while she showed the other parents what she’d already showed us. The first thing Amy noticed were the practical life shelves — trays with bowls and utensils and small things to transfer, pour, sort, and so on. One after another she tried. She didn’t do so well with the tongs, but really enjoyed watching me do them, and this evening while we were at the sink washing dishes, she was using two wooden spoons as if they were tongs. She wanted to combine items from different trays, and didn’t want to put one back to get another, but she seemed like she would adjust to that in time.
We headed out with an information packet in hand.
We think we could afford two, maybe three years. Amy could start in the three day class, and move to the five day class if / when she’s ready for kindergarten, or she could start in the five day class to begin with. That would be more expensive, since it’s more days each week, but it would be more in line with the three-year cycle idea that’s big in Montessori — having the class stay together, same kids, same teachers, same room, for three years at a time. But no one discouraged us from the first option, so at least at this school they seem to think it would be fine. They did say the three day class tended to have the younger kids — I guess the ones whose birthdays fall before the cutoff date, the ones who would be three most of the first year instead of just a few months like Amy.
We could set up an interview for Amy in January or February, with no further obligation. I can go back and observe the early childhood classes more intently and talk more with the EC director and the teachers. In February there’s an open house on a Sunday that Mark could attend with us. And in March they begin taking applications.
On the one hand, this is absolutely what I want to do. On the other, I wonder why I’m so hoity-toity that ordinary preschool (ordinary anything) isn’t good enough for my kid or for me.
It reminds me of our church search. It’s about subtlety, in part. It’s not like other schools and churches are downright evil or dangerous. And it’s not like the church or school we are looking for is going to be perfectly flawless. But the same kind of subtlety that keeps me dissatisfied with many of the churches we’ve visited, fine as they may be, makes me long to put my little one in a Montessori classroom.
Montessori is more focused on the individual AS an individual, and the child as a distinct kind of real person, than any other educational philosophy I’m familiar with.
Montessori is organized in such a way as to minimize things like rows of desks, lines in hallways and cafeterias, bathroom passes or scheduled bathroom breaks, uniform lessons for all students, and all that stuff that is necessary for most schools to function efficiently, and that can lead, subtly, to a herd mentality. Instead, Montessori is organized to be as much like a home and family as possible.
Montessori believes that children’s work is real work. There’s no such thing as busy work. There’s also no getting something done just to get it done. A child can repeat a work as often as they find satisfaction in doing so — the process matters. They have real tools to use in taking care of themselves and their environment, whether cleaning up their own spill, or preparing a snack for their classmates. The various materials they work with are very carefully and precisely designed. For example, if Fisher-Price made a toy to help kids learn about height, the various pieces would likely also differ in diameter, color, sound, etc. A set of knobbed cylinders in a Montessori classroom are all the same wood, the same diameter, and only differ in height — focusing the child’s attention on the height, and not distracting them with other things.
Montessori students have a LOT of individual choice and responsibility, with guidance from their teachers. Most materials are self-correcting — the child can tell immediately if something has gone wrong, and doesn’t need anyone’s red pen or someone hovering over their shoulder to correct them. If you pour too quickly, you might spill. There’s a little sponge provided right on the tray so you can wipe the spill. If you put the tallest cylinder in the smallest spot, it won’t fit.
Montessori is about individuals, but it’s not about selfish brats. It’s about individuals in harmony with one another. Students learn a lot about good manners, consideration, taking good care of themselves, their environment, the materials, and so on. One of the things that most impressed me about the Montessori schools I’ve worked at is the way the kids have interacted with me. They can have confident, comfortable, intelligent conversation with an adult. There isn’t that sense of us vs. them, kids vs. adults, students vs. teachers.
And, if you know me, you can imagine the sense of peace and bliss that washes over me to look at one of those Montessori classrooms and see all the neat shelves with the many materials so tidily stored, readily accessible, organized in sensible ways, self-contained, attractive. To see the children on the carpeted floor with their work on a pretty mat, and others at small tables around the room, all comfortable and engaged. One of the things Amy worked with today had beautiful golden metal bowls and a golden wooden or pasteboard round container. Another had lovely glass dishes. Another had delicate peach flowery bowls and a tiny golden ladle. Everything is neat and attractive. An orderly, accessible, sensible environment is so valuable to me. There’s nothing really wrong with throwing all the toys in one huge bin, I suppose, and yet it distresses me — it’s so much harder then to find the one toy you want, without making a mess, and it doesn’t invite you to come and play like orderly open shelves do.
I feel like my mind is already made up, and yet I need to do more work.
I need to pray.
I need to talk more with Mark.
I need to observe there again and ask more questions. I need to consider and ask about transitioning, whether it would be better to do kindergarten at the Montessori school or at the public school, since we likely can’t afford to do all of elementary at the Montessori school. (Unless I get more work… hmmm.)
I have to consider the social aspects — my willingness to not only drive Amy to school but to get together with school friends, some of whom commute from Michigan, and none currently from Plymouth or Culver; and the extent to which choosing a far-away Montessori might make me look even more of a snob to my local friends, and how that would affect our relationships, mine and Amy’s. We already have a little disconnect in that Amy is in the Plymouth school district, but most of our friends are in Culver, so perhaps it’s not that much worse than it would be already.
The commute to school itself doesn’t bother me that much right now. Think of the knitting I could get done at the local library while waiting for her! I could shop at Meijer and Target if I wanted to. I could volunteer, or perhaps get a small job at the school if they have one.
I need to go observe the local preschool(s), too, and ask questions there. I should also probably tour the public elementary school she would go to, and ask questions there as well.
I’ve often had a tendency to dream beyond my means, AND to settle for far less just because one can. I care too much about what other people will think. I am very reluctant to spend any money at all, but if I do, I want the best I can buy. Or I buy nothing, because, really, what does one need? And is wanting enough to make buying worthwhile? It haunts me even when choosing birthday presents for my three-year-old, or considering a dollar skirt at the thrift store. But I bought saffron recently. And Spice Islands ginger really does taste better than McCormick’s. Likewise for real Cheerios vs. generic.
We have some things to think about.
(Did I mention they introduce Spanish at age 3?)
(Oh, and they don’t have farm school and the Catechesis of the Good Shepherd like the other Montessori school does (but the other one doesn’t have preschool and kindergarten))
Two thirds
A few years after we got married, we bought a 7 or 7.5 foot artificial spruce Christmas tree. It’s quite nice, still, somewhere around ten years old. It’s too full around the bottom for our current small living room (and the previous one), so we fudge it and only set up the top two thirds. There’s a top portion that’s all one piece, a middle pole with branches that hook in, and a lower pole with branches that hook in. Plus the stand. Here it is in two thirds of its glory:
Want to buy it?
