Letter to my children: Yes, Your Mother is a Hypocrite. We all are.

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Letter to my children: Yes, Your Mother is a Hypocrite. We all are.

“Why did that man leave his truck running?” The Bean looked affronted.

“I asked him if he could not idle his engine while he talks to your father - he told me that otherwise he cooks like a sardine in there and he needs the air conditioning.”

“Why doesn’t he open a window? His engine hurts the earth.” Outrage and disbelief sharpened her tone and her eyes.

Oh no, Corinna, own this.

“Beloved, I hear that, but you know what else hurts the earth? Cheese that we have in our refrigerator. It is from France. It came over on a big boat and used lots of food miles to get here.”

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Homeschool Learnings: The Summer Shift

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Homeschool Learnings: The Summer Shift

Recently, we celebrated our last official day of Oak Meadow Kindergarten and Third Grade. Dragon admired his uppercase alphabet marching across the walls. Bean thumbed through her Main Lesson Books and then dominated a game of Jeopardy based on her third grade learnings. It was a true red letter day.

“I have 1000 points!”

“What is next?”

“I am going to do the B column in 100.”

“B100, 50 divided by ten.”

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Letter to my children: When Deep Breathing is not Recommended

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Letter to my children: When Deep Breathing is not Recommended

Dearest Beloveds, there are times when being the sandwich generation feels more like being a squashed generation. Global warming seems to be that issue right now.

“Corinna, on the counter container, I want one.”

Where are we? New York? DC?

“You would like me to get you something that lives on a counter.”

“Yes, for drinking.”

For drinking? What the hell lived on the counter for drinking?

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Letter to my children: The Green Glass Doors

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Letter to my children: The Green Glass Doors

Dearest Beloveds,

The latest craze in the house is playing the Green Glass Doors. What started out as a riddle to stymie us all has turned into a spelling game that travels with us everywhere.

Bean, you brought the game home from Flying Deer. We were sitting at the dinner table.

“Okay, here is a new game. Tell me the rule for how this works. I can go through the green glass doors. And so can you Momma. But Dragon cannot.”

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Letter to my children: What if sex was rest?

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Letter to my children: What if sex was rest?

Dearest Beloveds,

The first year of our WiseBodies “Sex Ed for Adults” is coming to a close. A class filled with tears and laughter and learning. Aside from rocking my world by teaching me the history of the speculum, this class is also slowly, steadily, unraveling much of what I understood “sex” to be.

I am so glad I am learning this now - before you two hit puberty.

I wish I could say, I am learning this before you two are exposed to our culture’s myopic, juvenile, reductive idea of “sex” but that is not true.

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Letter to my children: Flush out your emotions now

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Letter to my children: Flush out your emotions now

“Okay, you are almost done with your corrections for your quiz. Please write out ostrich 5 times.”

Bean sat, stone faced, arms crossed, body rigid, brow furrowed.

Gosh, darn it, I was hoping to squeeze one more quiz in - but this is her 36th quiz this year.

“Dearest, this is the last spelling quiz of your 3rd grade year. Just five more words. You can do it.”

Derision slide across her continence.

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Homeschool Learnings: Brain Coherence and the Rock Cycle

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Homeschool Learnings: Brain Coherence and the Rock Cycle

“No wait Momma, we need to get our names back before we start!”

“Oh right, what is your name again?”

“Umbrella, unicorn, lemonade.” Bean started laughing. “You Momma, you are Sailed Muppet Icicle.”

“Okay Umbrella, let’s see if we can get your name back.”

“Super fast.”

“Okay, super fast.”

In chorus, both of our hands clapping and slapping we started. “Avocado Avocado is the name of the game, if you mess up once you change your name! A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H…”

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Letter to my children: Being in the Middle, Middle-Aged, or Sandwich Generation

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Dearests Beloveds,

I hope very much when you are my age I am compos mentis enough to remember what it is like to be in the middle. If not, this is why your Momma is writing, and you are welcome. Feel free to throw it in my face and have me reread - I would be honored.

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