Back when my children were really young, my husband and I took them kite flying for the first time. We chose a clear, sunny spring day with lots of wind. Driving to a nearby park with a huge field and no power lines, my husband got the kite off the ground and unwound the kite string. As soon as the kite was securely flying in the heavens, each of the children wanted to take turns tugging on the kite. They loved it!
I am not a runner. The only reason I signed up for a 12K race was to make sure I stayed in shape for my husband. To prepare for the race, I did Zumba. I started with once a week, then twice a week, and now I do it three times a week. Unfortunately I found out too late that Zumba uses different muscles than running. I was about two miles into the race when I realized my legs were so stiff that I thought they had rigor mortis (Latin words meaning “stiffness of death”).
The day began like any other day, except that it was foggy, foreshadowing things to come. It had snowed two days prior to this race, so I was surprised when I saw my husband wearing shorts. I toyed with the idea of bringing snow gloves, since my fingers were frozen. My 10-year-old son also came with us, not complaining one bit.
I suppose I should tell you that the Bloomsday race happens each year here in Spokane, Washington, during the first weekend of May. (Yes, it was snowing at the end of April, much to the chagrin of the deluded people who believe in global warming.) Over 60,000 people were supporting our city by running this race.
Okay, now picture 60,000 people running all in the same direction, like a slow-flowing river of molasses, inexorably pushing everyone forward. You’d better not stop, or you’ll get trampled. I saw this first hand when someone dropped her sunglasses, and the person behind her crushed them in less than two seconds. Everyone around her (including me) laughed, because what could be done? She couldn’t turn around to try to pick them up, or her hand (at least) would surely get squashed. No, she must proceed forward, like everyone else…
Oh, I forgot to tell you about the beginning of the race. As we were waiting, people bumped beach balls around. There were also flying tortillas; I kid you not. (Hopefully the birds ate those…) When the beach ball came to my husband, he gave it to a little girl beside us. Well, the girl threw it really hard onto my head, and it bounced off, much to the hilarious laughter of my husband. The little girl felt so bad that she hid behind her dad. I told her, “That didn’t hurt. It was funny. Thanks for a good laugh.”
Then people started stripping. They threw their sweatshirts into the nearby trees. It looked like laundry day. The sun came out, and it was actually quite pleasant. Maybe these people weren’t insane for throwing off their sweatshirts. (They had tank tops underneath, of course…)
So there was the starting line. We heard the pistol shot that indicated the beginning of the race, and people clapped, but we continued to stand still. It was like heavy traffic, when the light turns green. You have to wait until the car in front of you moves forward. Music was blaring, and it happened to be one of my Zumba songs. I started doing Zumba, much to the delight of my husband, who said, “This is not Zumba, you know.” No one else saw me; the crowd was too thick. Besides, I don’t care. There were people who looked much crazier, with costumes on and caps with twirly propellers. Apparently people really get into this…
Then the crowd 
flowed forward like a slow-moving river. After about two miles, my legs were so stiff I couldn’t force them to move one in front of the other. But you have to keep moving, or people will bump into you. My husband kept saying, “Push through it. Pain is just weakness leaving the body.” Thanks, dear. I’ll tell that to my sore legs, my sore bum, and my weary body…
We reached Doomsday Hill. Needless to say I did not run up that hill. Nope. Just walked.
Many side shows and bands were playing along the edge of the road. Five bands were Christian, and I cheered as I passed by. Other people played on recycled drums. There was a man dressed up as a big turkey vulture right in the middle of the path, and people were having pictures taken with him. Even Star Wars dudes were dancing the Macarena.
At regular intervals, there would be people lined up along the side of the road with water in paper cups. You could grab the water as you were running, drink it, and throw it away. Some people (like my crazy husband) dumped the water over their heads before they continued running. Well, later my dad reminded me of an old Seinfeld episode where Kramer was standing on the edge of a race, holding his hot cup of coffee over the rail. Suddenly one of the runners grabbed the hot coffee and poured it over his head, screaming Owww at being scalded. My son Bryan laughed so hard at this joke…
At long last, I made it ov
er the finish line. Hobbling. You see, I had blisters on the backs of my feet where the running shoes cut into me. My legs felt like jelly. “Keep moving,” said the traffic controllers to make sure everyone got their “I finished Bloomsday” T-shirt. I earned it.
Do you wonder what it would be like to have an exotic animal as a pet? I always toyed with the idea of having a pet jaguar, my favorite animal. (I could keep it in the basement with any unruly children, you know.) Well, Cat Tales Zoo is full of large cats that used to be the pets of actual (eccentric) people. The tour guide tells you stories about each feline, how many people they’ve killed, and how they came to be in a zoo.
They start by showing you the smallest wild cats, and you think, “Oh, they couldn’t hurt a fly.” Come to find out they’ve killed people. But as I stood there with my children, listening to the tour guide, I thought to myself, “These don’t look like ferocious felines at all. They’re lazing about like they’re on sedatives. They can hardly bother to yawn at you.”
So the sign saying, “Don’t Run: You Look Like Food” seemed like overkill to me.
A lion with a big fluffy mane was sleeping in his outhouse. Yes, it smelled like an outhouse but was more like a broken-down shed. He couldn’t bother to say hello. Later on, however, when we were on our way to the gift shop, we saw the lion step out and make his debut. He lazily walked about and let the tour guide rub him under the chin. “A little to the left…” he seemed to be saying.
The food for the large cats is kept in food lockers. One of the lockers said, “Other Meat: Unattended Children.” The tour guide tried to convince us that no actual children were in the meat locker. You could almost hear her laughing diabolically behind the scenes as she went to feed the animals.
On the way out, I saw two bird feeders inside one of the enclosed areas with a large cat. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for the poor birdies. Fresh meat, you know. “Here, birdie, birdie… The big kitty won’t eat you…”
I promised the people who bought my “Overcoming Math Frustration” audio that I would observe to see if my children finished their Teaching Textbooks faster when they did their workbook first, then afterwards turned on the computer to type in their answers. After using this program for nearly a year, I can now answer that question with a resounding yes. It cuts the time down considerably. Just this morning my second son said that he had done two lessons in one hour.
Maybe I need to skip him to a higher level. That’s odd, because he’s already 3 years ahead, and my oldest son is 2 years ahead. I don’t want both of them in the same grade level because my oldest son has a mathematical mind, and there’s no reason to make him feel stupid, like his little brother is smarter than he is; because he’s not. My oldest son is definitely more brainy. Maybe this makes me a bad mother, to not let my second son progress to catch up with his brother, but I refuse to do so…
I asked my second son what his grades were (on the two lessons he just did), and he said 95% and 100%. I am so much enjoying not having to grade the math of my two oldest sons. I totally love that it’s self-grading.
My oldest son takes an hour to do his Teaching Textbooks math, as opposed to the two hours he used to take on Saxon math. By the way, Saxon has the highest SAT scores, so don’t ditch Saxon unless you’ve prayed about it. I get no money from any of these companies, and I’m only giving you my blunt opinion, as always. Teaching Textbooks is extremely expensive; the cost alone is prohibitive for most homeschoolers unless you plan ahead and use your tax refund money or Christmas bonus for it.
My younger two children are still doing Horizon, with a little bit of Math U See thrown in to jazz things up and help them see the math concepts visually. Well, one night while setting out my children’s math, I accidentally switched math pages. My 5-year-old daughter was doing a page on multiplication the next day. When I walked in, I was flabbergasted that a first grade math program would have multiplication. (Yes, she’s one year ahead.) She was so proud of herself, and her brothers were impressed by her mathematical prowess.
I grabbed the page off the table and asked my third son where his math page was. He showed it to me. He said he had finished it already because it was so easy. “Didn’t you notice it was your sister’s math? Why would you be doing addition when you’ve been doing multiplication? And can’t you see the numbers are way bigger?”
My third son started laughing. “No wonder it was so easy,” he said. His poor bleary-eyed mother needs to pay closer attention next time…
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
(By the way, if you click on the picture above, you will see that my daughter likes to turn her numbers into smiley faces on her math.)
