Yes, I Homeschool

By Jodi Whisenhunt –

I homeschool. OK, that’s not the funny part of this column. Then again, maybe it is!

I’ve been at this task since 2000, so you can say I’m no newbie. We’ve done many silly things in the name of learning. We’ve studied entomology while pulling weeds from the garden. We’ve made breadstick numbers to go with dinner. We’ve learned about the water cycle when filling the pool (again). But I never cease to be amazed at the crazy ways people object to what we do.

• “Your kids won’t know how to socialize.”
• “You kids will miss out on proms, football games, and dating.”
• “Your kids won’t know how to stand in line.”
• “Your kids won’t know to raise their hand to speak.”
• “Your kids will be with you all day long.”

My children have never had trouble making friends or maintaining friendships. They hang out with kids of varying ages, even with some who go to regular school. Weird, huh?

My teen has attended Homecoming. There are area homeschool proms. We have several large athletic organizations where we live. In fact, the HSAA (Home School Athletic Association) Dallas Angels Varsity baseball team won the national Home School World Series this past spring!

Dating varies by family, of course, but my son does have an active social life. He is also a leader in his church youth group and writes his own devotional blog for teens, with some posts directed specifically at dating and relationship topics.

I’m really not sure the relevance of learning to stand in line or to raise your hand to speak, but I’m pretty confident that if my kids were in a situation that required either of those activities, they’d be able to follow the rules.

Now, as for my kids being with me all day long…why is that a bad thing? A well-meaning neighbor whose kids attend public school (and who thinks summer break is excruciatingly long) told me, “I don’t know how you homeschool and stay home with your kids 24/7!” One time all three of my children caught swine flu on a week we were to have a family gathering. When I called to cancel plans with my sister-in-law, whose kids attend private school, she said, “It’s weird how y’all caught that. You homeschool!”

Um, we do leave the house. We do go out into the world. We do take classes. We attend coops, museums, performances. We—gasp—grocery shop! We even eat out and vacation too. Some of that is done together, and yes, some is done apart. We look upon the time we have together as priceless, precious moments. My husband and I choose to be the ones to guide our children into adulthood, to be the ones responsible for their upbringing. We choose to fulfill our God-given duty to “train a child in the way he should go.” And we also choose to continue to walk this path as long as the Lord allows.

As for me and my house, we will serve the Lord. And this is how.

Not the Apple of My Eye

By Emily M. Akin –

I hate apples. Not because they were used to tempt Eve in the Garden of Eden. I hate them because I was over-exposed to them in childhood. I wouldn’t call it a traumatic experience, but it was close.

My grandmother, who lived right next door, had an apple orchard. It produced enough apples to feed all the world’s starving children and armies combined. But, we had to eat them or preserve them with no help from the rest of the world.

When apple-picking time arrived, all the kids in the family were enlisted to pick, transport and preserve the apples—thousands of them. Peeling, coring, cooking, slicing, drying—it went on for days on end. We ate apples sauced, baked, spiced, canned and chopped in salads. Apples were on the ground around the trees, in baskets on the porch, soaking in salt-water baths or waiting to be cooked. Even the top of the well house sported a layer of cored sliced apples drying in the sun.

I tried feeding some to the cows, but they were not interested. The apple orchard was also their pasture, so I guess they were tired of them too. Finally, I realized that I would be going back to school soon. The apple harvest could continue without me, and I would get a break from handling and eating apples.

On the first day of school, I picked up my lunch tray and started down the line. (Back then, you ate what they served, no picking and choosing allowed.) When I glanced down at my tray, my mouth fell open. In the little pocket on the left was Waldorf salad with little red apple peels peeking out at me. Where did they come from? Oh, no! My grandparents had sold their excess apples to the school lunch program.

Years later, when my budget was tight, I would have welcomed a basket of free apples. Why do we not to appreciate our abundance when times are good? Like the Israelites in the desert, we complain that we have too much of one thing or not enough of another (Numbers 11:4-6).

I still choose the “un-apple” when offered a choice among the fruits. And, I admit I hold some resentment in my heart for Johnny Appleseed. I mean, what motivated him to force apples on everyone? But, I’ve wised up. If apples are the only thing on the menu, I thank God for what He has provided.

With Two You Get Eggrolls

By Kathi Macias –

I can’t remember if the “eggrolls” title above was a book or a movie, but my dad was famous for saying it every time he took us out for Chinese food (which wasn’t often, as people ate out a lot less often in those days—took too long to harness the horses to the buggy, you know).

Seriously, with Mom and Dad in the front seat and us three kids in the back, we’d have the “eggrolls” discussion long before we arrived at Hissing Dragons. “Let me do the ordering,” Dad would say (as if that were a novel suggestion). “I know how to get the most food for the least money, including free eggrolls. So just keep your mouths shut until the food arrives.”

Since all I really cared about were the fortune cookies, that wasn’t much of a problem. But fifty-plus years later, I realize how much of my dad’s training has stuck with me. My husband absolutely adores Chinese food, so we go out to eat it fairly regularly. The minute we sit down and open the menus, I start looking for specials—two-for-one, buy-this-and-get-that-free, etc. I can’t tell you the times I’ve ordered something I don’t even like just because something else I don’t dislike quite as much comes with it.

Old habits die hard, as they say, and my 90-year-old mom is the proof of that. In the facility where she now lives, she shares her meals with two table-mates, Rita and Laura. The three of them compare notes about health, families, activities (or lack thereof)…and food. That, of course, is a big one. My mom actually called me the other day to complain that they served liver and onions for dinner, something she refuses to eat.

“So are you still hungry, Mom?” I asked in response. “You know, I left some sandwich items in the refrigerator in your room. You can ask your caregiver to help you make a sandwich.”

“Oh, no, I’m not hungry,” she assured me. “I seldom eat what they serve for dinner anyway because I’m still full from lunch.” (That’s not surprising because they finish lunch at 12:30 and go back down to the dining room for dinner at 4—just long enough in between for an afternoon nap.) “It’s just the principle of the thing,” she explained. “I hate liver and onions, and I thought you should know that’s what they gave us for dinner.”

Sigh. I’m never sure how to handle that sort of situation, so I usually just change the subject. But as much as she despises liver and onions, there is one meal at the facility that ranks at the top of her favorites list: eggrolls. At last twice a month they serve eggrolls (along with a few other items) for either lunch or dinner, and Mom always calls me to rave about them. But the last time she had them, she also had a revelation that really rocked her world.

“They give eggrolls to everyone,” she said, amazement evident in her voice.

“And why wouldn’t they?” I asked.

“Well, I just assumed I got them because I share a table with Rita and Laura, but today I noticed there were a couple of people sitting at tables by themselves, and they got eggrolls too!”

It was nearly too much for her to comprehend, though she quickly added that it wouldn’t be fair if they didn’t get them. After all, it was sad enough that they sat by themselves at mealtime; there was no reason to punish them further by depriving them of eggrolls.

I’ve learned a lot watching my mom age, and not just about eggrolls and who’s entitled to them. I understand a little better now that the Scriptures tell us that the death, or passing, of God’s people is precious in His sight. And it isn’t limited to that one moment in time when a believer takes that last breath and departs for heaven. It is the sometimes lengthy process, that cutting of earthly ties so we can finally soar into God’s presence. Barring some unexpected event, Mom will probably get there ahead of me, but I wouldn’t be in the least surprised if, when I arrive soon after her, I find she’s already sitting at the banquet table, sharing eggrolls with my dad. Something tells me they won’t mind if I join them.

Take My Zucchini, Please

By Lynn Rebuck –

It’s that time of the summer when I don’t know what to do with all of the zucchini growing in my garden. We cannot eat it as fast as it grows.  It seems like the innocent plants I bought at a local greenhouse and planted in my yard went from zero to zucchini overnight.  And it’s not only that these plants are prolific.

If you turn away for a second, the normal-sized zucchini that was on the plant a moment earlier grows to gargantuan size.  Now what am I to do with it?  I’ve given zucchini to the mailman, the dentist, and every person that walks past my house.  The other day I chased down a jogger just to provide one that he could use to ward off stray dogs.

My family has endured every culinary variation of zucchini.   I have made zucchini mousse, zucchini gelatin, and zucchini cupcakes. Those didn’t go over well with the 6-year olds at the birthday party.  I invented the zucchini split, complete with three scoops of zucchini ice cream, whipped cream, and a cherry tomato on top.  I do make one recipe that my family likes. I bake a combination of banana bread and zucchini bread.  I call it “Bikini Bread.”  The recipe is on my website, www.LynnRebuck.com.

I’ve even tried paying my debts with zucchini. The other day I handed the clerk a large zucchini to pay for my groceries.  She handed me some patty pan squash as change.

If you’re also overwhelmed by the abundance of zucchini in your garden, here are some suggestions for what to do with all of it:

Throw a zucchini skin care party, complete with squash facials and a slice of zucchini over each eye to remove puffiness (zucchini is the new cucumber).

Forget about T-ball and sign your kid up for the latest zucchini-inspired little league craze, Z-ball.  One child hit a three-run homer with a homegrown 23-inch zucchini.

Weave some strings through a couple of the broader ones, get a small ball, and play squash.

To deter automobile theft, place a large zucchini across your steering wheel.  Tell your friends it is the new green version of the “The Club,” then give them one for their car.

Make new friends who don’t have a garden.  Give them a zucchini gift basket.

If all else fails, you can do with your zucchini harvest what someone did a few years back with their garbage during a New York City garbage collection strike.  Unable to get rid of it, they wrapped it as a gift and left it in their unlocked car overnight.  Someone stole it.

Remember my new motto: “Speak softly, and carry a big zucchini.”

© 2011 Lynn Rebuck

I Don’t Want to Get Married!

By Jodi Whisenhunt –

My niece Chelsea will marry the love of her life on August 14, 2011. Chelsea was barely an adult when she and Rob met. He was more mature, with a bit more life experience. The couple dated a few months and sought the blessing of Chelsea’s parents before growing their relationship. Wonderful, loving ties have been established, and together they are planting a firm foundation for marriage.

Chelsea has asked all three of my children to participate in the ceremony. My eldest will usher, my daughter will scatter flower petals, and my youngest will bear the rings. The thought of Chelsea wedding warms my soul…and makes me feel really old! Chelsea was my flower girl back in 1993.

Back then, she was cute and confident (still is!). She said at the time that it was she who was getting married. After all, she was wearing a beautiful gown and walking down the aisle on the arm of a handsome young man donning a tuxedo. It would have been alright, except that right before they headed toward the alter, my ring bearer announced, “I don’t want to get married!”

I suppose the breakup was all for the best.

The Bible tells us that when a man and a woman marry, two become one. Seems like a crazy math problem: 1+1=1? But sometimes God’s wisdom makes more sense than it appears on the surface.

Genesis 2:24 says, “For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and they will become one flesh.” For what reason? Eve was made from a rib taken from Adam; a marriage reconnects what had been separated.

As the 14^th of August approaches, my prayer for my niece and almost nephew-in-law is a simple one. I pray that as they unite in this special bond, that they will be unified as one in Christ, that they would always place Him in proper position above all else—especially above each other and above their own desires. For it is only what God has joined together that “no man can put asunder.”

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