We have been debated (heartily) over whether or not to hire a housekeeper. We would dearly love to, but we're at the tipping point between:
* whether it's good for the kids to learn basic household upkeep tasks (and there's a lot to learn & learning it well requires years of repetition)
* whether it's distracting us from more important tasks.
The current line of thought is this: A housekeeper is approx $500/mo. A ticket for a cruise is about $1,000. Two months of doing our own housework buys one ticket. A year's worth of doing our own housework buys us six tickets, enough for the whole family. It is a highly motivated thought for the kids (and for me!) so for now we're doing our own chores.
I'll blog about the How later on today... Stay tuned.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Sunday, May 18, 2008
The Legacy Walk
There is one particularly meaningful tree-lined street in Berkeley where the trees reach out high above your head. The foliage is lush and the stately houses represent the archetypical home-as-nest. In particular, the trees give the road an other-worldly feel and time stops for me every time I am on this street.
I first walked this street with a friend from my church -- she is a few decades older than me but she is faster, wiser, and far more knowledgeable. Walking with her is like walking with a tour guide who would make you milk and cookies afterwards. I adore her.
The first time I walked with her, she showed me streets I had never seen before. One particular street has now become our own personal "Legacy Road". While my friend didn't suggest the following activity, her views influenced it.
Here's how the Legacy Road works (with the background thrown in for flavor): A few months ago, we were having a fuzzy, directionless Sunday, so I asked the rest of the family to watch themselves (please) because "I need to show Kee his legacy." This confused them long enough to let me slip out the door with Kee in tow. Kee is 15 yo, old enough and wise enough to sense that his Mama had something bizarre up her sleeve. I had "that look" in my eye.
We went to Legacy Road (Mariposa, one block E of Shattuck, near the top of Solano) and positioned ourselves at the southwest corner of the street. (It has to start on that particular spot). I turned Kee to face "up" the road, looking forward at the massive expanse of foliage, surrounded by homes of prestige and elegance. His eyes widened and I said:
"This is your life, my son. The road symbolizes the span of your lifetime. You start here, with this first step, and at the end of the road, you die. But first, tell me about your childhood... What do you remember?"
He started with his first memories, then elementary, middle, high school. As a concrete metaphor, we noted the trees, their age and beauty, how they had been pruned (just as he had in his life) and noted that every tree, even though it had been given identical care as its neighbor, had grown differently. Choice. It's all about choice. He reflected on his many choices and naturally began to evaluate his past.
When we got to the north end of Mariposa, he gave me a nervous look, "What did you say about dying at the end of the road?"
I laughed. Whoops. "This is a metaphor honey. Let's cross the street. You die at the end, when we have made a full circle. Up one side of the street and down the other. Past (gesturing to the direction we had come) and future (gesturing to the other side of the street). You just walked your past. Now you're crossing through the present moment to your future."
As we crossed the street, he had a wild little smile on his face. He stood at the upper end of the tree-lined street with his jaw slightly dropped, realizing that his entire life was ahead of him, in extreme, concrete terms, it was HIS to choose. We began talking about what he might want at 16, 20, 25, 30... Where he wanted to travel; what he wanted in an eternal mate; what type of house he wanted to own; what type of job... all the visions and dreams were beginning to bud. He was embracing the expansive richness of his future. The trees were so perfectly symbolic -- their thick trunks and sturdy branches.
He thought most carefully about the career choices. His focus was on: "How can I contribute most meaningfully?" and "What can I do that would generate the most lasting personal joy?"
I didn't give any answers -- just kept him on topic.
The questions shifted to, "What about when you're 35, 40, 45, 50...?" inconceivable ages for teenagers. His eyes showed a glimmer of understanding that life is much, much longer than he originally thought. It was like unrolling a ball of yarn. Each step he took, took him closer to "being EOL" (end of life, a term used in the computer hardware industry) There was an end. Gasp.
His steps slowed. The steps he had walked so quickly (childhood, early adulthood) now seemed more precious, more important and I could tell he wished that he would have gone just a little slower.
And then we got to "the spot". On the ground in front of one particularly beautiful home near the end of the east side of the street is painted on the sidewalk: "The Legacy". Someone must have painted it there a long time ago. Who knows why? I stopped; he froze.
I asked, "What will be your legacy? What will you leave behind?"
His hair shifted as he looked back up the road, the realization dawning that he had only a limited amount of time to build a life. His smile was golden.
I haven't walked Legacy Road for myself yet, but I took my eldest to walk it after his PatB and I took my husband to walk it today. It is such an awe-inspiring experience.
My favorite part is seeing that little flicker of expression that says, "Walk slower."
Walk slower...
I first walked this street with a friend from my church -- she is a few decades older than me but she is faster, wiser, and far more knowledgeable. Walking with her is like walking with a tour guide who would make you milk and cookies afterwards. I adore her.
The first time I walked with her, she showed me streets I had never seen before. One particular street has now become our own personal "Legacy Road". While my friend didn't suggest the following activity, her views influenced it.
Here's how the Legacy Road works (with the background thrown in for flavor): A few months ago, we were having a fuzzy, directionless Sunday, so I asked the rest of the family to watch themselves (please) because "I need to show Kee his legacy." This confused them long enough to let me slip out the door with Kee in tow. Kee is 15 yo, old enough and wise enough to sense that his Mama had something bizarre up her sleeve. I had "that look" in my eye.
We went to Legacy Road (Mariposa, one block E of Shattuck, near the top of Solano) and positioned ourselves at the southwest corner of the street. (It has to start on that particular spot). I turned Kee to face "up" the road, looking forward at the massive expanse of foliage, surrounded by homes of prestige and elegance. His eyes widened and I said:
"This is your life, my son. The road symbolizes the span of your lifetime. You start here, with this first step, and at the end of the road, you die. But first, tell me about your childhood... What do you remember?"
He started with his first memories, then elementary, middle, high school. As a concrete metaphor, we noted the trees, their age and beauty, how they had been pruned (just as he had in his life) and noted that every tree, even though it had been given identical care as its neighbor, had grown differently. Choice. It's all about choice. He reflected on his many choices and naturally began to evaluate his past.
When we got to the north end of Mariposa, he gave me a nervous look, "What did you say about dying at the end of the road?"
I laughed. Whoops. "This is a metaphor honey. Let's cross the street. You die at the end, when we have made a full circle. Up one side of the street and down the other. Past (gesturing to the direction we had come) and future (gesturing to the other side of the street). You just walked your past. Now you're crossing through the present moment to your future."
As we crossed the street, he had a wild little smile on his face. He stood at the upper end of the tree-lined street with his jaw slightly dropped, realizing that his entire life was ahead of him, in extreme, concrete terms, it was HIS to choose. We began talking about what he might want at 16, 20, 25, 30... Where he wanted to travel; what he wanted in an eternal mate; what type of house he wanted to own; what type of job... all the visions and dreams were beginning to bud. He was embracing the expansive richness of his future. The trees were so perfectly symbolic -- their thick trunks and sturdy branches.
He thought most carefully about the career choices. His focus was on: "How can I contribute most meaningfully?" and "What can I do that would generate the most lasting personal joy?"
I didn't give any answers -- just kept him on topic.
The questions shifted to, "What about when you're 35, 40, 45, 50...?" inconceivable ages for teenagers. His eyes showed a glimmer of understanding that life is much, much longer than he originally thought. It was like unrolling a ball of yarn. Each step he took, took him closer to "being EOL" (end of life, a term used in the computer hardware industry) There was an end. Gasp.
His steps slowed. The steps he had walked so quickly (childhood, early adulthood) now seemed more precious, more important and I could tell he wished that he would have gone just a little slower.
And then we got to "the spot". On the ground in front of one particularly beautiful home near the end of the east side of the street is painted on the sidewalk: "The Legacy". Someone must have painted it there a long time ago. Who knows why? I stopped; he froze.
I asked, "What will be your legacy? What will you leave behind?"
His hair shifted as he looked back up the road, the realization dawning that he had only a limited amount of time to build a life. His smile was golden.
I haven't walked Legacy Road for myself yet, but I took my eldest to walk it after his PatB and I took my husband to walk it today. It is such an awe-inspiring experience.
My favorite part is seeing that little flicker of expression that says, "Walk slower."
Walk slower...
Friday, May 16, 2008
Bike to Work
Yesterday was Bike to Work day in the Bay (in the US? world? I have no idea). Eee was able to get his bike out and hooked up to the tandem so Aee could ride behind him with her wild hair trailing and her little voice yelling, "Faster, Daddy! Faster!". Jee was on his own bike, fully capable of a full day's ride, looking all four ways at each intersection, so competent.
Mee? My bike is locked to the trampoline and I can't find the key.
So, since I'm not a sissy, I ran alongside the bikes, panting like a dog, trying to keep up. The entire time I'm wondering if it's worse to be a sissy or an out-of-breath, stinky dog?
We crossed paths with a guy from church, an exceptionally physically fit guy who wasn't even breaking a sweat even though it was 98 degrees already (actually, it only felt like 98). He smiled and was polite.
But wow, my legs were aching. Last night I went on a long run with Sum 41, Chuck album blasting on my iPod which makes me run far faster than my body would naturally allow. When I pulled into the homestretch, Vee came out of the house and bellowed, "Mom, let's go for a run!" He had just gotten home and needed to stretch his legs.
Of course, I eeked out a, "Sure!"
What an idiot. I am so sore.
So, I did Round 2, running the loop, well, half the loop since Vee noticed my face was an odd combination of purple and white. But we still did the homestretch sprint and it felt great.
Then the next morning I got a good run in... and tonight I'll surely go for one again since I'll already be so sweaty from this heat wave that I won't care if I get even slimier.
So why don't I look like a runner yet??
One of life's mysteries, I guess. A cruel one, though.
Mee? My bike is locked to the trampoline and I can't find the key.
So, since I'm not a sissy, I ran alongside the bikes, panting like a dog, trying to keep up. The entire time I'm wondering if it's worse to be a sissy or an out-of-breath, stinky dog?
We crossed paths with a guy from church, an exceptionally physically fit guy who wasn't even breaking a sweat even though it was 98 degrees already (actually, it only felt like 98). He smiled and was polite.
But wow, my legs were aching. Last night I went on a long run with Sum 41, Chuck album blasting on my iPod which makes me run far faster than my body would naturally allow. When I pulled into the homestretch, Vee came out of the house and bellowed, "Mom, let's go for a run!" He had just gotten home and needed to stretch his legs.
Of course, I eeked out a, "Sure!"
What an idiot. I am so sore.
So, I did Round 2, running the loop, well, half the loop since Vee noticed my face was an odd combination of purple and white. But we still did the homestretch sprint and it felt great.
Then the next morning I got a good run in... and tonight I'll surely go for one again since I'll already be so sweaty from this heat wave that I won't care if I get even slimier.
So why don't I look like a runner yet??
One of life's mysteries, I guess. A cruel one, though.
The Bliss of Good Grades
There is something so sweet about doing well on a test. Some of Vee's test scores came back from one of many, many tests he has taken lately and he got 100% accuracy in several in sub-subjects. (Try saying "sub-subjects" 10x fast.)
My favorite score? 100% in Literary Response & Analysis.
For those of you who know us and know where we have been and the road we have travelled, you will fully appreciate the depth of my gratitude in that particular score.
And yes, I understand that grades don't always measure ability accurately, but I know that this guy can dig deep into literature and find the treasures. I know because I talk to him about the books he reads and I see how he responds to text. I'm proud of his ability. It is highly rewarding to see my beliefs confirmed.
My favorite score? 100% in Literary Response & Analysis.
For those of you who know us and know where we have been and the road we have travelled, you will fully appreciate the depth of my gratitude in that particular score.
And yes, I understand that grades don't always measure ability accurately, but I know that this guy can dig deep into literature and find the treasures. I know because I talk to him about the books he reads and I see how he responds to text. I'm proud of his ability. It is highly rewarding to see my beliefs confirmed.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Vocab Dev
Yesterday afternoon, Jee was in the process of trying to rehang his calendar on the wall and I suppose he needed a nail, but he asked...
"Mom, can you get me a lock poker?"
"What?"
"A lock poker."
(befuddled look on my face)
"A lock poker! A thing that you poke in the door lock to unlock it. You know!"
Oh... why didn't he ask for "a nail"? Note for those who don't live in our home: we use regular hammer-it-into-the-wall nails to open doors. No fancy pantsy lock picks for us.
What I thought odd was that he defined that particular object by its most common use in his view of the world. Nails were designed first and foremost to pick locks.
He also understood the difference between "pick" and "poke". You don't really pick at the lock; that's a task better fitted for the fingers. You poke at the lock mechanism clumsily with the sharp end of the nail. Lock poker.
Funny how vocabulary develops.
"Mom, can you get me a lock poker?"
"What?"
"A lock poker."
(befuddled look on my face)
"A lock poker! A thing that you poke in the door lock to unlock it. You know!"
Oh... why didn't he ask for "a nail"? Note for those who don't live in our home: we use regular hammer-it-into-the-wall nails to open doors. No fancy pantsy lock picks for us.
What I thought odd was that he defined that particular object by its most common use in his view of the world. Nails were designed first and foremost to pick locks.
He also understood the difference between "pick" and "poke". You don't really pick at the lock; that's a task better fitted for the fingers. You poke at the lock mechanism clumsily with the sharp end of the nail. Lock poker.
Funny how vocabulary develops.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
Scary. Bagels.
We biked to the bagel bakery early this morning to get some of the best bagels on the west coast.
Yum.
Switch gears. You know when you're on a bike and you pedal as hard as you can, so fast that it feels like your feet will fly off if you pedal any faster? Well, imagine pedalling that fast on a stretch of open road and (drumroll please) my son is running alongside me.
The scary part is that his sprint is the same mph as my pedal-as-fast-as-I-can. How awesome! A little scary too. Either I'm a slug or he's a cheetah. Or somewhere inbetween.
Yum.
Switch gears. You know when you're on a bike and you pedal as hard as you can, so fast that it feels like your feet will fly off if you pedal any faster? Well, imagine pedalling that fast on a stretch of open road and (drumroll please) my son is running alongside me.
The scary part is that his sprint is the same mph as my pedal-as-fast-as-I-can. How awesome! A little scary too. Either I'm a slug or he's a cheetah. Or somewhere inbetween.
Friday, May 2, 2008
How to get your kids to do stuff
I just found such a great way to get the kids to do things that they need to do, but don't necessarily want to do:
"This is what SMART people do..."
Oh boy, they love it. They're eating broccoli, taking care of their chores, cleaning out the car, all because smart people eat broccoli for the B vitamins; do their chores for the fringe benefits of having a clean home; clean out the car, well, because, that's what smart people do! Who knew they respected intelligence so much?
Maybe they respect it because it's in such short supply?
Hum...
"This is what SMART people do..."
Oh boy, they love it. They're eating broccoli, taking care of their chores, cleaning out the car, all because smart people eat broccoli for the B vitamins; do their chores for the fringe benefits of having a clean home; clean out the car, well, because, that's what smart people do! Who knew they respected intelligence so much?
Maybe they respect it because it's in such short supply?
Hum...
Muddling through
One of my friends has the coolest sig line:
"Walking through the water,
just like everyone else,
trying to get across."
"Walking through the water,
just like everyone else,
trying to get across."
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