Chicks and baseball

Caleb is playing baseball again this year after a three-year hiatus.

He had decided not to play again after the 2019 season, thankfully, because 2020 turned out to be…well, you know.  2020.  So I figured we were done with Little League forever and forgot about its existence.

Until this year, long about mid-March, Caleb informed me that he had promised “Huck’s dad” (his last coach) a few months ago that he would play on his team this year.  Sorry, son, we’ve missed all the deadlines, tryouts, paperwork, fees—and the teams are already set.

Well.  Huck’s mom happens to be one of those people who can make anything happen because she’s the president of the board of everything.  So I texted her about Caleb’s remark and ten minutes later Caleb was on the team—no birth certificate, paperwork, or tryout required.

So Lizzy’s been taking Caleb to all his practices (in our backyard) and we’ve sat through two games so far in lovely weather.  Caleb’s happy, I haven’t had to do anything, so baseball season is going well.

Besides being Caleb’s team mom, Lizzy’s other hobby this spring is raising chicks with Grandma.  Grandma’s part is to house the chicks and Lizzy’s department is research and education.  She has checked out every book in the library on backyard chickens and knows everything there is to know about the subject by now.  So she tells Grandma what they need to do and Grandma executes the plan (with a bit of help from Grandpa, who built the coop…and the temporary coop for teenage chicks who outgrew their heated cage but can’t go out in the cold yet).

There are three different breeds, which they could tell you all about, but I can’t remember because I wasn’t paying enough attention, and I didn’t read the books.  Two of the kinds are black and one is yellow.

I just know they’re cute and fuzzy, and someday we’ll get eggs.

Only one big chicken in the outdoor coop so far

 

Here comes the sun

 

Here comes the sun

Here comes the sun,
And I say, It's all right

Little darling
It's been a long, cold lonely winter
Little darling
It feels like years since it's been here

Here comes the sun
Here comes the sun,
And I say, It's all right

Little darling
The smiles returning to the faces
Little darling
It seems like years since it's been here

Here comes the sun
Here comes the sun,
And I say, It's all right

Sun, sun, sun, here it comes
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes

Sun, sun, sun, here it comes
Sun, sun, sun, here it comes

Little darling
I feel that ice is slowly melting
Little darling
It seems like years since it's been clear

Here comes the sun
Here comes the sun,
And I say, It's all right

Here comes the sun
Here comes the sun
It's all right

It's all right

~George Harrison

Good for me

 

You know what’s good for my soul?

Lots of things.  But specifically, teaching Sunday school.

Homeschooling is also good for my soul.  Above, experimenting with yeast reactions.

I realized this a number of years back when I was teaching pre-kindergarteners.  Preparing lessons week after week on Moses and the Exodus—and later the Gospels, with fun object lessons like a staff turning into a [stuffed] snake; praying regularly for the children; being forced to be “on” every week with my head in the Bible and the Bible in my head.  Getting invested in the souls of the covenant children.  Delving deep into the real meaning of Jesus’ miracles and pondering how best to communicate it.  

Teaching was challenging, stretching, frightening, exhilarating.  It was a commitment I couldn’t easily get out of week by week so it tied me closer to the church.

In other words, my soul thrived.  More than you’d think, actually, since I could never go to adult Sunday school class and “be fed.”  

It turns out that it is more blessed to give than to receive.

Sadly for her, Lizzy’s balloon remained the smallest.

Then I taught a class for adults with disabilities, which was a whole new adventure, fright, and delight.  I got to know people I wouldn’t have otherwise, people I’m so glad to call my friends.  And I was forced to think through, again, how to best communicate the good news to a class of students—students I was praying for and committed to.

Then this year my friend, children’s ministry director that she is, nudged me toward “coordinating” Sunday school instead of “teaching” it.  I was hesitant to accept.  But guess what?  It is also doing my soul good.  

True, a lot of it is tedium like making sure every classroom is staffed adequately and they all have enough working glue sticks.  But I also get to brainstorm and implement opening activities to get the kids engaged, and lately have been pushed into teaching the large group before they’re dismissed to their classrooms.

And now, since I foolhardily volunteered to write lessons for the whole summer, I’m again deep in teaching mode, thinking hard about what these children need to hear and how we might best communicate it.  

What a privilege it is to be active in Christ’s kingdom.  And how kind He is to gently use these things I’ve committed to, to keep me engaged with discipling the next generation, when I’m tempted to grumble or skip out—when I’d rather put my feet up than grow and help others to grow too.

Science again—soap vs. detergent.

March with big kids

A year ago I was impatiently awaiting my first covid shot and contemplating what an end to pandemic might be like.  

Two years ago I was grappling with the sudden onset of pandemic.

And eight years ago I was getting Ada patched back together in the hospital after she concussed herself in a bloody bicycle accident.

Happy Ides of March.

These days I’m marveling at how old my kids are (and how tiny they used to be) and realizing I may be on the cusp of a shift toward more time to myself.  Not that I don’t already have massively more time to myself since my kids are no longer toddlers bent on suicide and destruction (blinking is a much bigger part of my life now), but I do have a full schedule of teaching 8th, 5th, and 4th grades that wears out my brain quite enough.

This month I’m aiming to register three of four kids in online classes—one of those kids in community college classes.  So my career as self-taught guidance counselor now includes figuring out how to get a kid into community college; besides figuring out how to map out a reasonable four-year high school plan, keep a transcript, take the PSAT, SAT, and AP exams, and learn admissions criteria for various universities.

No problem. 

Next year I’ll have two high schoolers, Lord willing, and two middle schoolers who will do the bulk of their schoolwork on their own.  Which means, according to my calculations (and I’ve been calculating this for years), if I can get through the last eleven weeks of this school year, my time spent teaching my kids’ school should start a downward trend.  I’ve figured that last school year and this are the peak of my teaching in terms of time spent.

Which is great, because Ada’s logic is really hard—and even Caleb’s math takes some figuring now instead of a glance to see if it’s right or not.

We had a doggy visitor who checked out the bunny cage and I really think Buck’s face says it all.

There have been days when I’ve wondered what I’ll do once I retire from homeschooling—I’ll only be 50, Lord willing, which probably means Jason and I will still be too young to respectably cruise around the world in Panama hats full time.

Visiting a precious new friend.  I taught this tiny one’s mom when she was in 5th grade Sunday school, and years later I brought my babies to visit her when she was sick…and this year that same mom taught Caleb in 4th grade Sunday school, and now my kid is holding her baby.  God is faithful through generations.

But then, in a fit of inspiration [or possible madness], I volunteered to write this summer’s elementary Sunday school curriculum from scratch.

And voilà!  I have enough to do to keep me occupied this spring—and maybe every spring until I’m old enough for that Panama hat.

Day at sea

Despite certain inevitable but unfortunate effects of the previous day’s margarita party and, indeed, a week of overeating, I managed to go running around the deck 4 track on Friday morning.  Happily, the forward motion of the ship combined with the sketchy Wi-Fi meant that my fitness tracker again thought I ran like 6 miles in 15 minutes, which would be impressive on a good day.

I decided to splurge on fancy cappuccinos to bring back to Jason.  Little did I know how fancy they could be.

Jason’s had a storm trooper image in the foam:

I got Minnie.

After a delightful breakfast al fresco of hash browns and egg sandwiches, we staked out a sunny spot on the upper deck overlooking the pools.  As we were, sadly, heading north again, and it was super windy, I collected five towels and thoroughly covered myself up.  Everyone else caught up with us eventually and Jason and Caleb went off to ride the Aqua Duck.  That’s when I realized that the Wookiee robe that Jason left behind was much more effective as a wind break than five towels.

Why didn’t I realize this earlier in the week?

When the Aqua Duck line got too long, Grandma and Grandpa took all the kids to go souvenir shopping, so Jason and I took advantage and popped in the adult area.  Jason got a beer, but I opted for another fancy cappuccino.  This time I got the Up guy:

We returned to our sunny spot and sipped serenely until the kids returned with the toy light sabers Grandma had bought them, which made it significantly less serene.  I finished my drink and accompanied Liz and Caleb to the splash pad.

Then Caleb and I got in just a few holes of mini golf before a sudden downpour broke out.

We retreated to a sheltered spot where the kids beat each other with light sabers while we ate paninis and fries and then the younger kids went off to find Grandma and the older two agreed to go back to the shops for me to poke around.  I bought a commemorative Christmas tree ornament.

Dinner was especially out of control this final night.  I don’t know if they needed to jettison the supplies before docking or what, but we got all the food and all the dessert.  Altogether we ended up with four lobster tails beyond what was ordered, plus extra lava cakes and everything.

That evening was the farewell dance party before the dreaded task of packing up.

Waking early with a lava-cake-induced stomachache, and having become smitten with fancy printed cappuccinos, I roamed the wet decks in the dark in search of coffee as the sky was just starting to lighten.  We were already docked in Port Canaveral.

After struggling through the last-minute packing we made it to breakfast, where we made our regretful goodbyes to Jude and Eric, our beloved servers for the week, and lingered as long as we could before debarking into the mild Florida weather.

As we waited on the sunny sidewalk for the shuttle to take us back to Orlando, my first texts starting coming in, since I was now back in USA cellular networks.

The HVAC is not working in the children’s wing.  The preschool classrooms will not have heat.  Should we cancel Sunday school?

There’s also overnight snow and freezing temperatures to consider.

I think the overnight snow is supposed to be Sunday night into Monday.  Tonight is in the upper 20s.

No, snow is definitely tonight.  Temps of 20s overnight.

Well, welcome home to you too.

This followed by a pat-down at airport security for no discernible reason, a sit-down lunch with very disappointing service after Jude and Eric’s attentiveness, and a Starbucks coffee with no Disney characters printed on the foam.

Alas for post-vacation reentry.

However, it is actually nice to eat like a sane person again, and to resume my routine of quiet and stationary scenery out the window.