This Fall marks the beginning of a new adventure here in our household. As many of you know, (and maybe some of you keep trying to forget), we're going to be giving the Ohio Virtual Academy (OHVA) a try.
People keep asking me if it's a homeschool program. No. And yes. Yes, they will be at home to learn as opposed to going to a brick and mortar building; however, unlike my homeschooling counterparts, I did not have any say in what curriculum I'll be teaching. As in any public school, the curriculum was chosen for me and I have to teach it. That is the main difference. OHVA uses the K12 curriculum. It includes all the subjects taught in school, with the exception of Library and Physical Education. Everything was sent to me and we'll also be given a computer and printer, as well as a monthly stipend towards our Internet access. My girls will still be undergoing all the same tests that their peers in public school will be undertaking as well. I should also mention that all of this is free.
That being said, I'll be attempting to keep a running record of this first year. Will we like it? Will it be a huge flop? Who knows and only time will tell. I had considered starting a new blog specifically for this new adventure in twin parenting, but the thought of maintaining two doesn't really appeal. Besides this new journey will be part of our parenting adventure. With twins. It belongs here on these pages just as much as the tales of their antics and quirks.
I hope you'll continue to read along with us as we explore this uncharted territory. Maybe you've considered teaching your kids at home and want to see a glimpse of what it might look like. Maybe you're already homeschooling and want to compare notes. Or maybe you just want the joy of seeing our daily follies on the computer screen so you can turn to your family and laughingly say, "Manda's got herself in a pickle now."
Whatever your motivation may be, please read on my friends. Stay with us and read on.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Sparkly Dress of Splendor.
The girls and I spent the morning wandering around a few clothing stores. I was looking quite specifically for dress shoes for them that meet my strict guidelines: Chunky, fun, feminine, Mary-Jane style.
(Incidentally, this is becoming harder and harder for me to find in their size.)
And they were specifically looking for anything sparkly, flouncy, or lacy.
As we snaked our way through the store, me in the lead and they following closely behind me, I heard a chorus of, "Ooooh. That's my favoritest one ever, Mommy." And the occasional, "All I want is that. It's perfect forever."
Intent on my own purpose in the store, I'd give the items in a question a cursory glance and a courtesy, "Uh-huh. Yep, that's lovely," before moving our little train forward. But our progress grew slower and slower until we came to a complete standstill in front of a rack of very gaudy and slightly inappropriate, but incredibly sparkly, dresses.
They were the sort of dresses that are impeccable in their ability to be completely impractical for a child. Sure they've got the aesthetics, but they cannot rate anywhere near "Comfortable" with all the tulle and silk under layers and scratchy outer layers. And it seemed that all the extra material that bedecked the lower half of the dress was surely taken from the top half, which seemed shockingly bare and incomplete.
But 4 blue eyes had been turned, and 2 rapt attentions captured nonetheless.
We stood before that rack of impropriety, our eyes taking in the sight before us. I imagine that despite our shared gape-mouthed looks, the thoughts swirling in our individual heads were quite different. The girls looked upon the confections before them thinking of the twirling and shining joy they'd have in such apparel. Meanwhile inside my Mom-Head, my thoughts focused on how scanty the tops of the dresses were, how revealing such a thing would be on my two little girls, (on ANY little girl), and how sad it is that our society is trying to tell us that's okay.
(It isn't, actually, but thanks, Society.)
The girls turned to look at me, waiting for my reaction. My decision. Yes or no?
I smiled and agreed they were very sparkly dresses. But not dresses we needed to buy today.
They disagreed.
I countered.
They countered my counter.
I smiled and began walking away.
A few steps behind me, I heard two heavy sighs. I peeked back to see two pairs of slumped shoulders sluggishly following my lead. Slowing down so I could wait for them to catch up to me, I put my arms around each one of them, drawing them in for a hug.
My girls.
My little girls.
No matter what our culture has to say about that, it's the truth.
Their bellies do not need to show.
Their pants labels do not need to read "Low Rise".
And there really doesn't need to be any writing across the seats of their pants.
They'll grow up faster than I'd like them to all on their own. It's going to happen; chronologically, it's a certainty. But right now, in this moment, they are still children. And I'm going to keep them that way as long as I can.
(Incidentally, this is becoming harder and harder for me to find in their size.)
And they were specifically looking for anything sparkly, flouncy, or lacy.
As we snaked our way through the store, me in the lead and they following closely behind me, I heard a chorus of, "Ooooh. That's my favoritest one ever, Mommy." And the occasional, "All I want is that. It's perfect forever."
Intent on my own purpose in the store, I'd give the items in a question a cursory glance and a courtesy, "Uh-huh. Yep, that's lovely," before moving our little train forward. But our progress grew slower and slower until we came to a complete standstill in front of a rack of very gaudy and slightly inappropriate, but incredibly sparkly, dresses.
They were the sort of dresses that are impeccable in their ability to be completely impractical for a child. Sure they've got the aesthetics, but they cannot rate anywhere near "Comfortable" with all the tulle and silk under layers and scratchy outer layers. And it seemed that all the extra material that bedecked the lower half of the dress was surely taken from the top half, which seemed shockingly bare and incomplete.
But 4 blue eyes had been turned, and 2 rapt attentions captured nonetheless.
We stood before that rack of impropriety, our eyes taking in the sight before us. I imagine that despite our shared gape-mouthed looks, the thoughts swirling in our individual heads were quite different. The girls looked upon the confections before them thinking of the twirling and shining joy they'd have in such apparel. Meanwhile inside my Mom-Head, my thoughts focused on how scanty the tops of the dresses were, how revealing such a thing would be on my two little girls, (on ANY little girl), and how sad it is that our society is trying to tell us that's okay.
(It isn't, actually, but thanks, Society.)
The girls turned to look at me, waiting for my reaction. My decision. Yes or no?
I smiled and agreed they were very sparkly dresses. But not dresses we needed to buy today.
They disagreed.
I countered.
They countered my counter.
I smiled and began walking away.
A few steps behind me, I heard two heavy sighs. I peeked back to see two pairs of slumped shoulders sluggishly following my lead. Slowing down so I could wait for them to catch up to me, I put my arms around each one of them, drawing them in for a hug.
My girls.
My little girls.
No matter what our culture has to say about that, it's the truth.
Their bellies do not need to show.
Their pants labels do not need to read "Low Rise".
And there really doesn't need to be any writing across the seats of their pants.
They'll grow up faster than I'd like them to all on their own. It's going to happen; chronologically, it's a certainty. But right now, in this moment, they are still children. And I'm going to keep them that way as long as I can.
Friday, July 22, 2011
It's Here, It's Here! (No, not the new phone book)
It came today. The delivery of K12 goodies I've been waiting for has finally arrived. And there is excitement at our house, let me tell you.
Okay, so it's me who's excited more than anyone else. But, come on. There was new school stuff! Curriculum and supplies! Manipulatives! Organization to be created from the mass of chaos, people. I was in my home turf and feeling giddy as a...well...as a school girl, I guess.
I have an extreme love for organizing things. I do. It's like I purposely seek out closeted, cluttered messes just so I can have the sheer joy of making it all neat and tidy. And it has to be my work, mind you, not someone else's work. No thank you. So even though their first grade Art kits came in nice boxes with everything lined up just so, I still had to Manda-ize it by putting all the tempera paints in Rainbow order (is there any OTHER way to do it, I ask you? Who doesn't love them a little Roy G Biv? This gal is his biggest number one fan).
OCD, much?
Maybe.
But slap whatever label you want on it, I still love it.
There were boxes and boxes to be unpacked and put away. Somewhere. Everything had to have a space in a place that seemingly had no space for all many 'everythings' involved. Cupboards and drawers were opened, scrutinized, and cleared out. With nary a glint in my sentimental eye, stuff that had been horded or just stashed because I didn't know what else to do with was trashed.
Space was needed and acquired. Success.
Looking around this evening, I am happy with the results. A place for everything: student & teacher books lined up on the work shelves; manipulatives put away; anything extra stored away; the boxes, once full of the awaiting chaos that every organizing-addict so loves, broken down and ready to be stored.
I'm in heaven, remembering the days of getting my own classroom pulled together and ready for another year. Those twilight days of the summer when I had one foot in the school year already, anticipating the year (and its struggles), and the other foot planted firmly in those last lingering days of freedom. Ready, yet waiting.
And truth be told, the thrill of this new adventure is a very welcome companion.
Okay, so it's me who's excited more than anyone else. But, come on. There was new school stuff! Curriculum and supplies! Manipulatives! Organization to be created from the mass of chaos, people. I was in my home turf and feeling giddy as a...well...as a school girl, I guess.
I have an extreme love for organizing things. I do. It's like I purposely seek out closeted, cluttered messes just so I can have the sheer joy of making it all neat and tidy. And it has to be my work, mind you, not someone else's work. No thank you. So even though their first grade Art kits came in nice boxes with everything lined up just so, I still had to Manda-ize it by putting all the tempera paints in Rainbow order (is there any OTHER way to do it, I ask you? Who doesn't love them a little Roy G Biv? This gal is his biggest number one fan).
OCD, much?
Maybe.
But slap whatever label you want on it, I still love it.
There were boxes and boxes to be unpacked and put away. Somewhere. Everything had to have a space in a place that seemingly had no space for all many 'everythings' involved. Cupboards and drawers were opened, scrutinized, and cleared out. With nary a glint in my sentimental eye, stuff that had been horded or just stashed because I didn't know what else to do with was trashed.
Space was needed and acquired. Success.
Looking around this evening, I am happy with the results. A place for everything: student & teacher books lined up on the work shelves; manipulatives put away; anything extra stored away; the boxes, once full of the awaiting chaos that every organizing-addict so loves, broken down and ready to be stored.
I'm in heaven, remembering the days of getting my own classroom pulled together and ready for another year. Those twilight days of the summer when I had one foot in the school year already, anticipating the year (and its struggles), and the other foot planted firmly in those last lingering days of freedom. Ready, yet waiting.
And truth be told, the thrill of this new adventure is a very welcome companion.
Stroke of Genius
Oh the difference a year can make.
This time last year the girls were still very much our household Anti-Artists. Born to a self-defined Lifelong Crafter and an admitted Perfectionist, my non-coloring, non-drawing, non-crafting children were a mild source of bemusement to me.
It's not to say they were not creative. Not at all. Put these two together and they'd come up with a new language, new game, a new reality. They've always been extremely creative, but their choice of medium just never matched my own.
While this was okay with me, (let it not be said I am a Craft Enforcer, please), the teacher in me saw the potential set backs their lack of practice would herald in the arena of fine motor skills in school. Deciding to let that rug unroll on as it would, I was not surprised that they did struggle with writing and with using scissors in school. Improvement was vast with one-on-one therapy, but interest still waned and never really took off.
Suddenly my once stagnant artists have found their collective voices. Caedance spends her days writing and illustrating her own little books. Once needing my assistance and guidance through the process, she now sits and will diligently plod away for hours (yes, hours I tell you), on her various creations. I've lost count of how many handmade books she's created, and toted around with her; tattered, well-read, shared and shared again, cherished.
While Caedance has embraced the medium of paper, Ashlyn has opted to express her inner artiste on chalkboard. In a spree of "Last Ditch Effort", we put several in our house a few years ago in hopes of stirring some desire to hold something in their hands and create. No dice back then, but we've hit the jackpot now. Every time I pass one of the boards, I find a drawing or two on it, always changing, always evolving. She'll stand before the board in thought, as if surveying her canvas to determine the correct placement of her forthcoming masterpiece. And then she unleashes the fury that is her art; unrelenting and truthful.
I'm grateful that we chose not to overstress about their extreme lack of interest in the past, even given the issues it caused in school. As much as I would have loved to lighten their load during the times of stress and frustration, I can see very clearly how those struggles shaped a part of who they are right now. It gave them each her own motivation to move on and go forward. When Caedance completes her umpteenth book today, or Ashlyn sketches out her next epic chalk creation, it won't be my voice in their heads pushing them on. It's their own.
This time last year the girls were still very much our household Anti-Artists. Born to a self-defined Lifelong Crafter and an admitted Perfectionist, my non-coloring, non-drawing, non-crafting children were a mild source of bemusement to me.
It's not to say they were not creative. Not at all. Put these two together and they'd come up with a new language, new game, a new reality. They've always been extremely creative, but their choice of medium just never matched my own.
While this was okay with me, (let it not be said I am a Craft Enforcer, please), the teacher in me saw the potential set backs their lack of practice would herald in the arena of fine motor skills in school. Deciding to let that rug unroll on as it would, I was not surprised that they did struggle with writing and with using scissors in school. Improvement was vast with one-on-one therapy, but interest still waned and never really took off.
Until this summer.
Suddenly my once stagnant artists have found their collective voices. Caedance spends her days writing and illustrating her own little books. Once needing my assistance and guidance through the process, she now sits and will diligently plod away for hours (yes, hours I tell you), on her various creations. I've lost count of how many handmade books she's created, and toted around with her; tattered, well-read, shared and shared again, cherished.
While Caedance has embraced the medium of paper, Ashlyn has opted to express her inner artiste on chalkboard. In a spree of "Last Ditch Effort", we put several in our house a few years ago in hopes of stirring some desire to hold something in their hands and create. No dice back then, but we've hit the jackpot now. Every time I pass one of the boards, I find a drawing or two on it, always changing, always evolving. She'll stand before the board in thought, as if surveying her canvas to determine the correct placement of her forthcoming masterpiece. And then she unleashes the fury that is her art; unrelenting and truthful.
I'm grateful that we chose not to overstress about their extreme lack of interest in the past, even given the issues it caused in school. As much as I would have loved to lighten their load during the times of stress and frustration, I can see very clearly how those struggles shaped a part of who they are right now. It gave them each her own motivation to move on and go forward. When Caedance completes her umpteenth book today, or Ashlyn sketches out her next epic chalk creation, it won't be my voice in their heads pushing them on. It's their own.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
They Way They Love Me
"Mommy, I just wanted to let you know that I really love you now".
(Oh. Because you didn't before? But now you do?)
"Thanks, sweetie. That's really great to hear. I am wondering what you mean when you say that you love me 'now', though."
"Well, before you were my mommy, see? And I loved you because that's what you were, because kids are supposed to love their mommy."
(Okay.)
"And now, cher?"
"Oh. Well, now I see all of the things you do for all of us. You do lots of really nice stuff, Mom."
(That's true. No argument there. I'm a pretty stellar lady, if I do say so myself.)
".....So now I love you because I see all of that and I know you don't have to do it; you choose to do it because you love me. I love you for that, Mom."
(Oh, my.)
"You know what sweetie? That may be the best thing I've heard in a long time. I love you too."
And then she said 4 magical words to me:
"I know it, Mama."
(Very high praise, indeed.)
My heart is still melting.
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
My Version Of Frontega Chicken Sandwich
As much as I adore soup, I equally love their chewy companions, the all mighty, often cleverly crafted Sandwich. There is something divine about the unlikely partnership between an array of unrelated ingredients and two pieces of bread. Alone, not so interesting. But stacked together? Sheer culinary genius.
Thinking along the lines of my current obsession with Panera, my mind fell on my favorite sandwich there: The Frontega Chicken Sandwich. Yum and Yum. In my recipe, I've streamlined a few of the ingredients to keep it easy and quick. Taste wise, it's all still there. Still yum. And yum.
Thinking along the lines of my current obsession with Panera, my mind fell on my favorite sandwich there: The Frontega Chicken Sandwich. Yum and Yum. In my recipe, I've streamlined a few of the ingredients to keep it easy and quick. Taste wise, it's all still there. Still yum. And yum.
What You'll Need:
1 rotisserie chicken
(why not let the grocery store do the cooking for you?)
1 tomato
1 1/2 cups shredded mozzarella cheese
Loosely chopped basil
Chipotle Mayo
(Buy this in the mayo aisle. Easy Peasey Lemon Squeezy).
1 red onion
(I saute the onions, caramelizing them with some sugar. Tasty).
Foccacia bread or Ciabatta rolls
(You can buy the Foccacia from Panera, or making it isn't too tricky; there are recipes on line if you want to give it a shot. I like using the Ciabatta rolls myself; they squish down nicely with the panini press.)
What You'll Do:
Pile all ingredients on to your choice of bread, and then grill away. I use my handy dandy panini press, but you could just go Mr. Grilled Cheese on this and use a skillet. It's all good.
Enjoy!
Broccoli Cheddar Cheese Soup (a.k.a Bowl Of Joy)
I am a lover of all things soup. I am. The stuff is amazing and I celebrate almost all it. To quote my mom's 1960's era Better Homes "New" Cook Book, "Soup's on. And wonderful it will taste." (Is that not the most awkward sentence you've ever read? It was high on my list, personally.)
Anyway. I make a lot of it around here and especially love to create restaurant favorites on my own. I recently found a copy cat version of one of my very favorite of favorites, the Broccoli Cheddar Cheese soup at Panera. Two words describe that bowl of delight: Yum-Yum.
As will most recipes that find their way into my paws, I have tweaked this one a bit based on the ingredient list of the actual Panera version. It's a favorite around our house. See what you think.
Yum and Yum.
Anyway. I make a lot of it around here and especially love to create restaurant favorites on my own. I recently found a copy cat version of one of my very favorite of favorites, the Broccoli Cheddar Cheese soup at Panera. Two words describe that bowl of delight: Yum-Yum.
As will most recipes that find their way into my paws, I have tweaked this one a bit based on the ingredient list of the actual Panera version. It's a favorite around our house. See what you think.
What You'll Need:
1 TBS Butter
1/2 cup chopped onions
1/4 cup melted butter
1/4 cup flour
2 cups half-half
2 cups chicken stock
1/2 pound broccoli, chopped small
1 cup chopped carrots (small cubes)
salt and pepper, to taste
1/2Tbs-1Tbs Dijon mustard
1/4 tsp ground nutmeg
2-3 dashes hot sauce
8oz shredded cheddar cheese
What You'll Do:
Saute the onions in the 1TBS of butter. Then set them aside (you'll use 'em later).
Next, cook flour in the melted butter over medium heat, whisking constantly. Slowly add the half and half, stirring constantly. Next add the chicken stock. Allow this mixture to come to a simmer, and simmer for 20 minutes, stirring often.
Add the onions, carrots, and broccoli. Simmer for 25-30 minutes until veggies are tender. Add the salt/pepper, cheddar cheese, Dijon, and hot sauce, and nutmeg. Stir until cheese is melted. Adjust seasoning as needed and enjoy.
Yum and Yum.
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