Tag: Children

Book Review: A Wrinkle in Time by Madeleine L’Engle

In my quest to read aloud all of my childhood favorites to my own children, this was the latest challenge. It is a challenging read in many ways, although as a child I simply enjoyed it for the adventure. I had no idea at the time how much my heart was being shaped.

Three unlikely heroes – the children Meg, Charles Wallace, and Calvin – are summoned to cross time and space in order to save their long-missing father. The villain is evil itself, centralized in a disembodied brain on a far-distant planet, but with shadows that threaten to engulf Earth itself. The children are the only ones capable of rescuing their father, according to the beings of light that summon them, but before they can succeed they must face the potential darkness within themselves and learn to banish it.

Though the language is simple, the lessons for the reader are deep. Love is more rare but stronger than hate. Emotions are only as bad or good as how we use them. Cold logic can be dangerous if misapplied. Confidence and arrogance are not the same thing. Character traits are neither good or bad; their nature depends upon their application. Evil disguises itself as order, safety, equality, and comfort, but truth is always discernable for those willing to look beneath the surface.

My favorite thing about this book is the contextual use of scripture and literary quotes. When Meg doubts her ability to do what is required, the reassurance given is that “God hath chosen the foolish things of the world to confound the wise, and God hath chosen the weak things of the world to confound the things of the mighty.” When Calvin is told where to find the missing father, the hint is given in the form of a quote from Shakespeare’s The Tempest. In this very natural way the meanings of some of the deepest principles become plain to children.

The Family That Works Together

It’s a lost art, families working together. Here and there you will find a small family owned business that includes the kids, but thanks to child labor laws that is rare. Our family doesn’t work together because of business. It’s our life.

Our lifestyle is somewhat non-traditional. My husband doesn’t work a traditional job; he is supported by a relatively small congregation to preach the Word. That means he gets to be around all the time, part of the daily dynamic of our household! We homeschool our kids, which means that they are also always around creating the daily dynamic of our household! I don’t work outside the home; I clarify that way because I can assure you that I do indeed work! I choose to stay home with my children because I know God gave them to me for a reason, and my family is my number one priority. We don’t live in a large, up-to-date, fashion-plate mansion (although I certainly wouldn’t argue with the space!). Being a one-income household means that we have what we need, and we have learned over the years what need really means. We never go without and often have extra for some things we want, but by now our wants are actually pretty small.

We do not have central heating/AC in our small, rather ramshackle house, which means that inthe winter we crank up the wood heater. We are blessed to have access to family-owned property where we can cut our own firewood, which saves us hundreds if not thousands of dollars in heating bills every year. Cutting firewood, however, is a big job, which is where the whole family comes into the picture.

That’s dad out in front, setting the example of how to work hard and efficiently. Everyone has a job to do. Dad carefully chooses and fells the trees, cuts them into manageable logs, and makes sure we fit as many of those logs in the wagon as it will hold. The kids fetch and carry, then push and pull. Mom supervises the fetchers so that no one breaks his or her back trying to pick up something too large or tries to get away with carrying less than they are able. (Believe me, both have been attempted. Often.)

These winter afternoons of working together have created some of our favorite memories of family time. Movie nights, game nights, family dinners, and other “normal” modern interactions are all more enjoyable becauseofthebonds and lessons that are built from thise memories. Our kids get along better because those family jobs teach them the skills involved in cooperation. They learn to be observant of other people’s movement in the space around them so they don’t fall over each other or cause injury. They learn to assess a task and figure out the best way to complete it. They learn to communicate with each other in order to work as a team.

Lest you leave this blog thinking that all this gives us perfect children, let me assure you that no one has cleaned off the dining table today and there are toys all over the floor. And you haven’t heard my six year old’s ringwraith screech of fury or seen my four year old’s crocodile tears. As you can see from the photo below, capability does not always equate with desire. That might bother me if I wanted perfection, but I don’t. My children will grow up with values of hard work and family instilled in them both by example and experience. That’s a goal worth taking the time to fulfill.

Book Review: The Legend of Luke by Brian Jacques

An ancient weapon. A missing father. A warrior son. An infamous villain. A community of happy woodland creatures. Aged companions. A tale waiting to be told.

A tale Martin desperately needs to know. All his life he has carried his father’s sword and used it to defend the helpless and innocent. His prowess with a sword and his good heart has earned him a warrior’s renown, as well as many loyal friends, but until he knows what happened to his father Martin cannot rest.

Long ago, an evil pirate captain who terrorized the seas raided Martin’s home and killed many, including Martin’s mother. His father, Luke, though a kind, peaceful farmer, vowed to avenge the deaths and destroy the tyrant once and for all. He left his sword with his baby son and promised to return victorious, but Martin never saw him again.

Martin’s friends, wanting only for him to be happy, organize a journey to Martin’s old home in search of answers. Few of them have any experience with adventuring or battle, but what they lack in skill they make up for in determination. Along the way they attract an unlikely collection of helpers and companions, who with imagination and ingenuity help them reach their destination safely.

None of them expect what they actually find when they reach Martin’s childhood home. The end of their quest begins a true tale of friendship, courage, and heroism. Martin will finally know what happened after his father embarked on his own quest, and why he never returned.

My kids chose this book for our bedtime read, and as we made our way through it a few chapters at a time, they quickly fell in love with the adorable woodland characters. We laughed together over the creatures zany antics, cheered for their courageous exploits, and cried when they were sad. This is a must read for all ages and a captivating read-aloud for families.

The Assignment

“Today’s writing assignment is to write a one page short story using this picture.”

“It’s a rowboat!”

“I don’t know how to write about a rowboat!”

“That’s a wooden framework, y’all.”

Now, kids, there are many elements in the picture. There’s a sunset, and water, and a boat, and you’re right, some kind of wooden building in the background. So many things to be creative with.”

“But I don’t know how to write about any of that!”

“I can’t think of anything to write!”

“Well, what does a boat on the water make you think about?”

“Nothing. I don’t know.”

“THE LAKE!”

“Oooh, I can write about what I did at the lake!”

“That’s right, you can! That sounds exciting!”

“Look, I wrote raptor three times! I did it, see?”

“I wrote my name!”

“Yes, you did, except that you skipped two letters that one time. And that is the most beautiful collection of M’s, H’s, and scribbles that I have ever seen. Great job.”

“Hey, I’m done! I wrote my whole story, I’m done.”

“No, sorry, you have to fill up the whole page. One paragraph is not near enough.”

“I have writer’s block.”

“Is this a whole paragraph?”

“Since I wrote my words can I go?”

“Sure, go play Legos.”

“I’m finished now! Look how much I wrote, a whole page! SO MUCH WRITING!”

“Great job, when everyone has finished you can read it out loud.”

“I only have two paragraphs. I’m no good at this!”

“You’re doing fine, just keep writing. Why are you moving to sit behind me?”

“I just wanted to lie down over here to write.”

“Sigh. Fine.”

“Is this enough sentences?”

“You can’t think of anything to tell me about going swimming except that it was hot and you were cold?”

“I said I was WET and cold!”

“…”

“Oh, I know, I can write about Daddy was there!”

“Sure, sounds great. Is everyone finished now? Who wants to read their story out loud? What? No, I didn’t get to write my own story for this assignment. Yes, you want to go first? Excellent, let’s hear it.”

Book Review: Through Grandpa’s Eyes

Until I read it to my children last night, I had never even seen this book, but it is definitely a new favorite. Patricia MacLachlan has a gift for describing the world through the eyes of a child, and this book is no exception. The story beautifully introduces to children the concepts of empathy and understanding the unique perspectives of others.

John’s Grandpa is blind, and experiences the world in a completely different way than John does. The sun wakes him with its warm rays instead of its light. He eats breakfast by turning his plate into the face of a clock. He sees faces with his fingers and identifies birds by the sound of their songs.

John doesn’t understand how Grandpa sees until he spends a summer day and night with his grandparents. Grandpa teaches him to close his eyes and listen for the little sounds around him, like Grandma clinking dishes in the kitchen. John learns to take deep breaths and identify every smell, like eggs and toast and marigolds. He learns that running his fingers like water over faces paints the same picture his eyes do.

There are some things that Grandpa can’t smell, hear, or touch, like color or light. While he learns about how Grandpa sees, John shares those special things that his eyes see with Grandpa. Together they experience the world around them in their own special way.

Book Review: One Morning in Maine

Robert McCloskey has always been one of my favorite storytellers. I love his gift of capturing the all-important little moments of childhood. One Morning in Maine chronicles one such rite of passage.

Little Sal has a loose tooth, her first, and can think of nothing else. Losing a tooth means she’s a big girl and is growing up! While helping her daddy dig for clams, she wonders what else loses teeth. Maybe gulls or clams, or the seal she played with on the shore?

An accident threatens to spoil her excitement and stop her tooth wish from coming true. But a handy feather (lost just like her tooth) gives Sal a solution to her problem. Before long, with a few other hiccups along the way, Sal is enjoying a cool treat with her family and showing off her gap-toothed smile to the whole town.

It’s a timeless story with which every child can identify. The beautiful hand drawn illustrations only add to the charm, and as you can see, my own little one is entranced.

Book Review: Sarah, Plain and Tall

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I have loved this simple story since I was a child, and this week I was finally able to share it with my children. Sharing my childhood favorites tends to be somewhat risky with these superhero, cartoon, and video obsessed little people, but this story proved to be timeless. I read it aloud and reveled in every giggle and every delighted smile. I wanted to take a photo of our copy with them to share with you, but I’m fairly certain my four year old has secreted it somewhere she deems safe from sibling discovery.

You see, Anna and Caleb just want a mother who sings. And Sarah is the perfect fit, if only she doesn’t miss her beloved sea too much to stay. Like most children, they see what others do not, and as they watch Sarah try to adjust to prairie life they alternate between worrying and dancing with excitement. They fill Sarah’s days with little ordinary moments, like making waves in the cow pond or turning a haystack into a prairie dune.

No matter how many times I read this book, I wait with Anna and Caleb, almost holding my breath, to learn if their love is enough to hold Sarah’s heart and complete their family. I feel as if I am standing with them on the front porch, watching for a cloud of dust and a yellow bonnet. Sarah, Plain and Tall captures the essence of love and family, in simple yet poignant language that reaches young and old alike. I have a feeling it will continue to be a favorite in my family for many years to come.

Daniella and the Lions

FB_IMG_1590513867980Now, then, Leo, it is time for our story. It’s bedtime, you know, and you must lie down quietly and listen. Teddy came to keep you company and remind you to be good. Zara, don’t you mess up, now, you know Leo hates it when you crowd.

Now, what shall we read tonight? I know your favorite story, Leo! Here it is, Daniella and the lions. Daniella was only four, but she had a special gift. She could talk to lions. Every day she went to the zoo to visit and talk to the lions who lived there. They wanted to know all about her, and she wanted to know all about Africa. Sadly, they didn’t know about Africa because they had been born in a zoo like this one, but Daniella didn’t mind. She brought a book from the library and told them all about it instead.

All the zookeepers knew Daniella and enjoyed her visits. They often let her help them feed the animals, and sometimes they let her give tours. No one knew that she could actually talk to the lions, and Daniella kept her secret, but the zookeepers noticed that the lions behaved much better when she was around.

One day, the biggest lion escaped from the zoo. All the zookeepers and the visitors and the mayor and the council and the police and the firefighters and animal control were very upset. They ran around in a tizzy, huffing and puffing and getting red in the face. When Daniella went to the zoo that day the lion keeper told her what had happened and asked if she could help.

Of course Daniella could! She asked the other lions where Leo had gone, and they told her he had decided to go and see Africa. He wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Well, no one believed Daniella when she told them, because of course no one knew she could talk to lions. She knew she would have to find Leo all by herself, and she had an idea where he might have gone to find Africa.

Daniella went to the Museum. Sure enough, when she arrived the lady at the desk shakily pointed toward the savannah exhibit, her hair standing on end and her dress all in a tangle. Visitors to the museum hid under benches or ran screaming for the door. No one wanted to be around with a lion on the loose.

They all yelled for Daniella to run away, but of course she didn’t listen. She went right in and found the biggest lion staring at all the stuffed lions and giraffes and zebras. He was astonished that they were not in cages, and very excited by the stuffed lion chasing the zebra. He wanted to stay there all day.

Daniella scolded the biggest lion for scaring the whole town and told him it was time to go back to the zoo. The lion pouted and growled, but Daniella put her arms on her hips and gave him “the look.” He closed his mouth and followed her without more argument.

Everyone shouted with excitement when Daniella and the lion marched through the gates of the zoo together. They asked her how she managed it, and Daniella just smiled. And every day she still went to the zoo to talk to her friends.

Now, Leo, no more story tonight. You really must go to sleep. You too, Zara, and all the rest of you. No more begging, Teddy and I have to go home now. We’ll be back tomorrow, and I’d better not hear that you ran away to Africa again!

The Flower Girl

FB_IMG_1590179770886She was my friend, but no one knew about her. She said no one would believe me anyway, so I never told anyone. Until now. Maybe you won’t think I’m crazy.

Her name was Daisy, but I called her my flower girl. She was so pretty in her white dress with a clover chain draped around her head. I thought she was the most beautiful thing in the world and my eight year old heart was smitten.

Daisy didn’t talk much. Mostly she smiled, giggled, ran away, and buried her face in every flower she found. She loved flowers and I could always find her hiding in the trailing roses at the edge of the cemetery.

I met her one day when I followed a lizard into the bushes. She had crouched behind them, watching the people pass by, she said. My lizard escaped while I stood and stared at her. She laughed at me and told me to chase her.

I had never been inside the cemetery before. It was an ordinary one, I suppose, but my child’s imagination had conjured all sorts of evil existing there. That day, with Daisy glancing over her shoulder at me as she ran, I forgot to be afraid. She led me a merry chase, up and down the rows of headstones, ducking behind trees and slipping away before I could catch up to giggle at me from behind another.

When the factory whistle reminded me of supper and my mother, she blew me a kiss and told me to come play again. So I did. Every afternoon, so long as it wasn’t raining, I ran to the cemetery to find her. She was always there, hiding under the trailing roses, and she always greeted me the same way. Every afternoon we played tag among the stones.

Some days, she would stop for a while at this grave marker or that, pointing at the words engraved there. I would stumble through the names and epitaphs, wondering what held her attention so long. Sometimes it would be a child’s grave, sometimes a soldier’s. Usually it named just an ordinary person. Some were new, some were so old the inscriptions were all but illegible. She never told me why they were important to her, and she never stayed long.

I never questioned that she was always there beneath the roses. I never asked why she never changed her dress. I never thought about the fact that her clover chain never faded or was lost, or her bare feet never dirty no matter how long we played. She was my best friend and the love of my young life.

Eventually other interests claimed me. The neighborhood boys recruited me for football practice with scraps from construction sites and dumpsters as goals, bicycle helmets and wadded newspapers in our shirts our only protection. My third grade teacher, a pleasant looking woman with a will like iron, believed in homework to keep idle hands from mischief, and thus stole many of the afternoons not devoted to “the game.”

Fewer and fewer days found me at the cemetery. When I did go, I found that playing chase and staring at headstones soon grew monotonous, and I would say goodbye to Daisy. She still blew me kisses and told me to come again, but she seemed different all the same.

One day, I followed her slowly into the graveyard instead of chasing her as usual. She stopped and turned to look at me, her smile gone. “Goodbye,” she said simply, then ran away. I went home to do my homework, and although I went to the cemetery for a few weeks afterwards, I never saw my flower girl again.

The Moth Princess

FB_IMG_1590103491783The day had come. The entire insect kingdom had gathered at The Willow for the official Emergence ceremony. The bees buzzed with excitement, their song rising harmoniously under the gently drooping limbs. Dragonflies swooped from branch to branch, their vibrant colors and crystal wings creating quite the show for the waiting audience. Beetles clicked and clacked around the roots, while ants scurried busily about carrying leafy trays full of good things to eat and drink.

Above all of them, the showy Atlas moth and his queen, the delicate Luna, flitted beneath the branches followed by the wise Polyphemus and the feathery Gypsy moth. They perched on the princess’s branch, two on each side of the cocoon, and waited while the undermoths quieted the crowd. When everyone was silent, King Atlas fluttered his crimson and orange wings, the carefully rehearsed pattern telling the story of the Princess’s time in the egg. When he had finished, Queen Luna danced the slow, beautiful story of the child’s days as a caterpillar, of how she had excelled in mulberry leaf eating, growing larger and more lovely than all the other caterpillars.

Prime Minister Gypsy fluffed his feathers to regale the audience with the presumed virtues of the soon to emerge Princess. Owl-marked Counselor Polyphemus waved his eyed wings in a stodgy explanation of the Princess’s royal duties. Finally, the preliminaries dispensed with, the cricket chorus tuned their legs and began the song to signal the Princess to awake.

With bated breath, the entire kingdom watched the strands of the cocoon began to snap. One by one they fell away until the Princess, wet and bedraggled, crawled out into the shaft of sunlight lying across the branch between the king and queen. For several long moments she rested, the circulation reaching every new vein and the bright sunlight drying her iridescent wings. Finally, when the watchers thought they could bear no more waiting, she spread her wings and looked down upon her kingdom.

She was as lovely as Gypsy had foretold. Enormous black eyes slanted upward into points above a pure white face, impossibly long black and white antenna waving gently above them. The tops of her wings gleamed like silver dust, while the bottoms sported delicate black pinpoints on a breathtaking greenish-white. The insect kingdom let out a collective gasp and bowed in awe.

The Princess was just beginning her welcome dance with the king and queen when a commotion on the ground interrupted the ceremony. Around the base of The Willow marched a great army of spiders, their long legs tossing any hapless insect in their path. Above them flew a silent horde of wasps and hornets, stingers at the ready. Horrified insects scrambled aeay from the invaders as ants deposited their refreshment trays and formed ranks against the spiders. Honeybees, bumblebees, and even the slowmoving carpenter bees joined forces against the flying army.

The battle raged fierce on both fronts. The spiders were larger and much better equipped, but the ants had strategy in their side. One after another the eight-eyed monsters fell before the organized defenders. The bees sacrificed themselves with admirable devotion, though only their numbers gave them victory in the end. When it was over, the victors surveyed great carnage, enemies and defenders lying dead alike between the roots.

The beetles rallied themselves and set about removing the bodies of the dead, while the crickets struck up a doleful lament for those who had paid the ultimate price for their sweet Princess. She peered down at them all from the safety of her branch, nodding her head in approval and thanks. When all evidence of the battle had been removed, she fluttered close to the ground, her wings glimmering in the fading light, including every insect in her welcome dance. Then her moth retinue surrounded her and bore her away to the treetops, her Emergence complete.