bearing blog


bear – ing n 1  the manner in which one comports oneself;  2  the act, power, or time of bringing forth offspring or fruit; 3 a machine part in which another part turns [a journal ~];  pl comprehension of one’s position, environment, or situation;   5  the act of moving while supporting the weight of something [the ~ of the cross].


  • Attention.

    There’s a Lord of the Rings cooperative boardgame.  Says ages 12 and up, though.  What do you think, guys (you know who you are)?

    h/t Defective Yeti, like almost all my game-related posts


  • Four tips I got from the homeschooling co-op meeting.

    Our local Catholic homeschoolers’ co-op held a meeting this week with a "panel of experts," i.e., three mothers of several children who’d been homeschooling for years sat up front and answered questions.  Last year, Mark reported, the questions were mostly about high-schoolers; this year, the topics were about managing schoolwork with multiple children and preschoolers.

    Here are the four most useful ideas that I took away:

    1.  Every day, sit down with the youngest child to do her schoolwork first, and work your way up to the oldest.  It’s too easy to convince ourselves that the oldest child’s work is the most important, because it seems harder, or because we’re teaching or guiding those subjects and skills for the first time, or because that work interests us more.   Working one on one with the younger children, giving them the attention they need, right off the bat, helps keep them from being shoved aside and forgotten and put off till the next day.  Meanwhile, the older children get practice with initiative and independent work.

    2.   To integrate regular prayer into the school day, hang up signs, e.g., the Meal Blessing over the dining table, the Morning Offering in the room where you begin each day, the Guardian Angel prayer in the children’s bedrooms.

    3.  Beginning the day with Mom reading aloud to all the children can ease everyone into the school day, even kids who aren’t "morning persons."  We can even start while the kids are eating breakfast, saving time; or, if chores are to be done before schoolwork begins, then the promise of a good story can motivate kids to finish their work quickly so they don’t miss a word.

    4.  Group children’s learning together to save time; they will all have different educational paths anyway.   It’s perfectly all right to teach two children of different ages on the same level in a particular subject, if that’s where they are (e.g. teaching phonics to a precocious reader at the same level as her older brother).  Subjects such as history or nature study can be learned by a group of children, although children of different ages may focus on different aspects of a given subject. If you assign essays to multiple children on the same subject, even if they are "graded" at different levels, you can give the instruction to all at the same time.

    One of the more interesting comments came from a mother who allowed her sixteen-year-old to attend the local public school this year, after he made his case (and, of course, after she’d spent many hours and many dollars researching and buying his curriculum materials for the year).  She related an anecdote of how, after several weeks of waking him up after he slept through his 6 AM alarm, her husband finally convinced her to let him take the responsibility of getting up on time — the end result of which for him was a few days of riding his bike forty minutes to school each way, with her practically sitting on her hands and biting her tongue to stop herself from "rescuing" him.

    This led to a discussion about "letting go" in general.  Hearing the different experiences was really eye-opening.  One mother commented about her son who entered the undergraduate seminary this year.  He’d always been a late sleeper and she’d generally let him start his work late, at least in high school, as long as he got it finished.  "Well, at [name of seminary] they have to get up for morning prayers at 5 AM.  I thought, there is no way he is going to last a week there.  But what do you know — he’s doing it, and he says he loves it."

    The point I would make with that story, of course, is that it isn’t necessarily true that "they’ll never learn" a particular skill or habit if they’re not made to learn it before it’s needed.  Often, a young person learns a skill on a just-in-time basis, when the need for the skill becomes apparent.  (But the seminarian’s mother might have been trying to make a different point — I think she regarded her son’s transformation as an instance of divine intervention!)


  • Big brother, little sisters.

    A picture worth a thousand words over at Real Learning, where baby no. 6 inspires this:  "Don’t stop having children too soon; there are beautiful, rare gifts that come with that very wide age span of siblings."

    (Anyone else think that the young man shown should carry that photo around in his wallet to casually show to prospective dates, later on?)



  • Someone’s missing the point.

    Somebody got to my blog by Googling

    children can fix obedience with Suzuki method

    They were probably disappointed.



  • Faustina.

    By the way, I think it’s just peachy that my birthday is St. Faustina’s day.  Ever since I read her diary a couple of years ago, I’ve thought she was pretty cool.  Maybe I should have named MJ Mary Jane Faustina instead of MJ Frances. 

    Pay no attention to the misprint that says "Wednesday" — it’s the October 5 that counts.


  • An interesting take.

    Desperate Irish Housewife reflects on Yom Kippur.

    It was Yom Kippur. I had almost missed it.

    You may not think Irish Catholics would take much notice of the Day of Atonement. But this is not the case, at least not where I come from. Long Islanders of all stripes take Yom Kippur very seriously.

    Half of them, of course, head for the synagogue and fast until sundown. The other half take their one chance of the whole year to say, Screw the buses, baby, I’m DRIVING in to the city! And when I get there, I’m gonna park– ON THE STREET!

    I suppose it’s not quite the same here in Minnesota.


  • Surprise party.

    Today I turn 32 years old.  (I almost typed 23 by mistake.  Ha!) 

    Here’s a picture of my birthday party.  Notice anything… missing?

    Birthday_006

    That’s right — Me!

    *I* went to a Thai restaurant with Hannah, who showed up at eleven-thirty with her kids and with Mary her mom.  Mary watched all the kids (except MJ) while Hannah and I went Out to Lunch.

    Since there were also burgers and fries, the children were happy.  Everybody wins!

    I heartily recommend something like this as a present for your favorite stay-at-home mom.


  • Babies are people.

    I have this eight-week-old little girl, you know.  She’s my third baby, so you’d think I’d be used to it by now. 

    But I’m not.  She’s perfect and beautiful and sweet-smelling and fresh and new and — astonishing.

    If I remember right, the boys as newborns were also astonishing.

    Here’s the astonishing part, the part that left me breathless and stunned anyway.  They — moved.  And had facial expressions:  surprised, furrowed-brow-thinking-hard, quizzical, furious, delighted, all-worn-out, bored, interested.  Mary Jane in particular has one expression that makes her look exactly like Buddy Hackett, and another, with pursed lips and raised eyebrows, that makes me think of Dana Carvey’s "Church Lady."

    Churchlady1 (I’ve given up on taking a picture of it, it’s gone too fast.  Just imagine this look on a newborn baby girl.)

    And they made sounds — not just crying or farting, no, but all three babies cooed, crowed, laughed, squealed, whimpered, grunted greedily, sighed, even mimicked the vocalizations that adults and children would make for them.  Milo and Mary Jane were both taught to pee on cue, and both of them soon knew how to say "the sound" that I used to tell them to pee, a kind of throaty,  croaking hum.

    So what’s so astonishing about this?  It’s that I didn’t expect any of it.  When I had my first, I hadn’t cared for a newborn since I was thirteen or so, and I didn’t do it often even then — that baby, my youngest brother, spent most of his time in a carseat; at least, that’s how I remember it.  (During family meals, to keep him quiet, the carseat was stuck in front of the TV with a propped-up bottle of soy formula.)

    I’d seen babies on TV.  Their parts were often played by dolls, wrapped in blankets to disguise their plastic faces, but no director tried to disguise their stiff inertness.  Newborns on TV did nothing but sleep, apparently, a stiff, unmoving, silent sleep; occasionally a recorded cry was played back, and some character would pick up the otherwise unmoving package and poke a bottle at it, and someone somwhere pushed a "stop" button and the cry, the only baby sound, stopped.

    Babies on TV are not much more than dolls.  Is it any wonder I was so surprised to encounter a real one?  Not just "encounter" (that implies a chance meeting) but actually spend most of my time with one, get to know him? 

    They really are people, not just stiff dolls that will someday turn into people.  But you have to get to know one, spend more than a day with one real baby, to fully understand that.

    Mainstream baby care in the U. S. tends to obscure it too.  When most people only see babies strapped into carrier carseats, in restaurants and at the gym and so on, it’s easy to forget that newborns (at least healthy ones born to undrugged moms) usually can hold their heads up from only a few minutes after birth.  That they kick their legs and wave their arms around when they’re awake.  That, when their view isn’t blocked by the "blinders" that are the sides of the carseat, they look around at their surroundings and react with interest, even pleasant surprise.  That they scoot around on a bed in search of mom’s breast.  That they snuffle and snort and even giggle with delight when they find it.  That they can track, grab at, and seize objects within their reach:  often I try to put Mary Jane down only to find that she’s entwined her tiny fingers with the chain around my neck. 

    This isn’t a baby several months old; it’s a baby within the first several weeks of birth.

    They’re born people.  They really are.  As soon as we meet a new baby, we can see that she is a person.

    And once we spend a few hours with her, it’s obvious that she has been for quite some time.


  • Children are people.

    Alice reports an infuriating incident.

    Henry was having a hard time making inroads with the other children, all of whom paired off according to some mysterious, prearranged order. Then he spotted a group of older kids. They were either eight or 21. Probably somewhere in the middle. They were sitting at the top of a slide, drinking soda and chewing gum, feeling dangerous. Henry was entranced. Before I could stop him, he was right there, standing outside their circle. I watched. Sometimes older kids are nice! Maybe!

    The ignoring that ensued was brief but painful, as Henry repeatedly attempted to introduce himself and I considered tearing their lungs out through their mouths. Too much?

    After he walked away from them, he looked over at me and started to cry.

    “No one wants to know my name,” he called out, weeping. And two women standing right by him—c’mon, guess!

    Guess!

    They didn’t just laugh—they laughed their asses off. They thought that was the funniest damn thing they ever heard. Such a cute little kid! So clever! With the stringing the words together! Just like a person!

    Which of course set him off even more. The two of them tried to direct more commentary at me about my funny kid with his funny feelings while I dealt with my son, who was dissolving completely into the soil.

    Oh yeah, this is one of my pet peeves.  Where does it come from?  Are people really so basically mean and cruel?  I think it’s an insensitivity, as in "these nerve endings are dead," born either of (a) complete lack of regular interaction with real children as human beings that they have gotten to, you know, know, or (b) being treated like this when they were kids. 

    Which doesn’t make it okay, but might explain why they don’t know any better.

    More on this next post.

    (If you aren’t regularly reading Alice, and her commenters, at Finslippy, you should be.  Even if you don’t think mommyblogs are your bag.  She’s got one of the funniest blogs out there when she’s being funny, and is a great writer even when she’s not.)


  • Funeral songs.

    Ann Althouse points to a UK poll that asked, "What song do you want played at your funeral?"  Here are the top ten:

      1. Goodbye My Lover, James Blunt.
      2. Angels, Robbie Williams
      3. I’ve Had the Time of My Life, Jennifer Warnes and Bill Medley
      4. Wind Beneath My Wings, Bette Midler
      5. Pie Jesu, Requiem
      6. Candle in the Wind, Elton John
      7. With or Without You, U2
      8. Tears from Heaven, Eric Clapton
      9. Every Breath You Take, The Police
      10. Unchained Melody, Righteous Brothers

    OK, everyone, it’s all quite pop and all, but do you notice the standout?  That’s right, it’s Pie Jesu Requiem.

    I’d like to think that the inclusion of this traditional chant as number 5 on the list is evidence that a large number of UK Catholics and High Anglicans are returning to their roots.

    However, I suspect that this is an artifact of the Monty Python contingent.

    Dona eis requiem  *WHACK!*

    (NOTE:  I *like* Pie Jesu, really, but every time I hear the children’s choir sing it at Mass — fortunately to a different tune — all I can think of is their sweet little voices accompanied by *WHACK!* I fully accept that this is a result of Original Sin and I hope that it is burned out of me in Purgatory.)

    (ALSO:  Did you notice that the journalist appears to think that "Pie Jesu," a requiem, is actually a song called "Pie Jesu" recorded by a group called Requiem, perhaps this group?

    I know journalists don’t "get religion" (that’s why this blog is so fun to read), but that’s quite a doozy. )

    (ALSO AGAIN:  What’s with "Every Breath You Take?"  That’s just creepy.)