homeschool wagering

Dawson to Isabelle: If I ask you a question & you answer wrong, will you read a book?

Isabelle: Which book is it?

Dawson: It's a blind bet, so I can't reveal the book.

Isabelle: Okay. I think I can do it.

Dawson: Who was responsible for the Emmancipation Proclimation?

Isabelle: (thinks for a moment) Wasn't that Harry S Truman?

Dawson:(gleefully) Nope! He dropped the A Bomb! It was Abraham Lincoln!

Isabelle: Oh, man! What do I have to read?

Dawson: (hands her the book) You obviously need to read this one.

Isabelle: (looks at the title) The Emmancipation Proclimation? Fine. I'll read it. And then I'll quiz you on what is inside. And if you answer anything wrong, you have to read it.

Dawson: I'm too smart to agree to that!

Isabelle: If you were really smart, you would have read it before you challenged me.

Dawson: Drat. (sighs) I'll read it. But you'd better remember who was smart enough to make us both learn something today.

Freebie

Tucker has been anxiously awaiting the day he would be able to go pull weeds. Not because the kid is a lover of gardening, but because it was going to be an opportunity to go work with another family, whom he adores. Chris Weis and Tucker had arranged quite some time ago for Tucker to come over to their home and help with some yard work. But schedules being schedules means that both families weren't able to make it happen until this past Saturday.

I asked Tucker how he felt about going on Saturday since all the Dubach family was together and he assured me that he wanted to go help Chris because, "It's important to help others, mom." And so, Chris and Jenna came to pick him up at 1:00 in the afternoon with a plan for us to collect Tuck at 4:00 for our pizza dinner before going to a local, live nativity.

Tucker was actually given a ride home and I was busy enough that I barely said hello before moving on with our activities. I asked him how his time had gone and he replied enthusiastically that it had been great, that a lot had been accomplished, and that they finished with enough time to play some wii. It wasn't until Sunday that I heard some of the details about Tucker's version of service.

Within a few minutes of beginning his task in the Weis's yard, Tucker was asking "How long are we going to be working?" Chris assured him that while there wasn't a lot to do, they certainly weren't finished yet.

Jenna came out to help and Tucker was quite concerned that she was adding to his workload by going over to the side passed the line Chris had determined would be their stopping point. No matter how Jenna assured Tucker that she was just completing work she had started on another day, he kept making certain that she knew that they did not need to pull the weeds "over there."

Shortly after this, he asked "Is this a paying job or a freebie?" Jenna let him know that this job was a freebie. Tucker nodded and went back to work. Later, when Chris was driving him home, Tucker again asked if this was a paying job or a freebie. Since Jenna and Chris had already shared some of Tucker's earlier comments with one another, Chris was completely prepared to answer: "Freebie."

Tucker's compromise? "Okay. Maybe you could just take me to Chick-fil-A sometime. That seems fair."

Sigh.

a resounding yes

Our family is planning on participating in a group trip to the Outer Banks next fall. The coordinator of the trip recently sent out an email to confirm which of the families were planning on going. I found Scott's response too brilliant to be relegated to the cyber-wasteland.


HELLO!

I AM PUTTING MY NAME IN WHETHER MY WIFE WANTS TO GO OR NOT.  SHE CAN STAY HERE WITH THE KIDS IF SHE WANTS TO, BUT I'M GOING. SO PUT "LEE SCOTT RUTHERFORD" DOWN ON YOUR PAPER THERE, ALONG WITH A LITTLE STICK FIGURE OF A GUY FISHING.

I WOULD IMAGINE THAT TACY WILL LET YOU KNOW ABOUT THE REST OF THE FAMILY, BUT THE ODDS ARE THAT SHE WON'T WANT TO STAY BEHIND ALL BY HERSELF FOR A WHOLE WEEK.  SO, ON SECOND THOUGHT, JUST PUT DOWN 10 RUTHERFORDS WITH A STICK FIGURE OF A DAD UNTANGLING 8 FISHING LINES WHILE HIS WIFE LAYS ON THE BEACH SIPING MOJITOS WITH HER NEW BEST FRIEND, KATHY HARTZELL.

IF YOU CAN'T TELL, IT'S VERY LATE IN MY DAY, AND I REALLY, REALLY, REALLY WANT TO GO TO THE OUTERBANKS, OR REALLY ANYWHERE . . . TOMORROW WOULD BE GOOD.  SO SERIOUSLY, MARK DOWN THE RUTHERFORD CLAN, WE WANNA BE THERE.


Can you see why I married the guy?

tree hunt

We used to enjoy an annual "day of decorating" during which the entire house was transformed and the tree selected and decorated on the same day. But once the twins were born, Scott and I realized that trying to manage the daily ins and outs of a large family plus decorate an entire house meant that instead of it being a joyful, fun day it was a stressful, crazed, get-through-it kind of day.

And so, we busted up our decorating. Because we aren't trying to decorate everything at once, we all savor our time together. And an unexpected benefit was that we had more time to enjoy all the little things which mean Christmas is coming.

Phase One: the house. We transform our cozy abode into a magical, Christmas wonderland. 

Phase Two: tagging of the tree. During the weekend after Thanksgiving, we all bundle up to enjoy a long, long, long stroll through the woods while 10 people try to agree on the perfect tree. After we find the tree, we stop in the ornament shop where everyone chooses a new ornament for the tree. Our goal is to be able to send each of the children off from the nest with a nice, big box of Christmas memories from all of our years together.

Phase Three: killing the tree. A week or so after the tree is tagged we return to the farm to chop the tree down, bring it home, and allow it to dry out before draping it with electric lights. 

Phase Four: trimming the tree. Within the next day or two, we work together to fill it with memories and more memories. This time as a family is by far one of my favorites every year as each Little Rutherford shares stories and laughter over all the ornaments as they are brought our of the bins.

And so, in the spirit of enjoying the season a little bit at a time, here are some pictures of our afternoon adventures while scouting out the perfect tree.

Elyas clutching a chocolate chip cookie and asking Santa for trains for Christmas. Unfortunately, we learned that the trains Elyas desired were the ones circling the trees on either side of Santa.

Keats with Santa. We didn't realize Santa would be at the barn when we arrived to tag our tree and Keats was particularly excited!

Abigail talked with Santa about his life in the North Pole, being married, working with elves. Only when she was getting down did she remember to ask for gifts.

Aidan really wanted to talk to Santa, but he was very nervous. He didn't stay on Santa's lap for very long!

Alas! My favorite Christmas tree cannot be hand selected and chopped down. And so, I gave it a hug and went walking through the woods with the family.

Elyas, ready to be carried.

Scott teaching the children the southern art of grass-gnawin'.

Aidan -- like father, like son.

Elyas preferred studying the grass to chewing.

Elyas continuing to help us look for the tree, even as the sun begins to set.

Dawson and Tucker finally found the perfect tree. They proudly posed victorious with our tagging flag.

The whole crew (minus photographer Scott) and our new tree.

And now we can see Scott and the tree.

Isabelle all smiles as we begin the walk back to the barn and our van.

Scott and Aidan, with appropriately grass-stained knees considering all the tumbling down of hills which occurred.

Heading west.

waiting

How much of our days are spent waiting? Right now I am waiting on laundry to finish drying so I can place another load into the washer so I can go upstairs to bed. Earlier, Shelby was waiting for me to come home from running an errand so she could go up to bed. Earlier still, the littles were excitedly waiting for Scott to wake up so we could decorate the house for Christmas.

In a family of 10, it seems someone is always waiting for something. Frequently, it's the bathroom.

But lately (and today especially) I have found myself spending a lot of my energy encouraging, admonishing, cajoling, and bellowing at Dawson to use his "waiting time" better. He is the king of time wasting followed by my all-time-least-favorite-excuse for miscellaneous items not yet accomplished: I didn't have time. To which he usually receives his all-time-least-favorite-retort back from me: Are you kidding me?

What exactly happens at the age of 13 to that teen-age boy brain? Was he invaded by some sort of alien force which sucks away all the training we have laboriously worked to instill over the years? It is some sort of hormone wash that coats the neurons, causing major black outs in common sense from time to time? And if so, is this like electricity where they have rolling black outs so there will still be glimmers of hope here and there? Is this a permanent phenomenon or a temporary one?

I don't have any idea.

What I do know is this: I love that kid like crazy. And I will persevere on the faith that eventually all the years of effort into molding a decent, hardworking, respectable, gentleman of a man will come flooding back into his consciousness and I will look into his eyes and say: There you are Dawson. I knew you'd come back.

overly tender

Keats didn't sleep well Saturday night. He came into our room around 11:30 and snuggled with Scott for a little while before being gently carried back to his room. At 1:30, Keats came in again, a little weepier than normal, and curled up between the two of us before falling into a fitful sleep.

Yesterday, around dinner time, Keats crawled up onto Scott's lap during the football game and snuggled in. He had spent his Sunday in a relatively normal way. We went to worship together, then I left early with Tucker, Keats, Aidan, Abigail, and Elyas in order to pick Shelby up from her weekend away at Youth Advance, a leadership conference for teens in the Northeast. Once we had Shelby, we then headed back to our county for Tucker's final soccer game. Keats joined Aidan, Abigail, and Elyas in playing a game of soccer with all of the other younger brothers and sisters on a field behind the game. He never gave any sign that he wasn't feeling well.

That is, until he was curled against Scott. After a quarter or so of the game, I noticed that Keats' normally rosy cheeks were now looking a little sunburned. Scott checked and sure enough, Keats had developed a fever. It wasn't overly high, but we gave him Motrin before bedtime anyway, trying to make him as comfortable as possible.

Again, Keats joined us a few times throughout the night, finally coming in to stay around 2 in the morning. He stayed curled tight to my side and I noticed throughout the night that he seemed quite stiff and unable to relax.

This morning, Keats came to me and said in a tremulous voice, "Mommy, there is something coming out of my ear." He pointed to the ear causing his concern and I saw the telltale drainage of a ruptured eardrum. I can't even begin to express how puzzled I felt, as when Aidan's eardrum would rupture, it was a major event with a lot of screaming and writhing in pain. And the only other time Keats had an eardrum rupture, it was also accompanied by a lot of pain-induced noise.

I asked him if his ear had been sore and he nodded. I then asked if it had been hurting and he nodded. So then I asked what I felt was the next logical question: why didn't you tell us?

Keats replied:  "I knew that the pain would go away and when it hurt too badly, I could always go to you and daddy and you would hold me. So I didn't need to cry and complain because you and daddy were there to hold me. I didn't want to cry too much, because that might make you sad, too."

I gave him a big hug and told him that while I was very impressed with his act of bravery, that I would never think less of him if he told us he was in pain.  As I was holding my courageous six-year-old, I found myself wondering what caused him to grow up so quickly. And then he asked his next question, instantly assuaging my fears that he was growing up too fast.

"Mommy, will my ear fall off?"

accidental eating

Keats: "Mom! Abigail snuck a cookie!"

self: "Keats, did you see her eat the cookie?"

Keats: "No, I just saw the bin open."

self: "Then you don't know if Abigail even ate a cookie."

Keats: "Yes-huh! She smells like cookie!"

self: "But you don't know for certain, so you can't come in accusing your sister. You can, however, say you suspect that Abigail ate a cookie."

Keats: "Ok."

self: "I'll ask Abigail, though. Will that seem just to you?"

Keats: "Yes, if I can witness."

self: "Okay. Sure. Abigail!" [Abigail comes trip-trapping down the hall.]

self: "Abigail, did you eat a cookie?"

Abigail: "Yes. But I didn't sneak. I simply forgot to ask permission before I ate it. And now, it is in my belly, so I can't give it back. I'm so sorry mom."

Keats: "May I have a cookie, then?"

self: "Well, I guess you may each have a cookie."

Abigail: "Me too?"

self: "No, Abigail. You already ate a cookie. You told me so yourself."

Abigail: "But that was an accidental eating! It shouldn't count!"

self: "Totally counts. Sorry, Ab."

[Abigail sobs uncontrollably  and heads for the stairs, her go-to place when perceived injustice occurs.]