Red Stripes

I was the youngest with 3 older brothers, the only girl.  Barely in Kindergarten, I got taken along on my mother's jaunts while my 3 older brothers were in school.   My mom seemed always to be in a hurry, clipped steps, sharp words.  I felt like an unwanted appendage.  She'd grip my wrist so tight all I remember is that pain while being dragged around.  I hated that.  Surely she didn't love me, or why else would she hurt me?  She left red marks on my little wrist.
 
When I was living in Korea in the early 1960s, it was a poor, third-world country.  I look at  pictures and remember...the dirt streets, children playing in the alleys, wearing only scraps, stray dogs wandering around.

Slums in the 1960s.  Photo from jellyfish1616.

As a mom, now I know it's the mama bear steel-claw death grip of protection.  Now I know that she was afraid of what every mom fears in the depth of her gut: to lose your child.  I held onto my son's hand and wrist, too.  It wasn't good enough to have him hold me - what use was that?  I held onto him and knew I wouldn't let go.

Lost children. Photo from jellyfish1616

How heart-wrenching even now, with the internet, the priority and resources of looking for lost children.  Back then, before people had phones, a phone book?  Was there a priority to find lost children? especially if they were poor? or did they accept it as part of life?  Did they even have the energy?  Back then, it was so real just to lose a child in the bustle of the open market.  And today, we have adult adoptees in their 40s, 50s, 60s, who were lost in the market.  Or left.  Because of the devastating poverty.

I think now with gratefulness the red stripes my mom left on my wrist every time she ran errands. She held me, the way my Heavenly Father holds me.  I will never be lost.

2012 Photo Review

Even photos can't adequately describe how full and blessed our life has been...is.  And it would take more space than I have, and more patience than you have, to tell you all that we've lived this year.  It has had it's struggles, of course.  I'm not one for reviewing things by the year, per se, but I can look back and see how God has made hard things, even bad things, Good for us.  On this earth, we should not be asking "why is there suffering?" but rather, "why is there so much beauty, joy, hope, love?"  I can only say that it is my faith in a God that causes Ultimate Good for His kingdom, which allows me to believe that only a loving God can overcome all the selfishness, violence & hatred that reeks all of our hearts.

I have had many thoughts swirling in my head, but almost too much to put into readable bits on this blog.  I don't make New Years' resolutions, nor resolutions at all.  But I do hope that I can keep working on my writing and share again, some of my thoughts with you.

So, here's our 2012 in photos.  It's a small way to share my life with you.

JANUARY

The boy is showing a musical inclination and starts teaching himself on his 3/4 size Yamaha, not just "air guitar" on a toy, like when he was little. 

 

The boy loves snow. At the first forecast, he's ready and waiting. Even if it's 7 in the morning

 

FEBRUARY

Not sure how this happened, but it was my birthday, but he got a new bike!

More treasured time with our host student from Korea, who counts oboe as one of her many talents.  Here, at District Orchestra.  In the 4 years, she's become our daughter and Boo's big sister. 

MARCH

 ... the returning hope of Spring

Chess club continues into Spring, and he ranks 2nd.

APRIL

Grandma comes to visit!

April flowers...

 

MAY

Science Fair project on Penguins!  Can you guess which is the real penguin?

...and an epic milestone college reunion! 

And we even went on a date!

 JUNE

Showing his Hopper-ish work (top.)  And the end (for now) of his 5-years at this Christian school.

 

...and the boy turns 10:

JULY

A month of camps!

Bible Camp with friends:
 

Hideaway Day Camp - the awesomest outdoor day camp around!

 

Environment Camp!

 

And a great story about his counselors, C&M:

C&M's grandparents were good friends with J's grandparents while at Penn State and were in the same field.  Then C&M's dad, and J's dad meet at a conference in their common field, and go on to become great friends.  C&M have known J since he was a baby, just arrived from Korea.  So in 2012, C&M were J's counselors!  They don't seem destined to enter the same field - C&M being interested in politics and J interested in architecture.  But maybe J could design them a house?

 

In between, an unusual but welcomed visit from Uncle Paul & fam from Lanna, Jo-jah!

Our beautiful gardens courtesy of HH, and Boo!

AUGUST

Many hours at the pool!  This year, with the encouragement of a friend, he tested to be allowed in the deep end, which meant hours and hours jumping off the diving board!

SEPTEMBER

Lots of excitement!

What has become our tradition - time on Cape Cod - this year during Labor Day week.

Through the years at Mashpee Commons:

 

Stand-up Paddle Boarding ("Supping")

 

(yes, that is my leg - just to prove I was there, too!)

AND the biggest changes of all:  HOME SCHOOLING!

PE at our home school co-op:

OCTOBER

 October may be the beginning of Autumn to you, but to Boo, it only means one thing: 

Fire Prevention Month!

NOVEMBER

For even Boo, November still means Thanksgiving:

but the best part isn't turkey, but being with grandma:

DECEMBER

2013

Hoping for elaborate, generous, abundant grace & peace.

Why I Decided to Home School

(I'm sorry there are some misleading advertising links.  I actually have some links.)

Last night, I went out with the moms from the home schooling coop.  I had so much fun.  It was silly and serious, insightful, resourceful and we stayed way too late.  It confirmed for me, though, how different each one of us, and our families are.  You can't assume the reasons for why people home school.  They are almost limitless.  Since I've had so many people ask me why I decided to home school, I thought I'd write a post.  Lord knows I need to write something or close shop.

Contrary to the title, I thought I'd start by telling you the reasons that were NOT a factor in my decision:

1. It is NOT because I'm a Christian.  In fact, my religion has almost nothing to do with it.  I do not believe the Biblical mandate to care for my child includes keeping them at home and doing everything myself.  No.  I don't grow the food we eat, I don't weave the cloth for clothes and I personally don't have to stand over a text book.
2. It is NOT because I want to make him into my brand of Christian.  Except that of course, I do.  What parent doesn't want their children to think like they do? to have their philosophy that has been honed for 30-40 years?  But it's not because I want to shield him from other religions.
3. It is NOT because I am the only one who knows what's best for my child.  Sometimes the perspective of an outsider gives needed insight.
4. It's NOT because there's a conspiracy to brainwash my child.
5. It's NOT because I think the world will end in 2015 and I want him home when that happens.

The bottom line for why I'm homeschooling my son is that I RAN OUT OF OPTIONS.

Crazy as that sounds in the US of A, I really felt there was nothing out there quite right for him.  I was willing to do anything, everything to get him to the right place, educationally speaking.

Initially, my public school was just too big for my little guy.  Later, they lied to me about him.  Deliberately hid his learning disability in the testing summary.  I used to be a huge proponent of the public school system.  Now I'm for Vouchers.

You may or may not know that our son has Asperger's Syndrome (please don't say he has Autism.)  Along with that turf comes Sensory Integration Disorder, Tourettes and a Language deficit.  There are plenty of schools for Dysgraphia and Dyscalculia and Dyslexia.  Or Autism.  Children who can't make it in a "regular" school setting.  But not for my very high-functioning, happy but weird Aspie.

I even looked at a private school for special kids an hour away at $36K a pop.  Never mind how we'd have paid the $36K.  Yes, they served special kids, but not Asperger kids.
Out of options.  In this country.  (shakes head.)

So, what drove me to this craziness of home schooling?  Because it is kinda crazy.  What pushed me over the edge was a)  Bully Alpha Boy, and the school's inability to properly handle the situation.  And there were other reason:

b) Classmates

c) Asperger's and Sensory Overload

d) Developing His Gifts

a) The Bully Alpha Boy:

In 2nd grade, a new boy entered my son's small class.  An Alpha.  Chris was a big, athletic, dynamic boy.  From the very first day, Chris told my son in recess that he couldn't play.  All the other boys, boys tending to be the pack herding type, went along.  See, the priority of boys (and men, I'm afraid to say)  is playing the game, not caring about the heart of one goofy boy.  I talked to one boy's mom once about all this.  She was satisfied that her son wasn't one that was actually taunting my son, but just went along with it.  I wanted to bring up the quote about people who watch and allow evil to be done, but I held my tongue.  Proud of me?  No, I'm not sure either.

And the girls?  Well, they're busy creating their own social order.  They became aware of gender differences and would not play with him.  Or any other boy.  These are important, formative times for children. 

On the first day of 3rd grade, Chris told J he couldn't play.  The other boys went along.

On the first day of 4th grade, Chris told J he couldn't play.  The other boys went along.

But that year, a new boy entered the class and the dynamic seemed to change and Chris no longer targeted my son.  He targeted the new boy.


And you're wondering, "Why didn't you do anything about it?"  I did.  I tried.  I went with their suggestions.  But after 2-1/2 years, of going it their way, I was at the end of my rope.

Wait.  It gets better.

This new boy said to my son...they're both 10 years old, remember.  TEN, okay?  He said to my precious son, "I'm going home to my room, lock the door, read until I'm bored, then kill myself."  Completes it all by making a hanging motion with his neck and hand.  TEN.  I had long emails and talks with his mom.  Tears.  She was sorry and all, and they talked to their son, but,  in the end, does not feel there is a problem. When I alerted the school, the Superintendent emailed me stating basically that it's not uncommon for children to express wishes to die and in fact his son did too at that age and oh he's fine dontcha know.

Straw.

b) Classmates

Yeah, you need those to have a school.  I get that.  Contrary to popular notion, children are NOT silly, and they do NOT have a sense of humor. Conformity is the rule of the day, here, not fun and joy and creativity.  There's one non conformist in the class.  But it's a girl.  She's definitely a contender for "wife."  In 15 years.  My son's not perfect, but he is fun, sees joy in everything and so creative I have to tell him to stop.

Listen, I'm not the "world is a terrible place full of conformists" kind of person.  I'm pretty conventional myself.  But my son's energy, enthusiasm and creativity?  I'm not having a bunch of sourpuss 10-year olds squash that out of my son.

I know I can't protect him forever.  But I went into home schooling saying to him, "Let's take a break."  Let's spend a year not being taunted, stared at, made fun of, ostracized, ignored.  Let's spend one year where Arianna doesn't scream in your face, "SHUT UP!"  Let's spend one year when you aren't called a liar when you say you can't help your tics.  Let's take a break from Dylan having DAILY meltdowns.  Let's take a break from classmates saying, "Ewww!" about your lunch, while they're chomping on  Fluffwiches.

c) Sensory Overload

Having Asperger's means that everyone knows another language that he doesn't know.  If you've been around bilinguals, you'll understand.  You understand them while they're speaking English, but when they break out into Spanish, you're lost, right?  Same thing for my son.  Except that it's every day.  He gets most of the sentences, except if it has an unknown figure of speech, or sarcasm, or a subtle facial expression.  He heard the words, but he doesn't get the rest of what makes up communication.  It's a foreign language that he'll never be fluent in.

My son has a sensory imbalance.  He sees/hears/feels too much of some things, while he sees/hears/feels too little of others.  He bumps into you, steps on your toes and doesn't realize.  But he can hear every car horn, vacuum, siren and squeak for literally miles around.  Hard to concentrate that way.  And he is neurologically unable to block it out.

Seven hours of  a) b) and c) is too much for even this energetic boy.


d) Development of His Gifts

By 4:30 PM, my son was wrung out and done.  DONE, I tell you.  I'm not sure he could spell his name by then.  I knew school wouldn't get easier, but harder.  More homework.  More independent thinking and analysis.  I wasn't even sure he'd make it at this rate, forget music, art or soccer.

His strength is in music and art.  Once a week of each, squeezed between this holiday and that holiday and the teacher being out sick and jockeying with the other kids in the supply cabinet wasn't going to give him what I wanted.   It's not the school; it's the US.

This kid has perfect pitch.  He hums a note and says, "Hey mom, that was an A."  Not typical kid conversation.  He loves sounding out any song on the keyboard. Or piano. Or trombone.  Or guitar.  He "Yeehawed!" the first time he heard Beethovan's 8th Symphony and often hear him blasting Handel's Messiah.  He imitates Dinosaur Train, and he imitates Dave Matthews.

At 6-1/2 years old, he started drawing buildings in perspective.  (This usually happens around 10.)  He still can't draw a person, but he can draw you a floor plan with matching elevations and a perspective view in a couple of hours.  As you can well imagine, some adults can't do this.

So when this kid is completely wiped out by 4:30, how will he get homework done, AND go to his piano lesson?  Nope.  Can't be done.

Hence, The Kraybill Home School.

Where I am Superintendent, Principal, teacher, bus drive and lunch lady.

And mom.

On Losing My Mother

My mother died in 1987.  As that time came back, I slowly remembered it was July.  I remembered it was hot; that I had to get there in a hurry.  Late July, I think.  It's July again, but 2012.  I do the math and, slowly, realize it's been 25 years.

25 years.

They waited for me to get there - Korea - from Boston.  That I should see her and say my goodbye.  But I couldn't.  When I got there, to their living room and saw the small, simple casket, I couldn't see her.  I couldn't stand the notion of someone lifting the lid.  My aunt encouraged me to see her; that it was important to fully understand that she was gone.  The man from the funeral home was there, ready to lift that lid.  But I still couldn't.  I collapsed on my dad's shoulder and begged him not to open it.  For me, I had no trouble fully understanding that she was gone.  That she was in that box, for 3 warm monsoon days, waiting.  Forever.

My good friend just lost her dad.  She is 42.  An adult. A grown-up.  Maybe it hurts more the more memories you've chalked up; the deeper understanding you have of what it is to lose a parent.  I was 27.  I don't know if it hurts less or more.  Not that it really matters.

I flew back, went through my days competently.  I had to find a job, and I did.  I interviewed well, showed up on time, did a good job.  But emotionally, I was needy and behaved inappropriately, blind to others' needs, blind to my own deficiencies.  I'd fall asleep in my new apartment, in my new bed, having put in a full day at my new job.  But every night, as if a clapping thunder had awoken me, I'd sit up in bed, my heart pounding, a dreaded sense hovering over my stupor.  Every night, for years. 

At some point, I no longer woke with a pounding heart or a sense of dread; I simply awoke.  At 11, 12, 2, 3.  For over 20 years.  I don't know if it had simply become habit or what.  I still have trouble sleeping.  Someone suggested that if I worked hard all day, I wouldn't have trouble sleeping at night.  Circumstances are such that I no longer have to see that person.  It's a good thing, too.

I was 27.  Just out of graduate school, embarking on a career.  I'd guess my mom would have been proud of me.  I don't know.  I do know that I never had the chance to get to know her as a grown-up.  Maybe 27 seems plenty old to some of you readers, but I know how young I was, how much I needed to grow, indeed, how much I would grow.   In painful ways I never wanted to.

A year or two before she died, she had a choice to go on vacation, or fly me to Korea to see her.

She chose the vacation.

I think the hardest part was growing up and realizing that I was not the most important thing in her life.  That by my mom and dad moving to Korea, not only did I lose my physical home, but I also lost my psychic dwelling.  I slowly came to realize the existential loneliness that philosophers over the ages have contemplated.  I.  I alone.  Separate and independent from my mother. Where do I dwell?

I sought a home at my brothers'.  At an aunt's.  At friends'.  All of them were fraught with awkwardnesses not of their doing, but as circumstances of our days.  Who could I turn to that was completely and totally on My Side?  Where could I "let my hair down" and rest?

In the letter to the Ephesians, the Apostle Paul writes, "I pray that out of his glorious riches he may strengthen you with power through his Spirit in your inner being,  so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith."

And there I dwell and hope to, the rest of my days.

Memorial Day

By circumstances of history and geography, nobody in my family served in the US military.  My oldest brother, born in 1953, was eligible during the waning years of the Vietnam War but was never called.  I remember my parents figuratively wringing their hands wondering if he'd be drafted into the obligatory service of the Korean Army.  We weren't citizens yet and if he were called, we wouldn't have had any protection from the US government.  [Yes, they'd draft you but not protect you.]

I just went to my 30th college reunion.  Memorial Day weekend came and went.  My husband recently lost 2 uncles.  His mother has crossed over from the peaceful days of retirement into the waning, translucent days of memory loss, loneliness and depression.

It's no surprise then, that I have been thinking about the passing of days. As it was Memorial Day, I looked for these pictures of my dad and his one older brother, who served in the Korean Army and Air Force, respectively:

I think this was around 1950.  There were 4 boys in that family; one went to be with the North Koreans.   The other, a geeky, brainy young man, was captured by the North Koreans, for their "brain trust," no doubt.  These 2 brothers were able to escape the Communists coming from the north and served in the South Korean military.

Ten years later, my dad was at Kimpo Airport in Seoul, heading to Brandeis University for a PhD in Mathematics.  My uncle rose in the ranks of the Air Force.

Back then, Korea was still reeling from the Japanese Forced Occupation, WW2 and the Korean War.  Unlike the bustling industrialized powerhouse it is today, it was a poverty-stricken, physically destroyed Third World country.  Only the biggest roads were paved; children played in the dirt in rags.  The people were small mostly because of the lack of good nutrition.  My dad and uncle would have been quite a vision at 5'-9" and sturdy of build.  It was said that people in the streets would stop and stare at my handsome uncle, wondering if he were an American movie star

My grandparents left their home in Haeju, now in North Korea,  lost a father to Japanese torture and imprisonment, and lost 2 sons.  Now a 3rd son was headed to the other side of the world.  No jet planes direct from Seoul to NYC, but instead, a prop plane that hopscotched from Seoul to Tokyo to Hawaii to Chicago before landing at Kennedy. Never mind cell phones, there was barely such a thing as overseas calls of any kind.  Remember, these were the days of black & white TVs and 3, maybe 4 channels!

Maybe they were so used to losses that this kind of joy and opportunity overrode any sadness they were sure to have.  Maybe their deep and abiding faith in God helped them through.  There's no "maybe" for me.  I'm sure as I can be of anything, that their God, was their source of strength and confidence.

All Ten

"And God spoke all these words, saying: 'I am the LORD your God…

ONE: 'You shall have no other gods before Me.'

TWO: 'You shall not make for yourself a carved image--any likeness of anything that is in heaven above, or that is in the earth beneath, or that is in the water under the earth.'

THREE: 'You shall not take the name of the LORD your God in vain.'

FOUR: 'Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy.'

FIVE: 'Honor your father and your mother.'

SIX: 'You shall not murder.'

SEVEN: 'You shall not commit adultery.'

EIGHT: 'You shall not steal.'

NINE: 'You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor.'

TEN: 'You shall not covet your neighbor's house; you shall not covet your neighbor's wife, nor his male servant, nor his female servant, nor his ox, nor his donkey, nor anything that is your neighbor's.'

Not that people these days even respect the 10 Commandments.  The basis that we can buy into, all over the world, the basis for justice in almost all realms, is seen as "religious" and contrary to public display.

Number 4.  That's a kicker.   Nobody follows that anymore.  Never mind that the Sabbath was made for us.  That WE would rest physically, spiritually, emotionally from the struggles of Life.  And rest in Him.  A hundred reasons why we go out to eat, stop at the grocery store, travel, golf and what not (thereby making other people work.)  Not the least of which that Commerce demands that we work on Sunday, either overtly because everything is open on Sunday now, or covertly because they try to squeeze every ounce of life out of employees.  But keeping a day of rest?  It's right up there with 'do not murder.'

Hey, me too!  Yes, I just have to get ONE MORE THING for lunch or dinner or Monday morning. I find all sorts of reasons why I can do the VERY things I believe I shouldn't.

There are 10. Ten.  You can pick and choose the ones you like, but then, don't think of them as the Ten Commandments.  Call it your own Thing.

The Silence of Love

I walk through silence
present and dense
descending dove
blanket me

There is no agony
by unmet desires
for You give me peace.

I hold my love's hand and he
tugs gently, blindly
Two shall become One.
the bed dips as I slip away

The bed dips as I sit
I hold my son's hand
stirred out of the depths he
tugs gently, blindly
my hand up to his mouth.
Kiss

Rising another step
to the Silence
Mom, why are you here?
To check on you, my sweet.
Thanks, mom.

There is no agony
by unmet desires
for You give me peace.

Who Cares About Organic Clothing??

Whether you see it the earth as God's creation and gift to us, or as Mother Nature brought on by evolution, let's take care of what we have:  the earth and the people that do dwell.

Come read my post on All Things Chic.

Not Too Hot

HH isn't feeling too hot.
Oma isn't either.

Boo made his daddy a cup of hot tea.
His daddy made him and his oma breakfast.


Me?  I'm sittin' on my a$$ blogging about it.

Gulag

North Korea, smaller than the size of the state of Mississippi, has the most political prisoners in the WORLD.  The genocide in Darfur, so tragic, has something like 400,000 victims.  Scholars guess that in the 90's in North Korea, 2 to 3 million people died from starvation.

The peak of the famine was around 1996.

Fifteen years ago.  I wonder if my uncles would have been alive then, and if they, in their seventies, already stooped over from decades of poor nutrition, in their sunset years, couldn't move south to the sunshine, but instead, if they starved to death.  My dad's big brothers.  I wonder if they married and had children.  They might have been grandfathers.  I wonder if they saw their grandbabies die, their ribs stretched over by grey skin

while Kim Jong-Il was drinking Hennessy cognac, watching DVDs, talking to his sons in Europe.  Maybe being driven around in his Mercedes, surveying his kingdom of starving children foraging for bugs and twigs.

Human Bein'

All those moppets have equal value: whether bein' white, beige, tan, brown, athletic, handicapped, mute, blind, deaf, happy, sad, made in China or Macao.  I need know only this, that they are all made in the image of their Maker.

Once they start walkin' and talkin' - it's a different matter.  Born that way or made that way, they're walkin' and talkin' now.

I have the right and the responsibility to judge whether the walkin' and talkin' is acceptable, or not.  Acceptable.  (Loaded!)  We all do it.  Judge: Decide.  I see other moppets doin and talkin things I find unAcceptable.   They - obviously - think it is Acceptable.  I have the right and responsibility to differ.  But some of them moppets are startin to insist that I accept what they walkn and talkin.  Not very liberal of them.

According to them moppets, me a bigot bein'.

Sunday Sounds

Boo:  It's amazing that you love me.  That you love me forever. 
Me:  Yup.  I love you.  Forever.
Boo:  How did you know that?  Where did you learn to do that?  Did God love you first and teach you?
Me:  The Holy Spirit gave it to me.  All good things come from above.



"Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shadow due to change."  - James 1:17

Let It Be

A section of dried vine.  It was in turn a staff (which turned into a snake,) a plow, a lawn mower, a whale's tail.  Lift it -  slap it  on the gold and orange ocean - so like the sound of water being broken.  He sings a whale song with amazing mimicry.

We made our way from one trail marker dab of paint to another - like so many bindi on the trees' foreheads.  He saw a face on one rotting trunk.  "Look, dad!"  Ridges on felled trees made by beavers.  Rapunzel vines sinuously, sensually wrap around a beech tree.

Miles Standish, Powhatan, Plymouth fill his history slot.  "Let's be Indians, dad!"  He yells and his voice is clear, perfect.  Like God is listening.  God is listening.

The shu!crunsh of our steps, the lapping of the lake, the coos of birds.  And only the slightest Doppler woosh of a car assuring me civilization is near.

Stooping over moss or a rock I see eternity; looking a mile back to where we started and I see a moment. The closer I look, the deeper I see.  Moss jungle, bark canyon.

And to an 8-year old, a vine can be anything, if only you let him.

So Far Away

We held onto the last scrap of summer, refusing to believe that the corner of that shimmery scarf would slip out of our hands.  But all this week, I've awoken to temperatures in the mid-sixties.  It was cold enough for me to holler at Boo to wear a jacket, knowing full well it would be discarded on the play ground blacktop.  Summer is gone; Autumn is here.

But I recall the shimmery, soft scarf, its reality is with me.  Not sere nor not surreal, but real.

----

-----

The Last Days of Summer

Hamming it up!

Hmmmmm!

The drink that refreshes!

Hello??

Love my dad...

Swan Boats in Boston's Public Gardens (co-ho co-ho!)

Kack, Lack, Mack, Nack, Ouck, Pack and Quack