AmazonMidwife

I'm sitting here crying happy tears because I just found the opening words for the Girl's long-planned-in-my-mind menarche ceremony.

Now to hope that when the time comes, the Girl will still want one. Right now, the not totally fleshed out event is going to be a weekend-long sleep-over for those that want to, and drop-in for those that don't, with henna, and lots of talking, and communal meals, and lots of laughing, and chocolate, and lots of dancing. She'll invite the women (& girls) whose wisdom she wants to hear, but I am allowed to make suggestions. So far, as long as I come through with the chocolate fountain, she's interested. But, if she decides that she doesn't want this kind of event, at least I can give her this book.

I could wax rhapsodic about this, but we're getting ready to go to the zoo & the Girl is waiting as patiently as she can.

When I was 11 years & 8 months, the 6th grade classes put on a play about Rip Van Winkle from our reader. I was cast as Mrs. Van Winkle and my three strongest memories from the performance were:

1. Scooter was in it. (We went to the same grade school, with 2 classes for each grade, but were only in class together for one year, 3rd grade. Guess the faculty could see that combined, we might not always use our powers for good. They probably should have warned our junior high & high school teachers.)

2. I was encouraged to be mean and loud and bossy, the latter two talents I had (have) aplenty which were discouraged elsewhere. And I even got to hit Russ Bailey in the butt with a broom! (of course that was the most vivid memory)

3. My mom sewed a cool costume for me to wear. This was a less vivid memory, 'cause my mom sewed a lot of my clothes when I was that age, so I took it for granted. Home Ec was one of her majors and she was an excellent seamstress, a quality I learned to appreciate most after she was gone & I had to sew all the kids' costumes & pjs with my meager junior high time in the home ec sewing room.

Time passed and lots more things happened that were more memorable than the play. (see #1 italics for a good example) I forgot all about the costume until I was cleaning out the house after my mom died. I found it in a drawer with some baby clothes and socks. (My mom saved lots of things, including many photo albums & scrapbooks with newspaper clippings, old report cards, etc. including photos of the play & a picture from our smalltown newspaper.)

Mama Grinch. Or at least that's what I've been accused of being by the Girl. But this is my blog so listen to my side of the story. It started about 6 months ago when I noticed that the Girl was putting her clean, still folded clothing back down the laundry chute to be washed. As one might expect, I was less than pleased, 'cause I am not a cheerful, or even resigned, Sisyphus when it comes to housework. So, I told her that she could do her own laundry for awhile---until she came up with a written apology that included why what she did was wrong as well as a plan to ensure that it wouldn't happen again. This took about a week, and probably would have taken longer, if one of her homeschool friend's mom (my friend as well) decided to help her formulate the letter. I then had her post said letter on her mirror, and we went back to me doing the bulk of the laundry and she and the Boy, helping out with various parts when I asked them.

The mother of a friend of the Girl approached me on Sunday at church to ask about setting up a playdate between her daughter and the Girl. This isn't a new thing; the girls have done the birthday party back and forth, a couple of playdates and have taken sewing classes from the rec. center together for years. What caused me to take notice was a remark from the mom about how hard it was for her quite intelligent daughter to make friends at school, because the girls were so clique-y there. Upon hearing that, my mind immediately began the superior dance, thinking "and everyone worries about homeschoolers and their supposed (sic) "lack of socialization."

But school isn't the sole province of cliques and cattiness. When I started the medieval history group last year, there was an instance where the girls started talking badly about another girl they knew from gym class. I had been preparing a snack for them, but I stopped what I was doing, came in from the kitchen and went from kindly homeschool-mom-teacher person to avenging goddess, saying, "We don't talk badly about people here. How would you feel if other girls were talking this way about you?" It quenched the behavior, but it wasn't the way I would have preferred to handle the incident; I probably would have been able to facilitate some conversation on the matter had I not flashed back to my 5th grade self when I heard the tone of voice the girls were using while criticizing this other girl. Fortunately, a lovely twist of fate happened that very afternoon. When talking to one of the mothers about the incident, she told me that she knew the mother of the dissed girl, who had asked her if it were possible to join the class. The mother and I decided that this would be a fine thing, and it was. The girls got to know each other and have all become good friends and companions, learning to appreciate the strengths and differences of each other.