A Favorite Childhood Book

I recently ran across an article in Book Riot (sorry, in spite of my searching, I cannot find it now to link it for you) about favorite childhood books and what they may say about your character.

It got me thinking about one of my favorites.

Turtle's Flying Lessons is a relatively unknown book though I did manage to find one on Amazon. I still have my copy and it's here next to me. As I thought through the plot and moral of the story, it was quickly apparent that this should indeed be a favorite. 

Turtle has a very sedentary, calm, quiet life. He has a settled life. Routine. He doesn't have to hurry, and he has no worry. He knows how his life is going to play out day by day. Pheasant and Grouse are his friends but they pity poor Turtle for his seemingly boring existence. They devise a plan to help Turtle bring some excitement into his life. Turtle is going to learn to fly. Or not. In spite of some very clever inventions and in spite of some very valiant effort, Turtle cannot fly. He is not created to fly. He is created for water. He is created for a slow pace. He finds his joy in being what he was created to be.

So now we discuss.

1. Do you know that I have, on more than one occasion, borne the nickname, "Turtle"? It's true. I am a turtle. I am slow about my business. My slowness leads to a lot of time day-dreaming. I need my daydream time.

2. I, like Turtle, enjoy my routine. I need the safety of not being hit by spur of the moment matters. (I can deal with those surprises, but I need routine.) I don't need flying lessons. I  need time to think.

3. While predictability seems boring to many, I find it energizing. I have been so insanely busy lately with Rod being out of town, Hannah deciding to join the Army and all that busy that came with it, the holidays--I have not had enough time to sit back and think about the important things, the quiet things.

All of this makes me wonder whether Mrs. Anna Brown (who gave me this book as a going away present when we were leaving Bonita) didn't see this in me already. I mean, was she telling me to embrace the quiet that was in me? Or, was it just a cute little book that she could give?

Whatever the case, I think that I AM TURTLE. And as I approach 50, I am okay with that. Everyone needs a quiet place sometimes because this world is chaos. I know very well how to be quiet.

This is my letter to the world...Or Why I don't do those letters

Dear Friends and Family,

The Rod Moore family has had an exciting marvelous fulfilling --they have had a year.

January saw us celebrating Hannah's birthday.

February saw us...um...breathing and eating and stuff.

March came and brought Rod a birthday. I think that's all besides the living stuff we continued from February.

April meant tax day. We observed that.

May allowed us to let Hannah officially quit homeschool and pass 3 of her 4 GEDs. She failed math by 1 point. But then she retook it and failed by 2 points. Hannah dug a deep hole of disappointment and moved in.

June brought us news that Rod had to travel. Two trips to California and one trip to Israel. No one knew when. Then only knew what. And also Mike had a birthday.

July was a 21st anniversary. That was cool. I can't remember how we celebrated or if we celebrated because regular life doesn't stop moving. Something else may or may not have happened, but that's okay because we were still doing the living stuff. I probably bought gas. And we waited on travel details because travel was supposed to happen in August. 

But August cancelled the trip at the last minute so I missed my mom and dad's 50th wedding anniversary because Rod was going to be travelling so I needed to stay home and do the adulty things. But the travel changed and I missed things.

September brought me another birthday. We still all did the living stuff, and also we did the waiting on travel stuff. The waiting was growing obnoxious.

October was Sarah's turn for a birthday and Rod's travel was solidified. Unless they changed it, but they didn't. I also told my brother happy birthday. I think I also said that to my cousin but I can't remember.

November was TRAVELTIME! And Rod was gone for the following:
  1. Tabitha's 20th birthday
  2. Hannah's announcement that she was joining the army
  3. All of the insanity of having to get stuff for that above thing
  4. the Thanksgiving prep
  5. Tabitha's first date
But November let him come home for a week to enjoy Thanksgiving. And it let him skip the Israel trip.

Finally December. Rod was, of course, gone mostly. We still did the Army stuff and we got snowed in. And we did the living. Rod still gets to skip the Israel trip. But there is still time for December to change its mind or whisper wicked things to January.

Not the path I expected.

So, this happened.

The more things change

I now have two children done with homeschool. This is bittersweet. They are pretty much done with me as mom; they are ready for me in a new role that is less active but more behind-the scenes as they begin to navigate new waters of work and future. At least they are still under my roof. I still have them. 

I just set books aside for Becca's last year. My homeschool shelves have thinned by a lot. 

I've chosen to put Mike in an online charter school. Strangers will now choose his books for him. My role for his schooling is changing.

I am not sure that I am equipped to let these children go. 

Been there, done that, got the broken ribs

When, once upon a time, you took a path that led only to brambles and pits, you were muddled and confused while you tried to figure out what happened and how you got there. Then, a moment of epiphany came and you knew you had to get out. You spent some time looking around at how deeply you were tangled and then you went for it. You got yourself out, bloodied and bruised, but free. You ran the opposite direction. You spent time nursing the wounds and found you had some broken ribs and gave yourself time to let those heal.  Then, someone came along who decided that you needed to walk down that path again.  The difference this time was that you knew where it ended. You knew it ended with wounds difficult to heal and you dug in.  Oh, your new comrade tried to coax you into going, then that comrade tried to coerce you into going.  But you knew and you weren't going to land in the confused muddle again. So, you walked away. No one understood, but it was okay because you knew the end already. 

This is your brain on speech apraxia

When you have a child with any degree of learning disability, life becomes a challenge. There are roadblocks you have to navigate that the "average" child doesn't have to deal with. 

Sarah has apraxia of speech. As best as we can determine it is due to birth trauma.  She was born with very low APGAR numbers and she took a few minutes of intervention to perk up. Hers is not as bad as it could be. I am grateful for that. The condition brings things I have to figure out though.

If you research speech apraxia, you will find that it typically affects other areas of development. She's a little bit of an uncoordinated klutz and she is very picky about textures of food.

Through 4 years of speech therapy with some really great teachers, we got her past the worst of the speech issues. I don't believe you would ever know she dealt with this if you were engaged in casual conversation.  Unless you recognized that her hesitation in speaking to people she isn't completely familiar was more than shyness, you would think she was normal.  She doesn't speak to people much because her words don't often come out as articulately as she wants them to. When she's overly emotional, her speech issues show up again.

Last summer, she taught herself to swim--and she lost ground on her sounds. Her r's grew lazy again. She can't do all the things at once. She is very aware.

Now, we are facing a new issue. She has great ideas floating around in her brain, but her speech cannot keep up with those ideas and she is easily frustrated by her perceived lack. She feels stupid in this area and gives up easily. 

What's going on? She has to learn to write coherent passages. Getting the words in her head down on to the  paper involves mental acrobatics that just wear her down.  

I'm back to researching how to help her navigate this so that she can prove to the world that she is as smart as we know she is.  

We are all monsters

Frankenstein, by Mary Shelley, is a classic. It's a tale of horror. It's a tale of terror.  It's a tale of whining and moaning and groaning and complaining.

Victor Frankenstein is ambitious and arrogant. He cannot be taught by anyone that disagrees with him. (He sounds like so many college kids I currently know.) Those who disagree are pointless and worthy of nothing but disdain.  

He wants to create life because he wants to know, in his arrogance, how God feels. He works feverishly to accomplish this. It is only when he faces his creation full in the face that he realizes what a mess he's just created.  Instead of immediately fixing the mess, he flees.  Victor is a coward.

And he is weak for he falls into agony and illness as his horror looks him full in the face.

He spends and entire book whining about what a poor wretched creature he is; he brought it on himself by his refusal to take correction. (Proverbs 29:1) 

Now his brother is murdered and a young innocent girl is executed; Victor knows she did not do the deed but he opens not his mouth in order to save himself from being termed "mad." (Proverbs 17:5)

His monster then turns and demands what he wants in order to stop him from further murder. (The creature making demands of the creator?) When Victor finally decides not to give in to the demands, the monster murders more. 

Victor continues to bemoan his unhappy state--which he brought on himself.  

Then we hear the monster's side of the story. Let's be aware that the monster is as whiny as his creator. The monster began gently enough but humanity drove him from his kindness! Alas, the monster was forced to become wicked. Only wait a moment, the monster himself tells the reader that he chose his way out of anger. Yet, he feels he is not to blame because HE is the victim. No one can possibly feel as bad about life as he does. 

This book was horrible reading, and yet it sounds so much like America today. Everyone is a victim and no one is constrained to take personal responsibility. 

And one more thought, the monster is Judas Iscariot, though Victor is no Jesus.