When I meet someone I know has served in the military, I make a point of thanking them for their service. Sophia is the one who remembers, and she follows suit. She loves to hear about World War II and begs for stories of heroism. Brian and I try to talk about what patriotism means, each conversation or activity directed toward the age and understanding level of the children.

This year, the girls made cards for Veterans Day. “You can send them to your brother,” I told them. Sophia didn’t think that sounded right at all. “He’s not a soldier,” she said. “He’s Edward.” She can’t quite wrap her mind around the idea that her big brother is a soldier, ready to defend our country. He’s just Edward.

I try to explain it, but my own vision is clouded by memories.

I met my son in an orphanage in Russia. He wore a blue- and white-striped shirt and hugged me tighter than I’d ever been hugged. That first night, Ed woke us up at least a dozen times to hug first Brian then me. He was so happy to be in a family, and he wanted everyone to know it.

My little soldier used to sit in the back seat of the car and conduct an imaginary orchestra using a banana as a baton. The first time he went to a sleepover at the neighbor’s house, he came home mid-evening to give a report on how much fun he was having.

Edward announced his first career choice at age 9. He wanted to work at McDonald’s, because “they have those cool toys, and people come in and give you money.” Soon after, he felt a draw to the clergy. After all, he reasoned, “You only have to talk for an hour, and then everybody gives you money.” He was pretty focused on his goals.

As he grew, I saw signs that my son was becoming a man. When the septic tank backed up, he stepped up with the shovel. When the cat died, he got the shovel out again and dug the hole, trying to shield me from seeing her as the rain fell on us all and obliterated our tears. He helped with construction projects, fencing and more.

Eventually, Ed abandoned his earlier career choices and enlisted in the Army. With a career in communications, he does get to play with a lot of cool toys. And he has learned he has to work for that money. In January, he will go to Afghanistan. He called to tell us, and I wanted to put my hands over my ears and say “La-la-la-la-la, I’m not listening,” as if that would somehow erase the reality. All that talk of sacrifice and heroism is easier to read about than to endure.

He will come home again a few months later, but it won’t be like that first sleepover when he ran into the kitchen, giddy with details. Now his home is in New York, and he will travel there to be with his wife as she delivers my first grandchild.

Shortly after his daughter is born, my son will return to a war zone. When he was younger, we read the stories, we talked about sacrifice. Now he will understand the emotions Brian felt when he deployed and left all of us here. In living out the lesson, he will understand what he only read about before.

It is hard to imagine, more difficult to explain to my children that heroes started out as everyday folks. They were kids who had dreams and grew up to live them. They showed up, stayed the course and gave their very best.

To my husband, to my son and all the heroes who have served: Thank you.

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And an interesting read about Code Talkers.

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He studies his hands for a moment and says, “Well, I’m clean.”

Dirt, it appears, is in the eye of the beholder.

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My dad informed me that he also passed along the info and it was mentioned in his hometown (Magnolia, Arkansas) newspaper and the staff newsletter at Yuba City High School.

I’m not sure it gets any better.

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Post from: Learning at Home

Apparently “volunteer week” is coming up on network TV. Sounds great, huh?

American Elephant has some thoughts about how great it is.

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 All of life is not blog, twitter, face book, IM, text or YouTube worthy.

So read a story to a child not because it will improve their test scores but because you think they’ll like the book. Brush their hair and put in the ribbons if they love them, even if they don’t match. Allow an older one to take a break from studying even if there’s more time, and break out the Rock Band. The pseudo accomplishments of play that aren’t taken seriously have serious benefits that no ribbons, trophies or public “Like this” thumbs up can match. Play for fun. Write for fun. Create a hearth out of your home and do all the things you do, because you would do them even without the A’s, without the accolades.

Life is not just about showing up, but about being present. Not about being noticed, but noticing others.

The rest is here.

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Here is the latest–Eagle Scout suspended for 20 days for having a 2″ knife LOCKED in a survival kit in his car.

Post from: Learning at Home

I have always been an avid reader, but I don’t really understand the attraction of reading in the bathroom. I guess I figure that if you need that much time on the toilet, you might want to call your doctor and make sure everything is working properly. Of course, if you are in the bathroom right now reading this, please go ahead and finish. You’ve made it this far in life, another few minutes won’t kill you. Probably. Remember what happened to Elvis.

My ban on bathroom reading does not work in a marriage because men are different. When we put an addition on our house, Brian was lobbying for a full library with a toilet in the center. I vetoed that one, but did agree to keep a basket in the bathroom stocked with appropriate reading fare. The unforeseen benefit to this plan is that the kids know where to put magazines, and all of them eventually make their way into the bathroom.

I like to read books and magazines on the couch, partly so my kids can see me reading. The newspaper is best at the table with a cup of coffee, though I confess I still haven’t gotten over the switch from afternoon to morning delivery. I often read the paper in the afternoon, but it is not so much from protest as from practicality: the little ones nap after lunch.

Given my love of reading, I’m happy to see my children developing an interest in reading and writing stories. They happily plow through books and occasionally fight over who gets the next turn with a book.

A lot of my reading these days is on the computer. I enjoy corresponding with friends by email and I follow several blogs. I also am a part of an online writer’s community and one night, as I was up late pretending to write, someone posted a request for information. The writer was looking for stories about changes people had made as a response to the recession.

It was late and the skeptic in me had already gone to sleep, so I typed a few sentences. I explained how we started farming to save money on food and to know where our food comes from and that venture turned into a business that involves the children. The next morning, I had a reply from one of the editors at Reader’s Digest. I answered some questions and half wondered if it was a friend pulling a prank.

A few emails and phone calls later, it started to sink in. It helped, too, that they commissioned a photographer to come out and take pictures of us. Meeting Darcy Padilla, we would not have guessed up front that she was an award-winning photographer. She blended right in to farm life, and we even talked her into milking the cow—for a moment.

The kids instantly liked Darcy and showed her all over the place, arguing about who got to hold her hand or sit by her at lunch. She stayed for several hours, took 800 or so pictures, and left, peeling my children off as she walked to the car. The younger girls proclaimed that they, too, would be photographers when they grew up.

My children saw this experience as completely normal. They know that stories about them make it into the newspaper, and in their mind, the Reader’s Digest is no different from the Appeal-Democrat.

The November issue is on the way, and we can’t wait to see how it all turned out. One more thing to read in the bathroom.

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