Wanda's story - Back in our Homeschooling Days

8/23/06

Well, school has begun.
And we’re having fun.
In the sun.
But our work is not done.
So we must run
very fast, away from Mom and her awful poems!

OK, I’ve got that out of my system and now I must tell you how very much I’m enjoying being home with my cherubs. My favorite class is PE, which is every morning after we’ve dropped David off at "real school." I can’t say that we’ve invented this game (John McEnroe gets the nod there) but Steven and I are definitely perfecting the art of Trash Talk Tennis. From the "Serve it up, Old Lady!" to the "Ha! How’d that taste?" to the "Hellooooo, I’m on this court" and the "What do you call that?!" Steven and I have moved from the sedate mother-son tennis games of the past into a new, fully dysfunctional, borderline abusive, trash-talking, insult hurling game that we thoroughly enjoy. Sarah serves as our ball girl as she twirls and whirls around the court on her roller blades. She seems to be enjoying herself as well, despite one really awful spill that resulted in a wicked road rash on one knee and leg. She also serves as a moving target for her over-active, easily distracted brother. But that’s another story.

Now I must tell you the saga of the chicken. I’m sure that by now most of you have heard about what happened to Katie so I won’t rehash that nightmare. If you don’t know what happened to Katie and are just dying to know, I would recommend that you ask my dear friend, Laura, what she thought after she begged for the details, and then, if you are still dying to know, ask and I shall regale you with the full, unabridged version. Otherwise, this is one of those things you might be better off not knowing. Moving on! Wanda, the remaining chicken, has been a bit off for the last couple of days. Nothing obvious, mind you, just not quite as energetic and enthusiastic as normal. But it’s been over 100 degrees for the last several months and I think we’ve all lost a bit of our enthusiasm for summer, so I didn’t make much of it. What I did not know until last evening is that because birds are "prey animals" they have become very adept at hiding their illnesses. It’s important for them to look robust and healthy at all times and they are very good at faking it. Therefore, by the time a bird is exhibiting obvious signs of illness, they are nearly dead. Which was the case with Wanda when we came upon her crouched in a corner of the yard and covered with fire ants yesterday afternoon. Steven scooped her up and handed her out of the pen to me and I, without any regard to myself and my own allergy to fire ants, dipped her into the pool and began picking the ants off her. She lay limp in my arms, eyes closed, not struggling at all.

What happened next is a blur. Because the Good Lord gave me a kind heart, a tender heart, a heart that has been softened to the disabled, homeless, unloved, unwanted, underdogs (and underchickens) of the world., I rushed Wanda to a vet that is known for their excellent care of birds. Somehow over the course of the next 4 hours, I managed to spend several hundred dollars to save the life of this $1.50 Callahan’s General Store Cast-off Chicken named Wanda. I can’t explain it. I didn’t want her to die, of course, but had I been given the option of: (1) spend hundreds of dollars, and several hours driving back and forth from one vet to another, including having to get up at 5 am, to save her; or (2) put her out of her misery for $25.00, I’d like to think I would have chosen curtain #2. But I can’t say for certain. In any case, it’s a done deal now. The chicken has been saved, the vets have been paid, they are laughing all the way to the bank and planning an exotic cruise with Stan’s hard-earned money. Which brings me to the next part of my story.

Last night, after arriving home exhausted and bewildered and feeling like I’d just been mugged, Stan called. He knew nothing of the past 4 hours adventures but was, nevertheless, very agitated and trying to make flight arrangements and seemed annoyed at me. I told him Wanda was sick and I had taken her to the vet but wasn’t able to say much more before he started pouring out the troubles he was having with his computer, etc. In the middle of his tirade he blurted out "And I don’t want you spending $200.00 on that &*^%$ chicken!" "Ok" is all I said. So he knows nothing about the vast sums of money I charged on my Mastercard on behalf of our sweet little brown-egg laying feathered friend and I’d appreciate it if we could keep it that way, capiche?

So, if anyone needs any little jobs done, I’m available. I’ll watch your kids, I’ll mow your yard, I’ll do laundry, clean house, run errands, bake, even pet sit for you. If you hire me to pet sit, you may want to give me some very strict parameters about what lengths you wish me to go should someone start to look unwell! I could tutor, sing songs, read poetry, dance and even wash windows for the right price. The fact is, I need cash, lots of cash, and need to earn it before the Mastercard bill comes due. So, remember me, my fire ant bitten hands and Wanda. Lovely Wanda. Lovely, Wanda the Million Dollar Chicken. Hmm... how much could I charge for a complete chicken and dumplings dinner????

Flying Kites and Other Bad Ideas

Want to try something truly awful? Something guaranteed to leave life-long scars? Try teaching six 4&5 year old boys how to fly a kite. I promise, no one comes away unscathed. One might ask, "Martha, what were you thinking? Why did you think this would be fun? Who told you it was even possible to teach six 4&5 year old boys, 3 of whom speak limited English, how to fly a kite? Did you seriously expect good results?"

I might answer, "I had these lovely images in my mind of: laughing, happy faces, boys and their smiling teacher frolicking in the field while the kited bobbed merrily in the beautiful February breeze. I my head I could actually see them chasing me thru the field, laughing and shrieking. I could feel the joy and love."

But something went wrong. Terribly, awfully wrong. Was it the fact that a February breeze isn't really a breeze at all, but more of a manic-depressive episode of wind? Was it the fact that the string to this $1.99 kite was made out of something similar to tissue paper? Maybe it was the power line strung so innocuously across the field? Maybe, just maybe, if these kids spoke English, things would have turned out differently. But they speak Korean. And I do not. And apparently this sentence in English, "Look! You're flying it all by yourself!" sounds like something in Korean that means, "Let go! Set it free!" Who knows how things might have been. What I do know is there is a camo blue and gray kite shaped like a stealth bomber fluttering around FM 1431 right now, 2 little boys are crying, 1 little boy is frightened and thinks he's in trouble and the other 3 boys really have no idea what happened except that they didn't get their turn!
Sigh. On Friday we are most definitely NOT flying kites. We're staying in the nice safe schoolyard and playing soccer in the dirt. And maybe, just maybe I'll go look for that stupid kite.