Jeana is asking some really interesting questions about people’s perceptions of and reactions to homeschooling (with some strong observations about people’s reactions to large families, too). The discussion starts here and continues here.

Great bloggy food for thought over there. I love how Jeana takes on topics that don’t have easy answers, and she does so with grace and sensitivity and humor.

Go look. You’ll like. I surely do.

The little man has developed a new trick!

Arguing!

I’m so not ready for it.

I’ve only noticed it in the last week or so, though he may have been arguing long before that, but it’s been so hot that I have struggled being, you know, observant. Because, I mean, if it’s a matter of staying cool or paying attention to my child’s behavioral trends, I don’t think it’s a big shock to any of us that I’ll just be nudging that thermostat down a little bit if you don’t mind ’cause it’s getting a little stuffy in here.

So yes, back to the arguing. Basically (and seriously, now), here’s the drill: about six times out of ten, if I say, “no,” – to anything, really – his reply is, “But I say ‘yes’!”

And then my head spins on its axis four times before the fury of middle earth erupts and I hiss dementedly that as inconvenient as a trip to time out might be, it’s far better than remaining in the room with me. Who’s about to lose it.

I’ll explain.

You know how there are some people who can’t take the sound of a crying baby? For whatever reason, that never bothered me. I have some strange ability to block out the crying, to not even notice it, really, unless it’s 3 in the morning. Because if it’s 3 in the morning, a feather could fall from one of Alex’s pillows and hit the carpet in his bedroom ever-so-gently and I’d pop out of the bed like a cannon. It’s a funny thing, the sensory experience of motherhood.

But just like some people can’t handle repetitive high-pitched wailing, I can’t handle sass. CANNOT. So this whole Talking Back Adventure – it makes me crazy. It shoots my blood pressure into the stratosphere, and I suddenly find that those people who suggest that you count to 10 before correcting your child’s behavior – well, they’re pretty much genius smarty pants people. Or something. Because if I DIDN’T count? If I just jumped straight into the disciplinary waters? It wouldn’t be pretty, my friends. What it would be is Meltdown Central, ALL DAY LONG.

For me. Not the child.

But wait! There’s a lesson!

A couple of days ago, after Time Out #14, after I was up to my ears in frustration because the child, he would not listen, it occurred to me, in a Big Gigantor Moment-O-Humility, that I’m really no different. That while I may have gotten to an age where I don’t talk back to my parents, necessarily, I do talk back to God all the time.

All the time.

Only with me, it’s not so much rebellious words – it’s rebellious actions. It’s selfishness. It’s my arrogant belief that even though God is clearly moving me in a certain direction, even though I know and trust that He has my best interest at heart, even though I’m 36 years old and totally get the concept that obedience brings blessing – I (figuratively) stomp my foot, put my hands on my hips, and say, “NO! I’ll do it this way! THIS WAY!”

And I wonder if maybe that’s one reason why A.’s behavior of late bothers me so much, if maybe that’s one reason why his defiance shoots my pulse rate up to 492. Because really, when I see him acting like that, it’s sort of like looking in the mirror. And not liking what I see.

There’s probably more truth in those last two sentences than I care to admit.

But you know what? There’s a little hope in that analogy, at least for me. Because I know in my heart of hearts that God’s grace and mercy know no limits. They’re boundless. Free for the asking. And knowing that truth convicts me of the fact that I need to be on my knees, every single day, asking God for the strength and the wisdom to parent with intention, so that when Alex looks at his daddy and me, he sees the same picture: two people who want for his heart to be obedient, for his will to be lined up with ours, and for him to see – so clearly – that we love him deeply, endlessly, unconditionally. For A. to see two people who have grace and mercy to spare – and who extend it, liberally, to him.

That’s not to say that Alex’s behavior won’t require discipline. Of course it will. Sometimes consequences are our greatest teachers. But I need to remember – so I’m reminding myself right now – that there is absolutely no reason that those consequences can’t be administered with grace and mercy and patience and love. Because, quite honestly, I can’t think of a single instance in my life when God has handled me any differently – stubborn though I may be.

And the trip down the long road to humility, it continues….

It’s long, granted – but oh, Sweeneys – how I miss thee.

p.s. Sorry if y’all subscribe via a feedreader and got a “missing post” error – I was trying to post another video, but ultimately decided it might not be “family friendly” enough. :-) Just FYI.

Here in the South we’re pretty big on manners. You can call us old-fashioned, and that’s okay – because we are. And we like it that way.

When I was growing up, there were, as far as my mama was concerned, some hard and fast etiquette non-negotiables: saying “yes ma’am” and “no ma’am,” greeting people – especially elders – with a smile and a “how are you,” and writing thank you notes that not only mentioned the specific gift but also enumerated all possible uses of it. You know, something like this:

“Dear Mrs. Vandingham –

Thank you so much for the beautiful Eternal salad plate that you gave D. and me for our wedding. I cannot wait to use it to serve my mama’s great broccoli salad, and who knows? I may even get daring and try a homemade Caesar. And with all the baking I do, I know your gift will be used to serve countless pieces of homemade lemon pound cake. We are so grateful for your thoughtfulness, and we appreciate you sharing in our joy during this most memorable time.

Love, S.

Side note: when D. and I got married, I actually got a thank you note for a thank you note I’d written. I don’t think D.’s mother has ever been more proud.

Over the last four or five weeks I’ve had a lot of people ask me if I have been “freaked out” by the increase in readers here at my blawg. And initially, yeah, I was. If you can imagine having a certain amount of people stop by for six or seven months, and then suddenly, over the course of a couple of days, you have that traffic times ten – and it doesn’t go away – it’s a little overwhelming. It’s one thing to put your life and your family’s life “out there” when you have a pretty good idea of who all is reading. It feels different somehow when you don’t necessarily know everybody and – here’s the strangest but nicest part for me – those people you don’t know start saying really kind things about what you’re writing. I’d gotten pretty used to the notion that no one would ever find my blog unless I was the one to tell them about it – so the very idea that you’re sitting there right now, reading this – well, it blows my mind just a little bit.

Because did nobody bother to tell you that I’m a GOOB?

All that to say: I’m okay with the numbers now. I really am. It doesn’t even freak me out anymore. And if people stop reading, that’ll be okay, too. Because, really, the blogging thing has been good at every single stage – even back when I was begging people to comment.

And also to say that, given my Southern tradition, I’ve been a little remiss with something:

Dear Stranger Friend – (hey. that’s you.)

Thank you so much for taking time out of your day to stop by my little corner of the interweb. I should probably apologize in advance for my excessive use of coordinating conjunctions, my dependency on sentence fragments for effect, and the inexact nature of my diction (see “stuff,” “a lot,” “things,” etc.). Which reminds me: I can’t promise that you’ll always read the most finely crafted sentences when you visit here, but you will always see my heart.

It’s sort of a work-in-progress, the BLAWG, and there’s probably way too much talk of pickles and catfish for anyone’s taste, but, well, it’s home. Virtually, of course. So put your feet up. Have a diet Coke. Sit a spell. And know that you’re welcome anytime.

I pray Philippians 2:1-11 will always be the order of the day ’round here. And I’m grateful – SO grateful – for the privilege of sharing in just a little bitty part of your life. You know, the bloggy part. :-)

Love, S.

Happy Monday, everybody!

1) GiBee at Kisses of Sunshine has started a great new way for all of us to recognize excellence in blogging. If you’ve ever read a post and thought, “Gosh, that was dead on,” or “Oh. I fear I just wet my pants,” or “Hmmmm…that was flat-out excellent,” then you need to let GiBee know about it. She will periodically be handing out Awards of Excellence, and I think it’s a wonderful idea because 1) it’s encouraging, just as GiBee is and 2) it can spotlight some lesser-known blogs that have great content.

So the next time you run across an outstanding post or a great blog in general, let GiBee know about it. The guidelines for the awards are on her blog.

And even if you don’t have a nomination, stop by GiBee’s anyway – she’s a hoot. :-)

2) Because it’s never too early to start planning for Christmas, and because it’s so burning up hot that it does me some good to think about cold weather, I want to let y’all know that the BooMama Holiday Tour of Homes will be Friday, December 15, 2006. I still have to do a sidebar button (I don’t think that it’s necessary to have one yet since it’s, you know, AUGUST and all), but I know that we women like to plan ahead and get things penciled in on our calendars and allot plenty of time for the task at hand. So you have a little over four months to get ready. I think that should be fair warning. :-)

Also, if you have any suggestions for what pictures we can feature this time, please let me know…I think the tree is pretty much a given, but I’m open to whatever suggestions you might have.

And I’ll go ahead and put this bit-o-information out there: please pretty please don’t use my humble little blog to generate traffic to yours unless you’re a person who sincerely wants to participate by sharing your home with us.

3) It occurred to me today that we are getting very, very close to football season. And that I’ve never blogged during football season before. And that I may drive you crazy with all my talk of football because I. LOVE. IT. Are any of you college football fans, perchance? And if you are, what’s your favorite team?

Me? My favorite team?

Go ‘Dogs. :-)

Now I’m sure that based on some of my previous posts about food, y’all probably think that I get up every morning and immediately begin the process of deep frying biscuits for my family.

That assumption really couldn’t be farther from the truth, because deep frying is a labor-intensive process, and what I really do is saute’ the biscuit dough in a stick of butter and then roll it around in some cheese before I begin the actual frying. I find that the fat content of cheese remains completely intact when it’s surrounded by a layer of butter and then sealed with peanut oil.

Try it and see! And tell your cardiologist that BooMama sent you!

Seriously, despite the fact that my cooking does have a strong Southern bent (potatoes with cream cheese, cheddar cheese AND sour cream, anyone?), I do enjoy some foods that are, you know, healthy. Like berries. And vegetables. And, in the surprising-for-a-Southern-girl category, granola.

I know! Can you believe it? And I don’t even put it in a cobbler or anything!

Anyway, last night I was clicking through some recipes, trying to find something breakfast-y to make because tomorrow is my Sunday to cook for our praise team and band (use the words “chancel choir” and “orchestra” if the thought of DRUMS IN CHURCH makes you twitch), and I always like to do something on the lighter side for them. Since they have to sing in front of the congregation, I try to fix foods that will result in the least amount of, um, gastric disturbance possible, because there’s nothing quite like a monster belch straight into a microphone to bring the worship party to a screeching halt, now is there?

Can I get an amen?*

And much to my surprise, on my quest for light but hearty breakfast foods, I found a recipe for granola, which I had no idea you could make at home. No idea.

I don’t know why it never occurred to me that I could combine oats and fruit and nuts and seeds and bind them together with honey and wheat germ in the confines of my own kitchen, but it didn’t. Somehow I always pictured little hippie elves harvesting the granola from some magical granola tree (in California, of course), and in my limited imagination the elves would be wearing Birkenstocks and saying things like “DUDE. These dried cranberries are righteous!” and then they’d load their Volkswagen van with their granola goodness and make deliveries to grocery stores (albeit small mom and pop ones – and most definitely the ones with an organic bent) nationwide while the “Hair” soundtrack played in the background.

Because that’s practical. And realistic. And all.

So today I’m venturing into unchartered food territory. I’m making granola. This event may not be noteworthy to most of y’all, but I have lived in the South all of my life, and we typically don’t fool with grains unless we first boil the life out of them and then slather them with butter or sugar. That’s our heritage, y’all.

By the way, when I get to the grocery store in a few minutes, I plan to announce to any passersby in my aisle that I’M BUYING WHEAT GERM. I’ll let you know how it goes.

Dude.

* That was for you, Addie. :-)