WIP Wednesday: A Long Story and a Manifesto on Apples

So I write sometimes for Crafting a Green World or Eco Child's Play, both part of the Green Options blog system. They don't pay much (duh, it's blogging, and not about politics or the economy, either), but they pay a little, which gives me a little play money each month for art supplies and presents, and I enjoy the comments, exposure, world-wide acclaim, etc.

Anyway, back in July, the general manager of Green Options offered a $500 bonus to anyone who reached 40 posts that month. Dudes, 40 posts is a LOT, but, you know, so is $500. There are some pretty sweet toys that I could buy with an unexpected $500, including one Cricut machine, which is a plaything so utterly ridiculous that I'm embarrassed to even want it and would certainly never buy it with my real money, but hey, I've seen too many of those Cricut infomercials late at night at my parents' house and I TOTALLY want one.

They have a die-cut cartridge that will do all the states! And one that makes all kinds of cards and envelopes! It's like heroin for crafters!

I worked my butt off in July writing those damn posts. I wrote tutorials, and editorials, and round-ups, and reviews, and then more tutorials, editorials, round-ups, and reviews. I wrote early in the morning, I wrote while the girls ate lunch, I wrote while Matt got them ready for bed at night, I wrote late at night, and then I wrote early the next morning.

Oh, and I also parented. And did a craft fair. And lost my BlogHer account because I wouldn't censor out a photo of Syd's butt covered with paint (and THAT'S a whole other story, let me tell you, and don't even get me started about freedom of speech and the sexualization of children and hyper-parenting). And hosted a birthday party. And went on vacation. During which time I wrote posts in the airport during layovers to post when we arrived, and I wrote posts early in the morning and late at night at my in-laws' house in California. Without wi-fi. While parenting. And vacationing.

Anyway, I wrote a lot of posts. Wrote a lot of posts while thinking about my bonus.

So two days before the end of July, still having two or three more posts to write before I hit my golden 40, all the writers got the same mass email from the general manager of Green Options, all "blah blah blah and because of the unprecedented response I'm going to have to end the bonus after the next person blah blah blah." And don't worry, because I wasn't that next person.
I wrote my posts, anyway, just in case, and then I sulked. And stewed. And I was angry. And pissed. And lots of other words that describe the anger that one feels when something hateful happens to one. And the whole time, Matt is all, "Dude, you have to speak up for yourself! You have to get aggressive!"

And I'm all, "Nooooooooooooo! I hate confrontation!" (And I do. Can't even watch it on TV. Used to have to mute The Real World New Orleans.)

But then the next month, I totally can't get up the energy to write my regular posts for Crafting a Green World. I mean, I'm going to let them screw me over and then just act like nothing happened? Get me to do a lot of extra work to boost their posting for one month and let them not even pay me what they promised? And then maybe try real hard for the million dollar bonus opportunity that will maybe come out in a few months?

And the whole time, Matt is all, "Dude, you have to speak up for yourself!"

So I finally do. I write an email to the general manager, and the editors, and the guy who used to own the blog system but sold it and is now their consultant, and I told them that I was promised a certain amount of money for doing a certain amount of work in a certain amount of time, and I did that work, and I did not receive the money, and maybe it was legal but it wasn't ethical, and without that bonus they could consider this my letter of resignation.

And then I wrote one of the forums that I belong to of fellow Green Options bloggers, because I wanted to explain where I went if they never heard from me again, and I copied the email that I sent to the general manager.

Turns out there were some other people who were pretty upset about not receiving their earned bonuses, either, and some other people who weren't trying for the bonus but were pretty upset to hear how those of us who were got conned, and one person who wrote all the posts for the bonus but somehow missed the email announcing the cancellation of the bonus and, since we have a Net-60 pay period, was just sort of blithely awaiting her extra $500 the next month.

Some of these people emailed the general manager, as well.

And what was my reward for sticking up for myself? Other than feeling MUCH better after I had done so, which Matt told me I would and I can't believe I waited so long before listening to him? Well, there was an email from the general manager, addressed to I guess everyone who wrote him to complain, announcing that he would investigate the "confusion."

And then, the next week, with no further explanation (none needed), was the transfer into my Paypal account of my $500.

And that's why I have a Cricut now.

Do you want to know what the point of that story was? I swear, it had a point. The point is this:

The girls and I are making books about apples: Here is the cover of my book:
In case you were wondering where I got all those nice and neat die-cuts, I made them on my brand-new Cricut.

So, apple books...Being ever more certain that we'll homeschool next year (love Montessori, are not willing to subsist on store-brand Saltines and white rice to afford Montessori), I've been sort of consciously practicing some ideas that I might want to implement more studiously when we do so. Nice to have plenty of time to play around with strategies, you know.

One of the things I've been thinking about is how to measure learning and performance and mastery and accomplishment, etc. Grades and testing are cookie cutter measures, obviously, designed so that a teacher can evaluate and compare students efficiently. In the larger perspective, however, they are meaningless--they bring no meaning to what has been done, allow no retrospection of the journey undertaken or its significance to one's life.

As far as measurement goes, then, I vastly prefer the portfolio method of the girls' Montessori school. The portfolio, however, really consists of mere snapshots of a child's overall undertakings--a worksheet here, some photos there, a self-portrait on the cover. I'd like something that better demonstrates the depth of one's study, that is creative, that allows the student to show real expertise.

So the girls and I are playing with the idea of making books about what we're studying and doing together. I'm imagining that each book will be thematic, and will incorporate the variety of projects and studies that we've done under this theme--this is less unschooling, and more unit study. I'm surprised, because I thought I would be an unschooler, but in the practicalities of each scenario, I tend to drift towards unit study with self-made curricula.

I'm playing with the idea of making my book (because of course I have to make a book, too--it looks fun!) a sort of project book, how-to book, not quite a lesson plan book, but if you want to dry apples on dowels or make a freaky apple-head doll, here's how to do it. Oh, and here's a list of some read-aloud books that are pretty awesome, too.

It might be nice to sell such a book as a little homeschool zine, but it also might be nice just to keep, too. The girls will have their records of being homeschool kids, and I'll have mine of being a homeschool momma.

I Should Have Majored in Something Practical

Highlight of our weekend trip to Arkansas:
I do love to walk with my girls to my old elementary school a few blocks away from my parents' house. There are some new pieces on the playground, but most of the wood and metal equipment that was around in my day is still around, and is still super-fun. Matt is desperately amused every time to peek in the windows into the classrooms and learn that yep, Morrison Elementary is still an open-classroom school (NONE of the classrooms had walls around them, due to the school being built during the heyday of the 70s open-classroom fad. The teachers basically had lots of little carts on wheels to make imaginary walls in their spaces, and I mostly remember how we all had to be really, REALLY quiet lest everything get really, REALLY loud). I enjoy regaling him with stories of the time in the sixth grade that Stephanie started claiming to have these visions about a shadow world infiltrating our own and she started a school-wide cult and had to have brain scans.

You know, typical elementary school hijinks.

Low point of our weekend trip to Arkansas:1) Run over...something on the highway 10 miles outside of Effingham late at night on the way home. Not a human body or anything, but not an empty soda can, either.

2) Blow tire, and good.

3) Pull over.

4) Drag everything out of trunk to get to the jack and spare.

5) Commence purely academic debate in full darkness about how to change said tire. I like to believe that I'm a little more practical-minded than my beautiful partner, but even I found the lugnut/hubcap/wheel well arrangement on this fairly-new-to-us Sable to be a tad bewildering, particularly in the pitch black of night.

6) Phone Papa, former owner of the new-to-us Sable, but before can get any useful information out of him, my mother, either hysterical or just having taken a few too many sleeping pills again, faints on him, and he has to hang up.

7) Reconsider my family relationships, looking for someone level-headed, sober, and with mechanical skills. Phone Uncle Art and he tells me how to put the spare on.

8) Back in car. New alarming lights light up when we start the engine, and ominous shudderings cause us to shut back down and renogotiate the entire process.

8a) Adjourn to engine, where we look at stuff. Am filled with inspiration and use my camera flash to illuminate the engine in second-long bursts:8b) Get distracted by how prettily the hazard lights photograph----but it doesn't really matter, since neither of us know what we're doing, anyway.

9) Sigh a big sigh and phone Papa again. Must first hear tale of how many times my mother fainted and how he finally got her back to bed all snug and tucked in, but then am rewarded with the valuable piece of information that is his roadside assistance member number.

10) Call roadside assistance. Spend long time waiting for tow truck, managing girls' expectations of soon! Seeing! A TOW TRUCK!!!

11) Tow truck is all it was imagined would be. Mechanic restarts blown fuel switch, and we follow him to his creepy little repair shop.

12) Will NOT even look at the corner of the room where his cot sits, and where I may have seen some porn.

13) Will NOT look.

14)Look, and then wish I hadn't.

15) Matt buys tire, tire is installed, and we arrive at our blessed home at around 2 am.

And THAT'S why I was grouchy during office hours, students!

Well, that and your inability to come up with a representation for your horror-genre artifacts that is meaningful within its cultural context, of course. I'm sorry, but "fear of the unknown" and "fear of death" is universal, kiddos!

From Sweater Tops to Sweater Bottoms

In the week's lull before planning the girls' Halloween party, grading my students' next big paper, thinking about Christmas gifts, worrying about an etsy holiday update, and trying to figure out exactly HOW TO MAKE a freakin' clown wig for a five-year-old (mesh cap, stash yarn, and a latch hook needle?), I pleased myself with some stash-busting.

In the spirit of "If you're going to make one, you might as well make a dozen," I dealt with my daughters' dearth of warm leggings and autumn skirts with the purge of all the sweaters currently residing in my stash of clothing for reconstruction. Here they are modeled by the daughters performing what is possibly their favorite indoor pastime:
I sewed the leggings from sweater sleeves, a project which took a while to get right but which outcome I am quite happy about now, and the skirts from the torsos of those same sweaters (check out my sweater skirt tutorial over at Crafting a Green World). Since the skirt takes up most of the torso of the sweater and the leggings use the sleeves, shoulders, and the turtleneck if there is one, the set actually results in a very small amount of wasted sweater. It would only leave a little more waste if you sewed leggings and two diaper covers.

The girls have almost the same waist size, although Willow is quite a bit taller than Sydney, but the nice thing about the leggings is that they cuff easily (much more easily than the wide-legged trousers that are popular now, and also much more easily than pajama pants, the cuffs of which I actually have to tack in place), so both girls can wear the same skirts and leggings--I always cut the elastic at Sydney's size, because Willow doesn't mind a little extra stretch, but Sydney probably wouldn't be that stoked by clothes that constantly fell off her body as she pranced:

I had some partial sweaters in my stash that I'd already cut up somewhat in some way or another, so not everything is mitchy-matchy, don't worry:

And I'm certainly not going to require, or even encourage, them to wear the mitchy-matchy combo. The orange/pink/red/purple leggings and skirt looked pretty cute together, for instance, but this matching combo isn't really doing it for me:

I like the layers in that a kid could take off either the skirt or the leggings and still be fully dressed (unless she's not wearing underpants, which my children basically think you only have to wear if you're going to school).

Stash busting, mental challenge, calming handwork, and two comfy, well-dressed kids: here's to another happy week.

P.S. Check out Craft Gossip, which picked up my sweater skirt tutorial this weekend. Must start working on the tute for the matching leggings now.

And the Rest of the Apples are Just for Eating

So we didn't make apple pie or apple pizza or apple cookies or whatever, but we did make apple cake and apple muffins and dried apple doll heads--
--which I'm pretty sure are going to freaking CREEP me out when they're finished, by the way, might as well have Willow dangle one of them from a string on a stick while she's walking around in the freaky clown costume I'm going to have to make for her, and six more pints of applesauce (thanks for the food mill, Cake--it was AWESOME!), and dehydrated apple rings:

We're going to be chillin' like villains in Arkansas this weekend, where my Papa will be celebrating his 90th birthday (Shout-out to the Great Depression! Save your rubber bands! And your bread bags! And when store-brand Jello or canned irregular peaches go on sale, buy them all!), and while I'm there I may explore the possibility that Mama may have an old food mill up in the back of a cabinet somewhere. Cause Cake's food mill was righteous.

And next week, although I do also have planned to get jamming on some huge denim quilts and some small flannel pajamas (because I am FREEZING!), I'm betting that a food mill would make processing a nice, big pot of pumpkin puree just that much simpler, as well.

But not more applesauce. I am DONE with apples.

Sauced

Tomorrow, three days post apple orchard, is officially our Day of Apples--dried apple chips, apple muffins, apple cookies, applesauce, dried apple doll faces, apple pie, clove apples--but yesterday, since I didn't have to teach in the evening, I did get one huuuuuuge pot of applesauce canned, of which these three cans are a mere fragment:

I made a big mistake, however, in that I followed the directions for making applesauce when you have a food mill--ie. I didn't peel my apples. Only problem?

I don't own a food mill.

I plan to save this particular batch only for intimates, those to whom I will not feel ashamed saying, "And, um, when you eat your applesauce, pick around the woody-textures peels."

Tomorrow's applesauce will NOT include the peels.

P.S. One of my student projects, entitled Squid Monster, is a student's response to an assignment prompt that asked him to create his own original horror-genre cultural artifact, containing a monster, that worked literally and also metaphorically to represent a fear relevant to our own contemporary cultural context. This animation is the reason why I sometimes love to teach.

To Anderson Orchard and Back by Noon

Back and forth to the apple orchard, picking apples and exploring and seeing who can heft the biggest pumpkin (I win!), apples for breakfast and lunch, and still the littles got back to town in time for school (so did I, but that's not really an accomplishment since my class is almost 6 hours later. I did forget about my dentist appointment, however, so perhaps that counts for something).

We picked Golden Delicious (a sweet all-purpose apple), and Scarlet Beauty (also a sweet all-purpose apple, but better for winter storage), and Turley Winesap (a tart apple), and the yummy tart Ida Red:
This was my very first time ever picking an apple, as well, and I do savor those experiences, which happen more often than I would have previously thought, of not merely exposing my children to something new, but actually sharing in that new experience as another first-timer right along with them.

We ate a lot, too:
In fact, we may have eaten a very, very lot: In the perennial compromise between two children, one bigger and one smaller, Sydney got cold and done first and had to stay a little longer than she preferred, and Willow...Willow the Tree Girl (who, yes, I specifically told numerous times NOT to climb the apple trees) had to be basically dragged out of the apple orchard and off to the pumpkin patch.

Over the weekend I felt the call to go through some of my now quite organized clothing craft stash, and I modified a sweater skirt pattern that I'd been sort of happy with last winter to make the girls two new sweater skirts each that we're all VERY happy with:
The final tally:
And now to applesauce, toasted pumpkin seeds, and pumpkin puree!

A Font from My Own Hand

When I was little, I always wanted to be the kind of girl whose handwriting was girly. Other girls could produce these wonderful fat bubble letters with curliques and flourishes--my handwriting was all crabby and awkward, primarily since my fat little hand couldn't seem to move nearly as fast as my fat little mind. It was pretty neat--I mean, I did get a lot of practice and all, what with regularly writing 60-page animal-rescue adventures stories, but no, it was nothing special.

Which doesn't mean that my handwriting doesn't deserve to be memorialized. Because oh, it totally does.

I've seen off and on the odd program that makes fonts from your own handwriting, but it always cost a pittance to use, and you know how I feel about that. But all this weekend I've been playing with a new beta from fontcapture, and although I'm not going to write my next seminar paper in my brand new Julie Handwriting Font or anything, it is fun for playing with:
It's freaky, because the font is created very simply, from a worksheet that you print out, fill out, scan back into your computer, and then upload to the site, but this font looks EXACTLY like my handwriting. Exactly. Dead on.

Matt's font doesn't look as much like his actual handwriting, in my opinion (I'm pretty sure that when he writes, his lowercase letters are just smaller versions of his capital letters--hoo-ah, public school!), but can you believe he was stupid enough to provide me with the means to produce a font that mimics his handwriting even this closely?Mwa-ha-ha! Don't tell him, but I'm likely to use this font to write out little contracts to myself that promise me things, or letters of guilt and apology, etc.

We even got our Willow into the act. It was a challenge, because the grid in which you're supposed to write each letter is a little on the small side for a five-year-old's fine motor skills to easily handle, so some of her letters are cut off at the top or bottom. If I ever wanted to use her handwriting font to do more than just goof around, I'd likely have her fill out several of these worksheets (she loves them), then cut and paste between them in Photoshop to make the most workable choice for each letter. We're just goofing, though, and besides, there's something else big on her mind these days. To wit:

It actually does look pretty much like her handwriting, although I don't know what's going on with the spacing between words.

So I'm thinking that these handwriting fonts would be super-cool for scrapbooking. I also have a plan to go home over the holidays and collect the handwriting fonts for all my relatives, because it just seems like a kind of cool keepsake to have. I

It seems kind of creepy, though, in some ways, to collect my family's handwriting as fonts on my computer. Handwriting is so individual and personal, it's like collecting their hair or something.

Of course, not all of my relatives have hair, but they do all have handwriting.