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oak1985 · 2 years ago

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Storytelling, privilege, and community in OFMD

OFMD fandom loves the tradition of Stede reading books aloud to the crew. Lots of fic use reading aloud scenes as a way to foster re-connection between Ed and Stede and/or Ed and the crew. It’s also often used as an indicator of Stede’s kindness and generosity. The assumption is that the tradition of Stede reading aloud which is referenced in episode 1 continued throughout the events of season 1 and will continue after the reunion. And I get it. Fandom in general, particularly fic and meta writers, tend to be readers--it’s one of the main ways we relate to others and show our love. What else is fic writing and podficcing but an act of love and generosity, born of the impulse to share these stories with others?

But. I’m not convinced this is what we should take away from season 1. I actually think something much more interesting with regards to story-telling literacy, authority, and privilege is going on in canon. For all that the reading aloud scenes loom large in our collective imagination, we actually only see one scene of this. It’s never even mentioned again after the first episode. In episode 1, it’s clearly established that Stede reading books to the crew is already a well-established and well-liked tradition. Stede is reading them Pinocchio and the crew like it so much that the reminder that if they kill Stede, no one else can “do the voices” and they’ll never know the end of the story is enough to make several of them rethink their willingness to mutiny against him. It’s clear from Wee John’s request for another chapter that this is something the crew enjoy, not something Stede is imposing on them (unlike consistent wages or vacations, other Stede innovations that are objectively “good” but that Stede uses to impose his values on the crew without listening to their preferences).

At the same time, the same episode shows us that Stede’s literacy is not just a privilege, but a privilege whose power he is completely unaware of. He complains to Lucius that no one else has taken advantage of his library and when Lucius points out that no one else on the ship can read, Stede is initially shocked, confused, and then dismissive (“What? That can’t be right....No.”). Stede’s ignorance shows the extent to which his privilege has insulated him from the reality of the world in which he lives, given that literacy rates in England in 1700 were about 30% and were presumably lower in the Caribbean with its higher rate of enslaved people. Immediately before going to read Pinocchio to the crew, Stede is grieving having left his family behind and tells himself, “Your family is here now.” While the bedtime story routine thus helps to contribute to fandom, especially queer fans’, beloved found family trope, the implication that the crew are Stede’s children carries troubling overtones. Historically, not only poc but also the poor/working class have been depicted as children in order to deprive them of rights. Lack of education was often used as a justification for denying these groups the vote and for explaining why they would “always” be in a childlike condition. As a white, landowning male in the 18th century, Stede would have been raised with a belief that it was his responsibility to protect (and direct) those within his purview, even if that meant protecting them from themselves (i.e., keeping them from striking, rebelling, or doing other things contrary to the vested interests). One can see this play out in the role that Stede’s stories plays in the aborted mutiny. At one level, Stede’s bedtime storytelling come from a beautiful and generous impulse to share something he loves with them. At another level, it carries the taint of paternalism, the belief evinced by Stede again and again in the early episodes that he knows better than the crew what they need (wages, vacation, to learn to process their emotions (boy, he’s one to talk!), to learn to share). The kindergarten teacher language of talking it through as a crew, sharing the fabric in the flag scene, and refusing to read more chapters because the crew has “a big day tomorrow” shows the extent to which Stede is enforcing his authority over the crew even as he is trying to care for them. The reading specifically makes the crew dependent on him, as shown by Wee John’s reluctance to continue with the mutiny when he realizes that they won’t get to hear the end of the story if they throw Stede overboard. Reading to the crew allows Stede to use his privilege to reinforce his authority, ironically differentiating and distancing himself from the crew by the very mechanism with which he is trying to bond with them. By recasting the crew as his children, Stede is reproducing the very role of paterfamilias from which he wanted to escape. It’s clear that Stede himself doesn’t really want that role (“I was just uncomfortable in a married state”) but he doesn’t yet know how to escape it. He’s run away to sea, but in dragging the trappings of his wealth with him, he’s entangled himself in the expectations and limitations of his landed role.

Given the story that the show seems to be telling about Stede’s growth, about privilege, and about subtle forms of violence, it probably shouldn’t be a surprise (though I was still shocked) that we not only don’t see Stede reading to the crew, we don’t hear any references to bedtime stories in the rest of the season. What we see instead is a trend towards a more collaborative, communal oral storytelling tradition.

Where episode 1 ended with Stede reading Pinocchio, episode 2 begins with Black Pete’s tall tales of sailing with Blackbeard. This scene represents a clear reversal from the power dynamics of the previous episode. Here, Stede is the one entranced by the story, whereas the other crew members are canny enough to know that Black Pete is lying through his teeth. Not only is a crew member the one telling the story, rather than the captain, but the captain is the only one of the crew members not knowledgeable enough to be taken in by it. Whereas Stede has the authority of literacy, he doesn’t have the knowledge of people (or traditions of oral culture that rely on exaggeration as art) that the rest of the crew has. This scene, coming immediately after Stede’s story scene, shows that the ship’s storytelling traditions are already moving away from Stede’s sole, literary authority (notice how authority has “author” in it; European notions of power are completely embedded in literacy). And yet, the transformation is not yet complete. Storytelling power still rests in one individual, even though that individual between crew members and even though Black Pete’s storytelling prowess is clearly questioned by the rest of the crew.

By episode 6, there’s a much more communal storytelling model in place. Although again this scene starts with Stede telling a story, it is an oral, improvised piece rather than a written work and he’s clearly not very good at it. How do we know this? Because the crew tells both us and him. All throughout Stede’s story of the scary man with a hook for a head, the crew participate by questioning, critiquing, and commenting. This is a much more cooperative oral tradition, less centered on one source of knowledge/authority and allowing for a mutual construction of stories. The crew are also now empowered to mutiny against Stede’s storytelling, eventually cutting him off by exclaiming that Blackbeard must know real scary stories. Everyone, including Stede, joins in asking Blackbeard to tell them a scary story, at which point Ed tells them about the Kraken and the art of fuckery. Even though Stede is still shown at a disadvantage here, it’s noticeable that he’s not uncomfortable, feeling belittled, or wanting to return to a book reading, where he could hold power again. While reading to the crew gave Stede his initial connection to them, it was at a distance - they were the passive recipients of his knowledge and he the (physically) distant purveyor of literature. By contrast, in this scene, he’s actively engaging with the crew in a back-and-forth. This mode of storytelling gives him a chance to get close to them in a way that reading did not, because here they are shared a communally constructed knowledge. There’s no one undisputed author/authority here; although Ed still commandeers everyone’s attention and respect with his tale, in a way that Stede could not. This makes sense, since Ed, coming from a working class and specifically seafaring background, would be more familiar with the art of oral storytelling than Stede.

The idea of Stede continuing to read books to the crew, like the fantasy of Stede teaching Ed to read, is an entrancing one. But it comes with layers of privilege, power, and the assumption that a literate tradition is the best. The Revenge, and OFMD, can tell more complex, collaborative stories than this.

TL;DR: if season 2 doesn’t have the Revenge crew playing a game of Telephone or Finish the Story, I will eat Jim’s hat.

#my meta #ofmd: literacy #i thought i had reblogged a lot on the question of literacy in ofmd especially as regards ed but tumblr says not #typical #stories matter #ofmd #ofmd meta #our flag means death #stede bonnet #ed teach #edward teach #black pete #blackbeard #oral storytelling #literacy #privilege #racism #classism

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thehoneybuzz · 3 years ago

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Chasing Baker

My Nana was my greatest adversary.

In an otherwise charmed life, Nana was an immovable force and the only legitimate challenger to my willpower. Not without the warmth one would expect from a grandmother, Nana could be sharp - like a sun-warmed pane of glass. Lesser hearts might have bent to me when I requested accommodation - but not Nana. Nana set a firm bedtime, insisted on efficient tooth brushing, and rather than negotiate with hair tangles, made short work of them in single, swift wrenches when brushing your hair. No nonsense. When you stayed with her - in one of two twin beds in a room made precisely for grandchildren - you often found yourself in bed with the lights out, with no real memory of having gotten there, swept away in the tide of your sheets. Nana was uncompromising, and no arena was more suited to our mutual stubbornness as the dinner table.

I grew up a notoriously picky eater. After a weekend at my Uncle Jerry's, my mom received a hardcover copy of "The Strong-Willed Child" from him as a gift. He had spanked me for not eating chicken nuggets. As evident by its title, the book was meant to coach my mother on parenting strategies for mitigating my innate obstinance. This would not be the only copy of the book my mother received. Though, I think she could have written one by the time I turned 4. I simply refused to eat the things I didn't like, and that was a long list.

A relative once applauded - clapped his hands together in joy- upon learning that I had graduated from having the crusts cut off my bread to full-blown sandwich eating. The peanut butter and honey sandwich was my signature dish and an absolute staple. I'd like to say I've grown out of it - and I've certainly grown having tried llama steak in Peru, lamb heart at the table of a Lebanese family, and Greenland shark in an Icelandic cafe - but it took me a long time to let go of my habits and permit myself to try, and it took some coaxing. My preferences ran deep.

My diet from ages six through eleven included Eggo waffles, peanut butter and honey sandwiches, an assortment of cereals, a handful of specific fruits and vegetables, and the occasional steak when mom thought my iron was low. My mom - on the advice of a pediatrician who told her that if she force-fed me, I'd develop an eating disorder - catered to this preference. Nana did not. They must have been seeing different pediatricians.

Nana took the clear your plate approach - The approach driven by reward and consequence. Finish your plate, cookies delivered. Fail to try, become hungry and hungrier still as dessert passes you by. I took to swallowing food whole, and my mom took to sending me with granola bars on visitations. She'd line the interior of my suitcase like we were smuggling drugs. I'll admit it was an unusual form of contraband, but the measure seemed necessary in a divorced child's duplicitous world. What my mom saw as nourishment, my Dad might see as undermined parenting strategy even under the best of circumstances - which they often weren't. I was hungry, so decided it best to keep things a secret and wrappers out of the trash.

Despite Nana's apparent best efforts, I avoided the eating disorder. Thanks to my mom, I avoided most foods until my early 20s. I don't know who was right. What I know for certain is that I was loved.

When I sat down with Nana after my trip to Mt. Baker, she clutched her heart as she said. "Ally - to think about you as this little girl - and that you would only eat peanut butter and honey sandwiches - to think of you climbing mountains…" she shakes her head, "… well I just can't believe it."

I started to laugh and asked her, "Want to know the best part?"

She nodded, smile in her eyes, full of that sunny warmth - playful and kaleidoscopic.

"I ate peanut butter and honey sandwiches up and down the side of that mountain, Nana," I told her, laughing, and then we laughed together. Growing up is fun, I thought, especially in moments like this.

Laughing with your grandmother is a gift you receive in exchange for time, and it is a beautiful gift indeed. Here is a woman who bathed you, clothed you, fed you - and by the time you're old enough to understand the magnitude of the life she held before all that, she is often gone. I'm lucky to have this time. Nana is 90 years old now, and my mother's mother passed at 74. I never got to have the conversations I wanted to have with my grandmother, who died. To ask her questions like, 'Who were you?' 'What lifetimes made up the love you gave so effortlessly away?'

There is something about mountain climbing that makes you consider those kinds of questions in real-time. There is something about mountain climbing that makes you feel as if you are in the process of 'becoming.' So when, at the parking lot of Grandy Creek Grocery, I met my fellow climbers and our guides - there was a feeling of anticipation and nervousness about who I'd be sharing that story with. Dropping me off, my mom described it like the first day of kindergarten. The first person I met was Sharon.

I had been worried about Sharon. Weeks before, on the pre-trip Zoom call, she stood out from the digital crowd as the most visibly senior person there. Sharon did not look old - she looked undoubtedly the oldest. I think this is an important distinction - particularly to Sharon. I remember thinking - "I hope she is not on my trip because I'm worried she will show me down." A very judgmental thought and the universe saw to its reckoning. Sharon surprised the hell out of me.

She paced the parking lot, and I jumped out of my rig to greet her. We quickly began commiserating. Baker would be her first mountain. I had Mount St. Helens under my belt, but it's not much in the way of experience. We talked about our training plan, recounting long drives to taller places. Sharon was from Wisconsin, and she had to drive 45 minutes to get to peaks at 3,000 - the same as me in Eastern Washington. We had a lot in common. Where I ran, she had been hiking with weight and jogging. Sharon wasn't afraid of hard work. On our drive to the trailhead, I learned that she had just lost 75 pounds last year. I learned later that when Sharon signed up for this climb, she hadn't told anyone in her family she was doing it. She was 62 years old and had never once traveled alone. What on earth possessed her to climb a mountain? I'd be afraid of that question, too.

Sharon eventually fessed up to her family and made the trip official. That's how we found ourselves on the side of a mountain together. I'm embarrassed to have been so fundamentally wrong - but my confession is not without meaning, and I learned an important lesson. Never underestimate a Sharon.

When Melissa, our guide, described Mt. Baker for the first time, she called it by its indigenous name, Komo Kulshan. She then gave us its epithet - "The Great White Watcher." Having now met Kulshan face to face, I can tell you that's precisely how he feels. The summit looms as you navigate through the trees. Stoic in the face of the wilderness that surrounds him. Ice cold, he waits. In the Lummi language, he's called 'white sentinel.' He is persistent, vigilant, and watching.

I focused my nervous energy on preparing to meet this mountain by learning what I could about him. I learned that Mt. Baker is 10,781 feet tall, an active volcano, and the second most glaciated mountain in the continental united states (Rainier's got it beat, and you don't count Alaska). It's a formidable mountain, known - as nearly all alpine environments are - for its quickly changing conditions and the perils of its geology. This all, somehow, frightened me less than the thought of meeting Melissa Arnot-Reid. Her legend loomed not in the Cascades - where only a single peak resides above the threshold of 14,000 feet by which the Rockies measure their formidable "fourteeners." Melissa's legend loomed as large as Everest, on who's summit she has been six times - the only American woman to summit without the use of supplemental oxygen and survive. 29,032 feet. Melissa was someone I wanted to learn from, and I was scared shitless of her by reputation.

Suffering a bit of social awkwardness around celebrities, I prepared to meet Melissa by seeking to learn nothing about her at all. The antithesis of my mountain strategy - I told myself our experience would be what it was when we met on the mountain. My job was to learn - to ask my questions courageously - and be vulnerable and bold in seeking truth. I spent a fair bit of time wondering if she might be an ass hole, too. The age-old adage, "don't meet your heroes," drifted in and out of my mind.

In the last 15 minutes of our drive to Grandy's, my mom started reading Melissa's Wikipedia page aloud to me as I navigated the road, undoing months of my concerted preparation. I let her continue, greedy for information. "It says she trains by depriving herself of things - that she'll go without food and water."

"Probably a good idea if you're ever going to be stuck on the side of a mountain without it," I told her. I braced myself for a response. In the past few months, my mother had a growing sensitivity around topics that might suggest I could die on the side of a mountain. Admitting, so blatantly, that mountain climbing was a dangerous sport left me vulnerable to excessive mothering accompanied by exclamations of "Don't you dare!" Instead, my mom sort of nodded and continued, "I'm surprised her baby came out healthy."

My brow furrowed. I hated my mother for saying it. I had avoided a lecture from the mother of the mountaineer but failed to account for the mother of the daughter aged-almost-thirty. My uterus is a topic of conversation around my mother's table. Apparently, so was Melissas. Not wanting to discuss either, I let my mother's comment go unchecked as she continued to list accomplishments. "This article says she's focused on business, not emotions. That she is an incredible problem-solver." Now her reports felt more like cheating - it felt like an unfair advantage to meet someone armed with publicly available information about them. When you Google "Allyson Tanzer," you won't find much about my disposition under pressure. I told my mom it was time to focus and turned up the music.

When we parked, and I went to introduce myself to Melissa, three things happened. As I introduced myself, she first quickly let me know that she would not be giving out hugs due to the pandemic. Then, taking my hand in a firm grip, Melissa detailed that she and our other guide, Adrienne, had critical guide business to discuss and would be with us in a moment. She reported being thrilled to be meeting us as she quickly dropped my hand. Within thirty seconds, I was apologizing profusely and backing my way into the grocery. What can I say - first time formally climbing mountains, and I wasn't sure of the protocol. I fiddled with a bag of Cheetohs and continued to hope that she wasn't just an ass hole.

I went to the bathroom for something to do and remembered what my mother said. Task-oriented. I figured Melissa probably didn't hate me, after all. Despite my earlier misgivings, I was grateful to know a bit about her character, regardless of how 'honestly' that information was obtained. Thanks, Mom.

Our climb began. We left Grandy's in a caravan and parked near 3000' at the winter routes trailhead. On the first day, you ascend to 6000' and establish camp. You carry about 40 pounds, walking 1 mile and about 1000 vertical feet per hour, stopping for 15-minute breaks in those intervals. Conditions are warm, which means you're doing something the mountaineers call "post-holing" - ramming deep holes (as if for a fence post) into the ground as you step through snow that's washed out underneath. It's slow-going and rigorous. An hour and a half in, Melissa reports that we're standing in the location where she usually takes the first break. Unseasonably warm weather with a heavy snow accumulation has made for an exciting start.

You walk along a canyon ridge formed by a retreating glacier. You realize that time here is not measured in the same cadence that it's known to you. Mountains measure time in millennium, not decades. The formations of rock are carved by years, not minutes. The ground holds a history you can't conceive of - an ancient history of rock and ice. You are constantly struck by feeling small both physically and in your very chronology. I spent the first day happily in awe.

At camp, you maintain - guides (and playfully designated junior guides), boil snow, establish a base, dig a toilet. You assess whether or not you need to poop in a bag and carry it down the mountain with you as you try - for the first time - a rehydrated meal claiming to be chili Mac and cheese. Melissa teaches us how to walk on rope over a glacier. I try to mimic her knots. She redefines your concept of efficiency - breathlessly describing a packing order that accounts for calorie intake, warmth requirements and weight distribution - Every contingency considered. When I win the Ice Ax Rodeo by landing my thrown ax in a particular configuration - all is right in the world. Melissa is a drill sergeant giving instruction. She outlines the next minute - next five minutes - next hour - next day.

Her matter-of-fact nature reminds me of something. When I gave my parents a ride in an airplane for the first time with me as the pilot in command, I provided them near the same briefing as we were parked on the ramp. It ended dramatically with, "And if anything should happen, you have to exit the aircraft first in the following fashion." At which point I launched myself from the plane. I wanted them to be prepared to fight their instincts to protect me. I’m the only pilot on board - and my job is to protect my passengers, no exceptions. They both described a sense of foreboding and peace at the demonstration. It’s precisely how I felt when Melissa explained how she would be rescuing herself from a crevasse. “If you fall, I get you out. If I fall, I get myself out, but I need your help as an anchor to do so.” She took the approach of coaching us in only what we needed for the next challenge. We would learn crevasse rescue on a need to know basis. At Grandy’s, she told us to expect 48 hours of endurance. At camp, we’re at hour 9. She painted a picture of the following day.

"We'll begin between 11, and 2 am. Expect switchbacks up the glacier, a series of flats, and gains over the next hour. In 3.5 miles, we'll gain an additional 2000 feet - meandering a path through the glacier's crevasses, and it will gradually become steeper over time. About 1.5 miles to the summit, we'll hit the Easton glacier culminating in the Roman Wall. Then, because God has a sense of humor, you have a long flat walk to the summit after the steepest portion. All said it will take us between 5-7 hours to the top."

Frankly, it was just about as simple as that.

My eyes opened at 11:50 pm to the sound of movement outside the tent. Melissa had coached us here, too. "You may not be sleeping," she told us as we readied for 'lights out.' Days from the summer solstice, the sun burned brightly above us at 7 pm. "Remember that you don't need sleep; you need rest. That's what you're getting here at camp. You're horizontal; your feet are out of your boots. Close your eyes, and know you're getting what you need." Felt like a lie, but sure enough, with two hours of sleep, I couldn't describe myself as tired.

I did, however, feel cold. Chilly night temperatures had crept into our tent, and dressing for the day was arduous. I knew to keep my clothes in my sleeping bag. It was a trick I learned from a friend made trekking in the Andes for dressing in the cold. I knew to shorten my trekking poles while climbing, thanks to my guide on that same trek. I'd be leaving my trekking poles behind today, though. Ice axes only. We divide into rope teams. The race begins, but there's no starting pistol - only wind.

Fifteen minutes into our climb and we're struggling to find the rhythm. I'm still shaking the bleariness of the cold. The rope between climbers takes on an interesting dynamic. While it connects you to your fellow climber, it also isolates you from them. You have to maintain a certain distance away from one another while maintaining the same pace. It's a dance with crampons on in glacial ice - a delicate dance indeed - and it's where climbing feels like a team sport. You're all in it together.

Voices rang out in sequence like a game of telephone - one of our team would need to climb down. We said short goodbyes and waited as Adrienne (guide) descended with climber to camp. We were lucky - we hadn’t been climbing long which meant Adrienne could climb down and back to rejoin her rope. Guide redundancy is a safety net when groups of climbers work together.

Darkness continued. We continued. As you persist, darkness seems to persist along with you. In the first hour, it grows heavy. Your world begins and ends at the light of your headlamp, and that's where you find it—your rhythm. Crampons crunching, breath steady, and the gentle swish of your layers create a sort of timpani, a medley of percussion sounds. Clink, brush, crunch, and clink, brush, crunch, as ax bites ice, the movement of your clothes, and the toe of your boot kicks crampon into snow propelling you forward. There isn't much to think about in this grinding meditation. You're grounded in tugs from ahead or behind you as you march, slowly up. You can count steps, miles, feet of elevation - whatever keeps you moving. Whatever keeps you going up.

Moments before sunrise, we would lose another on our team. I listened to Melissa coach her. "What we're headed to is going to be harder than what we've just done. If how you are feeling is taking away from your ability to focus on your next step - I can only tell you that it's not going to get easier from here." That's when I saw the decision on her face. Another round of goodbyes - this one a bit more somber. She had worked so hard.

The decision to descend is a difficult one, but it’s one of the most important you can make. There are steep consequences to being in over your head in a place so remote. The summit is a siren, beware. Melissa - aware of the remaining teams intention to summit - advised us to plug our ears as she told the descending climber the Sherpa belief that a mountain won't let you summit for the first time if it likes you. Mountains bring you back. Further, she coached, the decision to go down can lift an entire team's chance of success if you feel you're a liability. Recognizing yourself and your limitations truthfully is a mountain in itself. That's the summit this person made in her decision to descend.

Like a good Agatha Christie novel, our list of characters dwindled. We added layers and continued - five of the original eight. Melissa was right, again. After we lost the second climber, our ascent became a proper climb. From that point forward, if anyone decided to turn around - we would all have to. There was only one remaining guide, and she had to protect all her climbers, no exceptions - me in the cockpit all over again.

She didn't show it, but 62-year-old Sharon was genuinely frightened. She had realized the same thing I did. If she didn't make it - no one would. Sharon kept climbing. Remember when I was worried she would slow me down?

When the sun starts to rise, everything begins to feel possible again. I don't mean to say that things were hopeless, just that with the sun comes energy and a sense of renewal. Color returns to the landscape, and you can begin to be able to measure your progress concretely. The mountain casts a shadow across the earth, stretching miles. You can't believe that you are contained within that shadow, on the face of such a giant who stands so impossibly tall. Melissa stood there, and I took her picture.

She had turned out to be not an ass hole at all. Where I sought to be her student, she aspired to teach - at once brilliant and kind. Her stride - her sport - a work of art. The precise art of what she calls slow, uphill walking. Her shadow and the shadow of the mountain impressed upon me the power of legends.

As the Roman Wall came into view - I knew we had it. We short rope in and make one last push. If Mt. Baker is a joke from God, the ending of the Roman Wall is its punchline.

Atop the incline awaits a long, easy walk to a haystack peak some few hundred yards in the distance. I was bubbling with emotion as my heart rate settled and the view became clear. There wasn't much difference between where we stood and where we were going. We dropped our packs, unroped, and ran up the summit. I was in tears.

Melissa broke her no-hugs-in-the-pandemic rule and celebrated us each in turn. I snapped countless photos and spent each frozen moment smiling. I pulled Melissa and Sharon in close. I had felt something on my heart and only needed a moment's bravery to share it.

I started awkwardly.

"I'd like to say something to you and Sharon," I muttered, barely audible over the wind, as I tugged on Melissa's sleeve. I grabbed Sharon's arm and pulled her in too. I don't remember the exact thing I said or the exact way in which I said it. I remember pausing to make sure I got it right and wondering for a long time if I managed to do so.

I told them that I had come to the mountain expecting to be impressed by one person. Melissa promised an impressive education - on which she delivered. She is of that rare quality - the kind who’s presence improves you. I came to Baker with that expectation, I confessed, I expected Melissa. I paused before telling Sharon, her gloved hand in mine, “You?” I laughed nervously. “I wasn’t expecting. A 62-year-old woman….” I nodded back to Melissa, “And you, the mother of a 3-year-old…” I didn’t want to get this wrong. “You are two people who our society labels and confines. Yet, here you are - on top of a mountain. I have to tell you….” I was choked up in earnest here and struggled to continue.

"It matters.” I said. “What you do matters. It matters to have an example of what is possible. Both of you have provided that example to me and women like me. Thank you." I sobbed. "I am so grateful for it and grateful for you." Melissa smothered me in her jacket as she embraced me, once again, in a hug. Pandemic be damned. My tears froze. While I expected a "There's no crying in mountaineering" a la Tom Hanks in A League of Their Own (it was a climb of mostly women, after all) the admonishment never came.

Sharon grabbed hold of me next and we shared the alpine view. Before I knew it, we were the last two on the summit. The wind howled a steady cheer. Celebrations concluded, it was time to leave. I stayed for just a moment longer, watching Sharon as she left. They don't make anything more beautiful than a mountain, and it's a view worth savoring. I descended, joyfully, to my team.

I didn't bury Jake up there. In Ashes to Ashes, I told the story of taking my old farm dog's remains to the top of my first volcano. He's not so much a good luck charm as he is an omen of protection. I don't need luck as much as I need safety, and he serves his duty well. Jake stayed with me through our descent to camp. I needed a little protection coming down off the Roman Wall, I thought. I wanted him close until we were off the glacier. He lays now at the foot of my tent—a very good place for a very good dog.

There's a natural mindfulness to climbing. I often find myself living in the present step - not thinking about the route that lies below. You forget in moments that the trip up is accompanied by an equally long and perilous journey down. From the summit, your journey is far from over. Yet, time flies by even as you stop to admire the steam vents. The rainbow that surrounds the sun refracts joy and color the same.

You reach camp, celebrate, pack up. Miles and thousands of feet remain even from there. That's when you realize it's ending and when I realized I didn't want it to end.

We spent the next few miles getting to know each other in earnest, savoring time and mountain views, chatting in the way of long-form hikers - about the nature of things and through storytelling. Melissa regaled us with vulnerable truths and comedic parables. We laughed. I kept sipping at the wells of knowledge around me, drinking in the moments. Laughter distracted from hunger, from wet feet, and from the dull and dim realization that all good things must come to an end. We made our way to the bottom of the mountain. Just like that - we say goodbye.

Sharon drove me back to Grandy's. We chitter like school girls - adrenaline and nostalgia collide in our post-climb delirium. We talk about the future. I realize that we are good friends. I am humbled by just how wrong a person can be to believe something about someone for no good reason.

Mom picks me up, and with her embrace my adventure is over. I’ve come full circle - safe and sound, parked in the lot of Grandy Creek Grocery.

Melissa found us there and knocked on our window.

"Your daughter is really special. The MOST special,” my hero and friend told my mom. Mom beamed with a special pride reserved exclusively for mothers of strong-willed daughters. I had been misreading things - the adventure had only just begun.

There are eight years between Melissa and I. I’m not sure I’ll be chasing Everest in that time, but I know I won’t be finished. I’ve got thirty-three years to catch Sharon at 62. In the mountain blink of sixty-one years, I’ll be as old as my Nana and I hope at least half as wise. Good thing there are so many years - for there is so much left to climb.

#mountaineering #mountains #travel #adventure #adventurephotography #traveling #travelblogpost #mountainclimbing #mt baker

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ecreads · 4 years ago

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Title: Like the Moon Loves the Sky

Author: Hena Khan

Illustrator: Saffa Khan

Published: March 10th, 2020 by Chronicle Books

Genre & Format: Contemporary Realistic Fiction, Verse & Poetry, Picture Book

Key Themes: Bilingual, Family, Multigenerational, Muslim Stories

Reading Level: Preschool, Kindergarten, First Grade, Second Grade

Language: English, Arabic

ISBN: 9781452180199

Content Warnings:

None

Publisher’s Synopsis:

“A lyrical and heartwarming celebration of a mother's love for her children by the award-winning author of Golden Domes and Silver Lanterns. In this moving picture book, author Hena Khan shares her wishes for her children: Inshallah you find wonder in birds as they fly. Inshallah you are loved like the moon loves the sky." With vibrant illustrations and prose inspired by the Quran this charming picture book is a heartfelt and universal celebration of a parent's unconditional love. • A reassuring bedtime read-aloud for mothers and their children. • A perfect book for sharing Muslim family traditions and for families teaching diversity and religious acceptance. • Hena Khan's books have been widely acclaimed winning awards and honors from the ALA Parent's Choice and many others. For families who have read and loved Under My Hijab Yo Soy Muslim and Mommy's Khimar. A sweet and lovely bedtime book to help let children know they are loved and precious.”

Review: Kirkus Review

“Punctuating the narrative with repetitions of “inshallah,” a mother lists the hopes she has for her child in this celebration of unconditional love.

Simple and lyrical verse expresses a parent’s wish of safety, love, happiness, and so much more for her child. “Inshallah you are kind to those most in need. / Inshallah you seek knowledge, reflect, and read.” Saffa Khan’s illustrations complement Hena Khan’s text, bringing to it a sense of movement, change, and liveliness as she ages the child from babe in arms to preschooler. The clear and short sentences deliver a straightforward message of parental love. Using a vibrant, bright, bold palette dominated by orange, blue, and yellow, the illustrations capture this family’s feelings, including such details as Arabic words in the background and an older figure wearing hijab to demonstrate that this is a Muslim family. Family members all have black hair, the brown of their skin varying slightly individual by individual. An author’s note before the title page explains the meaning of the phrase “inshallah,” noting that it is spoken by Muslims worldwide and expresses a “common theme found in other languages and cultures.” This is a lovely addition to the growing collection of diverse books focusing on a family’s unconditional love and addresses the dearth of children’s books inspired by the Quran.

This beautiful, sweet, heartfelt message of love and hope for a child will resonate with many.”

Additional Resources:

Purchase

Video Read-Along

Replacement for Dr. Seuss’s Oh, The Places You’ll Go!- Believing in Yourself: For More Information on Replacing Dr. Seuss, visit Teach for the Change

#like the moon loves the sky #hena khan #saffa khan #contemporary realistic fiction #verse and poetry #picture books #bilingual #family #multigenerational #muslim stories #preschool #kindergarten #first grade #second grade

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doctorhelena · 4 years ago

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Book asks! C H I P?

Well, I just realized I’d never answered this. Better late than never! Also, mmm, chips.

C. Currently Reading

Code Name Lise: The True Story of the Woman Who Became WWII’s Most Highly Decorated Spy by Larry Loftis

(and also The Saturday Big Tent Wedding Party by Alexander McCall Smith, out loud with my kids at bedtime)

H. Hidden Gem Book

Caravan by Dorothy Gilman. Yes, some of it doesn’t hold up as well nearly 30 years after it was written, but it’s charming and compelling and I love the main character.

I. Important Moments of Your Reading Life

I’m not exactly sure how to answer this! I don’t actually remember learning how to read (but I could do it when I started kindergarten) and I don’t feel like I ever had any really big reading milestones. It’s just always been something I do, like breathing.

I would say that watching my kids learn to read and become enormous bookworms just like both their parents has been a delight. And I love that they still like to read aloud together even though they’re both perfectly capable of reading anything on their own. A friend of mine once said that reading aloud together is like going on a trip together, and it really is.

(Oh, OH! Wait! I would say the moment in university when I discovered the existence of online fanfic was definitely a watershed moment in my reading life! 😂)

P. Preferred Place to Read

In bed, or on the couch. Sometimes the bathtub. Basically, somewhere I can be horizontal and relaxed! :)

#asks #answered #theawkwardterrier #thanks for the ask!

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irondadgroupie · 6 years ago

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Peter never gets over Tony’s death

A/N: Spoilers for Avengers Endgame. Heavy subject material ahead

When Tony dies, he becomes an angel.

Everyone has access to heaven but also world. Higher beings were very understanding. Dying is a shock, were you prepared or not. Things are very often left unfinished.

Tony know how to use the gift. He watches over his family.

Pepper is strong but grieving. She sleeps on his side of the bed, fights against sobs while clutching his pillow.

Morgan doesn’t really understand the concept of death. She still expects him to come back. Tony guards her sleep, makes sure she has only happy thoughts, brushes her hair though his hand goes through every time.

Peter- his kiddo- is not fairing well. The boy is a mess, the world had forgotten him for five years. May had given up their apartment, he was marked as deceased and had to start everything over.

The boy sleeps on the couch in the new apartment and screams.

Tony tries to be close but he is selfish. He can’t handle grief he has caused.

Had they only been smarter and quicker-

Tony sees over his funeral and is pleasantly shocked how many people attend. His family and comrades in one group, supporting each other.

Morgan looks confused the entire time.

Peter gets sick after the ceremony and rests in the guest room. Tony sits by him and does not like what he sees. The boy’s eyes are vacant, red, he has lost weight. He wants to tell him everything will be fine, wants to tell Peter to be strong.

Useless words.

Life begins a new. Morgan goes to kindergarten and makes lots of friends. Pepper focuses on charity work, having billions of people suddenly reappear is a huge toll on the economy. It causes famine in poor countries.

When Tony hears the news, he wonders if they ever did the right thing undoing the snap.

Peter starts school again but without the light in his eyes. The boy had always been eager to learn but now he just goes through the motions. He stares out the window, ignoring all the questions and calls.

Tony knows something is not right.

He starts spending more time at the Parkers’ apartment. One day, May gets a phone call and it leads to an argument. Peter is failing at school, not returning homework and skipping classes.

“Why should I even go to school,” Peter mutters and kicks the wall. “I died! I come back to a world that has not given a shit about me!”

Peter starts crying. Tony knows the warning signs when he sees them.

“This is about Stark, isn’t it?”

Of course, Tony realizes.

“He left me,” Peter whimpers and May hugs him. Tony leaves the world with Peter’s sobs echoing in his ears.

Tony has now become third father-figure Peter Parker has lost. He had known his death would be tough on Peter but this makes it worse.

That night, Tony finds to his surprise he can still cry.

He starts watching over Peter’s sleep. He tries to clear the boy’s thoughts, put happy memories to the front but nothing much helps. The boy wakes up screaming. Sometimes he even throws up from night terrors.

After a week, May calls Pepper and the women discuss the situation. Strange recommends a psychiatrist and follows Peter to the first session.

It leads to nothing. Peter refuses to answer questions.

“I don’t deserve help,” The boy mutters and bites his fingers. Tony remembers how Peter used to bite his nails when he was nervous: a nasty habit that Peter had never managed to break.

The boy’s fingers leave red marks on pale, dehydrated skin.

“I couldn’t stop Thanos. I didn’t get the stones to the van.”

No, Tony shakes his head. He wants to tell the boy it was team effort, they all succeeded and failed. Nobody blamed Peter.

“I can see it in Pepper’s eyes. I saw it in Tony’s eyes.”

No! He had not blamed the boy. He had watched at Peter with nothing but admiration and love.

But Peter’s mind was sick. It twisted reality according to what it needed to hear.

Psychiatrist describes Peter strong antidepressants and recommends therapy alongside it.

“If it doesn’t work out, we can try to get Peter a place at an institute but I must warn you, lines are incredibly long. Your nephew is not the only one suffering.”

Tony doubts even money could get Peter the help he deserves.

The meds cause awful side-effects: the boy sleeps through the day, can’t hold down food and gets electric shocks in his brain. Tony remembers those all too well.

Peter withers away in his eyes. May takes time off from work to take care of him, she tries to force him to eat, go outside, lead a normal life.

Peter tells he doesn’t see a reason to.

Pepper reads Tony’s prayers and invites Peter over to play with Morgan. The boy declines but May forces him to go.

Pepper makes them pizza and Peter is reminded of internship days when Tony would either order in or alternatively they would make a pizza of their own, putting everything they found in the fridge on top of it. The boy starts crying uncontrollably. Morgan, little angel, pats his hair but Peter ignores her.

At night, when Tony is guarding Morgan’s sleep, he has been ignoring her because of his worry for Peter, he hears the door open. He frowns, it’s three in the morning. He looks out the window and sees a figure walking towards the lake.

Dread settles in his stomach, the figure is too short to be Pepper.

He jumps from the window and runs after Peter.

“Peter!” He screams as the boy trudges forward, his pajamas soaking through in the cold autumn water. He has on sneakers, bringing in extra weight. “Kiddo, go back! Please! Go back to the shore! Peter, you don’t want to do this!”

Peter is not crying. He looks more alive than he has since Tony drew his last breath. Peter’s eyes are fixated on the moon.

“Shit,” Peter gasps as the water reaches his chest. The boy’s lips are turning blue. “Help.”

“We’ll help you, Peter,” Tony tries to grab Peter’s arm but his form goes through. “You just have to go to the shore. We will help you.”

But Peter had made his mind.

Tony screams as the boy goes under the water.

“No!” He grasps his hair and turns to the house. Lights are not on. “Pepper! Pepper! Wake up! Pep!”

But nobody is in the same state of being as him.

Peter was convulsing under water, cold paralyzing his muscles. Tony felt sick watching it but he knew that if this was to be Peter’s last moments, he had to be there.

He dives.

“It’s okay,” He prays somebody will notice Peter missing and come looking for him. But if not, his boy was not going to die alone. “It doesn’t hurt. I swear it doesn’t hurt.”

He wants to hold Peters’ hand.

The boy gasps and coughs out air.

“You’re okay, you’re okay.”

Peter stops moving, his eyes blink tiredly in the sweet water. Tony is still there, looking straight at him, with a soft smile.

Peter blinks.

“Tony?” He mouths and for a moment, they are on the same level. Peter extends his hand and their fingers meet.

Then Peter is grasped away from him.

Tony is glad, it was not too late, Peter could still be saved.

Pepper’s voice is distorted. Tony stays in the water, looks at his fingers.

For a second, he had not been so lonely.

He rises up and walks to the shore where Pepper is pumping Peter’s chest frantically and blowing air into his mouth.

“You can’t do this,” Pepper sobs. “We can’t lose you too.”

As Pepper does a compression, Peter chokes and spits up a large mouthful of water. Tony watches as Pepper helps the boy to his side, thumps his back and grasps his hand. Peter curls up while water drips from his mouth and nose.

Tony is relieved, the boy got a second chance.

If only he could appreciate it.

Peter lies.

Tony hears him tell Pepper, May, everyone that he sleepwalked.

Nobody fully believes him but who would dare to be the first person to call him a liar?

Besides, Peter seems to have gotten some of his fight back. He goes back to school, takes his meds and at least tries to eat. It doesn’t often work, nausea trips to the bathroom are still too common.

Psychiatrist calls it minimal improvement but it was still something they could work on.

Not even once does Tony notice a smile on Peter’s face. Not when watching funny videos or looking at old pictures.

To him, there is nothing to work on.

Looking back, he knew the boy was already lost.

That night he is with Pepper and Morgan and listens to a bedtime story. He miss telling those.

Pepper gets a phone call and frowns at the number. She tells Morgan to read for a moment by herself and leaves the room. Tony debates whether to follow but he is having too much fun watching Morgan try to spell out words. He corrects her mistakes.

Pepper comes back ten minutes later, her eyes red and tear tracks on her face.

“Morgan, honey,” The woman sniffles and takes the book gently. “You remember Peter?”

No, Tony’s eyes snap open.

Morgan nods.

“He-” Pepper tries to find the words. “Peter won’t be coming over anymore”

Where was Peter? Where would Peter go?

“He is dead, baby.”

“Dead like Daddy?”

Tony panics. Peter was not supposed to be dead.

“Yes. He is with Daddy in Heaven.”

“Will Daddy take care of him?”

Pepper nods with a sad smile.

“Yes, sweetie. Daddy will make sure Peter is alright.”

“Will he read him bedtime stories?”

Tony leaves before he hears the answer. He has to find Peter.

He goes up to Heaven and seeks out the Higher Lords.

“Where are the ones who have just died?”

They appear here, Tony doesn’t know if the words are spoken aloud or if he understands it through a bond.

“I need to find my kind”

Seek in the hall

He does and finds countless new faces. He calls for Peter but finds nobody. But he finds too many people he had seen on the vanished list, mostly old people. Their health had declined after multiple shocks about how their lives had changed.

“I couldn’t not find him. He is not here.”

Everyone who dies comes here

“But Peter is not here! Where is my kid?”

If he died a natural death, he appears here

Tony blinks. “What do you mean natural?”

“Sickness, old age or accident.”

Tony feels sick

“What if- what if Peter- what if someone does it themselves?”

Silence

They go to limbo

“Limbo?”

They are there for undeemed time

“Why?”

Giving away your life is a sin

“He was suffering!”

Nevertheless, if he killed himself-

“You punish him! You punish a hurting child! What kind of sick fucks are you?!”

Tony rubs his face, tries to force down panic.

“How long is he there?”

It is not certain- time loses meaning here

“Are we talking about a week?”

Silence

“Month? Year?”

Never an answer

Next few weeks Tony spends sitting on the ground at the undertaker’s. He guards Peter’s body. He sees people come and see the kid. He witnesses the long gashes on Peter’s wrists. No autopsy is needed, the boy died of blood loss.

During the funeral, he sits beside the casket. He doesn’t look inside after the lid is closed. Peter had on makeup to hide the paleness of his skin and lips.

“I- I had hope he would be the next hero of this world,” Rhodey whispers as the Avengers look down on their youngest member lying on velvet pillows, hands crossed and a bouquet of white roses over his chest.

Pepper doesn’t let Morgan see Peter’s body and Tony agrees with the decision.

Peter is laid down to rest in a cemetery in Queens, besides his parents.

There is still no sign of him in heaven.

Tony doesn’t know when he will arrive there, how long it will take. Maybe Peter will only get to rest once everyone on their team is dead.

He sits down beside the grave, looks as snowflakes start covering the small hill under which Peter’s body resides.

“Oh, kiddo,” He cries and touches the ground. “You’re alright.”

Those were the last words he ever said to Peter.

Maybe they would once be Peter’s welcoming to Heaven.

#trigger warning: suicide attempt #trigger warning: suicide #irondad #fanfic #avengers endgame #endgame spoilers

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enchantedstorybook27 · 4 months ago

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readearly · 5 years ago

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If you Give a Pig a Pancake by Laura Numeroff illustrated by Felicia Bond is an entertaining and sequential book about what events will happen when you give a pig a pancake. If a pig receives a pancake, she will want syrup, and then she will get sticky from the syrup so she will need a bath, and so on. Each event leads to the next in this relatable tale for children. A third person narrator tells the story as a girl becomes tired from catering to the demands of the energetic pig. The endless cycle of requests by the pig is humorous and grasps the attention of young children.

The adventures of the pig with the little girl start and end with a pancake. This circular story encourages children to examine cause and effect relationships because children can anticipate that one event will lead to another. The story also encourage predictability skills as children guess what will happen next.

This book is appropriate for preschool and kindergarten aged children. The clear and natural language of the story consists of simple vocabulary. The words in the book are easy to follow and they are a wonderful support for emergent readers. The colorful and detailed illustrations on a white background enhance the story, specifically when the pig makes a mess of the clothes while looking for something to wear. Children can tell what is happening in the story by looking at the pictures. This book can be read as a bedtime story or an interactive read aloud.

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septembersung · 6 years ago

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I spent most of the last two months thinking through my educational philosophy in a concrete way - tying it all together, seeing how far we’ve come, and where I want to go over the next year. I’ve finished final revisions to method, schedule, and content, and starting in May we’re ready to launch the revisions. My oldest would be starting public school kindergarten this fall if we were going that route, so our start-early-take-it-easy trial year is nearly over, and it is such a good feeling to see all these ducks in a row (and so far ahead of the legal paperwork deadlines!)

I’ve finally gotten over the feeling that I have to prove myself, which is almost as much of a relief as being able to clearly and succinctly articulate what we’re doing here and why. Under the cut is my thinking-out-loud: a general summary and a where-we-are-now overview.

Our homeschool, now under the patronage of St. Boniface, is a Catholic, holistic, classical liberal arts education for all ages. (That means everyone’s part of school, even the baby, many subjects are taught together, and we don’t have “vacation” from learning.) Our year-round structure is divided into four terms, each named each after a concurrent feast or season: June - Aug is Pentecost Term; Sept - Nov is Michaelmas Term; Dec - Feb is Christmas Term; and we are currently in Easter Term, March - May.

My new elevator speech, hastily prepared a few days ago when I suddenly realized I was going to get grilled by extended family members during Easter Sunday get-togethers, is, “We are homeschooling in the Catholic, classical liberal arts tradition, with some Charlotte Mason influences.” Although depending on who’s asking it was wiser to say, “We’re homeschooling with a classical program.” That’s what most people, family and acquaintances alike, are looking for after all - they don’t know what a ‘Catholic classical liberal arts education’ is or who Charlotte Mason was, and more importantly, they don’t care. And most of our family, while verbally in general supportive of homeschooling, are old-school evangelicals who have a deep distrust if not outright hatred of the Church and anything tainted with even a faint resemblance of the Faith. So what they really want to know is, “how much of a weirdo are you??” Well, we’re definitely Weird (can’t help it, being tradition-minded Catholics and all,) but yes we are using a “real” curriculum, thanks for asking, and I just won’t mention the curriculum we’ve taken as a guide is named after our Blessed Mother.

Anyway. In familiar, contemporary terms, I have a kindergartener (5), a preschooler (nearly 4), a toddler (2), and an infant. But the ”kindergartener” is working anywhere from a K to a 5th grade level in various subjects, the “preschooler” from a K to 3rd level, and the toddler at a preschool level. It turns out grade level really doesn’t matter all that much.

Why do they seem so advanced? It’s a combination of being bright kids, who are learning together, and directly with mom and dad, who are given real material to work with - and all that compared against the severely lackluster contemporary federal standards we’re familiar with. Don’t get me wrong: they’re all definitely bright kids! I’m very, very proud of them. And I strongly suspect Benedict and Mary fall in the “gifted” spectrum. (As someone who was cursed with that label early on and lived with the fallout all through public school, I’ve given the issue sober reflection.) But they don’t seem to be prodigies, and I firmly believe that any reasonably bright child given a substantial, nurturing home education is going to show up on the very high end of contemporary public school rubrics; analysis of the test data certainly supports that intuition. But I digress.

With the classical foundation and structure as a given, I’ve borrowed as useful “tools” some concepts and approaches from Charlotte Mason, and use Mother of Divine Grace’s booklist, textbooks, and breakdown of the classical method as a template. With those complementary tools we’re building a tailored curriculum within our family culture.

Thus the theory. Where are we actually at now?

As a dutiful (would-be) Benedictine oblate, I build our day around the Divine Office. I say as much as I can and for the most part expect the kids to say our family morning offering, and then Tertia (9am), Sexta (12pm), and Nona (3pm). Evenings are hard for us because of Husband’s schedule so I waffle on whether to have them say Vespers or Compline, but even on the “worst” of evenings we do our own bedtime prayers. Other family devotions, including the rosary, come and go in a more or less regular rotation. Ideally we do most of our academics and some read alouds in the morning, cook and bake between 10-12, spend lots of time outdoors, have teatime with our baked goods after Nona, and then somehow muddle our way between dinner, Offices, stories, cleaning up ourselves and the house, and bedtime.

For Holy Week and Triduum we were staying with family so we focused on family time and on living our faith as best we could while not at home. In one way it’s good, because we are just a short (comparatively) drive from an FSSP church; in another way it’s difficult, because the extended family looks askance at our Catholicity.

At home again for the Octave of Easter, we’ve set aside the schedule and “academics” (such as phonics and math drills) to let our interests lead us where they will. Sort of in unschooling fashion, though I try to retain the basic structure of our ideal day, as outlined above. ((Although I have time to write this all out today because I’m sick enough to be couch-ridden so mostly it’s been “go play outside, come in when you’re hungry, no I can’t read to you I can barely talk.” But all signs point to getting back up to speed before the week is out.)) (((One reason I love the year round four term cycle is we can have relaxed days and sick days like this, and “take off” for high holy days like Octaves - and there is absolutely zero worry about “losing time” or “falling behind.” But I digress, again.)))

Before/at the start of each term I make a core book list, which encompasses chapter books, reference/encyclopedia-style books, workbooks, and similar. We add to it as we go, and occasionally drop a book or quit early to save for later. Frequently I start the next term’s list early so as not to lose track of great books we just don’t have room for at the moment, so I’m in the middle of Pentecost Term’s list right now.) Some books carry over from term to term, or even year to year (e.g. Book of Virtues.)

Rather than daily lesson plans, our goals are now in whole books, sections of, and skills to master, and I record what we actually do each day instead of what I’d like to do. At least that’s the record keeping method I’m switching to beginning May 1st. I’m filling in my lesson plan book with subject headings. Then in each box I’ll write down what we actually did for that subject on that day. I will also keep going with my notebook (or more realistically speaking, the typed file) where I write everything out in more comprehensive detail.

My list of “subjects” looks like this; I’ve included the sub-headings in parentheses:

memorization (poems, songs, prayers)

music (playing and listening, )

penmanship (MODG handwriting books, tracing books, free writing/drawing/coloring in many mediums on many surfaces)

literature (read alouds)

nonfiction (read alouds)

reading (phonics, readers)

math (Abeka K drills, MODG PK math, general practice)

social studies (history, geography)

life skills (cooking, chores, etc)

foreign language (spanish, latin, asl)

science (observation, journaling, scrapbooking, reading, experiments)

handcrafts (drop spindles, little looms, pre-sewing skills)

religion (catechism, prayer, Scripture, etc)

astronomy (constellations, telescope use, solar system, history of, etc)

art (appreciation, making)

husbandry (growing things) ((and someday we’ll be able to raise animals))

The beauty of this division is it’s easier to keep track of all we’re really accomplishing. So many books and practices work for more than one thing; e.g., learning a traditional hymn (bonus if it’s actually part of the Office!) goes in Latin, music, Religion, and memorization. Now I can make quick notes of things we’ve done and easily see what we’re accomplishing and what might be getting put on the back burner.

Booklist for Easter term (so far):

Literature (excluding picture books*): Farmer Boy Little House on the Prairie Black Ships Before Troy: The Story of the Iliad The Wanderings of Odysseus: The Story of the Odyssey The Boxcar Children #2: Surprise Island The Boxcar Children #3: The Yellow House Mystery Mrs. Piggle-Wiggle (#1) The Amelia Bedelia Treasury (vols. 1 & 2) The King of the Golden City: An Allegory for Children A Child’s Book of Myths (audiobook, physical copy for illustrations)

*Picture books are not listed individually because we use the MODG lists, PK - 1st, with additions, comprehensively. We’ve about exhausted the PK and K lists and are beginning to move into the 1st grade list. We read these picture books at will throughout the year, sometimes more frequently and sometimes less.

“Spine” books, Nonfiction, anthologies, reference, hands-on, etc: Discovering Our World: A Course in Science for the Middle Grades (1937), units 1 & 2 St Joseph First Communion Catechism Little Angel Catholic Readers, Book A Book of Virtues Grimm’s Fairy Tales The Harp and the Laurel Wreath Abridged & Illustrated Gibbons’ Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire Nature in America Cathedrals and Churches of Europe DK Eyewitness: Plants Sister Wendy’s The Story of Painting (paired with the DVD) Pioneer Farm Cooking by Gunderson (a cookbook) The Story of Great Inventions by Elmer Ellsworth Burns (1910) Bach picture book biography for children Mozart picture book biography for children

The tl;dr of the complexity of the issue has been how to make education a normal, daily thing, that’s truly comprehensive, in a family setting with a variety of ages and abilities and interests - without “doing school” in a way that makes it a drag for the kids (because who likes being regimented that way?? nobody!) but without being so loosey-goosey that I have no idea where we are or should be. This breakdown and method, which we’ve been half-doing for a while and are now going to give a long good try for the next twelve months, is as close to perfect as I can get it at this stage in our lives.

This post started out as a booklist and turned into a manifesto... and I’m not even surprised. Or bothered. Viva la homeschooling!

#my homeschooling tag

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datheetjoella · 6 years ago

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The Sweet Taste of Tangerines

Author: DatHeetJoella Fandom: Free! Pairing: MakoHaru Rating: T Chapter: 2/5 Word count: 7,776 (total: 12,600) Chapter summary: Mrs. Tachibana gave Makoto a pen, and that was the key to a lot of firsts for him and his soulmate. Notes: This fic is a gift for @rosieharu for the MakoHaru Gift Exchange Summer 2018! I hope that you, and everyone else, will enjoy this chapter! ^^ (more chapter notes at AO3) Read at: AO3, FFn or here!

Chapter 2: 6

The first thing Mrs. Tachibana did the next morning was give Makoto a pen. She told him that, while it also worked just fine on paper, it was made to be used on skin and would therefore wash off easily. Makoto was positively thrilled and when his mother confirmed that it was his to keep, he was so elated and grateful that the wide smile didn't leave his face for the rest of the day.

He carried his pen wherever he went, always keeping it within reach just in case there was something he needed to express to his soulmate or if the tingles suddenly appeared and he had to respond to their picture.

Not a day went by in which Makoto's skin stayed completely clear and his soulmate and he drew all sorts of different things: flowers, smileys, fish, cats, anything that was on their minds. On days when he felt really bold, Makoto would even draw a little heart on the inside of his wrist. His soulmate would always draw something else in response, a star or some waves, but Makoto never interpreted that as any sort of rejection; he figured his soulmate was a little shy, which he understood very well because there were occasions in which he himself was shy too, and the fact that they drew something in return showed that they accepted his heart and offered him something back.

Some days, when he felt a little down, the familiar tingles would appear on his palm and he'd be greeted by a kind face smiling up at him and it never failed to make him feel better. Other days, he would get a funny feeling in his stomach and his heartbeat sped up and he would suddenly feel compelled to draw a flower or a heart on the back of his hand and once he had finished it, ease settled within him again like a blanket of security being wrapped around his shoulders. So he hoped that meant that whatever it was that had been bothering his soulmate, it was over or that it had cheered them up a little in the very least.

Time flew by and there was not a single moment in which Makoto felt alone, because he knew there was unwavering love and support for him just a drawing away. Whenever he woke up and he saw a pattern wrap around his arm, he started the day off with a bright smile and he made sure to always say goodnight to his soulmate with a crescent moon before he went to sleep.

But soon, Makoto felt like the drawings weren't enough for him anymore. He loved the pictures that his soulmate came up with and seeing and feeling them pop up filled him with joy every single time, but drawing pictures in return was becoming increasingly more difficult. With each drawing, the visible difference in their artistic abilities became larger and larger as his soulmate improved but his skills remained as terrible as they had been since the beginning, and that made him feel bad. But it wasn't because he was envious of them; he thought it was amazing that his soulmate was so talented and it only made him admire them even more than he already did. It was because his own drawings weren't that great at all that Makoto felt like he couldn't properly express himself, at least not as well as his soulmate could.

He wanted to communicate with them on a deeper level than by just drawing flowers and kittens. He wanted to talk to them and ask them how they were doing, he wanted to tell them about all the exciting things he had done and wondered what kinds of things they did, he wanted to know more about them and their life and he wanted them to know about his life in return.

It wasn't like he didn't try to convey that information now; if it was a nice day out then he would draw a sun on his arm and if he was happy he'd draw a rainbow, and he was sure that his soulmate understood that perfectly fine. But that was about the height of his abilities and he doubted that his soulmate would understand him if he attempted to draw anything more complex than that.

Next to that, he wanted to know things about them that he couldn't ask with images solely. He wanted to know their name, their age and what they looked like; he wanted to know where they lived to see if it would be possible to meet them sometime, he wanted to play with them and have fun with them and hear their voice and have a real conversation with them. And in order to do all those things, he needed to be able to communicate with them beyond the simplistic symbols and drawings.

Therefore, Makoto decided to ask his parents if they could teach him how to read and write. He was still in kindergarten and wouldn't start first grade until about a year and a half later, and he knew he wouldn't be able to wait that long because the desire to get to know his soulmate was too strong to suppress. He could have easily asked either of his parents to write whatever he wanted to say on his arm, but he didn't want that because he wanted to do it on his own; he had to do it on his own. The first interaction in words between his soulmate and he would be written by himself and it didn't matter how long it took before he could do it because he was determined to make it work.

Makoto's parents were more than happy to oblige so they upgraded from the games that would simultaneously teach characters and words to actual lessons on how to read and write certain characters. In the evening for his bedtime story, they would let him read along as one of them read the text aloud so he would learn to associate sounds with the characters and when he didn't understand it or couldn't follow it, they would try their best to explain it to him.

Unfortunately, everything was a little more difficult than Makoto had expected, because he had a bit of trouble differentiating the numerous amounts of characters and all the ways they could be read. Although his parents were doing everything they could, they weren't exactly teachers educated on how to best explain these things to a young child so they were still in the process of figuring it out together. Despite all of that, Makoto was trying his very best to learn and he knew he couldn't give up. All of the effort would be more than worth it once he was finally able to converse with his soulmate; they were worth all the effort in the world.

Throughout the months that passed, Makoto's determination never faltered; on the contrary, with every rose and dolphin that emerged after tingles, the flame inside of him burned brighter and fiercer and he would try even harder to absorb the information he was given even faster.

His patience was rewarded with every small milestone: the first time he was able to write his name from the top of his head, the first time he could read and understand a full sentence, with every little victory Makoto felt himself getting closer to accomplishing his goal and that only made him more eager to learn.

After a while he was able to write various different words, soon followed by small and simple sentences and Makoto was absolutely ecstatic because of his progress. But he wasn't quite there yet; he would not put a word down onto his skin before he was able to sustain a written conversation and would continue to only draw pictures until then.

That day arrived a bit later than he had been hoping for, but on the last day of March just after graduating kindergarten, Makoto finally felt confident enough to move on from solely drawing on his skin to writing something for his soulmate to read.

It was a relatively warm day and the cherry trees were in full bloom, yet Makoto was not outside to enjoy the start of the new season or the nice weather. He was sprawled out on his belly in the middle of the living room, books and papers scattered around him as he was staring at the handwritten list before him.

When he had gotten up that morning, he decided that today was the day; today, he would write to his soulmate for the very first time.

But as he had been preparing for his opening to the conversation, there was something weird nagging inside of him that kept preventing him from actually placing his pen down onto his skin. Instead, he kept putting it off, thinking to himself that he would do it later because he didn't know if his soulmate was awake yet - which was a lie considering he had woken up to a drawing of a popular mascot character on the inside of his arm that he still hadn't responded to yet.

Hours went by and it was well into the afternoon already when the cap was still firmly on Makoto's pen - his fourth pen, to be exact. At one point he convinced himself that it would be better if he wrote down everything he wanted to say on a piece of paper first, because even if he didn't know how his soulmate would respond and how that would carry the conversation forward, the security of having a little cheat sheet to fall back on made him feel a bit more self-assured. But once he had written the sentences down he was certain that he must have misspelled some characters so he got out his books to check them three times which only slurped up more of his time.

Once he was done with that, another strange feeling welled up in his stomach so he figured that he was getting hungry - despite having eaten lunch not too long ago - so he asked his mother for a snack. But when he had eaten about half of the tangerine that his mother had peeled for him, he came to the realisation that the strange feeling didn't go away, which forced him to come to terms with how he really felt: he was nervous.

After all those months of eagerly working towards his goal, now that he had finally achieved it he was postponing it due to nerves. He was so afraid of making a mistake or doing something wrong and looking silly in front of his soulmate that it was causing for him to freeze up whenever he thought about actually writing something down, therefore he kept avoiding it all-together.

But no matter how nervous he was, Makoto didn't want to keep this up. It felt like he was running away from his soulmate, which was something that he never wanted to do, because all the time and energy he spent trying to learn how to write was all for them; because he loved them and cared about them, because he wanted to get to know them more, because he wanted to meet them. He shouldn't throw all of his hard work out the window just because of some nerves. The only reason he was nervous in the first place was because he was afraid of failing in front of the eyes of his soulmate, which was stupid when he considered that his soulmate was the one person who would never judge him and who would keep supporting him no matter what. Even if he wrote something wrong, even if he looked silly, his soulmate wouldn't care about that.

With new-found courage, Makoto grabbed his bowl of remaining fruit slices and his glass of water and he took it along to his spot on the floor. As he was observing his list, he already felt his determination start to crumble again and his fingers trembled as he reached out to eat another piece of tangerine. He was so anxious that it was making him nauseous and he attempted to swallow the bile that crawled up to his throat down along with the fruit and a sip of water, but it wasn't really working. Never before had Makoto felt this conflicted because he wanted to do this so badly yet the mere thought of it made him so sick with nerves that he was physically incapable of actually writing something down.

Suddenly, he felt the inside of his wrist tingle again and he was completely caught off-guard by the little fish that appeared there. His soulmate must have sensed his distress and therefore sent him a reminder. A reminder of their unconditional love and commitment. A reassurance that was meant to put him at ease, and it certainly did; within an instant the nerves and anxiety poured out of his body and evaporated, skillfully whisked away by his soulmate's considerateness.

There was no doubt about the fact that this was a sign from his soulmate, a sign from the universe that the time had really come for him to take the first step forward into this new territory. He could do this, and it wasn't scary because this was his soulmate and when it came to them, he always felt comforted and safe.

So he sat up on his knees, took a deep breath and then he uncapped his pen, writing the characters as small as he could possibly manage on the back of his arm to ensure there would be enough space left for a potential conversation.

'Hello'

Once the word was staring back at him, another funny feeling began to course through his veins and tightly grasped his heart: anticipation. He wanted to start out with a simple greeting, just so he wouldn't scare off his soulmate by bombarding them with questions and information about himself. After all, it must have been a little shocking for them too that after over a year of talking solely through images, a word appeared on their skin seemingly out of nowhere because they didn't know Makoto's journey, what he had done over the past months in order to accomplish this. But it didn't matter that they didn't know yet, because he was very eager to tell them about it.

Makoto unconsciously held his breath and he was unable to avert his eyes from his arm, not wanting to miss the moment words would form on his skin for the first time. But seconds turned into minutes and time ticked by relentlessly without a single word or tingle. It was odd, because his soulmate usually responded right away and considering they had draw a fish just before Makoto wrote his greeting, he couldn't imagine that they had missed the tingles and hadn't seen it by now.

An icy rock formed in his chest when he came to a possible conclusion; maybe his soulmate couldn't read or write yet. Perhaps the characters were still alien to his soulmate and it had baffled them that he had drawn these indecipherable lines for some reason instead of the usual images that he put on their skin. The thought had honestly never even crossed his mind before, but it was very plausible considering his mother had guessed that his soulmate and he were around the same age and he hadn't officially started first grade yet, so perhaps they hadn't either. He always figured that once he was able to read and write, he would be able to talk with his soulmate but he had not once considered that communication was a two-way street that required his soulmate to be able to write and read too.

Now he really felt stupid.

Fortunately, no one could take his negative feelings away as easily and quickly as his soulmate could and the disappointment and sadness had disappeared before they were even there when his skin started to prickle.

'Hello'

Whether this was his soulmate actually responding or if they had just copied the characters he had written, Makoto didn't know, but the immense relief and exhilaration that flooded his senses overwhelmed him to the point where he couldn't think straight anymore because he only felt joy.

Somehow, the small word seemed a little timid to Makoto - which was strange since it was exactly what he had written too - so in order to bid his soulmate some comfort before he asked them things, Makoto decided to reveal some information about himself first.

He tried his hardest to write as neatly as he could and made sure to use polite speech. The last thing he wanted was for his soulmate to think he was sloppy or rude.

'My name is Tachibana Makoto. You can call me Makoto. What is your name?'

When Makoto read what he had just wrote, he worried that it might sound a little too formal or perhaps even a little robotic. Though he didn't want to seem impolite, he didn't want to build distance between them either. To solve this, Makoto decided to add a little smiley face at the end of his question to make it seem less like an interrogation and more like a friendly curiosity.

This time, he didn't have to wait long until he got a reply.

'Nanase Haruka'

Nanase Haruka. If he read it correctly, his soulmate's name was Nanase Haruka. Finally, after months upon months of wondering, he knew his soulmate's name and when that got through to him, his stomach did a backflip in a mix of astonishment and bliss. Although characters for names could often be read in numerous different ways, Makoto knew for sure that this was his soulmate's name because it sounded right to his heart; like even if they had written other, incomprehensible characters, he still would have known that their name was Nanase Haruka. It was beautiful and elegant and it fit his soulmate perfectly. Once he had read it, he simply couldn't imagine them ever being called anything but that and all the other names that he had previously considered in relation to his soulmate were erased from his mind instantly.

"Nanase Haruka," Makoto whispered under his breath and the name sounded like it rolled off his tongue with practiced ease, as if his voice was made to pronounce it and goosebumps naturally erupted on his skin. Although he really liked their full name - in fact, there was not a single name he liked as much as he liked Nanase Haruka - addressing them by their entire name still made Makoto feel like there was a certain type of formality separating them.

Without even as much as glancing at his cheat sheet, that had been completely forgotten in his wonder and excitement, Makoto wrote a somewhat daring proposal.

'Can I call you Haru-chan?'

'Do what you want'

Haruka's response came almost immediately and a huge smile lit up Makoto's face when he read it. His heart was beating so fast that it felt like it was trying to burst through his ribcage and fly right over to Haruka so it wouldn't have to be apart from them a second longer. The pen was quivering in his tight grasp because the glee that was buzzing in his every fiber was simply too much to contain within his small body. It seeped out of his pores and formed a cloud beneath his legs that lifted him off the floor and made him float up to the heavens so he could follow after his heart.

He had to stay with both feet on the ground though, because there were many more questions that were playing through his head and burning on the tip of his tongue and they weren't going to ask themselves. Despite the fact that his cheat sheet was filled with numerous of the most pressing questions he had pondered about since day one, there was only one that stood out in the forefront of his mind. The key to opening the door of perhaps another new phase in their interactions.

'Haru-chan, where do you live?'

'Japan'

The answer was a little more simple than Makoto had been hoping for, especially since he had never even thought about his soulmate living anywhere but here in Japan. In hindsight, he was very lucky because if Haruka had lived anywhere else then they wouldn't have even been able to understand what he wrote to them. It was certainly good to know they at least lived in the same country, but Makoto hoped they lived somewhere nearby and not in Hokkaido or any place as far away as that.

'Me too, I live in Iwatobi'

Mentally crossing his fingers, he wished and prayed for Haruka to live somewhere close so he could at least convince his parents to let him visit sometime. Preferably a place that he was familiar with so he wouldn't get his hopes up if he had to ask his parents where that was.

Now that he had spoken to Haruka a little, greed rapidly consumed him from the inside out and he wanted more; he wanted to see them and talk to them verbally rather than through difficult characters written on their skin, he wanted to touch them and hug them, he wanted to have sleepovers with them and watch the stars with them until they fell asleep side by side. This was their first written conversation that he had spent such a significant amount of time and energy working towards and it already wasn't enough for him anymore.

But his heart was greedy for a reason, a reason that was still unknown to Makoto and perhaps even to Haruka, but not to the universe.

When the tingles returned, Makoto shut his eyes tightly in fear of having his hopes and dreams shattered by what was being written there. His mind was torn between wanting to know as quickly as possible and ignoring it for just a tad longer so he could keep pretending, but ultimately the desire to get to know every last thing about Haruka triumphed.

After taking another deep breath, Makoto opened his eyes again and they almost fell out of their sockets when he saw what Haruka had written.

'Me too'

He simply couldn't believe it. Of all the places in Japan where his soulmate could live, they just so happened to live in the same small, seaside town where he lived too.

It just seemed too good to be true and the more he thought about it, the more doubt began to cloud his mind. It was a far-fetched thought, but they hadn't specifically said that they lived in Iwatobi, so they might have misunderstood him or meant something entirely different - though what that possibly could have been, Makoto didn't know. Better safe than sorry, Makoto decided to ask for an elaboration before he falsely assumed something.

'You too?'

What Makoto had meant didn't get lost on Haruka, most likely thanks to their soulbond, and they answered with an explicit confirmation.

'I live in Iwatobi too'

That should have been more than enough for Makoto to know that they were on the same page - or rather, at the same place - yet a sliver of doubt remained inside his heart. What if there was another town called Iwatobi somewhere at the other side of Japan and Haruka lived there? It was very unlikely, but once the thought entered his head it wouldn't leave again and he knew he had to be completely certain before he was content.

For the first time since the start of their conversation, Makoto glanced at his cheat sheet to make sure he wouldn't misspell the name he was about to write.

'Really? Iwatobi in Tottori?'

'Yes'

The pen fell to the floor as all the strength and tension left Makoto's body upon reading that word. His heart, that had been thumping so hard that it almost hurt, ceased beating and his brain malfunctioned. For just a moment, time seemed to stand still because his entire world wasn't simply flipped upside down, it stopped turning as well because no matter how obvious it had been, he couldn't comprehend that the information he had been given was all true.

Haruka was here. His soulmate was right here. Not only were they tangible, but they were well within his reach. All of the things he had been dreaming of this past year and a half were possible, not just in the distant future, but right now. He could actually meet them.

A loud gasp left his lips when this realisation dawned upon him and he slapped his small hand over his mouth. In an instant everything started to work again and suddenly it was going too fast, like the universe was trying to catch up on the lost seconds. The world was spinning around him but it didn't make him feel dizzy; all he felt was pure and unadulterated happiness. His smile was so wide that it hurt but the elation that he felt made him numb to the ache, because there were more important things for him to focus on instead of pain.

He was trembling violently but he didn't let that hold him back; he wanted to tell Haruka how happy he was but he knew he wouldn't be able to find words that were accurate enough to explain how much joy he felt. So he decided to tell them in a language they were both very fluent in. He plucked the pen off the floor and drew the a face sporting the biggest, brightest smile he could possibly fit on his skin right next to Haruka's affirmation.

Before Haruka had the chance to respond, Makoto shakily wrote his next daring proposal in a combination of excitement and fervor.

'Do you want to meet up?'

'Alright. Where?'

Haruka's agreement made him feel like the cloud was back beneath him, like the anticipation and euphoria granted him the power to levitate once more. But again, he couldn't let his thoughts wander off to a realm of bliss, because the sooner he responded, the sooner he might actually meet Haruka face-to-face.

So he frantically looked through his notes because he knew exactly where he wanted to meet them, but he didn't know the words to explain the place with. Once he had found some descriptors after pondering and searching a bit, he didn't hesitate any longer.

'At the playground with the swings and the slide?'

'Okay. See you soon'

When Makoto read that, something burst inside of him and he jumped up to go tell his mother, who was hanging out the laundry to dry in the yard. In his jubilation he even forgot to write something back to Haruka, because all that was on his mind was that he was going to see them now.

"Mommy, Mommy!" he yelled as he ran outside without as much as putting his slippers on, the wide, toothy grin still plastered on his face and heart beating faster than ever.

Mrs. Tachibana halted halfway through hanging up a towel to look at her son, but before she had the chance to ask him what was going on, Makoto babbled on hysterically.

"I'm going to meet them! I'm going to meet Haru-chan!"

"What? Who?" his mother asked in confusion as she furrowed her eyebrows, because she hadn't seen Makoto this thrilled since, well, ever. The only thing that even came close was that one summer day his soulmate and he interacted for the first time by drawing fish on their arms all afternoon, but that was nothing compared to how ecstatic he was right now; it seemed like he was captivated in a magic spell and she had no idea what had enchanted him.

"Haru-chan!" Makoto pressed on, "My soulmate! Look!"

He held out his arm for his mother to examine and when she read all the words that were written there, she gasped loudly. Although she had known that Makoto had been eager to learn how to read and write for the purpose of communicating with his soulmate, she hadn't known that he had planned to write to them today. Besides that, the last thing she had expected was for Makoto's soulmate to live here in Iwatobi and for them to arrange a meeting the very first time they ever talked to each other.

Her brain was still trying to comprehend what all of this meant, mouth hanging open in disbelief, but she didn't have much time to process it before Makoto said that he was going and she was forced to snap out of it. There was no way she was going to let him leave without documenting this crucial moment, this important turning point in his life. "Wait!" she exclaimed as she grabbed his wrist to hold him back. "We need to take a picture first!"

That made Makoto stop dead in his tracks because even though he really couldn't wait to finally meet Haruka, he valued all the photos that were taken of his skin overtime and he would be sad if he didn't have a picture of their first conversation. He remembered one time when Haruka had drawn a really nice kitty but had washed it off before Makoto had the chance to show his parents and ask them to capture it. Recalling it still made his chest ache with disappointment, so he definitely didn't want that to happen again.

When Mrs. Tachibana was snapping photos of Makoto's arm, the weight of their exchange finally began to sink in and her heartbeat accelerated in a mixture of nerves and excitement on behalf of her son. Ever since she had properly explained the meaning of soulmates, she had been hearing stories strung together by enthusiasm about the drawings that Makoto and his soulmate made and he speculated about their identity every single day, so needless to say her curiosity about her son's other half was through the roof. And the knowledge that they were about to see them for the first time, the person who they had never met yet who had become an unmissable and essential member of their family already, filled her with a type of giddiness that was resembling the kind she had felt when she had first met her own soulmate.

Once the pictures were taken, Makoto didn't waste another second before he ran over to the genkan to put his shoes on. Though he was usually very skilled at tying his shoelaces, his fingers were quivering so hard that it was nearly impossible to form a good knot and when his mother noticed, she gladly helped him out. He wanted to bolt out the door right away but despite the relatively warm weather for the time of the year, the wind could still be a bit chilly for his small body so she made him put on a light jacket first. When everything was said and done, Makoto followed his fate and opened the door to go meet his destiny.

The mellow spring breeze was dyed in the scent of the salty sea as it swept along fallen petals of the blossoming cherry trees and tousled Makoto's hair. The air was crisp as it entered Makoto's panting lungs because he was running as fast as his short legs could carry him. His mother followed behind him closely, albeit a bit slower. There was absolutely no way she was going to miss this moment, not when she had been looking forward to it ever since she held her baby boy for the very first time.

Makoto was approaching the playground in record time and it felt like only a single heartbeat had passed since he had left his house. But he came to an abrupt halt when he realised that despite knowing Haruka so well already, there were crucial things that were required for them to meet yet that he hadn't been told; their age, their appearance, not even their gender. And this just so happened to be the very first time he had ever forgotten his pen at home in his haste so he couldn't even ask them now.

Still, he wouldn't let those things hold him back; he knew where to meet them and what their name was, so he could simply wait and ask anyone who was present at the playground if they happened to be Haruka.

With that in mind, he determinedly set foot onto the playground. Turned out that he didn't even need more information on his soulmate because once he saw Haruka, he immediately knew it was them.

On one of the swings sat a boy around his age with dark hair, porcelain skin and the bluest, most piercing eyes that shone so brightly that Makoto could clearly see them, even from here, and they spontaneously made his heart thump in a different rhythm. His blood was rapidly rushing through his veins in a way it never had before when he laid eyes upon this boy and everyone and everything else at the playground vanished from his sight instantly. This boy was by far the most mesmerising, the most breathtakingly beautiful person Makoto had ever seen in his entire life.

"Haru-chan," he whispered to himself, and at that exact moment the boy looked up and ocean blue met forest green. Although there hadn't be a single doubt in his mind, the instance their eyes met for the first time, something clicked inside of Makoto. There was no mistake that this was his soulmate; in a room crowded with thousands of other people, Makoto still would have known it was him because his soul could recognise its other half anywhere. "Haru-chan!"

"Makoto," the boy mumbled softly in response and Makoto could feel it more than he could hear it because of the distance that remained between them. This was the final confirmation.

Haruka got up from the swing and took a few steps forward, looking like his legs had moved on their own accord because his mind seemed to be entranced by the same type of magic that had captivated Makoto as well.

Before Makoto realised what he was doing, he was running again. Legs moving involuntarily, faster than they ever had before, because the tension of being apart had been building up for over six years and once the halves of their shared soul were within each other's reach again, there was absolutely nothing that could stop the force that was drawing them to one another. Haruka was walking at a much slower pace, but that didn't make it any less powerful; it was filled with confidence and certainty, like he was already waiting at the finish line that Makoto was heading towards.

Makoto's feet came to a crashing halt when he got close to Haruka and without a word he tightly wrapped his arms around him in an intimate, assured embrace and immediately Haruka hugged him back. Within an instant Makoto's heartbeat slowed down and everything was finally right in the world.

The feeling of Haruka's arms around him, body pressed closely against his own, was the most comforting thing he had ever experienced and Makoto let his eyes fall shut so he could feel it even more. The ground disappeared beneath their feet and Haruka and he levitated through the universe together, holding on forever in a way that would linger even when they inevitably had to physically let each other go again. At last, after a long period of waiting and yearning, their two halves merged to form the one whole they originally were, and Makoto had never felt more at peace than he did right at that moment.

No matter how wonderful it felt to finally hug Haruka after having craved it for so long, something inside Makoto urged him to pull back ever so slightly so he could take a proper look at his soulmate's face; so he could study his features and absorb the image in his mind, never to be forgotten.

The wide smile that had been painting his face turned a little more subdued as Makoto stared into the vast ocean of Haruka's eyes, though that didn't make it any less genuine. His mouth couldn't keep smiling forever, but his heart definitely could and he knew that as long as he had Haruka by his side, the enormous smile inside his chest would never wilt or fade away. And he didn't even need to say anything aloud because could easily read the understanding and reciprocation in that sea of beauty, a tiny smile tugging at Haruka's pink lips as well.

"Haru-chan, I found you," Makoto murmured with remnants of disbelief, making it sound like they had been playing a game of hide-and-seek for these past couple of years and that he had started to lose hope but had never stopped looking.

Haruka only nodded in confirmation, like he didn't trust his voice not to crack if he were to give a verbal response. Then he suddenly moved one of his arms from where it had been wrapped around Makoto's body and he raised his hand towards Makoto's face to wipe away the droplets that were rolling over his round cheeks. It wasn't until Haruka did that that Makoto even realised that he was crying, and he giggled lightly at the somewhat ticklish way Haruka's fingers were gliding over his skin.

It wasn't just Makoto's small body that couldn't contain the outburst of emotion at finally meeting the other; although Haruka was a bit bigger than Makoto was, he could see tears welling up in Haruka's beautiful eyes too, making them shimmer like precious gemstones and Makoto knew that he would treasure them forevermore, just like he would treasure every last part of Haruka. After all, Haruka deserved nothing less.

Unlike Makoto, Haruka didn't allow his tears to spill over, forcibly keeping them at bay and Makoto was actually happy about that because he thought that Haruka should save up his tears for when he really needed them. Because they were much too precious to be wasted.

Once Haruka deemed himself done with cleaning off Makoto's face, his arm found its way back around his body and he squeezed tightly before he buried his head in Makoto's shoulder, nuzzling gently. It was most likely an attempt to hide the red tinge that was lighting up his cheeks, embarrassed that he couldn't keep control of every little sign that would give away how overwhelmed yet elated he was as well. Makoto thought it was cute either way and though he would have loved to see him blush without it being hidden, he accepted and respected Haruka's will and lightly squeezed him back to return the gesture, afraid of accidentally hurting Haruka if he used too much strength.

Unfortunately, no matter how badly they wanted to, they couldn't keep holding each other forever. After an eternity and a half of floating through the core of the universe, just the two of them, they released each other completely and returned to the playground.

The sound of soft sobs caught Makoto's attention and he looked up at where it was coming from. Seeing his mother cry would have been very alarming to him in any other situation, but he knew that it was nothing to be concerned about now and that she was also happy to finally meet Haruka after he had talked about him so often. The wide and watery smile that was on her face was very reassuring too.

It wasn't until then that Makoto noticed the two other figures that were surrounding them: a lady that seemed to be around his mother's age and an elderly lady, who both appeared to be struck with emotion as well. Though not a word had been spoken by either of them, Makoto didn't need more context clues to know that these ladies were Haruka's mother and grandmother.

He had been so focused on Haruka solely that he hadn't even seen them earlier, but now that he had, a sense of urgency overtook him and he quickly muttered, "My name is Tachibana Makoto, I'm Haru-chan's soulmate. Nice to meet you!" and bowed deeply to them, feeling heat rise to his face as he did. The last thing he wanted was to leave a bad first impression on Haruka's family.

A hearty chuckle sounded out and Makoto felt a hand being placed on top of his head. "It's nice to meet you too, Makoto," a voice warm with the passage of time said, "I am Haruka's grandmother."

When Makoto looked up, he saw a genuine smile that reminded him of his own grandma painted on the lady's worn, wrinkly, yet still beautiful features. Blue eyes that resembled Haruka's were staring down at him, and their kindness and wisdom immediately assured Makoto that there was no need to worry; because he was the soulmate of her beloved grandson, he automatically belonged as well.

Makoto's greeting prompted everyone to introduce themselves out of politeness, because it certainly wasn't a necessity; not when they were already family.

Once all the pleasantries were out of the way, Haruka turned himself to Makoto once more and he asked, "Do you want to go play in the sandbox?"

"Sure!" Makoto replied without hesitation. After waiting for so long, his patience was completely stretched thin and there was nothing that he wanted more than to play with Haruka, just like he had always dreamed to. He was certain that Haruka was very good at sculpting sand, judging by all the drawings he had made, and even though he himself wasn't exactly skilled at it, that didn't mean that he couldn't enjoy it; he was sure that with together with Haruka, he could watch paint dry and love every second of it.

Haruka took his hand and guided him to the sandbox, where they didn't need anything but their imagination and each other. As they were playing, building mounts and digging tunnels to the other's side, they talked and talked and talked, taking their sweet time to get to know each other a little more one question at a time.

One of the biggest wonders that Makoto had was how they could live in the same small town without actually having met before; even if they hadn't officially met, they should have crossed paths at least once during the past six years. And he knew they hadn't because surely he would have remembered it, with the odd feelings that had been bubbling in his tummy all day and how the thumping in his chest became harder and more erratic when he had arrived at the playground and first laid eyes upon Haruka.

Apparently, those thoughts were written all over Makoto's face. Before he could open his mouth to ask about it, Haruka off-handedly mentioned that he had moved here just a couple of days ago for his father's work and that they had been living in a little village in Hokkaido up until then. It was funny, considering Makoto had been wishing that Haruka didn't live in Hokkaido specifically, so he thanked fate and destiny with all his heart for bringing Haruka here to Iwatobi. For bringing Haruka to him.

Through conversation, they found out that they were actually neighbours now and that Haruka had moved into the house just a bit higher up on the hill, that Makoto hadn't even known was vacant before then. Even though they were still so young, they knew that having their soulmate this closeby was a real privilege that shouldn't be taken for granted, but that should be cherished with every opportunity that presented itself. And despite only having met a little while ago, they couldn't be happier with the assurance of the other's presence. After all, they already knew each other through and through; despite only gradually acquiring information about the other, their hearts knew everything there was to know about the other long before they even met, for there were no secrets to be kept when sharing one and the same soul.

Because of this, Makoto quickly discovered that Haruka was actually as wonderful and amazing as he had always known he was. He was so lucky and grateful that Haruka was his soulmate, because he already knew that there was no one else in the entire world who he could ever like more than he liked Haruka. At that time he had no idea yet that that sentiment was entirely mutual, but he really should have expected nothing less.

At last, when the sun had disappeared almost completely beneath the horizon, their mothers, who had been talking the whole time as well, regretfully told them it was time to go home. They had been so preoccupied with their conversation and building their little sandcastle that they hadn't been aware of the time that passed and they hadn't even noticed that it was almost dark already. Although they were sad to go away because they hadn't nearly had enough of each other yet, the knowledge that they were only a stairwell away from one another comforted them and guarantees that they could see each other again whenever they wanted appeased them for now.

So they got up and dusted the sand off their palms and clothes before they interlinked their hands once more as they walked home together with their mothers and Haruka's grandmother. At the steps that separated their houses, Makoto hugged Haruka for a second time in what was thankfully not a farewell, but a promise to meet up the following day. His heart felt a little heavy at the thought of going back home, but the small smile Haruka bid him when he pulled back whisked his sadness away to make place for anticipation and excitement. They hadn't even said goodbye yet and Makoto already couldn't wait to see him again tomorrow.

As soon as Makoto got home, he took off his jacket and shoes so he could rush back to his forgotten pen and draw a little something for Haruka. It seemed like Haruka had the same idea, because before Makoto had even uncapped his pen, he felt the familiar tingles on the back of his hand. When he saw what had appeared, a rush of fondness and love surged through his chest, making him smile softly down at the drawing as he ran his fingertips over it.

Imprinted in his skin was the outline of a little heart.

#i'm sorry i'm stupid #makoharu #makoharu fic #free!#free! dive to the future #tachibana makoto #nanase haruka #rosieharu #soulmate au #aaaa sorry it took so long for this chapter to come out stuff happened #but it's here at last #i hope to get the rest of the chapters out sooner but of course with me being me i can't promise anything #anyway i hope you enjoy!

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starthomeschoolingnow · 3 years ago

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Homeschooling Kindergarten: 10 Tips for a Successful Year

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Kindergarten Homeschooling

Are you getting ready to start homeschooling kindergarten? It can be a daunting task, but it can also be an incredibly rewarding experience to homeschool kindergarten. If you are prepared and have a plan in place, your homeschool kindergarten year will be a success! In this blog post, we will discuss 10 tips for having a successful homeschool kindergarten class. Follow these tips and your children will be learning and growing all year long!

10 Tips for Homeschooling Kindergarten.

1, Reading is #1

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Kids Love Reading

On your first day of preschool, I'd suggest that reading is one thing you should focus on. Read lots and explore different topics in books such as classic ones or 45 must-read children's books for kids of young age! By doing this it will help prepare him/her to learn socioeconomics science mathematics concepts including physics biblical literature writing vocabulary - all based on the things they've learned from their earliest years up until now through sight words lessons + Kindergarten level readings. Homeschool curriculum should be planned with this in mind.

CLICK TO DISCOVER THE Top 15 Best Homeschool Planners With Reviews

One way to make sure that reading stays at the top of your kindergartener's list is by making it fun and incorporating different activities into your day. Have a special reading time every day, read stories before bedtime, or take trips to the library. Whatever you do, just make sure that reading is a part of your homeschool kindergarten daily routine. Encourage a love of reading in your kindergartener and they will be set up for success in all subject areas! tip: make sure you have plenty of books on hand that are appropriate for your child’s age and interests. Visit the library often and take advantage of the free resources available to you!

2, Focus on counting and beginning language.

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Some Hands-on Activities To Help A Child Work Through His Numbers

One of the biggest concerns of homeschooling kindergarten mothers is that their kindergarten-age children are not learning reading skills. But although all elementary and middle schools are required to teach reading to children, some children can't read. Kindergarteners who have not had preschool can be enrolled in a summer program, usually for six weeks. These programs focus on pre-reading skills such as counting and identifying letters of the alphabet

During kindergarten, you will want to continue focusing on counting and beginning language skills. One way to do this is by incorporating math into everyday activities. Have your kindergartener help you cook, do chores, or play games. These everyday activities will help them learn counting and basic math skills. In addition to teaching counting and math skills, be sure to focus on beginning language skills as well. Teach kindergarteners how to properly form letters, say their ABCs, and count to 100. These basic language skills will set them up for success in reading and writing. tip: there are many great resources available to help you teach these important skills to your kindergartener. Look for books

3, Reading Nursery Rhymes Aloud

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Teaching Kindergarten By Reading Out Loud

Reading is a great way to teach kindergarten children to read. But what if your kindergartener can't read yet? That's where READING ALOUD comes in! Reading aloud is a great way to model good reading habits and help your child learn to love books and language arts. When you are reading to your child, take your time and emphasize the different parts of speech. Pausing after punctuation will help your kindergartener understand the importance of each part of a sentence. Be sure to also choose books that are appropriate for your kindergartener's age and interests. If you read stories that are too difficult, your kindergartener will become frustrated and may not want to read anymore. By following these tips, you will be sure to have a successful homeschooling kindergarten year! Just remember to focus on reading, math, and language skills, and have plenty of fun along the way! tip: visit your local library or bookstore to find read-aloud books that are perfect for your kindergartener!

EXPLORE Homeschooling Plans - Seeing The Big Picture

4, Take it easy on handwriting

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Children Learning To Print

Home school parents often complain about kindergarten students not writing well. What is the standard type for lowercase letters or uppercase letters? Kindergarten skills generally include recognition and discussing topical questions. There are very minimal literacy requirements in Kindergarten. I thought it was quite an accomplishment since most kindergarteners still don't hold their pencils correctly. No problem because their hands are not fully developed yet.

One of the most important things to focus on during kindergarten is helping your child develop strong fine motor skills. This includes teaching them how to hold a pencil correctly and write letters properly. By following these tips, you will be sure to have a successful homeschooling kindergarten year! Just remember to focus on reading, math, and language skills, and have plenty of fun along the way! tip: help your kindergartener practice writing letters and numbers every day. You can find printable worksheets online, or simply use pieces of paper and have them trace letters with their finger.

5, Ensure correct letter formation

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It's much easier to learn things right the first time than to try to fix them later!

It is important to use the right letter formation when teaching kindergarteners how to print. If you teach them how to write letters correctly from the start, it will be much easier for them to learn and they will be able to write better later on. Make sure you model the correct letter formation for your kindergarteners and have them practice each letter a few times. If they make a mistake, don't worry - just help them to correct it. Eventually, they will start to form letters correctly without any help from you.

6, Let your child's interests guide your study

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Kindergarten is a time to let your child's interests guide your studies. If they are interested in a particular topic, explore it with them! There are so many great resources available for homeschooling kindergartner kids, and you can find almost anything online these days. You can also take advantage of opportunities to learn in the real world. If you live near a farm, take a trip to visit it! If there's a great museum in your town, go and explore it together. The possibilities are endless - just follow your child's interests and let them lead the way.

7, Conversation skills

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-Can We Talk Here?

One of the most important things you can teach kindergarteners is communication skills. They need to be able to communicate with others effectively, both verbally and non-verbally. There are lots of ways to work on conversation skills with kindergartners. You can have them practice conversations with each other if you have multiple children, role-play different situations, or even just talk about their day. You can also work on body language, facial expressions, and gestures.

Communication skills are essential for success in life, so make sure you start teaching them early!

- Verbal communication

- Nonverbal communication

- Body language

- Facial expressions

- Gestures

8, Use games and activities for structured learning times

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Homeschool Kindergarten Curriculum Can Be Fun For Children

The game can be a great opportunity to learn. It may be a little game to teach kids the count to 100. Some homeschool families like to play Uno, Go Fish, and other puzzles to help teach counting and reading.

-Children Learn Through Fun Activities

When kindergarteners are having fun, they're learning fun! That's why it's important to use games and activities for structured learning times throughout the school year. These activities help kindergarteners learn in a more relaxed setting, and they can have fun with their homeschool schedule.

There are lots of different games and activities you can use for structured learning times. You don't need to always stick to a strict schedule.

-Hands-on Learning

- Board games

- Card games

- Online games

- Puzzles

-Exciting time games

-Free Printable

There are plenty of kindergarten learning games on the internet. In my time, I have encountered a wide variety of websites that cater to children who want to learn and explore different topics in an interactive way.

9, Encourage Interest And Your Child's Curiosity Will Grow

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Homeschooling Posts are a Great Way to Encourage Interest

Tell your kids to get curious about their curiosity, get to answer questions. It is such an important part of the growth of a kindergartener. When they're curious, they're more likely to be engaged in learning and exploring new things. There are lots of ways to encourage curiosity in kindergartners. You can ask them questions about the world around them, give them opportunities to explore different topics, and encourage them to ask questions of their own. The more curious they are, the more they'll learn - so make sure you encourage curiosity in your kindergartener!

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How To Make Homeschooling Fun

- Asking questions

- language arts explored with flare

- Exploring different topics

- Encouraging questioning

- Nature Walks

- Frequent Breaks to keep spirits up

- learning activities to boost the imagination

Encourage your kindergartener's interests by providing resources and opportunities for exploration.

10, Homeschool doesn't have to mean school at home.

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One of the great things about homeschooling kindergarten is that it doesn't have to mean school at home. You can take advantage of all the learning opportunities that exist outside of the traditional classroom setting.

There are lots of ways to learn outside of the home, and you can use these opportunities to supplement your child's education. You can go on field trips, visit different places, and even take online classes together. Homeschooling kindergarten doesn't have to be limited to the four walls of your home - so get out there and explore!

-Use Basic Concepts to Incorporate learning with other children.

-field trips

-building fine motor skills

-Getting Outside with other kids During Physical education.

-Visiting Museums

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A Child at Play

-In Conclusion

Homeschooling kindergartners don't have to mean school at home. You can take advantage of all the learning opportunities that exist outside of the traditional classroom setting! There are lots of ways for you and your kindergartener to learn-whether it be through field trips, online classes together, or exploring other places in person. Homeschooling can be a fun and enriching experience for both you and your child when you take advantage of all the great learning opportunities available to you!

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Teaching Kindergarten To A Child

Homeschooling Kindergarten:

10 Tips for a Successful Year tips on homeschooling preschoolers

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