Camp meeting this afternoon for Joshua and his comrades. We picked up Rachel along the way and later convinced Emily Z. to come over for a visit.
Emily, Bethany and Rachel show their gorgeous smiles.
Young men and their walking staffs/sticks/handy swords are rarely separated, especially when you’re exploring the woods.
Timothy, Stuart and Joshua kneel chivalrously before the camera.
It’s a good thing those gentlemen were there to protect the ladies.
Kathy
Project 366 – Day 69
Once upon a time, two sisters began a little blog for moms. They wanted to help foster a sense of community and support for moms (and their blogs).
Out of this desire came 5 Minutes for Moms, a place where women can meet other bloggers, discover fantastic mom run home-stores, be entertained and encouraged. This week the lovely hosts of 5 Minutes for Moms are holding a little blogging party. There are already over 800 blogs linked to the party and a collection of at least 150 giveaways and prizes.
That’s quite a goodie bag.
David went to a Pirate B-day Party today. Doesn’t he look the part.
So, if you’ve dropped by to say hello, Welcome to the Duckabush Blog! We’re a Christian homeschooling family with five children – ranging in age from 5 to 14. Grab a cup of something hot and tasty and stay for a spell.
Dh and I blog together quite a bit. He’s a wee bit funnier than I am (but don’t tell him I said so). If you don’t believe me, just read his post about car troubles or life as a typical, every day, run of the mill homeschooling dad.
Please, please, don’t leave a comment about how funny or witty he is. Those kinds of notes go straight to his head and he becomes quite unbearable.
This blog is a little bit like our life – random, messy at times, challenging, and whimsical. We write about family, homeschooling, our walk with the Lord, recipes, parenting, photography, and anything else that comes to mind.
Five Duckabush Kiddos.
Coffee and Chocolate are frequent topics.
Be sure to come back and say hello again some time!
Kathy
Project 366 – Day 68
I took the day off today, because my brother Torpid was in town. He e-mailed me about a month ago, mentioning that he would be in the area, and suggested that I attend him on an adventure. “I’m looking at property down near Olympia, and I thought you might want to come along,” he wrote.
Editor’s Note: My brother actually has another name, but I started calling him ‘Torpid’ in this post, and the name seemed to fit, so I think I’ll stick with it.
Although he claims to be the “only normal one in the family”, my brother is rather weird. He lives in Norway, so buying property in Washington State is a little strange — 4600 miles is one serious commute. Besides, he already owns property in Washington State. Personally, I think he just likes driving around on back-roads in rental cars.
You can see how ‘normal’ he is in the context of his own family.
Still, the last time I accompanied him on a property quest, he fell into a small river. You just can’t buy that kind of entertainment — you have to take it as it comes. As a loyal and loving brother, I’ve mocked and heckled him about that for years — I wasn’t about to miss out on a chance to renew the fun.
Too bad my camera wouldn’t take a series of pictures in succession, but here is what he looked like just before he fell in.
My brother agreed to pick me up around 9, so I could sleep in a little and still be ready to go. I figured I’d get up around 8, shower, make myself breakfast, pack a lunch for our travels, and be ready when he arrived. I nipped downstairs in my boxers to see “the lay of the land” and was immediately sucked into helping Kathy write a homework assignment for one of the classes she teaches at the local homeschool co-op.
At 8:43, Kathy finally released me to go shower. “That stinker Torpid will probably come early, too,” I predicted as I ran for the stairs.
“Uncle Torpid is here!” chorused several of the children, gleefully on cue.
We still managed to leave around 9, but it took us quite some time to get going on our ‘adventure’. First Torpid stopped at 7-Eleven to top off his Ultra, Super, Bigger-Than-Big Gulp. (My brother knows the latitude and longitude of all 7-Eleven stores in Western Washington, within a 10-meter variance, even though it has been a couple of years since he lived here.) Next he wanted a bagel at Panera’s. My brother is incapable of driving past a Panera’s store; he visibly salivates, which is a little disconcerting for the unprepared passenger. “How ’bout we stop for a bagel,” I suggested, dabbing at his chin with a napkin.
Some say my brother does pretty well in the ‘normal’ department, considering some of the other members of the family tree.
Then Torpid wanted to run a series of errands, ranging from Target to the PX on a nearby military base. It was the better part of two hours before we were finally on our way.
“Say, where’s that clear plastic folder with all the addresses of the properties I want to visit,” Torpid asked.
“Um, what clear plastic folder?” A long silence ensued.
About a half-hour later, we were back on the road. As it turned out, the folder had been left on our coffee table. Exchanging baleful glances and casting blame on each other as best we could, we headed out for the first address on the list.
We got on the highway, and drove, and drove. And then we drove some more.
“Say, is this property you’re looking for, even in Washington?” I asked, plaintively. I suddenly remembered that my brother values his privacy and doesn’t like living cheek-by-jowl with the local peasantry. Eventually, we found the first tract of land, right on a major road. It had a few nice cedar trees, but was mostly swamp, and the noise from the passing traffic was pretty loud.
“I’m underwhelmed,” said Torpid, as we drove away. I had to agree, especially since he had failed to live up to my expectations in the ‘falling-into-the-swamp’ department. He wouldn’t even go near the swamp, and refused to let me hold the camera, for good measure. It is pretty ugly when brothers can’t even trust each other.
“Sure, I think that stone will hold your weight!”
One of the properties was nearly in Oregon. We saw lots of evidence of the flood damage that the Chehalis and Centralia areas had suffered, and my brother was hoping for property up on the hillside a bit. The plot of land we eventually found was down in the bottom of the valley, alongside a promising creek, and my spirits soared. “Let’s go down a little closer to the creek,” I urged, casually. “Say, are those fruit trees, down there, right by the edge of the water?”
Unfortunately, Torpid is a lot smarter than he looks, which isn’t saying much. He dismissed the land with only a cursory glance. “I don’t want land with so much standing water,” he snapped. “And stop trying to take my camera!” Sometimes older brothers can be very uncooperative.
There was a fourth property, which involved a ‘shortcut’ through the wilds of Grays Harbor County. I navigated, holding the map and peering at it from time to time, just for the look of the thing. “Let’s see, we’ll want to take the next right, and then a left.” Knowing how easily Torpid gets lost, and well aware of my brother’s capricious nature, I tried to take a page from scripture:
Because the Sovereign LORD helps me, I will not be disgraced. Therefore have I set my face like flint, and I know I will not be put to shame. — Isaiah 50:7
“We must set our faces like flint, and not turn at the next left, but shall bear, rather, to the right,” I intoned portentously.
Torpid pounced on this opportunity to mock me. “Why flint?” he challenged. “Flint is actually quite brittle. How ’bout soapstone?” We argued for some time about this. I suggested we set our faces like granite or maybe even basalt, but he wasn’t having any. Eventually, we agreed to disagree on the relative position of various minerals on Moh’s scale of hardness. We determined that we could set our faces like a hard crust of bread. “We shall set our faces like croutons,” Torpid announced, always trying to upstage me.
A face set like a crouton, but David still likes him.
The last property could not be found. We drove back and forth, but to no avail. Finally, we headed for home. Stopping off (of course) at Panera’s (this time for sandwiches), we made a quick detour to Cabela’s, a very cool outfitter store along the way home.
Considering how fruitless our search was (and how futile, hence the title, “An Exercise in Fruitility”), it was a surprisingly fun day. “Sometimes, it helps to know what you don’t want,” opined my brother.
Back at home, we had a lot of fun watching Torpid try to activate his new prepaid phone. We all gathered ’round and shouted encouraging remarks to help him through the voice-activated automated menus. “Swahili!” we chorused, when it asked him what language he spoke. “Seven, four, thirty-one, eight, ninety-two,” we shouted when they prompted him for his handset identifier. It was a jolly time for all of us.
We were a big help in activating the new phone.
Eventually he cut short the frivolity and headed off. Hopefully he’ll forget how obnoxious we are and come to church with us on Sunday.
Tim
Project 366, Day 67
A couple of days ago, Kathy drove my car for some reason or other. “Your car makes an ugly little screech-screech-screech noise,” she informed me with a sniff of disapproval, so now I have to sell my clunker in houston tx according to her.
“It doesn’t do that when I drive it,” I responded haughtily.
“Oh, yes it does; but you probably just play your music so loud, you don’t hear it.” She had me there — I do play my music loudly, and my stint as a forward observer in the National Guard ensured that my hearing would not be perfect, especially as the years advance upon me in their relentless fashion.
I went out on an errand with Joshua, and had him listen out the passenger window, since the alleged noise was allegedly coming from the alleged front right alleged wheel. “I hear it,” Joshua pronounced. My oldest son already, at the age of 14, has the ability to make pronouncements in somber tones, with gravity and dignity, as though he were the guy with the gong in The Ten Commandments — “So let it be written, so let it be done.” It makes me so proud … but I digress.
I still couldn’t hear it, so I took refuge in my usual strategy for mechanical problems:
ignore it and hope it goes away.
This is a surprisingly effective strategy, but it failed me this time. By Tuesday night, the noise, perhaps feeling neglected, elevated itself into frequencies and decibels that I could actually detect. “Screech, screech, screech,” it nagged.
David and Sarah were drafted for some human interest, to redeem this blog.
“See, I told you there was a screech-screech-screech noise,” Kathy informed me, with just a touch of smug self-righteousness. For reasons that have never been adequately explained to me, car maintenance falls solidly into my domain of responsibility. For most men, this makes a certain amount of sense — some of them have mechanical skills, and others have actual knowledge of mechanical components. “That’s an engine,” they’ll assert confidently, pointing toward the front of the vehicle. “And those round things on the bottom: they’re tires.” The dent repair concord nc provide best vehicle repair service. The U.S. Flag Code doesn’t contain any provisions about washing the American flag. meaning you can safely wash a flag without violating this federal law.
I am not one of those men. I’m on the level of Joe Junior, in While You Were Sleeping, who tries to repair his carburetor with a hammer. When I try to ‘fix’ a car, it is not a pretty sight, and it usually involves a lot of walking.
Car problems always bring a certain terror to my heart. I tend to be rather cheap frugal about car maintenance, and (whenever I do break down and take a car in to the shop) I often feel that I am grossly manipulated by the mechanics. I expect that they will take advantage of my ignorance, and the bottom line of the bill seems to reflect the legitimacy of that fear.
I called up a local tire and brake shop. “Um, I need to have someone look at the brakes on my Honda”, I stammered, desperately striving to convey a sense of lofty mechanical knowledge. “It seems to be making a screech-screech-screech noise.” I hoped I wasn’t being too technical.
I could almost see Brian’s toothy smile on the other end of the phone. (We’ll call him ‘Brian’, because his name is, um, Brian.) “Sure, bring it in. It will probably take us a few hours, so you’ll want to have someone come by and pick you up. You won’t want to hang around the shop all afternoon.”
No doubt about that, Brian.
Not my actual car.
Later, Brian called me with the damage. “Let’s see, you need new brakes in the front, that’ll be $189 for that. We’ll polish up the rotors and fringlebok the amvarthingtone, but that’s included in that price. Your rear brakes have about 40% life left on them, but we’ll need to adjust and clean them for another $29. Your brake fluid needs to be completely flushed, which is another $89.”
I did some rapid calculations in my head. “Hmmmm. That seems a little steep on the 40% rotor flushing. Can you offer me anything better than that?” I patted myself on the back for such bold, savvy bargaining ability. Maybe I could hold my own with these opportunistic mechanics, after all! There was a long pause on the other end of the phone, while (no doubt) Brian reeled in surprise at my unexpected depths.
“No, that’s what it costs. If you just bleed off the fluid without flushing, all the sediment stays in the system.” Obviously, sediment was bad, but I dared not push any further, since it was obvious that Brian was not duped by my gearhead braggadocio. I un-patted myself on the back, and folded with a whimper.
“Then there’s the tires. Yours are legally bald in the front, and nearly so in the back. I can get you a new set of four good tires (better than the ones you have on there now, which are pretty good) for $451. Also, the dipstick shows no oil and your air filter is filthy — just $30 for an oil change and $15 for the filter.” He really had me on the run, now. I’d heard of being legally blind, but legally bald? It didn’t sound good.
“It’s been a while since I changed the oil,” I chuckled ruefully. Trying to regain the upper hand, I challenged the tires. “I think I’ll hold off on the tires for now — I think I can get a better deal than that.”
When the dust settled, I talked him down to $260 for tires he wouldn’t sell to his worst enemy, and I refused the air filter because it is the one thing I can do for myself. (Actually, if you buy one at Wal-Mart, they’ll put it in for free … but if I wanted to, I could replace an air filter. Really.)
Total bill: $701. I have to say, the brakes feel great, and the tires seem to hug the road in ways I hardly remember — the car seems to handle the way it did when I first bought it from my older brother, almost two years ago. And there was no little screech-screech-screech noise.
For some reason, my brother didn’t sell me this car.
My mind goes back to a road trip in the early 80′s with my good friend Phil. Hopelessly lost in the wilds of West Virginia, we discovered the brake pads on my little car were totally shot. (They made a very loud screech-screech-grind noise, as I recall.) Somehow, we managed to find a parts store and Phil (who claimed he knew about such things) talked a local mechanic into loaning us some tools. We jacked up the car and Phil swapped out the pads in a jiffy. In less than two hours (including a break for lunch) we were on our way; total cost, $30. I have to wonder — could I have just ignored that screeching noise, at least until it became a grinding noise? Did I really need the new brakes, or the new tires? Would my brake fluid have been just fine without being flushed? And what is an amvarthingtone, and how do you fringlebok it, anyway?
Burning questions, all.
Tim
Project 366, Day 65
It’s backwards day at Works for Me Wednesday. I ask the questions and you all provide the answers. It’s wonderful! I don’t have to be profound, helpful, witty, or spiritual. That’s implying, of course, that we here at the Duckabush ever ARE those things.
We don’t have time to discuss that right now. 
I have so many areas in my life which need assistance, as you already know, if you are a faithful reader of this blog.
Someone, please help this girl!
Lately I’ve been thinking and praying about developing self-discipline in my life. A friend spoke some intense words of conviction into my life on Sunday and I’ve been mulling about them ever since. I am trying to filter what she said through the reality of my life on a day to day basis.
Where are my priorities?
What are my goals for my family and myself?
Where am I letting laziness, distraction and self-indulgence prevent me from meeting those goals and addressing those priorities?
It’s getting harder and harder to capture Joshua on film.
That’s where you come in. I want you to help me figure out my life, guide me in attaining my goals and teach me how to develop a core of self-control.
Or maybe not.
What I really want to discuss is basic Bible Study/Quiet Time habits. I know there are some amazing, godly women who do me the honor of visiting this blog and sharing their heart. I’ve been encouraged, prayed for and challenged by many of you. Thank you for taking time to read and comment. I am eager to be blessed by your thoughts on this subject!
I want to spend time with the Lord. I crave time with my Bible and journal. I’m doing a fantastic Beth Moore Bible study on the book of Daniel. I want to give the work some thought and attention.
I also have FIVE children. Five children who adore and love me and MUST be with me at all times. Between my younger boys who get up early and want to do their Bible devotions with me and my older son and daughter who are entering their teen age years and like to stay up late and just talk, my life is full! And that’s not even addressing the other responsibilities that come into play in trying to run a smooth household.
And I LOVE that special one on one time.
I’ve tried to carve out some time in the middle of the day.
::snort::
Did I mention we’re a homeschooling family? The middle of the day is not exactly prime “quiet time” material here.
The (late) evenings tend to be my only moments for rest and relaxation. I don’t have the depth of insight or energy that I want to give the Lord by the time that part of the day staggers along. Blogging I can do, studying the scriptures…no.
So I’m left with the morning. If I sleep in just a little bit it seems the entire morning vanishes. Little ones need help with breakfast. The laundry cries out for a little bit of attention – just a wee load before the day starts, it whispers.
I’ve been trying to do my Daniel study while David and Sarah (7 and 5) sit with me and read their Bibles.
Um, that does not work.
David, who can read, likes to do so aloud.
Are we in Daniel this morning, Mommy?
Yes, sweetie, chapter 6. You can read it in your Bible.
Several minutes pass while I try to answer the questions in my book, help David sound out words, and referee conflict taking place in the adjoining room.
No time for reading, let’s go outside!
It’s not exactly what I would call precious moments with the Lord.
Meanwhile, Sarah, who is just learning how to read, likes to describe all the illustrations to me … in detail.
So I’ve discovered that, while this is a lovely time of family devotion and an amazing opportunity to teach the younger children how to study their Bibles, it is NOT a place where I can effectively hear from the Lord.
Is this the longest Works for Me Wednesday ever?
Share with me from your experience.
Do you have time in your schedule set apart for one on one time with the Lord?
Do you read your Bible and pray on a regular basis?
Devotional? Bible Study book? Read through the Bible in a Year plan?
Do you journal?
Do you journal or record your prayers?
Do you teach your children to have a daily Quiet Time?
How LONG is your own personal time with the Lord?
WHEN do you find this time?
Remember I am a night owl with some early risers in the family. How early do I have to get up to set aside time in the Word? Do I hide out in my room and guard 20 or 30 minutes for prayer and Bible reading?
Stun me with your spiritual maturity and discipline.
Stop by Rocks in My Dryer to see how you can aid other desperate bloggers.
Kathy
