Snoopy Cat, 1998 - 2007

I got into the car and drove the hundred yards to the church on the corner praying it wasn't him. But, the look on E's face & the way he didn't look me in the eye had told me he was certain it was him. I let out a sigh when he first came into view & realized I'd been holding my breath since pulling out of the driveway. I got out of the car and walked over to the limp body laying there in the gravel. As I knelt down beside him, a fleeting hope that he was still alive passed through my mind. He looked so much like he was just sleeping there. Another sigh escaped me as I stood and walked back to the SUV. I had been holding my breath again. I thought to myself that I should have brought the truck as I rummaged in the back for a plastic bag or something to put him in. I considered returning home to get the truck but decided against it. It just didn't feel right to leave him there not even for a couple of minutes. No, he was going home right then. As I lifted him from the cold, grey gravel I felt my heart break. I drove home to find E waiting in the driveway. I didn't look at him as I unlocked the hatch and walked back to retrieve the plastic grocery bag that contained our small friend. I carried him to the sidewalk and laid him down before looking up to meet E's gaze. E let out a small moan and said, "we have to tell the kids." "Yeah, and we have to hurry. It's getting dark," I observed somewhat coldly steeling myself against the task. I knew I would have to break the news to them. E doesn't ever do that part. He does other things taking care of details, making everyone more comfortable. I am the one who has to break their hearts. As E changed into his sneakers I gathered the children. As they sat before us wondering why we had called them together, I glanced over at E silently pleading that just this once he'd take the burden from my shoulders and be the one to tell them. He met my gaze for a second then looked down at his shoes concentrating much too hard on tying them. Resignedly, I took a deep breath and looked at T, the one who would take the news the hardest. "What is it, Mom," he demanded. "I just brought Snoopy home," I sighed. My chest tightened into a knot as I watched his expression change to horror. K was the first to speak, her voice growing more shrill with each word, "Is he o.k.," followed by "Is he dead?" I nodded, grateful that I did not have to say the words out loud. In unison the three of them cried, "Nooo..." At that moment my heart shattered as if it were a sheet of ice thrown to the ground and...I cried with them, for a minute or so. I regained my composure knowing it wasn't yet my time to grieve. The children needed my strength. Daylight was fading away and the grim work of laying him to rest in the flower bed could not wait til morning. E echoed my thoughts saying, "we need to get moving." "No, don't bury Snoopy, please, no" T pleaded through his tears. "T, we have to...," I began unwilling to continue,yet knowing I must answer him. I braced myself, looked into my son's eyes, and purposefully finished the sentence, "If we don't he'll start to smell." I hoped he saw my compassion as I spoke that hard truth. Desperately,I wished he would let me by with just that one statement and not make me have to explain further. Thankfully, it was enough for T to hear. He stopped crying long enough to stand then bent double wailing under the weight of his grief. E put his arm around him and walked him outside, K & R following behind them. I stood in the kitchen for a moment fighting an almost overpowering desire to find a place to hide until it was all over. Just as I reached the front door I heard their cries as they knelt down beside the body I had earlier laid on the sidewalk. "Why did it have to be Snoopy," T cried as I held him. I felt that knot in my chest tighten as his pain turned to anger and he raged against the injustice of such a cruel fate for one who had done no harm to anyone. Lame answers, such as "it was an accident, it was just his time to go, etc.," were no comfort for my heartbroken children. By the time they were able to do anything other than lament Snoopy's tragic death the last shreds of daylight had faded. The kids wandered off into the dark in search of flowers for Snoopy while I went back into the house to fetch a flashlight for E. I returned with the flashlight and stood there in the dark watching my husband furiously digging a hole then carefully squaring it out so that Snoopy might rest comfortably. Tearfully, I remembered a Sunday morning in May when my father brought my Snoopy home from the driveway of the church that was just up the road from our house. I tearfully watched as he, too, lovingly dug a hole in the corner of our yard. I stood by weeping while he carefully filled that hole under the wisteria bush. I remembered his tears as he tried to comfort me. Feeling just as helpless as I did when I was 14 years old watching my father bury my Snoopy I stood there watching my husband bury T's Snoopy yet felt comforted knowing how much love was going into each stroke of the mattock. Just as E finished laying our son's beloved cat in the grave he had so deliberately dug, the kids returned with every blossom from my peony. We all stood there for a moment staring down at our friend, a member of our family actually. T knelt down and nestled a fluffy, pink blossom under his paw. E briefly hesitated and then the first shovel full of dirt was gingerly put in place. That was just too much for T who bolted for the house crying, "I can't watch him bury Snoopy!" I followed my son into the house grateful to him for giving me an excuse to run after him. I didn't want to watch, either, not again. I got T a glass of water and sat talking with him, reassuring him that it was o.k. not to want to watch. In a couple of minutes, E, K, and R followed us in. We hugged our kids and told them it would be o.k. T said he would like to plant a yellow butterfly bush where Snoopy was buried. It's a fitting thing to do since Snoopy spent a great deal of his life underneath the one in the backyard.

This morning, after E left for work, I fixed myself another cup of coffee and went to sit on the back steps like I do most days. Normally, I'd wait until the kids were eating breakfast before going out to have coffee with Snoopy. Today, I left the kids in the bed. I didn't want any interruptions while I took the time to do the thing I had to do this morning. Any other day, Snoopy would have been there waiting to be fed and for a chance to stick his big, furry face in my coffee cup. I opened the door knowing he wouldn't be there. Alone, I sat down, lit a cigarette, and thought. I thought about my kids and how much they're going to miss Snoopy. I thought about Snoopy, both of them, and I cried.

Off to a Great Start

We're cranking right along after having moved on into "5th Grade." So far, they're doing well. Of course, the talk E had with them about changing attitudes or losing the privilege of being homeschooled may have a little something to do with their being quite motivated to do their schoolwork these days. In addition, I've tried to make things more interesting overall.

We're going to stick with the Spectrum Language Arts workbooks (unless I find something better.) I've seen the kids (especially K)incorporate what was covered in the 4th grade book into their writing. We're keeping up the literature studies with one minor change,less worksheets and more discussion (to avoid detracting from the enjoyment of a good book.) We've had some good conversations kicked back under the willow tree in the back yard lately. I envision us having many more discussions under that tree throughout the summer.

Writing is still a pain in the neck. We won't continue with the Spectrum Writing workbooks. Currently, we're doing journal writing twice a week. I'm still searching for a good writing curriculum. For now, I'm winging it. The Spectrum Spelling book was dropped midway through 4th grade. It was a bit redundant, mostly busywork, and much too simple. I'm building their spelling lists from the literature and Dr. Frye's books. The only spelling work I'll require from them are definitions, sentences, and tests. They're downright tickled about that.

Math has been going great since I ended 4th grade explaining to them that all the math they were doing all these years was really just addition in different forms. At first, they didn't want to believe it & informed me that I had lost my mind. I persisted furiously writing example after example on my portable whiteboard. I watched as gears turned, lights came on, and brains fried. After what I was saying finally clicked for them they both exclaimed, "That's so cool!" (Oh, how I wish someone had guided me to such an epiphany when I was their age. I might not have cut math class so much had I known how simple it all was.) Anyhow, I decided early last Fall that we wouldn't spend 4th - 8th grades doing the same old math problems. I never did understand the logic behind beating the four basic operations to death while simultaneously drumming the love of mathematics out of children. Therefore, I gave them the choice: Algebra I or Geometry. T chose algebra & K chose geometry. I thought we'd have to proceed slowly giving them time to absorb the material. It's been a pleasant surprise seeing how quickly they're learning and with such enthusiasm, too!

Itching and Scratching

As I sat at the computer last night, happily reading some of my favorite blogs, I heard a small voice asking, "Mom, can me get on Starfall?" I started to answer without turning my head, "No. It's bedtime and you..." and stopped mid sentence as I turned to find him standing there furiously scratching his left buttock. Poison oak.

As we headed to the bathroom to doctor his rash, we passed E standing in the kitchen. "Dad, me got poison oak,too," R happily exclaimed as if it were something to be proud of having. "Really," E looked up at me for confirmation. I nodded as R let out a hearty "yeah," and ran off to share his "good news" with his siblings. In reply E announced how thankful he was that he had to go off to work tomorrow and wouldn't be around for all the itching and scratching.

Tough Lesson

I told him not to roll around in the grass. I told him to stop wrestling his baby brother. But, he didn't listen. Now he is covered in spots of poison oak - all over his back & stomach. As I dabbed calamine lotion on the poor boy I wondered aloud if he would listen to me next time. Of course, he said he would. But...I've told him not to scratch & he's not listening. I guess he's just going to have to learn the hard way.

Meanwhile, I and my trusty jug of Roundup will be spraying the yard tomorrow.