There was an interesting article in Saturday’s Journal Star about an academic program in homemaking at Southern Baptist Seminary. It definitely caught my eye as academics and homemaking are rarely referred to in the same sentence.
I don’t know that a seminary is the place to have this type of program—it definitely strikes me as odd. But here’s what I thought after reading the entire article: SIGN ME UP.
Huh?
Coursework will include seven hours of nutrition and meal preparation, seven hours of textile design and “clothing construction,” three hours of general homemaking, three hours on “the value of a child” and three hours on the “biblical model for the home and family… Women also study children’s spiritual, physical and emotional development.
This is what I do! (Well, most of the time.) These classes are the type of help I need! Would I like to learn how to make more nutritious choices for my family? Yup. Do I know anything about clothing construction? Nope, refused Home Ec as a junior higher and denied my mom any opportunity for instruction. But would I like to learn now? Yup again. Do I need advice about my child’s spiritual, physical and emotional development? Yes. (Any person who thinks s/he’s above needing wisdom is fooling herself/himself.)
Like I said, I’m not certain a seminary is THE correct place to hold classes on homemaking, but I would love it if a college around here offered a few classes on this thing. What I find interesting about an actual concentration in homemaking is that it legitimizes the practice. All these folks, including the commenting anons on the LJS, are up in arms over the idea of women being forced into particular roles. The truth is that I chose this role; I chose to stay home rather than work full time. And while I would expect to be supported if I chose to pursue a degree in theology or counseling, why wouldn’t I want the same thing if I actively pursued homemaking?
Oh, there are so many facets to this topic. I’m going to stop at this point, but I’d love the discussion to continue in the comments or perhaps in future posts.
I haven’t posted many garden pics this summer because I’m not doing much gardening–Jeremy is! I love my gardening man. He created a new stepping stone walkway in the former mud-bogged backyard after distributing yards and yards of new dirt. He planted the grass, kept it watered all summer long, picked and planted our annuals and some perennials, too, and keeps up with it all. He also composts, which satisfies the green homemaker within my soul. I may be a rare wife to admit this, but I even like the sweaty yard smell he wears after a few hours outdoors. [smile]
The following photos show my zinnias (a perfect flower for Nebraska summers), and Before and After shots of our backyard.
Yesterday Livia decided to become Caillou and Jeremy, for some reason we still don’t know, was assigned the role of Caillou’s baby sister Rosie. (By the way, Caillou is the one PBS character I really don’t like because he’s whiny. Liv hardly watched this show when we did have cable access!) The 3 year old logic continued with my assignment as Caillou’s dad.
This morning Livia informed me that Daddy is a little girl with a beard.
I’m still giggling about it.
Up until now I have been the go-to girl for useless pop culture trivia. Though a bit ashamed of my knowledge and interests-which-bordered-on-obsession, I still subscribed to Entertainment Weekly (the literary equivalent of Skittles, a sweet treat by any account) and read up daily on entertainment tidbits from various websites. I can’t say I was obsessed with pop culture–I barely delved into this world compared to many other bloggers out there–but I knew what actor was being considered for which big role and who was dating/married to/divorced from whom in the celebrity biz.
I no longer receive Entertainment Weekly (after eating Skittles for awhile you start to crave a hardy bread pudding) and furthermore, we no longer have cable tv. In fact, we don’t get any channels at all and we probably won’t until I become desperate for PBS for Liv, and make a move to install an antenna.
Guess how much I miss my pop culture fix? Not much.
Ask me that question this fall when the new shows premiere and I have no clue what folks are talking about. Ask me that question again in January when LOST starts up and I’m certain you’ll find me weeping in my Rice Krispies. (Either that or I’ll be sitting on your couch, enjoying your cable subscription.)
Years ago friends from Oregon (we lived in Klamath Falls for a few years) drove across the country and stopped to visit us in Nebraska. They wanted a family photo taken in a cornfield and we didn’t have to drive far down the road to find a field sufficient for the purpose. I remember the crop being kind of measly that year, nothing like this year’s beautiful corn found in the shot above. Renae might want to kill me for posting this picture, but I’m certain her endless grace and astounding generosity will win out. ; )
This photo delights me to no end.
A few days ago Jeremy, Livia and I were cuddled on the couch together when Liv turned to me and said, “Mom, you’re beautiful.” Then we had to explain the concept of happy tears to our 3 year old.
Her charm and adoration was geared toward Jeremy this afternoon. She looked at him, nose-to-nose, and told him he had “beautiful eyes.” She’s right, he does.
Finally, Liv pulled out her wee accordian (a gift from Uncle Andrew) and began wheezing away on the thing, making noises that would fit right in during the Wilber Czech Festival. Sung in falsetto, her song went like this: I love Grandpa Bill. Aww.
Renae, Joie, Brook and moi.
Today I am all caught up in my head. Swirling about my mind are problems too big for me to handle, stressors too burdensome for me to shoulder. As someone who typically wears her heart on her sleeve, I often take on others’ woes and count them as my own. And then there are the woes that do belong to me; they aren’t really deep or serious, and yet I am looking at them that way today.
I love this photo because, somehow, the beauty of the sun and clouds, the barely-there kite way up high reminds me to look up (to God for his provisions and saving grace) and out (to the world to see who I might serve). It’s so easy to get caught up in myself, to navel-gaze until I can no longer see hope and light. The solution? Look up, look out.
Why are you so downcast, O my soul?
Why so disturbed within me?
Put your hope in God,
for I will yet praise him,
my Savior and my God…
Deep calls to deep
in the roar of your waterfalls;
all your waves and breakers
have swept over me.
By day the LORD directs his love,
at night his song is with me —
a prayer to the God of my life.
(Psalm 42:5,7-8)
I glanced up from a phone call this afternoon to notice my dry goods were being a little rude. Sugar and spice and everything nice? Hmph.
Livia has a new stuffed animal which she named Hammy (so as not to be confused with Blue Bear, yet another blue-toned Care Bear in her possession). Summoned from lunch prep yesterday by Jeremy telling me to bring a camera, I found my family + Hammy cuddled tight on the couch.
“Smile, Hammy,” Liv directed.
He did, and I snapped the picture.