I love my life.
Tuesday, February 08, 2011
Baby Massage Class # 3
The Deer Family Grows By Three
Monday, February 07, 2011
Monday Morning
Some of this weekend's photos: here's Baby H., ready for church. 
The deer, Saturday:
Then we had cousins over, to eat and play a game called scum.
The orchid my mother gave me for my birthday in September came back to life!
Saturday, February 05, 2011
Friday, February 04, 2011
Thursday with the Deer
The deer saga continues. Here are some photos of them, walking across our yard to get the deer chow.
You can see how the Mamma is limping below. Her left foreleg bends the wrong way.
So, I bought more deer chow for them. I also had A.J. run out there to place a bowl full of celery and a dozen beautiful but wilting red roses which my dear D.H. gave me last weekend.
They love eating our tulip bulbs every year, so I am assuming roses are fine, too. (We eat rose petals ourselves, just for fun, so I know they are edible.) I hope the deer keep coming back, but I also hope they don't tell their whole herd where to go to get free food.
So, I bought more deer chow for them. I also had A.J. run out there to place a bowl full of celery and a dozen beautiful but wilting red roses which my dear D.H. gave me last weekend.
They love eating our tulip bulbs every year, so I am assuming roses are fine, too. (We eat rose petals ourselves, just for fun, so I know they are edible.) I hope the deer keep coming back, but I also hope they don't tell their whole herd where to go to get free food.
Wednesday, February 02, 2011
Baby Massage Class- Day Two
Today, Baby H. was the only baby in the class that actually got his massage. Other babies, due to colds, work, school, sleepless nights and other dilemmas, didn't show up, except for one boy, and he was old enough to crawl around and was totally uninterested in massage. Baby H. did enjoy his massage. He cooed and smiled and sometimes laughed, if it tickled. We were still working on legs and feet today, and nothing else. His legs got heavy and very relaxed afterward; I could tell by comparing the "done" leg before I started on the second one.
Valentine's Crispies
Waking up from a nap
I wish I looked and felt this relaxed, happy, and gorgeous when I woke up, too.
Deer Mamma Came Back
A few days after that happened, a lame deer wandered, limpingly, into our backyard, with her two kids. She was limping so badly that I half-believed it could have been the same deer I'd hit on the road. If not the same deer, it was one that had likely been hit by a car.
I tried to call the local fish & game dept., but they were closed. I called a wildlife rescue expert and he said that I was lucky the fish & game dept. was closed because they automatically shoot the deer, which is unnecessary; deer, he said, are very resilient and often will adapt and heal.
So, I bought deer chow and put it in the back yard. A day or two later, my deer friends vanished. What had happened? Did someone else call fish & game and have her shot? Did she wander into another street and get hit again? Was she surviving on her own, limping in the wilderness?
She's been here most of the day.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Saturday
We tore down our living room wall this week. 
Saturday, we went to Ikea to get an area rug, (rather than recarpeting the whole area, which is very pricey.) According to our carpet-professional friend, carpet prices are about to rise, because petroleum prices are rising.
A trip to Ikea, is more than a trip to any old store (OF COURSE!!!) because it's a little slice of Sweden in America. Yippee!
Of course, I had my camera along:
Mazariner. 
So, Sunday: as usual, we got together with the entire family-- my brother's whole family, my older sister's whole family, (including her husband's parents), and my whole family. This is a monthly tradition of birthday celebrations. We celebrated three of our tribe's birthdays for January, last night. We have intermarried with Americans and Czechs, so when we are all together, we all speak English. However, the majority of this tribe is made up of the Swedish-American delegation, so often, there is the sound of Swedish happening among the cousins. This photo is one of Baby H. and his oldest male Swedish-speaking cousin.
Reading With A.J.'s Class
Parents' Reading Day in A.J.'s 2nd grade class:
It was my turn to come and read to A.J.'s class. Baby H and I had a really fun afternoon on Friday with the class. I sat in the rocking chair, reading. All the 2nd graders sat on the carpet before me. And Baby H. sat on A.J.'s lap, enjoying the reading time --for the first book, only. The second book was a bit too much for him, and the teacher ended up entertaining the baby. Here are the books we read:
Friday, January 28, 2011
Primary January and February Reading Charts
You can copy and paste these reading charts onto word documents if you are a primary worker who came here to get the reading chart and treasure map:
FEBRUARY
JANUARY 2011 Primary Book of Mormon Reading guide
FEBRUARY
Book of Mormon Reading
Trail Guide
When you read the whole month's verses, and a parent initials the check-off boxes, you will get a sticker. Place it on the big Book of Mormon treasure map to move us along the trail! Choose the one-sticker readings (easier) or the two-sticker (more challenging) readings.
ONE sticker (easier) option*
Week four: Feb. 27 –March 5th 2 Ne. 2:25-28 and 2 Ne. 25:23, 26 and 2 Ne. 33: 1-10 (that's 16 verses)
* The one-sticker option can also be fulfilled by finding the picture in the gospel art kit and asking someone to tell you the story that goes with the art, or by reading the story in the Illustrated Book of Mormon Reader. Or, just listen to the audio Book of Mormon version at http://lds.org
TWO sticker (more difficult) option 188 Verses !
JANUARY 2011 Primary Book of Mormon Reading guide
When you read this whole month's assigned verses, and a parent initials the check-off box, you will get a trail sticker. Place it on the BIG Book of Mormon treasure map to move us along the treasure trail*! You may either choose the one-sticker reading assignments (easier) or the two-sticker (more challenging) reading assignments.
Easier (ONE sticker) option**
Week four: JANUARY 23-29 I Ne. 8: 2-21, 23, 24, 26-27, 32, 33, 35 and 11:1-8, 22-23, 31, 33 (that's 37 verses)
Harder (TWO sticker) option
January 2-8 Chapter 1 - 2 Lehi is commanded to leave Jerusalem (that's 44 verses)
January 9-15 Chapter 3-4 Nephi obtains the brass plates (that's 69 verses)
January 16-22 Chapter 5: 1-10; Chapter 7 Sariah’s testimony, Ishmael's family (that's 32 verses)
January 23-29 Chapter 8 Lehi’s vision tree of life, Chapter 11; Chapter 12 16:-18 Nephi’s vision of tree of life and interpretation (that's 78 verses)
** The one-sticker option can be fulfilled by reading the verses or by finding the picture in the gospel art kit and asking someone to tell you the story that goes with the art, or by reading the story in the Illustrated Book of Mormon Reader. Or, listen to the audio Book of Mormon at http://lds.org/
Primary Sharing Time
This is the painting that my dear husband painted for us to use in Primary this year. We hung it on the wall in the primary room at church, and turned it into bookmarks so children can track the reading journey with a sticker, going from island to island (book to book within the Book of Mormon.)
If anyone wants to have the big map, or the bookmarks, or the reading assignments, please feel free! I'm going to post the January and February reading assignments here. (I shared it on the Sugardoodle website, too.) Along with the map, we created reading assignments, super, super easy "the one sticker option" and harder-- "the two sticker option." Weencourage the littlest kids fulfill the one sticker option by either a) reading the few verses assigned, or b) just looking at the gospel art kit pictures and talking with an adult about the stories, or c) listening to the stories in audio form on lds.org, or d) reading the illustrated Book of Mormon (the storyboard form version).
We retell the reading each week in church, (a one or two minute version) so that if someone isn't reading at all, they still have the feeling they know what is going on along the way.
Seventieth Birthday
Happy Birthday, Moster Boel!
I like Swedish birthdays. As far back as my memories go, every birthday morning I'd lie in bed awake, my stomach churning with excitement, as I listened to the clinking kitchen preparations going on for me. We were expected to pretend to be asleep when the family burst in to the bedroom, singing, "Ja, Ma Hon Leva Ut i Hundrade Ar," the Swedish birthday song, which means: "Yes, may she live for a hundred years"). The family came in, carrying a tray laden with candles, cake, flowers, breakfast, and gifts. What a great feeling-- everyone gathered around the bed, celebrating with messed up hair and pajamas on, kind of like Americans' Christmas morning.
We carry this tradition on faithfully. But other Swedish traditions we have dropped. For example, when adult Swedes have a decade-birthday, (30, 40, 50, 60, 70, etc.) they bake their own birthday cake and produce a table full of food and then wait, hoping/assuming friends and family will show up to eat. No invitations. No set time of day. There is no way the birthday person can know if he/she over- or under-prepared for the party, no way to know if anyone remembered the birthday, no way of knowing what time the food should be ready to serve. The Swedish notion of visitor hospitality, run amok!
I'm thinking about this because I called my aunt, Moster Boel, yesterday on her birthday. It was her 70th birthday-- my only living Swedish aunt. Back pains that keep her homebound now, and she was a bit of a hermit even before her back troubles, so she wasn't expecting anyone on her birthday. Her parents have passed on, and her only sibling-- my mom-- moved to America years and years ago.
Moster Boel had not baked a cake. Still, her neighbor, Harriet, came, bringing shrimp sandwiches, Napoleon bakelse (her favorite pastry) and a present-- a dark purple tunic dress, which my aunt loved.
My aunt and I laughed as we talked. She is always laughing. I said I can't believe she's 70. She said she can't believe I am a day over 9. (We lock in memories of people and they stick, don't we?) Our conversation turned from aging to dying, and we talked about Peter, our dear relative (her young cousin) who died last week, while napping on the couch, and we talked about Soren, her husband, my uncle, who died years ago.
She's not Mormon, or any religion, really, but we both said we hope that in heaven, we get to relive the happy times-- And oh, gloriously happy times we had when my siblings and I were little kids running wild all over the forests around their "sommarstuga" (cabin) every summer!--- and we won't remember any bad memories, but leave bad times from earth life behind. We talked about how very real people feel to us, when they have passed on. (They feel real because they are real.) We talked about angels and ghosts. She told me again the story of how Soren, her husband, came to her in a dream and sat on the edge of her bed after he died. She said she wasn't sure if it was a dream, or real. I said of course I think it's real. Our relatives want us to know that they love us, when they pass on, and they want to reassure us that they are still very real-- only separated from their bodies, but not far from us.
Mormor Lotta, my grandmother, her mom, was not officially a believer, either, yet she told us a story that we talked about again yesterday. One night, Mormor Lotta saw someone in her apartment, late at night, like a ghost or a being, who wanted to come close and communicate with her. But Mormor Lotta was afraid, and willed the being to stay away, which it (reluctantly) did. The next morning, Mormor Lotta got a phone call that her dear sister had passed away. She thought afterward that she had been afraid of what might have been the kind spirit of her sister. I believe it completely.
Some people think faith is the same thing as superstition. Not me. Faith is based on reality. Superstition is based on fiction. There's a Swedish superstition --at least, I think it is nothing more than a superstition-- (Moster Boel told me this one, just yesterday, on the phone) --that if a painting falls off a wall, someone's died. She believes in that one. I don't; it's too weird and pointless. But she said that a painting did fall off the wall one day, many years ago, before I was born, and the next day they found out that her grandparent had died. Who knows?
I think that fear of death is an instinct given to us by God so that we'll stay put on earth, rather than flee to the next world. Why else would we fear it, especially those of us who do actively believe in God and heaven? I fear, more than anything, being separated from loved ones. Even though earth life is a blip on the map of eternity, the idea of spending years and years and years away from my loved ones is intolerable, terrifying, nightmarish, to me.
My mother always reminds us that things are seen in the opposite way up in heaven: here, we rejoice at a newborn and mourn at a death. There, they rejoice at the reunion that happens when someone from earth dies and returns to their loved ones, while they wave sad goodbyes when releasing a loved one to earth to be born. My mother also likes to remind us of the sailboat analogy: a sailboat seems to have vanished when it passes beyond view into the horizon, but it's not gone. It's very much real, and suddenly very visible to others, standing on the other shore.
Still, death is sad. It's sad because of love. It's meant to be sad. Remember that verse: "Thou shalt live together in love, insomuch that thou shalt weep for the loss of them that die, and more especially for those that have not hope of a glorious resurrection." -Doctrine and Covenants 42:45. I pray all the time that God will protect and preserve me and my dear ones, both physically and spiritually, because I want us to be together, always. I know it's in God's plan that we die; we can't die all holding hands together, because someone has to stay to take care of the next generation still on earth. But still, my heart runs out ahead of me in fear and dread of it sometimes, and my soul is full of sympathy for people who lose loved ones.
I read a beautiful perspective on this separation from Elder Scott, one of the Apostles, today. He was speaking about his wife, who has passed on. I'll put the link here. http://lds.org/study/prophets-speak-today/unto-all-the-world/sure-witness-elder-scott?lang=eng
I am pasting my favorite parts next, because they brought a tear to my eye and I want to remember them. My own dear husband found this article today, and emailed the link to me. He said this is how he wants us to be. Me too!
[My marriage has] touched every important element of my life—wanting to be a better person, wanting to live more righteously and do things that were more elevating and worthwhile. I don’t believe that the temple ordinance guarantees that we’ll be together forever. There will be a time before that sealing of the Holy Spirit of Promise that makes it eternal where we’ll be in the presence of the Savior, as individuals, and there will be a choice whether we continue with the sealing or not. And I want to do everything in my power to qualify so that she’ll choose for that sealing to be eternal.
I like Swedish birthdays. As far back as my memories go, every birthday morning I'd lie in bed awake, my stomach churning with excitement, as I listened to the clinking kitchen preparations going on for me. We were expected to pretend to be asleep when the family burst in to the bedroom, singing, "Ja, Ma Hon Leva Ut i Hundrade Ar," the Swedish birthday song, which means: "Yes, may she live for a hundred years"). The family came in, carrying a tray laden with candles, cake, flowers, breakfast, and gifts. What a great feeling-- everyone gathered around the bed, celebrating with messed up hair and pajamas on, kind of like Americans' Christmas morning.
We carry this tradition on faithfully. But other Swedish traditions we have dropped. For example, when adult Swedes have a decade-birthday, (30, 40, 50, 60, 70, etc.) they bake their own birthday cake and produce a table full of food and then wait, hoping/assuming friends and family will show up to eat. No invitations. No set time of day. There is no way the birthday person can know if he/she over- or under-prepared for the party, no way to know if anyone remembered the birthday, no way of knowing what time the food should be ready to serve. The Swedish notion of visitor hospitality, run amok!
I'm thinking about this because I called my aunt, Moster Boel, yesterday on her birthday. It was her 70th birthday-- my only living Swedish aunt. Back pains that keep her homebound now, and she was a bit of a hermit even before her back troubles, so she wasn't expecting anyone on her birthday. Her parents have passed on, and her only sibling-- my mom-- moved to America years and years ago.
Moster Boel had not baked a cake. Still, her neighbor, Harriet, came, bringing shrimp sandwiches, Napoleon bakelse (her favorite pastry) and a present-- a dark purple tunic dress, which my aunt loved.
My aunt and I laughed as we talked. She is always laughing. I said I can't believe she's 70. She said she can't believe I am a day over 9. (We lock in memories of people and they stick, don't we?) Our conversation turned from aging to dying, and we talked about Peter, our dear relative (her young cousin) who died last week, while napping on the couch, and we talked about Soren, her husband, my uncle, who died years ago.
She's not Mormon, or any religion, really, but we both said we hope that in heaven, we get to relive the happy times-- And oh, gloriously happy times we had when my siblings and I were little kids running wild all over the forests around their "sommarstuga" (cabin) every summer!--- and we won't remember any bad memories, but leave bad times from earth life behind. We talked about how very real people feel to us, when they have passed on. (They feel real because they are real.) We talked about angels and ghosts. She told me again the story of how Soren, her husband, came to her in a dream and sat on the edge of her bed after he died. She said she wasn't sure if it was a dream, or real. I said of course I think it's real. Our relatives want us to know that they love us, when they pass on, and they want to reassure us that they are still very real-- only separated from their bodies, but not far from us.
Mormor Lotta, my grandmother, her mom, was not officially a believer, either, yet she told us a story that we talked about again yesterday. One night, Mormor Lotta saw someone in her apartment, late at night, like a ghost or a being, who wanted to come close and communicate with her. But Mormor Lotta was afraid, and willed the being to stay away, which it (reluctantly) did. The next morning, Mormor Lotta got a phone call that her dear sister had passed away. She thought afterward that she had been afraid of what might have been the kind spirit of her sister. I believe it completely.
Some people think faith is the same thing as superstition. Not me. Faith is based on reality. Superstition is based on fiction. There's a Swedish superstition --at least, I think it is nothing more than a superstition-- (Moster Boel told me this one, just yesterday, on the phone) --that if a painting falls off a wall, someone's died. She believes in that one. I don't; it's too weird and pointless. But she said that a painting did fall off the wall one day, many years ago, before I was born, and the next day they found out that her grandparent had died. Who knows?
I think that fear of death is an instinct given to us by God so that we'll stay put on earth, rather than flee to the next world. Why else would we fear it, especially those of us who do actively believe in God and heaven? I fear, more than anything, being separated from loved ones. Even though earth life is a blip on the map of eternity, the idea of spending years and years and years away from my loved ones is intolerable, terrifying, nightmarish, to me.
My mother always reminds us that things are seen in the opposite way up in heaven: here, we rejoice at a newborn and mourn at a death. There, they rejoice at the reunion that happens when someone from earth dies and returns to their loved ones, while they wave sad goodbyes when releasing a loved one to earth to be born. My mother also likes to remind us of the sailboat analogy: a sailboat seems to have vanished when it passes beyond view into the horizon, but it's not gone. It's very much real, and suddenly very visible to others, standing on the other shore.
Still, death is sad. It's sad because of love. It's meant to be sad. Remember that verse: "Thou shalt live together in love, insomuch that thou shalt weep for the loss of them that die, and more especially for those that have not hope of a glorious resurrection." -Doctrine and Covenants 42:45. I pray all the time that God will protect and preserve me and my dear ones, both physically and spiritually, because I want us to be together, always. I know it's in God's plan that we die; we can't die all holding hands together, because someone has to stay to take care of the next generation still on earth. But still, my heart runs out ahead of me in fear and dread of it sometimes, and my soul is full of sympathy for people who lose loved ones.
I read a beautiful perspective on this separation from Elder Scott, one of the Apostles, today. He was speaking about his wife, who has passed on. I'll put the link here. http://lds.org/study/prophets-speak-today/unto-all-the-world/sure-witness-elder-scott?lang=eng
I am pasting my favorite parts next, because they brought a tear to my eye and I want to remember them. My own dear husband found this article today, and emailed the link to me. He said this is how he wants us to be. Me too!
Elder Richard G. Scott on the death of his wife, Jeanene
Elder Scott: First of all, . . . I didn’t lose her. She’s on the other side of the veil. We’ve been sealed in that holy ordinance of the temple, and we’ll be together forever. And at critical times in my life when I need help, I can feel impressions come through the veil in such a real way that often I just [think,] “Thank you, Jeanene.” So there isn’t that loss. The second is that when you get it right the first time, you don’t want to mess it up with a second time. We are so close and love each other so very much that I don’t have any feeling of need to remarry. I recognize that for some men there’s a very strong support they require from a wife, and so they remarry, and I don’t question that for them. Jeanene and I prepared each other in all the ways we could think of for being able to survive well when one of us passed through the veil, and I wish she hadn’t been the first one, but that’s the way it worked out.On his eternal marriage to Jeanene
[My marriage has] touched every important element of my life—wanting to be a better person, wanting to live more righteously and do things that were more elevating and worthwhile. I don’t believe that the temple ordinance guarantees that we’ll be together forever. There will be a time before that sealing of the Holy Spirit of Promise that makes it eternal where we’ll be in the presence of the Savior, as individuals, and there will be a choice whether we continue with the sealing or not. And I want to do everything in my power to qualify so that she’ll choose for that sealing to be eternal.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Thinking About My Daughter
This was my daughter when she was eight, six years ago. How wonderful every single age is with its struggles and charms.
I sometimes wallow in the dread of the baby birds growing up. That Abba song, "Slipping Through My Fingers," has too often made me sad. How much time school takes away, plus the every-other-weekend-every-other-holiday with her real dad. I realize how precious time is, and how wonderful a thing is a daughter! How impossible it is to do everything, teach everything, give all the laughter and love and experiences I want to.
She'll graduate in a few years. Will she go far away to college? Will she move to a far-away place, and I'll only get to keep up with her, and her family, remotely? The thought is terrible.
I remind myself to enjoy every day as much as I can, and to view growth as great: one step closer to buckets full of grandkids.
But I pray, I actually pray, that she'll end up nearby-- that all of the children will. I really, really love and enjoy them. I like them! Every single one; his, mine, and ours: the one I have 24 hours a day (Baby H), the ones I have whenever they are not at school or at their real dad's for the every-other-weekend thing, (C.E. and A.J), and the ones who are my stepchildren, (A.R. and S.E.), who come at holidays or summer or whenever we get lucky enough.
It's a great compliment to like your family; sometimes to like is harder than to love.
Here she is, snowshoeing with a cousin and an uncle, just a few weeks ago:
Here she is at Christmas, at my sister's.
Last fall:
Raising Swedish-Speaking Children in America
When I was about to give birth to my daughter, almost fourteen years ago, I told my mother that I didn't think I dared keep Swedish as our main language. I was living hundreds of miles from my parents and siblings and my husband didn't speak Swedish. How could I raise a little Swedish speaker by myself?
My mother said it would be easy. She didn't even let me think twice about my doubts. And she was right. All the lullabyes I'd heard as a child were in Swedish. It felt so natural to speak to her and sing to her and raise her with that language. Her cousins and many of her aunts, uncles, and grandparents spoke Swedish to her, even if it was only over the phone or during holiday visits. I read stories to her --Mumintroll stories, Astrid Lindgren stories. I had Swedish music CDs especially made for kids. It was never difficult.
When her baby brother came along, six years later, it was even easier, because now there was conversation going on in the home, in Swedish, for him to listen to. And now that he's eight, and a new baby is here, there's even more Swedish to go around.
Granted, I do have to enforce it. The flood of English at school, church, and from media makes the easier path the English path. But whenever we are alone, and there are no non-Swedish speakers in the room, I strictly enforce the no-English rule. If the kids don't seem to hear me remind them to speak Swedish, I say, "If I hear English, you have to do the dishes." Or: "If I hear English, you have to run up and down the stairs three times." They switch back to Swedish.
Sometimes, in the car especially, I play vocabulary games. I say a word in English ("Mountains") and they have to say it in Swedish ("Berg") to see who can name that word fast. I have also made a memory game, which we used for family home evening. I just folded a piece of paper into about 32 pieces, cut them, and wrote English words on half of the little papers, and the same words in Swedish, on the other half of the papers. (For example, "Julskinka" & "Christmas ham," "tro" & "faith," and "diskmedel" & "dishsoap".) I threw in a few easies and a few hards. Then we flip them upside down and play "memory" to match the pieces and see who gets the most pairs. It was fun.
My mother said it would be easy. She didn't even let me think twice about my doubts. And she was right. All the lullabyes I'd heard as a child were in Swedish. It felt so natural to speak to her and sing to her and raise her with that language. Her cousins and many of her aunts, uncles, and grandparents spoke Swedish to her, even if it was only over the phone or during holiday visits. I read stories to her --Mumintroll stories, Astrid Lindgren stories. I had Swedish music CDs especially made for kids. It was never difficult.
When her baby brother came along, six years later, it was even easier, because now there was conversation going on in the home, in Swedish, for him to listen to. And now that he's eight, and a new baby is here, there's even more Swedish to go around.
Granted, I do have to enforce it. The flood of English at school, church, and from media makes the easier path the English path. But whenever we are alone, and there are no non-Swedish speakers in the room, I strictly enforce the no-English rule. If the kids don't seem to hear me remind them to speak Swedish, I say, "If I hear English, you have to do the dishes." Or: "If I hear English, you have to run up and down the stairs three times." They switch back to Swedish.
Sometimes, in the car especially, I play vocabulary games. I say a word in English ("Mountains") and they have to say it in Swedish ("Berg") to see who can name that word fast. I have also made a memory game, which we used for family home evening. I just folded a piece of paper into about 32 pieces, cut them, and wrote English words on half of the little papers, and the same words in Swedish, on the other half of the papers. (For example, "Julskinka" & "Christmas ham," "tro" & "faith," and "diskmedel" & "dishsoap".) I threw in a few easies and a few hards. Then we flip them upside down and play "memory" to match the pieces and see who gets the most pairs. It was fun.
Baby Massage
Baby and I went to our first baby massage class. What fun. The babies lay on blankets in front of their mothers. We poured avocado oil into our palms, rubbed our hands together, let the babies smell the oil, and asked them if they would like a massage. My baby looked like he wanted to taste my hands, so I took it as a yes.
Nobody cried. Nobody fussed. I think this class was a hit.
We practiced baby massage moves with names like "Indian Milking" and "Swedish Milking". We learned that cold-pressed oils are best, because they penetrate the skin better. Cold-pressed means no heat or chemicals have been used to remove the oil from the vegetable. We learned that you can use coconut oil, almond oil, avocado oil, olive oil, or other oils-- but the ones from the grocery store are usually not cold-pressed. Regular "baby oil" is synthetic, and was not recommended by the teacher.
We spent the whole class on just legs, feet, toes, and ankles today. We have homework, too.
Nobody cried. Nobody fussed. I think this class was a hit.
We practiced baby massage moves with names like "Indian Milking" and "Swedish Milking". We learned that cold-pressed oils are best, because they penetrate the skin better. Cold-pressed means no heat or chemicals have been used to remove the oil from the vegetable. We learned that you can use coconut oil, almond oil, avocado oil, olive oil, or other oils-- but the ones from the grocery store are usually not cold-pressed. Regular "baby oil" is synthetic, and was not recommended by the teacher.
We spent the whole class on just legs, feet, toes, and ankles today. We have homework, too.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
8th Grade Science Fair Project
CAN YOU TELL WHETHER IT'S HIGH FASHION/HIGH QUALITY/NEW or THRIFTSTORE/CASTOFF?
My 8th grader has created a science fair experiment on a blog. She needs as many female consumers over age 13 as possible to take the poll she has created at http://www.adeviga.blogspot.com/
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