Simple Home – Page 10

What I Learned On My Sabbatical

Hello, old friends! I’m back!

I have been gone for six months and some days on my sabbat. During that time, I wrote a book, slept more, homeschooled better, got caught up on some junque, got pregnant, traveled through a dozen states, and made a little real money writing articles. It was an educational experience on some level, and I can’t have an experience without sharing it with all of you.

That said, here’s what I learned:

1. After I announced my sabbatical, many of you were encouraging–super encouraging. Go read my comments and Facebook page if you want to know who you are. You people are amazing! Encouraging words (not empty flattery, but truth and encouragement) do more than you can ever imagine. They fuel me. They fuel your spouse. They fuel your kids. They fuel that mama in the grocery store struggling to train children and stretch $2 and fill tummies and grow strong bones. They fuel that teen that is two seconds away from giving up. Keep encouraging.

2. I have trolls. I have trolls on Facebook, and sometimes on my blog, and I have trolls in real life. Trolls affect me almost more than the encouragers do. The comments of one troll can wipe out the encouragement of ten positive people. I want to say that trolls aren’t worth my time, but Jesus died for trolls, too. Sometimes we’re all trolls. Sometimes trolls say something worthwhile. Sometimes trolls aren’t actually trolls, but people with really good advice and really poor delivery. So, trolls, I read what you say, say a prayer for you, and 98% of the time mentally stuff you back under the bridge from which you emerged. The rest of the time I heed your advice, yet blame your mothers for not teaching you better manners…even though sometimes it really isn’t Mama’s fault.

3. Sleep is amazing.

4. Everyone needs a task. As soon as I announced my sabbatical I dove straight into writing my book. Because I’ve been thinking about it and taking notes and doodling on it for a few years, the book poured out of me like…well, like a fast pouring thing. Then I was left with…what? I had to do something in those early morning hours, so I slept. That worked well, since I was pregnant and exhausted, but eventually the exhaustion subsided and I popped awake early while everyone else was sleeping and I needed something to do. Writing is my something that I could do in the early hours without waking up the other 8 people in our 240–square-foot home. We weren’t designed to do nothing.

5. Nobody’s task should trump their relationships. That’s self-explanatory, but when my writing goes beyond the magical hey-it’s-time-to-get-up-and-be-a-family hour, then I need to not only shut down my computer (which isn’t so hard, because it overheats and shuts itself down pretty consistently), but I need to shut down my writer’s mind and truly listen to my family. That’s the hardest part–the brain switch.

6. The sabbatical was nice, but it’s great to be back. When we lived in a normal house like you normal people (assuming some of my readers fall along the normal curve), my kids asked for a summer vacation one year. I gave them two weeks. The first week was great. The second week was mostly spent waiting to get back to school. The first few months of my sabbat were wonderful (apart from the throwing up). During the last few weeks, I was a little anxious to get back to “work.” Of course, in a few weeks when that baby comes, I’ll forget all about you guys again. Wink wink.

7. You’re good folk. You’ve all found a place in my heart. For some of you trolls, it’s a dark place, but it’s a place nonetheless.

8. Breaks are vital. Even Jesus got in a boat or found a quiet place to take a break from his “job.” It’s not selfish; it’s like eating. Of course, it’s selfish if you eat all the pie and don’t share–moderation in breaks is important, too.

I’m sure I’ve learned other important lessons during my sabbat, but I took the test and promptly forgot them. Thanks for sticking around while I was ~~kicking my feet up and living in luxury~~ focusing on family and other projects.

I’m Taking a Sabbatical…and You Should Too

It used to be, and occasionally still is, that people would take sabbaticals. In the Old Testament, the ground was rested every seven years. Today, professors and other professionals occasionally take every seventh year off to pursue a writing or research project. It’s a worthy practice. It comes from the Latin word sabbaticus which literally means ceasing.

I have been running The Simple Homemaker for almost four years. I’m not quite up for a sabbatical, since it’s been slightly more than half of seven years. But I need one. So I’m taking a sabbat. That’s half a sabbatical—six months.

Why?

Here's your first clue. This one and her six siblings are growing up too fast! — Here’s your first clue. This one and her six siblings are growing up too fast!

Someone told me that my blog was a waste of time and that it isn’t doing anybody any good. Those were harsh words. While I tell my children to not let harsh words and criticism get them down, I also encourage them to find the truth and concern beneath the gruff delivery. Such truth and concern can help them grow.

In the case of The Simple Homemaker, I had lamented to my tactless confidante that I have been wearing a failure badge lately. Despite spending almost every hour of every day with my children for the past nearly 18 years, I feel like it flew by without me. Despite putting on my “writer” hat and pecking away at a computer for 20 years, I have nothing to show for it (except, of course, my ebook From Frazzled to Festive: Finding Joy and Meaning in a Simple Christmas, which you should buy if your Christmas season is like final exam week).

Despite my preaching of family first, sometimes I am tempted to inwardly groan when a needy child is up during my earliest of early morning working hours. When that happens, I should be putting my computer away and hugging someone small or large or anywhere in between, instead of writing about bread or children’s books or hugging your children.

Seven of the reasons I'm taking a sabbat. — Seven of the reasons I’m taking a sabbat.

In essence, despite how much I enjoy writing for The Simple Homemaker, I was spending time on my blog that could have been spent doing what I really want and need to do–focusing even more on my family, our music mission, my writing, and our traveling homeschool (our roadschool full of “Road Scholars”…not exactly Rhodes Scholars, but close enough, eh?).

I write a post lickety split in the wee hours when everyone is asleep, but, because I’m not a techie and don’t have the funds for a virtual assistant, those posts often languish in my drafts file due to the inordinate amount of time required to prep a post for publication. That writing time was therefore wasted. Boo. I don’t like wasting time unless there are cookies and children involved…which technically makes it non-wasted time.

Focusing on the music mission and the hearts of the people behind it--that's a worthy focus. — Focusing on the music mission and the hearts of the people behind it–that’s a worthy focus.

So…that brings us to my sabbat.

I’m leaving The Simple Homemaker for a period of six months, at which time I will reappear. I have several review posts and a few giveaways that I have committed to which will be posted after those six months are up—I don’t believe in not following through on commitments, and, here again, I keep dropping the ball on The Simple Homemaker. I also have a couple of great series and those languishing posts I mentioned, all waiting patiently in the back room (mostly on a dead computer we have yet to revive).

Where The Simple Homemaker goes from there remains to be seen.

Upon my reemergence, and barring any unforeseen major events, I will have a physical book completed, one that has been struggling to emerge for seven years now. You can hold me to that. In fact, please do.

These two need more of my time and attention, because sometime when I'm present, my mind is working on blog posts instead of on them. — These two need more of my time and attention, because sometime when I’m present, my mind is working on blog posts instead of on them.

What does this have to do with you?

I would like you to take a sabbat, too. There is something that you are doing (maybe even something that you like, like I like The Simple homemaker), that is distracting you from…well…life.

Is crafting or shopping calling you away from hubby time? Do your kids have to wait for you to read 35 blogs before you’ll read Peter Rabbit? Are you dragging (or following) your kids to MOPS, swim, gymnastics, preschool, preschool readiness, and preschool readiness readiness? (You all know how I feel about the whole preschool readiness readiness thing!) Are you so obsessed over cooking real food or vegan food or low carb food that you and your family aren’t enjoying the gift of food anymore?

Are you so committed to creating a thigh gap that you are also creating relationship gaps? Are you wrapped up in your hair, makeup and wardrobe, in your couponing and frugality, in your own blog or work, that you are bumping out of place the things in life that matter? Is it so important to you that your family looks like you have it all together, that you aren’t focusing on heart issues?

Moments like this spontaneous piano lesson between siblings--these are so, so beautiful, that I don't want to miss a single one. Not one. — Moments like this spontaneous piano lesson between siblings–these are so, so beautiful, that I don’t want to miss a single one. Not one.

I’ve been there, and I’ve given it all up—leading children’s choirs, heading or attending moms’ clubs, running women’s Bible studies at church, choir, sewing, crafts, insane cooking ideals and much, much, much more…now including The Simple Homemaker.

Is it hard to give up something you love? Don’t let anyone tell you it’s not. Still, eliminating these time chompers doesn’t make my life empty. It makes it fuller, because it gives me the time and energy and focus to be the woman God intended me to be, and to fully embrace and love my family.

When I die, I don’t want to hear (figuratively of course, since I’ll be dead and hard of hearing) “You know, that woman had over 10,000 Pinterest followers!” Who rinkin’ stinkin’ cares?! I want to hear, “That woman really loved her kids. You could tell.” I want to hear “She put God first…not always well, but she sure as shootin’ tried.” I wanna hear, “Well, we certainly won’t miss hearing every 30 seconds about what a hottie her husband is!” Have I mentioned my husband’s a hottie?

When people look at you, what do they see? Great hair? Stylishly dressed kids? Groovy manicure? Polished eyebrows? Amazing cupcakes? Incredible scrapbook pages? Big bank account? Awesome Pinterest page? Many letters after your name? Full calendar? That stuff is fine, but what should they really see?

What people see—those are your priorities.

My priorities right now are erasing the failure brand from my forehead by reorganizing my time. When my computer died for several weeks, I spent more time on my family and our homeschool. I loved on my pillow a bit more and on my hubby a lot more. It was…nice.

My family. I love the whole Jesus-lpvin' crew! — My family. I love the whole crazy, Jesus-lovin’ crew! I spend every day with them…but I want to give them even more.

And now I need to finish that book.

I am making a clean break. I will not be showing up on Facebook (unless there is a prayer request). I will not be showing up here on the blog. I will be completely invisible until May…unless you email me to tell me to get moving on that book…or you send me cookies. I know this is blog and social media suicide…but I’m okay with hearing at my funeral “She committed blog and social media suicide so she could focus on her kiddos and write that book she promised her family and smooch on her man a little more and write her Grandma letters.” I’m not just okay with that…I’m awesome with that!

If you absolutely can’t live without our antics for the next six months, we are still keeping a family travel blog over at The Travel Bags, and we as a family are on Facebook and Instagram as The Travel Bags, and, yes, there’s always Pinterest, which is also something my kids and I do together.

See you in May, friends. Enjoy your sabbat. I know I will.

Farewell for now. We'll be back. — Farewell for now. We’ll be back.

The Tummy Team–The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly

Disclosure: I am a Tummy Team affiliate. I am also a Christian and tell the truth. It’s a good combo. In fact, even though I was participating in The Tummy Team, I didn’t become an affiliate until I knew I loved it!

**(If you’re just here for the good deal, the first ten people to use the code SIMPLE25 by November 20 save 25% on The Tummy Team. Just click here, and don’t forget your code.)**

You’ve heard me rattle on about The Tummy Team this year, and here’s my wrap-up review about the whole shebang.

The Good

I really, really like it. I’ve told you the many benefits I’ve seen and that it’s a good thing, and here’s why:

Anything that makes my abs feel like I’ve been laughing with my family for half an hour or like I powered through thirty crunches without actually crunching is a good thing, right? Of course, right.

Anything that helps me with the weaky leakies that come after bouncing seven babies on your bladder is a good thing, right? Of course, right! (Read this for a reminder of all the crazy awesome benefits!)

Anything that helps stabilize my weak areas where I tend to tweak out a rib or strain a back muscle and be out for days or weeks is a good thing, right? Of course, right!

It’s a good thing to have your core strengthened and to have the tools to repair and maintain a strong body. You can’t argue with that. Read my posts above, or visit Kelly’s site to learn all about the good things.

The Bad

Here’s the bad thing, because I’m honest:

It’s expensive.

I don’t have a spare $200 lying around, do you? You do?! Cool. But I don’t.

The good thing about the price is that it helps you take the whole thing very seriously. I should hope that if you spent 200 smackers on this, you’d actually do it, not like if you tossed, say, 19.95 at it.

Plus, you’re paying for professional assistance to improve your health. The last time I saw, say, a medical bill, it was pretty hefty. Hefty like that family-size bowl of popcorn I downed last night…alone. You’re buying the time and expertise that went into creating The Tummy Team and helping countless women and men; you’re not merely buying access to the videos. You see?

Also, when you consider how much moola many of you casually hand out for “just one more outfit for the kids” or that “gotta-have manicure” or “it’s only once a week” lunch with the girls, $200 isn’t that much. (For those of you who are truly frugal, jump on today’s 25% off deal at the bottom of the page, or follow The Tummy Team on Facebook. I don’t know how often Kelly posts deals there…but I do know mine is right now.)

Another plus: it’s cheaper than a monthly gym membership and more effective than the hours of crunches you’ve invested on your midsection so far. Can you say “waste of time”?

Here’s the other bad thing:

It’s an eight week program, and then it ends. I would prefer to have DVDs or a lifetime membership, because I’m a DVD kinda girl. That’s mainly because we travel the US full-time and don’t always have reliable (or any) internet access.

Plus again (this is turning into multiplication), the first time around, you gather information; the second time around, you say, “Oh, I missed that the first time around. I must have had cookie crumbs in my ears.” You all say that, don’t you, about the crumbs? I like repetition. (Of course, you can watch the same videos as many times as you want over the course of your membership, which I did. Thank you!)

The good thing about the membership ending is that you can’t and therefore won’t procrastinate. You know what procrastinating is. It’s what you’re doing right now by reading my blog instead of, you know, doing what you’re supposed to be doing, like your crunches, which are ineffective, which you’d learn if you signed up for The Tummy Team.

Plus Kelly is teaching you skills that you can use for the rest of your life, not just eight weeks, so even though the membership ends, you have a new lease on life and self-help skills that don’t end. Plus you know where to go with your questions! Groovy, eh?

Another good thing about the eight week program is that, hey, it’s only eight weeks! I can do eight weeks. I can!

The Ugly

I stopped following many of The Tummy Team techniques. Why? Three reasons:

I’m an idiot. That’s really the biggest factor here.
I lack consistency. In fact, I once thought about joining the military so they could teach me self-discipline. I wasn’t self-disciplined enough to follow through.
My dear like-a-dad-to-me grandfather died, and that sorrow added to the stresses of life caused me to slouch again, let my guts hang out, not care, and eat eat eat until I looked like I swallowed the Pillsbury Dough Boy…or at least his pudgy little sister.

But the good thing (there’s always a good thing) is that Kelly didn’t just hand me a fish; she taught me to fish. The principles are ingrained in my head, and I have the tools to jumpstart my progress all over again. In fact, over the past week I have been doing some of the simple beginner exercises and have already been feeling the difference–less side pain and abdominal discomfort. Yes! Let’s make cookies!

The Great Deal

Here’s the big news you’ve been waiting for:

Kelly is offering 25% off for The Simple Homemaker readers (if you’re only a TSHM skimmer, fine, fine, you may have the discount, too). The first ten buyers who use the code SIMPLE25 receive $50 off their purchase of either the eight-week core strengthening series or the six-week prenatal course. Hurry scurry–you must be one of the first ten, and you must purchase before November 20.

I’d love it if you shared this deal with family, friends, and on social media.

If you’re interested in parts one through three of this four-part review, here you go:

You know, you’ll get much more information if you check out Kelly’s site. It is super informative, and she has videos…so make popcorn. There isn’t as much cookie talk on her site, but there is far more science and tummy talk, which, in this case, is likely preferable.

How to Clean Burned Milk From a Pan

Argh! I burned the milk again! I know, I know, it’s my own fault–I have the attention span of a caffeinated fruit fly, and milk burns very easily. It’s a bad combination.

Lucky for my pots, I know how to get that stuck-on mess off the bottom of my pans.

And soon you will, too.

How to Remove Burned Milk From a Pan

What you need:

salt
a wooden spoon or similarly non-offensive scraping implement
water
dish soap
a heating surface, like a stove

What you do:

Sprinkle the bottom of the pot with a layer of salt.
Add warm water to saturate the salt.
Let it rest for 20 minutes or until you remember it.
Scrape the bottom of the pan with a spoon, scrubby, spatula–whatever is scrapy but won’t damage your pot.
Rinse out the pot.
If it’s clean. You’re finished. Have a cookie.
If it’s not clean, put a couple inches of water and several drops of dish soap in the bottom of the pan.
Heat it to boiling on the stove and then simmer on low heat for about an hour. This reeks to high heaven in my opinion (maybe not quite that high), so open the windows and pass out the barf bags.
If this doesn’t work, repeat ad infinitum.

Next time you heat milk on the stove, turn off the television, the radio, the the doorbell, the computers, your phone, your dog, your children, and your brain, and just focus. I know. I can’t either.

Print this up and keep it in your cookbook right by your favorite hot cocoa recipe. Ha ha! Only I’m not joking.

Here’s the printable version:

How to Remove Burned Milk From a Pan

Author: Christy, The Simple Homemaker

Since I have the attention span of a caffeinated fruit fly, and because milk burns easily, I have had to frequently use the following trick to get that burned-on gunk off my pots and pans.

Ingredients

salt
a wooden spoon or similarly non-offensive scraping implement
water
dish soap
a heating surface, like a stove

Instructions

Sprinkle the bottom of the pot with a layer of salt.
Add warm water to saturate the salt.
Let it rest for 20 minutes or until you remember it.
Scrape the bottom of the pan with a spoon, scrubby, spatula–whatever is scrapy but won’t damage your pot.
Rinse out the pot.
If it’s clean. You’re finished. Have a cookie.
If it’s not clean, put a couple inches of water and several drops of dish soap in the bottom of the pan.
Heat it to boiling on the stove and then simmer on low heat for about an hour. This reeks to high heaven in my opinion (maybe not quite that high), so open the windows and pass out the barf bags.
If this doesn’t work, repeat ad infinitum.

**How do you get the burned-on milk out?**

The Value of a Homemaker

It saddens me when I speak to women who feel they are not contributing to their families or to society if they do not bring home a paycheck. Some believe their contributions need to be measured monetarily to be of value. Others are nagged with guilt at the thought of their degrees growing dusty on a closet shelf, while they pack lunches or potty train toddlers.

Even though the thriftiness of a conscientious wife goes a long way toward enabling her husband to support the family, some women frequently see themselves as not contributing financially to the family, and society will too often second that view.

Why is this?

Why do women fall for the lie that a woman needs to succeed in the same arena as a man in order to be successful. Why should her immeasurable worth be defined and therefore limited by a paycheck?

Imagine!

Imagine, for a moment, how blessed a husband can be by a wife who tends lovingly to his needs and makes wise use of the money he brings home. Imagine how much more successful that husband will be both in his career and at home, with a caring and supportive wife beside him. Imagine, from a financial aspect, how much farther that husband’s paycheck can go if there is a frugal and conscientious wife at home, making every penny of her man’s hard-earned money really count!

Imagine the joy of having a mother who is always available to explore and play and bake cookies with her children? Imagine what a great contribution to society those confident and well-raised children will become because they had a mother who took the time to teach them that life does not revolve around pleasing themselves and their peers, but around serving each other. Just imagine!

If you stay at home and tend your brood and your husband, do not undermine your contribution to society and to the kingdom of Christ! Your value cannot be measured in dollars and cents.

Your worth is far above rubies!

I’d love to hear your polite thoughts in the comment section.

A Personal Note About Heartache and Truth

My grandpa died this past spring. Before that my godparents both died. It’s been a tough year. It’s been hard on a lot of people, but right now, for this moment, I’m going to focus on me.

I knew my Grandpa was going to die. I thought I was prepared. I thought I could handle it with grace.

I was wrong.

I don’t cry. The staunch German side of me dominates my exterior personality, but inside my passionate French side cuts deeply and bleeds hard, and the bruises linger. Still, I don’t cry.

But when Grandpa died, I cried.

I cried in front of my children. I cried in front of cousins and siblings and uncles. I cried in front of strangers. I stood in front of church and in the funeral home and in the cemetery and in the shower and I sobbed. Sometimes, months later, after social sympathy has diminished and people expect you to be “over it” and to “move on,” I have to stop singing a hymn in church, because I know that inhuman guttural sobs will rise from some deep hidden pit of human sorrow I didn’t know existed and force their way out if I don’t clamp my jaw shut with all my mortal strength. (That’s a little melodramatic, I know.)

When I see a full church parking lot and a funeral procession lined up, the empathy aroused by the communal grief of all those people nearly suffocates me. I still lie in bed in the dark when everyone else is asleep and let the pain and hurt of losing one of my very favorite people win out, and I cry. Nobody hears me then. Nobody knows…except now all of cyberspace–that irony is not lost on me.

My grandpa was always there. I know people say that all the time, but right now, remember, we’re focusing on me. My grandpa is the only man who has stood beside me my entire life, who has supported, scolded, trained, and loved me, regardless of circumstances. He was there when others gave up.

He was there to give me my first pony, to teach me to work hard, to let me be his shadow and have a hero. He was there when I showed my horse, when I added another candle to my cake, when I walked over fields and across stages and down aisles. In fact, he walked me down the aisle and handed me over to Steve and told him to take care of me…because that’s what Grandpa always did–take care of everyone. He was still there after years of marriage and children, when I wanted nothing more than to sit quietly on the couch and read the paper and not talk…he was there.

He taught me that love was an action, not just a word, a commitment, not just a feeling. He wasn’t big on emotion. When I told him I loved him, he said, “Yup,” and sometimes, “Same here, Kid.” A couple times in more recent years he opened up about how he felt about me, just a sentence or two–words that will never leave me.

But he left me.

Grandpa is gone.

When parents tell their children that someone who died isn’t really gone, because the love and the memories are still there, and that person will always be a part of them, that’s a bunch of empty malarkey. It’s hooey. It’s fluffy fluff. What comfort is there in memories? What hope is there for the future thinking all that’s left of Grandpa is a warm and fuzzy in my heart and a memory of his chocolate malts? What do fluffy bunny thoughts and meaningless trite phrases about love never dying give a child?

Zilch!

When I miss Grandpa, I’m sad, I’m hurting deeply, but I’m not despairing. I have hope. When my widowed grandmother no longer has a hand to hold and my children no longer have Big Bubba to sneak them candies, they are not despairing. They are sad, but they have hope–real hope.

My grandpa trusted Christ Jesus as his Savior. He knew he blew it over and over and over. He didn’t often say “sorry” in words, but he said it in other ways, in Grandpa’s ways. He knew he needed a bridge to close the gap between himself and God, between death and life. And he had that in Christ Jesus.

People tell me I’m doing my children a disservice by raising them as Christians instead of “letting them find their own truth.” I wonder what kind of parent I would be if I gave them fleeting fluffer-fluffs to chase instead of an ultimate truth to grasp. Warm and fuzzies didn’t pluck Grandpa from hell and place him in the arms of God in heaven. Fluffer-fluffs can’t do that. Only Christ can.

I found this on the pagan homeschoolers site: “What I hate about Christians is that they think they’re right and that everyone else is wrong. They can’t accept that we can all be right.”

Well said, Random Pagan; that’s exactly true. If I believe Scripture, and I believe God when He says there is One God, that God is I AM, and I AM is the Only Way to heaven, how can I say that your beliefs and your truth are also right? I can’t! That would make me a very bad Christian indeed. If as a pagan you tell me that my beliefs are true and your beliefs are true, then you’ve just acknowledged that Christ and salvation exist but that you choose not to believe them. That’s like acknowledging the Grand Canyon exists for me, but choosing not to believe it exists in your life, and expecting to be able to drive right over it without plunging to your doom. A good pagan should believe that Christians are wrong, not that we are all right, and that would make you just as hateful as those blasted Christians.

There is ultimate truth. Black is black. White is white. Sin is sin. Christ is the Way.

What does this have to do with Grandpa? He trusted that Truth. He closed his eyes in this world only to be born into the next. When we covered Grandpa with the dirt he worked his whole life, the dirt he taught us to love, that was not the end. That was only the beginning.

What does that have to do with me? The man I loved first and longest is there in heaven where time doesn’t exist as we know it, and I will see him again…him, my godparents, my father-in-law, and most especially Jesus.

When I cry in the middle of the night and shed tears in the shower, it’s because this world hurts. It’s not because I’m hopeless–let me rephrase that. It’s not because I’m without hope. In fact, there is joy mixed with my tears–joy for Grandpa, joy for our future, and yes, joy for the memories and love. There’s not a single fluffer-fluff. You can’t cling to fluffy feel-goods–they’re elusive. Christ is real.

I miss you Grandpa. And it hurts. It hurts a lot, Grandpa.

I will see you again.

Fight Summer Brain Drain and Illiteracy at the Same Time

Let’s cut right to the chase. Illiteracy is a huge issue throughout the world. “Summer brain drain” is also a problem–a first world problem, but a problem nonetheless.

Here’s a solution to both:

We Give Books is an organization that puts books in the hands of children who otherwise wouldn’t have access to them. Right there they’ve won me over. Throw in cookies and I’m totally sold!

You can help fight illiteracy for free!

Join the We Give Books summer reading program, read books for free online from their rather impressive library (or read print books of your own), and We Give Books will donate real books to needy children.

I don’t have all the details figured out, but they do, so check them out here.

By the way, if you school year-round like we do, this program is still a nice shift for something a little different and to get the kiddos thinking about helping others. What a great motivator to get reading, and if that doesn’t work, bribe ’em with cookies or s’mores.

Check out more summer reading programs here.

By the way, there’s nothing in this for me–it’s simply a great idea that deserves a little more chatting up.