The Life of a Homeschool Mom
I decided that I would start a post here to give everyone a glimpse into my life, my family, my hobbies, and things that I'm rather passionate about.
My name is Alicia, but all of my friends call me Ali. The nickname Ali came about because of two reasons, 1) I always hated it when my little sister called me Leash and then got her friends to calling me that in school. My response was always, "I am not something that you walk a dog with, please stop calling me Leash". 2) My niece's and nephew's had a lot of trouble saying "Aunt Alicia" when they were little, so I told them to just call me Aunt Ali. Thus, Ali has stuck.
I have been happily married for 13 years to an artist and genealogy enthusiast. When people look at us, they see total opposites. My husband stands 6'1" and is a very big man who has almost 20 tattoos. What can I say, he loves tattoos, and at one time did tattoos. I am a foot shorter than him and very small and have a phobia of needles. So the thought of getting covered in ink is not appealing to me. Although, my DH and I do each have the other's name tattooed on us. Him getting my name on him was how he proposed to me. I guess it's a really good thing I said yes since he got that tattoo about a week before he proposed. He dropped down on one knee to get me to look at his back. He told me that it felt like there was something on his back and he wanted me to see what it was. I looked, and my mouth dropped open...there was my name tattooed between his shoulder blades. That's when he said, "Will you marry me". How could I say no? Two years later I got his name on me in a very inconspicuous spot. It's small, but it's there, and he put it there. I guess that would be one benefit to marrying someone who was a tattoo artist. He no longer does ink on anything except paper and has taken up painting instead.
Together we have two boys, who are 12 and 11 that I homeschool. Both of our boys are "miracle children" as I was told at the age of 16 that I would never be able to have children do to cancer surgery and treatment. I'm really, really glad that my doctors were wrong.
My 12 yr. old son has a form of Autism known as Asperger Syndrome and he has a B12 deficiency that he has to take an injection for every month. He's a very bright and intelligent child and a joy to be around. I become very defensive when people look down on him or call him names. The name calling isn't as bad now as it was when he was a toddler because the older he gets, the better his social skills get. He still has trouble with very loud noises, and large crowds. He's in 7th grade, but academically gifted and obsessed with space and video game design.
My 11 yr. old is much like any other 11 yr. old. But he has a very big heart and his mother's phobia of needles. He can't stand to be in the same room with his brother when he gets his B12 shot. He is currently collecting pennies for St. Jude's. I have no idea how long it will take him to fill up that gallon pickle jar with pennies, but if he wants to save pennies, cash them in, and mail the money to St. Jude's then I have to smile and say "go for it". I'm glad to see that kind of compassion in him.
I also have two four legged children. Both them are female feline's that are rescues, and both are black and white. The oldest one is an absynnian and cornish rex mix named Puddin that we got from a box in a grocery store parking lot when she was 3 weeks old. She was not weaned, and we had to hand raise her until she could eat cat food. Why her and her siblings were given away so young I do not know. She got her name from raiding my husband's bowl of bananna pudding when he left it unattended. She is now about 2 years old. The youngest one is named Pudgy and she was rescued after being thrown from a car window at 4 weeks old. Her injuries were bad. She had road rash on a good portion of her body, and a large cut that went down 3/4 of one of her hind legs, and her whiskars looked like they had been burnt off. Thankfully I was walking to a local convenience store near my home when she was "discarded". At first, I thought she was dead. But when I picked her up she squeeked and looked at me. So I brought her home, washed the dirt from her wounds and took her to a vet. She is now a very active 6 month old cat who has some balance issues. The vet says that the balance issue is permanent. She got her name because of how much she eats and how quickly she gained weight after being rescued. She's a happy, healthy, little piggy who thinks she's my baby. She always wants to be held and thinks she's supposed to sleep with me and not in her cat bed. She also likes to steal small toys from my boys.
Well, now you know a little bit more about me. I will share more about my life later, but now it's time to go teach math and history.