Taxed

When we were preparing to be married, eyes full of hope and idealism, we divvied up the tasks of life.  Like trying to even out backpacks for a journey, I took the bills and the bank accounts; he took insurance.  He'd take care of the cars and the retirement; I'd do the groceries and the taxes.  He'd do the lawn, I'd care for the plants.  We smiled sweetly at one another, satisfied that we each held a fair share, then grasped hands and started out.

Every February the task of taxes emerges like a mountain after an earthquake, large and bullying and aggressive. Breath held tight, every muscle clenched, I power up the pile of receipts that prove our life of ministry to the powers that be. In this occupation we track everything:  living expenses, ministry meals, charitable giving, books, gifts, cleaning supplies.  It's a mountain I dutifully climb every winter overturning rocks and poking into every crevasse.  "If you can't get around it, get in it."  This is nothing I can maneuver around.  Every year I travel through and still reach the high top.

But this year is so very different.

The pack is heavier this year because midyear there was that bridge that gave out.  And, at times, I still stand at cliff's edge watching the suspension cables dangle in the wind through the insurmountable canyon. I left a beloved life on the other side of the gap.  And this year as my journey into tax season began I had to revisit it again. From a distance.

Taxes have frustrated me and stretched my patience, but they've never pushed me to tears until now.  Every receipt reminds me of that wedding. That homegroup meal.  That mentoring coffee.  This year preparing taxes is breaking my heart all over again. Tell me again why I was made to leave that life I cultured and cared for? What did I do that merited this great humiliation and loss? I despair as I sort my two piles of receipts: everything before August, which counts in all the old familiar ways -- toward housing or ministry expenses -- but everything after that time is scribbled with question marks like the questions still unanswered and rotting away in my gut. And as the tears come again I say, as I said back in August, "I never wanted this."

The entire first year after great loss hurts. It's a death -- a divorce -- where every scent and song and celebration reminds you of that love you're loathe to let go of.  At this late date I've nearly convinced myself that moving on from grief may never actually happen. That it will just inhabit me forever and hopefully be the decayed loam from which something new and beautiful can sprout. That is my hope.

This is the silent burden of the pastor's wife: when things fall and shatter we're not included in the movement that precipitated the tipping. We're left to piece together a new picture without understanding the last. So, it might take us longer to define beauty and justice again.  Please understand.

Maybe people think in their self-comforting ways, "They seem to be doing fine so we can all move on." And some days I convince myself that's true of me. But why then do these receipts taunt me so quickly? This paper contrast of life in ministry and life in displacement?

The year presses on and still the old story comes back in so many faces and traditions and rhythms, echos bouncing off the canyon walls. With whom will I practice the silence before Easter?  Who will spread ashes on my forehead next month?  Maybe I can burn these receipts and do it myself in a mirror dimly lit. "Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return."

Almighty and everlasting God, you hate nothing you have made and forgive the sins of all who are penitent: Create and make in us new and contrite hearts, that we, worthily lamenting our sins and acknowledging our wickedness, may obtain of you, the God of all mercy, perfect remission and forgiveness; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

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What January Did to for Me

I was afraid for the month to come.  Knowing I wouldn't be working, when I wouldn't have the happy distraction of preparing to teach and discuss missional engagement, when I wouldn't have the papers to read and grade. For the first time in over three years, I wouldn't be prepping to teach women another book of the Bible.  These were all the things that had kept my heart pumping, my purpose at the helm.

After eleven years writing out the second semesters' lesson plans, I spent our winter break bracing for the quiet.  When I thought about how the boys would all return to school again, I felt the fear that comes when one must enter what Parker Palmer calls 'unbidden solitude.'

In January we took another step -- do things ever stop shifting? -- and gave full mental assent to our now reality.  The '66 Mustang, that representation of whimsy and joy, was replaced with construction tools and a truck to haul them.  It is a daily reminder that vocational ministry too has been towed away.  For now.  And daily he goes to do the work that exhausts his body but leaves room in his heart for a new thing to grow.

And so I filled up January with anything that would make use of the silence.  I made (and kept) routine doctor appointments, doubled up on classes at the gym, stacked all the books to read in a satisfying tower. I worked through photos, auditioned for a job, and ventured into a new community of activist women.  I invited friends to my birthday brunch, the zoo, cooking club, to coffee, the play place, to lunch out and to dinner here. 

I also did things for my son who, in all honesty, just kept breaking.  First it was his glasses, snapped in two while wrestling with his brother.  Then it was a fall one day that induced a mild concussion and a sprained knee.  But largely it was his heart and in a courageous act of maturity we all began the weekly practice of family counseling.  So many things have transpired and he's taken the brunt of it all.  We want to be better helpers.  Wounded healers, all.

What January did was calibrate what is now regular: his daily work, prayer group, core group, Cub Scouts, youth group -- the regular steps we take each week.  This is the shape of our family now.  Even if this is all there is, can I consider it enough?  January appraised the value of my relationships, tweeked my expectations, fine tuned our existence.

But more profoundly, what January did was carry me more deeply into disillusionment -- which sounds sad and gloomy but isn't.  While there were a few days where the melancholy hovered, January took my hand and led me to real truths about myself, my faults, my family, my past.

There began a stripping away of things I thought to be true:  the family system that doesn't encourage nearly enough, my listening skills that were found lacking, the partners that are really consultants, the sweet boys that have their own emerging faults, the missional endeavor that was really attractional. I learned to respond to disillusionment with joy, knowing that what was happening was what was right.

January was a needed stripping away in which I let illusions die.  I re-examined who could input into my life, relaxed when false motives came to light, reviewed systems and re-entered a sphere where I was just a woman with a nametag.  There was the direction change that needed to happen though I didn't want to admit it. There was the marriage coaching with friends who appear fine on the surface.  And even the bathroom scale reports the 'grief diet' is no longer effective.

"As our illusions are removed, like barriers on a road, we have a chance to take that road farther toward truth." -- Parker J. Palmer

I am grateful for January. For its reminders that this present moment is always grace.  Always gift.  That discovering truth doesn't equal catastrophe.  It just reveals the direction in which to travel.

Healthy

Celebrating good choices today.

• Rising early.
• Giving (sick) dh an extra hour to sleep.
• Oatmeal and steamed milk.
• Working hard at the gym.
• 3 less pounds.
• Homemade Tuscan vegetable soup.
• Water with lemon.
• A daily vitamin and a fish oil capsule.
• Braving the mammogram. (tmi but think pink)
• Reading in the sunshine.
• Bible study with friends.

All good things.
But tonight the boys shined brightly.

We and our oldest have struggled with food issues for literally a decade.  Simply put, he's our sensory one.  Several years ago we stopped the dinnertime fight and simply said, "If you eat, you eat.  If you don't you deal with hunger."  And for years he's chosen to deal with the hunger.  For years.

Now the other two boys have begun to mimic and as it stands none of them will try dinner anymore.  I am far beyond done.  Last weekend we said, "We will no longer buy crackers.  Snacks will now only be fruit or dairy.  You cannot subsist on eating carbs for breakfast, a meager lunch and a snack of more carbs."  And we implemented it.  I took boxes of crackers out of their hands.  I put them away.   I don't know who is going to eat them.  I will not buy more when they are gone.

We went to the store and bought fruit, veggies and dairy.

Two nights ago we made delicious homemade soup.  Each boy received his 1/2 cup in a mug to try.  There was bread to dip in it.  They all tried it.  For our oldest it was a huge step.  Bread dipped in soup was like stepping out to climb a mountain.

We shared that we'll be trying a 40 day experiment soon: giving up meat for Lent.  It's never been done in this house.  They don't eat meat hardly at all anyway.  They are intrigued.  Interested.   They see that their dad and I are making changes too.

They came to the table tonight to baked chicken, au gratin potatoes. A simple chopped salad. There was no bread.  "Everyone tries a bite of everything (yet again)."

Deep breath.

Everyone did.

They clamored for the salad bowl, picking out carrots and crunchy lettuce and cucumbers.  One tried ranch dressing and declared it good.  One wanted the last of the carrots "if no one else minded."  Brave oldest took a bite of chicken, very small.  And then he took another.  I could see his future-self rising up inside of him; that longing to be a part of the adult world.  It's there.  It just needs courage.  He requested a description of what the final dish would taste like; needed more reassurance, not drama or gushing.  We sat, trying nonchalance, but expecting him to succeed.  He did.

And the other two followed suit.

He wanted it for himself.  The best taste was the bonding; the evening of family closeness that he doesn't remember ever experiencing as the result of a meal.  Because the last time he was willing to try something new just because he wanted to he was two.

Everyone has an opinion on this.  But everyone doesn't know what we've tried, endured, experienced and mourned over.  This is just one page in our story.  And we choose to rejoice.

Do Not Be Afraid

We have always been a part of co-ops and homeschool groups for two reasons.
1.  P.E.
2.  Art

My oldest son hated getting his hands messy, always needed to know where we were going, refused to use color and rushed through everything.  Aside from the first couple of years when he was very young, I eventually determined that unless it seemed enjoyable to turn a lesson into a meltdown, I would simply not do art with him.  Instead, I farmed it out to other homeschooling moms to have the "pleasure" of exploring J's creative side during the classes they volunteered to teach.  Sorry, mom friends.

As a result, art has essentially sat dormant for a while. I tried to find ways to expose the boys to it in non-messy, linear ways.  We looked at masterpieces and learned about artists and I have always had them drawing (lots of stick figure art going on over here).  But that's essentially been my maximum effort.  Because the terror of the art lessons of the past has never left me, I don't even get out the paints unless I'm really throwing caution to the wind.   Sorry, Charlotte Mason, but we don't do nature notebooks.

When J was no longer schooling at home last year, B and I spent the year figuring out what worked for us.   And then we spent the beginning of this year finding out what worked for him.  He's an auditory/kinesthetic (large muscle) learner.  His intelligences lie in the areas of spatial, body and intrapersonal.  He's essentially an artist when he's not being an athlete.  But he's not the kid who loves drawing and painting, shading, perspective, etc.   He likes the sculpting, the building, the graphic designs, the turning-something-into-something-else kind of art.  He loves to make things and he cherishes each thing he creates.

In the past month he's been busy creating.  And surprise of surprises, I'm actually enjoying the process with him.  Of course, I've always enjoyed art and pursuing creativity.  And now, we've brought it back into our school day.  It turns out that I just needed to do it with the right child.

I will no longer be afraid of the art lesson.

Here are just some of the projects B and S have done in the past few weeks:

• Rice Krispie castles.
• A tile mosaic crown.
• A truss bridge out of Popsicle sticks and white glue.
• Scarab stamps out of baked modeling clay.
• Egyptian wall friezes out of Plaster of Paris

This doesn't include the lanyard helicopters, the countless fuse bead projects, the carving he wants to do of the Sphynx or the paper mache mummies that we'll try to hit this week.    It's exhausting.  It's messy.  And it's no longer fearful.

 
 

More Than I Thought

I've been thinking lately, "We need to get real with school."

No longer can I try to squeeze in just a little more summer. No longer can I use my bag of excuses. No longer can I blame my distractedness on warm, sunny days.

Though we began in mid-August, we've had plenty of stops and starts and tons of bonus field trips.  It's been a beginning that felt very much like I wasn't able to finish a sentence.

Case in point, I only have two documented weeks of lesson plans and four (or has it been six already?) that I haven't even filled in.  It feels to me like we haven't really accomplished much.

But we have.


Last week we finished our study of Royalty and as it turns out, we accomplished more than I thought.

• B (grade 4) colored a map of the word highlighting about 6 different empires in different places and eras.  
• We spent time reading information about each ruler, including Xerxes in the whole book of Esther.  
• He's identified the different titles for monarchy at various places and times around the globe.  
• We've read fables and stories of kings (like Midas and Gilgamesh and Arthur) to compare to the real guys.  
• We moved into a little study of knights and castles simply because that was where his interests lay and he filled a lapbook with castle diagrams, weapons and armor.  
• We read the abridged Knights of the Round Table and a Door in the Wall.
• He read The Magic Tree House Research Guide on Knights and finished the Time Warp Trio:  Knights of the Kitchen Table. 
• He wrote his own story about Kings.
• We worked up a timeline of major rulers and world events to put it all in perspective.  
• Art activities included making a Rice Krispie castle and a tile mosaic crown.
• He's moving through fourth grade math at tenmarks.com and is doing very well in our first year of Spelling Power.

S (grade K) is happy to do anything.  We've been plugging along with several things in addition to daily life skills:

• Teach Your Child to Read in 100 Easy Lessons.  It's perfect for him.  He's so full of excitement and his knowledge base is right where it should be to begin this study.  
• Making Math Meaningful.  We've been doing something out of it every week and so far he's completely ahead of where the curriculum is, but he enjoys the quick hands-on activities.  Math has also included dot-to-dot pages, mazes and puzzles. 
• Writing.  I have never pushed my boys to write.  But S wants to.  We practice just a couple letters a day on a wipe-off lap-board.  And he's doing beautifully.  It's amazing.  Maybe I'll actually have one child with good handwriting.    
• He made his own age-appropriate lapbook about knights and we're tossing in some occasional study of the seasons. 
• He spends time each week on starfall.org practicing more reading skills.  Loves it.
• He's done a zillion other activities:  things to move and manipulate, things to cut and color, pasting, painting, shapes to play with, measuring tapes, and play dough.  

It's pure fun teaching Kindergarten level to S.  All in all, his daily time logs in at around 45 minutes.  It's much more than his oldest brother ever did and it's also much more structured than his other brother did at this age. He's definitely eager and ambitious. I've also noticed that he's much more patient this year.  We've turned a corner there and overall our days are so much more manageable and enjoyable.  So, for you mothers with distracting and demanding preschoolers, there's hope that they'll eventually get it.

Groping a Bit

I heard something this summer;  a quote, a phrase, an idea.  It hinted that "expectations are just future resentments."  Today I feel the pulse of this.  

I expected that I'd have the fall semester figured out by now, that I'd have my hands firmly grasped around the objectives and projects that would at most take us toward Advent. What I have is a little cup of ideas and a swelling pile of resources. This is all that I'm working with in these first days of our 10th year. I can't determine if it's unsettling or freeing. But I feel like I'm resenting
...that I'm past time for planning and am well into the time for implementing, ready or not.
...that I used to have things so prepared.  My former self seems more organized than my present self.
...that we haven't been able to fall into a rhythm.  Every day is still different.  Shouldn't this be a blessing?

My lesson plans in this third full week are already askew.  We entertained company and opted to do two field trips.  I decided to do school yesterday -- on a planned holiday.  We've said, "yes," to the park day, the BMX track, the lunch meeting.  We're moving through the meat of our unit... and we're not sinking.

I find that I'm sitting and listening with each moment, breathing prayers for direction.
This activity might be good to put in right here.  Change direction.
This child has a need I can meet.  Change direction.
This resource is confusing, let's set it aside.  Change direction.
Letting the children lead more, finding the moments that connect, paying attention to bodies and energies and what matters to little boys.  Praying all the while.

I've never been free to ad lib so richly.  My first student needed checklists, structure, plans.  Now, though I'm practicing freedom I've yet to feel the shackles fall.  The way we've always done this isn't the way we do it anymore.  It's interesting that I sit in the midst of resentment when no wrong has actually been done.  
It surprises me when I come to this conclusion: this is not resentment, but dependence.  It's the groping that I used to do back in the days when God was silent and my structured school days were the only things that I knew without a doubt.  Then, I was groping for God, wishing for his voice, willing him to act, waiting on him and asking him, "Am I doing this right?"  Now it's turned on its head. God has spoken and continues to be present and real, but my structures are shattered and I am utterly dependent on him to create them.  My focus changed but the question remains the same, "Am I doing this right?"  This daily instruction, filling of a pail, lighting of a fire.  Is this the best way or just the best way for today?

The things we think we should do, make us resent what we actually produce.  I, this abstract sequential being, try so hard to fight against the abstract, against the very core of self.  Isn't it good for me to move from shape to shape and from this color to the next?  These boys are not the same, I should not be the same either.  At the end of the day, what I've created should look nothing like me and everything like them.

Bending but not breaking.  This is the tension where one ought to live.

Photos are from our field trip to Miramont Castle 8/25/11

On Feeling Wrong

There's been an interesting discussion on my homeschool group's forum this month.  This question came from a first-year homeschooling mom who is trying to tread the waters of unschooling i.e.: detoxing her kids from the way of the system so that they can then move into their way of learning.  She asked,

"When does it stop feeling wrong?" 

"Wrong" meaning that uncomfortable feeling that we all probably experience when we realize our child isn't experiencing what everyone else's child is experiencing?

It's an interesting question to me for semantic purposes.  What does my new friend mean by "wrong?"  Not right?  Not right in whose eyes?  Not right for her child?  Not right in the global set up of society?  What kind of society?

I can't say that I have ever felt "wrong" for what I do.  I've felt unsatisfied, unqualified, and frustrated.  I've been impatient with the process and wished for the end result to happen way before its time.  I've wanted to give up, questioned my methods and philosophy, been jealous of other families, painted unrealistic scenarios of alternate choices.  In retrospect, I've even set myself up for failure and sabotaged my own efforts.

But I've never felt wrong.

My entire "career" I've actually felt right.  Right for the moment, right for the child, right for the end goal, right for his weaknesses, right for my passions, right for this season in life.  But the next moment, next child, next goal, next weakness, passion or life season... well, that is anybody's guess.  I don't go into the next moment a lot.  I can't rightly anticipate what it will hold.

We could define wrong using other terms: incorrect, unsatisfactory, perverse, mistaken, misguided, erroneous and so on.  But I think the definition in my friend's head at this point in her homeschooling career is probably, "bad."   "It's bad to homeschool my child and give them experiences that are out of the norm."  

When we start ascribing moral judgments on this amoral thing that we do, we can easily fall into the darkness of doubting.  All revolutionaries must feel it at some point, but the point where they succeed is when they grow accustomed to wrong feeling a lot like right.

I watched another TED video today on this very topic.  You can see it here:  http://www.ted.com/talks/kathryn_schulz_on_being_wrong.html

Kathryn Schultz says this: "The miracle of your mind isn't that you can see the world as it is.  It’s that you can see the world as it isn't."

When we determine to homeschool our kids, we are seeing the world as it isn't.  We are projecting into the unwritten future what our kids will look like as a result of our intervention and involvement in their academic education.  We create a goal for them and move them toward it. They, of course, aren't always going to reach that goal, but that doesn't make us wrong.  It makes us, and them, human.  We envision things differently.  "That's why," Kathryn says, "we get things wrong."

But "the source and root of all our productivity and creativity" is our obsession with figuring everything out, our desire to get things right. That desire is evident when we see that the nation's classrooms are producing things that we don't think we can produce, so we enroll our kids.  But when the classrooms fail in productivity and creativity we figure out how to make those things happen and we bring our kids home.  It's the way we're made.  As co-creators, and I would say as co-creators designed by God, we continually seek the renewal of all things.  We won't stop doing it.

"When it comes to our stories [plot twists, red herrings, etc], we love being wrong.  Our stories are like this because our lives are like this.  We think one thing is going to happen and something else happens instead."   

I can't predict how my children will respond in retrospect or what effect my efforts will really have.  But neither can those who are publicly educated.  They may look at me in 10 years and say, "Mom you really screwed me up," or, "Mom, you were a visionary and a prophet," or they may be ambivalent and just go on with their life.  I think one of these is more likely than the other, but what I think is going to happen may not be what actually happens.  The outcome is completely not up to me.

But I don't feel wrong.  I feel charged with a vision and when I hit a bump that seems insurmountable, I turn.  Something else will happen.  And it will be right.

I Will Not Let February Get to Me

Home educators often get discouraged in the middle of winter.

• We are very aware of how much there is left to cover for the year and some of us even wonder if the first half of the school year meant anything.   
• The weather is less than ideal and so we are Vitamin D deficient, our events get postponed on icy days which creates disappointment, and the children can't easily go outside (tomorrow's high is going to be 12 degrees and we have 4inches to a foot of snow on the ground depending on where you stand).  
• Besides all of that, taxes need to be filed, summer vacation reservations need to be made and we might still need to get Christmas boxed up and put away.

I neared the end of January and felt like I was in a good place to meet February this year.  I was feeling confident.  Then we had some terribly cold weather and school was cancelled for two days. (For those of you who don't know, my oldest is in a charter school while I home educate my two younger boys.)  This meant that my oldest was home and it created some tension.  When he's off and his brothers aren't I give him study time to complete homework or to work ahead on his school work.  But he's continually coming to ask questions and it's disruptive to our flow.  I'm still figuring out a balance so he doesn't feel like a disruption.  Needless to say, my expectations weren't being met and I needed to lower them a bit.  But by Friday I was still feeling that February feeling.  Rats.  I thought I had it beat this year.

So, I'm determined to stare the month in the face.  To look at each day with the blessings it holds and be thankful for the moments that mean the most.  I am determined to not get sucked in by the discouragement and just know that in the thick of things is when most of the change is happening.  

Bring on the changes, February.  I'm ready to learn.

New Year Troubles

In this new year I've had a few troubles.

1. I have a finger that keeps cracking and bleeding.  Same thing, same finger, last winter -- our first in Denver.  Dry, dry air here.  It hurts and it takes months to heal.
2. I sliced off part of a fingernail last week.  It's all healed up but it was equally painful.  
3. We slid in the snow and hit the curb, and cracked the rim of our tire. After changing the tire during the snowfall, we had to buy a new rim and now have to re-do the alignment. Stinks.

But seriously, that's nothing compared to a fellow CO homeschool mom who spends her days learning at home with her girls, is incredibly smart, has a knack for speaking and is pushing hard after the kingdom.  Her troubles for the year consist of this:

1. Out of the blue, had a major stroke. 

I'm humbled and rattled and sitting at the feet of the father today for Joanne Heim.   Won't you join me?

When Grace Comes with a Siren

A day after that last post I was in a car accident.

No.

I caused a car accident.

I entered the left turn lane of a busy intersection, noted my green signal, followed the momentum of the car in front of me -- not too closely -- , asked my son about how he'd gotten along in his karate class.  And then I screamed right before the crushing sound, the engine smoke billowing through my steering column, my youngest's giggle that turned into a rabbit-like predator call, the pain radiating in my shins. I was actually stunned to discover I shouldn't have turned.  The other driver had the right of way and I crossed into it.

The thing is that I knew this.  I use this intersection all the time.  I've been driving for over 20 years and I've never turned left when it was dangerous to do so.  I've never been at fault in an accident.  My driving record is clean.  How in the world did I momentarily forget this basic traffic rule?

By way of report, all people involved are fine.  The vehicles were totaled, but no one was hurt and we all walked away merely rattled.

However, I am haunted hourly by what could have happened, by what my two youngest boys will internalize, by the inconvenience and fright I caused another family.

After sitting with this for nearly a week, I've discovered that I'm mostly bothered by my own incompetence.  To my personality profile, incompetence is anathema.  I get stressed out by being around it.  I don't like mistakes, equipment failure, people who don't solve their own problems, or anything that gets in the way of my independence.  This is the unpretty picture of me.  Do I hide it well?  Sometimes.  Why do I hide it? Because it doesn't seem congruent with a life that's convinced of grace.

Sadly, and this is the lesson that I think I'm grasping, I often fall in the trap of even labeling my own children as incompetent.  This has been on my mind for a while now and when I can catch myself viewing them in this way (i.e. getting frustrated) I do a better job of backing up and trying again with a bit more understanding.  But I've been missing the mark and I've been wondering, just what does that kind of motherly grace actually look like? 

Perhaps I was the cause of a car accident because I'd meet a woman who would teach me something I needed to learn.  The mother of the teenage driver I hit leaped out of her Landcruiser and came to my vehicle straightaway.  She asked if I was okay.  She didn't look at me like I was crazy.  She didn't accuse me of anything.  I actually asked her how the accident happened and as she gently explained my incompetence glared me in the face.  I owned it.  I apologized.  She helped call 911 because I didn't look so good.  Later, she hugged me.  She let me cry. She said, "It's okay.  It's only property.  No one is hurt. God was watching out for us today."

Indeed.  And I hope that I got his message:  Grace looks like a hug from a woman who simply wants to believe you are better than that.  Grace offers forgiveness. Grace knows that you can try again and succeed. Grace knows who is in control even when the circumstances seem crazy. 

I hope that I can take this and pass it on to my kids as I daily try to encourage and uplift them toward the people they are becoming.  They make mistakes, they choose unwisely, they don't control themselves... but I can show grace and know that, in the end, they'll be better because I believe it to be so.

Angry Moms & A Book Suggestion

Growing up in the church, I saw a lot of imitation Christians. I learned very early on that when you show up on Sunday morning you're to dress in your best and bring your best game face. I also saw a lot of high expectations and heard a lot of right answers. (To be fair, I also saw a host of wonderful people willing to change their lives in order to help change mine).

What I didn't see were parents who were angry with their children... that is, except, of course, my own who did everything in their power to wrangle us out of the house each week in a state of mind suitable for worship. I thought we were the only family with hard Sunday mornings or who expressed anger at all.

We were not.

I swear I apologized to my mom every chance I could for the first two years after having my own child. I know that I was just as self-centered as my own children are now. Is it a family pattern or human nature? Tough to say. But here is what I want to tell all new parents, "This will bring out the worst in you, so be prepared to be humbled."

When parenting does bring out the worst in you, there is help. Oh, don't you dare think you're the only one who has yelled, belittled, spanked too hard or scared her children chitless. I didn't ever want to be that kind of a mom, but I have been. And I was always afraid to admit it to anyone. I still am. But I think I just did.


Enter She's Gonna Blow by Julie Ann Barnhill. I've read this book twice in the past five years and both times I was so glad that I did. Julie addresses a super sensitive topic with an authentic, gentle truthfulness that kind of makes me want to bend over and say, "Thank you, Ma'am. May I have another?" I'm thankful for people like Julie that can say what needs to be said in a way that inspires change rather than defensiveness. She outlines how we show frustration and anger, helps us draw lines that we'll be far more hesitant to cross, and drenches us in Scriptural truth without the platitudes and proof-texting that other Christian authors fall back on. Yes, she is going to say all the things that you think she's going to say, but it's because you need to hear it... again.

Life never hands you what you think it will. You marry your true love because you accept everything about him. But you can't special order your children and yet you have to accept them too. Be real about it -- it's hard work. If you need help, please tell someone. The most pointed lines from the book are these:

"What will happen to my children if I tell someone how I treat them?"

"What will happen to them if you don't?"

Homeschooling When it Sucks

I've been doing this for eight years. In case no one ever told you, I'm going to tell you now:

There will be days...

• when the children wiggle non-stop and you can't get their attention without use of force.
• when the desire to organize your tax receipts, clean your tile grout, or finally get to that dentist appointment will seem far more enjoyable than schooling your kids.
• when your children will literally scream at you, "You NEVER help me!!"
• when your children will not stop screaming at one another.
• when you completely agree that public school is really God's answer to ignorance.
• when the baby/toddler just won't nap.
• when other people's agendas will take over your day.
• when you literally CANNOT finish a sentence without correcting someone.
• when four math problems will take two hours.
• when you convince yourself that they can still think clearly with a fever of 101.
• when they just don't get it... for the fifth time.
• when they scowl at you.
  
• when they all ask for your help at once....continually.
• when they refuse to talk to you at all.
• when they tap the dang pencil.
  
• when you discover what they've really been doing while they're supposed to be completing their computer-based curriculum.
• when your husband surpasses your skills in housekeeping, because SOMEONE has to get it done.
• when company asks if they can come in the middle of the school year.
  
• when you get an earful of someone's narrow opinion about your choice to homeschool.
• when you put them in the car for a field trip and they whine because they don't want to go.
• when your expectations are way toooo high.
  
• when your children cry.
• when you cry.
• when you say outloud, "I'm done."

It's not every day, but they do show up. When those days come, know that tomorrow is a new day and God can redeem anything.

Admiring My Dyslexic Son

Describing my middle son has always been easy for me. He has a good amount of healthy determination. He is a problem solver and loves a physical challenge. When he’s with peers he watches them for a bit and then picks a good one to become friends with. He’s an inventor and a builder. He’s sensitive and compassionate.

And we’ve just figured out that he’s dyslexic.

While I don’t think his dyslexia is severe, it consistently gets in his way: he talked late, he uses nebulous words like “things” and “stuff” when he tries to describe things, spelling is tough, and reading has been a very slow going process.

After reading up on this learning disability I have found out many things about its inner workings. But what’s really been made clear to me is not the severity of my son’s weaknesses but the abundance of his strengths. I’m learning that he relies heavily on context in order to understand meaning. I’m also learning that this applies to more than just words.

He understands his entire world by noting its context. He solves problems by considering the situation he’s in and calling upon his prior knowledge. He chooses friends by first noting their character. He knows how to serve others by picking up on their emotional cues. He can even find all the lost things in our house just by paying close attention to his environment. These traits demonstrate his genius ability to create sense and purpose out of the world in ways that don’t require reading. However, when it does come time to read, he perseveres through it just like any other problem he encounters, by fitting together everything he knows until it all makes sense.

I am amazed at the remarkable strengths this “disability” brings out in him – intuitiveness, creativity, and empathy among them. This new knowledge about my son doesn’t disappoint me in the slightest because I’m confident he has all the skills he’ll need to create a purposeful, productive and fulfilling life in the years ahead. We’ll just cheer him on no matter how long it takes him to get there.

A Day of Classes

...can take over your life.

Tho it's not my first reason for homeschooling, I do this thing because I want to be in control of my kids' education. I want to customize it. I want to build up their weaknesses by using their strengths. I want to be able to say, "That's enough" when I can tell they're are mentally checked out. I want to cross out rows of math problems when they "get it" and just do enough to keep them fit.

Under the guise of "enrichment" I enrolled my kids in a one day a week program for homeschoolers. And the homework from just that one day a week took over our life this week. I don't know if my kids felt pressure, but I sure did. All those overachiever, people-pleasing feelings came rushing back to me this week as I tried to not only implement the lessons I had planned for our family but to also incorporate the lessons these other teachers imparted to us.

It drove me nuts.

You can be sure I'm doing some deep thinking about this.

"You Are Accepted Here Just as You Are"

We say this phrase at our church every week, but I've never felt the benefits of this phrase more than I felt today. However, it didn't come from my church community. It came from my all-walks-of-life-and-we-like-it-that-way homeschool group.

We went to Park Day with our group this afternoon. It was a huge turn out today with maybe 15 families. My Bigs like to go and play Nerf gun wars* with the other boys. In fact they were completely motivated to get all school work done by 11:30 so they could go.

*I've given up on trying to keep them away from play guns. While I don't buy them for the boys or let them have them at home, I realize that boys will turn everything into a gun and I'm just going to have to be okay with that.

J has some difficulty with separating reality from fiction. He can also be impulsive, explosive and commandeering. So, when he pushed another boy down I knew it was play in his mind but I also knew that the other boy did not consider it to be playful.

Then he ran and jumped on J and wrestled him to the ground and before my eyes they were going at it like two jocks in a schoolyard. Dang. That was my kid.

I broke it up and the other mom came running and we had the conversations that needed to be had with our sons. Apologies were made. No one was hurt and I don't think the boys have hard feelings for one another. But the embarrassment kind of sticks with everyone, you know?

So, I walked back to the circle-of-moms who inquired about the scene. I gave them the short version -- feeling foolish, feeling inadequate, feeling completely embarrassed and stupid. And although they didn't say the phrase word for word they did say:

• "That's okay."
• "That's what park day is for... to learn these lessons."
• "Are they okay?"
• "Are YOU okay?"
• "I have problems with anger outbursts too."

I have been a part of co-ops and Christian groups that have "discipline covenants." My son has been asked to leave two of these Christian groups because he broke the discipline covenant. I'm pretty sure that in any other place a fist-fight would have been grounds for removal.

But for us it was the grounds by which we received more acceptance and grace. Moms journeying together: It's a good thing.

Thank you, Park Group. You totally blessed me today.

Re-Entry

This time last week I was enjoying the British Museum in London... or maybe we had moved on to the Tate Modern by now. I had no thoughts of what I would be doing in a week. I didn't daydream about curriculum. I didn't have to think about how to incorporate nap time into the structure of the day. I ate when I was hungry. I didn't pick up toys off the floor. I appreciated things that were interesting to me and not just entertaining to my kids.

Ahhhh.



























By the end of our 8 days in Great Britain I was ready to see my kids again. But I knew that because I'd had a completely separate, relaxing, cultural experience that I might feel uneasy in my mom shoes again. Uneasy isn't quite the word.

Once arriving home I was amazed at how many times a day they say my name. Amazed at how they choose to live at odds with one another. Amazed at how they ignore the beauty of life with a huff because some detail doesn't seem fair to them. The daily squawks and words of displeasure and crying fits were a bit of a shock to my system.

It took me a couple days to get back into the swing of this: Every beck and call for something to drink, jumping up to find out what the big thump was, bringing the ketchup and the syrup and the spoon and the napkin to the table in four separate trips, answering, "What?" to the 122nd call of "Mom!"

It's no wonder to me (now) that London, in fact, seemed so silent. I think this is because none of its sound was pointed at me. No one was wanting or needing my attention. In fact the only two sounds I really remember were the sound of bagpipes playing as we walked out of the train station in Edinburgh, and the incessant "mind the gap" in the Tube stations (picking up on repetition is natural for a mom's ears). Funny that I don't specifically remember hearing anything else. It was a feast for my eyes, my skin, my mouth. But my ears found the inner solitude they are always seeking.



































I'm not sure what that says about me. Maybe it's just my introverted, melancholy essence coming out. But what I think I need to learn from it is to listen well to my children when they are happy and satisfied and playing well and asking good questions -- because they do all these things too. I just let the unlovely sounds drown them out in my heart. And therein I, too, miss the beauty of life.

We're in This Together

My post is up at Heart of the Matter today: How NOT To Talk to a Teacher. It seemed important after I began to evaluate all the conversations I've had with folks who are classroom teachers. Of my friends who are/were classroom teachers:

• One has completely lambasted homeschooling.

• A couple have accepted that I teach them at home, but have reservations.

• Some recognize what I do as a legitimate option but believe strongly in the institution too.

• A few looked at me in awe when they found out I homeschooled and said, "Wow. I could never do that."

• Most have strongly encouraged me in my endeavor and regularly ask me, "So how it is going?"

• One is no longer a classroom teacher because she pulled her kids out so she could teach them at home.

I'm okay with all of these responses. The relationships are more valuable to me than the differences in educational philosophy. Sometimes, however, homeschoolers can be a bit insulting toward classroom teachers -- though I've seen it go both ways. (Most of the ugliness I have seen happens in the blogging world.) It will not serve us well to build walls up. Assuming the worst in one another will not get us anywhere. This is just a gentle reminder.

Read more here.

Intentional Slam

I was at a homeschool conference this weekend. One presenter passionately noted that home schooled students' average standardized test scores are in the 85th percentile, that the scores for homeschooled students whose parents were certified teachers had zero difference from those whose parents were not and on and on and on about how homeschooled children are actually taught how to think. Then he said, "Yet 95% of the professional educators say that homeschooling is the very worst form of education. What's wrong with these people?!?!?" [Outstretched arms, condescending tone of voice... the whole ball of wax]

One dad's sarcastic response was
"They were public schooled."

I wanted to hang my head in shame. Not just for the "us vs. them" mentality. Not just for the arrogance that was displayed. But because somehow these people have forgotten that
they
were
public
schooled
TOO.

And they learned how to think. In fact they think that they think very well, thank you very much.

In another presentation the audience snickered at the movie trailer for An Inconvenient Truth, bemoaned the passing of the days when Saturday morning t.v. actually showed "good cartoons" (huh?) and actually guffawed at the phrase, "Can't we all just get along?"

Sigh. It seems like a legitimate question to me.

Just for the record, I think the Bible is true: "Knowledge puffs up."

We Deal With This

Here's a short article on homeschooling a child with ADHD. It's a good reminder.

How To Effectively Home School an ADHD Child

Finishing Here

A year ago we were preparing to move. Trying to keep momentum in our schooling was difficult to say the least. First, we looked for months for a house over the river in our favorite city of Portland. Secondly, some vocational things came up that pulled on us emotionally. Thirdly, once we finally found a house to rent there was the disarray of packing and the distraction of getting it all done. And finally, I was deeply considering giving up homeschooling.

Somehow we muddled through all of that and ended up staying the course in our homeschooling. I have to say that I held it all very loosely and just waited for God to say, "Let go." But when our circumstances shook down, I didn't -- it seemed in the boys' best interest to continue for various reasons.

Now we're moving again. This one is bigger... it's not just over the river and there is a real sense of permanence in this move. This time we're leaving our favorite place and all of the support I've built around me. I've been doing this long enough to feel comfortable in my role as a mother-teacher. But am I too comfortable? A part of me thinks that so far I've done my sons a favor by keeping them home because moving around as much as we have would have wreaked havoc on traditional schooling. But how far will the favor take them?

We believe in living missionally... incarnationally. Will they learn to do this in a semi-sheltered setting? Will I be able to speak this greater message to them if they are dulled by my familiarity? Is looking down the road at "how they turn out" the correct perspective or should their transformational experiences of today be my focus? Will I ever be successful to teach that life isn't all about us if I continue to keep us all about US? The most inspiring family I know of runs a ministry here in Portland called Blanket Coverage. From the get-go, they had their kids out on the streets with them meeting the needs of the homeless. Because they didn't live in fear of the suffering that could come of that they now live with the knowledge that they taught the greater lessons of feeling compassion, taking courage, and treating all people with dignity and respect. I want to do that. My boys need me to do that or I've truly failed as their parent.

So, it seems, on several levels we are busy about finishing our life here. Here = Portland, evergreen (!), our co-ops, work, places we frequent, present relationships (which will continue tho the presence will be missed). But here also means what we do inside our family to build up young men who love others. I have no idea if I'm finished homeschooling though I hand-picked the school district we will be living in just in case. Again, I find myself holding this endeavor very loosely -- which we must learn to do with all things.

There will be tears (there already have been... are now). I can't tell you all the fabulous things I have gratefully and painfully learned at this precious stop in our journey. But I'm looking ahead to what things my boys need to learn and maybe the next chapter needs to me more about letting them experience lessons that, when left to me, I'd never have the courage to teach them.