Making Peace with a Schedule

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A few weeks ago, I got an email from someone looking to flesh out the concept of unschooling a little more. One of her (paraphrased) questions was "Do you ever feel like you're just spinning your wheels, and/or putting out fires all day?"

My answer: Yes. And when I notice it's happening frequently, I know it's time for something to change. More specifically, I know it's time for me to make a change. It's not a good thing for me OR the kids if I'm scattered all day, flitting here and there and not really present for any of it. Unschooling shouldn't be about reacting, but about being there, right there in the moment.

Since getting all renewed and re-inspired at the conference, I have sadly realized that I really have been doing all too much wheel-spinning lately. Further, I've realized that I have done the same exact thing when each of my boys was Tegan's age (3) as well. When my kids are around 3 - not quite babies anymore - I sort of have a little life crisis. They are more independent, and playing on their own more often, and needing me in very different ways than before. I start to feel that itch of wanting to take on a new hobby, or start a new business, or devote some time to a certain passion. The difference this time though is that when the boys were her age, I was either about to have another baby, or I'd just had one. So the feelings would go away, and I'd happily immerse myself once again in diapers and onesies and dimpled elbows and chubby feet and sweet smelling baby heads. This time there is no pregnancy and there is no new baby. Which is in turns heartbreakingly sad, and strangely exciting.

Lately my heightened crisis has caused me to become suddenly interested in 20,000 different things. And of course I still want to be present for my kids, and fully invested in unschooling and hands-on parenting. I want to figure out this whole "homemaker" thing, and make (and keep) a nice home for my family. I also want to have some time for myself, and some time for blogging, and some time for pursuing my own interests. As a result, I'm sorry to say, I feel I've been only a little bit good at all of the above. I've also been anxious about the new season, which is suddenly thrusting us from having zero standing weekly plans to having basketball, gymnastics, scouts, church, and bible study meetings.

And so, I've decided to get organized and make a plan. Instead of a zillion personal pursuits, at the moment I'm going to focus on one. And you're reading it. This blog is my fifth baby, my heart, and my soul. I don't know what is going to happen in the future, but for right now, this is what I need to be doing. I need to be doing it so badly that I actually made myself a schedule.

I'm not a big schedule person (in fact I sort of hate them with a passion), but I also know that they work really, really well for me. They help me focus on what I'm supposed to be focusing on, and they help my scattered brain get a little less scattered.

Here then, is my - always flexible, always subject to change - schedule:

Morning: Coffee, emails, empty the dishwasher

Rest of the day into the afternoon: Leave the computer alone (instead of checking emails/Facebook in 2 or 3 minute little bursts all the live long day). Be present and focused and available for the kids.... for playing, for projects, for questions, for reading, for talking, for hanging out.

2:00-4:00ish (still working on this): Take time for myself to blog, answer emails and comments, and work on other writing-related stuff, without feeling guilty about it.

4:30 Pick up our messes for the day to get ready for the evening

5:00 till whenever we go to bed: Dinner, dishes, activities, television, playing, and hanging out (and maybe I'll check emails and Facebook somewhere in there too :)).

The idea is that when I'm with the kids, I'm WITH them. When I'm doing something for me, I'm doing something for me. And so on. It's still very much an experiment, because honestly, it's something I've never really tried before. I had grand plans to start it yesterday, but instead had an unexpected (and welcome) outing with friends we haven't seen for 3 months.

So we started it today. I did pretty well with ignoring my computer until 2:00, although I'm thinking I'm not so great with the cold turkey thing. The kids were all 100% on board with giving me my time at 2:00... but I spent 10 minutes of it in the tub with the girl, and another 5 explaining to the 14 year old about researching "completed" listings on Ebay to help price something he wanted to sell... both of which were momentarily more important than my own needs. At the time of this writing, it is 3:00, and all four kids have settled into a happy, comfortable groove. I'll commit myself to giving it an honest try, and a fair amount of time, and we'll see what it brings. I'm kind of excited at the prospect though, even if it means some adjustment, for all involved.

If you're a stay-at-home parent, do you have some sort of schedule for your day? How does it work for you?



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Questions

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"The unanswered questions aren't nearly as dangerous as the unquestioned answers."

I am a questioner.  I always have been.  I was the student that drove the teacher crazy, asking question after question (sometimes pertaining to the subject at hand, sometimes not)  Pre-kids, I worked in retail.  I worked my way up from part-time cashier to full-time manager in about 18 months, thanks in large part to my questioning nature.  I'm never satisfied with anything at face value ... I always need to know more.  I want to know what, I want to know when, I want to know WHY.   And when I do I get an answer?  I question that too.

Questions are how we make sense of the world around us.  Questions are how we learn... not just about our external lives, but about ourselves.  How do we really know how we feel about something unless we question it?

It should come as little surprise then that my children love to question as well.  I welcome and encourage any and all questions, including - or especially - those that people consider to be of a sensitive nature.  It makes no practical difference to me.  "Mommy, why is the sky blue?" and "Mommy, what does 'gay' mean?" will both receive the same amount of respect and attention.  An honest question deserves an honest answer, regardless of where it came from.

I'm thinking of questions today because of this.  Chaz Bono is going to be a contestant on Dancing with the Stars this season, and it has apparently caused a whole bunch of ruffled feathers.  Parents are publicly complaining, lambasting ABC, and boycotting the show.  People are worried that their children are going to ask questions, and this makes them uncomfortable.  I have a question for those parents, but first an observation or two:  1.  The great thing about television is that you always have the right to choose.  If you don't like the fact that's he on the show, you can simply not watch. And 2. The show is called Dancing with the Stars, not The Intimate Details of Chaz Bono's Private Life.  It's a dancing competition, not a documentary.  I'm not really sure why his gender is even at issue.

My question though is this.... If you watch, and if the issue of transgenderism is raised, and if your child asks questions (an awful lot of "ifs"), why are those questions a bad thing?  What exactly is the fear there?  It seems to me that we should be glad as parents that our children feel close enough and comfortable enough to come to us with their questions, of all sort.  They are going to ask someone their questions, and I would far rather it be me than Google,or a random child on the playground.  Even if you don't agree with Chaz Bono's lifestyle choices, your distaste doesn't make him cease to exist.  Your discomfort doesn't negate your child's prerogative to ask questions about something that he/she doesn't understand.   They have a right to be curious, and they have a right to an answer.  There is always something you can say, even if it's "You know what, that question really caught me off guard.  Let me think about how to explain it for a minute."  So often though, the answer they're looking for is really much more simple than we make it.  And if they need more information, they will ask!

Kids will ask questions.

Kids will sometimes ask hard questions (and honestly, explaining what "transgendered" means is far from the hardest question I've ever had to answer).  I think it's our job as parents to answer them openly, honestly, and simply... whether the questions are about blue skies and rainbows or gender and sexuality.



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A Year Without Mirrors

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Have you seen this blog?

Mirror, Mirror... OFF The Wall

I came across this the other day, and I found it absolutely fascinating. Like really fascinating. I can't stop reading. You'll definitely want to spend some time there when you're done here (you're welcome), but in a nutshell:

It's written by a woman who formerly worked in the fashion industry, and is currently studying the relationship between "beauty" and equality. The blog is about her year-long experiment - begun 6 months before her wedding - in which she completely gives up mirrors.

I love it. Love the concept, love her writing, love how it makes me think.

Body image and self image and how we perceive beauty in general are such a huge part of our culture. I like to pretend that they aren't, but turning on a television or picking up a magazine or walking just about anywhere in public tells me otherwise.

My kids tell me otherwise too, in ways that break my heart. My 14 year old starting to worry about shaving and acne and what girls will think of his appearance. My 11 year old, who has finally stopped cutting off all his curls because he thought that straight hair was cooler. My three year old little girl, who's already been told by a proud 5 year old cousin: "You're not as skinny as me."

It all makes me sad, and certainly isn't a subject that can be covered (or covered well anyway) in one single blog post. I think I just might write about it some more in the future. In the meantime, check out her blog, and be inspired.



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Kind People in Red Shirts

We recently started going back to church, after many many logical, sensible, well-thought-out reasons excuses kept us away for many months. I really love this church. And I've realized that it's not because of the great music or the pretty campus or even the inspiring messages. It's not because I leave feeling all warm and fuzzy every Sunday. All that is nice and everything, but it's really of little importance how it makes me feel. The reason I love it is that it's full of people who, by and large, are committed to going out and BEING the church... people who are kind and giving and have servant hearts. Not just on Sundays, not just because they feel like they have to, but because they want to.

This past Saturday, we joined a group of other members from our neighborhood for a service project. Our assignment was to clean out a large planter at the local elementary school, to get it ready for a future sustainable work of art. The kids were very excited to be able to do their part to help, and all six of us were warmly welcomed by the group (none of whom we'd met before) when we got started.

Ironically, shortly into our morning of service, we were the ones getting served. We'd only been there for around half and hour when Spencer misjudged a step, lost his footing and fell from the side of the planter, scraping his legs in the process. At first he answered with a quick affirmative to all the concerned "Are you okay?"s, but eventually accepted an offer to at least sit and get some cool water on his scrapes. As the adrenaline - and the 100+ degree heat - started catching up with him, he grew paler and paler.

"Are you sure you're okay?" I asked, which garnered the attention of another kind samaritan from the group. He took one look at Spencer's face, which was still losing color, and said we needed to get him inside under some air conditioning. He helped us inside the school, holding cold bottled water against his neck. (He explained as we went that holding it on the carotid artery would cool the body. Later on, Spencer told me that he enjoyed that bit of information, as he is very familiar with the term from watching all his medical shows)

He stood and chatted with us inside the school's office, while Spencer sipped cold water and tried to cool off. He was starting to look a little green, and finally admitted he was feeling nauseous and light-headed. Our rescuer disappeared then, and returned about 30 seconds later with a big dripping wet something that he draped around Spencer's head and neck (which helped almost instantly.) The man had literally taken the shirt off his back and soaked it in cold water to come to the aid of an overheated kid he'd just met. And all I could do was say thank you.

Thank you kind man for making sure my son did not pass out. Thank you half a dozen people who asked, more than once, if he was feeling better.

Thank you for the friendly conversation, and for treating our kids like the interesting, unique people that they are.

Thank you stranger who let my 3 and 7 year old help paint the Arizona map, and made them feel special and important, and didn't once complain about drips or unevenness.

Thank you red shirted people, for welcoming us into your fold, helping us serve the community, and helping each other serve US. Thank you for your unexpected ability, in the short span of two hours, to completely restore my faith in humanity.



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Sewing, My Daughter, and Breakthroughs

I sewed diapers for Tegan's Baby Alive doll yesterday. Prior to yesterday, the last time I sewed anything on a sewing machine was around ten years ago. I didn't own a sewing machine then, so I had to borrow one when I wanted to make some curtains. A couple of years later, my mom gave me a brand-new sewing machine because she'd somehow wound up with an extra.... and it has sat, untouched, in my garage until yesterday. Partly because that's just the way I do things, and partly because I had a bad association with sewing.

When I made the curtains on that borrowed machine, there was an... incident. There was an incident, I got my feelings hurt, and I haven't sewed since then.

Is that not the stupidest reason not to do something? But there it was.

I've wanted to conquer my sewing machine for awhile now, and when my daughter needed baby diapers, I knew it was time. So I sewed. And it was fun.

I sewed four diapers in all, and will be making some more today. They're not pretty... they're uneven and messy and quite clearly shout "A novice made me." But my daughter is thrilled, and that makes me happy. It felt good too, to do something I hadn't done in a long time; to do something that I'd been avoiding.

When I'd finished for the night last night, still on a post-project high, I told Mike how glad I was that I'd finally gotten out the sewing machine. And that part of the reason I hadn't done it sooner was because of old feelings from the last time.

"I know."

And then I said, as if it wasn't the millionth time I'd realized it, "I do that a LOT."

Again he said, "I know."

I have spent way too much time letting pride, old wounds, and fear stop me from doing things I want to do. As my friend Jessica says, That's stupid, so I'm not going to do it anymore. That's not an example I want to set for my kids.

Am I going to become a master seamstress? I doubt it, only because there are lots of other things I want to do too. But I'm not afraid of my sewing machine anymore. And the next time Tegan - or any of my children - ask me to sew something, the answer will be a confident, joyful and resounding,

YES. Yes I can.



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The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Does anyone remember reading this book as a kid? I remember the book well, and I remember a 6th grade creative writing assignment (I remember a LOT of creative writing assignments in eery detail) where we had to write our own version. Mine involved throwing an alarm clock in frustration and accidentally hitting my dad, pouring milk on my cereal only to find out it was spoiled, and falling out an open window at school.

I always think of that book on days like yesterday... days marred by not one big lousy thing, but a succession of many many little lousy things. The kind of day that when, at 4:00 in the afternoon, you finally get your first chance to sit down for a tenth of a second (on the bathroom floor no less, because taking a bath is the absolute only thing that the three year old wants to do), your seven year old promptly kicks over your entire cup of coffee in his haste to join his sister in the tub. The kind of day when you spend a good two minutes with a wet pair of shorts, just staring at the tan puddle spreading across the tile from said cup of coffee, because you're literally too tired to do anything about it. The kind of day when you actually dread leaving your post on the cold bathroom floor - as uncomfortable as it is - because you don't want to face the mess that awaits in the rest of the house.

The kind of day when you finally and gratefully go to bed after a warm meal, in your comfortable house in your safe neighborhood... after you kiss your four healthy kids goodnight and turn out the lights... and there's nothing you can do but thank God that even on the bad days, your life's pretty damn good.




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The Passage of Time

Last night, we took the kids to a local amusement/sports park, because they've been wanting to ride the go-carts. All-you-can-ride wristbands are super reduced on Tuesdays, so we got one for each of them, and set them loose.

Tegan was tall enough for the mini go-carts this time, but couldn't quite get the hang of the gas pedal and steering at the same time, so she only took one lap. She did however love the bumper bumps and the miniature golf and the water balloon launching.

The big boys didn't want to play miniature golf, so they rode the go-carts again and again while we played with the two youngest. One loop of the track was close to the golf course, so every now and then I would look up and see them.... smiling, happy, red-faced blurs zipping around the corner. I realized as I watched them that the last time we went to this particular park (two years ago) Paxton wasn't even close to the height requirement to drive alone, and Spencer was still nervous to be anything but a passenger. But here they were, two brothers who are growing up, happy and confident to be off on their own and racing around the go-cart track.

And unbeknownst to me, Everett had graduated to playing mini golf the "right" way (instead of the "put the ball right near the hole and carefully push it in" method still employed by Tegan. :)) Then there was Tegan... who, when I had this realization, was off at the restroom with Mike, because she'd (successfully) worn underwear on at outing for the very first time.

We capped off the evening with Icees, then went to the store so Tegan could pick out the new baby we'd promised her in celebration of using the potty full-time.

Looking so much older than her 3.5 years...

She was so excited to get home and start playing with it.  Spencer was excited when we got home too, because FedEx had left the package of DVDs, books, and tools that he's been anxiously waiting for:

A little light reading

It all makes me feel sad, and happy, and wistful all at the same time. My kids are growing up.




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Conversations with a 7 year old

 Everett

I just had the following conversation:

Everett: Mommy. Do you think I should go get the towel?

Me: What towel?

Everett: The towel I dried my butt on.

Me: You dried your butt on a towel?

Everett: Well I was taking a shower.

Me: Okay...

Everett: And I had to go to the bathroom. I didn't want to get the toilet seat all wet, so I got out and dried my butt on the towel.

Me: The hand towel?

Everett: No, a regular towel. Should I go get it? You know, since my butt was on it?

Me: Well, where did you leave it?

Everett: I put it back in the hall closet. (Pause) I should probably go get it and put it in the laundry.

Me: That'd be a good idea.

Everett ::::runs off to get the towel:::::

The end.



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Blame the Video Games

Photo by phr3qu3ncy

Chris Staniforth was 20 years old, loved playing Xbox, and had been accepted into a Game Design program at Leicester University. His recent death, determined to be from a pulmonary embolism, came after what was described as a "marathon session" of gaming.

To be clear, the unexpected loss of a 20 year old is a tragedy no matter what, and my heart goes out to his parents and loved ones. But I see headlines like this, and I can't help but think there's an injustice being served.  Doing a quick Google search of his name brings it up again and again.  "Xbox addict."  "Game addict." "Halo addict." Addict, addict, addict.  Article after article warns against the dangers of excessive game playing. 

Deep vein thrombosis, which caused the pulmonary embolism that killed Chris Staniforth, can occur during long periods of immobility, such as bed rest, long flights, or simply sitting in the same position for a long time.

When I was a kid on summer vacation, I used to spend entire days (days upon days) sprawled on a hammock or lawn chair, reading a book.  If I didn't have four kids and adult responsibilities, I still would.  Does that make me a reading addict?  Does that make reading dangerous?

My husband has had a desk job ever since he entered the work force nearly twenty years ago.  Sometimes when he's involved in a project, he doesn't move from his chair for several hours at a time.  Does that make him a workaholic?  Does that make working dangerous?

Yes, I could have gotten up occasionally and taken a break from reading.  Yes, my husband could walk down the hall occasionally and get a cup of coffee.  Yes, Chris Staniforth could have interspersed his video game playing with shooting basketball or walking around the block.  But what happened to him was a rare and tragic accidental death, one that could happen to anyone, doing any number of things.  It's not the fault of the video game.  It's also not the fault of his parents (something I saw over and over in the comments of these articles)  They should have stopped him from playing so long!  They should have made him do other things!  Besides the fact that this was a 20 year old who should have been able to make his own decisions, we know nothing about his parents other than the fact that they are grieving the loss of their son.

He was following a passion. This poor kid was not doing drugs, not doing anything illegal or immoral or wrong, yet his death is being used as a dire anti-video game cautionary tale.  He was an addict, these articles warn.  Don't let this happen to you! 

I have a child who is passionate about video games.  At ten, he already knows that he wants to study video game design, just as I already knew at ten that it was the written word that I loved.  I want to support him in that endeavor, just as I would in any other.   I know people who work in this field for a living... people who love what they are doing.  People I respect. 

But video games can kill you!  Absolutely they can. So can riding in an airplane, stepping off a curb, or slipping in the shower.  The video games are not at fault here.  Neither is the airplane, the curb, or the shower.    These are accidents.

I wouldn't want Chris Staniforth's death to be in vain.  I want to continue to have awareness, and knowledge, and common sense.  Of course.  But I never want to live in fear, and I never want my kids to do so either.



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To The Crazy Ones....

Thanks to everyone who took the time to comment on my tantrum post, I have many follow-ups in the works... just trying to decide which to start with. In the meantime, here's a little video to watch.



Need something to read? Read this.



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Firsts

 

 

Paxton and the birthday boy

 

 

 

This past weekend was my nephew, Isaac's 10th birthday party.   He chose to celebrate at a local water park (perfect for the 110 degree day)  To be honest, the anticipation was a little stressful, mainly because lots of water plus four kids - only one of which is a strong swimmer - equals lots of heightened anxieties for parents.  But it turned out to be a great day for all involved, as well as a day of conquering fears:

Spencer went down the huge slide.

Tegan went down the kids' slide without me... over and over and over and over and over.

Everett practiced swimming and floating and treading water independently.

And Paxton discovered the joys of jumping from the high dive.

When we got home, Tegan went to sleep in her own bed for the first time, and slept there for nine hours straight.  I of course was so weirded out by having a kid-less bed, I spent most of the night awake, watching old sitcoms and checking to make sure everyone was still breathing. 

My kids are growing up.



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How Housekeeping is like Advanced Math

Photo by Minibe09

On the heels of my little cleaning freak-out the other day, yesterday I decided that I needed a new approach and a fresh perspective.   I would set a timer (a la Flylady) for 10 minutes, and 10 minutes only.  I'd give my full attention to picking up, cleaning up, and generally getting things done cheerfully for those 10 minutes, then I'd take a break.   I asked the kids if they would join me, and they were very willing (probably because I asked like a friendly mom instead of a crazy person).   We did our 10 minutes, and later did the same thing twice more.  

That combined 30 minutes of cleaning was a million times more productive, and honestly more enjoyable, than my entire previous day of frustrated huffing and wandering around, picking up this and that, and overall spinning my wheels.  Why?  Because 1)  I was ready to do it, 2) I wanted to do it. 3) I was motivated to do it, and 4) I was willing to give it my full - positive - attention.

Really, isn't everything like that?  How much more efficient, and productive, and useful is our time when we're doing something that we willingly choose to do, that we're personally invested in, and truly motivated to do?

It's the same exact concept I learned 20 years ago in my advanced math class my senior year of high school.  I've written about that class before, but the short of it is that it was a class that made me all kinds of miserable.  A class that I wasn't interested in.  A class that I felt I didn't need (and I didn't).  A class that I struggled with to the point of tears.  And after a l.o.t. of torture, frustration, and a fair amount of humiliation, I dropped it.  What I didn't mention in my first re-telling is that before I could drop the class I had to be passing the class, which meant that I had a whole lot of make-up work to do.  I'd pretty much stopped doing my homework, for the simple reason that I didn't understand my homework.  

My teacher suggested perhaps having another student tutor me during a study hall, and in desperation I took her up on it.  Pete was a straight A student, and was one of those people, like my husband, who finds math - even in its advanced varieties - easy and fun.  He patiently sat with me during one study hall, and went through the work point by point.  And for the first time, it made sense to me.  For the first time, I actually saw a glimpse (though a teeny one) of what math-inclined people find so cool about all those numbers and formulas. 

I learned more in that one 45 minute tutuoring session than I had all semester.  

And it wasn't because he was a better teacher than the teacher.  It was because I was ready to learn it.  I wanted to learn it.  I was personally motivated to learn it.  For a myriad of reasons, I needed not to be in that class anymore.  In order to do that, I had to finally learn what I'd resisted learning for most of the semester.   Once I had that motivation, the learning came quickly and relatively easily. 

The same is true for learning anything, and is a big factor in why I unschool.  The only time we truly learn something is when it "arise(s) out of the experience, interest, and concerns of the learner." (John Holt)  The rest of the time?  The times when we're daydreaming sitting through classes that don't interest us or are not meaningful to us, or wandering around our house pretending to clean when our minds are clearly somewhere else?    We're wasting our time.

I recently learned that the teacher of that math class has since passed away.  I was genuinely sad to hear it.  Like any good teacher, she wanted to me to do better, and try harder, and live up to my own potential.  I think I'm finally doing that.  And as it turned out, I did learn a lot from that class.  It just didn't happen to be about math.




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Messy Monday

If you don't see me for the next 13 days, it's because I'm trying to turn this:

Before

 

 

 

Into this:

After

All. Over. The. House.  Before we leave for vacation.  And without making myself crazy in the process. 




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Reconnecting

I haven't been here lately. I've been here physically, but mentally I've been somewhere else. I haven't been as present as I need to be... for myself, for my spouse, and especially for my kids. So wrapped up in my own stress and fatigue, I realized that I've been guilty of "going through the motions." Doing all the things I'm supposed to be doing, but not feeling them.

And I don't want to be that mom.

I want to be connected... not just THERE, taking up space.

Yesterday, the girl asked me if I could make some biscuits. So I got everything out, and started measuring and dumping, not even thinking about what I was doing. Just a few seconds later, I heard the little voice:

"Can I help?" followed by the unmistakable scraping sound of a kitchen chair being eagerly pushed over to the counter.

The fact that she even had to ask (ordinarily I would have offered) struck me out of my selfish monotony.

She wanted to bake with her mom, and I was going to be there.

And when we were done with the biscuits and the last crumb had been eaten, we didn't seal our reconnection with a hug or a snuggle on the couch.

Instead she wanted to check on the chickens.

Three year olds don't over-think things the way we do. They already know how to live in the moment. As far as Tegan was concerned, she had my full attention, and that was exactly as it should be. It was just her and mom, doing what we do.

We checked on the chickens, gathered the eggs, and rinsed out their water container. I was just about to turn off the hose when she stopped me. "Wait! Don't turn that off!"

So I didn't.

For the next hour and a half, I forgot the rest of the world, and focused on reconnecting with my daughter. We hosed the chicken poop off the patio (which, as strange as it sounds, is oddly cathartic), made it "rain", and talked and talked. It took at least three times as long as normal to get the patio clean, because for every spray the patio got, the girl got two. And with every squeal, every smile, and every burst of laughter, my world got just a little more right again.

Life shouldn't be about treading water, spinning your wheels, and going through the motions. It should be about the moments. The people. The connections.

It should be about bonding over biscuits and chicken poop.



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A Break

I have been writing and re-writing this post in my head, over and over for the past 48 hours. Did I really want to post it; how much detail did I want to share; would anyone care to read it anyway.

I ultimately decided to be honest and brief (as brief as I know how anyway): I am burnt out and I need a break. I need to recharge, and re-prioritize and re-organize my home, and my life.

Yesterday, a friend and I took our kids to the Children's Museum, and sometime between the sand table and the noodle forest I realized that I'd hit a wall and shut down. Not just in the normal introvert-feeling-overwhelmed-by-the-crowd-and-the-noise kind of way, but in a "Wow. Something's gotta give" kind of way.

I. Am. Tired.

In three and a half weeks, we're leaving for nearly a month long road trip. Instead of feeling excited about it, I'm predominately feeling overwhelmed and exhausted by it. And because I really don't want to feel that way about the biggest vacation we've taken since we've been married (or that I've ever taken really), I want to take steps to change it.

And it starts with a break... from blogging, from extra pressure I've been putting on myself, from unnecessary running around... just a break.

I don't know if it'll be two weeks or two months or ten months. I just know I need to do it. Thank you to everyone who has been reading so faithfully, and I will see you on the other side.



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Regrets

I love it when people say things so succinctly and beautifully that I don't have to try to say them (or bungle them) myself. I have nothing brilliant or witty or helpful to say today, but please, please read this. Words to live by, for sure. You are welcome.



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The (Wo)man in the Mirror

I'm starting with the man in the mirror
I'm asking him to change his ways
And no message could have been any clearer
If you want to make the world a better place
Take a look at yourself and make a change. ~Michael Jackson

I like to be able to fix things.  I think most of us, especially as parents, just want to be able to fix anything that may be amiss.  I feel fortunate right now in that my own life, and family, is currently in its groove (and that of course, is not always the case) But as I look around me - at the friend that's going through a difficult time with a child, another with a spouse, countless more with their families, their jobs, their lives - that instinct is still there, even from the outside:   Okay, how do I fix this?  What can I do?

And the answer, of course, is that I can't fix everything.  And more often than not, there is nothing that really can be done, at least not externally. 

I can't change other people.  Not my husband, not my kids, not my friends, not the people I meet on the street.  But I can change myself.

I can't change what others say, how they feel, or what they do.   But I can decide how I respond.  I can choose how it does or does not affect me.

I can't change the fact that sometimes there will be bad days, and that sometimes there will be very bad days.  But I can control how I handle it.  I can control whether it breaks me or makes me stronger. 

I can't change all the injustices in the world.  I can't change the hate, the prejudice, the mean people.  But I can change my heart.  I can examine my attitudes.  I can choose how I treat others. I can choose to be kind, to be loving, to be generous.

I can't change the necessity of things like laundry, or dishes, or car repairs.  But I can change the spirit with which I deal with them.  I can choose to do them joyfully, or begrudgingly.

I can't change the bumps, the growing pains, or the inevitable detours that come my or my family's way.  But I can take responsibility for my feelings, for my actions, for my words.   I can decide that instead of blaming everything and everyone around me, I can practice grace, humility, and patience.  I can decide to be thankful, even in the midst of chaos, and I can decide to accept what is.... to have "the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference."



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The Story of a Cupcake

This is the pretty cupcake picture I shared on Facebook

We wanted to bake yesterday.  We found a yummy-sounding recipe we hadn't tried before, and Everett, Tegan and I went to the store to pick up a couple of things we were missing.  We made the cupcakes, and they cooled while the kids rode around outside on their scooters.  We had a nice dinner, frosted the cupcakes, and snapped the above picture just before we dug in. 

About four and a half minutes later, I followed up with this shot, taken seconds after Spencer dropped the cupcake carrier out of the fridge (although in his defense, Everett hadn't put the top on properly)

This is the picture I didn't share

And that's the reason I don't cry over spilled milk.  It just. happens. too. often.  Life is messy.  But the cupcakes were still good.  And the dog thoroughly enjoyed licking the floor afterwards.

The end.



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Why I don't cry (or yell) over spilled milk

Last week - actually, a week ago today - Tegan (3 years old at the time of this writing) threw Spencer's shoes in a lake at a park. It wasn't the first time that his footwear had met a body of water at Tegan's hand. That was last month, in our friends' pool.

This time, it was here:

We were all sitting around, barefoot, enjoying the grass and the breeze. She spotted his shoes, was struck with, uh... inspiration... and before anyone could stop her, had taken off for the water with the shoes in hand. The next thing we knew, the shoes were floating gracefully away, while I scrambled to my feet to find a stick or something with which to go fishing.

Have you ever seen a 6 and a 10 year old try to hang on to a 130 pound woman to keep her from falling headlong into water while she precariously leaned on her tiptoes trying to retrieve two floating sneakers with a flimsy branch? You missed a good show. But I did eventually fish them out, returned them to their owner, and we all went about our day.

Afterward, my friend's 7 year old son - Everett's best friend - said to his mother, "Wow, Jennifer NEVER gets mad! I never see her get mad about anything!"

It was a nice thing to hear. Not entirely accurate mind you, but nice. I do get mad occasionally (although the older I get, the less I find actually worthy of getting mad about). But I wasn't mad about the shoes in the water.

I'm not mad when someone spills.

I'm not mad when someone makes a mess.

I'm not mad when something gets broken.

I'm not mad when my kids act like kids.

And it's not that I'm more patient than the next person - because I'm really not - it's just that I made a decision a long time ago... I decided that some things mattered, and some things did not. Shoes in water do not matter. Spilled milk does not matter. Broken cameras do. not. matter.

My kids matter.

My relationships with my kids matter.

Even in those moments when I do get frustrated (or more accurately, especially in those moments when I do get frustrated), I remind myself that it's a decision, and I come to the same conclusion every time: 

What matters is my kids.

Spencer's shoes were safely recovered that day, but even if they'd irretrievably sunk to the bottom, what purpose could anger have possibly served? Responding in anger would not only have not helped the situation, it also would have damaged my relationship with my daughter. Every time we respond to our kids in anger, it damages our relationship. Every time we respond in anger, it takes us further away from our goal of peace, harmony and mutual respect.

My daughter is more important than a $20 pair of shoes. 

A few months ago, she accidentally pulled my Nikon off the counter, damaging it beyond repair.  She's more important than a $600 camera too.   Shoes, cameras, houses, cars.... all small stuff compared to my kids. 

Randy Pausch, the Carnegie Mellon University professor who delivered his famous Last Lecture to his class (which was later turned into a book of the same name) before he died from cancer in 2008, illustrated this in such a beautiful - if a bit extreme - way.  He'd just gotten a fancy new convertible, and his sister was harping on her children, Randy's niece and nephew, to be careful.  Don't mess up the new car.  Be careful around the new car.  Don't spill anything in the new car.  Randy, putting his niece and nephew first, basically told her to relax.  He walked to the car, poured an entire soda on the back seat, and said, 

"It's just a car."

And at the end of the day, it's ALL just a car.  Just a pair of shoes.  Just a camera.  None of it is worth getting upset about.  None of it is worth getting mad about.  None of it matters.  

What matters is our kids.  What matters is our relationships with our kids.  None of us is guaranteed a tomorrow with our children.  And I don't know about you, but I therefore want to live each moment as if it were the last.... and if it were the last, I wouldn't want to know that I'd wasted time - wasted even a second - being concerned, or upset, or angry about the small stuff.  

..... and it's all small stuff.

Welcome to the 2nd Annual Carnival of Gentle Discipline!

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Our Big, Huge, List

The kids and I have been a little... uninspired... lately. I blame part of it on decompressing after a very busy 2010 (even though that was now over 3 months ago), and I blame part of it on myself. I haven't been sleeping for a long time now, which as anyone who suffers from insomnia can tell you, starts to make a person, well, kind of crazy.

Things haven't been bad (bone crushing exhaustion aside), but they've been... safe. Familiar. Like we've been in a rut, and not a terribly exciting one.

So, inspired by my lovely friend Erica (aka Sierra Mama) I decided to make a list of goals. I invited the kids to join me, and together we sat outside and brainstormed a bunch of things that we want to do, see, and learn about the rest of the year... things to work towards, things to be excited about, and things to get us going again. Everyone had something to add, and it was all put in one big list with no designations, because we'll all work together and help each other in our pursuits. I'm sure we'll add to it, and swap things out as we go, but this is our list as of today in all its beautiful, optimistic glory:

1. Pan for gold
2. Learn how to fix lawn mowers
3. Learn how to fix vehicles
4. Learn how to play hockey
5. Learn to read well
6. Make a paper-mache volcano
7. Make homemade pasta
8. Drive go-carts
9. Get better at skateboarding
10. Learn to ice skate
11. Learn to roller skate
12. Learn about scorpions
13. Learn to drive a riding lawn mower
14. Learn about sting rays
15. Learn about jelly fish
16. Learn how to do Algebra
17. Go on roller coasters
18. See a panda bear
19. Get a gerbil
20. Ride a segway
21. Make our own sushi
22. Finish watching the US History DVDs
23. Build something out of wood
24. Learn about classic muscle cars
25. Learn about the weather
26. Learn about horses
27. Make our own organic chicken feed
28. Have a lemonade stand
29. Have a yard sale
30. Practice writing
31. Learn about computer repairs
32. Learn about elephants
33. Go to unschooling conference
34. Go on cross-country trip
35. Save up for Disney trip in 2012
36. Save up for a DSi
37. Learn about electrical system
38. Learn about heating and cooling systems
39. Learn about architecture
40. Go fishing
41. Take vitamins every day
42. Learn how to sew
43. Keep working on expanding blogs
44. Finish book
45. Learn how a lawn mower is made
46. Build a playhouse
47. Learn how to do flips n stuff
48. Practice yoga every day
49. Learn about flexibility
50. Learn how to use our camera better
51. Go in a steam room
52. Learn about the presidential election
53. Learn about branches of government
54. Learn about trees
55. Paint the hallways
56. Put in the new security door
57. Build a run for the chickens
58. Paint and redecorate bedrooms
59. List Paxton's DS on Ebay
60. Finish Personal Trainer program
61. Go camping
62. Ride in a canoe
63. Get up to 500 geocache finds
64. Hide a new geocache
65. Dig in the ground
66. Go to Science Center
67. Landscape the front yard
68. Knit something
69. Make jewelry
70. Finish turning the Maverick into a MavFinder
71. Get another tattoo
72. Dye our hair
73. Do more science experiments
74. Grow crystals
75. Go in the lava tubes
76. Go to the zoo
77. Put up a new swing set
78. Start cub scouts
79. Learn how to play football
80. Make a poopy
81. Learn about digestion
82. Go back to Japanese garden
83. Take an art class
84. Build a remote control car
85. Read something every day
86. Write something every day
87. Pray every day
88. Make daily to-do list
89. Learn how to cook
90. Make more cupcakes
91. Learn how to make homemade chocolate
92. Sand and paint Tegan's little table and chairs
93. Sign up for 2011/2012 yoga teacher training
94. Write 3rd Nano book, and edit 2010 Nano book
95. Pay off Amazon credit card
96. Upgrade our cell phones
97. Get cell phone for big boys to share
98. Get an indoor hammock
99. Figure out how to make Paxton his own room
100. Get a digital piano
101. Learn to play drums
102. Learn to swim
103. Make a movie and post it on YouTube
104. Get braces off!!