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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I CU

I CU = Intensive Care for the Christian Unschooler. 

I've been ignoring this weekly meme for awhile now, mainly because at the time I first read about it, it felt like another thing to add to my to-do list.  I know me, and I know that if I did it even once, I'd feel the need to do it again and again (not unlike the weekly Plank Pullin' posts, which I finally did just to "try it" and somehow continued, week after week, through some kind of force akin to compulsion.)  But I digress.  It's still a fun idea, and this week I decided to participate because 1)  I've been feeling more than a little uninspired, and could use a writing prompt, and 2) I'm in desperate need of some intensive care.  So without further ado, my first I CU...

“This week we want to…” get healthy!!  Although, that's using the word "we" loosely.  I.  I want to get healthy.  But I'm sure the kids would like it too, because it's a whole lot more fun having a mom that's up and about and running around, than one that's sitting on the couch feeling miserable about the fact that she feels miserable.


“The kids are…” discovering new passions, and re-discovering old ones.  They have been making boffer swords, and have recently gotten out their guitars again.  Spencer's still researching small engine repair, and our kitchen counters are once again taken over by disassembled Nerf gun parts.  Everett is looking forward to scouts and basketball in a couple of weeks, and the girl is excited about gymnastics.


“I am learning….”  that I'm still learning.  And that just when I think I have things figured out, I get a giant, metaphorical, "Ha ha, fooled ya," and I realize that not only do I NOT have it figured out.. but I that I don't even know what it was that I was supposed to be figuring out in the first place.  I'm also learning that the times when I'm experiencing the most growing pains are the times when I'm doing the most growing.


“I am struggling with…”  balance.


“This week is the first time….”  I've shown the movie Gremlins to the kids.  I love that they loved it. 


“I am grateful…” that my caffeine withdrawal headache has finally gone away, after 3 days.  I'm grateful that my coffee beans, grinder, filters, and maker are still there - waiting - for when I'm ready to embrace them once again.


“I’m looking forward to…..”  the Good Vibrations unschooling conference, a week from tomorrow!!  It'll be the first time we've been around a whole group of unschoolers in 5 years, and I cannot wait.



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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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Plank Pullin': It's not you, it's me...

It’s Plank Pullin’ time! The one day a week that we strongly resolve to ignore the multitude of specks and sawdust around us and pull one bona fide plank from our own eye. Matthew 7:3-5, style. 

I have a smart phone. I don't have an iPhone (I tend to be anti-Apple in general). I have an Android, and I love it. I don't actually need a smart phone, but it's one of my very few splurges, and I do like to be able to read my emails, check my Facebook, have access to my Googlemaps, etc etc when I'm on the go.

The one condition - which I put on myself - was that when I got a smart phone, I wouldn't become one of "those" people. The people who choose their phone over actual interactions with the people around them. The people who get so wrapped up in their phones that they are being rude to the waitress who's just trying to give them the daily specials, that they are ignoring their kids who only want a minute of their time, that they are missing out on being present for anything because their relationship with their phone comes first.

I vowed I would never become one of those people, and I haven't. I use my phone, I enjoy my phone... but never at the expense of real-life interactions. I use it, and put it away, sometimes not to look at it again for several hours. And it's oh so easy for me to look down my nose at those attached-at-the-hip smart phone users. Pssssh, I'm not so glad I'm not like that with my phone.

But. Um. I also have a laptop.

My laptop is open all day.  Every day. I am on it - off and on - all day.  Every day.  And it doesn't matter what I logged on to do, whether it's respond to an email or look something up or work on a blog post..... I always end up at the same darn place........

A word about Facebook, if I may:

I think it's invaluable.  I do.  Especially for someone like me, who (partly by design and partly by circumstance) has very, very few "real life" friends who really GET me.   Someone like me, whose default mode of operation is to withdraw from everyone when I'm feeling off.  Someone like me who  - thanks in large part to sites like Facebook - has found the importance of a tribe, and the importance of meaningful interactions with other people.   Through mediums like Facebook, I have been supported, uplifted, and challenged.  I am continually meeting interesting people and reading thought-provoking things.   Especially now that I've brought my blog to Facebook, I am often overwhelmed with gratitude for all the amazing people that it's allowing me to come in contact with. 

But (and seriously, grab this plank with me.  It's a big one)  It is a huge distraction for me.  Huge.  I spend a lot of time - not long periods of time, but three minute here and ten minutes there, that ADD UP - that could be much better spent.  And it's not all sunlight and roses either.  Much of it is, if I'm being honest, time-wasting drivel.  For every good article, interesting blog post, and enlightening video is an inane and off-color Obama joke.  Or another person re-posting the same, "99% of you won't repost this" status update.  Or a request for boards to build your barn, or money to fund your mafia, or coins to unlock your secret wonders of the universe. (Disclaimer:  I have nothing against games, or the people who play them)  It's all just a reminder that, despite my best intentions, I have become one of those people.  It just wasn't with my phone. 

I know a lot of people leave Facebook for those very reasons.  I have done it myself for brief periods of time.  I don't think that's the answer (for me) though, because it would be like the proverbial "throwing the baby out with the bath water."  I do think that there's a lot of good to be had from Facebook, to be sure.  But there's a negative too.  I need to tip the scale back to the positive, cut back - waay back - on letting myself get sucked into the drivel, and let the negative fall off the other side. 

And so Facebook, I'm not breaking up with you. But I do think it's time we start seeing other people.







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Plank Pullin': The one where I feel judged

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It’s Plank Pullin’ time! The one day a week that we strongly resolve to ignore the multitude of specks and sawdust around us and pull one bona fide plank from our own eye. Matthew 7:3-5, style. 

Let me start with a general confession:

People bug me.

I mean, I'm as personable and easy to get along with as the next guy when everyone's being nice and reasonable and friendly... and I truly enjoy interacting with others who are happy and open-minded and interesting.  But.  I am an introvert through and through, and I get "peopled out" very easily.  Unfortunately, the internet (which is, of course, an invaluable source of those happy and open-minded and interesting people I do like talking to) also provides a veritable and unending stream of frustration in the form of the rude, the arrogant, and lately, the judgmental.

I have felt a lot of judgment lately.... not judgment aimed at me specifically, but aimed towards people like me:  those of the "more Jesus, less religion" ilk.  People like me who truly love God, but who, for one reason or another have rejected the traditional path of organized religion.  Those who have found freedom in the relationship, even (or especially) outside of church, and those who have eschewed a lifestyle built on rules.

It has been following me - and frustrating me - all week.  First was the conversation I happened on about unschooling.  Then it was parenting. Then it was what kind of statuses are inappropriate to post on Facebook. Then it was clothing.  Then it was television. Then it was the proper way to talk to God.  Then it was the proper way to talk ABOUT God.  Then it was the proper kind of church to go to.  "People who know and love God would not xyz.  The bible is clear that we're commanded to xyz.  You are not a good Christian woman if you xyz."  Is it any wonder that when, a few days ago, a non-Christian friend bemoaned how judgmental she found Christians, I could do nothing but commiserate?

I don't fit into a box, Christian or otherwise.

I don't go to church regularly.
I unschool.
I love tattoos.
I put weird colors in my hair.
I sometimes laugh at inappropriate things.
I sometimes SAY inappropriate things.

.....


And I know that God loves me anyway.

I don't like feeling judged. But - and this is the part where I finally get around to pulling my plank - my feeling frustrated or angry towards the ones doing it is really no different than the judgment itself. If I'm all indignantly yelling, "How DARE she judge me?" aren't I judging as well? And how about that... it doesn't feel nice coming or going.

Whatever journey they are on is just that: theirs. And this one is mine. And I can ignore their existence love them and learn to sincerely wish them well, and rest assured in the peace that comes from knowing that nothing anyone else says can affect my own personal relationship with God.






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20 Years

Mike and I met on August 3rd, 1991. Two years and 4 days later - on August 7th, 1993 - we got married. I mention this lest you get confused if, in four days, I make note of an anniversary again. "Didn't she just talk about that??"

I don't really have any special posting planned for our wedding anniversary, but I didn't want to let today go by without at least a brief mention, because 1) It's been TWENTY years, which is really really cool, and 2) in some ways, I remember the day we met with even more fondness than our wedding. Don't get me wrong, our wedding was nice and lovely and everything, but I don't know. I was wearing a big poufy dress, and everyone was looking at me. It's taken me a long time to admit it, but I'm just not a wedding person. MARRIAGE, I like. Weddings, not so much.

I digress.

But that day we met! When everything was so new and exciting and full of butterflies and hope and promise and all those other mushy things? That's the stuff of a romance novel right there.

Weren't we cute?

I first saw him on the porch of the main building at camp.  I liked his eyes.  His friend pointed me out to him, not because he found me in the least attractive, but because "Hey, look.  You can see through that girl's shorts."

And The Path Less Taken was born.  Romantic, no?  By the end of that week, we both knew we'd met "The One."

It drives me crazy when people publicly gush about their spouses (no idea why, problem for the same reason that I don't like weddings, whatever that is) I don't want to be the person that announces on Facebook, "20 years ago, I married my best friend."  But, since it has been twenty years and all..... and twenty years is a big deal....

He's my rock.  And the love of my life.

And he really is my best friend.



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Yup, I've got Boys

So, Jessica of Bohemian Bowmans told me I should check out the M.O.B. Society (Moms of Boys). Since I generally trust her judgment, I heeded her advice. They are having a blog hop, and since I've never blog hopped before, I thought I just might give it a whirl. So I went, I saw, and I hopped.

Welcome to those who are here from the MOB Society (and to everyone else who is here for the first time!)

I am a mom of boys, three of them in fact.

Me, almost 11 yr old, 7 yr old, and 14 yr old.  They're awesome.

For the first 11 years of my parenting journey, I was a mom to ALL boys. Lots of matchbox cars, legos, and testosterone in this house.  I loved having all boys!! I still love having boys, but I have since been blessed with a beautiful little girl as well:

She's awesome too.

I am a full-time unschooling mom.  Four kids, one husband, 6 chickens and one dog ... plus various other assorted creatures that make their way into our house.  It all keeps me pretty busy, but I've recently become re-acquainted with the concept of "me time."  I became certified in nutritional consulting earlier this year (and I continue to study natural health and fitness), but these days I've been spending all my extra energy on blogging and building my little online community.  I mostly blog about gentle parenting and unschooling, but topics may also include my kids, my adventures, my own quirky views on the world... and cupcakes.  I really like cupcakes.

Finally, to steal verbatim from my 'about' page:

I try really hard to live in the moment and not sweat the small stuff, because I have a million and one little neuroses that make me perfectly imperfect.  I also have 4 things that bring me total, unadulterated joy.  My kids are my heart and my soul.

If you're just here for a visit, I hope you'll stick around!



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Day Seventeen: My Souvenir

The kids have been collecting little souvenirs as we've traveled: a couple of stuffed animals and seashells for Tegan, new baseball caps for the boys. Today, thanks in large part to peer pressure a co-conspirator a supportive friend, I got my own souvenir: a little stud in my nose. I hadn't really planned to pierce my nose on the trip... I actually wanted to do it before the trip, but Mike talked me out of it, concerned about the possibility of dealing with complications/infections/problems when we were away from home. But the timing felt right, I was inspired by being with a kindred spirit, and I rose to the occasion.

In other news:

The boys are thoroughly enjoying being around other hardcore video-gamers.
Spencer mowed the lawn at his own request.
I relished a whole lot of baby-holding, as did the kids:

And we braved the heat and humidity for a short walk and bike ride down the street, where Everett rode a two-wheeler sans training wheels for the very first time.

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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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I'd Rather Be With My Kids

Top ten reasons why I'd rather spend time with my kids than with most of the adults I know:

1. They're cute

I mean, come on. Do any of your adult friends look like this?

2. They appreciate the little things in life

I know very few adults who derive as much - or any - joy from rainbows, mud puddles, or caterpillars.

3. They still know how to play

Not everyone loses this ability as they get older, but so many do! I want to be around people who still see the value in an impromptu game of hide and go seek, or blowing bubbles with a straw, or putting on a Spiderman costume at 2:00 in the afternoon, just because.

4. They're REAL.

My kids are authentic, always. They don't play mind games, they don't act a certain way around certain people, they don't just tell me what I want to hear. Happy, sad, silly, frustrated.... they are wonderfully unmistakably themselves, and they express it. And as a bonus, I'm more real when I'm around them, too.
 
5. They always give me something new, 

When it comes to a life with kids, it's nothing if not full of surprises.  I never know what each day is going to hold, and I love that!

but at the same time,

6. They're always comfortable and familiar

I know my kids better than I know anyone on the planet.  I've been there since their very first breath.  I know every story, I remember ever wound.  They truly are my heart and my soul walking around outside my body.

7. They're great conversationalists and even better thinkers 

You know how 2 year olds constantly ask "why?"  They're not doing it to annoy you;  they're doing it because they're learning how the world works, and they're looking to you - their most trusted and loved ally - to help them figure out.  Kids are naturally open and curious and questioning, and they are not held back by the preconceived notions of so many adults.  Some of my very favorite times with my kids are in the car, discussing anything from armpits to snakes to heavy artillery.    Their perspective is always fresh, honest, and enlightening.

8. I enjoy their company

Whether I'm catching an episode of Dr G with the 14 year old, discussing music with the 10 year old, making simulated blood with the 7 year old, or playing dolls with the 3 year old... or doing something more out of the ordinary...  I'm having a good time.  I love my kids - of course - but I like them too.

9. They're funny

No one makes me laugh harder than my kids.  Period.

10. They teach me more than anyone or anything else combined 

No, not about isosceles triangles, or finding the value of 'x', but about LIFE.   They teach me the things that matter.  They teach me about love.  They teach me about living in the moment. About being honest with myself and others.  About not sweating the small stuff.  About being REAL.  My kids teach me everything I need to know about what kind of parent I want to be, and what kind of person I want to be.  

They teach me about smiling...

Even when I'm faced with the metaphorical business end of life:

And you just can't put a price tag on that.




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Cleaning Fail? Parenting Fail? You're both right.

Not even two weeks ago, I blogged about how much I needed a break. I was exhausted, I was stressed out, and I was panicking about getting read for our upcoming trip. I took exactly two days off from blogging, missed it terribly, and jumped right back in.

Yesterday, I was back in panic mode. We leave for our trip in 12 days, and it still feels like there are mountains to climb before we do. Making matters worse is the fact that I'm the only one who feels that way. Mike simply doesn't stress out about much of anything, and the kids are just looking forward to a fun vacation (as they should be)

Sunday night was a rough night. I wasn't feeling well; Everett had a nightmare very early on, and was in our bed the rest of the night; Tegan was tossing and turning and kicking even more than usual; I ended up sleeping in a ball on the end of our bed. The big boys were up past 2:00 (which is not unusual for them) but were woken by Tegan far too early in the morning. Everyone was tired and grumpy, and what I should have done was given us all a free day... a no obligation, lounge around, rest and recoup kind of Monday.

But, oh no. We had 13 days left. We had to CLEAN!

I started with my own desk, and instead of leaving well enough alone, I then decided it was imperative that I tackle the computer room.

This is the 'after' picture, but the girl had already dumped something out again.

This room has been a thorn in my side since we moved in to this house nearly 5 years ago. It looked like it was originally a formal dining room (judging partly from the big chandalier that once hung in the middle of the ceiling), but the previous owners didn't seem to know what to do with it either. When we first toured the house, it was mostly empty, save for a little couch in the corner. For us, it has always served as a computer room slash project room slash collector of random, miscellaneous stuff. It's always a mess, and yesterday I was going to clean it.

I asked the kids to help me, but they were too tired. (Of course they were too tired; No one got any sleep). I asked them again. Spencer was half asleep on the couch, Paxton was engrossed in a computer game, and Tegan and Everett were chasing each other around the house. No one really answered me.

And again, I should have taken the hint, followed their lead - and my own level of exhaustion - and rested. Instead, as if possessed by some mop-wielding inner demon, I became that mom. The stomping, huffing, sighing, "fine, I'll do it myself", martyr of a mom. For the next hour, I was noisily moving chairs and bookshelves, digging stuff out from beneath the desks, flinging sweeping wayward toys and papers and books and tools to the center of the room to sort through. Spencer had fallen asleep by then, Paxton was calmly moving out of my way as I cleaned around him, and the little ones had wisely moved their play to another room, lest they accidentally witness the embarrassment of their mom in the throes of her tantrum.

It really wasn't my finest moment.

I was tired, I was irritated, and I couldn't even enjoy the fruits of my labor once I'd finished.  Who can enjoy something they'd done with the wrong attitude in the first place?

I do still want to get the house clean before we go.  But not like that.  Today, I will get a grip and remember what's important.  I'll listen to my kids, listen to my own body, and save the cleaning for another dang day if need be.

And if all else fails, I'll stick to the kitchen side of the house, and avoid the computer room completely. 




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Entitlement

In 1982, the hottest, most-wanted toy for Christmas was the Cabbage Patch Doll. I was 8 years old, and I wanted a Cabbage Patch Kid more than I'd ever wanted anything. It was the only thing I asked for for Christmas, and I couldn't wait to find it under the tree. To stare at the shiny cellophane window on the box before I tore it open, to admire the pretty (yarn) hair, the dimpled elbows and knees, and the little outie belly button. To rip off all the clothes to check for the mark of a true, original Cabbage Patch Kid... the Xavier Roberts signature on its little cloth derriere. Oh, how I wanted that doll.

At eight, I was old enough to be relatively aware of what was going on around me, and I heard the dire proclamations on the evening news. They were sold out everywhere. Fights had broken out in all the department stores. People were literally getting trampled to get the last one on the shelf. Oh NO.

My mom sat me down shortly before Christmas and said, "I know you've heard that they're sold out everywhere. I hope you're not too disappointed if you don't get one for Christmas."

I then proceeded to lie to my own mother. "Oh I won't be disappointed, Mom."

And to make a long story short, I wasn't disappointed. Because come Christmas morning, against all odds, she was there. And she was perfect. To this day, that Cabbage Patch Kid remains my hands-down, no contest, favorite Christmas present ever.

I still have that doll. She's usually naked now, she's lost a few strands of hair, and her face is permanently dirty. But she's still loved. I last saw her yesterday afternoon in my bedroom, where the girl left her after pretending to nurse her to sleep.

I so love and appreciate that my parents got me that doll. And it wasn't just the doll. They also got the purple Nikes that I so desperately wanted. And the Guess jeans. And the Swatch watches. I appreciate it even more now that I'm a parent myself... knowing that things weren't always easy financially. Knowing that they sometimes made sacrifices themselves to make my sister and I happy.

But I never felt entitled.

Yes, I grew up with a sense of personal responsibility. I worked hard, I paid my bills, I was respectful and polite to those around me. I was none of those things that people continually - and mistakenly - chide today's youth for being. Why? Because as much as I remember the dolls and the fancy sneakers and the fun "stuff", I remember something else more.

I remember that my parents gave me their attention, and that they gave me their time. I remember that they gave me love. I remember that they gave me their support, their friendship, and their acceptance. I remember hanging around after dinner hanging spoons from our noses. I remember playing dice games and card games and laughing until our sides hurt. I remember a lifetime worth of quiet moments, inside jokes, and family adventures.

I see parent after parent complaining about today's youth feeling too "entitled."

Kids today think their parents owe them everything!
They think life should be handed to them on a silver platter!
They're overindulged!

I see articles like this one, instructing parents with a set of rules to follow to stop this "entitlement epidemic." Stop pampering them. Make them buy their own things. Don't give in to their pleas. Require them to do a certain amount of chores (and then punish them when they don't.) Give them an allowance (and then dictate how they can and cannot spend it.)

I think we're missing the boat here. Strategies like the above only widen the gulf between parents and kids, and further the "us vs them" mentality.

Why not give freely and abundantly to your children just as you would to any person that you love? I want to give all that I can to my kids, just as my parents gave all that they could to me. Not because they've "badgered" me into it, not because I want them to like me, and not because it keeps them quiet (all reasons I see touted over and over again in these negative articles) but because it feels good and right to give to those we love. To give our time, our attention, our love, our companionship. To give our acceptance and our unconditional support. And yes, to give when we can those toys, games, and "things" that make their lives a little more fun or interesting or exciting. We give freely to our kids, and they in turn give freely to others.

I think that the kids that people refer to as being "overindulged" and "entitled" are not kids who were given too much. I think they were simply kids who weren't given enough. No, I don't mean not enough stuff; I mean not enough of their parents. We are all looking for that love and attention. We're all looking for a connection... with somebody, with something, with anything. When we don't get it, there's a void. Kids who are not getting what they need from their parents learn to fill the void with "things." And it's not because their parents were too lenient or too permissive or too indulging. It's because their parents neglected to give them more time, more attention, more unconditional love.

As a society, we're told parents need to be more strict. Need to lay down the law and show our kids who's boss.

I think that's going in the wrong direction.

I think we need to give our kids more. They didn't ask to be here. We chose to bring them into the world, and into our lives. We should give to them freely and joyfully and completely, just as we would give to anyone else. (In fact, even more so, because they are OUR CHILDREN) We should give of our time, our attention, and ourselves.

And Cabbage Patch Kids are okay, too.



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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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You Don't Know Me. Or Do You?

Last night I was talking to some friends about my most recently received "You're a terrible mother" diatribe from someone who took issue with one of my blog posts. It wasn't a regular reader, but simply someone who followed a single link, found me objectionable, and posted about it.

It's become easy for me to dismiss that kind of critique, because obviously that person doesn't know me. Reading one single blog post does not an expert make. And sure, it feels good sometimes (in a wrong kind of way) to make snap judgments about someone when they write things we disagree with, but the fact still remains: That person doesn't who I am as a person, who I am as a woman, or who I am as a mother. Maybe if she got to know me, she'd find I wasn't quite so terrible after all. Or maybe she'd think I was even worse of a human being than she'd imagined. But right now, today, she doesn't know me.

It all got me thinking.

Surely you can get to know people on the internet. Some of my dearest and nearest friends are people I've yet to see in person. I know them. I know their personalities, and I know their hearts, and I know their intentions. Simply by reading their words on a screen. To me, there is no distinction between online relationships and real-life relationships. It's ALL real-life. Those relationships though have taken conversations, back and forth sharing, and input and effort by both parties. Unless you're commenting and interacting, a blog is very different. A blog can be rather one-sided. Can you get to know someone through a blog?

While it's impossible to know someone based on one blog post, what about 50? Or 100? What if you've read every post I've ever written but never interacted with me?

Do you think you can get to know someone solely through reading their blog? Do you think you've gotten to know me through reading my blog?



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“If you hear that someone is speaking ill of you, instead of trying to defend yourself you should say: 'He obviously does not know me very well, since there are so many other faults he could have mentioned.'” -Epictetus

Plank Pullin': Fear

It’s Plank Pullin’ time! The one day a week that we strongly resolve to ignore the multitude of specks and sawdust around us and pull one bona fide plank from our own eye. Matthew 7:3-5, style.

Ever since I decided to start participating in Jessica's Plank Pullin' Thursdays, I've been unable to stop myself from keeping a running list in my head ("Oooh, that'd be a good plank to pull... I'll have to use that for a Plank Pullin' post... Wow, I really need to work on that. Maybe I should write about it...") At any given time, I have no less than half a dozen Plank posts in my drafts folder. And Wednesday night finds me looking through them, ultimately trying to pick the least painful, the least embarrassing, or the least revealing.

This week, I had a really good one. I had thought about it for days, writing it all out in my head. It would be my largest plank to date, and it would be by far the most difficult to get out. It was important, and it was personal.

But when it came time to write it, I froze. I couldn't do it. And the rest of the nuggets that I had saved as drafts? Couldn't write those either. I could give you all kinds of (made up) reasons for why that was the case, but the fact of the matter is, it all came down to one thing:

Fear.

When I write or talk to those who are newcomers to unschooling or gentle parenting, I can talk with such confidence. People tell me their fears and I reassure them. I don't have fears when it comes to myself as a parent. And it's not because I think I'm a perfect parent (I'm not), or because I think I'm not ever going to make mistakes (I will), but because I trust myself as a mother. I trust my instincts, I trust my kids, I trust our relationship. Similarly, I always find myself the odd one out when unschooling discussions turn to fears... fears that they won't learn what they'll need to know, fears that they'll be undisciplined, fears that it's somehow going to screw them up. I don't share those fears either, because I trust unschooling too. It's so easy for me to say, "Let go of your fears," simply because they're not fears I have myself.

But. Outside of parenting and unschooling, outside that one area of comfort? I am afraid of everything. I am afraid of unfamiliar situations. I am afraid of making mistakes. I am afraid of saying the wrong thing. I am afraid of being judged. I am afraid of looking stupid. I am afraid of letting people see the real me. I am afraid of losing people I love. I am afraid of bad things happening to good people. I am afraid of so very many things. Some days, I am still that shy, fearful 16 year old that I was 21 years ago, and I so badly wish I wasn't.

I don't have to be afraid. I shouldn't be afraid, but sometimes it still gets the better of me. My hope and prayer is that someday it won't.

Joshua 1:9 Have I not commanded you? Be strong and of good courage; do not be afraid, nor be dismayed, for the LORD your God is with you wherever you go.

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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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Plank Pullin': Cuz everything little thing's gonna be alright

It’s Plank Pullin’ time! The one day a week that we strongly resolve to ignore the multitude of specks and sawdust around us and pull one bona fide plank from our own eye. Matthew 7:3-5, style.

Two of my four kids have a tendency to worry.  They get caught up in "what ifs", stress out about what's coming the next day, and sometimes forget to live in - and enjoy - the moment.  I often find myself reassuring them... reminding them to take each day as it comes, to not worry, to let each moment take care of itself, to just breathe, to know in their hearts that everything really IS going to be all right. 

And dangit, I'm good at it.  I am.  I'm honest.  I'm convincing.  I'm reassuring.  It's all I can do to keep from patting myself on the back as they tell me, "Thanks Mommy, I feel better now," and happily go off to play. 

But alas, it's nothing more than a sparkling example of my own hypocrisy, because I am a huge worrier.   I hate that I am, and I so very badly wish that I wasn't... but there it is.   And the worst part is not the fact that I have the tendency to worry - which, honestly, is bad enough in and of itself - but the fact that I worry over such undeniably stupid things.  It's not like worrying about, say, walking down a dark deserted alley alone at night.  That would be productive worry that might make one think twice about a possibly dangerous decision. 

No, I worry about very important things like not having time to get the house cleaned before we have somebody over. 

Last Saturday we had a busy day at the end of what was a very stressful (and as a result, a very unproductive) week.  We were out all day off-roading, came home very briefly around dinner time, and then went to a friends house to swim and hang out for the rest of the evening.   It was a great day, and a fun diversion, but that night I came home exhausted and stressed out.   I had to babysit the following morning, and the house was a disaster (and not at all safe for a crawling baby)  We also had someone coming to meet us and talk with us about caring for our chickens while we're away this summer.  Meeting new people in general tends to stress me out anyway, and coupled with the neglected house and babysitting as well, I was nearly rife with anxiety. 

My husband, who never fails to be the voice of reason, basically said "Relax please.  It'll all be fine."

And it was.  We got the house picked up just fine the following morning.  It was not perfect, but neither the chicken sitter nor my ten month old cousin pointed out our flaws.  The day unfolded without a hitch, and I realized - as I often realize - that I'd stressed out for nothing.  I actually wasted entire minutes of my life worrying about... what, exactly?  My house being too dirty?  What on earth is wrong with me? 

It's hard not to stress out and worry when I'm not sleeping, and this particular bout of insomnia has been a long one.  It's a vicious circle too, because the more I stress the less I sleep... and the less I sleep the more I stress.  And the solution is, of course, exactly the same one I so easily dole out to the kids:

Breathe.  Relax.  Appreciate the moment.  Let tomorrow take care of itself.  It's all going to work out.

"Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more important than food, and the body more important than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?"
Matthew 6:25-27

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Desert Therapy

I had a week. I was feeling tired and run-down, sick from the medication I was taking, and grumpy from the heat. I was sleeping even less than normal (which is minimal to begin with), and badly in need of an outing and some good old-fashioned head clearing.

We had an off-roading trip scheduled yesterday, and I was so feeling so badly that we were wondering if we'd have to cancel. In the end though, staying home was just not an option. I HAD to get out, and the desert was the perfect place to be. Breathing in the wide, open, desert air is far and away my preferred therapy (better even than Alanis Morissette) It's one place I can always relax. One place I can always be me. It was exactly what I needed, and it restored me in both body and soul.

This video is under two minutes, and is just something I quickly shot as we were driving through a little canyon. What I love about it is Tegan squealing happily in the back seat... the sound of which is of course better for the soul than the desert and Alanis combined.

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