Schooled

Never thought I'd be here. Always planned on the traditional form of schooling for my children. The big yellow bus. The tears on the first day. The PTA meetings, back and forths with teachers, field trips and class days and space and time for myself.

But there was something different planned for us. We spend our days schooling. Not sitting doing rote work for hours at a time. On and off throughout the day we are reading, discussing, drawing stories to illustrate our lessons. After a math worksheet we count dominoes before playing an impromptu game. Our morning "school" includes housework and yardwork. Part of the time is spent helping the one younger than you with skills, be it letters or numbers or writing their name. Structure with fluidity. Never saw myself here. Couldn't see us doing anything different. Sure, there are naysayers. Some even family members. They don't understand how this could be as beneficial as public schooling. I used to agree.

But my five year old son is reading and writing. My three year old knows his letters and numbers and is beginning writing his name. My seven year old is doing math 2 years ahead of grade level. More importantly we are all learning together. How to look at life differently. How to learn from each and every experience. How one action can set off a whole chain of reactions and experiences-good and bad. Character qualities are concentrated on each month. This month is Perseverance. We read poems and stories, talk on world events and family happenings, all centered around the idea of Perseverance.

And we are returning to the great literature. Learning from the masters. Viewing life with more richness and color and variations than ever before. Each one is learning to cook for themselves, how to do laundry, work on a car, keep the lawn, care for a pet, MANAGE MONEY (see Dave Ramsey's My Total Money Makeover).

I can't understand now why I ever snickered at the idea of home education, why I ever smiled condescendingly on those that choose that path. It's truly learning how to live life. Do I think it's better than traditional public schooling? I can't say that on behalf of everyone else. But for us nothing could be better.

Man is born broken and the grace of God is glue.

~ Eugene O'Neill

Next Time

So this is what it's come to..Here I sit on the verge of midnight, surrounded by piles of laundry that I'm supposed to be folding. Because I'm behind. Way behind. I'm so behind that by the time I catch up I'll already be behind again. Makes no sense right? So I'm here,folding laundry (supposedly), in the dark. Yup, it's dark because my exhausted hardworking man is trying to rest. Tap tap tap. I think maybe my typing could be disturbing his sweet respose. And my sweetie boy is sacked out sleeping soundly, that is until his next nursing binge. Which should be right about when I finally start tearing into this laundry. It's quite dark. I can't quite tell whose undies I'm folding. And my boy's pants seem to want to stay inside out because I've wrestled with them times without number. My piles are so tall (yeah, I'm that behind) that they keep falling over into each other. Upsetting my rhythm. This is actually becoming quite exasperating. My word of the day. Exasperating. Yeah, so this is a pointless, goofy post I know. I'm tired. Probably time to call it a day. And pile this laundry right back in the same basket. Only a little smoother and neater this time so I feel like I accomplished something. Maybe next time I decide to stay up late and feel tempted to catch up on laundry, I might switch a light on. Or skip the laundry altogether.

"I never really looked at [my children]. When I looked at their mouths, I saw dirt around them. When I looked at their noses, I saw them running. When I looked at their eyes, I saw them open when they should have been closed. When I saw their hair, it needed combing or cutting. I never really looked at the whole face without offering some advice.
For over twenty years, I invited myself into their lives. I, put sweaters on them when I was cold, removed blankets from their beds when I was hot. I fed them when I was hungry and put them to bed when I was tired. I put them on diets when I was fat. I car-pooled them when I felt that the distance was too far for me to walk. Then I told them they took a lot of my time.
I never realized as I dedicated my life to ring-around-the-collar that cleanliness is not next to godliness — children are."

~Erma Bombeck

A Cooking Lesson

Oh three. Dear sweet,loveable, exasperating, utterly intoxicating three. A question: Wanna make muffins ya think? Without waiting for response, chubby hands pull out mixing bowls and spoons with a crash and clatter. The cinnamon is swiftly and somewhat clumsily sprinkled over a just cleaned countertop. Out come the measuring spoons and spatulas, onto the floor they go. You wanna help me Mom? Remember we always cook together Mom? Yes,I remember well. Sunlight slanted on flour dusted floors. A chattering little boy swathed in a green apron four sizes too big. Can I just take lick of that ya think? Mmm that is really good. We made something good. Right Mom? Yes Will, we made something really good.





My mother had a great deal of trouble with me, but I think she enjoyed it.
-- Mark Twain

Make it Work

Okay so I don't exactly enjoy grocery shopping. I love making food, dreaming up new recipes and combinations, poring over my favorite worn Williams Sonoma cookbook, kneading and rolling and shaping loaves of bread, stirring up muffins or shaping scones.

I love seeing the excitement on little faces as they clamber downstairs to the table on a Saturday morning, grabbing eagerly for a muffin or piling high the chocolate chip pancakes.

But I don't love shopping. In fact sometimes, most times I dread it. And it is even more dread-worthy (is that a word) when I must bring my little foursome along. The foursome are jolly and raucous and completely adorable and mostly manageable when the are within the familiar confines of home and yard. But put them in a brightly lit supermarket with hundreds of thousands of hands off items, anchored to a rickety and crowded cart, forced to watch me linger over which head of broccoli is the firmest, which type of creamer for my coffee, which bag of frozen peas has more...and they go just a little bit cuckoo. Grabbing things off the shelves, giving a poke or an unwanted tickle to a sibling, fighting over who gets to put the oatmeal in the cart (yes, just about anything looks exciting when someone else is getting to do it!)...Needless to say I don't exactly enjoy shopping with my children. At least not all of them at once...when I'm pressed for time and on a strict budget..

So this morning after all the normal rush of breakfast and lost shoes and scattered coats and repacking the diaper bag and changing several diapers and trying to run a brush through unruly bedheads and an argument over clothes that needed to be changed and finding sippy cups and packing snacks and buckling everyone into their carseats and nursing the baby once more and carting out all the LUGGAGE necessary to round out our arduous 12 minute trip to the grocery store...I couldn't find my keys.

They had been swallowed up in the black hole that is life with a toddler, a newborn and two under 8. Great. The only thing I like less than grocery shopping with four wiggle worms is not being able to grocery shop when I've put in the hour and a half of preparation and psyching myself up to grocery shop. But after I realized I'd lost my keys then I realized I didn't have my list either, then baby Jack started to whimper. And I realized it was time to call it a day. Or in our case an almost day.

So in we came. I pushed down the desire to search frantically for keys, barking at little people to help me. I swallowed down the urge to begin an immediate frenzied scrub, sweep, vacuum of the rumpled house before me. I realized and acknowledged my desire, my need to feel that I accomplished something from start to finish. And I looked at my little guys looking at me to see what would come next. It was all up to me. I didn't have control of this shopping trip, couldn't find my keys, couldn't keep the dishes from piling up around me, the crumbs from collecting on the floors, the mess of life from smearing the windows and walls. But I could choose my response to it all.

So I smiled, gave each little upturned face a big fat kiss and gathered up baby and out we went to sit in the sunshine while they made mudpies and played tag and swung as high as they could.And my sweet Will and I did some baking, read some stories, talked about life from the view of a little 3 year old guy.

That's something I could do. Choose how I would spend the rest of my day instead of letting it spend me.

Alternate Universe

I live between two places. The lands of Perfect and Good Enough. In Perfect I am sure to dot all my t's and cross all my i's. Most of my waking moments are spent clearing the crumbs of life and smoothing the rough edges of our world. In Perfect all my striving, all my lifting and heaving and straightening and fixing doesn't cut it. Doesn't measure up. I am tense and uneasy, trying to showcase something, someone that doesn't exist. Working towards an impossible goal. For a far off someday.

As the years have gone on I have been spending less and less time in Perfect. Good Enough just seems more friendly, more down home, more kick off your shoes and stay awhile. In Good Enough what you see is what you get. I can scootch down with a cup of coffee and get comfy. I am welcome there with a freshly scrubbed no makeup face, in leggings and flip flops and a ponytail. With my mess and dirt and unanswered questions. There's lots of room in Good Enough, space for my little ones to scramble in around me and just be. Be little and loud and messy, make mudpies and throw water balloons and have big dreams and even bigger what ifs. and that's ok, the what ifs are what add the color, the rosy rainbow bursts of sweetness and the sad purply grey twilights to this life.

I don't have it all figured out yet. Not sure exactly what lies ahead. The years have brought a distance from the places and people I grew up with. I used to think family was a right. That no matter what was said or done or not said or not done that you held that door to yourself open. That my job was to make myself smaller, not take up too much space. Agree. But I came to realize the death inside of me. That the life my God had created me to live was first to Him and then to those He entrusted me with. I have left those halls, those spaces. I have grown up and out. I need more. Family is a privilege. There won't always be peace on earth and goodwill isn't always what we're called to bring. Sometimes life just hurts. Sometimes people you care about refuse to change or to let you change. all I know is the bottle of questions could not be corked any longer.

In this place of Good Enough I have found rest and strong shoulders and a laugh that carries miles. My great big God can answer all my queries. Maybe the answer is not just yet...

This is the star, this is your heart

This is the day you were born

This is the sun, these are your lungs

This is the day you were born

And I am always, always, always yours

And I am always, always, always yours


These are the scars deep in your heart

This is the place you were born

And this is the hole where most of your soul comes ripping out

From the places you've been torn

And it is always, always, always yours


And I am always, I'm always, I'm always yours


Hallelujah, I'm caving in

Hallelujah, I'm in love again

Hallelujah, I'm a wretched man

Hallelujah, every breath is a second chance, yeah


And it is always, always, always yours

And I am always, I'm always, always yours

, always, I'm always yours, I'm yours

Always, always, I am always yours



Switchfoot 2010

Through the Looking Glass

A boat, beneath a sunny sky Lingering onward dreamily In an evening of July -- Children three that nestle near, Eager eye and willing ear Pleased a simple tale to hear -- Long has paled that sunny sky: Echoes fade and memories die: Autumn frosts have slain July. Still she haunts me, phantomwise Alice moving under skies Never seen by waking eyes. Children yet, the tale to hear, Eager eye and willing ear, Lovingly shall nestle near. In a Wonderland they lie, Dreaming as the days go by, Dreaming as the summers die: Ever drifting down the stream -- Lingering in the golden gleam -- Life, what is it but a dream? ~ Lewis Carroll My worth is so often based on what I do. How well I do it. How completely. How cleanly. How neatly. How effortlessly. As though I'm somehow not human. A machine. Able to accomplish feats of grandeur in my home and family, unheard of among mere mortals. And yet I tend to leave out that all important piece, that thread that is woven so intricately and boldly throughout my very existence. I am only human. The day before me only holds 24 hours. 24 fleeting, unending, overpowering, exhilarating, exhausting hours in which to dream my dreams and plan my plans and accomplish my goals. That is all I am promised each morning I wake. And I fret. Somehow there are always crumbs on the counter and smudges on the floor. The bathroom rarely smells garden fresh no matter how many daily scours and scrubs I give it. There are remnants of popcorn seemingly forever on the living room carpet. The front room is littered with blocks, a full town complete with train station and several rail lines winding throughout. My laundry baskets forever overflow. And everywhere I look are stacks and piles..books and art projects..finger paintings and to do lists..library receipts and trip itineraries..I just barely get one sink of dishes cleared when the next is already breathing down my neck. Is this me? Is all of this a true testament of me? All the cleaning and scrubbing and sweeping and sponging? Is this a true picture of our family? The teetering tottering piles of books and blocks and train tracks and stuffed toys? In essence yes. This is us. Good and bad. What we are. The crumbs on the counter represent the warm buttery wedges of chocolate chip banana bread we shared amid smiles and laughter at the breakfast table. The piles of art projects and finger paintings are the result of eager little hands that couldn't wait to capture something beautiful they imagined while playing outside. The bathroom fails to be pristine because a smiling eyed, babbling two year old little man is excitedly learning to pee in his frog potty. And the remnants of popcorn? Those seem to linger between couch cushions and under chairs from the last uproarious movie showing with Daddy. It's all there if I care to see it. To really see it. The stuff life is made of. Crumbs and messes and spills and mistakes. Beauty and dirt and madness and glee. Real life. And when I look at the piles and piles of books all around how can I help but see chubby little hands turning the pages, mouthing the words, rejoicing over the pictures, their little minds capturing and remembering and enjoying each precious page. This is what's real and true. The real stuff that dreams are made of. Dreams that last are piecemealed together with crumbs and kisses and love and muddy messes. The beauty can only clearly be seen when it is shining through the glorious messes. And what true joy comes when we finally make peace with our mess.

Adam

He's five today. My little man. Our family dreamer. Sitting there with a faraway gaze, building worlds unseen. Our little colicky, always needing to be held, unable to sleep without clutching a lock of my hair baby has grown into a beautiful, kind hearted little boy. Quick to find the humor in a situation, running everywhere ("Look at me Mom, can you believe how fast I am?") Intuitively he understands deeper meanings, unspoken things. Instinctively he "gets" music, it invades his soul. My little brown eyed boy is becoming just that..a boy. No longer my little tagalong he has grown. And I couldn't be happier. Happy Birthday Adam! Cannot wait to see what wonderful adventures await you my little friend!

Good Intentions

I have a hard time walking out big changes sometimes. So used to being one of the group. Going along with the general consensus. Known as the compliant one. Agreeable. Easy. Malleable. Yet there is another part of me that struggles for independence. To take a stand. Be different. Weigh the risk and take the chance. For years I have been attempting to bring a more healthy sense of purpose to our family's eating habits. Always thought we were doing quite well actually. Applesauce and raw carrots, veggies with dinner and bananas at breakfast. No more than 1 or 2 sweets a day. Not bad really.

But there was much more to it. I hadn't even opened the door to the possibilities. And now with our 4th little one on the way and a lifestyle focused on family and self improvements, trying to be the best we can be, do the best we can with what we're given..how can I ignore the truth about what we're putting in our mouths? it is astonishing to see the reaction when I attempt to share what I'm learning.

Chewing gum destroys digestive juices and includes the same additives as jet fuel and embalming fluid.

The reasonably safe, simple, healthy looking light yogurt or the vibrantly colored ice pops that used to fill our fridge and freezer contain dyes that cause cancer, the same ingredients as the petroleum we put in our cars.

The sugars in that innocent, refreshing can of soda I used to look forward to at the end of the day eventually build up to cause tumors within our liver and digestive organs that will most likely lead to some form of cancer...

The supposedly healthy fruits and veggies I would fill my cart with and take pleasure in watching my kids consume are coated with more than 10-20 different pesticides which cause organ decay and illness..not to mention possible cancers..

And milk and butter and cheese..the hallmark of our meal tables come from cows that spend their days standing in their own manure..overworked to the point of exhaustion. The female cow spends the majority of her life milking. For us it would be the equivalent of running 8 hours a day, 7 days a week. What is the quality of that milk we're gleaning from this type of animal? Shot up with hormones. And even more disturbingly cows stomachs do not contain the necessary enzymes to digest the corn which is their main diet. So we shoot them up with antibiotics and hormones to help their bodies digest it. So all of this goes into the meat and milk we consume. Not to mention the GMO (genetically modified) corn they are fed..

I'm not going to shrink back or be embarassed to be different, to ask for more. To want something better for my kids, for my husband, for myself. Just because everyone else does it, just because you grew up that way and it hasn't seemed that harmful does it mean nothing is happening inside of you? How can you guarantee the outcome of this type of eating years down the road?

If we spend the time to educate and clothe and give our children the best start we possibly can in every other area, how can we explain to them why we didn't teach them how to make wise choices with their eating, help them understand how to take care of their bodies? There really isn't an excuse. This isn't no big deal. It's worth the time and money to make this difference. Spend a little more buying the right food. And in the long run you'll spend a whole lot less on medical care. And they will learn an important lesson on what it means to be intentional.

Ebb

It is coming to an end. This last time to carry a child in my womb. And the sweetness carries its drop of bitter. The flutters, the tiny kicks, the melon shaped belly..all signs of the beauty, the wonder, the inexpressible, unbelievable miracle of being one who carries life.

A life carrier. Holding it within myself. And yet fair to bursting to let it out. Soon he will come and the fresh pressed sheet in the cradle will be weighted with a downy head. Nights of semi deep sleep will give way to cracks of morning, slivers of night..weary and wonderful moments of coming to know our little visitor.

Try to hold onto to the precious, the infinite, the irreplaceable moments in this time before birth. In these moments of expectation, of waiting, the laboring and wondering and watching will be over in a flash. And he will be here.

And suddenly this season, this beautiful ripe rich season in my life will give way to another. May my hands open willingly to embrace it. May I not hold on so tightly to this sense of self, this identity in carrying and giving life that I forget to treasure my own. May I ever see the beauty, the magic in the growing gangly, gap toothed tribe that gathers around the dinner table each night. May I find intoxicating their seasons of growth as I watch my own. May we all grow together, underneath and understood by the One who gave life to us all...

Undone

No one prepares you for the true weight of raising a child. Learn how to change a diaper. Check. Prepare 3 decent wholesome squares a day. Check. Decorate a bedroom, buy some Dr. Seuss books, a block set, a dolly or a teddy bear. Check. Give hugs and kisses and relate lessons in a singsongy high pitched voice. Check.

Those things are simple. Seem to come easily if you forge that connection early. Realize the power of your presence. The wonder of this little life, unfashioned, unfocused, unshaped in your hands. But no one tells you, can ever fully prepare you for the sheer exhaustion, the coming to the end of yourself over and over and again. The desperation to find a simple solution, a workable plan to solve bedtime struggles or mealtime tantrums. It isn't that easy. And I guess it shouldn't be. A child isn't a fully blank slate. Trying to erase what is already written on the slate is a travesty. My thoughts for yours. My preferences cancel out yours. Wrong.

I am beyond myself with the fatigue of trying to help Will stay down for a nap (which he still desperately needs) feel comfortable and secure and abide by boundaries for bedtime (which he is insecure and fearful of). The crib is too confining, the toddler bed too new and scary. Trying to raise 3 little people while another is on the way is more than taxing. Definitely question myself in moments.

Wouldn't trade this for the world. Would however like to pause this for a week of straight sleep!

Everything

Everything feels so close right now.
The past. The future. Here and now.
Creeping in and over me.
Cloaking me with questions and excitement
Joy and worry.
It all feels so real
And yet that I can't quite grasp it all
Hold it still. Make it wait.

Changes everyday.
Stillness and moments that seem the same.
Life upon life
Dreams upon tears
Waiting for something
Learning I can't keep it from breaking.
Giving up what once was.
Opening my eyes to what will be.