Defensive?

*The subject matter in this post may be touchy for some. And my handling of it is probably clunky, because I’m still sorting my thoughts and how best to articulate them, while attempting to preserve the dignity of the people discussed. Please note it was written in a spirit of self-reflection following a Facebook conversation with my friend Chad.  He graciously agreed to allow me to use his name and post our original exchange, which you will find in it’s entirety at the end of the post.

About a week ago, my friend Chad posted the following picture on Facebook:

I don’t typically get into it with people over politics or their stances on social issues, but I in this case, I felt I had something to contribute, so I commented on my friend’s post:

 

What followed was an exchange that left me a bit exasperated with my friend, and in looking at it with the distance of a week or so, it appears to me that Chad and I really, fundamentally believe many of the same things (in this case, that ALL lives do indeed matter.) Where our communication breaks down is that I feel the All Lives Matter slogan is a defensive and reactionary response to an actual and necessary social movement (#BlackLivesMatter) and is dismissive of the fact that many Black people feel their lives DON’T matter as much as others’.

When I first saw #BlackLivesMatter, I understood it was a response to the apparent uptick in wrongful deaths of Black people by White police and others, but because I live in a fairly white-bread, insular community, at first, it was barely on my radar.  However, it kept popping up in all my social media, so I started paying close attention to it and the concerns and fears and the stories of the people who were hashtagging it.  I started reading articles, reaching outside of my own social and media circle, following Black bloggers, and transracial and adoptive families with the intent to understand—to listen—to their experiences.

As I listen, I’m learning.  #BlackLivesMatter is not just a group of people “pulling the race card” as I’ve heard it called. They are people who are calling out actual problems and real injustices happening to people because of the color of their skin.

Throughout my discussion with Chad, I had been trying to point out that it is important to LISTEN to and try to understand WHY #BlackLivesMatter does not mean that other lives don’t—and I felt he was missing my point.  To me, he seemed defensive and shut down, not even open to listening to people’s experience with racism and the need for a social movement to change the systemic and structural racism in our society.  I asked him why he felt so defensive and if he had read the links to articles I had posted for his perusal. Rather than answer my questions, he returned it to me—“Why are you so defensive?”

At that point, frustration set in heavily for me. My goal in the discussion with Chad was to open him up to the idea to GIVE EAR AND THOUGHT TO OTHER PEOPLE WHO DON’T SHARE HIS EXPERIENCE so he could see why THEY feel a need for #BlackLivesMatter.  Unfortunately,I don’t think I succeeded, because Chad didn’t answer my questions. I have no idea if he read the links I included in our exchange, because he didn’t indicate he did, though he did tell me that he understands that minorities have struggles as well as strengths.

I feel it is crucial to LISTEN to people who feel dehumanized and devalued, whether or not I agree that they are such. My feelings are not theirs. My experiences are not theirs, so I don’t get to decide how THEY feel. And once I’ve listened, I must try to understand. And then I must work for change, so that they feel secure that their lives matter as much as anyone else’s. THEN will #AllLivesMatter. So, when Chad turned my question “Why are you so defensive?” back on me, I felt I should walk that talk, and honestly consider the question in the spirit of believing that Chad really wanted to know my thoughts and feelings, rather than using it as a volley to evade my questions and suggestions for reading.

So, was I defensive? Yes. I get defensive when I don’t feel heard, when my questions don’t get answered, when I have spent hours poring over an issue, approaching it from as many angles as I can possibly find in an effort to understand and find the Truth (with a capital T), and am dismissed when trying to share what I’ve learned.

It is not a bad thing to question a system, even if it appears to be working for you.  It is not a bad thing to take the time to listen to the experiences of others, and to conscientiously consider their beliefs, even if they are markedly different than your own

It frightens me when someone makes negative blanket statements about a group of people—any group of people—based on race, gender, politics, or religion.  Doing so diminishes the humanity of that group, and as Ann Voskamp puts it, “It’s when we dehumanize anyone, that we can legitimize anything.” That is a terrifying truth that history has played out time and time again. .

As for #BlackLivesMatter, I feel it is (unfortunately) a necessary social movement. If we truly believe that all lives matter, we will not blow off Black people as playing the race card when they call out injustices. We will listen and work until they feel heard, understood, and safe. If we truly believe that All Lives matter, we will do the work to ensure it, even if it is uncomfortable, messy, and awkward.

I came away from my discussion with Chad feeling that even though we were both talking English and both have a heart for making the world a better place, we were speaking different languages and I am still frustrated that I haven’t figured out how to bridge the gap. 

In the meantime, here’s our exchange, as food for thought—both on #BlackLivesMatter and an example of how (or how not?) to discuss tinderbox subjects with friends on social media:

Krav Maga Chronicles

Krav Maga…I have been a practitioner of this self defense system off and on for the last five years.  Three years ago, I decided to get more serious about it, and a year and half ago, I decided on an impossible dream—to become a Krav Maga instructor.  I had been helping out at a women’s self defense seminar and had an opportunity to really see Krav Maga make a difference in someone’s life—the experience was life altering—for her, and for me.  I was humbled and exhilarated to be a part of it.

I had been toying with the idea of becoming an instructor for awhile, but I was afraid I’d be laughed at if I said anything. After all, I wasn’t terribly fit, I was overweight, and I had some emotional hang ups about some of it.  All I knew was that overall, I loved it.  But after that particular women’s self defense seminar---something shifted---I knew I had to become a Krav Maga instructor, or die trying.

I practically RAN to my very hard-nosed instructor and told him what I wanted to do.  I fully expected him to sneer or laugh and tell me I was not instructor material and probably never would be. I was afraid of how he’d react when I told him what I wanted to do. But I did it, anyway.

He didn’t respond immediately---and I couldn’t read his face, but he finally told me if I was serious, I needed to talk with my chief instructor, the owner of the school.  I was surprised I wasn’t shut down, and felt encouraged—but I also wondered if that was Instructor Hard-Nose’s way of letting me down. Maybe he was passing the buck. I decided he didn’t want to be the one to tell me I was not cut out to be an instructor. 

So, I put off talking to my chief instructor for a couple of weeks.  I had to sit with the idea that what I wanted and what I was capable of might not square up.  I had to sit with the idea that I would be told no, or that I would be laughed at.  But the fire for Krav Maga just kept burning and finally, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I had to know if my chief instructor thought I could do it. I told him I wanted to be an instructor.

Actually, to be honest, I was a coward and IM’ed him. I figured being rejected via text would hurt less than being told in person.  I didn’t hear from The Chief for a couple of days---but then, his response:

“I knew you would, sooner or later!!! LOL When are you in next? We can chat!”

“Really?” I thought.  I had no idea if this meant “Well, it’s about time, let’s get going on this!” or “That’s cute, but you’re delusional. I think you need professional help to grasp the sad reality that you’ll never cut it.”

The next time I saw the Chief—he handed me a list of all the instructor testing dates in the United States and Spain for the next year.  He told me to look them over, set a date and come talk to him some more.

I was surprised…no, I was shocked.  I stared at the paper for a good ten minutes before I realized this was basically a green light from THE CHIEF INSTRUCTOR to pursue this crazy dream. 

So, I picked a date and we chatted.  Chief asked me about why I wanted to become an instructor, and what committing to training meant. He asked me if my husband was supportive, and how I would balance my responsibilities while adding instructor training to my already busy life.  Chief was encouraging and enthusiastic. He asked if I believed I could do it. I said yes. He said he believed me and that he believed IN me. On my way out, he congratulated me and said, “This experience will absolutely change your life.”

I began training in earnest---and working on technique and endurance.  Over the next few months, I lost 20 pounds and worked my way up to working out 2.5 hours a day five or six times a week.  Having talked with my other instructors, one who had just recently passed her instructor test, I learned I would need to build up the stamina to work for eight hours a day for a solid week, not to mention know HOW to teach the techniques and teach a class.  It felt overwhelming, but exciting.

It was hard to fit in training and studying between homeschooling my five kids and running my household, and holding down a part time job, but it was happening.  The wheels were on and I had awesome support from my instructors, my husband, my friends, and my kids.  I was feeling good and going strong.

My color coded schedule to keep life and training on track.

And then, of course, adversity struck.  Literally.  It came in the form of a defensive front kick in Krav class one day.  I was knocked onto my back and my head did a little ricochet thing off the floor. It didn’t so much hurt as make me dizzy.  I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t get upright again.  Instructor Hard-Nose ordered me to sit out for the rest of class to recover, but as I was always the slowest, fattest person in class, I felt I had to prove I could get back in the game. I argued with Hard-Nose—I think I even threw my mouth guard at him and insisted I could handle it.  I forced myself to keep going in class. It was ugly and I ended up having to sit out the last few minutes of class because the world kept tilting to one side.  After taking it easy for twenty minutes, I convinced myself I felt okay enough to drive home.  Since my neck hurt, I decided to stop in at my chiropractor’s on the way.

He had barely gotten out the words, “What did you do this time?” when it was clear I needed to go to the ER. 

Long story short, I had a moderate concussion, but here’s the funny thing about concussions---you don’t think really well when you have one, and I was convinced there was a bunch of fuss going on for nothing, despite the neck brace and CT scan.  Hard-Nose texted to check in, unaware of my ER visit.  My husband wouldn’t give me my phone so I could text him back.  Finally, while my husband was out filling out paperwork, I sneaked my phone to tell Hard-Nose I was fine and would be back in class in a few days.

“I’m invincible!”

The ER doc was very firm in telling me to take it easy, no books, no screens—basically no brain activity for me for at least three days and possibly up to a week or two, and then I would need another assessment.  I was down the first and second day, because the anti-nausea medicine they gave me knocked me out.  But after that, I was up and trying to do everything I normally do---because I have five kids and how do you have your brain do nothing for three days when you have carpools and teaching and work to do?

Of course, I couldn’t really do any of it—at least not for more than an hour or so at a time—and then I’d get blinding headaches, nausea, and dizziness again. Apparently, I was making myself worse. 

Recovery was S.L.O.W.  Every week, I’d think “I’m going back to class this week!” only to find the world spinning after trying to read to the kids or hearing a loud noise.

It was a bad time—and I was horribly depressed.  Concussions are weird things—I would feel better for a few hours, but then walking up the stairs would make me sick. I couldn’t process and filter noises, so everything seemed loud and overwhelming.  I was easily frustrated and had zero patience for anything.  My mind was fuzzy and it was hard to articulate my thoughts.

Mostly, though, I could do mundane things—I could even drive—at least a little--- each day.  I was upset and angry that I was missing Krav class and felt I was losing ground physically and I had been denied clearance to go back to class.  I went anyway, and sat on the sidelines, watching and occasionally heckling my classmates. It was pathetic. I was itching, aching to be back in class.

Hard-Nose took pity on me.  He’d chat with me between drills and once, I was having a particularly good day, so he let me on the mat to help him demonstrate a technique.  It was low impact for me and felt AWESOME to be DOING something again—but Chief happened to walk in and see me on the mat.  He had told me to keep him updated on my recovery and was surprised to see me on the mat.  He asked if I’d gotten clearance. I hadn’t.  He was upset and chewed me out, ordering me off the mat, telling me I wasn’t allowed back on until I had medical clearance.  I don’t know if Hard-Nose got in trouble for allowing me on the mat that night. I hope not.

It took about a month before I got medical clearance to return to full activity, but it felt like an eternity. I was told to start slowly back into my workouts, but tra-la-la, I didn’t listen. I tried to throw myself back into my full workout routine, but quickly discovered that I still needed a lot of rest. I couldn’t manage even one full class without getting a migraine.  I could barely get through warm ups, and I couldn’t take the impact of getting hit. Even hitting the punching bag would sometimes make my head spin.  My instructors kept on me about paying attention to my body and not pushing too hard too quickly.

Medical clearance! “Return to work!”

Eventually, I quit going to class regularly.  IT was frustrating to feel unable to bounce back, and I was embarrassed by how much ground I’d lost. I missed my target date for my training and test. And then, Hard-Nose got married and and left our school to pursue another career avenue.

Before he left, he tried to talk to me. My class attendance was sporadic and I came with a bad attitude and bad mouth when I showed up.  After a particularly bad night, he cornered me and called me out on both. He added that I was too much of a perfectionist and needed to chill out a little.  He said I was tense and unhappy. I was putting unrealistic pressure on myself.  He wanted me to enjoy Krav and wanted me to get my fire back. He really hammered the perfectionist thing.  I had never considered myself a perfectionist. If anything, I thought I wasn’t pushing myself hard enough!

I was angry and embarrassed and said some antagonizing things because I am a jerk. But the truth was, Hard-Nose was right. And I hated it.  I was even angry that he remained calm and even upbeat while we talked. I think, knowing he was leaving soon, he wanted to end on a good note. He was giving me advice and encouragement, in his tough love kind of way, but I just wanted to be angry. I’m still ashamed of myself about that conversation.

After Hard-Nose left, my attendance remained spotty for awhile. Life got busy and it was easy to have an excuse to not go to class, to not come into the school to train on my own, excuses, excuses, excuses.  And the longer I was away, the easier it was to stay away. Funny how that happens—excuses feed fear and fear feeds excuses.  And while they are busy gorging on each other, getting bigger and meaner and nastier, I felt my health declining and my morale sliding to the floor.

When I WOULD go into class, Chief’s workouts would kick my butt, and not in a good way.  I was so out of shape I was BEHIND square one.  And, the other instructor, a twenty-something woman with the stamina and flexibility of a Cirque du Soleil acrobat—well, I just couldn’t keep up with her.  I admire her, and she’s awesome, but I couldn’t help comparing myself with her.  We are totally different—in fact, I think the ONLY things we have in common are that we are both female and we both love Krav. 

When I first began my Krav instructor journey, Chief reminded me more than once not to compare myself with Cirque, because we were completely different in age, experience, stage of life, etc.  Intellectually, I knew that and accepted it, but being in class—man, oh, man---it was hard to accept, but impossible to ignore.  Cirque has been nothing but supportive and awesome with me—my comparisons and hang ups are all in MY head.

I am still, over a year later, not even back up in training to where I was pre-concussion. My new test date feels like it’s looming (November!!!) and I feel so under-prepared. I feel like I’ve backslid terribly and it’s harder to getting back the ground I’ve lost. Sometimes, I wonder if I’m putting unrealistic pressure on myself. Sometimes, I don’t know if I have it in me.  I hear about the training and test from other instructors, I follow some on Facebook, and I think “Who do I think I am to even consider that I can do this?” “What on earth am I thinking?!!!”

Because here’s the other thing.  Krav Maga is violent.  It is about reacting to violence. It is about doing whatever it takes—WHATEVER it takes—to go home safe.  If you are serious about protecting yourself, defending yourself or your loved ones, it is about doing what it takes. And Krav Maga is also about knowing how to deal and muscling through mentally and physically when you do get hurt.

To me, THAT is the scariest part of Krav Maga.  It’s not that I MUST lose more weight to even hope to keep up with the training/test, although I need to do that. It’s not that I MUST really increase my stamina and my speed, although I need to do that, as well. What scares me to death is the thought that I don’t know if I have the guts to stay in the fight and see it through. Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the face, the saying goes. On the flip side, I haven’t yet given up—even though I’ve wanted to, and I’ve contemplated throwing in the towel on this instructor thing many, many times.  I am still training. I’m still in---barely, some days, but I’m still in!

My biggest issue in Krav is staying calm and in control.  Mental toughness. It is easier to succumb to the fear, to the pain.  I’ve done it before.  Even now, I still sometimes freeze up in the face of the high stress and adrenaline dumps that are part of training. This enrages me. I am a mess when things get ugly and I struggle with staying together, or pulling it back together, when I’ve lost control. I HATE this, because I have worked and worked and worked and worked on it.

I’m working on making this my mantra.

If you’re read this far, you’re probably wondering why I stick with Krav Maga, if it produces in me such extreme feelings. It does occasionally get awful for me. Krav brings out the worst, but also the best in me. 

I love Krav Maga because it is so real.  You cannot fake your way through it. You come as you are, and you work with what you’ve got.  There are no short cuts.  It’s the most honest thing I have ever experienced.

Krav Maga was designed to be used by regular people.  It is for everyone. It is adaptable to anyone’s needs and abilities. It is practical, there are no wasted moves. And the more you do it, the better and fitter and better you become.One of my past classmates was confined to a motorized wheelchair—and he was fierce. More than once he pinned my arms with his and nearly ran me over with his chair---he adapted the techniques and used what he had available. It was incredible.

It is a good workout—sometimes too good.  I used to beat myself up (and still sometimes do) for not being able to keep up in class.  It took many weeks before I could make it through a whole class without needing to take a break…of course, I came from a particularly sedentary background, so someone who is more active than I was would probably get up to speed quicker than I did. But it is awesome to look back on my first days in Krav Maga and see how much progress I’ve made (and how quickly it comes back if I’ve been absent for a bit!)

Krav Maga helped me develop more confidence---I know it sounds really weird that I’m saying that NOW, after writing aabout how insecure I feel about instructor training---but when I started getting comfortable with my technical abilities in Krav, and my ability to pick up and learn new things, I found I got more comfortable with myself in general.  I was getting fit, enduring something tough, and learning new stuff all the time---and those successes bred confidence—not to mention, learning how to survive hard scenarios in class made it easier to look at tough things going on in my regular life and think “I can do this. I can get through this.”

I love the camaraderie of my classmates.  It takes a special kind of crazy to look forward to getting choked, punched, or kicked.  There is an intimacy and a trust that develops between the regulars in the classes—real life self-defense is up close and personal—there’s no way to avoid close contact when someone puts you in a headlock or gets within striking range or pins you to the ground. In order to train effectively, you have to put yourself and others in situations that are as realistic as possible.  We create ugly situations in order to train to get out of ugly situations.  In learning how to handle those situations, trust is critical.  It gets kind of gross sometimes…sweat, blood, someone breathing coffee breath right in your face, sweaty hands or arms around your sweaty neck, groin strikes, swearing, grunts, growls, yells…there’s no delicacy here.  And everyone is a good sport (most of the time!)  We’re all there to learn—and we all take turns taking shots at each other, so what you dish out, you have to be willing to receive! Respect is gained and given pretty quickly!

Krav Cronies.

I absolutely LOVE it when we get new people in class---especially women.  In just one class, a woman who comes in uncertain, or feeling foolish, or even scared, usually leaves feeling pumped up and more confident, and having learned life saving techniques.  I love partnering with new class members.  It is fun to see someone go from tentatively hitting a bag, to punching the crap out of it.  It is especially humbling and rewarding to participate in a class when someone fearful or abused, downtrodden and defeated, feels, perhaps for the first time, powerful, safe, and hopeful.  I have been witness to this more than once---it is a sacred, profound experience every time. 

This is why I keep with Krav Maga.  This is why I still nurture the dream of becoming a Krav Maga instructor.  This is what I need to remember when I start thinking I’m insane, that it’s impossible, that I’m too old, too fat, too weak, too slow to succeed. I love sharing what I’ve learned and what I’ve gained. I love seeing hope and strength develop in someone who didn’t have it before. Also, I need to remember that Chief believes in me.  He told me, when he handed me the dates for the instructor tests that he wouldn’t have given them to me if he didn’t believe I could do it.  Ultimately, I know I have to go through the testing alone---I have to stand on my own knowledge, strength, and mental toughness to pass the test---but I will only be able to to that if I utilize all the training resources available to me—and that includes remembering my instructor’s belief in me when I feel weak.  Ultimately, I must believe in myself—I know that---but the support of my instructors, family, and friends is crucial, too.  Chief still thinks I can do it—even as I struggle with training—and have one step forward two steps back kinds of days. If he thinks I can do it, I must be able to do it.  I can do it. I will do it.

Homeschooling Methods: An Overview on a Few

This past month, I spoke at an “Educational Options” night at our local library. It was a great little get together with nine speakers, each taking between 5 and 7 minutes talking about the educational method that has worked for their family. The speakers were followed by half an hour of a “curriculum crawl” where folks displayed their favorite learning tools and people were free to ask questions, look around, and handle curriculum. It was a really inspiring night.

I spoke about All the Wrong Questions and encouraged those considering homeschooling to answer the WHYs of wanting to homeschool before they invested too much into the HOWs.  I also provided an overview list of a few popular homeschooling methods and resources local to the Treasure Valley in Idaho.  There wasn’t time or space to mention ALL the homeschooling/alt school options (I don’t know that I even know ALL that are available!) but wanted to offer what I could—getting into homeschooling can be SO overwhelming, it can be hard to know where to start.

Below is the handout I made available to everyone. I share it here for those looking for a place to start, along with helpful links, as I could find them.

An Overview of some homeschooling ideologies and methods:

Classical: Defined by a three stage approach to learning: Grammar stage (emphasis of memorization of facts), Logic Stage (emphasis on analytical thinking/cause and effect), and Rhetoric Stage (emphasis on expressing oneself clearly and eloquently.)

Books about Classical Education: A Well Trained Mind by Susan Wise Bauer and Jessie Wise and The Core: Teaching Your Child the Foundations of a Classical Education by Leigh Bortins

Websites about Classical Education: www.welltrainedmind.com and www.classicalconversations.com

TJEd: Thomas Jefferson Education, also known as Leadership Education is an educational ideology and methodology that emphasizes learning through classic books in all subjects, family work, family projects, and through parental and mentor examples

Books about TJEd: A Thomas Jefferson Education: Teaching a Generation of Leaders for the 21st Century by Oliver Van DeMille and Leadership Education: The Phases of Learning by Oliver and Rachel DeMille

Websites about TJEd: www.tjed.org

Charlotte Mason: This ideology emphasizes respecting children as whole persons and offering a broad education through "living books" (not textbooks), nature study, art, and music appreciation

Books about Charlotte Mason Education: The Original Homeschooling Series by Charlotte M. Mason, A Charlotte Mason Companion: Personal Reflections on the Gentle Art of Learning by Karen Andreola

Websites about Charlotte Mason Education: simplycharlottemason.com, amblesideonline.org

Waldorf: This ideology and method was developed in a more traditional school setting and emphasizes delaying academic studies until about age 7, reasoning that young children learn best through imitation and imaginative play. Heavy emphasis on art and developing autonomy and self expression.

Books on Waldorf Education: Understanding Waldorf Education: Teaching from the Inside Out by Jack Petrash, Waldorf Education: A Family Guide by Pamela F. Fenner

Websites about Waldorf: christophorushomeschool.org

Project Based Homeschooling: This ideology centers on combining personal interests with learning through making, doing, sharing, collaborating, and acquiring real-life skills.

Books about PBH: Project Based Homeschooling: Mentoring Self Directed Learners by Lori Pickert

Websites for PBH: http://project-based-homeschooling.com/camp-creek-blog

Unschooling: An ideology that advocates learner-chosen activities and personal interests as the primary learning tool. Unschooling is the most misunderstood homeschooling philosophy. Originally "unschooling" meant "not associated with public/traditional schools" and encompassed all the previously mentioned ideologies and methods. The definition/perception of unschooling has evolved to indicate child-led learning and to imply (falsely) no rigorous academic study. "Radical unschooling" is a term that typically denotes a complete rejection of formal academic curriculum, in favor of real life, hands-on experiences to learn life skills.

Books on Unschooling: Learning All the Time by John Holt, How Children Learn by John Holt, How Children Fail by John Holt, Unschooling Rules: 55 Ways to Unlearn What We Know About Schools and Rediscover Education by Clark Aldrich

Websites about Unschooling: http://sandradodd.com/unschooling  and http://unschoolers.com/

Local Online Public/Private, and part time schools and co-operatives:

Online Charter/Public: Public school curriculum online and facilitated through your local school district--different programs are available IDEA, IDVA, Connections Academy, Harmony Educational Services

Websites for Online Charter/Public schools: http://www.idahoidea.org/about-us, http://www.connectionsacademy.com/idaho-online-school/home.aspx, K12 Idaho 

Online Private School/Distance Learning: Liahona Academy (LDS Education) www.liahonaeducation.com

Part Time Private Schools and co-ops: Local part time private schools in the Treasure Valley are available to help supplement your child's learning at home. A few options are: Aaron Academy: www.theaaronacademy.com, Glen J. Kimber Academy: google kimber.academy, Vineyard Christian Home School Co-op: www.vineyardboise.org (families must sign a statement of faith to enroll--in which case,Vineyard may not be appropriate for Catholic, LDS, and non-Christian students.) Treasure Valley Commonwealth (A TJEd co-op that meets once a week): www.treasurevalleytjed.blogspot.com,

This list is not exhaustive---Google is your friend!

All the Wrong Questions

As I’ve mentioned before, we are huge Lemony Snicket fans—and today, Calvin brought this lovely volume home from the library.  I’m laughing already and I haven’t even read the thing yet.

But this post is not about delightfully droll books, dripping with sardonic humor.

This is a post about being asked about homeschooling.  I have had a few people approach me lately wanting to know what curriculum to use and how expensive it is to homeschool.  These aren’t BAD questions, but for folks just beginning to look into homeschooling, these are the WRONG questions to start with.  Of course, they don’t know that, and it’s no fun being told you’re asking the wrong questions, but these really aren’t the best first questions to ask when considering homeschooling.

It’s natural enough to jump from “I think I want to homeschool my child” to “What curriculum should I use? And “How much does homeschooling cost?” but the answers to these questions depend entirely on a different set of questions, which are much more important, but may not be easy to answer without a lot of thought about them.

I remember when I first began researching homeschooling—I asked every homeschool parent I could find “What curriculum do you use?” and “How much does it cost?” and “How do you schedule your class time?” and EVERYONE answered “It depends.” I would press for details and I usually came away with some variation of “Well, we did this one thing, and it worked for awhile, and then we did this other thing, but now we do something else.”

Okay….frustrating!

Turns out, I was asking the wrong questions—but I only learned that after I fumbled through a few months of homeschooling, myself.  THEN, I knew why I felt I was only getting non-answers.  The homeschoolers weren’t trying to be vague—they were being honest.  Their mindset and mine were very, very different—and I was asking them questions from a public school mindset—when homeschooling is altogether a different one. I was coming from a public school lifestyle.  Their answers were coming from a completely different lifestyle. And, regardless of method or schedule or curriculum, homeschooling IS a lifestyle.  I needed a paradigm shift.

So---what are the right questions for the homeschool-curious to ask?

Before you ask ANYONE else about homeschooling—you need to ask yourself:

Why am I considering homeschooling?

How do I define a good education?

What do I value?

What do I want my children to value?

What experiences knowledge do I want my children to have?

What am I willing to do or sacrifice to make that happen?

These are not simple questions—in fact, they can be kind of loaded—but they are absolutely necessary to answer for yourself.  Once you’ve done that (and it takes some time---it’s a good idea to write it all down on paper---and write everything that comes to mind, no matter how silly or wacky your answers may sound) it’s a good idea to ask your spouse these questions—Have your partner answer the questions for him/herself—then compare your answers. 

You may find you have similar definitions, values, and ideas (this is, of course, ideal) but you may find that you have wildly disparate answers to these questions.  If that’s the case, before you can seriously consider ANY form of homeschooling, you need to work together to get on the same page—to have the same ideals and goals for your kids’ education.

These are not “sexy” questions—they require some real thought and effort—and might even require some deep discussions with your partner.  If you have older kids you are thinking about homeschooling, it might be wise to ask them these questions and find out what their answers are.

When you have a pretty solid idea of what you, your spouse, and possibly your children think—you’re almost ready to ask about curriculum, cost, and schedules, but not quite—you need to do a bit of research first—your answers to the above questions will lead you to the KIND of homeschooling that will fit your family’s needs best.

More on that next time!

Plan with Rigidity, Execute with Flexibility?

A few months ago, my husband had the opportunity to serve at the Boise LDS temple re-dedication.  He was part of the Spanish translation team for the broadcast of the re-dedicatory services.  He spent all three services (or sessions, as they’re known in Mormon-ese) in the basement of the temple, in a small utility room, the only place where the microphone wouldn’t pick up extraneous noises from the broadcast equipment and crew, who were also set up in the basement. Between translating at each session, my hubby got to chat with the security personnel who were charged with keeping things running smoothly.

The LDS prophet, President Thomas Spencer Monson, was at the temple that day and my hubby got to speak with the director of the prophet’s personal security detail.   President Monson’s frequent travels take him all over the world, and apparently, he creates quite a stir wherever he goes--stopping spontaneously en route, to visit at hospitals, homes of members, or to just greet interested passersby.  This behavior requires “on the fly” changes in security plans.

The director commented to my husband that, “We have learned to plan with rigidity and execute with flexibility.”

I have been thinking about that a lot lately.  I started out this school year with high ideals and intricate plans—and they have largely fallen by the wayside (again.)  It’s hard not to beat myself up about this—but I think I (and many others) underestimate just how much “life” happens to throw off the best laid homeschool academic plans.  When I first noticed this, I thought I just needed to plan better, be more rigid, demand more out of every minute: HERE IS MY PLAN AND BY GOLLY, WE WILL STICK WITH IT!
But it never works.  Ever.  So I keep trying, and keep getting frustrated when things go awry.



Because I’m a slow learner, I recently bought myself The Ultimate Homeschool Planner from Apologia.  It sounded awesome, and I loved its set up. “Use me,” it seemed to say, “and all your scheduling and planning issues will be solved! With me, you will reach your goals, your children will be studious and focused, you’ll have a clean house, and maybe even lose ten pounds!”

I thought for days how I was going to organize our hours, days, weeks, and months using this planner.  I spent several hours last week working up THIS week’s schedule for my two older kids.  I sat down with them and went over the plan.  I even made a meal plan for the entire week.  I was pumped, the kids were pumped.  We had a PLAN! We were going to ROCK next week!

Ahem.

Nothing has gone according to plan.  NO-THING.  The night before this awesome plan was going to work it’s magic, the dishwasher broke and flooded the kitchen from UNDER the wood floors.  The sub-flooring was soaked, the wood floor was warped, and there was water under the house.  Oh, and I had two days’ worth of dirty dishes that weren’t getting done.  The water had to be shut off, along with the electricity in the kitchen so we could fix the dishwasher.  We had no kitchen, and no water for 24 hours.  And then, when the water was turned back on, it came in one temperature: scalding. (I’ve heard of people having no running water, or no hot water---but no cold water????) I couldn’t shower or bathe my kids, or even work on Mount Dishmore because the water was TOO hot,unless we filled up the sink and tub and waited around for an hour or two---which just DIDN’T JIVE with my schedule…


(Keeping it real, folks. Really real. This is what my kitchen looks like when I fall behind on dishes—and don’t have a dishwasher. Or cold water to counterbalance the boiling water from the faucet.)

Okay, so the world’s tiniest violins are playing for me—really, this was just a minor inconvenience in the grand scheme of things, but it THREW my schedule—my PLAN!—out the window on the very first day.  Sigh.

I had also forgotten to include in my plan the fact that we had dentist appointments and a book club meeting on the first day.  AND, I didn’t account for a last minute change in schedule to my kids’ piano lessons.  My eight year old missed her dance class. Oh, and I misplaced the meal plan, which included my grocery list.

I was in the depths of despair until the mailman arrived with a package from my best friend from childhood, full of paper for school and art projects AND three notebooks we wrote back and forth in throughout the ninth grade.



The note enclosed said: “I included some ‘historical texts’ you might enjoy!” (Thanks, Cathi! I love you!)

So, all was not lost—I may not have had the perfect “DAY ONE OF THE NEW REGIME” but this made up for it!  I was ready to attack the rest of the week (oh, and my dishwasher and water issues were resolved that evening—a definite morale boost!) We also took the kids to Chuck E. Cheese so I didn’t have to cook and the kids could eat pizza, slurp soda, and generally run amok.

Day 2 was spent partying and dancing the Samba at our homeschool co-op (which was ON THE PLANNER! Woohoo!), resurrecting the house, and catching up on dishes and laundry. And showers.

However…

It is now Day 3 of my grand weekly plan---and while I tried to start the day with optimism and a degree of grace, I have already yelled at my six year old for not doing his language arts worksheet, threatened to turn a timer on for the big kids who are dilly-dallying instead of working on math, and abandoned school for the 8 year old entirely for the day. I let the kids eat Girl Scout cookies for lunch. And the baby is careening around the house in nothing but a diaper, a runny nose, and two stuffed unicorns under her arm, shouting “Twilight Sparkle! Twilight Sparkle! Twilight Sparkle!”



Okay, that IS pretty cute.

But back to today. The lesson in all of this, I suppose, is that while I managed to plan with rigidity, I also tried to execute with rigidity.  This has merely resulted in a stress headache. And an alarming lack of Thin Mints.

My day—MY LIFE—seems to go better when I PLAN with flexibility.  I have often been told by my Type A husband and friends that I fly by the seat of my pants. My lifestyle makes them a little crazy. Even my religion touts order as the ideal. And I admire that, I do.  I aspire to it.  But, maybe my sense of order---as disordered as it feels to others, is still order. It works for me, until I start looking around at how other people are ordering their lives and I think, “Hmm. They seem so put together, maybe I should try a different method!”  It’s comparison, of course, which doesn’t do anyone any good—unless perhaps one is shopping for a new dishwasher.

The truth is, I’m pretty put together when I do things my way. My way takes a lot of big swoops and nosedives. I sort of catapult through life.  To mix metaphors: I’ll never be accused of missing the forest for the trees.  My house is cleaner, my kids and I are happier, we get more accomplished, when I’m NOT trying to adhere to a rigid, intricate plan.  If I make a rigid plan, I feel the pressure to execute it in the same manner.  And no matter how many times I tell myself “execute flexibly” it just doesn’t happen, because I’ve set up the expectations with my “plan with rigidity” mindset.

So, again, I’m going back to flying by my seat. Over the forest. The view is great up here!

Meridian ATA Martial Arts: A Love Story in Fits, Starts, and Parts

I am sure my instructors and classmates would cringe at the title of this post, but folks---this IS a love story.  I write it here on my homeschool blog, because if it weren’t for my Meridian ATA family, I wouldn’t be where or who I am today. This post is my start.

Once upon a time (five or six-ish years ago) I was a stressed, out of control, insecure, crappy mom to four young kids. I can’t even explain how lousy and negative I was.  I yelled all the time, I was scared all the time, I reacted to everything in a temper. I felt paralyzed at the prospect of making simple decisions about anything. Everything freaked me out and I was totally overwhelmed and struggling to mentally and emotionally to “keep my head above water.” I could fake it for awhile, but inside, I was not awesome.

During this time, my son Calvin was in kindergarten and was struggling.  Academically, the kid was off-the-charts-smart, but he was having a hard time finding a place to fit in at school and at home. One day, he came home with a flyer advertising “Karate for Kids” and I thought we’d give it a go.  I remember my brothers’ involvement in martial arts when they were kids and how confident and focused it had made them.  I enrolled Calvin in a six week introductory class.

Calvin at his first rank test.

 

I was blown away by the awesomeness that is Meridian ATA Martial Arts.  Calvin’s instructor, Mrs. Heather Neitzell, was (IS!) amazing. It was as fun to watch her in class as it was to watch my kid.  Calvin thrived under her instruction. Mrs. Neitzell was everything I was not: positive, consistent, calm, encouraging, and kind.  I found myself taking mental notes about how to handle kids while watching Mrs. Neitzell teach Calvin’s class.  Calvin gained so much confidence and I was so impressed with Mrs. N that I decided to sign my two girls up for her class as well.  And then, in the hopes that some of Mrs. N’s awesomeness would rub off on me, I enrolled in the evening adult tae kwon do class that she taught with her husband, Mr. Jim Neitzell.

I was a squidgy ball of nerves at my first class.  I was overweight, hadn’t really exercised in years, and had just donned a white uniform that was cut for someone broad of shoulder and narrow of ass, not the other way around, like me. And the fabric had no give. I felt like an idiot. An idiot with a wedgie. 

Despite my wardrobe issues, I stepped onto the mat and was greeted by Mrs. N and a couple of teen male instructors who reminded me of Power Rangers, only without the dorky helmets. I thought I would die, and I was sure the instructors would burst out laughing at my doughy vastness.  But the instructors were encouraging and positive as I bumbled my way through the warm up and learned a bit of the first form of Songahm tae kwon do.  At the end of class, Mrs. N tied on my white belt while I was coached to holler “I want to be a black belt!” I left the first class feeling giddy.  I had survived. No one had laughed at me, and people were actually telling me they looked forward to seeing me at the next class. Maybe I could actually do this!

Here’s me in my uniform. I just passed my first rank test. I still had a wedgie.

The next three or so weeks of classes went the same—I started out terrified and feeling like a doofus, was patiently and enthusiastically taught basic techniques, and left the class feeling like a million bucks. I worked with many different instructors, of all ages and from various walks of life.  That was thrilling, and humbling, too.  Each of them were happy to tell me how they themselves got into tae kwon do, what it had done for them, their successes and failures, and lessons learned.

A note here about me: I grew up fairly active, if not particularly athletic. I ran a seven minute mile in high school, I took strength training and fitness classes in college. But after I started having babies, I became sedentary and put on weight. Taking up tae kwon do challenged my body in ways I never anticipated. It actually frightened me, discovering what my body could do, and seeing power and strength in my strikes and kicks. I cracked and broke boards. My newly discovered body also cracked open other things, too.

One day in class, I was working with a young male instructor. He was a nice guy, an excellent instructor, but I was intimidated by him. It had nothing to do with him personally. But he resembled a person from an ugly part of my younger life.  At that point in my tae kwon do classes, I hadn’t yet learned to speak up when I was uncomfortable with something---and I tried to manage my unease by reminding myself that my past was my past and it was over.

We were working on a kick drill I found particularly taxing—I was already uncomfortable working with this instructor and I was wearing down and stressing out. In an effort to keep me going, he lunged toward me—and I panicked.  I started kicking at him and screaming and crying all at the same time.  I was desperately out of control.  Fortunately, Mr. Neitzell was nearby and managed somehow to maneuver me to a bench to recover.  I was a wreck, and I was horrified by my behavior. I had caused a scene, disrupted class, and was screaming like a crazy person.  Mr. N sat down by me and tried to talk me down.  I don’t remember his words, but I do recall he reached out to reassure me, to pat my shoulder, or something---and still panicky, I snarled at him to leave me alone. Mr. N immediately backed off. (Understandably.  I’m sure he didn’t want me to go all bat-s#&* again.) What struck me, even as I was not in a good place, was that Mr. N respected me and gave me space to get myself together.  He didn’t get in my face or continue to try to touch me or talk. He didn’t hover over me. He got up and walked away.  Maybe I scared him. (I’d certainly scared myself.) Maybe he went to grab the phone to call the loony bin.  I don’t know.  But I felt very grateful that he had LISTENED to me when I told him to leave me alone. I wish I could express what that meant to me. Because he listened, I knew I could trust him.

Of course, when I had recovered from my horrible display, I was mortified. I went and hid in the restroom because I was closer to it than the exit.  I could never show my face in class again.  Everyone had seen me and everyone had heard me.  I was a freaking nut job.  I couldn’t face my instructors or Mrs. N or Mr. N or anyone---I decided I’d leave and never, never come back.  I was trying to figure out how I was going to get out of the building without anyone seeing me (an impossibility given that the restroom was on the far end from the building’s exit) when a young female instructor walked into the restroom.  Her name is Ms. Lisa Strader.  With genuine concern, she asked if I was okay.  I told her I was horribly embarrassed and apologized for my actions and told her I wouldn’t be coming back. This young lady, all of 17 years old, hugged me and spoke words that I have never forgotten, and absolutely clung to in hard times.  She looked me in the eye and said: “It’s going to be okay. We’re a family and you’re safe with us.”

There.  Now you have my start (and a fit) in Meridian ATA Martial Arts. I’ve come a long way.  These people, my ATA family, have been so patient with me.  So loving. So encouraging. I’ll post more of their awesomeness soon, because this story is only beginning.

Almost Alice

I love Alice in Wonderland.  I was fascinated and a little horrified by the Disney film as a child.  I had to write a report on Lewis Carroll in college and I was so intrigued by the Alice books, even though they didn’t make much sense to me until I picked up The Annotated Alice.  Ever since then, I’ve been a little obsessed with the zaniness of Wonderland…and it shows in my penchant for garish colors, flamingoes, and Tim Burton films.

But—that aside, I’ve been bored and a little burnt out since Christmas came and went.  I need a party. I need some kookiness to stave off the blahs.  Since Harry Potter month was such a huge hit with the kids back in October, I’ve decided to do an Alice month in May. 
I’m already gathering stuff to decorate the house and for various activities.  Oh, and prepping myself.  Since there’s a bit of chess in the Alice books, I thought it was about time I learned how to play. This is significant, because I have always avoided chess because it scared me. Only the math nerds in school played chess.  And even though I was a nerd, I was not a MATH nerd. 

My kids enjoy chess, which is great, but I have no idea how they even learned—but they can hold their own against other people who know how to play.  Calvin once tried to teach me but I got frustrated, and howled like a five year old when I lost. “I HATE THIS GAME, I’M NOT PLAYING ANYMORE!”  I may or may not have shoved the table, causing the board and pieces to fly every which way. 
This time around, Calvin has provided a cheat sheet for me, which has been more helpful than any of the chess books (for kids or adults) I’ve ever read.  I know there’s a vast deal more to the game than this:

But, hey---baby steps, right? I’m still learning not to call the knight the “horse.”
Back to our Alice in Wonderland month---I’m trying to come up with ideas to implement—maybe one activity or recipe a day—with a big Mad Hatter/Unbirthday/Red Queen Tea Party at the end, complete with costumes, herbal tea, and flamingo croquet. Here are my ideas so far:
1.Make a giant chess set  (made out of soda and water bottles—we’re saving them already!)

2. Poem memorization and art work. What DOES a Jabberwocky look like, anyway?
Oh. THAT’S what it looks like.  Ew.  Cool!
3. Riddles. My kids love riddles—and the classic “Why is a raven like a writing desk?” is only the beginning…
4. Botany—I always loved the scene in the Disney movie where the flowers sing—and since we’ll be coming up on springtime and planting time, I figure it’ll give me an excuse to splurge on some fun annuals like snap dragons, pansies, and zinnias.

Oh, and I just found this picture---I think I love it.  Cute, and slightly creepy. Zombie flowers, hahahahaha! (Okay, I am having WAY, WAY too much fun with this!)

5. Flamingo Croquet—I got the idea from Pinterest—we’ll see how it goes!

I saw another one of these sets that had pink feathers glued onto the handles.  Hmmm….how into this do I want to get?  (VERY!)
6. a little kitchen chemistry for the “eat me” and “drink me” goodies that Alice consumes.
7. lock picking.  Seriously.  Gotta get through those little doors (and learn a valuable skill to avoid getting locked out of the house or car---or start up your own robbery operation!)
8. Cake decorating.  Why not? Who doesn’t love an excuse to play with cake and sugar?

9. Movie nights---there are several Alice films---it would be great to watch them and compare and contrast---also, a little film history can be thrown in!
10. Read the Alice books, or excerpts of them, anyway.  They are a bit hard to follow because they were written over a century ago for a very specific audience---so the inside jokes would be largely over the heads of the kids (we’ll supplement with The Annotated Alice)
11. Learn about Lewis Carroll and the Victorian era, including the British monarchy. 

These are just the ideas off the top of my head.  I need to keep reading to see what other fun stuff I can dig up.  Stay tuned….

Priorities

One of the reasons I chose to homeschool my kids was because I was sure it would make me a better mother—not a “better-than-you” mother, but a “better-more-engaged-person-with-my-kids” mother.
In some ways, I think I have accomplished this—I, with my temper so bad my siblings actually refer to anyone having a hissy fit as “pulling a Marissa,” complete with claw-fingered hand gesture—have learned quite a bit of patience.  I admit, I still pull an occasional “Marissa,” but I have mellowed a LOT.
I have let go of a lot of my tendency to want to control every. single. aspect of the kids’ schooling.  They are allowed a lot of freedom and creativity and they are allowed the responsibility of cleaning up after said freedom and creativity.
I have learned to laugh.  This one came a little slower than the other two—but I’m much better now at finding the humor in less-than-humorous situations. (After I pull a Marissa.)
In other ways, though, I’ve realized I need some crucial work.  We are always on the go---I feel pulled in so many different directions.  I am so BUSY.  And I’ve had a few experiences of late that have combined to make me realize that “busy” doesn’t equal “important.”  I have a tendency to think it does.  When people ask me what’s going on in my life or what I’ve got going on for the week, I rattle off my list of “to-do’s” and “to-go’s” and I FEEL important---and that feeling carries me for awhile through my days.
But here are my recent experiences that made me realize that busyness does not equal importance:
It is fairly normal for me to try to cram my preparations for my Sunday School class into a Saturday night or even a Sunday morning before church. I skim the lesson, look for the main points and main scriptures and wing it in class.  Sometimes this works fine.  Sometimes it doesn’t.  But—I’ve had enough “works fine” classes to keep me going with what I know are lousy preparation techniques.  So, in cramming on Saturday night to prepare for my Sunday School lesson, I read 3 Nephi 11 in the Book of Mormon.  In this chapter, Jesus comes to the people in the Americas and begins to teach them.  He explains who He is, why He is come, and lays out the basic principles of His gospel—faith, baptism, repentance, and receiving the gift of the Holy Ghost. As I was skimming, it hit me that this is probably THE most significant thing I’ve EVER read.  I went back and really read the chapter.  And I was overwhelmed with the love Jesus has for me. And then I realized how precious the scriptures are—how much hope and love and peace are in them, and how now I just didn’t have time to really dive into the scriptures for myself in time for class, much less for the teens in my class.  Why had I not soaked this up sooner?  Why hadn’t I been reading and learning and absorbing the scriptures every day?
Last week, I spent a few minutes with an elderly couple that I just adore.  I hadn’t seen them in a while and just dropped in between the kids’ lessons and dance class.  We had a nice visit, but I kept sneaking peeks at my watch. My friends noticed and commented on how busy I am.  I agreed and launched into my list of things going on that day.  They listened quietly until I’d finished, and then my friends spoke, “Well, we sure miss seeing you and the kids.  But we understand, you’re busy.”  There was sadness in their tone.  I didn’t know how to address their comments, and it was time to go pick up my big kids from their piano lesson.  So, I hugged my friends and headed out.  But their words—and their tone---stayed with me. Why did they make me so sad? 
My five year old has been asking me every day for the last week for cuddle time. But every time he asked, I was in the middle of something important—I was wrist deep in pizza dough, or updating the announcements for a homeschool group I’m a part of, or trying to read through my Sunday School lesson.  My boy made himself a nest of blankets in his room, where he likes to sleep (why he won’t sleep on the brand new, awesome double bed mattress we just bought is beyond me.) Anyway, he wanted me to come snuggle with him in his nest.  He had arranged his pillow and his collection of blankets just-so for me.  After days of him pestering me, I finally went to cuddle with him in the nest. I admit, I went more to get him off my case than because I was looking forward to laying on a lumpy bunch of blankets with a wiggly little boy.  But as I angled myself down next to him, he looked me in the eyes, and said through his thumb in his mouth, “I love you mommy, thank you for cuddling with me.”  I melted.   We had a nice long snuggle and we both fell asleep, my littlest boy curled up against me, with his head on my arm. How could I have put this sweet little guy off for days?
Last Friday was the first day in a long time that we haven’t had somewhere we had to be—there was NOTHING going on—no classes, no shopping to do, no errands to run.  And it was WONDERFUL.  I spent the day with the kids reading to them, taking a walk, hanging out on the couch with the big kids while the little ones played with blocks and Barbies and Spider Man toys.  I rocked the baby.  I haven’t rocked her since I quit nursing (don’t get me wrong, I’ve held her lots and lots, but not sat down in the rocking chair and just—rocked.) Usually, she naps in the car as we’re running around town.   She was dozy---her eyes were fluttering, she was sucking her bottom lip, and she was twirling the hair on top of her head with her fingers.    As soon as she was in my arms, she konked out. At first, I was tempted to just take her to her crib, so I could get something else done—but on the way to her room, I realized I didn’t want to put her down.  I walked over to the rocking chair, sat down, and began rocking her.  I was flooded with love for her—and for all my kids—and for all the time I spent rocking them—before life got so busy.  How did I let this sweet, tender activity with my baby girl get away from me?
Last night, after the kids were in bed, I sat down with Julio while we ate a late night meal together.  We were catching up with each other, and I told him about all the projects I had going on, all the places and classes the kids had to be at, all the things that were making me feel a little crazy and that were stacking up.  He got this look on his face---the one where he wants to say something that he’s pretty sure is going to upset me, but that we both know I need to hear.  (I HATE that look.)  Then he says:
“I’m worried that you’re spreading yourself too thin.  I’m afraid you’re getting so busy that the most important things are starting to be neglected.”
I couldn’t even disagree with him.  Had I not just been complaining that we weren’t getting through all the schoolwork and the house was a mess and I felt like I was hardly even making eye contact with the kids each day?
He gave me that look again, briefly surveyed the kitchen.  “That, too, I guess, but I don’t mean that stuff.”
I thought back to cuddling Blythe and rocking Evelyn.  “I know,” I said.  “I’m with the kids all the time, but I’m not really present with them!”
Julio smiled a sad little smile at the tabletop.  He wasn’t talking about the state of the house, the kids’ education, or even the kids themselves. 
I am so stupid. He meant him.  He meant US.  I was starting to neglect him.  I was starting to neglect us.
I can’t even express the sorrow I felt, realizing I was leaving my husband, my best friend!  out of my life.  My busy, busy, stupid-busy life.
We had a pretty significant heart-to-heart talk that reminded me what an amazing, long-suffering, good-humored, kind, affectionate, intelligent, astute, compassionate man I had the good fortune to marry.
How do you know when your priorities are out of order? When you start thinking “busy” means “important.” 
Well, I’m taking back what is truly important. My God.  My husband.  My kids.  These are what matter most.  These are the most important things.  THESE are the most important things.
Tomorrow, I’ll post what I’m doing to reorder my priorities from the “busy” things to my most important things.

Tea in the time of, well---TIME.

Ever have one of those days where you’re mindlessly scrolling through Facebook or Pinterest so busy you are nearly flattened by the fact that you are missing out on the most precious moments of your life?
Last week, Gloria kept pestering me about playing with the little ceramic tea set we have, which I had purchased a couple of years go with the vision of enjoying many cozy tea parties with my girls.  I was doing something on the computer (I’m sure it was hugely important…) and I kept brushing the kid off.
“Not now, babe. In a while.”
“Later on, okay?”
“In a bit, kiddo, in a little bit.”
Well, Gloria finally got tired of waiting and got the set down.  I heard the clinking of the dishes and went to investigate.  My first inclination was to scold the kid for getting into the tea set without permission. But when I saw her dressed in her finest, with a giant, floppy ribbon carefully tied in her hair, and setting the table with a flowered hankie as a table cloth for the tea set, I melted.

This wasn’t going to be any old tea party, casually slopping water from tea pot to cup.  This was going to be the REAL DEAL.
I don’t even remember what I was doing before, or what I did after—but right then, I realized this was an opportunity to make some sweet memories.  We made biscuits.  We made herbal tea.  We set the table. We broke out the freezer jam.  We invited the other kids.  We added insane amounts of sugar AND honey to our drinks.  And we had a blast.

Isn’t she adorable?


Of course, things got a little less dainty and refined when the siblings joined us, but hey---good company is good company.


We decided to skip having a real lunch and just gorge ourselves on biscuits and jam and sugar loaded lemon herbal.


I love that the baby has a tea cup AND a sippy.  She’ll have her tea, and drink it, too!


I love her pinky in this last picture—it appears Gloria is trying to be dainty, but the reality is that as I took the picture, I asked her a question, but she was focusing on drinking the tea—the uplifted pinky was a signal that she couldn’t respond right then and would have to wait until she finished.

Say Cheese (and don’t forget a jar of money.)

After several failed attempts at arranging family/kid portraits with various photographers (I know I’m sabotaging it all myself, that that’s another post) this is as good as we’re going to get:

The baby had crawled up on top of a box and we hurried to cluster the other kids around her for a photo—which of course, made her want to get off the box and toddle away—so we grabbed the closest “prop” we could find to keep her interested in sitting still—the “swear jar.”  (If anyone is doing the swearing in our household, it’s me, and this photo clearly explains why I’m always broke.)