Happy New Year and some writing stuff

Starting anything new makes my stomach twist like wringing out a wet rag.  It’s an uncomfortable sensation, but also oddly satisfying.  I feel this way with any new endeavor, and the stronger the wringing sensation, the more I know I’m getting into something good.
I committed to posting on my blog at least once a week for the entirety of 2016, but I felt like I needed a boot camp of sorts, so I joined Think Kit—a group of bloggers that wanted to flex their blogging muscles. Each day this January, Think Kit will provide a writing prompt for the group to use to get the creative juices flowing.  I will post each day here using the prompt (or one of the “lifeline” alternative prompts.) This is exciting and a little scary—so I must be doing something right!  Geronimo!
Today’s prompt is:

First Line

Pretend you're writing your autobiography. Give us your first line, a first chapter, or even just an image. What's the story of you?
Socks.  I think about them quite a bit, because I absolutely must change my socks three or four times a day. I carry clean socks in my gym bag (naturally) but also in my purse, in the console of my car, and even in my coat pockets. I don’t consider myself an obsessive-compulsive personality. In fact, I’m pretty fast and loose with housecleaning and hairstyles and noise and just about everything else, but in order to feel right with the world, I must be wearing clean, dry, comfortable socks.

This post is part of Think Kit by SmallBox.

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.

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!

Priorities (Applied)

For now, I’m just making a list of what I’m doing to make sure I keep my priorities straight.
Priority # 1: God.
If I’m not paying attention to my relationship with my Savior, everything else seems to fall apart---so my biggest two actions to make sure I’m staying in touch are:
Reading my scriptures BEFORE I get out of bed.  My phone is my alarm clock in the mornings and I have the Old and New Testaments as well as The Book of Mormon, Doctrine and Covenants, and Pearl of Great Price on the phone as well, so it’s super easy to pick it up and read after I’ve turned the alarm off.  I can just flick through, find wherever it was I left off the last time, and keep reading.  Even if I only read a verse a day, I feel I’ve accomplished something. I have more energy during the day and I am more patient and optimistic.
Morning prayers. I’m pretty good about remembering to get on my knees before bed and offer a prayer, but I’m not so good about starting the day with prayer—but I’ve found that when I do, my days go better.  I’m more patient, I have more energy.  Huh.  That sounds like what happens when I read my scriptures…and I’m all for a double dose of patience and energy!
Priority # 2: Husband.
Right now, I think the best thing I can do to nurture my husband is to go to bed at the same time my he does.  It’s a simple thing, really, but it’s one way to avoid living completely separate lives—and going to bed at the same time gives us a great chance to wind down together, talk, or…well, do other stuff….
Also, taking ten minutes to tidy up the house before Julio gets home, and making sure dinner is ready to eat when he walks in is a good thing for my marriage.  I recently implemented a ten minute cleaning blitz about half an hour before I expect Julio home.  It’s pretty simple, and so basic, I wonder why I didn’t think of it sooner.  A tidy house makes for happy people—and who doesn’t love to come home to a neat space? It sets a good tone for the evening. 
Meal planning—or at least dinner planning is a good thing too.  It takes the stress out of trying to figure out what we’re going to eat and gives me a chance to plan for the evenings when we’ll be gone all day (crock pot!) or gone in the evenings (picnic style!)  Julio always comes home hungry, so having dinner ready to go as soon as he walks in makes for a smooth transition from work to home!  Last Sunday evening, I sat down with Ellen (who was in charge of kitchen chores for the week) and we planned dinners together.  She wrote down our menu for the week and posted it on the fridge.  It was wonderful.  Everyone knew what to expect, and I had a visual reminder about what I’d need to prepare on any given day. 
How does cooking and cleaning nurture my marriage? It makes me a nicer person to be around, and frankly, it just makes Julio happy.  I like to make him happy.
Priority # 3: Kids.
I need to spend more face time with each of my kids.  It’s so easy to treat them as a herd.  It’s easy to ignore them or push them away with schoolwork or chores or TV and computer time.  We’re in the car a lot and it’s easy to tune them out via the radio or an audio book or CD. I need to be more intentional in my time with my kids.  They love to be read to—even the big kids.  We need to sing together more—doing it in the car would be great---but of course, I’ll have to start with goofy kid songs to ensure participation!  I definitely need to hug and cuddle my kids more.  I’d like to be the kind of mom that just randomly hugs a kid, but I have to really make an effort to remember to do that.  And when I tell myself “I need to give each kid five hugs today” it gets done.  If I don’t tell myself things like that, it’s easy for me to go all day without really connecting physically—and kids NEED that. My kids love it when I hug them, and they behave better and act happier when I “randomly” grab one of them and hug them and say, “You know, I think you’re a great kid and I’m glad you’re mine.”  I mean it when I say it, too—even if only ten minutes ago I was harping on someone to get their room clean or quit dawdling over the math assignment.

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.

And So We Begin….Again!

I had originally planned to homeschool year round—it seemed more organic that way, or something.  Maybe I thought I would need to teach year round so my kids wouldn’t get “behind.”  But alas, I have taken to a pretty traditional school year schedule. 
Frankly, it’s hard to “do school” when all the neighbor kids are out for the summer and knocking on your door/peering in your window/laughing and squealing as they run through the sprinklers and play on the trampoline and eat popsicles.  My kids just cannot focus through that!  So---we bagged school for the summer.
What I love about starting up in the fall, is that because “everyone else” is also going back to school, there’s a thrum of energy in the air---a sense of new beginnings---and new school supplies!  I like to capitalize on that energy---we hit the school supply sales, replace back packs (yes, homeschoolers need them, too,) pick up dozens of packages of paper, crayons, colored pencils, etc.  We stock the school room (I have a school room this year!  Woohoo!) and I spend a couple of weeks in panic mode planning lessons and going through our curricula.
This year, I have four kids “in” school.  Last year, I was still trying to figure out how to do THREE, so I knew I’d have to be really on the ball this year.  We’ve just completed our first week and a half and I have to admit, it’s going pretty well.
The hardest part so far has been figuring out our dynamics. Gloria (7) and Blythe (5) are NOT keen on doing anything academic—they’d rather play with toys and bicker with each other.  I was totally stressed about how to get them to do anything remotely academic---but we discovered over the summer that reading together is FUN (it helps to have the prizes and treats from the library’s summer reading program to dangle in front of them!) so I thought when school-time came, I’d start there—with reading to the “middles.” 
So far, so good.  Even the baby gets in on the action.  After we’ve read, I take Blythe upstairs to work on handwriting, math, and grammar.  This takes about forty-five minutes—then he’s free to play with the math manipulatives or look at books. 
On to Gloria’s turn---  We do math, spelling, and grammar (which includes a lot of handwriting practice.)
While all this is going on, the baby is wandering around or I have one of the big kids tag-team keeping an eye on her while also working on their own projects---namely practicing the piano, or working on their assignments in math, Spanish, and writing. 
When Gloria is through, she’s free to go play and I bring the big kids up for grammar and spelling and to check their math and reading. 
We usually break for lunch between 12:30 and 1:00.  After lunch, we finish up anything that didn’t get done before lunch (including chores) and then head out for our extra-curricular activities (dance, karate, etc.)
This has worked out so far, but this week, we start back with our homeschool co-op. We meet with six other families twice a week for a “one room school house” approach to history (ancient history through the fall of Rome, this year,) geography, science, and math games.  And once a week at co-op, we’ll have an art class (I’m teaching that one.)
I’m excited about co-op.  Ours is really focused on academic subjects, and the moms take turns teaching the classes. (I’m helping with science this year.)  It’s nice to be able to “share the burden” of teaching with other moms—it adds some variety to the kids’ school experience, and co-op offers them a chance to spend time with their friends. 
But, since co-op will take up two days out of our week, I need to figure out how to fit the other stuff we need to get done (namely, piano, Spanish, and their regular math assignments, and for my little kids—handwriting and reading.)  That’s where the “how do I figure the dynamics?” comes into play.  Co-op will go from 11 AM to maybe 1:30, 2:00-ish—not including the once a week art class.  By the time we get home—it will be about 3:00—just enough time to grab a snack, change clothes, and head out to whatever activity is going on (dance, karate, choir, etc.)
I’m thinking we’ll have to get up earlier in the morning—and by “we,” I mean “me,” because my kids are all up by 7 AM in order to watch PBS until Mom gets up between 8:30 and 9.  I expect my kids to be dressed, combed, fed, and have their chores done by 9:30 AM, so we can start school.  I like this arrangement, because then I can be leisurely about getting up and getting ready.  Or, when I’m feeling ambitious, I can get a half-decent jog in before my shower. 
Getting up earlier does not thrill me—but neither does allowing the kids to stay up later to get their work done.  I love my kids and I love homeschooling, but by 9:30 PM my brain shuts down and the only noise it can tolerate is whatever TV show my husband and I have decided to watch.
I’m also trying to figure out how to deal with the inordinate amount of time we’ll spend on the road in the afternoons and evenings.  We live on the outskirts of a tiny town in the boonies now, and while I LOVE my house and my neighborhood, we are at least 30 minutes away from civilization.  I realize that some readers may be playing the world’s tiniest violins at that statement, but when you consider I moved from town, where everything was literally within ten minutes—that extra 20 on either end of a drive adds up.  I need to find a way to occupy that time—besides mindlessly listening to the radio and making threats to the kids about “If you don’t stop fighting back there…!”
Also—food.  Mealtimes and snacks---hmmm.  On co-op days, we’ll need to bring lunch—the idea of packing a lunch for six people twice a week makes me shudder.  It’s not so much the packing of the lunches, but trying to decide what to put IN the lunches.  My kids have this crazy notion that they CAN’T eat PBJs every. single. day.  Life would be so much easier if they did.  Of course, I would hate to eat PBJs every day, too—but I’m not very original or creative, so I will have to do some research to find easily packable, varied items for lunches.  I'm sure this is probably the great dilemma for anyone in school.
Another dilemma is what to do for dinner each night.  Except for Monday nights and weekends, we are on the go from about 4:00 to 8:00.  I don’t love this—but I think it’s just the stage we’re in.  I need to figure out how to feed everyone---either on the road, or at home (but if we eat at home, which is preferable, it needs to food that is already cooked and ready to go---so the house can be tidied and kids in bed before my brain turns to mush at 9:30.)  I suppose I’ll have to look into crockpot stuff and freezer meals. And I’ll have to do it quick, because those run-around evenings are HERE!
Okay—so this was more rambly than I thought—but whatever—I think better when I write stuff down.  I’ll update as we go along.  My goal is to function with more structure and purpose this school year—and I think so far, so good.  (But does anyone want to be my personal chef?)

Courses of Study for 2012-13 (or Ooh, That Sounds So High-Falutin’!)

We are a “freestyle” homeschooling family, meaning we are unaffiliated with the local school district or any online charter schools.  Thanks to very liberal homeschool laws in the great state of Idaho, (God bless Idaho!) we are free to teach our children anything we choose.
Last year, we continued with the Writing With Ease series, Spelling Workout workbooks, and the First Language Lessons series for language arts. These are all heavy on narration, recitation, memorization, and worksheets, which my kids love doing. (Who ARE these people?)
We also relied heavily on online resources for many of our classes.  We used ALEKS for math and BrainPOP for social studies and science.  We also began using the Rosetta Stone Spanish program (which is AWESOME, by the way.)
This year, my goal is to get the kids off the screens so much (their choir homework is also done online), so we have joined a local co-op that promises to be very hands-on.  Through the co-op, we will be using The Story of the World Vol. 1 (Ancient Times through the Fall of Rome) as a basis for our history and science courses. (I’m co-teaching science and we’re going to mummify a couple of chickens while we’re studying Ancient Egypt!)
Outside of co-op, my middle and little kids will be focusing on handwriting, using the Zaner-Blozer model for both manuscript and cursive (merely because that’s what I was taught and what I prefer to teach.)
I recently invested in Saxon Math, after finding the the ALEKS program was just not enough even when using the core curriculum program (as opposed to the supplemental version available at most public schools.)  I have started my two little kids in the K and 1 Saxon books and they are clipping along. In fact, I’m wondering if my 7 year old is ready for Book 2.  My older kids are using Saxon 54 and 65 books.  I started them a couple of weeks ago.  At this point, the lessons are merely review for the big kids—which was what I wanted---they really need to cement the basics—especially as far as defining mathematical terms.  Saxon is very teaching intensive, meaning unlike ALEKS, Saxon requires ME to really do the teaching.  So far, I am enjoying it—I’m learning and “cementing” concepts right along with the kids.  The kids are a little less than impressed with the drills, but we make it fun by turning the drills into games and even making goofy flash cards.  At this point, my kids would technically be considered “behind” in math if they were in a public school, but they are progressing nicely since we switched to Saxon and they are liking math a whole lot more.  (And I am liking math a whole lot more!)  I have no doubt they will catch up with their public school peers within the next few months.  My goal is to have them into the next books by January, putting them “at grade level” by the end of the year.
Outside of the core classes, our kids will continue with Rosetta Stone Spanish, use BrainPOP as a supplement for science and history, and they’ll also be involved in extra-curriculars.  They are currently lined up for tae kwon do, Cantus Youth Choirs, Boy Scouts, and various church youth development programs.  Ellen is now old enough for volunteer work at the local library and humane society, and she’s expressed a strong desire to do both.  The challenge with that will be trying to find time to serve in an already busy schedule---we want to make sure we prioritize non-school related family time.
An important component of family time is our religious devotions and study.  I admit, we really still are “fly by the seat of your pants” in this area.  We have gotten very good at having a Monday night devotional, which in LDS lingo is formally called Family Home Evening, but other study and devotions, including scripture study, have been hit or miss.
In an effort to bring our spiritual development to the forefront this year, I have created Personal Prayer/Personal Scripture Study, and Family Prayer/Family Scripture Study cards to use in our Visual Schedule each day.  Since I implemented the schedule and these cards, we’ve seen steady improvement from each child and as a family.  Of course, the average family scripture study period consists of reading a verse or two, and asking the kids to sum up the principle taught in that verse, or summarizing a favorite scripture story (Daniel in the Lion’s Den is my personal favorite, as is the Nativity story.)  It’s not long and it’s not particularly deep, but it’s a start.  I would like to get us singing hymns (which means we need to memorize them, which means we need to practice them—but I haven’t figured out how to get the kids excited about that yet.)
I am really looking forward to the “official” school year—so far, we’ve been taking a relaxed approach to the curriculum for this coming year—easing into it, if you will.  I plan to ramp it up come August 21.  This is the day that the local kids go back to school and there’s a great energy that just comes with that “back to school” atmosphere—even though my kids aren’t hopping on the big yellow bus.  We’ll take advantage of everyone else’s excitement and get rolling right along with them! 

Planning for Fall 2012

I’m going to hit the ground running at the end of August with some new ideas to start off the new “school year.”  The last couple of years have been rather chaotic due to some family drama, birth of a baby, and moving a number of reasons, and while we still managed to get school stuff done, I wasn’t nearly as organized as the kids needed me to be.
I admit, I am NOT a structure person—the thought of keeping to a calendar or committing to regularly scheduled ANYTHING makes me hyperventilate.  I blame it on an artistic disposition—but my children all inherited their father’s need for routine, and frankly, I’m tired of hearing:
“What are we going to do today?”
or more likely: “Can we watch Netflix?”
or more likely: “Can I play games on the computer/Wii/phone?”
or most likely: “I’ve done my morning chores and the other kids aren’t done with theirs and haven’t even eaten breakfast, and it’s not time to do school yet, so can I play games on the computer/Wii/phone?”
I’m tired of telling them no (and feeling guilty when telling them yes) and I realized that despite the copious amount of reading the kids all do—they are BORED OUT OF THEIR MINDS!
Now, I realize it’s summer time, and that a little boredom is a good thing—it forces the kids to use their imagination (or get chores done on the off chance Mom catches them moaning about their lack of activities/entertainment.)  But that’s a different post.  My point here is—we gotta change this up for the school year, or we’re going to go out of our ever-loving minds.
Enter The Visual Schedule!
One day, while scrolling through friends’ statuses on Facebook, I noticed a buddy had commented on this post over at Simple Homeschool.  Normally, I avoid anything that even remotely resembles a formal schedule, but for some reason, I latched onto the idea and became obsessed with creating my own visual schedule—one I could point at when the kids ask “What are we going to do today?” and they don’t buy my default answer: We’re going to try to take over the world.”
I won’t go into the nitty gritties of explaining how I put it together, it’s beautifully done here, in a post by Stephanie at Keeper of the Home and is the model I used to create our own.  The only difference between Stephanie’s set up and mine is that I opted to arrange our schedule on the fridge using magnets I bought at the dollar store, rather than using a teacher’s pocket wall chart.  I’m cheap, what can I say?
Each night, I (or one of the kids, under my direction) put together the next day’s schedule.  The kids love this because they get to see what’s coming up and can anticipate how things are going to roll once they crawl out of bed toward the Fruit Loops.  I love this because the kids know what I expect them to get done before we start school, and it helps keep me focused and on task in making sure the kids are getting in the work (house and school) that needs to be done.
Of course, most days don’t go EXACTLY as planned.  We change things around if the flow of our day needs some tweaking.  We occasionally add or subtract activities if needed.  So, the schedule is flexible, which keeps me from having to breathe into a paper bag while bringing a bit of order to the place!

And Where Have YOU Been?!?

Okay, so I haven't written anything since I started my travelogue.  To be honest, I've been too "close" to the experience to want to relive it right away---and I stayed away from blogging anything because I felt like I had to FINISH the travelogue.  And I will finish it.  Just not today...and probably not tomorrow, either.  But, I"m back, committed to writing regularly ("regularly" being defined as "whenever I feel like it.")  And here are the two biggest reasons I'm back: 
www.lytlemomma.blogspot.com and www.rageagainsttheminivan.com. These two blogs are completely different and yet both of them speak to me and inspire me. 
The first of the pair is written by Stacey Lytle, a fellow homeschooling mom and personal friend.  She's also a small business owner, an event planner, a motivational speaker, and aspiring author. She's been one of my mentors since I started this homeschooling gig and I've learned significant lessons from her, like how to look on the positive side of any situation, how important it is to be inclusive and loving, how to be a cheerleader for my kids and everyone else, how to ask the right questions, how to plan social events, how to laugh at myself, how to muster enthusiasm and interest when I'd rather be sleeping or crying or running screaming from the room.  Stacey is positive, insightful, spiritually-minded, loving, and a lot of fun--all the things I wish I was. I get a kick out of reading her blog because it's so HER...she makes me feel like I can accomplish ANYTHING. She writes about her own homeschooling and life experiences and her spiritual journey. Oh, and if you thought it couldn't get any better, every now and then she tucks recipes into her posts.  Ain't nothin' better than Momma's Waffles. (Just ask my kids.)
The second blog is technically a website, with a blog thrown in...or something.  I don't really know how it all breaks down in tech-lingo.  Anyway, the writer of Rage Against the Mini-van is Kristen Howerton, who is not a homeschool mom and not a personal friend (but I wish she was.)  Kristen is the mother of four kids. She's also a Marriage and Family Therapist and freelance writer. She writes about all kinds of things, from the quotidian aspects of parenthood, to issues of race, politics, religion, social justice, adoption, and pop culture.  She also has a guest post series called "What I Want You to Know" wherein folks can write about what they want the world to know about their particular life experiences.  Kristen is fascinating, thought provoking, and funny--in a wry, tell-it-as-it-is kind of way.
These women feed my heart and mind and make me want to write all kinds of stuff---tomorrow.  Right now I need to catch some zzz's while the baby is sleeping.  I"m hoping for a solid four hours tonight.  Wish me luck.

Extreme Home Makeover, WHERE ARE YOU?

Aaaaaand...I'm back.  Hi.  Missed me?  Of course you did.  I've missed me.  It's been a crazy six months since the baby arrived.  It's still crazy, but I think it's getting easier to keep my head above water, so to speak.  We are officially a couple or three weeks into the new school year..and other than a crappy first day, spent sleep deprived and with sick children, I think we're doing okay.  The academics are going fine, but I find myself feeling frustrated and agitated by my surroundings.  It is a PIT here.  And this is AFTER I spent the summer de-junking and attempting to reorganize.

You are now forewarned that this is as much a wish list post as anything else.

Here's how it works right now.  The kids work on schoolwork all over the house.  We used to sit at the kitchen table for everything that didn't involve using the computer--but since the baby was born, I've had to have the kids come sit by me on the couch while I nurse.  Or the kids will sprawl out on the floor in whatever room hasn't been taken over by laundry or siblings.  There are stacks of books, papers, school supplies, scratch paper, half finished projects, and who knows what else on every available horizontal surface.  And it's making me crazy.

My first attempt to control it all was to buy more bookshelves.  Unfortunately, this just created more horizontal space to stack stuff on.  Then I tried more shelves with fabric BINS.  But now we can't see anything, so we forget we have eight pairs of scissors and sixty different kinds of glue.  Sigh.  I need a better system.  And while we're at it--

I need pretty.  Seriously.  I am so tired of cheap plastic bins and plywood furniture, white walls, piles of junk, and dilapidated vertical blinds.  Actually, aside from pretty, I need more space--we are pretty cramped in our little dollhouse. But, since gaining more space isn't going to happen anytime soon, I need functionality and I need PRETTY.

I don't exactly know how to accomplish these things, so I'm going to use this post to think, uh, aloud.

Curtains.  The family room faces east, so we get a lot of sun during the morning.  Vertical blinds suck--we've had them for years and they have become brittle and pretty useless.  I need sheer curtains for daytime--something to let in light without blinding us--but I need another layer of something heavy and not see through so we don't look like a lighted aquarium from the outside at night.

Wall color.  I love orange.  I am dying to paint something bright, eye-popping orange.  The whole room is probably overkill, so an accent wall--but which wall?  I also like blue--that Martha Stewart pale aqua color is pretty awesome--but it kind of doesn't go with orange.  I also like bright pink--somewhere between magenta and Pepto-Bismol....hmmm....

Mirrors--depth for the narrow rooms! (But it will reflect all the clutter--double the clutter?!!?!?! NOOOO!!!!)

Storage.  Pardon me while I collapse on the floor and weep, wail, and gnash my teeth.  We have zero storage in this house and I have no idea how to create any without making us feel like the house is coming down on us from all sides.

Elegance.  Okay, with Pepto-Bismol pink and bright orange, I don't know if this is possible--but I like clean lines and not a lot of doodads and gew-gaws to deal with.  But I hate the minimalist/modern look.  I like a place to look lived in and personal.

Light fixtures.  I hate my light fixtures--all of them.  They either collect tons of dust or they are shaped like boobs.  Ugh.  But what do I replace them with?  I don't have room for end tables and lamps.

I seriously want to call that Nate Berkus guy, or one of those other home makeover shows and say--"I have a challenge for you!" and then show them this place.  I can imagine the designers talking to me about what my passions and goals are, asking me about our lifestyle, and then having them pick out the fact that I like bright colors, I like cushy, kid friendly furniture, but I like elegance, too.  And then I picture them working their magic.  But when I picture the big UNVEIL--after I get past the scene of me uncovering my eyes and hopping up and down squealing in gleeful disbelief and gratitude and hugging and possibly smooching the designer, I see---nothing.

I guess I"ll have to figure out my own design stuff...hmmm.  Gonna go stare at the walls for a bit.

Math and a melodramatic post about how much I hate it.

Is it possible to start a post with a belly-ripping, headache-inducing scream? Because that’s what I want to do right now. I HATE math. And even more than hating math, I HATE TEACHING MATH.  (Excuse me while I breathe into a paper bag for a minute.)
Maybe it’s because I have a long and humiliating history with the subject. In the first grade, I was asked, in front of the whole class, to “count by ones.”  We had just gone over skip counting by 2s and 5s and 10s, so you’d think I’d have had this in the bag.  But, I was a shy, dreamy little kid, still trying to wrap my head around skip counting and had never heard of “counting by ones.”  Either you COUNTED “1,2,3,4…” or you SKIP COUNTED. I was not familiar with the term “counting by ones” and told the teacher I didn’t know how.  She gave me a “You are such a little sh@#.” look and then asked another student to “show Marissa how to count by ones…” The kid then proceeded to sneer at me, emphasizing how dumb she thought I was with each number, “One. (Moron!) Two. (Dork!) Three. (Stupid!) Four. (Dummy!) Five…” 
Duh.
After that, I mentally checked out of math class and never returned.  My worst nightmares aren’t about losing a loved one or being chased by bogey men—it’s of having to go to a math class.
So how does this translate to homeschooling?  A lot of hyperventilating went into my lesson planning.  I finally turned math over to a computer program called ALEKS, which absolves me of most of the work involved in teaching.  But, sometimes my kids still struggle with a concept and don’t understand the explanations and examples the ALEKS program offers and I have to step in.  Did you know there is a huge difference between knowing how to do something and knowing how to teach it?
A typical teaching session goes something like this:
Me: (demonstrating a math problem) So that’s how you do it.
Kid: Why?
Me: Here, let me show you another example (demonstrating again).  See?
Kid: Um, no.  What?
Me: Okay, well, you carry the…wait, move this here..then carry the..oh, dammit.  Class dismissed.
Kid: Yay!
Have I mentioned I hate math?  I don’t want to hate it.  In fact, I kind of got a taste of the beauty of math when I stumbled across this scene from the crime drama Numb3rs:

“Math is nature’s language; its method of communicating directly with us. Everything is numbers…”
Wow.  That is SO cool!  I remind myself of this constantly, because I really don’t want to hate math.  I want to love it, and I want my kids to love it—for the very reasons brought up in the video clip.  Unfortunately, I have yet to work through my deep seated issues with math, so I’m turning over the teaching in this department to my husband (who was a math minor in college.)
More on my epic math phobias later.  It’s time to bust out some grammar!

Sing Your Heart Out

Do you know of the grammy winning musical group from South Africa, Ladysmith Black Mambazo? I first heard them in junior high, when a substitute teacher in my choir class had us watch a film called “Spike Lee’s Do It A Capella.”  The movie showcased a number of a capella groups—all of them dynamic, all of them talented.  Among them, the most fascinating to me was Ladysmith Black Mambazo.  I loved their deep, tribal harmonies and exotic sound. I loved the story of their name. I followed their career through the years—loving their collaborations with everyone from Paul Simon to Disney.  I fancied myself a singer as a kid and I had this fantasy of going professional and performing with Ladysmith in something like this. I bought the Do It A capella soundtrack and memorized all the songs—trying to pick out various parts. “Someday,” I thought, “I am going to sing with Ladysmith Black Mambazo!”
As the years passed, my interests and focus changed.  I would not become a professional singer, and that was okay.  I got on with life, went to college, and studied the Humanities. I got married. I had a bunch of kids.  I took up scrapbooking and knitting. But every time I listened to the Do It A Capella soundtrack, I’d indulge in the childish fantasy of singing with Ladysmith. 
And then—I heard they were coming to perform in Nampa, Idaho.  I was thrilled (and surprised they’d be coming to such a podunk town in Idaho in the first place.)  There was NO WAY I was going to miss their performance. My hubby bought tickets and I jabbered to him the whole way over to the event about how much I had loved Ladysmith Black Mambazo’s music as a kid, and how I had always wanted to sing with them and how excited I was to see them in person in what was practically my back yard.
We sat in the center of the fourth to last row in the small auditorium of the Nampa Civic Center.  I always like to look around at the audience when I go to concerts, and in this case, I was very curious to see who else would attend a Ladysmith Black Mambazo concert.  It was full of stuffy older people, whispering back and forth what they thought they knew about Ladysmith and full of themselves for coming to a “cultural event.” I wondered if I was the only genuine fan in the audience.

When the music started, I was practically bouncing out of my seat.  The singers encouraged the audience to clap out rhythms with them and participate in the call and response songs.  Surely, this was heaven!  But to the singers’ frustration (and mine) the audience remained reserved in their participation.  I think I was the loudest clapper and responder in the bunch—much to the chagrin of the people around me.  I felt the pressure to sit quietly, and began to hold back.  I became agitated.  I really wanted to participate, but because of what I perceived as disapproval from the people surrounding me, I felt I had to stifle my enthusiasm.
Then, the singers began a song, inviting people from the audience to join them onstage.  A couple of the singers left the stage to hand pick people from the audience out of the front row.  I was desperately jealous of and excited for the people the singers were trying to engage. The singers weren’t having much luck convincing people to come up.  Soon, I was disappointed and embarrassed to see that most of the people opted to remain seated.  When the singers realized they weren’t going to get the adults to join them, they turned to recruiting kids—and finally got a couple of them up as they got into their song.  Throughout the song, the singers continued trying to get folks to join them, moving to the edges of the third, fourth, and even fifth rows!  I kept whispering fiercely to my husband that I wanted to go up.  Here was my chance—here was my fantasy realized—I could really go up there and SING with my favorite musical group!  He encouraged me to go, practically pushing me out of my seat.  But by then, the song was nearly over and I would have had to climb over fifteen people, run up ten rows or so, and climb onstage.  I would have looked really stupid and I would have annoyed the people I had to climb over. I would have caused a bit of a ruckus.  What would they have thought of me?
So I stayed put. It killed me, but I couldn’t find the nerve to go up there.  When the song ended, the singers helped the two kids and the one adult couple that eventually joined them back to their seats.  I kept thinking that if they asked for volunteers to go up on stage again, I’d do it and to hell with the people that might get annoyed as I barreled up to the stage.  But, the singers didn’t recruit any more people.  They finished out their concert, and the curtain closed.  I had missed my opportunity.  I left what had been an amazing performance not elated and uplifted by the singers, but dejected and disappointed in myself.  I had let fear of what others might think prevent me from fulfilling my dream.  It had been quite literally within my grasp, and I had not seized it.
On the way home, I tried to mollify myself.  There were a couple of call and response songs that the group had gotten the entire audience involved in.  I had sung with the crowd when directed to, so technically, I had sung with Ladysmith Black Mambazo.  But repeating a few choruses with a reluctant audience wasn’t the same as going up on stage, joining the beckoning singers, and singing my soul out.
I’ve thought a lot about that experience over the last couple of years.  How many times have I had an opportunity to do something great, to be a part of something phenomenal, to do a bit of good, but not taken part because of fear of what others would think, or fear of my own inadequacy? And what have I ever gained from hanging back, not plunging in to something I’m passionate about? I vowed I would never let fear best me again and prevent me from fulfilling my dreams, because living in fear is not living at all.
When dreams call, grasp the hand of opportunity, regardless of fear, and sing your heart out.

A Life Lesson, as brought to you by my husband

Back in April 2010, my husband went in for a routine physical and was told by his doctor that his blood pressure was high and he needed to lose weight because he was at risk for a heart attack (among other things.)  The doc wanted to see him back in three months.  If my husband hadn’t improved, he’d have to start taking blood pressure medication.
For about two weeks following his appointment, my husband tried to exercise—but then life got in the way; we went on vacation, he got a head cold, he got busy at work, the kids wanted his attention, his church callings took up too much time.  I worried about his health, but not wanting to nag my man about his eating habits and lack of exercise, I didn’t say anything. (If I had, it would have been the pot calling the kettle black!)  Soon, three months were past, and it was time for his follow up appointment.
This time, my husband’s blood pressure was worse.  The doctor actually told him he was a “ticking time bomb” and “going to have a heart attack.”  He wrote out a prescription for BP medicine.  My husband was horrified and declared he would try again to lose weight, if the doctor would just give him another three months. The doctor, highly skeptical, called my husband out on the carpet.  “You’ve had three months to get this under control and you haven’t,” he said.  “What makes you think you’re going to do it now?”  My husband asked how long he’d have to be on the medicine if he started taking it.  The doctor said, “Probably for the rest of your life.”  My husband looked the doc in the eye and said, “I don’t want to have to rely on that medicine to stay alive.  I WILL get healthy the right way.  Give me three more months and let me prove it to you.”
The doctor was still skeptical, but turned my husband loose, without the prescription.
Long story short, my husband has spent the last nine months proving he could get himself healthy.  He’s lost 60 pounds and is now within ten pounds of his target weight.  His blood pressure is now normal, his risk for a heart attack and stroke down to practically zero.  This man is a lean machine.

Over the last few months, people have noticed him getting smaller and leaner. He’s been approached by men and women who tell him he looks like his weight has just “melted off.”  He’s been told, in tones of awe and envy, that he looks like he’s “wasting away.”  Some of our elderly friends have even expressed concern that he might be ill, because he’s so thin.  Some folks have insisted that he STOP losing weight because “You’re small enough now.”  He’s been asked what magic pill he’s taking, what diet he’s on, how he’s “magically” managed to lose so much weight.  People want to know:  “What’s his secret?”
No one believes him when he tells them. They actually laugh at him.  But, I know his secret, too.  It IS unbelievable.  Want me to tell you?  Are you ready?  Okay, here it is.  My husband’s secret for weight loss success is------DAMN. HARD. WORK.
He started by joining our local “corner” gym—it’s a small place, open 24/7, membership fee: 20 bucks a month.  Next, he hired a personal trainer for six sessions to help him come up with a game plan and some goals, and to keep him on track long enough to get into the habit of working out on his own.  The trainer weighed and measured my husband, wrote out an exercise plan for him, and introduced him to a health and fitness website: www.livestrong.com to help him track his progress.  Then the real work began.
My husband has, for nine months, consistently spent an hour to an hour and a half at the gym, or out cycling, five OR six days a week. He is still as busy as ever with work, family, and church responsibilities, but now he MAKES TIME for fitness.  More often than not, he gets up at 5 AM to go work out. Occasionally, he’ll skip the gym, and take in an evening kickboxing class, or play as a substitute in an indoor soccer league. The big realization here: You make time for the things that are truly important to you.
He has learned to count calories and for the first three months of his serious endeavor to get healthy, measured EVERY morsel of food that went into his mouth.  He was already eating fairly healthy foods, just MORE than was strictly necessary—so, he had to learn portion control.  And, admittedly, he did change some of his food choices.  He now eats high fiber cereal, and tosses in a bit of protein powder in with a fruit smoothie.  He eats a lot more salads and veggies.  At restaurants, he generally chooses lower calorie entrees.  But, he doesn’t shy away from the occasional donut or slice or two of pizza.
All this has been very hard.  He got tired.  He got sore.  He was often hungry, initially. He’d get sick and want to quit.  Three or four times, he’s had to take as much as two weeks off, to recover from injuries, or illness, or other life events.  But he keeps getting back up, and keeps going to the gym.  And he keeps watching what he eats and tracking his progress on the website.
To the untrained eye, my husband’s weight appears to have “melted off.”  But if it’s melted off, it’s melted off with gallons of sweat from hours and hours and HOURS of damn hard work, physically and mentally.  This brings me to the “life lesson” mentioned in the title of this post.



I hear a lot of parents telling their kids “You can be anything you want to be.  You can be successful at anything you put your mind to.”  I believe this.  But I also believe that when we say these kinds of things, we have a tendency to leave out the critical part---“if you’re willing to work your arse off to get it.” Consequently, our encouragement to our kids sounds vague and abstract, and the kids develop the belief that if they wish or dream something hard enough, it will come to pass. 
In my experience, hoping and wishing and even dedicated thought don’t usually work by themselves.  But—work will win when wishing won’t.  Whether you’re trying to lose weight or you want to learn to speak Russian or play the violin—it’s the WORK that gets you there.  And the harder you work, the better you’ll do.  We tend to want to look at people who have accomplished much and think they’re just lucky or unusually talented.  Luck and innate ability may lend themselves to success, but real, lasting success in any endeavor requires a whole lot of old fashioned, uncomfortable, gritty WORK.  Take it from one who knows. 
I’m proud of you, my man!