school & home
January 10, 2012 § Leave a comment
The other day I had a profound moment of uncertain, certainty. I carried my thoughts carefully tucked away in my mind, weighing if I should give them a voice. At day’s end, the house quiet, I told my husband I needed him to listen without questioning my sanity or nudging me into action.
With a deep breath and full heart, I said: I want to teach our son from home. Maybe. My husband, whatever his initial thoughts, honored my wish and kept silent. I unraveled my concerns and hopes measuring them each against possibility. The core truth: I’m not sure a traditional school setting is right for our son.
Earlier the same evening I had sifted through old pictures of both children with my daughter, noting the happy dimpled little boy of days gone by. In each picture my son was peaceful, whole. There were no worried lines on his face, no sadness in his eyes. Most school days I cannot see his smile and his spirit feels buried beneath sadness and anger. An eternally curious child he used to beg to attend school, eager to learn and make friends. Now he hides behind individual interests, his footsteps heavy with resistance as he finds his way to school. I paused in sorrow wondering, are we suffocating the joy from learning?
I still do not have an answer. I have new questions. Would I be facilitating my son’s escape from a traditional school setting that might better prepare him for life? Am I capable of providing a balanced, structured education that would prepare my son for a limitless future? Do I then keep my daughter home? Does she have the same option as her brother? Where do I begin and how do I know if it is the right fit for our family? What if I become ill, we move, the Earth slips off its axis; what then? What next?
This is what I know. Both of my children are fortunate to have teachers who are passionate about teaching and compassionate when faced with challenges, who see my children as individuals and communicate openly with me. Of course, we also live in a competitive environment where our children are measured endlessly against themselves, classmates, and nameless others. Teachers are forced to teach in preparation for tests and not all subjects are weighted equally. Our school days are short and our school years fragmented with oddly spaced vacations. There are gaps in my children’s education that I as their mother am obligated to fill; pockets of potential, natural resources overlooked.
I wonder if there is a way to draft a lifelong education plan that truly inspires independent learners. Is there a way to nurture learning and educate from home in celebration of the joy of learning while preparing our children to become contributing members of society? Do I continue to work with the school, outlining my son’s unique needs and partnering with his teachers to navigate this experience together? If my daughter is happy, is contentment acceptable or do I insist she be inspired?
I cast my worries to the wind and wonder what answers I might find.
nesting
January 9, 2012 § 2 Comments
A little over a year ago I scribbled curiously and cautiously on the barren walls of my blog. My thoughts mere ramblings, disconnected and directionless; I plucked ideas and words from the corners of my mind like old toys stored for safekeeping, unused and unshared. I began to unpack my thoughts, drawing them into my days and placing them gingerly where they might be shared. Slowly, I have welcomed family and a handful of friends to read my ramblings, met strangers whose words resonated among mine. I have come to think of this space as my own and in that transition from an inconspicuous private writing to a personal exchange among friends, I have begun nesting.
Seeking a more personal setting for my thoughts, I typed the words blog design into a search engine and sifted through endless pages of results for something simple and affordable. I was happily surprised to find something charming early in my endeavor. I purchased what I considered a tailored slip cover for my space, something crisp and fresh that promised a quick makeover. I soon came to realize how much I did not know. I spent a lost evening staring at my CSS and messaging a patient designer. The entire experience was humbling and I quickly set aside my template, feeling apologetic and incapable; not wanting to burden the designer with my blatant ignorance.
Wistful and overwhelmed, I continued my search the way some doodle images in the margins of notebooks. Scattered moments of free time were lost to design dreams. I edited my search to encompass assistance. The results were many, but I found myself returning to one site finding myself at home among the images. I gazed lustfully at colors and patterns in much the same way I longingly extract a beautiful item of clothing wanting to slip into its shell, but conscious of the cost and impracticality of the indulgence. My husband, aware that I do not spend recklessly, voiced a willingness to gift me the experience of working with a designer for my space. Torn between enthusiasm and a feeling of guilt over something self-indulgent, I moved forward carefully guarding my joy.
My initial decisions were divided between style and personality. Completing my request for assistance I looked to the collection of designers, their portfolios, and their personal blogs trying to find a voice and style that felt familiar. I was searching for someone who would understand me in the impersonal, fragmented notes that collectively outlined my wishes; a stranger that could befriend me and lead me through a series of choices among which I would find a picture of myself.
As I receive edited samples to my future site, I attempt to scribble thoughts that might contextualize my opinions. The voice on the other side of my letters has been patient as I sketch with words my lifestyle, personality, comfort level, concerns, and dreams. We are still exchanging letters and sifting through choices. I am embracing this experience of creating something new in partnership with someone new, opening myself to each choice and absorbing the experience wholeheartedly. I am both anxious and eager to settle my home and invite you to join me.
call waiting
January 5, 2012 § Leave a comment
There was a time (high school) when I couldn’t put our house phone down. In fact, for a while I believe it counted as an appendage. Twenty years later, I don’t want to pick it up.
It isn’t malicious or lazy, I just don’t connect as clearly over the phone. Perhaps it is the awkward pause that sometimes occurs with my cell phone or the absence of expression. It could be the telemarketers and political calls that come to our house phone or the phone itself’s poor clarity. Instead, I have become a compulsive messenger. I make plans in e-mail messages and text messages to gather with friends where I can see their expressions and focus on the conversation without the distractions of my home.
There are three exceptions, my husband and two children. No matter where I am or what I am doing, if I hear my phone I look up to see if they need me. My own emergency red phone, a direct connection to three individuals whose well-being is directly reflective of my own. When we are together, I dismiss myself from a sense of obligation to my phone and center my attention on those same special souls. It isn’t that I don’t love my friends, on occasion I will collect a call when my house is restful and my family otherwise occupied.
Now then, as long as we are on the subject of phone use, I have a few personal no call zones. I try not to talk in my car, in a store, at a restaurant, in a school, doctor’s office; in a public space. I have crossed this boundary on a few occasions for my husband, son or daughter; on a rare occasion, for a friend.
When did I stop depending on my phone to connect and when did it become okay to carry conversations that are personal outside our home? I wonder this largely when I become witness to a conversation of which I am not a participant in the course of my day. This isn’t a new thought. My boundaries are not unique. In fact, I hope this is a conversation we all have at home.
To those friends for whom the phone does not ring, I hope you know that your worth cannot be measured in cell phone minutes. Leave me a message, I’m listening and I will call back.
relative lessons
January 2, 2012 § Leave a comment
The first day of the New Year was quiet, our children too tired to gather the energy required to antagonize one another. Until bedtime. In a moment of simple sibling dispute over territory, the day ended in sleepy tears. My husband and I stoically maintained a straight face and a stern presence despite our daughter’s precocious spirit and our son’s persistence.
Our son held tightly to his identity as a victim of longstanding torture at the hands of his little sister. He skirted his contributions to the exchange while our daughter willingly confessed to her crimes, passionately defending herself with a character portrait of her brother that left little room for innocence. My husband and I slowly unraveled the truth, veteran siblings ourselves, while hiding our humor behind carefully placed lessons.
The moments after our good nights were marked by appreciation and laughter for our children’s personalities. I like that our children argue because it lends them an occasion to work through conflict towards respectful resolution with someone they love. Relationships exist between imperfect people making conflict unavoidable. I admire both children for planting their feet in justice on their own behalf. So often in life there are times you must stand up for yourself and home is a safe place to practice. Finally, forgiveness is something they must find for themselves, it cannot be forced by an authority figure. My children’s tearful hugs at the end of their evening lingered just long enough for me to know they were not lost to their own feelings, but mindful of one another’s.
Tiny lessons relative to life.
greeting the year
January 1, 2012 § Leave a comment
I woke today with a full heart eager to begin anew, curious for what lies unwritten on the pages of a new year. Joy and contentment accompanied my first cup of coffee in the quiet of the early morning. Wishes freckled my consciousness; time with my family, opportunities for play, and moments of reflection lie in wait on this sleepy day. Faith in possibility and anticipation for the year ahead guide me. Good morning, New Year. Let the day begin.
open
December 30, 2011 § 5 Comments
A close friend and I were exchanging messages this morning over our word choices for the 2012 One Little Word project on Ali Edwards blog. I could hear the strength of my friend’s selection through the lines of her message. I shared my uncertainty, pledging to remain open.
I wrote briefly today about this exercise in choosing one word to embrace the New Year. Then I set aside my laptop and busied myself with other projects attempting to remain untethered to a blinking cursor, dismissing a self-imposed pressure to make a choice.
Later, in a frivolous moment of quiet, I began to read familiar blogs. The word open seemed to wink at me from another’s sharing. Its four tiny letters eclipsed the other words as I read, beckoning me to look closer.
Tucked inside my friend’s earlier messages today was a quote. The universe is conspiring in your favor. She had been sharing a beautiful sentiment that spoke to her, but I was reading tiny markers coded in personal meaning.
Open.
Perhaps my word is claiming me, gently directing me; challenging me to open my mind and heart to possibility. Asking me to be receptive to outside influences. Inspiring me to embrace life, love, forgiveness, change. Calling me to step outside a place of comfort and permitting me space to try new things and take action.
I am reminded of two quotes I wear close to my heart on simple silver charms:
What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us. Emerson
Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you’ve imagined. Thoreau
Open up, draw strength from within, and move forward with confidence towards your heart’s desires. Open; a small unpretentious word that seems to stretch endlessly encompassing unlimited possibility.
one word
December 30, 2011 § 1 Comment
Today I want to share three blogs, acknowledge three women, and embrace one word. Lisa Leonard. Brené Brown. Ali Edwards. Women whose thoughts and creativity resonate like happy echos in my heart. One blog reading into another, guiding me on a new journey. Inspiration tumbling like dominos; word by word.
Last year I happened upon Ali Edwards invitation of One Little Word to name a wish for myself for the coming year. My word called to me, whispering a personal truth. Write: for joy, for clarity, to document, and to share. My spirit soared on wings written across an endless sky.
This year, I am overwhelmed with choices. Words gather on my tongue like snowflakes. Quiet. Passion. Balance. Strength. Create. Move. Change.
Rather than listing resolutions, I am reaching for One Little Word to center me for the year ahead. What is your word?
capturing pieces
December 28, 2011 § Leave a comment
For Christmas I gave my husband a wooden chess set. It was a game he played in his youth, that our children have begun to demonstrate an interest in. The gift was an occasion to embrace my husbands sentimental nature; incorporating a piece of his childhood into our children’s. With one gift I gathered the past into the present with plans to stretch timeless games and relaxed conversation across quiet evenings in our future.
On Christmas Day, we scattered around the house after opening gifts. The chess board sat patiently, pieces guarding neatly mapped squares in patient anticipation of play. I waited for the newness of other items to fade under my children’s thorough exploration, curious to see which child would first come to the board on their own. It was my daughter.
She initially traded the crafted wooden forms for colorful Playmobil figures. Tiny, plastic, primary colored people stood sentry in perfect rows. She had staked a claim over the board, marking the space with her signature colorful, clutter. She returned later with her brother’s robotic arm and a look of determination. We moved the board and its proper pieces to the family table and began the first game. With stoic focus she juggled the rules while manipulating pieces robotically. At game’s end the board was shifted back to a side table closer to the tree to be rediscovered soon.
My husband and I, trying to carve out a quiet moment in the busyness of the day in the company of family, met across the chess board. We began casually moving pieces only to quickly engage in concentrated efforts to capture one another’s pieces. My memory of the game was crowded with cobwebs, quickly displaced by laughter. Routine conversations about school, work, health, family were traded for playful banter over the board.
The rules and boundaries of the game reminded me of unchallenged routines of everyday life. So often we lose ourselves to mindless movement, here a small change in our day created new smiles and simple shifts in conversation. Conscious intent challenging assumptions. The concentrated stillness a reprieve from thoughtless tasks. The gift of a game secondary to the gift of something shared. Capturing pieces of time.
home & holidays
December 27, 2011 § Leave a comment
The traditions and preparations that fill the month of December with busy anticipation have faded into quiet moments, unhurried afternoons of play and rest. While my children were distracted with new gifts and the company of grandparents, I stole a moment yesterday to nestle our ornaments away for the coming year.
The time between Christmas and New Year’s is a celebration of another year shared and of calendar days yet wrapped in wonder; the year ahead a gift of unknown, limitless adventure. While some draft resolutions, schedule plans, pledge promises to others; I try to create room for something new. Like a breath of fresh air waking us from dreams of sugar plums, I affectionately send Christmas to rest and draw an extra chair inviting the New Year into our home.
I gift each child a new calendar and a pen asking them to map their year with dreams. I ask them to envision not only deadlines and routines, but to seek out windows of time for travel and adventure. To look closely at the neat squares on paper that mark the year ahead with opportunity, least they overlook possibility.
and to all a good night
December 22, 2011 § Leave a comment
The school bell has rung for the last dismissal of the year. My children’s backpacks relegated to the corner of our entryway; out of sight and out of mind. We are officially on vacation and I am eager to enjoy their company. To those whose lives have intersected mine in this quiet space, I wish you peace and joy this holiday season.
