Word Girl

POEM

2012-01-26T14:12:00.000-06:00

: a composition in verse

The poem is not my favorite literary form. That would be the novel. Yet during our trip to the library yesterday, I checked out three books of poetry. Two by Mary Oliver and another that I found on the shelf and just thought looked interesting. I first heard of Mary Oliver at a silent retreat. At each retreat, we start our time together with a few readings before we enter into silence. Once Oliver's poem Praying was one of our readings:

It doesn't have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention, then patch

a few words together and don't try
to make them elaborate, this isn't
a contest but the doorway

into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak.

Praying happens to be in Thirst, one of the volumes I found at the library yesterday. The other volume is Blue Iris, which the one I've chosen to read first. It's been a lovely journey so far, filled with meditations on nature and lines like "the long work/ of turning their lives/ into celebration/ is not easy" from the poem Sunflowers. It has made me think and simultaneously calmed my restless, wearied, overburdened mind.

Why did this novel reader choose some books of poetry for company right now? In part, it was because another recent (non-fiction) read had excerpts of several poems that I thoroughly enjoyed - by Mary Oliver and several other poets. But it was also because I haven't been able to concentrate enough to read a novel. I am now 100 pages into one, but while it is thoroughly readable, I am not jumping headlong into it. Part of me wonders whether this is my spirit reining me in and discouraging me from numbing myself too much with words (as I am prone to do). So when an idea struck me to spend some time in a book of poetry, I thought the idea might be divinely inspired.

Poetry has lessons I need to learn.

Lessons about
slowing down,
savoring each word,
visualizing time, place, flowers, trees,
seeing the extraordinary in the ordinary,
and grasping everyday life as the gift it is.

If magazines are fast food, cotton candy reading and novels are healthy entrees, poetry is rich, decadent dessert. Meant to be taken in small portions and savored.

I don't know whether my time in Mary Oliver's words is meant to teach or comfort me, I just know I am sinking into it and letting her words wash over me.

Black Oaks

Okay, not one can write a symphony, or a dictionary,
   or even a letter to an old friend, full of remembrance
   and comfort.

Not one can manage a single sound, though the blue jays
   carp and whistle all day in the branches, without
   the push of the wind.

But to tell the truth after a while I'm pale with longing
   for their thick bodies ruckled with lichen

and you can't keep me from the woods, from the tonnage
   of their shoulders, and their shining green hair.

Today is a day like any other: twenty-four hours, a
   little sunshine, a little rain.

Listen, says ambition, nervously shifting her weight from
   one boot to another - why don't you get going?

For there I am, in the mossy shadows, under the trees.

And to tell the truth, I don't want to let go of the wrists
   of idleness, I don't want to sell my life for money,
   I don't even want to come in out of the rain.

From Blue Iris: Poems and Essays by Mary Oliver

ASSESSMENT

2012-01-23T19:02:00.001-06:00

:the action or an instance of assessing: determining the importance, size, or value of

My daughter B hates the word assessment. I know this because she told me so not long ago: "Assessment just means test. I hate that. They should say test." So I thought it would be funny to block off part of my girls' schedule for today for assessment purposes. Instead of testing them, I wanted us to talk about the importance and value of what we're learning. I wanted us to assess together why we learn - broadly - and why we study the specific subjects that comprise our weekly plan.

While B was upset (read: threw a 10 year old's version of a temper tantrum) when she saw an assessment slot on her daily plan, her mood did improve as we drove out to Long Hunter State Park to walk while we assessed. This park is lovely. It's far enough removed from the city that we've seen deer and wild turkeys on past walks, yet it doesn't take us all day to get there and back. The weather was perfect for our outing - not too cold with loads of sunshine (something we have been sorely lacking in Nashville of late).

On the drive, I offered up the first question, "Why do we learn?" Both girls jumped right in - and not in the direction I would have expected. B's immediate response had to do with the fact that learning by individuals is responsible for the advancement of society. She talked about a person studying science and finding a medicine. Or someone studying mechanics and inventing a machine. I found it interesting - and not at all surprising - that this creative child of mine sees learning as a platform for boosting one's creativity.

A took a slightly different approach. Her response was that we learn now in order to help us later in life. I asked what that might specifically look like for her. For example, how might she be at a disadvantage in the future if she stopped learning today? That prompted a great discussion of how our minds can atrophy just like our muscles if we don't use them regularly.

Before moving on to our next question, I offered my own reason: We learn in order to become more of who God made us to be. I think he means for us to use our time here learning so that we can help others (like B said) and find vocation and passion for ourselves (as A mentioned).

We then moved on to "What's good about learning? What do you like about it?" Both responded that learning is fun (with B seeing the added bonus that sometimes learning lets you show off a bit - that might require a follow-up conversation...) and I heartily agreed. I told them that I've always loved learning and that I like it still. We talked about how homeschooling lets me not only teach them, but continue to learn. I told them that everyone has some gaps in their learning and that I love the chance to fill in some of my own gaps as an adult.

The final question was "What's bad about learning?" A talked about how sometimes learning was time-consuming and could take her away from something she'd rather be doing. This was to be a theme throughout the day as we worked through these three questions subject by subject. I don't remember B's response to this question, in part because our conversation took a completely unplanned turn when I said that I think one bad thing about learning can be that once you learn something, you can't un-know it. And that might be preferable with some things - like the Holocaust. This prompted a full discussion of what caused the Holocaust and how people let it happen. It was fun (if I can use that word when referring to the Holocaust) to have A jump in as I explained how WWI set up WWII. That eldest daughter of mine knows and understands history.

Once we arrived at the state park, we walked through these same three questions about every subject we study. I won't bore you with their individual answers, but my main take away is that they are very clear on why we are learning what we're learning. There wasn't a single subject (even the dreaded grammar) that they thought is useless. Instead, they were quick to offer reasons for studying everything from history to Latin to the Bible. That doesn't mean they like everything. I heard more than once that a subject could be boring and that it could take time away from other things they enjoy more. But I was encouraged to hear them talk about learning, to see their minds click into the why behind the lessons, to just walk alongside them in the sun and discuss something very near and dear to my heart.

My daughters are in a stage (a stage that I fear is here to stay) where they fight/bicker/argue a lot. I used our assessment day to talk about this, too. I asked why God puts us in families and then what are the good things and what are the bad things. They see our family as a place of support and fellowship ("So you won't be lonely," B said) and they were quick to expound on the good things. I offered my own opinion that one reason for siblings is to learn conflict resolution. They have sisters so that they can learn to live with someone who thinks and feels differently than they do. I admitted to them that their fighting tires me. We talked about trying to not respond in kind when a sister uses a sharp tone of voice. I have no illusions that their behavior will change overnight. Maybe it won't change at all. But I think the advantage of conversations like the ones we had today is that it helps you keep perspective.

I thought before today that our school year is going well. I know after today that my student-daughters would agree with me. I thought before today that siblings just fight - it's part of what they do. I know now that my daughters see the value in having sisters, even if the benefits get hazy in the fog of their own selfishness.

B may not like the word assessment, but by mid-day, she was declaring this one of the best days of her life. We didn't get a history lesson in. Grammar sat waiting on the shelf. No Latin was spoken. But it was a great day of learning. And a great day.

DESIRE

2012-01-19T18:15:00.000-06:00

: to long or hope for : exhibit or feel desire (conscious impulse toward something that promises enjoyment or satisfaction in its attainment)

Sometimes God just wants to talk to me about something. I shudder to think how many of these conversations I may have missed over the years, but I am listening now. Two weeks ago, my reading for the day was Psalm 20, verse 4. It's not long: "May he grant you your heart’s desire and fulfill all your plans!" It might seem simple enough to you. It did to me, too, at first. My first impulse was to pray this verse for someone else, but as I started to do that, I heard a quiet whisper, "This is about you, not someone else."

I paused. OK. The desires of my heart. I'll pray for those. Long pause. What might those be? It almost felt like I was speaking another language. My brain could not comprehend this string of words. Or maybe it was that my heart couldn't comprehend. I didn't journal much that day. I just sat with the fact that I didn't know the desires of my heart.

After a few days, I asked J whether he knew the desires of his heart. Without hesitation, he named two or three things. As he named each one, I nodded along and my heart stirred in recognition. Yes, I'd seen those desires in him. By the end of our conversation, he'd named roughly a half-dozen desires. I was tempted to ask J what he thinks the desires of my heart are. But that quiet voice reminded me that letting others define me was probably part of what got me here - here being a woman with nearly four decades lived and a heart seemingly empty of desire. Asking someone else the desires of my heart was not the way to go. I'd have to figure this out on my own.

I tried using collage to help me figure out the desires of my heart. Two things pretty quickly bubbled to the surface during that exercise. I want to write and I want to create. What I create doesn't always matter - collage is a current favorite, but I think the main thing is for me to use my hands to make something. Whether that thing is tomato tart, a card for a friend or a journal cover, the point is the creating. It satisfies me. The writing? I don't just mean this blog. My heart desires the writing of a book. And a little exploration of my heart let me see that I've bundled this desire up because it competes with another desire: my desire to homeschool - or do some form of work that is fulfilling.

I am not, and never have been, motivated well by money (much to the chagrin and bewilderment of a former boss). What does motivate me is sharing what I know, learning new and interesting things and seeing that my efforts directly benefit people. Homeschooling satisfies not only those desires, but a desire to know and understand my children well. I think my job as a parent is not to define who my children are, but to discover who they are and defend that to the world at large.

As I worked on my (still incomplete, unglued) collage, I got an image of the desires of my heart. They were in the back of the closet, wrapped in heavy canvas, crisscrossed with leather straps. With some prompting, I tried pulling those desires to the center of the closet, where I could see the package a bit more clearly. There are layers of desires here, that much is clear. How many - and how long they've been buried - I can't yet say. But I finally see that they are there.

Having seen that I have desires, I've begun to see that God has been fulfilling my desires even when I didn't know it. As I ran this morning, I realized this is one such desire. I am not a particularly talented or gifted runner - far from it. But it's the one form of exercise that feeds my body and soul. Running clears my mind, it promotes positive self-talk instead of negative and it makes me aware of my body. In the time after my leg surgery in 2010, I missed running. Not at first, of course. I could barely walk from one room to another. But the longing was there. I would see people running and my heart would ache. I know now that this ache was desire.

For part of this journey I've been on, I wondered whether I even had desires, so discovering that they exist - and I've buried them in canvas and straps - brought forth new questions. Why did I start hiding my desires in the closet in the first place? Are those first hidden desires still there? Why am I afraid of desiring? Do I think the disappointment will be too much for me? Do I fear conflict with J if our desires don't match? Am I afraid that knowing my desires and acknowledging them to myself will make me more attractive, more radiant? I'm still unpacking and attempting to answer some of these questions, so I don't have answers for you other than to say that I think the very fact that I am asking these particular questions indicates that many of the answers will be affirmative.

I finished a book today that was a perfect January companion. It was thought provoking, encouraging and challenging. It was the kind of book that makes you think about where you've been, where you are, where you're going. A chapter that I read today talked about desire lines. These are the paths you see that cut across the grass in a park. Not the nice, neat, orderly paved paths. These are the ones that show where people actually go. If I could look at my life up to this point, where would my desire lines point me? What have I been ambling toward, circling or walking through for years without seeing? Where have I been going?

Since this post has contained so many questions, let's end with a few. What are your desires? Do you know them well? Do you take them out of their containers every once and a while to polish them and then put them back on the shelf? Or do you carry them around in your pocket, on a piece of well-worn, oft-folded paper to remind you of who you are and what you want most?

Finally, my biggest question for both you and I: does knowing and pursuing the desires of our heart make us selfish? Or does it make us more fully who God made us to be?

JANUARY

2012-01-17T20:11:00.000-06:00

: the first month of the Gregorian calendar; from Janus: a Roman god that is identified with doors, gates, and all beginnings and that is depicted with two opposite faces

January is for recalibrating. It is for returning to regular life after the excitement, sugar, reflection, and gift-giving of Advent. It is for asking why we do what we do. And whether we should keep doing it.

January is for beginning anew. For starting anatomy instead of continuing with a dry astronomy text. For choosing one running route and sticking to it until I can run the entire thing without walking. For reading intentionally - whether it be a non-fiction book or a classic.

January is for listening. To God. To my body. To my heart.

January is for continuing to listen when one of the three voices above seem silent. There are things to be learned in the silence. Silence does not mean there is nothing to be heard.

January is for looking back. What things am I glad to leave in 2011? What memories will I treasure? Where did I go wrong? Where am I headed in the right direction?

January is for looking forward. What do I hope to continue in 2012? Where are we going academically? How is what we're learning impacting our daily lives? Isn't that why we learn?

January is for planning. How much vacation time does J have? How do we want to spend it? Spring break is when? Am I willing to miss Holy Week for a trip to Philadelphia? Should the Philly trip wait until May? Can I go on two silent retreats or should I limit myself to one? Is two selfish?

January is for starting slow. I need to remember that when my mind gets carried away with planning questions. This month has brought three four-day weeks in a row. I'm trying to see that as blessing, not curse. We've started our school year slow. My plans for each day have been achieved easily and without nagging from me or groaning from the girls. Does that mean I'm asking too little or that we've hit our groove?

January is for remembering. Remembering that last January is when I finally felt like I had a tiny idea of how to best homeschool. (I'm a slow learner.) This month is for remembering that what I do best as a homeschooler - and parent, perhaps - is listening to my children and following their lead. They have within them kernels of who they will be as adults. I want to weed, water and tend them so that they can bloom.

January is for remembering. For remembering the magi who followed a star, the God who took on flesh, the extraordinary who became ordinary.

January is for being open to new possibilities.

May this month bring you all this and more.

UNEXPECTED

2012-01-13T09:04:00.000-06:00

: not expected : unforeseen

Raindrops giving way to snowflakes.

Ballet canceled.

Hot chocolate for after school snack.

Three girls + one mom = four books, four blankets.

Two episodes of Ruby Gloom on a weekday.

I love snow days even when the snow doesn't really amount to much. At bedtime last night, I thought there was no way school would be canceled today. I went to bed thankful for the snow afternoon described above, resigned to making the cold trip to take K to school this morning. When J finished his shower, I climbed out of bed, pulled on yoga pants and a sweatshirt and plodded downstairs. I looked out the window to confirm: no snow. Then I saw an e-mail that mentioned school was canceled today. Really?

I found the home phone (helpfully left on the charger well out of earshot from our bedroom). Yep. A call had come through. Checked the MNPS website? Confirmed. No school.

Instead of lamenting the fact that I was out of bed, when I could still be snuggled up with my current book, I told the girls they could have cereal for breakfast (normally a weekend treat). I made myself a cup of hot chocolate and sat down to read a friend's blog. Her post, conveniently enough, was about Valentine's crafts. So now I know what we'll be doing today (between books, recorded episodes of The Next Iron Chef, and a math lesson to keep us on track). We'll snuggle in, pull out the craft paper, the new stamp pad I bought last week, the scissors and the glue and play together for a while.

I love the unexpected gift of a snow day - even when I don't get snow to go along with it.

Here's hoping your day brings unexpected gifts and that you receive them with open hands and willing hearts.

EPIPHANY

2012-01-11T21:27:00.000-06:00

3 a (1) : a usually sudden manifestation or perception of the essential nature or meaning of something (2) : an intuitive grasp of reality through something (as an event) usually simple and striking (3) : an illuminating discovery, realization, or disclosure

I had a small epiphany today - apt, during this season of Epiphany. My realization didn't hit me with a bolt of lightning. It was more like a seed that planted itself in my mind, burrowed in, was watered and fed over the course of a drive home and bloomed before my very eyes.

The day started much like any other. After getting K to her classroom, I headed home and found A and B already at work on their daily plan. Thankfully, this is not an uncommon occurrence. We consistently get more work done in the morning hours, when we're fresh. If the work is done in our pajamas, no one minds. It's still good work.

Before 9:00, A and B had wrapped up their independent work and we moved into our math lesson (prime factorization, for those of you who are curious about such things). By 11:00, a Psalm had been read, numbers had been factored, anatomy had been started, a folk tale analyzed. All that remained was for literature to be read. I encouraged A to hop into the shower and told the girls I would take them to the library and then to Chick-Fil-A for lunch. That's a treat around here. Most weekdays, we eat lunch right here at home. So A showered, I laundered clothes and B factored a bit more via Khan Academy.

After our lunch outing, they accompanied me to a dentist appointment. They split their time there between playing on J's iPad and reading their books. I set a timer for A, who got the iPad on the first shift. When it went off, she was to hand it over to B. The appointment took a bit longer than I'd anticipated, so B ended up playing for 12 minutes longer than A had. (Don't you love how precise children are? It was exactly 12 minutes longer, they both assured me.) I had expected this since I didn't set a second timer. And as a mom, I'd already planned a solution - A could play during the drive home. What I hadn't planned on was to be greeted by their fierce discussion when I came into the waiting room.
As we walked to the van, B muttered in frustration, "A is mad at me." "I'm not mad at you. I just don't want to play without asking," A nearly spat back. As it turned out, B realized she had played for longer than A, so she tried to give A the iPad back to equalize things. But my rule-following firstborn didn't want to play an extra 12 minutes without checking first. We had a short discussion about it before the drive home. I don't really remember what I said, just that A ended up playing on the drive home.

As we drove home, it occurred to me how typical this was of each of my daughters. B hadn't really done anything wrong. She's a ten year old girl who has limited screen time. Who could blame her for losing track of time and playing a little longer than her allotted 20 minutes? A likes clear expectations - and fulfilling those expectations. I told her she could play for 20 minutes and she wasn't going to play for one minute more without asking first. Yet they could each learn so much from the other.

So as we pulled into the driveway, I turned off the van and faced them. "Let's talk for a minute before we go inside," I said. Both girls looked a bit wary. "B, did you do anything wrong when you played for a few extra minutes on the iPad?" "No," she immediately replied, "I didn't do it on purpose, so it wasn't wrong. It was an accident." I turned to A. "Did B do anything wrong?" Slight hesitation, then "No."

We then talked about how B knew whether she had done anything wrong. She is a strong child - inside and out - and she has a very clear sense of right and wrong, regardless of whether she's been told to do or not do something. She didn't need me to tell her it was OK. She knew where her heart had been in the moment and that was enough for her.

A, on the other hand, wants things set out very clearly before her. Give her a rule and she will do her best to follow it. This is a lovely trait in a two year old and a terrifying one in a twelve year old. As I explained to her, she must begin to decide for herself between right and wrong - without asking someone else. She can watch her younger sister to see this in action and hopefully learn from her.

And what can B learn from A? I asked her this and she replied with a bit of a smile, "To sometimes follow the rules?" Well, yes. And to realize that not everyone has such a strong barometer - or the same barometer of right and wrong - as her own. There is far more gray in the world than B sees with her black and white vision. A is more moderate, more accepting of others who see and do things differently - B can learn from this.

I'm not a parent who revels in confronting my children with their weaknesses. I hate conflict. Even conflict with my children. While this could have turned me into a terrible, permissive, weak parent, God has spared me that. Today, I was able to take one minor incident and show them how the way they reacted was a reflection of who they are and how God made them. They listened. They heard me. I think they even knew, acknowledged and agreed with the areas where I suggested they should grow. It won't happen overnight. Or maybe ever. But I am thankful to have seen for a moment a glimpse of the source of their behaviors and to have offered some words to help them see themselves more clearly.

FORGETTING

2012-01-10T17:26:00.000-06:00

1 a : to lose the remembrance of : be unable to think of or recall

I keep forgetting who I am.

About four months ago, my bible study group (we call ourselves the Ish girls) began studying the Enneagram via Richard Rohr's book and audio CDs. I took online tests - the short free one and the longer one that cost a bit. Both said 9. A friend who knew more about this than I suggested reading the chapter in the book about your number after taking the test. If the chapter resonated with you, you'd know you had found your number. I read the chapter. Definitely a 9.

The beauty of the Enneagram as opposed to some other tests like Myers Briggs or DISC is that it helps you see how your greatest strength is also your strongest weakness. As Richard Rohr explains, our favorite sin becomes our favorite because we are so very good at it and it serves us well for much of our life. For a 9, this root or favorite sin is laziness or acedia.

Since learning this, I've looked for this sin in my life and tried to avoid it. I should have known better. Rohr makes it clear that the only way we can fight our root sin is with our root sin. It's the biggest weapon in our arsenal. The only way to be truly transformed is to see who you are, open it up to God and let him change you. Because you'll never be able to change yourself.

Yet I've tried.

I've resisted my body's desire for rest in a time of grief. I've berated myself for not doing a better job of maintaining our home during a busy time of the year. I've seen my desire for quiet time as selfish. And this last one is where things start getting really dangerous. Because my desire - dare I say need? - for quiet time alone with God is a core part of who I am. And when I start denying that - or shaming myself for that need, it is a very short drive to feeling completely lost.

I've gone so far as to say to my spiritual director, "I'm not sure when to be gentle with myself and when to be firm with myself. Maybe a 9 doesn't need gentleness." The sternest I have ever seen her was when she asked me whether Jesus is firm or gentle with me. Even so, I left her house and continued to be firm, not gentle, with myself.

I have continued to find time to do my daily readings from the Ignatian prayer cycle, but I've shamed myself for this and made it into something I have to do, instead of letting myself rest in it, soak it up and leave refreshed. It has become one more thing to make sure I get done every day. One more way to pass or fail, not a way to simply live.

Sunday our church celebrated Epiphany with a Christmas tree bonfire and chili cook-off. It was great fun - relaxed, communal, friendly. Prior to the event, I'd read about an Epiphany tradition of writing down a sin you want to let go of in the coming year and throwing it into the bonfire. I mentioned this to J Sunday afternoon before we headed to the church. I'd left it until the last minute, but wondered whether we could each write down a sin and tie it to our Christmas tree that he'd just loaded on the top of the car to take for the bonfire. "Honey," he said, "that's a great idea, but unless you want your sin blown away by the wind, you might want to think of another way. There's no way it would make it tied to the tree all the way to St. B's."

I tabled the idea, until right before the bonfire was to begin. I still wanted to do this. It seemed so beautifully symbolic to me and I liked the idea of my sin burning away. So I tore off part of the sign I'd used to label my Chorizo and Black Bean Chili and asked B whether she wanted to do this with me. Surprisingly, this most-resistant-to-all-things-church daughter of mine agreed. We each wrote down a sin and took it out to the bonfire with us. It quickly became clear that we were not going to be able to get close enough to throw the paper into the fire. If you've never witnessed it, dried out fir trees go up in flames quickly. (Water your trees, people. I saw clearly what fire hazards these things are.) We decided instead to use a branch to stab our paper, holding it onto a tree that was then added to the blaze.

I saw one of our sheets of paper attached to a tree as it went into the fire. I don't know whether it was mine or B's, but I'm hoping it was mine and that it burned right to ash. Because in some ways forgetting who I think I am is crucial to becoming who I really am. This means being willing to let go of sins that are so much a part of me that I don't even know they are sin.

A few months ago, one of the Ish girls shared that she'd been really aware lately of her sinful tendency to think she is not enough. She gave some examples and I listened thoughtfully as she openly shared about her struggle. I have been pondering her words for months because the first thought that popped into my head when she spoke was, "Is that a sin?" It's something I should ponder because thinking I am not enough is not a fleeting idea for me, it's a state of being. I believe this is not uncommon for 9s. I get a daily thought for 9s with tips, pointers and recommendations on ways to be more aware of what it means to be a 9. Some days are more convicting than others. Here's a recent one:

Today, notice if you are playing the role of "Nobody Special" or the "Invisible One"—the modest person content to stay in the background. Do you really think that holding back your presence, opinions, and involvement will have no consequences on yourself and others?

Ouch. Yes, I have long believed that holding back my presence and opinion will have no consequence whatsoever. So what I threw into the fire and want to let go of this year is the idea - no, the firmly held belief - that I am not enough, not valuable, not worth it.

I do keep forgetting who I am. In bad ways, of late. But there is value to forgetting who I think I am if that will free me to be who I was made to be. Especially if that will free me to be radiant, without fear of what that might mean.

WEEKENDS

2012-01-06T20:56:00.000-06:00

: the end of the week; specifically : the period between the close of one work or school week and the start of the next

Weekends used to be about sipping coffee on Saturday mornings at a bagel shop, my warm cup in one hand, my book in another. Weekends were about catching up with my husband, catching a movie and catching up on the laundry. Weekends were about sleeping late and breathing deeply.

Then I had three children.

Then said children miraculously turned the ages of 7, 10 and 12.

Weekends are an entirely different ballgame now.

Let's just use this weekend as an example:

Friday Night:
Birthday party for K's friend

Birthday Party for A:
Super Commando Game Night at church
Sweet Cece's for dessert
Sleepover with Harry Potter and The Sorcerer's Stone for their viewing pleasure.

Saturday:
Pick up for A's sleepover at 9 AM.
Ballet parent meeting at 9 AM. (It's a good thing we have two parents around here.)
K's ballet class ends at 10:30.
A's ballet class ends at 12:00.
B's basketball game starts at 2:00.
The rest of the day, blessedly, is free. (Unfortunately, J is missing Vanderbilt's SEC season opener because it conflicted with B's ball game. We can't do everything.)

Sunday:
Attend church, serving as lay reader during first service.
Come home.
Make lunch.
Make chili for Epiphany Chili Cook Off.
Load Christmas tree onto the top of the van to drop it off at the church for the Epiphany bonfire.
Attend cook off and bonfire.
Fall into bed.

While I'm using this weekend as an example, I should confess it's not actually a terribly busy one. There's nothing Saturday evening. B hasn't started her Sunday evening choir rehearsals. I may even get a load of laundry or two done on Saturday (since that did not happen today).

I've definitely traded in the slow mornings with coffee and book for up and at 'em and carpooling. You know what? It's a better than equal trade. I'm thankful for it. After all, I get to live my life with these four:

TWELVE

2012-01-05T07:30:00.000-06:00

:age of my eldest daughter, as of today

Twelve years ago today, I was in labor for the first time. It was the day after Florida State beat Virginia Tech in the BCS championship game. I remember this because I was tired and went to bed early. J stayed up to watch the game. I kept waking up (from contractions, it turns out) and I wandered out from the bedroom to ask J, "Are you coming to bed soon?" Somewhat exasperated after this happened two or three times, he said, "Yes! When the game is over! What are you doing up anyway?" Finally, around 2 AM I woke up to pain in my lower abdomen and had the wisdom to stay awake and see if I might be having contractions. I was. Three minutes apart. Like clockwork. J didn't get much sleep that night. A was born about ten hours after I finally realized I was having contractions.

It's hard to believe I've been a mother for a dozen years, but there's no denying it. Not because I've suddenly figured out how to be a wise, confident and effective parent, but because A is undeniably 12. Her body shows it. Her mind shows it. Her eyes that roll at her father and I when we try to be funny show it. Definitely 12.

For this year's blog celebration of her, I thought I'd share 12 of my A's favorite things. You can always tell a lot about someone by the things they love. Here's some insight into my twelve year old based on what she loves:

Favorite Drink: Water. Don't offer her juice or milk or fruit punch. She might have the occasional Sprite or Coke, but well over 90% of what she drinks is water. She knows what her body likes. Simple, straightforward, readily-available water.

Favorite Singer: Taylor Swift. As I mentioned, she's a 12 year old girl. Surely this entry surprises no one.

Favorite Sister: The one in the other room. A enjoys her space and is not generally argumentative. She fights equally with B or K - but far less than the other two fight with each other. If you leave her alone, she'll leave you alone. (Which is why she likes her sisters best when they're in the other room.)

Favorite Spot: Curled up in a chair, reading.

Favorite Friends:

From last year's ice skating birthday. These friends are still her favorites.

Favorite Breakfast, Lunch or Dinner: anything from a restaurant. For a girl whose mom likes to cook, A is one girl who loves to eat out. Want her to feel special? Offer to take her to Sweet 16th for breakfast. Or Provence for lunch. Or Zoe's for dinner. Or Jeni's for dessert. She likes to eat out.

Favorite Book: the one in her hands. A reads a lot. She doesn't keep track of every book she reads, but I think an conservative estimate is that she averages 7 to 10 books weekly. She definitely reads more than 10 books during a vacation week and she might slip below 7 during Nutcracker or recital week, but the girl likes her books. (Which suits her father and I just fine. We merely watch her with envy and ponder giving her more chores, for she surely has too much time on her hands if she can read this much.)

Favorite TV show: I started to write about Princess Tutu, a recent Netflix find that offers ballet, manga-style. Then I realized nothing tops So You Think You Can Dance. This show is a favorite of our entire family, but we started watching it for A. It has exposed her to many different styles of dance and unlike Dancing with the Stars, the costumes are generally rated PG, not R. She will often hear a song on the radio and say, "Oh! Tad and Lauren danced to this. Remember?" Only she's the sole member of the family who can remember every routine she's watched over the last three seasons. It's amazing how good her memory can be about the things she likes!

Favorite Color: Green. Not sure why, but there you have it.

Favorite Way to Earn Cash: Babysitting. Not that she's actually had any babysitting gigs yet, but this girl is a natural born babysitter. She loves her younger cousins and wants to hold the baby the entire time we're visiting. Today at our homeschool group gathering, she spent as much time smiling at a 15 month old as she did chatting with her friends. I see a calendar in her future packed with weekend babysitting gigs.

Favorite Time to Arrive: Early. This child hates to be late. And I do mean hates. One Saturday last year, I misunderstood and thought her ballet class was canceled. The teacher called me about 10 minutes after class was scheduled to start and asked if A was coming. I told A to get dressed and we sped over to the studio. A was a wreck the entire time, despite the fact that her teacher knew it was my mistake. She truly detests being late. She gets this from her father.

Favorite Thing to Do: Dance. And I think she was born to do it. A is not an extrovert. She's not a girl that you meet and think, "Wow. I best she loves being on stage." So I asked her one time whether she likes to dance in front of people. She paused to think, then shrugged. "Well, yeah. That's how you do it." It brings her joy and her joy is so clear to the audience that I think it brings them joy as well. It certainly brings me joy to see her doing something she loves and doing it to the best of her ability.

My favorite picture of A from her 11th year of life

Happy Birthday, A. I look forward to seeing you grow into a name that is so apt for you. You are graceful and gracious. It is sheer grace to parent you.

INADEQUATE

2012-01-03T10:30:00.000-06:00

: not adequate : insufficient ; also
: not capable

My daughters are in a stage where they fight. A lot. Maybe this isn't really surprising. Maybe you're thinking, "Oh, my children fight all the time. Her children can't possibly be as bad as mine." Or, "Poor thing. My children love to be together. I wonder what she's doing wrong."

Tonight as I was preparing to load all three girls into the van for B's basketball practice, a fight broke out between B and K. I don't remember what the fight was about. What I do remember is J taking me by the shoulders and saying, "You can do this." I think he meant both that I could handle taking them to the practice alone and that I could handle parenting them through this age of constant conflict. Yet here's how I feel: inadequate.

How can a woman who devotes large amounts of energy to avoid conflict help her children negotiate sibling relationships? Because sibling relationships are about lots of things, chief among them: conflict and conflict resolution.

I don't think my daughters are really all that unusual in the way they fight and the things they fight about. I don't have any sisters, but I remember taunting, provoking and being generally unkind to my brother (two years my junior). What I don't remember is actually learning from all of that conflict.

As an adult, I've certainly learned some ways to deal with conflict (otherwise I'm pretty sure I wouldn't still be married). My favorite method? Pretend nothing's wrong and hope it will go away. When that fails, try to see the other person's side and hope that makes me feel better. If absolutely necessary, state my side and brace myself for the other person to be angry with me.

The problems with teaching any of my children these methods are manifold. But the bottom line is that I don't want to teach my children my own techniques for conflict. I'd like for them to be far better at facing and dealing with conflict than I am.

Yet a mother with inadequate conflict resolution skills is all my girls have. And I can't help but think that's part of God's grand design.

I think, in fact, that being less than perfect is a prerequisite for being a parent. Marriage has done a lot to make me into a better and truer version of myself, but parenting is truly transformative. Parenting shows me my inadequacies, my failures, my unabashed need for God.

Perhaps I have it completely backwards to bemoan my inadequacies. At least when I know I struggle in an area, I work harder to compensate for that in my parenting. With some regularity, I tell my daughters, "Tell your sister how you feel. Then tell her what you need. Don't yell. Don't whine. Just how you feel and what you need." It's advice I could stand to take. Until reading a book on emotions a year or so ago, I didn't actually understand that it was OK for me to have needs. So actually stating aloud what I need is a huge step. I know that I am willing to go along to get along instead of standing up for what I think and believe, so I encourage my daughters to speak their minds - even when I don't agree with what they think.

Maybe it's the areas of my parenting where I think I am capable that I fail my daughters the most, because I'm relying on my own strength and not God's. I think I'm letting them each be who they were designed to be, but one day they may tell me they wish I had pushed a little harder in one direction or another. I think I'm giving them freedom, but they may wish I'd forced a few more issues. Maybe they will one day wish I had fed them more meals from boxes instead of from scratch... ok, that one's probably not going to happen. But I do think the areas where I feel weakest as a mother are the ones where I work the hardest and seek God's wisdom the most consistently. They're also the areas where I am growing the most as a person because I am a parent.

Parents tend to think it's their job to teach their children all about life. And it is. But I think we often miss out on the other end of the equation. We're meant to learn from them, especially in the areas where we are inadequate. I think our children teach us how to live, if only we'll let them.

RADIANT

2012-01-02T11:49:00.000-06:00

1 a : radiating rays or reflecting beams of light
b : vividly bright and shining : glowing
2: marked by or expressive of love, confidence, or happiness

Since 2010, I've chosen (or been given) a word for the year. In 2010, it was change. 2011's word was unfurl. For 2012: radiant. So far, I have seen and experienced these words in ways both anticipated and unanticipated. 2010 definitely brought changes - some I had planned and some that caught me by surprise. And I learned a great deal about unfurling over the course of 2011. The image of an unfurled flag snapping about in the wind scared me off and on throughout the year, but I gradually learned to see the word as also being about a slow opening and revealing of my true self. It's a word of exposure, to be sure, but I learned to trust that there were times when I should be willing to be vulnerable and open and seen. Perhaps that experience is what has made me willing to accept radiant as the word for 2012.

I'm not someone who particularly enjoys attention. While I will share my opinion with you if you want it, I won't force it on you. I don't enter a room and expect - or want - all eyes on me. I'm far more comfortable blending in than standing out. So radiant? That's a bit of a scary word. Things and people that are radiant are noticeable and noteworthy. Is this really a word for me? Yet as I've prayed about it, the word has been clear. And I know it's not a word I would have chosen for myself, so I'm trusting that this could only be a divinely inspired word.

I've felt that radiant was the 2012 word for several weeks now. I've continued to pray (and perhaps even hope) for another word. But radiant is the clear response and I am already noticing things that help me see this word differently. This passage from Amy Carmichael was in a mid-December daily reading in Celtic Daily Prayer:

A pilgrim looked at the reflection of a mountain in still water. It was the reflection that first caught his attention.

But presently he raised his eyes to the mountain. Reflect Me, said his Father to him, then others will look at you. Then they will look up, and see Me. And the stiller the water the more perfect the reflection.

Maybe this passage doesn't immediately call the word radiant to mind for you, but it did for me. I think being radiant - what we radiate - is all about what we take in. If I spend time looking at God, you'll see that when you see me. If I spend time absorbing the things of this world, that's what will radiate from me - from my countenance, my thoughts, my words. What I radiate is, in large part, about where I fix my gaze.

This is one reason I've decided to deactivate my Facebook account. I spend far too much time reading about what's going on in the lives of my friends instead of living my own life. I'm a bit sad about this decision, even while I feel it's the right thing. Facebook has been a great way for me to reconnect with friends from high school, college and other parts of my life. But I have a feeling that simplifying my life and limiting the things that take my time and attention will be key to being radiant in a way that is expressive of love, confidence and happiness.

What comes to your mind when you hear the word radiant? My strongest mental image is of how it feels to have my face warmed in the sun. I think of the benediction "May God's face shine upon you..."

That's what I want for 2012: to stand with my hands open and my face upturned, receiving what God offers and offering that back to others.

READ

2011-12-25T21:48:00.000-06:00

1 b : to learn from what one has seen or found in writing or printing

There are lots of things I'd like to write about tonight. Each year, the last Christmas gift I give my daughters is a gift of words: words that describe who they have been over the last year. I'm pondering the right 7 words for K, the perfect 10 for B and 11 fitting ones for A. But my brain has not been firing on all cylinders over the last 14 days, so that last Christmas gift - and blog post - will be delivered a bit late.

Instead, what I've managed to do over the last hour or so of calm and quiet is look back on what I've read over the last year. For Christmas, my family gave my mother two books - one nonfiction, one fiction. The fiction one is People of the Book, a book I chose both because it's well-written and interesting and because I thought it was appropriate that our family give it, since we are people of books.

I have been so pleased in the last few months to see my extroverted K become not just a capable reader, but a voracious one. I had wondered whether this little bundle of energy would ever find solace, entertainment and adventure between the pages of a book. It seems like nothing less than a gift from my Creator to have three daughters who love to read. So if you don't read much, here are my 2011 suggestions for places to start.

Nonfiction
I don't read a lot of nonfiction (just six books this year, with a seventh in process), but there's a clear trend in the nonfiction books I do read. I only read them if I think they're excellent. And I don't just mean they have excellent ideas and content. They must be well-written. Both I Thought it Was Just Me by Brene Brown and The Art of Family by Gina Bria fit this bill. I would recommend the former to any woman, so strong is the culture of shame in our world. The latter is an inspiring, rather than instructional, take on parenting.

Historical Fiction
One of the best, if not the very best, books I read this year is a small, quiet book called Between Shades of Grey. I love historical fiction for what it teaches me about our world and this book was an eye-opening and sometimes heartbreaking look at what it was like to be Lithuanian seventy years ago.

Series
I think everyone in my family likes to find a good series of books. For K, this was what ultimately got her hooked on reading. A friend talked up the Magic Tree House books to her, she read a few and she's been sold ever since. For me, a series is easy entertainment. I've done the work of getting to know the characters through the first book or two, so if the author can keep surprising me, I'm happy to go along for the ride. Two series have done this for me recently: The Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel by Michael Scott and Leviathan by Scott Westerfeld. I enjoy the Scott series in part because of its use of historical characters inserted into fictional plots. The Leviathan trilogy has been my introduction to steampunk as a genre and they are fascinating alternate reality books.

Supernatural
Looking back at my reading trends over the last year, it's clear I like books that are otherworldly. Sometimes the books that help you see our world best are the ones that aren't quite set in this world. A Discovery of Witches is a great book about accepting who you are and loving someone different than you. Also worth a read was the lighter fare of The Daughter of Smoke and Bone.

Just for Fun
A book that doesn't fit into my normal reading pattern is Ready Player One. This is a book about gamers competing in a virtual reality game - not standard fare for this girl who majored in art history and has never played games beyond casual Wii with the family. But if you grew up in the 80s, this book has something to offer you. It's entertainment, but well-written enough to not leave you feeling like you've just dined on cotton candy.

There you go. A mere 8 books - not even 10% of what I read this year, but books I think will appeal to a wide range of people. What have you read recently? What do you want to read? I'm always willing to add to my to-read list.

OASIS

2011-12-22T18:19:00.000-06:00

2 : something that provides refuge, relief, or pleasant contrast

To my knowledge, this is the longest I've ever gone between blog posts. There's good reason for that: I am grieving. My Aunt Harriet, who was one of my favorite people in all of the world, passed away last week. She was diagnosed with cancer in October and while we knew this day was coming, it is impossible to grieve beforehand. I think your heart and mind simply refuses to let go of hope until there is absolutely no choice. My aunt was a great encouragement and inspiration to me and I've been reeling a bit these last few days.

Prior to my aunt's death, I had planned a cookie decorating party for Monday of this week. I called a friend on Friday to discuss preparations for this party and she wisely advised me to cancel the party. "Yes, you'll be back in town by then," she said, "but how will you feel? I can't say for sure, but I think you'll be exhausted. Grieving is tiring business." I could not be more thankful for these words she offered with the utmost wisdom and kindness. Thanks to her, we spent Monday watching TV, reading books and catching up on laundry. I didn't cook a thing (unless you count frozen pizza for dinner as cooking - I don't.)

Tuesday I attempted to resume a somewhat normal schedule. Grocery shopping simply could not be put off one day more, but as I walked the aisles with my list in hand, I was struck by how very difficult this was. It was like I was walking through fog. The haze in my mind would not clear, so I was careful to buy the items on my list and not much more. Wednesday the girls and I were supposed to take Jason's car to the shop for an oil change and tune up. When I called to schedule it, they told me to expect an hour and a half wait. Hmmm. An hour and a half with three daughters in a Midas waiting room? That sounds difficult on a good day. And I have not been having good days lately.

I googled the location. The nearest library was a half-mile walk. I'd never been to this branch and the forecast called for rain showers, but this was the best plan I could manage, especially with my limited brainpower. I had the girls pack one bag each with library books to return, reminding them that they would need to carry their own books. Thankfully, the weather cooperated and there was no rain to be found. Our walk was a bit brisk, but we were in no hurry and we each had dressed for warmth.

The library branch, when we arrived, was the smallest I've ever seen. The librarian even remarked to me that it's Nashville's smallest branch library. I can believe it. I helped the girls locate new-to-them books from the library's limited selection and we settled down around the library's sole table. And we all read. And read. And read.

At one point, I put my book down and just looked around the table at them, one by one. 11 year old A has been an avid reader for more than half her life. B's love of reading kicked in around first grade. Extroverted K was the one I worried about. Would the world of books - with the different type of interaction they offered - be enough for her? Would she ever love books the way the rest of us do? The short answer appears to be Yes. Because of who I am, it feels like nothing less than a gift from God to have three daughters who willingly and gladly spent more than an hour huddled around a table the week of Christmas reading.

That tiny little library was an oasis for our family yesterday. Had I been forced to spend the two hours that it took to work on J's car in that tiny waiting room, we would all have left exhausted and frustrated. I would have had to answer K's innumerable questions about top stories on Fox News. I would have had to remind B again and again that she couldn't go outside - there was nowhere to play. And A would have been frustrated by her sister's inability to sit still around so much stimuli.

Wednesday didn't really go well because of me. All I did was look for the nearest library and hope for the best. But it felt like an early Christmas gift to end our morning by telling each other about our books as we walked back to Midas, instead of counting the second and minutes until we could get home.

In a month when I'm feeling like I'm lost in the desert, I'm thankful for the oasis we found yesterday.

GIVE

2011-12-13T20:23:00.001-06:00

1 : to make a present of

About this time last year, I read a blog post about what was - to me, at least - a radical idea: choosing to give to others instead of my family at Christmas. Giving to those who really need it - not to my white, middle class children, who have everything they need and most of what they want. It was challenging to me - this idea of doing Christmas differently. But I'll confess two things that made me interested: 1) I'm not much into Things anyway and 2) a great big part of me really wants to be a radical - deep in my heart, I'm not much of a rule-follower.

J and I talked it over. I wanted to know what he thought. He's the more grounded of the two of us. I get caught up in ideas with little thought of how to actually execute on them. Our daughters have had more than a decade of receiving gifts at Christmas - how might they react? Our culture tells them to want, want, want - could we buck that trend? Was I crazy to even suggest we try?

After many discussion with me trying to temper my enthusiasm and J trying to meet me halfway, we came up with an idea. I can't remember now whether it was his idea or mine, but we decided a year ago to try something different this Christmas. Instead of buying gifts for our daughters, we would give them money each week of Advent for them to give away. They've had some experience with giving, thanks to J's willingness to let the girls spend the tithe of his annual bonus. And they'll still get some gifts: they have chosen gifts for each other and will get a stocking and a gift from Santa (in addition to gifts to and from grandparents). But the gifts from us? That money will go elsewhere.

Advent weeks 1 and 2 ended up being lumped together for giving. Despite my best intentions, I didn't make time to sit down with our girls the first week of Advent for their giving. So we recently went through some catalogs and talked through their giving options. K loved the idea of giving rabbits or chicks to someone via Heifer International, an organization my dear aunt introduced us to. B initially said she wanted to give her money to our church. I reminded her that we tithe there anyway, but after hearing last Sunday about a fourth quarter budget shortfall, she wants to give all of her Advent money there. (I feel I should note how surprising it is to both J and I that B wants to give money to our church. She complains about going nearly every Sunday - not because it's not a fabulous place, but because she would rather spend her time in other ways. I'm encouraged that something good must be happening to her heart while there if she's choosing to give them her gift.) A is still on the fence: give money to her ballet school (which serves inner city youth) or her church?

You might be wondering what my girls' reactions were to the news they would give instead of getting this year. I told A and B together. A was pretty immediately agreeable to the idea. She loves gift-giving, but I think she's a bit like me and doesn't thrill to gift-getting. B was not happy. She's 10. She likes electronics. She likes predictability and tradition - this was radically new. She let me know exactly how she felt. K was excited when I first explained it to her. Then she listened more carefully and realized this was going to cut into her gifts. Her excitement diminished considerably. Interestingly enough, B was there when K realized what this meant and got upset. B chose to be the peacemaker and started reminded K of the good things about doing Christmas this way.

My own reaction has been as varied as that of my daughters. I really want this to work. I have been amazed at how freeing it has been to not spend hours planning for gifts and shopping for gifts. It's like a huge burden has been lifted from my shoulders. Yet I am, by nature, someone who avoids conflict. And I fear my daughters' disappointment on Christmas morning. Will they feel shortchanged? Is it possible to raise children who don't feel entitled to things when the culture screams at them that they deserve to fulfill their every wish and whim? How will I feel if they're sad?

I've also been surprised to find I feel like we're not giving enough. We've always had fairly modest Christmases around here. We don't spend thousands on gifts. So the money we've designated for them to give each week isn't a huge amount. It's left me wondering whether I could do something different to give them more to give. But yesterday as I was checking out of the grocery store, I realized something: our Advent giving isn't the only way we're giving this season. We hosted a party for 60 ten days ago and next week we'll host a cookie decorating party. Those parties? They cost money. I've never thought of them as ministry because they bring so much joy to our family. But a friend who attended my birthday party commented that my children weren't territorial about having two dozen extra children in their space. They shared their rooms, their toys, their friends. And that's giving, isn't it?

I've been thinking these last few days about wanting to see more fully. This can be a scary thing to pray for - seen things can't been unseen. We're stuck with knowing how far this world is from God's kingdom. But when we really see, we also get a glimpse of the ways God is at work that we missed before. I've never realized that hosting a party is a gift to others, but it's no coincidence that we open our home to others more at this time of year than any other time. We've been giving of ourselves all along.

I've been hesitant to write about our plans for Christmas giving. I don't want you to read this and think we're super-spiritual or on the fast track to heaven. I don't think people are wrong to celebrate Christmas by giving gifts. I just want to see whether I can foster something different, unique and radical in the hearts of my children. I want to see whether I can remove some of the stress of Christmas by putting our focus elsewhere. Because that would be a gift to all of us.

GRACE

2011-12-08T16:10:00.001-06:00

2 d : disposition to or an act or instance of kindness, courtesy, or clemency

Thus far, Advent has not gone exactly as I imagined.

I've been planning for this season since July. Back then, I talked A and B into doing math a few times each week so that we could suspend our regular studies in favor of Advent studies and activities for the period between Thanksgiving and Christmas. No science, no history, no grammar - just baking cookies, studying the people and symbols of the season and doing things for others. They (grudgingly) agreed and to my delight and relief we're nearly halfway through our math textbook with nearly five months still ahead of us to finish it. We're still doing a bit of math each day, but we've cut back our textbook lessons to two per week and are doing a lesson or two on Khan Academy to keep skills fresh. In addition to a bit of math each day, we're trying to Think, Read and Do something related to Advent.

What this means varies by day. Yesterday, we talked about the difference between saints and Saints. We discussed icons and looked at some examples. We found that the saint could be framed by several different things: scenes from the saint's life were the most common, but other images show the saint surrounded by prophets or by images from sermons preached. Then the girls were to create their own icon-inspired image. Which they did... but not until today. This was partly their fault - they knew the assignment and did not do it. But it was also my fault. I didn't follow up or follow through, so it slipped until today.

Quite frankly, this is largely because I am tired and my entire family is tired. I opted for a long trip to the library yesterday instead of more time at the table. This afternoon brought a trip to the Adventure Science Center instead of more school work. These things weren't scheduled, but they were what we needed. This week is crunch time for Nutcracker rehearsals. Over the course of an 8 day period, A rehearses or performs for 7 of those 8 days. The one extra evening was occupied by B's choir concert. We're on day 5 with opening night tomorrow. I think we're going to make it. But only because I've left piles of laundry for a day when I can manage it. Only because I've scrapped some of my Advent ideas in favor of reading books. Only because I've given myself grace to let go of my grand plans for Advent and let the season unfold with a mixture of planning and mystery.

Tomorrow is a school day, but the girls in this house are taking a mental health day. K is staying home from school. A and B's Advent plan for the day can wait. Instead, we'll sleep in, make pancakes for breakfast, watch Christmas movies, read Christmas books, and rest. If Advent is about waiting and listening, then I think it's important to listen to what's going on with my children. Tempers have been flaring and my girls are exhausted. I can insist we push through and take advantage of all this season has to offer. Or I can let my own grand plans slip through my fingers like sand from the beach. That sounds a lot more like a grace-filled Advent to me.

PROVISION

2011-12-04T03:35:00.000-06:00

1 a: the act or process of making preparation to meet a need

Over the last few days, I've made double batches of three soups (Tomato Florentine, Chicken Tortilla and Chorizo Black Bean Chili). I've baked cowboy cookies, peanut brittle, lemon whippersnappers, chocolate sweet potato cupcakes and chocolate covered pretzels. I've de-cluttered kitchen counters, dusted, swept, mopped and vacuumed.

My birthday is next Saturday, but tonight we hosted a party. A lot of people came. I've always loved having parties. Even back in high school, I can remember hosting friends for a game night or a football game. What I didn't realize (or think much about) until recently was my motivation for hosting parties. As an Enneagram 9, I love filling my home with people from all of the different parts of my life. I love school friends mixing with homeschool friends mixing with church friends. It makes my heart happy and content to cook for them, host them and see them all together.

But this year felt a bit different to me. For the past six years, we've done a roughly bi-annual birthday party for me. There was no birthday bash last year, but we did host an open house the day after Christmas. I was on the fence about whether to have a party this year because A is in the Nutcracker, which makes for a very busy December. As I was still pondering what I wanted to do, K took matters into her own hands. Before a date was even set, she started inviting people. I took that (strong) hint and decided to go for it. Deciding not to be bound by tradition, I picked a date exactly one week before my birthday - the Saturday before Nutcracker starts.

We set the date for the party and invited people several weeks ago. And then the week of the party arrived and I struggled. My extended family is going through some very difficult times and my body's response to processing all of these emotions is exhaustion. This is not a great stress reaction to have when you're about to host several dozen people for a party. I have a friend who can be found scrubbing her floors while processing emotions. That's a stress reaction I could have used. Alas, it wasn't to be.

On Saturday morning, I lay in bed with J and told him that all I really wanted to do was curl up into a ball and be alone. He said he could tell that's how I felt, but that I'd love it once the party arrived. I just had to finish the cooking and the preparations. It would all be worth it.

Even on the day of a party, regular life doesn't stop. A and K had ballet in the morning. B had basketball. Then A and B had a youth group party to attend in the afternoon. (Mercifully, a friend was driving them to and from this party. They would otherwise not have been able to go.) About 30 minutes before K was due to get home from ballet, a friend called. "Do you have a minute?" she asked. "Sure," I replied, "I'm just heading out to buy brown sugar because of course I've run out of it six hours before a party." My friend was calling to see if K could come over and play after ballet. What a gift this was - a few more hours alone in the kitchen to finish the last batch of cookies.

Earlier that day another friend had called. "I'm in Goodwill. They have tons of Christmas mugs on sale. Did you say you needed a few more for tonight's party?" She bought me ten, washed them and brought them to the party, thereby ensuring every adult had a Christmas mug to hold their soup.

At about 4 yesterday afternoon, I headed upstairs for a quick bath before the party. I took a few minutes to read the daily office in Celtic Daily Prayer and realized as I prayed that the timing of this party was God's provision. Had I not seen K's desire for a party and responded, I likely would have spent the day curled into a metaphorical ball. I would have read a book, taken a nap and tried to numb the pain. Instead, I cooked, cleaned and prepared my house for guests.

A friend at the party surveyed all of the food and said to me, "So for your birthday you cooked all of this and invited us all over?" When I replied affirmatively he said, "That's funny. I much prefer letting someone else do all of that on my birthday." But even as I've had a difficult week and had a hard time getting motivated to be ready for this party, I've know and realized that hosting parties is one way I love others. Let me not give the impression that my house was spotless for this event, nor that the food was entirely homemade. Publix and Trader Joe's provided most of the appetizers so that I could concentrate on soups and desserts. But everything I cooked was made with gratitude for friends who were willing to spend a Saturday night with us.

As I chatted with a friend at the party, I told her how I thought God knew even better than I did what I needed on this day. And he provided it in a big way: through friends who helped with children and party supplies and through a party that I wasn't sure I could muster the energy to host. The energy arrived when I needed it - and not a moment before. And the party provided a reminder that sadness has its place, but that I should not forget all of the people in my life who love me.

Looking back on this party, I'm amazed at how well it went. I'm amazed at how many people came. When I host a party, I am terrible at limiting the guest list. Since part of my motivation for having a party is to bring together all of the parts of my life, I want to invite everyone. I can't stand the idea of someone feeling left out. So I tend to over invite and trust that it will work out. Perhaps I over invited this time. By my best count, there were sixty-one people here last night. But it definitely all worked out. There was enough food, a lovely and mild December evening for the children to run around in the backyard and God's spectacular early birthday gift of giving me eyes to see his provision for me.

UNFURL

2011-11-28T19:44:00.001-06:00

: to release from a furled (wrapped or rolled close to or around something) state

It was roughly a year ago that I chose the word unfurl for 2011. Perhaps its misleading to even say I chose the word. I prayed for several days about what my word for 2011 might be and I heard "unfurl" as a very distinct response. I was puzzled at first, then accepting. Until early January when it hit me that this unfurling was a process that was likely to leave me very vulnerable. I had a very clear mental image of an unfurled flag being whipped around in gale force winds. Not a comforting concept to kick off the year.

Tonight as I contemplate the word - and my year - I see it a bit differently. Tonight, I'm struck by the fact that an unfurled flag does not do much on its own. When there's little or no wind, even an unfurled flag is calm, unlikely to be noticed. Yet when the wind picks up - when the time is right - an unfurled flag billows, blows and points the way. (I started to type "calls attention to itself," but I can't quite take the metaphor there if that might mean I actually need to call attention to myself sometimes. I'll go with "points the way" instead.)

I've been very aware lately of how much God's timing is at play in my life. I am spending nine months doing an Ignatian Prayer Cycle. The idea is to spend a bit of time every day reading specified scriptures. The reality is that I'm 8 or 9 days behind. Yet yesterday's sermon and my own verse tied together beautifully and made me thankful I've fallen behind. I loved having my own quiet time reinforce the words I'd heard earlier that same day. An unfurled flag waits for the wind's timing. It doesn't - can't - do its job by itself.

But that same flag isn't always idle. For the first time yesterday I served as a lay reader at church. This means I read the first lesson for the day to the congregation. It's an oddity (I think) that an introvert like me is good at public speaking. But I am. I had to read the entire first chapter of Jonah yesterday and I was nervous. But instead of letting my nerves hurry me along, they made me slow down and read the passage better. I went back to my seat feeling like I'd used a part of me that was meant to be used. This is growth for me - to be active and participatory instead of deferring and accommodating. This is unfurling - to accept that I have something to offer and offer it. When the wind blows and God points me in a direction, I don't want to stay curled up and resisting. I want to be unfurled and open to going where I'm sent and enjoying the moments when the wind is still.

RESOLUTE

2011-11-23T11:48:00.000-06:00

2: bold, steady

This time of year heralds my favorite season. I love cooking for Thanksgiving: from buying the right sized turkey, to cooking the cranberries for the dressing to starting the sweet potato casserole a few days ahead of time. It all makes me happy and content. Over the course of our fifteen year marriage, we've done the holidays many different ways. Our first Thanksgiving and Christmas were spent alone - just the two of us in Columbus, Ohio. For several years thereafter, we rotated between our families, spending Thanksgiving at home and Christmas on the road to either Alabama or Wisconsin. Then three or four years ago, A and B began asking when they would get to have Christmas at their house. This coincided with A performing in Nashville Ballet's Nutcracker for the first time, so it was a blessing to not have to load up and leave town the day she finished performing. When we made that switch, we traveled at Thanksgiving and spent Christmas at home. Until this year.

J's new job requires that we be in town Thanksgiving weekend. So we traveled over fall break and will celebrate the holidays here at home. With fall break's travels behind us, I was looking forward to being home, settled in and cooking all our favorites. That is, until K began expressing - loudly and frequently - that she was not happy to be home for Thanksgiving, that it was not fun to have just the five of us together, that it was not recent enough to have visited family last month. This was hard for me. I like to be content and I want others around me content.

As J and I sat up late one night discussing my fear that K's discontent would wreak havoc with not just Thanksgiving, but Christmas, he encouraged me to be resolute. K's attitude had made me feel like I was being selfish and lazy. Selfish to want time together just our family. Lazy to not want to spend 20 hours in the car at the end of a very busy month. J reminded me that I didn't make these decisions alone - we decided together. Then he asked an insightful question: "What is it you like so much about Christmas?" His theory is that by focusing on the things I like, I'll be better equipped to withstand K's storms. In short, my joy will make me resolute.

My immediate answer was that what I love about Christmas is the anticipation. I love waiting for the 25th to arrive. I love the way my house looks different during December than any other time of the year. (Christmas decorating is the only thing that ever makes cleaning enjoyable.) I love the foods we eat only this time of year. I love remembering baking cookies with my grandmother and dreaming about baking with my own grandchildren someday. I love that Christmas is different from any other time of the year.

Given all of this, I decided Advent's anticipation couldn't start too soon around here. Yesterday we decorated the mantle. Today we put the Christmas tree up. That's right - the day before Thanksgiving. If Christmas is what lightens my heart, the Christmas season is what we're going to usher in around here.

Even a morning of Christmas tree decorating followed by a movie has led to some grumbling from K. I wasn't moving fast enough this morning. (Imagine me wanting to drink coffee before retrieving ornaments from the basement? The nerve!) I tried to be steady and remember that all of our decorating doesn't have to be done in one day. I tried to remember that K's dissatisfaction doesn't have to lead to discouragement on my part. I'm trying to be resolute in my pursuit of an Advent that's not perfect, but meaningful. One that's not spent anticipating gifts, but gift giving. I want to spend this Advent with an anticipatory heart that's resolute in making this Advent one of worship, thoughtfulness and service.

OVERWHELMED

2011-11-18T16:33:00.001-06:00

1 : upset, overthrown

I think I'm the type of person easily overwhelmed and this week has thrown more than its fair share of obstacles my way. In the last 3 days alone, I have attended the funeral of a friend's 14 year old son, found out about a friend's cancer diagnosis, heard about a family member who lost her job and received word that another friend had emergency surgery. Last night when J got home, we were talking about another sad situation involving a teenager who is wrapped up in a world she's constructed - one that bears little resemblance to reality. We talked for a while and then I said, "I can't talk about this anymore. It's just too much for me right now."

In this midst of all of this, I read yesterday a prayer of Hild of Whitby. This seventh century woman founded a double monastery that was home to both men and women. Can you imagine being a woman of that time and holding that kind of influential position? I mentally shrink from the idea. Yet when I read this prayer in Celtic Daily Prayer, it resonated with me:

Take me often from the tumult of things
into Thy presence.
There show me what I am,
and what Thou hast purposed me to be.
Then hide me from Thy tears.

O King and Saviour,
what is Thy gift to me?
And do I use it to Thy pleasing?

The prayer goes on for several more stanzas, but I think these two questions are enough to ponder for now. What is God's gift to me? Do I use it to his pleasing? I also love the idea of imploring God to remove me from the tumult of thing into his presence. Surely this is the key to not being so overwhelmed.

What does that look like from a practical standpoint? There are still children to be taught, a family to be fed, laundry to be washing and myriad other tasks to be completed. I can't simply check out of my life. This week, I've tried to take care of the essentials and let the other things go. That means the laundry is washed, but the bathroom floors aren't mopped. Math was done today, but not Latin. Dinner tonight will be pasta with bottled sauce, not one from scratch.

Fighting being overwhelmed with the tool of contemplation also means there is a pot filled with orange peels and cinnamon simmering on my stove, filling the house with a fragrant aroma - one that reminds me that even in the midst of so much pain, so much brokenness, there is good in this life. It means leaving my daughters to finish their history while I retreat upstairs to read in Luke. It means turning on Christmas music while I work (even if it is 6 days before Thanksgiving - I know what my soul needs and it needs Christmas music!).

Near the end of Hild's prayer, it says:

May I be equal to Your hope of me.
If I am weak,
I ask that You send only what I can bear.
If I am strong,
may I shrink from no testing
that shall yield increase of strength
or win security for my spirit.

I have been asking God to send me only what I can bear, for I feel weak indeed. I can't fix the things that are broken in the lives of those I love. I can only hope to not be too upset, to not be thrown off the task of loving my family well and seeking the Lord in the midst of it all.

PLANNING

2011-11-14T17:09:00.001-06:00

: the act or process of making or carrying out plans

I love planning. It makes me feel motivated, accountable and ready. In fact, I probably enjoy the act of planning even more than executing the plan. That's not necessarily a good trait to have, but that's the truth of who I am.

When I started homeschooling sixteen months ago, I eschewed written plans. I did this partly because I wanted to keep my inner perfectionist at bay and partly because I know that I have a tendency to love a plan and lose sight of the bigger picture in pursuit of sticking to the plan. I also thought A needed to loosen up a bit and that more freedom in schooling would be good for both of us. This lasted for approximately three months of our homeschool experience.

This time last year, A and I tried our first unit study. We spent the month of November studying Thanksgiving in more depth, both as a way to prepare our hearts for the holiday and to shake up our schedule a bit - taking a break from our regular history and science to do the unit study. A loved doing a unit study, so we decided to do one for Advent as well. The catch? I couldn't find a unit study that I liked. I found two that were candidates - one had great hands on activities, the other was a fairly comprehensive look at Christmas symbols - but neither one was challenging enough or detailed enough to fulfill our academics for the entire month. My solution? I combined the two studies and created an Excel spreadsheet with each day's plan. A loved it. Not just the study - the plan.

When January arrived and I attempted to go back to our original method of deciding together what subject to do next, A asked for a written plan again. After some thought and honest assessment, I realized using a plan was working. If A did better with a plan in place, it didn't make sense for me to not use a written plan just for the sake of "freedom." After all, freedom is much more about knowing when to say yes and when to say no. Saying no to something that worked wasn't freedom - it was being a slave to what I thought we needed.

I've refined our plan and its look a few times, but the basics are the same. One spreadsheet contains all of A's (and now B's) work for the week. They can see at a glance which days have heavier loads and which days allow time for field trips, time with friends, etc.

Like last year, I'm creating a different type of plan for Advent. We'll still do math, although a lighter load - interspersing our Saxon lessons with Khan Academy practice. Once math is out of the way, we'll Think, Read and Do. We'll Think about either a church saint or an aspect of Advent each day. We'll Read about our topic - mainly via books, but with some online help for certain topics. Finally, we'll Do something to tie together what we've learned. I'm excited about all of this, but I'm most excited about Doing.

As I said above, I love planning. I'll gladly spend time researching several options, selecting the best books to read and diving into ideas. It's the doing where I fall down. I lose energy partway through the execution of a plan. This is (I think) partly the result of being a Nine. I love plans because they help me see underlying connections. I love reading about Saint Lucia and connecting her name to the Latin word for light, then coming up with an activity to help us think about the importance of light not just during Advent, but throughout our journey of faith.

But the doing? I find it difficult. I can get lost in ideas and forget to actually do these great things I envision.

The beauty of my Advent plan for this year is that it will hold me accountable. Writing down that we will have Saint Lucia bread on December 13th means two very disappointed girls if I don't deliver. (That's one good thing about having an Eight as a daughter - she will push me to Do and not just plan.)

Let me be clear that I don't expect all of this planning and even accountability to change who I am. If I'm going to bake cookies several times weekly, run deliveries to different friends and oversee the creation of dozens of Christmas gifts, I'm going to require some down time. I'm going to have to feed my soul if I want to help my children see Christmas as more than a time to receive. How? Partly by keeping it simple. Instead of trying to make a gingerbread house, Christmas cards and homemade marshmallows in the same day, we'll do that on three different days. That's the beauty of Think, Read and Do. Pretty simple. The less our plan outlines specifically for the day, the more freedom we have to keep Reading, go on Thinking or Do something else.

I'm also going to try something that worked during Lent: I'm going to adopt a spiritual practice of creating every day. This time around, it might not be collage. I've spent less time blogging in recent weeks, so maybe part of my spiritual practice will be to journal - here or in my Advent Journal. I just know it fills my emotional tank to have space in my day for quiet creating. So no matter what the plan says, I'll do that to take care of my soul.

What will you do? For Advent? For your soul care? For celebrating? If you'd like to know details of our Advent plan, I'll be posting weekly on my other blog about Advent activities you can do with your children. And since we can't be fully present for our children without taking care of ourselves, I'll include some suggestions for that as well.

Here's hoping all of this planning leads me to one place: the cross by way of the manger.

PERSPECTIVE

2011-11-09T17:00:00.000-06:00

2 a : the interrelation in which a subject or its parts are mentally viewed; also : point of view

It's so nice to have an in-house art teacher. I was trying to draw cowboy boots today and couldn't figure out how to draw the feet. The body was full frontal, so should the boots be to the side? To the same or different sides? I called B over and she quickly showed me how to do it. When I asked whether to point the toes of the other foot in the same direction, she said, "If you want to look Egyptian!" She then posed for me, demonstrating how awkward it is to stand with your body forward and your feet going the same way. I got her point. It's really all about perspective, isn't it?

A friend was recently talking about a mutual acquaintance. She was sharing how this person's family is so authentic, so genuine, so real. She talked about how they show their faith through their lives and how they've been such a blessing to her during her time in Nashville. My perspective is entirely different. The mom and dad in this family have both been judgmental, artificial and critical of my family. From my perspective, they aren't any of the things my friend said. So who's right? I think we both are.

I have many mutual friends who find this family completely delightful and servant-hearted. But I am not going to deny my own experiences and invalidate them. This family makes me feel judged and hurt. I don't admire them, respect them or even like them. Is that wrong? Or is it just the result of trying to hold in tension my own truth and the truth of others' experiences?

Someone might meet me and later describe me as a great listener, as someone who didn't say the right thing, but just listened and made them feel really heard. Another friend of yours might tell you I'm standoffish, that I don't go out of my way to speak to them and sometimes even intentionally don't come over to chat when I could. Who's right? Both would be. Depending on the day, my mood, how I feel and how well I know you, I might not initiate conversation. This doesn't mean I don't like you. It doesn't even mean I don't want to talk to you. The vast majority of the time, my perspective is that if you want to talk to me, you'll start talking to me. I start from the baseline assumption that people have better things to do than talk to me.

I have a deep desire to give people, including my children, the opportunity to have a different perspective than my own. I think we each bring a unique viewpoint to every person, situation and circumstance we encounter. Given this, clearly we all have different perspectives. And I think these different views and ways of approaching life reflect God beautifully. I think he's far more diverse than any one individual, so the myriad perspectives we bring collectively reflect him far better than any one of us does. The challenge is how to honor our own perspective and the perspectives of others. This is easier for me with some people than others. I think overall I'm a very accepting person,but there have been a handful of people that I've encountered in my life who have taken a nearly instant dislike to me. Without exception, I've always been hurt by this. For some bizarre reason, I expect people to, if not like me, then not react with such strong dislike. I'll be honest and say that my hurt in these instances has kept me from even attempting to see, much less value, their perspectives. I'm not saying this is right or good of me. It's just the truth of who I am.

I'll keep working on developing a willingness to let others see the world their way. And in the meantime, I'll direct any technical perspective questions to my astute 10 year old.

INFLUENCE

2011-11-07T17:55:00.001-06:00

1 : to affect or alter by indirect or intangible means
2 : to have an effect on the condition or development of

Who and what do you let influence your thinking, your life, your actions? Do you take time to stop and evaluate which aspects of your life are altered by an influence you might not choose? I'm asking these questions not just of you, but of myself.

I've been thinking about this partly in relation to my children. What influences exist in their lives? Are they positive or negative? Which influences do I fear most for my children? We live in an urban neighborhood, but I don't fear many of the influences they encounter here. A friend of my has talked about the influence of poverty versus the influence of affluence. I fear the latter much more for my children. I think it's unlikely they will face the harsh realities of poverty in their lifetime. But affluence? That they might encounter and I do fear it for them - and for me.

I think affluence is a huge stumbling block to any sort of true faith. It's hard to believe you need God when you can provide not only for your needs, but every want, every whim. I think many people in our country clutch two identical idols in their hands - the idol of wealth and the idol of success. I don't want this for my children. I'm not saying I hope they live paycheck to paycheck and know what it's like to truly be hungry. I am saying I want them to know there are people in those circumstances all around them - children who might look just like them, but don't go home to a healthy snack, don't have a hearty dinner to look forward to and love school days because they are sure to get breakfast and lunch.

Affluence influences all of us. It's pushed at us every day through countless commercials, billboards, web ads and more. When I really stop to think about what our culture tells our children - want more, earn more, buy more - it scares me. Our very economy is built on consumption. I've quizzed my husband on this and tried to get a better grasp on why it's so very necessary for us always to be buying more as a country. I was able to understand a bit, but, frankly, stopped asking questions because it was too disheartening. The system is simply too big to be stopped and I'm doubtful it will be significantly altered in my lifetime. So what can I do when faced with a world that tells my children one thing and a fierce desire to teach them something else as truth?

Yesterday's sermon was on saints. The image that has stuck with me the most was one that our priest shared of a child who described saints as "the ones the light shine through" (referencing the stained glass windows). After the sermon, I spent a bit of time alone in prayer pondering a verse that started "The Lord is my light." Much to my own surprise, I realized I have a certain degree of fear of light. I don't like to think about light shining on me. I can remember walking into my childhood home and walking all the way through the house to my bedroom without ever turning on a light. I felt safe that way. But light shining on me? That gives me an image of being singled out and noticed - two things I don't much enjoy. This truth really hit home this morning when I got up at my normal time to run and it was full daylight instead of the time just before sunrise. It was a terrible run. I felt so exposed, so insecure, almost nervous. I didn't like it at all. I'd much rather run in the dark.

"What does this have to do with influence?" you might ask. That's a valid question. The connection for me is that I shy away from being an influence. I don't want the light on me. I don't want to be seen. I'd rather listen to you than talk to you because what if I say something that you don't want to hear? I can't (and don't) take that approach with my children, but I think God is trying to talk to me about my willingness to trust him to bring a light that's not harsh and glaring like a fluorescent light at the grocery store, but gentle and forgiving like candlelight.

One encouraging thing to me about these intertwined ideas of light and influence is that light is something seen, not heard. Maybe where I live, how I live and who I love does more to help me live like a stained glass window than anything I could ever say.

SEIZE

2011-11-04T14:42:00.001-05:00

2 a : to take possession of

Fall is slipping through my fingers and today I decided to seize the day instead of just letting it wash over me. Our fall break was a world tour (according to my 10 year old) that took us from Nashville to Milwaukee to Nashville to Memphis to southern Alabama and back to Nashville. I had my oil changed the day before our trip started and in ten days' time we had driven nearly 3,000 miles. This travel brought many fun, enlightening and loving moments, but it left us (especially me) tired. We returned home two weeks ago today and I feel like I'm still recovering.

My approach to recovery last week was to try to take it slow. I crafted a lighter week of school work for A and B, both to help them readjust and to give me a bit more time to catch up on laundry, grocery shopping and cleaning.

That worked fairly well, but I simply was not able to do all that I wanted during October. I wrote very little. We missed Cheekwood's scarecrows altogether (which nearly broke my heart). And we didn't take a single long, aimless fall walk to collect leaves, acorns and memories.

Today was a grey day. It rained all day yesterday and the sun waited until noon to make a significant appearance. I did not let that stop us. We did one math lesson this morning and headed out for a walk at a state park about 30 minutes from our home. It was just what we needed.

A friend and her daughters joined us. While we chatted about compromise in marriage, how to rest in the midst of a full life and supper clubs, our daughters scampered over trees, waded into mud, dashed, dawdled and strolled.

I can't go back and change our October into a month that went according to my plan. And I can't guarantee that November will bring less surprises. What I can do is seize the days I'm given, make the effort to be fully present within those days and hold each moment loosely in my hands, grateful for what stays and only briefly grieving what slips away.

More than ever before, I am longing for Advent's arrival here in our home, in our lives. Last year was the first time I grasped that we don't just wait for Christmas during Advent. We wait for Christ. We await his return. By that definition of Advent, I'm already assuming the posture of that season. I'm trying to find time to listen, time to sit quietly, time to still my soul. I'm inconsistent in these pursuits, but they help me settle myself into my life and seize the opportunities I'm given.

Pictures from today's walk, courtesy of 10 year old photographer B:

GRIEF

2011-10-28T13:50:00.001-05:00

2 a : deep and poignant distress caused by or as if by bereavement

Someone I love very much is dying and I am sad to see her go. She was diagnosed with cancer a mere two weeks ago and the girls and I visited last week. I got a call last night to tell me the bad news - that the cancer is taking over - and as I stood in the kitchen, on the phone and crying, B and K came over, stood beside me and just hugged me. They didn't know why I was crying. They only knew their mom was upset, so they offered what they could. I hung up the phone, explained through tears and accepted more hugs.

A bit later, we sat down at the table for dinner. As our soup sat cooling, I asked K to pray. She bowed her head, started to pray and after a few sentences burst into tears. "I'm just too sad to pray," she sobbed, doubled over with grief. I knew just what she meant. Sometimes there are no words. In the Anglican church, there is a breath prayer that I sometimes use at times like this. As you inhale, you pray, "Lord, have mercy" and on exhale, "Christ, have mercy." Even that prayer is hard when your breath comes in gasps from crying. Like K, I find I am just too sad to pray.

My mind is foggy, unclear. I've wandered through today in a daze, doing laundry because it seems to be a task I can somewhat manage. But my heart is heavy. I keep thinking of the person I love - of her house, her dishes, the things she likes to drink and eat. My daughters have found me crying more than once and I've just explained that I'm still sad.

I told K last night as she cried that it was good for her to cry. Her crying meant she loved and was sad. This is worth our tears, but that doesn't make it any easier to bear. We live hours away and can't drop by the hospital with a book, a card, flowers. I am so thankful for our visit last week, for the gift that was to us. All we can really do now is remember and grieve.

And somehow that just doesn't seem like enough.

CELEBRATE

2011-10-25T21:10:00.000-05:00

2 a : to honor (as a holiday) especially by solemn ceremonies or by refraining from ordinary business

I had lunch today with some girlfriends. This is a rare occurrence for me. Homeschooling 10 and 11 year old girls doesn't leave me with much free time. But when the opportunity arose today (and the aforementioned girls were at their tutorial), I decided to go. I went even though a part of me longed to go straight home and climb into bed for a long nap before picking K up from school. I went even though it was the opposite direction from home. I went because even though my first impulse is often to be antisocial, I need community. In fact, I probably need it more than I realize.

As you would expect, we chatted while we snacked on chips, salsa and guacamole. We talked over salad, soup and quesadillas. We mused as we finished off sopapillas. At some point, the talk turned to girls. One mom shared that she expects her daughter to hit puberty soon. We agreed on the importance of marking big transitions for our daughters and then started talking about just how to do that.

I'll often write a blog post to commemorate an event I don't want to forget (like A getting her first pair of pointe shoes). This is partly because I'm not a scrapbook keeper nor a memory box aficionado nor one to jot notes of this type in my journal. It's also because writing it down helps me cement my own thoughts and feelings about what happened. But there are some things that are hard to talk about on my blog. A family member's illness? A friend's dying child? Balancing a desire to pray for those who are sick and hurting with a desire to pretend the world isn't as painful as this? I don't/can't/won't process these things on my blog. Which has meant fewer posts of late because those around me are walking through some very hard times.

I am doing my best to walk alongside them. To not abandon them while I read a book and pretend everything is OK. To listen to their hurts. To pray for them in quiet. To simply imagine lifting them up to God when I don't even have the words to pray.

It was good to sit with friends today and not feel the burdens of the world quite so heavily for a few moments. It was good to think about how to honor our girls as they move from being little girls to young women. I'm not quite ready to fully imagine my daughters as full grown women, but I see them changing before my very eyes. They are young, but they are making the transition from prepubescent to pubescent. They are alternately working, struggling, fighting and embracing the job of figuring out exactly who they are. I want to meet them where they are and encourage them as they take steps towards becoming more self-sufficient, more adult, more of who they are meant to be. But this happens in fits and starts, not in a consistently plot line. It's one thing to write about my daughters milestones, but what do I do to celebrate them? What action am I taking? They are working at growing up. How am I working to help them do it?

Tonight I asked A and B to make four salads for us while I put the rice and black beans into bowls. They started unhappy. Unhappy escalated to exasperation for A, who quickly told me she wasn't capable of making a salad. Unhappy escalated to anger for B when she realized she was to make salads for others, not just herself. Should helping make dinner (especially when it's something as easy as a salad) be a part of growing up? Certainly. Do my daughters long for this part of maturity as much as they are counting down the days to riding in the front seat of the van? Not on your life.

One action I have to take - and take more consistently - is teaching, encouraging and even forcing my daughters to be more self-sufficient. Each daughter has a set of chores, but I'll be honest and say that housekeeping is not a huge priority for me, so I'm a bit inconsistent in my administration of chore time. I'm also a 9 who needs (or should I say longs?) to avoid conflict. So I do the dishes myself rather than listen to A complain. I wash the laundry myself rather than fight with B about how old one should have to be to do laundry. I need to grow in this area. I need to be willing to fight the small battles in order to prepare my daughters for life when they leave my home. I'm just confessing that's a hard part of parenting for me.

A and B have reacted to life differently from the outset. By the time B was fifteen months old, I knew I needed a different set of discipline techniques than those I used with her older sister. They don't like the same things, participate in the same activities or wear the same clothes. Predictably, they have treated discussions of impending puberty with completely different reactions. A had an uneasy anticipation. B's stance is best described as dread. I've tried to mitigate this with the reward of pierced ears accompanying the first period, along with a personalized bag containing pads, tampons, Coca-cola (the cure to all ills) and chocolate (who doesn't crave chocolate?).

These practical steps are really just a way of trying to honor my daughters. A set of earrings and a cool bag are just vehicles to trying to make my daughters understand that they are valuable, precious and worthy. They're also an attempt to acknowledge that some of the best things in life are both good and hard. Do many of us wish there was a path to fertility that didn't include monthly cramps, headaches and bleeding? Yes. But that's our path, nonetheless. Does the good outweigh the bad? Yes. Does the good make the hard disappear? No. And that's one lesson I want them to learn: that the hard things in life are worth it as much as the good things.

I want to be a family that celebrates the good and bad, hard and joyous part of life. All of it. Because that's what life is about.

DISTANCE

2011-10-16T21:14:00.001-05:00

5 b : capacity to observe dispassionately

We are currently in Wisconsin visiting family. Our drive here is a long one. Google maps will tell you it takes 10 hours. The reality is that it's nearly impossible to make it in 10 hours. I think in my 20 years of marriage and courtship, J and I have made the drive in under 10 hours only once - and that drive concluded in the wee hours of the morning, taking us through Chicago around 2 AM. That's just about the only way to get through Chicago quickly - do it when everyone else is asleep.

My children are champion travelers and for this trip I spent some serious prep time doing my best to ensure a stress free drive time. Each girl got a box packed with markers, pens, colored pencils, a new journal, stickers and a pencil sharpener. They also got a bag with more sugar than they are normally allowed in a week's time. Additional travel tools? Library books, Playaways, a few math worksheets, two Pillow Pets and one Snuggie.

One advantage of such a long trip is that there's time to think. Plenty of it, in fact. On the drive north on Thursday, I was looking at some of Southern Illinois' fall foliage. (I know it was Southern Illinois because there aren't (m)any trees in Central or Northern Illinois.) I saw a gorgeous line of trees from a distance and kept my eye trained on one tree as we got closer. I noticed something. The beauty of fall trees is a cumulative thing. One fall leaf, even one fall tree, is not all that beautiful. You might find the occasional exception, but fall's beauty is really seen best from a distance. As I noticed this, I got a flash of a truth much bigger. I think God sees our lives the way I see the fall trees.

The bible talks about God's ways not being our ways and his thoughts not our thoughts. I've often fallen back on that when I go through a difficult time or when I see others walk through difficulty, but I've never grasped the concept in such a graphic way. Those ugly leaves on the tree of my life? They aren't ugly when seen alongside hundreds of other leaves and the trees representing the lives of others around me. Or maybe they are still ugly - nothing will change that - but their individual disfigurement ends up being less important when seen alongside everything else.

This was a comfort. Everywhere I turn lately, I seen pain. I have friends, family members and acquaintances who are variously watching family members die, walking with those they love through illness, struggling through the loss of a job, recovering from surgery and receiving cancer diagnoses. Not one of these circumstances is OK with me. Each and every one hurts my heart. I long for a day when mothers do not outlive their children, a day when there is no pain that needs management, a day when we all know - not just rationally, but with our whole being - that we are loved not for what we do but for who we are. I long for a day when we are not faced with saying good-bye to those we love.

I'll be honest: I want to be able to see the beauty now. I want a distance that I will never have in this lifetime. I don't know why people I know and love are walking through the valley of the shadow of death. I don't know why and I don't know how to comfort or console them. I have no words of wisdom to offer, no scripture references that explain it all away. Because the truth is that there is pain and there is hurt and there is ugliness in this world of ours. I don't know why. I'll probably never know why. And a glimpse of an idea that momentary troubles (that don't feel momentary at all) are leaves that manage to make something beautiful isn't much to cling to right now. But it's all that I have, so I'm offering it humbly to you, just in case you're walking through your own valley right now.

SILENCE

2011-10-09T19:55:00.000-05:00

:a quality of life that enables you to more clearly hear God's voice. Also, the quality surrounding my weekend retreat.

Interested? I highly recommend it. If you live in Nashville and want more information, check out Dovehouse Ministries. You'll be amazed at how much a little silence will change your attitude, your outlook, your life.

MUSIC

2011-10-06T21:22:00.000-05:00

1 a : the science or art of ordering tones or sounds in succession, in combination, and in temporal relationships to produce a composition having unity and continuity

I'm not a music person. I'm especially not a classical music person. I've always seen music as primarily a vehicle for delivering lyrics. There are some artists whose voices I particularly like, but far more often I like a song based on whether I like what it says and how it says it. There's a reason this blog is called Word Girl. I'm really all about the words. Or maybe I should say it used to be all about the words because my daughter B is ushering in a whole new world for me. A world where I don't just tolerate music, I actually enjoy it.

B started taking piano lessons in December of last year. She immediately took to it. Her first lesson was right before Christmas, so she went three weeks between her first and second lesson. In that span of time, she learned the entire book her teacher had given her. That was a harbinger of things to come. For years, we've tried to help B find something she loves. She's good at sports - she just doesn't care about playing them, especially on teams. But piano? She plays all the time. We never have to remind her to practice - although I might have to remind her to play what the teacher actually requested. I've never timed it, but my best guess is that she plays for at least an hour daily. She'll walk over, play a song through a few times and wander away. She does this all day long. So much so that I hardly notice it anymore.

As a part of our homeschool, I thought it would be fun for B to get to learn about a few composers. She chose Bach and asked piano her teacher if she could learn a Bach song to go along with it. She's been learning Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring. So strong is B's musical influence in our home that J is whistling this song as I write this blog post. Jesu is the song that always makes J cry at weddings. (In his defense, it's hard to not cry at weddings when you have three daughters. That whole giving them away thing? Yikes. I'm not sure I'll ever be ready to just give them away. What horrid language.) He's joked with B that her learning this song is a blessing because by the end of her mastery of it, he'll be immune to the song's beauty and emotional content. I'm not so sure.

B's been having trouble sleeping of late. I blame this partly on Dr. Who, partly on hormones and partly on B's strong will - if she believes something she can will it into being. So if she thinks she can't sleep, she definitely can't sleep. In college, J listened to Eric Clapton's Timepieces and he jokes that he never heard the third song because of his Pavlovian response to the music. A few bars and he was out cold. I thought I'd see if I could work the same magic for B.

I downloaded a copy of Jesu and a few George Winston songs and burned a CD. After a few nights, I decided five tracks weren't enough. So I did some research, listened to countless songs on Freegal and made another, longer CD (12 tracks, nearly an hour long). I didn't really think much about it at the time. J was out of town, so I didn't really have anything better to do. It was only when he commented on how odd it was for me to be researching and selecting classical music that I realized he was right. It's pretty out of character for me.

This realization delighted me, in part because it made me realize how B has changed music for me. I enjoyed making her CD and have even listened to the playlist a few times since creating it. That may not sound like much to you, but for me, it's proof that I'm learning from this daughter of mine: learning to appreciate an art form that doesn't immediately resonate with me, learning to love something because my child loves it.

Tomorrow I leave for a weekend silent retreat. I have a three hour drive each way. I normally drive a good portion of the ride with no music at all - letting the silence begin to seep into me before the retreat officially begins. But I think this time, I might bring along a bit of musical accompaniment in the form of a copy of B's CD. And I have a niggling suspicion I'll miss the bits of piano music I have grown accustomed to hearing throughout the day.

AUTUMN

2011-10-04T20:58:00.002-05:00

: the season between summer and winter comprising in the northern hemisphere usually the months of September, October, and November or as reckoned astronomically extending from the September equinox to the December solstice

There are many things I love about autumn: cooler temperatures, football, wearing boots, making soups, drinking hot tea, pumpkins, apples. I also love what it heralds: Halloween, Thanksgiving, Advent and Christmas. While Halloween doesn't particularly excite me, Thanksgiving, Advent and Christmas are some of my favorite times of year. I love the way thankfulness and looking back on a year of things to give thanks for ushers in the hushed anticipation of Advent, the waiting to celebrate our savior's birth and the waiting for his return.

Our lives have a rhythm to them, but each year our family continues to evolve. I'd love nothing more than for fall Saturdays to be about pumpkin pancakes, raking leaves, reading books, watching football and smelling chili simmering on the stove.

Instead, our Saturdays are packed full with ballet classes, art classes and Nutcracker rehearsals. I had somehow forgotten in the two years since A last danced in The Nutcracker just how time consuming it is. Starting in October, she essentially dances all day on Saturdays, with an hour or two lunch break. Mornings are for instructional classes at her regular studio near our home and afternoons are spent learning how to be a Native American Soldier (her role in this year's performance) at a studio across town.

I'm thankful A has the opportunity to participate in a ballet performed by professionals and run by a professional organization. She has learned a great deal from previous participation and she will gladly sacrifice whatever time necessary to do it again. Truth be told, she does not even see it as a sacrifice.

Yet I choose the word sacrifice intentionally. The things I give up seem petty to list: time to curl up with a book on Saturday afternoons, weekend days spent at home rather than in the car, lazy days. But I am learning a lot about myself through the Enneagram study and I recently heard Richard Rohr (on the CDs we listen to) talk about how people of my type are the most frequently occurring type in undeveloped countries. He said when you visit Africa, you're struck by the fact that almost everyone is a 9. Sadly, I do not live in one of those countries. I don't live in a culture that encourages - or allows - moving at your own pace.

A friend in this study keeps reminding our group that the point of the Enneagram is to learn compassion - on ourselves and others. So I am trying to accept that part of what is wearying about this fall is simply that I live in a world that is not set up for someone like me. Frankly, that's a good reminder no matter your Enneagram type. None of us are made for this world. None of us are permanent residents here. It is good and right that we should long for autumn to be a season that ushers in the ultimate Advent of God's kingdom come.

But how to live in the here and now? The solution is not to give up on living our lives here - whether our lives be in their own spring, summer, fall or winter. I think the answer lies - seemingly simply - in living in the present. I don't mean that glibly. I mean being fully present and not wishing away October Saturdays for January Saturdays that are colder, but less cluttered with activities. I mean not dreaming wistfully about the good old days before Saturday ballet even existed for our family.

Tonight's dinner provided a good opportunity to practice the discipline of staying present. J called 5ish to tell me he was heading south (away from home) for an afterwork meeting. While he indicated he would likely be home at a normal time, I was doubtful. I proceeded to cook our dinner of apple and pear pork tenderloin, carrot souffle, brown rice and edamame. When everything was ready, the four of us (minus J) sat down to eat. It felt like a lovely fall meal. The girls were delightful. This was their first encounter with edamame, so I'd given them very small portions. A & B both went back for seconds. Their willingness to try the food I put before them made the effort of cooking their dinner feel more than worth it.

Here's the thing: I could have been upset that J missed dinner with us. He had a work event last night. I have a contemplative prayer group tomorrow night. But I didn't let disappointment rob me of the now. I rested in the moment of dinner at the table with my daughters happily gathered around me.

I do love that autumn points us to what comes next. But I want to learn to savor what it offers in and of itself.

REST

2011-09-28T14:30:00.003-05:00

: repose, sleep; specifically : a bodily state characterized by minimal functional and metabolic activities

For the first time in the seven years that we've been a family of five, our entire family caught the same virus, one after the other. The sickness started two weeks ago and first made its way to J. K came next and missed two days of school with a fever. Before long, A had a sore throat and I wasn't far behind. I had hoped B would escape unscathed, but it was not to be. Even strong-willed, strong-bodied B came down with it.

Here's what I've learned: rest when you need to rest.

On Saturday, A danced (sore throat and all) in her ballet school's fundraiser. I was there as a table host, hoping that adrenaline would get us both through the morning. It did. We then ate soup for lunch and crawled into bed with books. Sunday found us much the same: we were napping by mid-morning while the rest of our family went to church and hung out with nephews. By Sunday evening, we were on the mend, but B wasn't feeling well. She ended up sleeping 14 hours and didn't awake until after 10 Monday morning.

Given that A and I were mostly feeling better by the end of day Sunday, I could have pushed through and had school (at least with A) on Monday. Instead, I called it a sick day and we all three took the day off. Healthy K was carted to school and then we rested. We read. We watched one documentary on Egypt and then I napped while they watched two more tv shows for fun. (What's a sick day without a few tv shows?!)

It has taken me a while to learn that illness is your body's way of telling you to slow down and take a breath. Perhaps this seems obvious to many of you. If so, be thankful you've learned this lesson. Years ago, I would push through at work, taking over the counter cold medicines and not missing so much as an hour of work. I saw sickness - and my body itself - as something to endure, something that should be put into submission. It took a while, but I finally learned that was no way to heal. If I keep going like I'm not sick, I stay sick far longer. Likewise, treating my body like something that is merely worth tolerating is not the solution. As I've learned to listen to my body, I've found it is often wiser than my mind. My body knows when I need to rest, when I can push and when to do what needs to be done.

I grew up with great ambivalence about my body. Looking back, I think two main things conspired to make this the case: I went through puberty fairly early and my body rounded out before it lengthened out, resulting in a pudgy 4th and 5th grader. I also didn't play any sports in middle school or high school. I'm not a natural athlete and I let my insecurity about my body (a holdover from late elementary school) dictate what I would and wouldn't do. Rather than persevere and learn a sport - any sport - I opted out. It's only been in my 30s that I've learned my body can do some things. I'm still woefully uncoordinated, but my recent morning runs have reminded me that I like to run. I don't run fast. I don't run with other people. I don't ever hope to compete. But the act of climbing out of bed, pulling on clothes and heading out the door to a sleeping world is the most pleasant way to wake up. I love the time alone, the quiet of watching my neighborhood wake up around me and the feeling that my body is more than something I lug around to get my soul from place to place. My body is worth being thankful for.

Both the return of outdoor running to my routine and my recent cold have reminded me that my body and soul need rest. I've been trying to be open to change - trying to let go of behavior patterns that are ingrained, but not helpful. I've discovered that change is hard work. And hard work means rest should follow. I need rest. I suspect we all need rest, but I'm perhaps just more attuned to this need. So the next time I get a cold, I'll take the Zicam in hopes of avoiding the full blown yuck of it. If that doesn't work, I'm grabbing a cup of hot tea, finding a good book and taking a sick day. Rest is good for me - body and soul.

POINTE

2011-09-23T19:34:00.000-05:00

: a ballet position in which the body is balanced on the extreme tip of the toe

My 11 year old daughter A hit a milestone today. We bought her first pair of pointe shoes. It was quite the process. She tried on at least a half-dozen pair before finding the right pair. She tried Bloch, she tried Capezio. She couldn't get her foot in the shoe. Then she could get her foot in and the back was too loose. A joked that she felt like Cinderella's stepsisters. The kind ladies helping us pulled a different set of toe pads to allow a slimmer fit. They patiently pulled pair after pair of shoes.

And then, almost miraculously, she found the right pair. She put them on. Her foot slid in, the back pulled up, not too loose, not too tight. She stood - feet flat on the ground. The shoes were snug, but her toes weren't overlapping. After all of that, she went up on them for the first time. She looked regal. My eyes teared up a bit. I imagine what I felt is a foreshadowing of seeing my daughters don their wedding dresses for the first time. She looked so... right standing there, like it was what she's made to do. And she positively glowed.

The two ladies who had spent the last half hour gathering shoes raised their eyebrows and looked at each other. "She has strong feet," one remarked. "I imagine you're going to be buying her pointe shoes with some regularity, Mom," the other said to me. Apparently A's strong feet gave them the impression she'll do well on pointe, which translates to wearing shoes out from dancing. Good for A... not so good for the budget. Yet it's a price we'll gladly pay to see A pursue what she loves.

I can remember someone being slightly patronizing to A a few years ago about her desire to dance. He asked what A wanted to be when she grew up and her answer was, "a dancer." He smiled knowingly and said to me, "Lots of little girls want that when they're six (or seven or whatever she was)." I recoiled inwardly and thought, "Don't tell her what she can't do! You have no idea who she'll be." Being my typical non-confrontational self, I didn't say anything, but the comment and the attitude bother me to this day.

Pointe shoes aren't comfortable. J and I think this will be the real test of whether A decides to pursue dance. Is the pain of learning to dance on the extreme tip of her toe worth it? I don't know whether it will be or not, but I can tell you that J and I will support her, help her soak her feet and drive her to and from rehearsals.

As we drove home from the dancewear store, A and B sat in the back seat talking about high school. The talk eventually turned to boarding school. I let them talk for a while until A asked me whether a local performing arts school is a boarding school. "No, it's not," I replied. "But let's just get it straight right now that you're not going to a boarding school." Conversation ensued about why this is my stance. I offered a few reasons, but eventually said, "The bottom line is that I only get 18 years with you. After that, you're off on your own to become who God made you to be. I'm not going to lose out on any of those years. I happen to like you." Oddly enough, this ended the conversation. A and B both accepted this line of reasoning (for now, at least).

If I'm completely honest, my heart is aswirl with emotions tonight. I'm proud of A that she's going to learn to dance on pointe. I'm thankful that I got to be there with her to see her don her first pair. But I'm also a little nostalgic, a little sad. The little girl who begged me and hassled me about wanting to dance is a real dancer. I love that, but I kind of miss the little girl.

Getting ready to try the shoes out

This is fun!

Looking regal

Look, Ma! No hands!

CHANGE

2011-09-20T17:34:00.002-05:00

1 a : to make different in some particular : alter

I read a friend's blog post recently that featured the most beautiful trees. There were yellow leaved trees, trees of vibrant red, a barren tree with green moss - trees in the midst of changing from one season to another. As I read her words and looked at the images she'd chosen, I wondered why I can embrace the change of seasons, but fight change in so many other areas of my life.

I love the change of seasons, most especially the change from summer to fall. Fall heralds good things: warm soups bubbling on the stove, cups of hot tea sipped with friends, curling up under a blanket with a good book, an afternoon spent watching football, Thanksgiving with family and friends. I love fall for its differences from summer. I love that it brings routine back into our life after the lazy days of summer. I love that I can stop wearing sandals and switch to boots. I love the movement from tomato tart to butternut squash lasagna. I love the alterations fall makes to our lives.

So why can't I embrace change in other areas? Why can't I rejoice that the addition of one daughter to my homeschooling crew has required not just increased patience, but an entirely new plan? Why can't I be thankful for the hours spent nursing a sick child back to health? Why can't I be content to vacuum the dining room floor, knowing that my daughters have taken on sweeping, mopping and other chores that used to be mine?

In part, I think it's harder to embrace change in these other ways because I lack a knowledge that I have with the seasons. I can relax into the change from summer to autumn precisely because I know that autumn will not last forever. I celebrate its vibrant colors and cool breezes because I know they will all too quickly give way to bare tree limbs and a wind that bites. But these other changes? They scare me because I don't know how long they will last. I can't get past my fear to enjoy their momentary presence because I fear they are the new normal - that my life will be this way forever.

In short, I do not embrace change because I have too little faith. Too little faith that the good, bad and hard things in my life are all for one season. I may not know the length of the season, but surely I've lived long enough to have seen that all things in this life are fleeting. Why not rush past the hard things, but sit in them and learn from them? Why can't I treasure the good times instead of trying to lock them into my memory, into my very bones, so that I can pull them back up when they disappear before my very eyes?

I've been trying to be more sensitive. More sensitive to and aware of my own emotions. More sensitive to the need to speak, instead of always listening. More sensitive to a call to act instead of merely watching. Today I realized I've been trying so hard to change that I'm not allowing my spirit to rest. Yes, I need to do more than just think. Yes, I need to act. But I also need to take care of myself in order to do these other things. I've been so busy trying to embrace change that I haven't tried to accept who I am. I've just been trying to change - to ease along the transformation.

It doesn't really work that way. A tree doesn't decide when it's time to change from green to gold. It doesn't decide when it's time to shed the gold and wait for spring's buds, either. It's just a tree. I'd like to one day know myself well enough to just be. To allow change to happen without fear, anxiety, trepidation. To just be.

GENIUS

2011-09-15T09:42:00.000-05:00

5 b : extraordinary intellectual power especially as manifested in creative activity

My husband is a genius. Last night began what will be a regular component of fall for our family: Wednesday nights out for me. K was less than excited. As I explained to her that I was leaving, I was trying to sell her on the fact that she was going to get a night at home with dad. Her response was less than enthusiastic. At one point she said, "Why are you using an excited voice?" I smiled at her bluntness, then changed tactics a bit by pointing out she'd get to eat what Daddy made for dinner.

K perked up a bit at this. "What's he making?" (I'm sure she had visions of popcorn dancing in her head.) "Sandwiches," I replied. Her face fell. "Could we have mini-pizzas instead?" K asked, recalling another dad meal from the past. "I'm not sure. Maybe next week. Why don't you go ask him?" I replied, punting on responding to this query.

K thus distracted, I gathered my things to head out for an evening of lectio divina with other homeschool moms. A and B bid me goodbye with little concern (as they always do) and even K seemed accepting of the circumstances.

I dropped by a friend's house to pick her up for our evening and watched as her two year old clung to her leg at departure. "K still sort of acts like that," I told her as she climbed into the car.

I didn't think much about what was going on at home during my time away. It was a smallish group, with a few women I knew and several I didn't. My spiritual director (who also attends my church) met with our group to walk us through the why and how of lectio divina as a way to read scripture. She's a lovely person - just being around her makes me smile and lifts my spirits. Hearing about how this ancient practice helps us not study, but ingest, God's word was beautiful. We read our scripture for the evening aloud together and then settled in different locations around the church grounds, waiting to hear from God. I went home refreshed, renewed and encouraged.

When I got home, J was watching an episode of Modern Family on the computer, laughing continually. Once he finished that, he said, "Oh! I have something to show you: our menu from tonight."

Kate, Truss famliy (sp) is the label at the top

After he gave them their menus, he carried their selections into the kitchen and yelled, "Sandwich, untoasted, ham and colby, yellow mustard!" The girls apparently loved it. I do not doubt it. I love this about my husband: He's a genius at taking an ordinary evening at home featuring a somewhat pedestrian meal and turning it into a fun event. I'm often too busy being serious to be very much fun, so J serves a very valuable role in our family of lightening the mood.

I can't wait to see how next Wednesday evening turns out.

BRACES

2011-09-12T20:02:00.002-05:00

4 e plural : an orthodontic appliance usually of metallic wire that is used especially to exert pressure to straighten misaligned teeth

My ten year old daughter B got braces almost two weeks ago. J and I both had braces when we were young, so it wasn't a shock to find out we had a daughter who needed to see an orthodontist. J went on to have jaw surgery after years and year of braces, so we're hoping early intervention can spare B surgery down the road. In addition to braces on her top teeth, she has a palate expander. Along with the expander came a key for me to use to tighten it each night. I was NOT thrilled about this. I'd heard horror stories about friends sobbing as their parents turned their device nightly. With great trepidation, I learned how to insert and turn the key, wondering whether I could bear to hurt her every night. This has turned out to not be a big problem, since B either has a high tolerance for pain or orthodontia has improved a bit over the last two decades (I'm guessing a bit of both).

The best part about B getting braces? She's thrilled - thinks they're the coolest thing ever, has wanted to show friends and family in person rather than tell them ahead of time. I attribute this stellar attitude, in part, to her age. I had braces from 6th grade to 8th grade - roughly ages 12 to 14. Is there a more awkward age than this, even without metal in your mouth? I think not. But ten year olds are young enough to not really care what others think, to still want to stand out from the crowd a bit. And ten year old peers mostly haven't sharpened their claws to attack those who dare to be different.

B especially enjoyed one day last week when she had on a turquoise shirt that matched her rubber bands nearly exactly. Several people remarked on how well she matched and it just delighted her.

B can be difficult. She's strong in ways I'm not. She's bold. She's confident. She knows herself. She's going to make a great adult, but can be a challenging kid to parent or befriend. Today I'm thankful for all these traits of hers that sometimes make me wonder why on earth God thought I was capable of parenting her. I'm thankful her strength makes her grin excitedly to show off her braces, instead of hiding her mouth behind her hand, a smirk or anything else. Today, I'm able to be thankful she's exactly who she is, braces and all.

Pre-braces. Isn't she lovely?

BUN

2011-09-08T22:22:00.001-05:00

2. hair gathered into a round coil or knot at the nape of the neck or on top of the head in certain coiffures

When J and I were in Tobago, communications with home were scarce. There was wi-fi at our hotel, but it was Caribbean wi-fi, of the laid back, it might work, it might not work variety. We did receive one e-mail from my in-laws during our stay and I was amused to read my mother-in-law's report that she had put A's hair in a bun for ballet class and that it had stayed up. Once upon a time, it was stressful for me to get my daughter's hair into a bun that was sleek, neat and ballerina-worthy. Not anymore.

I know how to get A's ponytail tight, wrap the hair around and stick it up into a bun without a single bobby pin. It looks nicer with a hair net or bun cover, but we can make do without. Putting hair into a bun is a skill I've acquired as a parent that I never knew I was lacking. This facility with hairdos doesn't come natural, but I've had to keep up with A.

Three years ago, I entered a whole new realm of parenting. Then-8 year-old A auditioned for Nashville Ballet's Nutcracker youth cast. It was the first time in her short life that she had wanted something that I had no control over whatsoever. And she really wanted it.

Our plan had been to visit Disney World for the first time that year. I wanted to miss the Christmas rush by skipping a few days of school and going the week before the holiday. That way, we could celebrate Christmas at home and share Disney with our girls. The problem? The Nutcracker ran through the weekend before Christmas. A weekend I had anticipated spending in Florida.

Luckily, I realized this conflict before the audition. I went in to talk to A about it and will never forget her reaction. I laid out the problem and asked whether she wanted to wait a year to audition for The Nutcracker. Her reply? "Could I maybe stay with someone while you go to Disney World? Maybe Uncle J and Aunt A?" Her stance could not have been more clear. When faced with choosing between Disney World and being in The Nutcracker, the girl wanted to dance. Needless to say, I let her audition. She got a part. We moved the Disney trip.

That first year, I was stunned by the whole experience. The rigid audition procedures. The stress of waiting for a letter to arrive. The complete helplessness. The crazy rehearsal schedule. The rearranging of family commitments, large and small, to get one daughter to where she needed to be when she needed to be there. The hours and hours of rehearsal for minutes onstage. Minutes.

Was it worth it? A's response would be an enthusiastic yes. She performed on a large stage in front of hundreds of people. She shared that stage with professional dancers. She got to watch backstage while the Sugarplum Fairy danced her solo. Meanwhile, I got to hear A's sister B tell everyone seated around us that her sister was dancing in the show. She told them her sister's name and role. She beamed with pride. It was sibling love at its best.

Last year, A auditioned for the third time for The Nutcracker. She was given a part. And then J and I pulled the plug. She was in a fall production at her ballet school and we felt our family simply could not go from one set of rehearsals straight into another. A handled our decision fairly well. She wasn't thrilled, but she understood.

I'm not sure who will be more nervous next Sunday when A auditions this year. Will they penalize her for our decision to not take the part last year? Is her body too tall, too developed, too something, not enough of something else? The good news is that I think A is resilient enough to handle it if she isn't cast this year. And, believe me, her bun will be perfect for that audition. It's just about all I can do to help her.

Year one


Year Two


This Year's Audition Photo

BOOTS

2011-09-05T18:44:00.002-05:00

1 : a fitted covering (as of leather or rubber) for the foot and usually reaching above the ankle

I love boots.

Much to my relief, this Sunday it was finally cool enough for me to wear footwear that wasn't sandals. Saturday night, J and I went to Vanderbilt's season opening football game. Thankfully, it was an evening game. Even so, it was hot, humid and airless outside. I wore supportive flip-flops, but flip-flips are still flip-flops, so the support was minimal. My feet were killing me by the time we got home. Not from the walking, per se, but from how hot my feet were for the entire evening. As we went to bed, I was hopeful the promised rain would arrive, bringing the temps from the 100s to the 80s - and bringing boots back into my footwear repertoire.

The rain arrived as predicted and I wore a white skirt, grey shirt and my favorite blue suede cowboy boots to church. As J and I walked from the parking lot to the sanctuary, I remarked that I was so glad to be able to wear boots again. "Are they more comfortable for your feet and legs because they're more supportive?" he asked in an attempt to understand. "Yes, but it's more than that," I replied. "They make me feel more confident, more protected - both physically and psychologically." "Hmmm," he mumbled diplomatically.

I realize it may sound a bit crazy that boots make me feel more confident and more protected, but it's true. In my Enneagram study, I did this week's reading for our discussion, then jumped ahead several chapters to read about type nine. Several passages in this chapter have brought tears to my eyes. One such passage:

NINEs have none of the defense mechanisms at their disposal that the other eight types use to try to protect their inner self from the assaults of the world outside... This defenselessness means that almost everything that approaches NINEs from the outside world is exhausting and draining.

Maybe it was having recently read this passage that made me realize that boots aren't just a fashion preference for me - they're armor. I have to walk slower in most of the boots I own - either because they have heels or because they don't allow my ankle to bend the way other shoes do. This can be challenging for me since I generally like to be able to slip in and out of places, unnoticed if I wish. This side of me isn't compatible with wearing boots, but maybe my preference for them comes from a nearly hidden inner knowledge that even when I don't want to be noticed, everyone needs someone to pay attention to them.

Lots of people wear armor of some sort. Starched shirts, ties and suits? Armor. Make-up? War paint. Short skirts, tight shirts? A way to deflect people from knowing who you are by keeping them preoccupied with how you look. I don't think it's inherently wrong to wear clothing (or boots) that protect you from the world - literally or metaphorically. But I do think it's helpful to realize why we choose what we choose.

If I'm counting on boots to protect me from what people say about me, to give me defense against attacks on my inner self, to distract people from my face by making them look at my feet, I'm not really growing and maturing, am I? Because what I really need to do is acknowledge that I'm weak - that I don't have the inner resources I need to get through life. And then seek those resources through prayer instead of through a good pair of Ariats.

Not that I'm giving up the Ariats, mind you.

BURDEN

2011-09-04T18:16:00.011-05:00

1 a : something that is carried : load

Starting this month, I am participating in a spiritual direction group where we read set scriptures daily using lectio divina and do the Daily Examen. Today I read in Matthew 11. In addition to the assigned scripture, we were given these directions from our spiritual director:

Come to Jesus, ask Him, 'What are my burdens?" Hand them over to Him one by one. As you go through your day, if you find yourself taking the burdens back, be gentle with yourself, and hand them back over to Him. This is a spiritual practice.

The scripture was touching, but following these instructions was really enlightening. Some burdens came to mind readily enough -

the responsibility for choosing (and sometimes executing) my daughters' education,
how, when and whether my daughters will come to their own faith,
running my household,
loving my husband well,
relationships,
whether I am inherently unlovable

And then I prayed for a friend of mine whose aging parent is having health issues. I found I couldn't give up that burden because the burden wasn't mine to give. This was very clear to me as I prayed. I could offer my friendship over, but I couldn't lay my friend's parent on the altar because that wasn't for me to do. So I offered up my friend and asked Jesus to carry her.

Since then, I've been pondering whether I am unusual, crazy or even flawed to see relationships as burdens that need handing over.

It's not that I don't like people. I do. I love my family. I have many friends that I dearly treasure. Yet I have time constraints and more desire for relationship than time to pursue it. Is there something wrong with me that I need divine intercession to be present, loving and caring to other people? Or is that just part of knowing who I am?

In reading about my enneagram number (9), I am beginning to see myself more clearly. Something I read today talked about how 9s don't have defenses that the other numbers have, so life just feels like too much sometimes. That really resonated with me.

I often feel like I am the burden - that there's not enough of me, that I can't do enough or be enough for other people.

As we celebrate Labor Day, these are some of the things I'll be pondering:

What are my burdens?

Do I carry them because I think I deserve to be burdened?

When and why do I think I am a burden?

And I'll be praying for the strength to hand these burdens over, again and again.

COMPROMISE

2011-09-02T08:40:00.005-05:00

1 b : something intermediate between or blending qualities of two different things

My parents like to tell the story of the first time I used the word compromise. I was young - 4 or 5 - and I was debating something with my father. The details have been lost - I wanted something and he wanted something else. Perhaps I wanted ice cream for dinner and he wanted an actual meal. The part that is remembered is this: after a bit of discussion, I said, "How about we compromise?" My father laughed at me, thinking I didn't know the meaning of the word I was using. "Compromise?" he said, "What's that?" "You know," I replied, "We don't do it your way and we don't do it my way." Not a bad definition, is it?

You can see some things about me in this story: 1) I loved words at an early age, 2) using the right word in a given situation was important to me even way back when and 3) I've always been quick to compromise if it meant avoiding conflict.

I recently had an epiphany regarding homeschooling my daughter B. It's been an up and down process thus far, so I was praying last night that God would grant us a good day today. I felt one good day would go a long way towards me believing this could be done - that we could actually get through a year of homeschooling together.

My prayer was answered. B was motivated from the moment she woke up. She took her Psalms study to bed with her so that she could do it before she even got out of bed in the morning. Before I left home at 7:45 to take K to school, B had already completed her vocabulary warm up, had a math lesson and was at work on her math problems. By 10:15 when it was time to leave for the orthodontist, only two items remained on B's daily plan: science and Latin. That's when it hit me. The source of her motivation? It was the fact that we were going to the orthodontist and then piano lessons.

This opened my eyes to a pattern I've seen, but not recognized, in our homeschooling: B's best days have been our busiest days. A trip to Cheekwood? Her work was done and she was ready to go. The lake for her birthday? Friends over to do schoolwork alongside my girls? Appointments? Errands? These are the circumstances in which she thrives. Maybe you're thinking, "Great! Now you know how to give her a successful year. Just make sure there's something to do or somewhere to go everyday." The challenge? These same days that B loves are the hardest days for me. They are good days, but exhausting for this introvert mom. It tires me to drive across town for one appointment, then back to our neighborhood for a piano lesson, during which I rush home, eat a sandwich and return to get B. The truth is that my favorite homeschooling days are the days when we don't have to go anywhere between dropping K off at school and picking her up. Those are the days when I can work out, do laundry and read my Bible - all in the same day. (Not one of those things has happened today, just in case you were wondering.)

Clearly, a compromise is needed. I can't go on trying to teach a child who is decidedly unmotivated to do her schoolwork. But I also can't give her a jam-packed schedule every single day without it coming at too great a cost to me (not to mention what it would cost her sister A, who is wired a bit more like me).

So what should I do? Should I set aside one day each week when we'll do a field trip to an art museum, a public garden, even an antique shop? Is one day weekly going to be enough to motivate her? Do I relax our television and electronic standards and make them a goal she can attain by completing quality work in a timely fashion?

I clearly need to find a compromise. I not only need to, I want to. I don't want to force B to conform to the way things work best for me, but I don't think I can - or should - conform to what she wants. How do I blend the qualities we each need in our days, weeks and months to arrive at two satisfied people who have learned from each other?

Suggestions welcome. In the meantime, I'm going to work on having compassion for both of us as we work through this.

COMPASSION

2011-08-31T21:25:00.000-05:00

: sympathetic consciousness of others' distress together with a desire to alleviate it

I've been thinking a lot about compassion today. It started early this morning, when I received an e-mail from a friend. She and I are in a bible study together and we've recently started studying the enneagram. It is kicking my butt. The more I learn about who I am and how deeply my sin penetrates who I am, the harder it is. Her e-mail to me said, "the enneagram is about is a training in compassion--on yourself and others." It brought tears to my eyes to read her words. I need to work on having compassion - for others, yes - for myself, especially.

A few hours after this e-mail from my friend, I retreated upstairs to read a passage in Isaiah. It said, in part, "'with everlasting kindness I will have compassion on you,' says the Lord your Redeemer." It was a day when I needed compassion for myself - and my daughters.

Monday was a rough school day. B quite simply did not want to do school, so it was a day filled with low grade and outright conflict all day long. This is completely exhausting for me. So what a blessing it was for yesterday to be a good day. A and B were attending their tutorial for the first time this year - B for the first time ever. On Monday, B said to me, "Mom, it takes me a long time to make friends. It could even take a whole year going only one day a week." My heart shattered and I started praying. All day on Tuesday, I prayed for one friend for B. Just one child to be kind and welcoming to her. One. God answered with abundance. When I arrived to pick the girls up, I asked B how her day had gone. "Awesome!" she replied. She spent the entire ride home telling me how well the day had gone, who she had met, what she had learned and made. My heart overflowed with thanksgiving.

This morning, school got off to a nice start. A and B started their work while I took K to school, but B's progress came to a screeching halt when she hit history. The first speed bump was when I walked through the door from drop off and B said, "Have you read this book you told us to read?" I hadn't read the book in question - I'd merely skimmed it. She pointed out how difficult it was - with many words she didn't understand (and her vocabulary is not lacking). I read a few paragraphs and revised the assigned reading from five pages to one page. Then came another speed bump.

I had asked for two paragraphs explaining what we could learn about the Egyptians based on their religion and how that compared and contrasted to our own beliefs. She wrote two paragraphs. I marked them up and we talked about them. I tried to help her get closer to what I wanted. She fought me. She moved on to some other work, came back to history, fought me again. Meanwhile, A was plowing through her plan for the day - or so I thought. When I read her response to the same history assignment, I realized something: what I was asking was simply too difficult for them. I wanted them to look at the pantheon of Egyptian gods and their myths and infer things about the Egyptian people. I then wanted them to take those inferences and compare them to contemporary beliefs. They didn't get it. So instead of making them re-write their paragraphs (yet again), we talked it through. We discussed what we might be able to tell about a culture that has a God of the Desert and so on. Seeing that they weren't unwilling, but unable, to complete the assignment as I'd envisioned, I was able to be compassionate.

But it's far easier to be compassionate with my daughters than with myself. Do I understand them better than I understand myself? Or do I just think their suffering is worth alleviating and my own deserves to be borne?

Part of what the enneagram does is help you see how your greatest gift is also your deepest sin. As the book says, "We are destroyed by our gifts because we identify too closely with what we can do well." My inclination - in this, as in all things - is to shame myself for my sin. To remind myself over and over of how I choose inaction over action, avoid conflict when speaking up would be the better course, get trampled on rather than stand up for myself. I am not inclined to be compassionate or loving towards myself.

Yet if I am to learn and grown and become someone else - all of which I desperately want - I'll have to learn to be more gentle with myself. I was able to see today that my daughters needed something - they couldn't do what was asked of them.

This evening as K was playing a game on the computer, she was talking to an imaginary friend in the chair beside her. K kept saying over and over, in a kind and gentle voice, "Everybody makes mistakes. It's OK. Everybody makes mistakes." She even started singing it at one point. The look on her face as she played her game and said this repeatedly wasn't ashamed - it was joyful. Boy, can I learn from this kid. Compassion 101 - for herself and others.

TIRED

2011-08-26T22:02:00.000-05:00

1: drained of strength and energy : fatigued often to the point of exhaustion

I'm tired. Exhausted. Completely lacking energy. The good news? I felt this way this time last year, too.

Why is that good news? Because this year, I know it will pass.

Last year, I feared that homeschooling would suck every ounce of energy and leave me totally depleted. This year, I know that this tiredness, this fatigue will pass. It's partly a function of adjusting our sleep patterns, our eating patterns and even our daily expectations. Some things are easier during the school year and its scheduled days: laundry gets done more regularly and with greater ease, grocery shopping slips into its slot on the schedule, dishes slide into the emptied dishwasher instead of being piled in the sink as we head out the door for the lake or the pool. Other things are harder to release: slow mornings, lazy afternoons, time to just relax and be together with no agenda whatsoever.

I will adjust. We all will. As Julian of Norwich reminded us, "All shall be well and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well."

As if to prove Julian's words, as I settled down to write this post, I realized that despite my Friday fatigue, this has been a lovely week. Three successes:

1) For literature this year, we are doing genre studies. I've selected three books that I think typify several genres of literature. A and B will each choose one book from the three classics to read. After reading a classic, they'll read a contemporary book from the same genre and see if they can spot similarities, references, homages. We're starting with the mystery genre. A and B both selected an Agatha Christie book. A finished it in two days. And promptly asked to please read another book by Mrs. Christie. As she said today in the car, "I just never would have thought I'd find a writer I really liked by reading a book for school." Score one for me.

2) B is doing a composer study on Johann Sebastian Bach. (She chose him, in part, so that she can learn to play Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring.) I requested several books from the library for her to read about Bach's life. This evening, K sat on the sofa reading about John Sebastian, as she calls him. She then asked me to read her another of the library books about Bach at bedtime. It makes my heart happy to have any of my daughters read books that are hanging out on the library bookshelf - especially when "school books" become "pleasure books." That's a line I want blurry and easily crossed.

3) B taught her first art lesson today. Twin kindergarten friends AW and CW came over. B shared a poster book and showed the girls a self-portrait poster with words that describe art incorporated into the portrait. We each drew a (somewhat abstract) self portrait, then came up with a list of words to describe ourselves. Not surprisingly, B's portrait was the best one. She's a natural artist and a natural teacher. I love seeing her use her gifts.

The Fred Babb Inspiration

B's Self-Portrait

My Self-Portrait

I'm still tired after recalling these successes, but recounting them helps me recast my weariness. Instead of the tiredness that accompanies an illness and leaves you depleted, perhaps the way I feel now is more the post-workout kind. Yes, you're tired, but because you've given it your all. And while I don't have the post-workout rush yet, it will come. There will other small successes to lay alongside these, as stones of memory to remind me that the journey is worth it. All will be well, even when I am tired.

COMPLICATED

2011-08-24T09:16:00.000-05:00

1: consisting of parts intricately combined
2: difficult to analyze, understand, or explain

B is now 10. Last Saturday, we celebrated by going to Holiday World with her sister A and two friends. It was a great way to celebrate reaching double digits and entering her second decade of life. If any of my children are symbolized by an amusement park, with its twists and turns, loops and swirls, screams and gasps, it is B. When she was two, I could only take her to a playground if I didn't really watch her while we were there. (I would look up from my book long enough to determine that she was still nearby and then go back to reading.) She would lean way out, reaching for a bar that seemed just beyond her, only to grasp it and haul herself to where she wanted to go. She rarely looked like she would make it unscathed. Yet she made it nearly every time. Around this age, I used to joke that if fear came in pill format, I would have given it to her because she had none of her own. She still does amazing things on the playground - finding uses for the equipment that I'm sure the designers never imagined - but I'm able to watch her antics now without leaping from my seat and spotting her every move.

That fear (sadly? or thankfully?) has developed all on its own over time. At Holiday World, B rode the first roller coaster with great anticipation. It was a big, scary, twisty roller coaster. I rode it and could feel my neck whipping around. (In fact, my neck was sore for two days after our trip!) B decided after this coaster that she didn't like the part of the ride where you are climbing slowly up. She didn't like the way that pushed her back into her seat. So when we got to the next coaster, B decided not to ride it. We talked it through - she was certain of her decision. She and I stood in line with her friends and sister so that they didn't have to wait alone. While we were waiting, a couple behind us in line started talking to us. They were intoxicated - I could smell the alcohol on them - and they were therefore loud, in our space and saying things I would hope they wouldn't say if they weren't uninhibited by drink. When they found out B wasn't planning to ride the coaster, they started trying to talk her into it. B wasn't swayed. She knew her reasons. I helped her explain that she had thought about it and just didn't want to ride. I was proud of her determination and her refusal to be bullied into doing something she didn't want to do. Maybe it was fear that helped her decide not to ride the roller coaster, but it was strength that helped her hold firm in that decision.

B is, and always has been, complicated. She's the only one of our children whose timing was a surprise to us. With both A and K, we were hoping to get pregnant. With B, we were surprised. And she's been surprising us ever since. I've said before that I think it fitting that her conception was spontaneous and unplanned because that's exactly how she is - B refuses to fit into the molds people want to put around her. This gets her into trouble sometimes. Those who expect people to be straightforward and easy to understand are inevitably frustrated by B. Is she straightforward? Shockingly so, sometimes. She will tell you exactly what she is thinking and feeling. Is she easy to understand? Far from it. I've studied her closely for years and she still amazes me with the way she sees things other people miss.

Yet underneath her spontaneity, creativity and free spirit is a person who loves stability. I think having a father who is a launchpad has served B particularly well. She wants to know the boundaries, the framework, the rules. Not so that she can stay within the boundaries, framework and rules, but so that she knows what she has to work with. I think this has been part of why the transition to homeschooling has been difficult for her. I am still hopeful that she will ultimately love the freedom that homeschooling offers. I hope she'll hit upon a subject she loves and jump in feet first. I've already seen hints of this with her first composer study. She chose Bach so that she can not only learn about him, but learn to play Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring. I have no doubt that she'll fuss and fight with me about the completion of her composer study. I also have no doubt she'll learn to play the song beautifully and that the song will be her favorite part of the entire project.

There are times when I think B is the daughter most like me, but I wonder whether it's just that I want to be like her. I see her unbridled creativity and her joy in it and I want to be that free. I listen to her pour out her heart - with tears of sadness and anger, with raised voice and passion - and I want to know how to release my feelings instead of bottling them up. I watch her learn a song note by note, working on it every day and I want to love something that much.

Being B's mom is a difficult job. A daughter this intricately created requires serious work to shepherd. But I have no doubt that it will all be worth it. Because she is one amazing child.

Happy Birthday, B!

FEAR

2011-08-21T16:35:00.001-05:00

: to be afraid or apprehensive

Our first full week of home school ended on Friday. These first five days stirred up many of my fears for the upcoming year. Fear of B pushing every boundary, as I know she is inclined to do. Fear of the ensuing conflict when I enforce boundaries and help her re-formulate what it means to learn. Fear that I am not up to the task of dividing my teaching time and talents (which I freely admit are few to begin with). Fear that B will hate homeschooling. Fear that this year will be an unmitigated failure. Can you tell the week did not go well? Tears on 3 out of 5 days is not what I was hoping for. I knew the adjustment would be hard. I just didn't know it would be this difficult.

On our way to church today, I remembered the single blog post that I'd written in Tobago and never posted. Aptly enough, it dealt with fear - and conquering it. Here's what I wrote back on August 3rd.

Today I stood up to fear, but let shame beat me.

On day 3 of our Tobago experience, we opted for a tour. Our plan was to snorkel, ride a glass bottomed boat and tour the old English fort, Fort King George. I had read in our guidebook that you could drive all the way around Tobago in four hours, but that you would never want to do so. I found this statement a bit puzzling until I spent an hour and a half riding in the back of a sedan as we sped along the coast, navigating switchback after switchback as we made our way from one end of the island to another. We passed numerous villages along the way, but were rarely out of sight of the ocean. The Tobagonian winding way reminded me of what my mother said about a road in my own hometown, "You have to wonder why they wanted the road as close as possible to the water every inch of the way." I did wonder that today - more than once.

We all four arrives in Speyside a bit nauseous and more than ready to be out of the car. I'm not sure any of us envisioned a boat ride as the ideal solution for our ill-treated equilibrium. Yet after 10 minutes or so to change, we stepped aboard a boat for what would be my first snorkeling experience.

The friends with us had each snorkeled before - not extensively, but a time or two. J and I were novices, but I (arrogantly?) thought it sounded rather easy - breathe through a tube and look through a mask. How hard could it be? I grew up near the water (hence the aforementioned winding beach roads) and I'm a fairly confident, if not consistent, swimmer.

I listened as the guides explained how to put our masks on. I either wasn't listening or missed altogether the explanation of how to actually breathe without inhaling salt water. So my first attempt yielded a mouthful of brine and a skittish me. After asking for a bit of help, I was able to do it, but only when I pushed past the fear that rose up every single time I needed to put my face down into the water. I tried to minimize the need for this by staying in position with my face immersed, but it's impossible to see where you are when looking straight down into the water. So I needed to occasionally look up - to see where I was in relation to the boat, to locate J, T and M, to decide whether I re-orient. Every time I wanted to go back to snorkeling after a short break above water, a bit of fear would bubble up inside me - fear that I wouldn't be able to breathe, that my mask would full with water, that I wouldn't be biting the mouthpiece hard enough to keep my mouth from flooding.

I would steel myself and push past the fear and put my face down. Then I would focus on the comforting sound of my own breathing and its rhythm - a slow inhale, a slow exhale - echoing in my ears to the exclusion of all else. It calmed me and I was able to focus on the coral, the fish and the sea life.

We only snorkeled at the first stop for a few minutes before heading to another location near a large reef with several types of coral. I did better on our second outing, but still had to push past fear to put my face in and get started. I did it anyway and was proud of myself that I didn't let the fear stop me.

There are things for me to hold on to and remember from this. First and foremost, that I can choose to let fear keep me from some really great experiences or I can choose to reach for the experience in spite of the fear. I also think it's telling that (as I reference in the first sentence, but never got around to explaining) I fought the fear, but I let shame win.

After snorkeling, we stopped at Argyle Falls. We hiked through the rain forest and reached a lovely waterfall. The guide didn't offer to hike up the falls with us, but pointed the way for those interested. J, T and M perked up immediately. I, on the other hand, had been slipping and sliding my way over wet rocks with a camera in one hand and my balance compromised and I felt defeated before I even thought about hiking up two levels. It didn't help my shame that I was by far the least athletic of our quartet. I was embarrassed and felt I'd hold the others back. Without so much as a second thought, I encouraged the other three to go ahead without me. They had a great time and came down satisfied and soaked - having been caught in a surprise rainfall in the rainforest.

The lesson here? I feel fear as an invasive presence - and I can push through the barriers it puts in front of me. Shame, on the other hand, is so much a constant companion that I often don't even realize until after the fact that I've let go of the driving wheel and put shame in charge.

I don't want to let shame keep me from doing my best to teach B - even when she throws some curveballs at me. (Last week, she complained that I should not workout during the day because teachers don't do that.) I think I can push past my fear that our year will fail. But I'll have to be far more vigilant to recognize shame's insidious presence, whispering in my ear at every turn, sabotaging me before I ever start.

LIPSTICK

2011-08-13T09:54:00.000-05:00

: a waxy solid usually colored cosmetic in stick form for the lips

My husband J turns 37 today. He and I laughed together last night about what a post with 37 things about him might contain. Even as we joked, I had another idea percolating in the back of my mind. There's an event that recently happened that says so much about who my husband really is. So in honor of his birthday:

On our last night in Tobago, J and I got dressed up for dinner out. I had showered, dried my hair, donned a dress and even put on a bit of make-up. I don't wear make-up with any regularity because most cosmetics make my face (especially my eyes) itch. I decided years ago that I'm just going to look the way I look and not spend hours trying to find concealer and eye liner that I can actually wear. Even so, there are times when a little make-up makes me feel dressed up. This was one such night. Yet after I was ready I looked in the mirror at my colorless lips and complained aloud, "I stink at being a girl. I don't even have any lipstick to wear." I borrowed J's chapstick (having lost mine en route to Tobago) and stopped worrying about it.

We returned home to Nashville the next evening and jumped right back into life. Within an hour of getting home, K had announced to us, "School starts Thursday and I don't have a backpack!" J and I looked at each other wide-eyed. She was right. Yikes. So Monday morning, J took K to Target for a backpack and lunchbox. When K showed me her purchases, J reminded her, "Show Mommy what we got for her." I looked in her cute purple backpack and found a tube of lipstick in the bottom.

Surprised, I looked up at him. J shrugged his shoulders and smiled, "I wanted you to be able to feel like a girl when you want to." It's not a big gift, I realize. Clearly I don't buy lipstick very often, but I'm sure it costs less than $5. Yet I hope you realize what a big gift this tube of lipstick was. It's a big, huge, invaluable gift to have a husband who buys you lipstick not because he wants you to look a certain way, but so that you can feel like a girl. It's a priceless gift to have a husband who listens to the little things you say and then acts on them without being asked. It's a treasure to have a husband who doesn't worry about buying the wrong shade or what people will think when he's checking out or whether I might take the gift the wrong way. I hope K will remember her father giving this gift to her mother and that she'll want a husband who loves her just this way.

I'm not sure J saw this tube of lipstick as momentous. Later that night, I hugged him and thanked him again for it. "I could count on one hand the number of husbands I know who would buy lipstick for their wife." After a pause I added, "In fact, you might be hanging out on that hand all by yourself."

There's a lot to celebrate about J on his birthday, but I hope one tube of lipstick tells you all you really need to know.

DREAM

2011-08-10T18:54:00.000-05:00

2 a : a visionary creation of the imagination

What do you dream of? I don't just mean at night when you're asleep (although you're welcome to share those dreams as well). Do you daydream? Fantasize? Slip away to another world in your mind? I realized this week that I regularly dream, but that I didn't daydream at all last week when I was on vacation. Why? One very simple reason: I dream to escape my reality. And who wants to escape when your reality is a Caribbean island, a beach view, a shaded pool and a complete lack of responsibility?

I found myself slipping back into one of my favorite daydreams on Monday while driving A to her ballet class. The van was momentarily quiet, so I slipped into a favorite daydream and was aware that it fit slightly differently. I'm used to my dreams laying casually about my shoulders, settling in around me like a soft cloak that I can shrug on or off whenever I want and as quickly as needed. But this dream had grown a bit stiff having sat on the shelf for a week. It scratched a little as I tried to slip into it.

I think there's a definite devaluing of dreams in our world today. Several months ago as A and I listened to The Story of the World on CD, a story about a dream struck me. A general/emperor/king (the details escape me) was about to lead his men into battle. They were encamped within sight of the enemy and the battle was to begin the next day. This leader dreamed that the flag he flew in battle was different than the flag of his family. So he ordered a new flag made early the next morning. The new flag flew and victory was won. You can't tell a story like this to someone today and expect to get anything other than sheer disbelief as a reaction. People don't trust their dreams - sleeping or waking.

We don't trust our dreams because we distrust mystery. We don't believe we should listen to what our heart tells us when we sleep at night. We are suspicious of our imagination and its ability to take us to places we've never physically been. Yet I am convinced that our dreams - waking and sleeping - matter very much.

One of my favorite dreams of late has been imagining a new home for our family. I love our current home, but houses built in the 1920s don't have enough closet space to accommodate three teenaged girls - a state that is rapidly approaching for our family. J longs for a newer house, a house where there aren't consistently a half dozen project begging to be done. I long to stay in our quirky, colorful neighborhood. My dream solution? To buy a lot and build a new home in our mature neighborhood. Depending on the day and my mood, I might dream about choosing the perfect colors for each bedroom or what layout might best serve our family's artistic, work and entertainment needs. Would it be better to have several rooms open to allow free movement when entertaining? Is the ideal spot for the kitchen near the middle or the back of the house? Would I want a front porch or a wraparound? Could an art studio double as an at-home office? This dream can take me so many different places. I have no idea whether any of them will ever become reality, but I believe there's value in giving myself over to my dreams.

As I've been pondering how I use dreaming in my daily life, another blog I read has been discussing living your dreams. This seemed like too much coincidence for me to not write about it. I'm not sure whether my dreams are meant to be lived out or just dreamed right now. Will we build a house? Will I start a homeschool tutorial that's different from the current offerings in our city (my other favorite dream du jour)? I don't know and, frankly, I'm not sure I care whether these dreams ever come to fruition.

I love my life. I love having three daughters and getting front row seats to the process of growing up. I love teaching A and B and learning alongside them. But my life is also filled with mundane (read: boring) tasks like laundry, grocery shopping, cooking and chauffeuring. My dreams keep me alive. They give me some of what I need to do the things that are necessary, if not fulfilling. My dreams keep me going.

Dreams matter. What are yours?

FLOW

2011-08-08T10:02:00.001-05:00

4 a : to proceed smoothly and readily

What did I do over the last eight days? I didn't write. I didn't do a lot of deep thinking. I didn't read a single blog post. I didn't look at Facebook or watch TV. I didn't hear my daughters' voices or see their beautiful faces. Some of this was intentional, some merely the result of letting the week wash over me and take me where the tide guided.

Here's where the water and breeze of Tobago took me:

to the beach - with a dense, thick sand that didn't stick to my feet, my shins, my hands the way the fine white sand of the Gulf Coast does.

to the pool - where I could dip in and swim and then sit in the shade and read.

to a book - I wrote less because I read more. I finished one book on the plane trip to Tobago and spent a great deal of the week making my way through a 1,000 page sequel to a book I enjoyed earlier this year.

to the bed - for naps, a bit of reading and some much-needed snuggling with my husband of fifteen years.

to laughter, relaxation and respite. The friends who traveled with us were a joy to be with. They make me laugh, know us well and were the perfect companions - happy to share a breakfast table, but equally willing to let the ebb and flow of the week bring us together and send us out in different directions. I ended the week with gratitude for this friendship of fifteen years and dreams about where to go to celebrate an even two decades of marriage.

I'll be honest. I could look back over this week and see all that I didn't do and berate or shame myself for not having more to show after a week in a Caribbean haven. I have no tan, no journal entries, no blog posts, no art. What I do have is a sense of having taken a deep breath and let it out slowly. There's much to be said for bringing no agenda to vacation. God didn't give me what I'd imagined (deep revelations or stories flowing from my pen), but he gave me the gift of rest. The gift of laying afloat in the water and simply going with the flow.

UNPLUGGED

2011-08-01T08:16:00.007-05:00

: lack of computer, wi-fi, phone, internet and texting

By the time you read this post, I'll be on my way to Tobago to celebrate my 15th wedding anniversary with J and two of our friends who married exactly two weeks after us. We planned this trip early this year and it's hard to believe it's almost here.

I have more than 2,000 pages of reading material loaded onto my Nook and a paperback to bring along in case I get tired of the feel of the Nook in my hand and start longing for good old paper between my fingers.

I'm looking forward to the beach, the books and a relaxed pace. I've somehow turned into one of those people who communicate by text, e-mail and all things internet. I mostly like this - texting over talking being a plus to me - but it will be lovely to be on an island where I'll know only three other people.

Here's hoping your week gives you a chance to unplug, in whatever way you like. I'll return next week to regal you with tales of the Caribbean.

Photos courtesy of Blue Haven Hotel, where I'll be lounging and luxuriating.

LEARNING

2011-07-29T08:16:00.001-05:00

: the act or experience of one that learns (gains knowledge or understanding of or skill in by study, instruction, or experience)

One day this week as I drove A to her ballet class, we were sitting at a traffic light, each lost in thought. Then A spoke, "You know, most kids hate it when school starts, but I can't wait." It was interesting that she was thinking about school because my own thoughts had been on learning and how it makes me feel. I told her where my thoughts had been and said that the best way I'd come up with to describe it was that learning felt like seeing a beautifully wrapped package - one with thick, patterned paper, ribbons criss-crossing it and an elaborate bow on top - and getting to open it and see what's inside. The learning is in the unwrapping of the pack and the gift inside is the knowledge - but that kind of learning really only came to me later in my life - probably high school or college.

The other metaphor that I've long held in my mind about learning is that it was like having someone pull back a curtain so that I could see what was there. I'd nod and remember it. I say "remember" even though I hadn't learned it before. This is how learning felt in elementary, middle and most of high school. I felt like the knowledge was already there inside me, I just needed someone to show me it by teaching me. This kind of learning felt more passive than opening the gift - but there was a similar thrill in seeing what was behind the curtain and what's in the gift box.

After sharing my thoughts with her, A immediately jumped in. "I think of it more like a video game." A video game? I thought. But then she continued, "What I learn gets me to the next level. So every thing I learn gets me a point and I move from level to level." That was interesting. A plays on the computer and the Wii less than her sisters, so her game metaphor surprised me a bit, but I thought it gave me some insight into how she feels and experiences learning.

Later that same day, I asked B about it. I told her my metaphors and asked whether she wanted to hear A's first or tell me her own. "You can tell me A's." She listened and with no hesitation offered her own metaphor, "I feel more like I'm at an excavation, digging down and finding more and more things. I keep digging so that I keep finding things."

I loved hearing my daughters' thoughts on learning, in part because they each knew exactly how to describe it. There was no searching for words, no stopping to think. There was instant response and immediate recognition of what learning feels like to them. Their metaphors show their natural bent toward learning - A's approach is a bit more utilitarian, B's a bit more exploratory.

As he often does, J surprised and challenged me a bit when I asked him about it. He didn't really want to discuss this at first, since I brought it up as we were climbing into bed for the night. Yet he took the time to explain that, for him, learning is both internal and external. It's about what he's taking in, but also about how it makes the person sharing the information feel. He talked about seeing someone become more animated and passionate as they talked about something they know. In short, learning is a way to connect with other people.

What does learning feel like for you? Is it like slogging through a wet snow with your feet getting heavier with each step? Or like laying in the grass and feeling the sun on your face? Or like making your way into a deep cave, shining your flashlight and seeing the ceiling adorned with the most beautiful gems and jewels? (A friend's metaphor, that last one.)

I sometimes miss college. I don't miss the social aspects - the pressure to dress just right, the parties, the living in close proximity to large numbers of people. But I do miss opening those gifts of learning. For me, this is part of the blessing of homeschooling. I get to be a part of seeing A earn her points and B excavate her treasures. And I get to open a few packages of my own that I missed along my own path of learning.

FIFTEEEN

2011-07-27T09:13:00.000-05:00

: the number of years of marriage we celebrate today

Fifteen years ago, I was excited, not nervous.

Fifteen years ago, my husband drove to Mississippi on his way to the wedding (this was a fairly significant detour).

For fifteen years, we've read together - recommending the best books to each other - and accepting over time that while we both love to read, we love different books.

For fifteen years, J's been the one I call with good news, bad news, scary news. He's listened, advised and laughed.

For fifteen years, we've negotiated household duties. We're not neat freaks and both dislike cleaning. A match made in heaven? Not quite. Someone does have to do it. Housework has been the source of the biggest fights we've had. I figure we're not too bad off if housework is our biggest issue.

For fifteen years, we've slept side by side, switching sides with the seasons. I want to be near the air conditioner. He doesn't like the fan blowing on his face. I don't want to sleep near the bedroom door. Ahhh, the millions of minor negotiations and compromises that go into a good marriage.

For fifteen years, I've studied this man's face, its nooks and crannies, its curves and stubble. His face has changed over time, but not much. He'll always be a baby face and I'll always be glad to see that face as he comes through the door to our home.

In fifteen years, we've watched hundreds of football games, two world cups, dozens of baseball games (can you tell which sport I prefer?) and more ballet performances than either of us could have imagined.

Over fifteen years, we've changed. We've changed homes, jobs, diapers. We've grown up together and stayed remarkably in-sync over a decade and a half.

Truth be told, we've had our ups and downs over the last fifteen years. But a flat line of a marriage sounds like a death toll. I'm thankful to be in a marriage where the peaks more than make up for the valleys.

I wouldn't trade a day of the last fifteen years.

GIRL

2011-07-25T21:14:00.000-05:00

1 a : a female child from birth to adulthood

I spent last weekend in a one bedroom, one bath condo with six other women. Sound unappealing? It wasn't. Not one bit.

After my high school reunion, my friend J decided we should do our own mini-reunion and gather our girlfriends together for a weekend. Having enjoyed catching up, I was game. We settled on a weekend. I booked a one way flight so that I could ride back to Nashville with another friend who happened to be heading this way. Other friends made similar efforts and in the end, seven out of eight of our close friends gathered in Destin. I hadn't seen some of these women since graduation, yet they all helped me get there - M and S met me partway between the airport and the condo - C and A took me back - J shared her condo with all of us.

Friday night, my friend S cooked dinner for all of us while we sat around looking at high school pictures, reading old notes, laughing and drinking. My friend J found some fourth grade love letters that she had torn up in anger at her 10 year old beau. We pieced them together to read, laughingly recalling paint pens and elementary school crushes.

As we ate dinner, talk drifted to the past - to secrets held for years by this cadre of women. Some of the secrets I knew, others were a surprise after all these years. We admitted details that made us blush to retell and recall. We compared high school experiences and current day experiences. We laughed until our sides hurt.

Friday Night: S, A, M, J, T and Me (C is behind the camera)

At 11, we decided to head to a bar. You read that right - we started our night out at 11 - something I haven't done since college. We paid a $10 cover charge ("It won't be the last $10 I waste in my life," my friend A confessed to me), entered a smoky bar and grabbed a table. Five of our crew headed for the dance floor as I sat with C. We attempted some conversation, but gave up before too long, the smoke and our yelling providing a shortcut to sore throats. As I sat there at that table watching my friends dance, I thought to myself, "Why are these women even friends with me? I'm so boring and they so clearly are not."

Eventually, A and T joined C and I at an outdoor table and we talked about what we do, what we used to do and more. Near 1 AM, we collected J, M and S and headed home. As we settled in for the night - on blow up mattresses, pull out sofas and one bed - the answer to my question from the bar surfaced in my mind. "These women are my friends simply because they've been my friends for so long. There's no need to question it. It's as simple as that." They are my friends and with a bit of work, some luck and continued blessing, they always will be.

I've known all of these women for at least 24 years, some for more than that. A's family attended the same church, so I've pretty much known her my entire life. J and I became friends in fourth grade - over the word "hamburger" mouthed across the room during a spelling test, amongst other things. I met T in sixth grade and by eighth grade or so, the friendships enjoyed by the eight in our group were sealed. We had sleepovers, watched football games, dated the same boys, made many of the same mistakes and grew up together, making the transition from girls to women without even realizing it.

As we fell asleep Friday night, I said to my friends, "You are the only six women in the world that I would share a one bedroom condo with. I have some great friends back in Nashville, but I would only do this with all of you." There's something to be said for shared history.

I wonder whether my own daughters will have this. They don't have the continuity in their lives that small town life provides. And while I wouldn't trade the benefits of living in a city for the community that is available (and forced upon you) in a small town, I do wonder what my daughters would choose if it were up to them. My daughters are the ages I was when I met these women who saw me through the introduction of bras, the arrival of periods, first kisses, first heartbreaks and more. They taught me what being a friend looks like. I learned first from them that friends are great blessings, but that those closest to you can also hurt you the most. (Aren't teenaged girls experts at hurting and being hurt?) I've never been good at artifice, so these women saw the best and worst of me all along the way. Yet they chose to be friends with me.

Saturday as we floated in the Gulf, M found a sand dollar with her toes. She pulled it up and J immediately said, "A sand dollar! Give it to Shannon for her girls!" There was no hesitation, no thought even given to it. They all live near the water. Their children are mostly older than my own and, without exception, they've seen sand dollars. My land-locked Tennessean girls were excited to see these creatures and have their very own.

While alternately relaxing in the water and keeping a lookout for sharks, I decided to ask my friends a parenting question, "What do you do when your child has a friend and you can't stand the parent?" Of course, they pressed for details, wanting to know what made me ask. As I explained, they jumped to my defense. They've never met this woman, but they took my side without question - and gave me advice in the process. I left that salty water feeling like these women have my back - if only from afar.

We aren't as close as we used to be. We scattered to different colleges after high school, seeing each other only intermittently, if at all. Yet this weekend reminded me of some things and taught me others. It reminded me that there's a group that I was once a part of. A group that I am still a part of, in a way. I can laugh with them, reminisce with them, just be with them and, for a few hours or days, be the girl I once was.

A, C, J, Me, M, T and S

EXAMPLE

2011-07-21T21:51:00.000-05:00

1 : one that serves as a pattern to be imitated or not to be imitated

Yesterday, we went straight from ballet to the pool at the YMCA. In order to do this, we had to pack swimsuits, towels and snacks before leaving home at 11:30. I squeezed in a workout after about an hour of reading, leaving us with not much time for last minute packing. (The mornings certainly go by quickly when your children let you sleep until 8 AM.) Before hopping in the shower, I gave the girls their instructions:

"B, please pack snacks for the pool."
"A, get your ballet clothes on and have your ballet bag ready to go."
"K, put your swimsuit in the pool bag."

I came downstairs to find K in her swimsuit. Not exactly following my instructions since we were going to the Parthenon before the pool and a swimsuit wasn't appropriate. So I told her to put clothes on and put her swimsuit in the bag. In a few minutes we were off and on our way, the girls having downed Easy Mac for lunch and A's hair fastened in a bun.

The Parthenon was an interesting visit and a good way to kill some time during a session of ballet. We talked about the Elgin marbles, attempted to identify Greek gods and goddesses by their weaponry and chose our favorite pediment sculpture. All while we walked around in an air-conditioned building - a good choice for a day when the heat index was well above 100.

Upon arriving at the pool (after a detour to the ice cream shop), I reached into the bag and started pulling out towels. I found my swim suit and B's swimsuit. A had her swimsuit on, having changed after ballet. K's swim suit? Not. In. The. Bag. I froze and looked up at K, "Did you put your swimsuit in the bag?" Stricken, she replied, "I don't think so."

I gave the girls two choices: we could either go home and stay home or stay at the pool. It was hot. It was mid-afternoon. I wasn't going to make a trip home and then lug everyone back to the pool. We all agreed to stay and B and I headed inside to change. As we walked into the locker room, B said to me, "Do you even feel bad for K? Because you're not acting like you do." Ouch. This kid does not mince words.

I explained that I did, in fact, feel bad for K, but that I also thought she would learn to listen to instructions if she had to live with consequences for forgetting things. B shrugged and put her suit on. We emerged to find A in the pool and K sitting in a chair in the shade. I sat down with her, offered her a snack and told her I was really sorry she had forgotten her suit. And then the most amazing hour and a half ensued.

K sat with me, ate some cherries and chatted. But she did not complain. She did not whine. She did not pout. When A and B went to the indoor pool to swim, K asked if she could go and watch them. Other than that, she sat with me while I read and told me some stories and suffered her consequence with great grace. The only thing she said, about an hour into pool time, was, "Can we leave at the next swim break?" I assured her that we could and told her she was doing a great job.

She did such a great job that when we got home K was allowed to choose and watch a television show all alone. (A great treat in our house.) I explained that she was getting this reward for her amazing behavior. I complimented her on the way she didn't let her anger or sadness get the best of her. She and I have talked a lot lately about controlling her emotions instead of letting her emotions control her. This was a great example of K being in control. A and B agreed that K did a great job and both admitted they probably wouldn't have been able to behave as well as she did.

K is not my most self-controlled child. She feels deeply and doesn't work very hard to filter her feelings in a way that makes it easy for others. She's also the youngest of three and has her fair of enabling - from everyone in our family. Given all of this, I think it's noteworthy for K to be setting an example for the rest of us.

How do I react when I forget something? When I misinterpret, misunderstand or flat-out forget the instructions? How would I feel sitting at the pool in 100 degree heat without my swim suit? I'll tell you what I do. I beat myself up. I shame myself. I probably suffer more silently than most seven year olds, but inside I am yelling at myself. I am pouting. I am whining. None of us get through life - or even a week - without making a mistake. Some mistakes are more visible than others. Some have bigger, broader consequences. I hope the next time I slip up, I'll remember K sitting in the shade at the Y in her dress, not complaining, just accepting. I can certainly learn from her example.

HOST

2011-07-18T17:10:00.000-05:00

1 a : one that receives or entertains guests socially, commercially, or officially

Leaving a friend's house today, B remarked, "Well, that was more fun than I thought it would be." B is never one to mince words, but it was still a bit funny to hear her admit she hadn't thought she'd enjoy her time. It was an impromptu visit. My friend offered cucumbers from her garden on Facebook and I replied. We would be near her neighborhood mid-day during A's dance lesson, so I could easily swing by and grab some to go in our dinner salad. She offered lunch and hang out time during ballet. And it was as easy as that.

As we headed back to pick A up from dance, B admitted that she hadn't thought she'd have fun because these friends have two boys. We're definitely to the age with our girls where they prefer same gender friends. But we talked about how easy it is to be with this family. They make you feel right at home from the moment you walk into their home. And no matter girl or boy, they are inclusive, a far more important trait in a good host than a certain gender. There are girls who aren't nearly as welcoming and kind as these boys were today. And their inclusive, easy-going play left B, K and I all three refreshed.

Yesterday we hosted a group from our church for lunch. Most of the people live in our neighborhood and many of them have children. It was a full house, with adults and children scattered here, there and everywhere. Seats at the dining room table were filled, spots on the couch and at the bar were occupied - even the living room floor was packed with picnicking children. It was great.

Near the end of our gathering, a friend said to me, "This went so well. I kept thinking how much easier this was at your house than it would have been at mine. The children just spread out into different rooms and let us all talk." I thanked my friend for her comment and admitted that I sometimes long for the large open spaces of a suburban home, if only I could get it in my urban neighborhood. Our home isn't particularly designed for entertaining. The rooms aren't large and their size and layout doesn't make it easy to offer lots of seating. But everyone in our family loves to have parties, big or small.

My experience today at my friend's house reminded me all over again that your home doesn't have to be perfect for people to be comfortable there. In fact, I think it's a bit easier to be comfortable in a space that isn't arranged "just so." The friend we visited today has a lovely home - decorated with pictures of friends and family, artwork by her children and color everywhere - but it won't be making the cover of House Beautiful anytime soon. Nor will my own home.

But I hope our family makes others feel included, welcome and at home when they're here. Because what's the use of having a home if you don't throw the doors wide open and welcome people in?

SAMENESS

2011-07-15T03:48:00.000-05:00

1 : the quality or state of being the same : identity, similarity

2 : monotony, uniformity

Have you read The Giver? If you haven't, I humbly suggest you do and I'll warn you that this blog post will probably reveal far too much of the plot of the book to you. So you might want to stop reading this and go read it right now. If you have read The Giver, were you as struck as I by the similarities to our own world? Or is it just my life?

You see, in this book an entire community has been devoted to sameness. People wear the same clothes, children wear their hair the same way and everyone sees everything in literally black and white. It's the ability to see the color red that makes Jonas different, that makes him The Receiver. Jonas is chosen to receive, hold and bear the collective memories of the community for generations back. It's only in these memories that things like sunshine, color, war, animals and pain live on. Because those things don't exist in Jonas' world.

Shortly after Jonas begins receiving memories, he learns about color and asks The Giver, "Why did colors disappear?"

The Giver shrugged. "Our people made that choice, the choice to go to Sameness. Before my time, before the previous time, back and back and back. We relinquished that when we relinquished sunshine and did away with differences." He thought for a moment. "We gained control of many things. But we had to let go of others."

What things do we give up in our own lives in order to have control of other things? I'm sure none of us go so far as to not see color - the very idea horrifies me. But have I tried so hard to control my emotions that I feel nothing? Yes and I am trying to let go and feel. It's a very hard and painful process to allow my emotions to surface, to actually feel them. Yet it's an essential tool in the battle to fight sameness.

I've had occasion lately to realize how quickly I can bottle up my feelings, especially when they are strong or threaten to overwhelm. J's recent promotion has elicited a lot of fear. Fear about a variety of things, but with an underlying theme of the fear of change. I feel like telling God, "Enough with change already. Let me just be for a while!" But that's not happening and one small but significant change is that I am letting myself feel my fear. I am listing my fears aloud and in my mind and sometimes even crying over them. I'd rather do this than not feel at all.

Several years ago, the girls and I listened to the audio book of A Wrinkle in Time. I remember the scene where the children have arrived on another world and they sense that something is wrong here, but can't place it at first. Then they realize that all of the children are bouncing their balls in unison, each ball striking the ground and arcing back up at exactly the same time, all down the street. I was so struck by the fact that we are not all meant to be the same. That's completely counter to what God intended. He meant - and means - for us to be gloriously different. He means for us to see the colors, feel the sunshine - and experience the pain or fear.

I don't even think God wants sameness within an individual. We are meant to grow, to change, to be different at 38 than we were at 18 or 28. Because life's experiences change us - or they should, if we're really experiencing them.

Do you fight sameness in yourself? Do you embrace the ways you are more of one thing, less of another? Do you fight sameness in others or encourage? Do you surround yourself with those who think and feel differently? I have a dear friend who recently told me she had a difficult time with an hour or so of silence at a workshop. Given my penchant for and love of silence, I smiled at her admission. But I'm so thankful that she is different than me. Because she sees things about me that I can't even see and she names them for me. I don't want you to be like me - or anyone else. Nor do I want to be like you. I just want to be more like me. A little more every day.

FRIEND

2011-07-11T19:32:00.000-05:00

1 a: one attached to another by affection or esteem

I had two very different Facebook friend experiences last week. First I got a request from a high school acquaintance. Upon seeing the name on my phone screen, my first thought was, "What? Why would that person want to be my Facebook friend?" This was someone (whom I'll call T) I knew for the last few years of high school, but we were never close and I always felt there was a competitive tension underlying our friendship. I unintentionally hurt T at once point and tried to make amends a time or two. But my recollection of our final interaction was a sense that this "friend" wanted to get back at me - so I left it at that, hoping T felt I had been bested to their satisfaction. It's been nearly twenty years since I heard T's name.

When I first joined Facebook, I was unsure of the etiquette - should I say yes to every friend who asked me? Surely the term "friend" is used lightly. I don't have 400+ friends, at least not by my definition of the word. Even the use of the word friend to describe my FB network gave me some ambivalence. I'm not someone who uses the term friend quickly and easily. Frankly, I have to know and trust you to consider you my friend - I have to feel like I can be myself around you. There are lots of people I know and even enjoy, but wouldn't label as a friend (at least in my heart). But to de-friend or ignore a friend request requires a certain confidence. Will I hurt their feelings? Am I being inconsistent in saying Yes to one acquaintance and No to another? What should my standards for friendship be - on FB and in life?

A few days after this friend request from T came through, I had an exchange with a friend I've never met in person - but whom I love nevertheless. I can picture us passing books back and forth and chatting over tea, if only we lived in the same city. I know her only through her blog, but I love her words and her heart. She was running in a race last Saturday and I left her a comment saying I would pray for her. And I did pray for her. In fact, praying for her was a great delight - a more grace-filled experience than I can ever remember when praying for someone else. The first day when I prayed for her, it felt like sunshine on my face. And as I continued to pray, I realized that the "sunshine on my face" feeling was God's delight in her. This was so energizing, encouraging and revelatory that I prayed for her a great deal leading up to her race. I hope it blessed her because it certainly blessed me.

As a part of our interchanges about the race, this lovely woman asked about being my FB friend. And my reaction was totally different than seeing T's name appear on my screen. Instead of wondering why she might want to be my friend, my heart said, "Yes! That would be lovely!" So now we're friends - on Facebook and in cyberspace.

That friend request from T? I clicked on the little "ignore" button. I am slowly but surely learning to trust one way that my heart speaks to me. And I am learning that I do not have to be friends - Facebook or otherwise - with someone who makes me feel bad about myself. This may sound self-evident, but surely there's at least one person reading this who is a people-pleaser or recovering people-pleaser like me. (By the way, there's another way that I speak to myself that I'm learning to ignore or talk back to - it's the voice of shame and it usually starts sentences with the phrase, "I must be the only one who..." That voice is not worth listening to. It needs silencing.)

I've been comparing and contrasting these Facebook friend experiences for several days, but finally felt prompted to write about it after reading this post about having a team you can trust to speak into your life. I'm not in crisis and don't need an official team of people to help me navigate my current life circumstances. But don't we all need a team of some sort?

Don't we all need real, true friends who can listen to our hearts and not turn away from us?

Friends who can know you and still like you?

Friends who help you and allow themselves to be helped?

I want friends like this. And I want to be a friend like this. Because if being a true friend means getting to experience what I experienced as I prayed for my friend who ran on Saturday, I'm in. It was life-changing to realize how much God delighted in her. And to think that He feels the same way about me... We all need friends and I'm not talking about the Facebook kind.

FAVORITE

2011-07-08T17:00:00.000-05:00

: one that is treated or regarded with special favor or liking

A Grown-Up's Toy Box

I'm not Oprah, so I'll not be handing out my favorite things to hundreds of strangers. But I keep thinking that there are some things that make summer just a bit sweeter than other seasons of the year. This summer, these are some of my favorite things:

So You Think You Can Dance: It's rare for my family to find a show that we all enjoy and can all watch together, but this show fits the bill. A loves the dancing, B loves the music, K loves the spectacle, J loves the Broadway numbers and I love it all, most especially the way everyone in my family loves it.

Hemingway: I read Hemingway back in middle and high school, but haven't had much to do with him since. But at the start of this summer, I reread The Old Man and the Sea and loved it. Every word counted, each one mattered, not one extra thrown in there. Now I'm reading The Paris Wife for one book club and about to follow it up with A Moveable Feast for another book club. I don't necessarily love Hemingway the man, but I can see how the words inside him longed to get out and I see how hard he worked to get them out. And I do love that.

Non-Fiction: In a shocking turn of events, I've read two entire non-fiction books in the span of less than a month. The Art of Family affirmed me, encouraged me and inspired me while I Thought It Was Just Me made me feel sane, understood and better armed to live the life I want to live.

Mint Chocolate: I love chocolate of all kinds, but this summer I've developed a particular fondness for mint chocolate. I love the little Ghirardelli squares, I love(d) the truffle ones J and K gave me for mother's day, I love the Breyers mint chocolate chip ice cream.

Yogurt: I've developed a steadfast affection for Trader Joe's European Style Plain Whole Milk Yogurt. It's not sweetened at all. In fact, that's exactly what I love about it. It's sharp. It's tangy. It's like Pinkberry, but not frozen and topped with mango and chocolate. My only complaint? I have a tough time eating an entire 32 oz. container before it goes bad. Yet I keep buying it.

A Relaxed Schedule: I love letting my daughters stay up until 8:30 or 9:00, then staying up until 11:00 myself. I can't do this during the school year. In order to have everyone up and dressed for school, I must be in bed by 10:00. I'm a girl who needs her sleep. But this summer I've been able to stay in bed until nearly 8:00, which means I can stay up later.

Reading in Bed: Sure, I always read in bed at night, but the height of luxury (in my opinion) is to read in bed before starting my day. Those lovely late nights for my girls are yielding a quiet house in the mornings, so I can roll over at 7:30, grab my book and read a chapter or two before emerging from the comfy coziness of my bed.

Sweet Treat Fridays: I inaugurated these in an attempt to limit and direct our eating out this summer. Each Friday, we have a frozen treat from somewhere - Bobbie's Dairy Dip, Pinkberry, Marble Slab Creamery, you get the idea. My hope was that by treating ourselves on Fridays, we would pack lunches or eat at home the other days. This has mostly held true and we've all enjoyed sampling various treats from spots around the city. Next up? Tasti D-Lite (I'll forgive the atrocious spelling of their name only if their treats taste good.)

What have you fallen in love with this summer?

PILGRIMAGE

2011-07-06T19:13:00.000-05:00

1: a journey of a pilgrim; especially : one to a shrine or a sacred place
2: the course of life on earth

In Celtic Daily Prayer, the July Aidan readings are on the subject of pilgrimage. Here's how the concept is introduced:

This month's notes are on the subject of pilgrimage, a journeying to a particular place, in the expectation that such a journey will have deep significance. It may be to a place with personal memories, or to a holy place where for generations people have prayed and sought God. Everyone's starting point and journey is different, inside - and outwardly...

All kinds of people go on pilgrimage of one sort or another, not all of them believers; it is a chance for things to move, to change, perhaps even for God to break into their lives.

I first read these words six days ago and have been pondering them ever since. Where am I going? Am I giving things a chance to move and change? Am I willing to let God break into my neatly ordered life? Or am I saying, "No, thanks, God. That's quite enough change over here. I'll just coast for a while if you don't mind too much." You see, change was my word for 2010. I had kind of hoped that 2011 would see less change, more stability, more growth, less fear. Halfway through the year, I'm wondering whether growth and unfurling can occur with stability and without fear. Would I prefer stability and stasis to freedom and unfurling? Some days I might.

Four months ago, J interviewed for a new job at work. It was a position outside of his department, outside of his direct experience, outside of his comfort zone. As the days, weeks and months went on, he and I began to doubt he'd get the job. I'd had some ambivalence all along. In large part, my ambivalence boiled down to the same question J asked me when we considered homeschooling, "Can you do this job and be nice to the rest of us?" For me, this was linked to my need for a certain amount of physical and mental solitude. For J, the question is whether the emotional drain of managing a bigger team will leave him with the time, attention and emotional capacity to parent three daughters. (Have you tried parenting a pre-teen daughter? It has to be one of the most emotionally taxing jobs on the planet. Yet surpassed by parenting a teenage daughter, I fear.)

You might be able to imagine our surprise - and my slight dismay - to find that J had gotten the job. This is a big deal for him. It's great affirmation of all he's done in his current and previous positions and it's definitely the beginning of a pilgrimage of sorts for him. I fully believe he's ready for the challenges and we're doing all we can from the outset to establish expectations for the girls about the time commitment this will require. There will be fewer Saturday morning trips to Sweet 16th, Bagel Face and The Hermitage Diner. But that's just part of the journey.

As with any marriage, J's pilgrimage directly impacts my own. My reaction to the news of his promotion was shock and a bit of fear. What will this mean for us? What will it mean for me? Can I handle more of the parenting when he's the one who's a better listener? Can I do it? Will this change us? I like who we are right now - both separately and together.

As the news has settled, I've been able to see the silver lining in what seems to be a foreboding cloud. I've also prayed - a lot. And one result of these prayers has been a very clear sense that J is ready for this - and perhaps I am, too. On the face of it, my husband's job change impacts me far less than him. But my feelings are valid, if only because I feel them. I will have to navigate some parenting waters alone. I will have to make on the spot decisions alone. I may be more tired, stretched a bit more thin - which will require that I take better care of myself so that I am ready for the tasks ahead. I don't mean to imply that I will have to do it all alone, but I will be stretched. Unfurled, perhaps.

I'm not going on an actual physical pilgrimage this summer. But I am journeying to a place I've never been - a place with a more physically absent parenting partner, where I homeschool two children and learn to support J in his new role. May I do it in a way that allows God to break into my life and break down the walls I've erected for myself.

MEDIAN

2011-06-30T22:13:00.000-05:00

2 a : a value in an ordered set of values below and above which there is an equal number of values or which is the arithmetic mean of the two middle values if there is no one middle number

A seven year old (photo by Tiana)

Yesterday afternoon after picking A up from ballet, we drove an hour west to visit my brother, sister-in-law, niece and nephew who have recently moved to our neck of the woods. About ten minutes into the drive, B announced excitedly, "I got it! I was able to reach it without unbuckling my seat belt!" "Reach what?" I asked somewhat distractedly. "A quarter!" Do you remember the joy of finding a quarter when you were nine? Good times, right? Only until K registered what B had said because at that point she declared the quarter hers, claiming she had lost it weeks ago. Needless to say, none of us believed her. At which point, K burst into tears. K tends towards the dramatic anyway, but this was a bit out of character for her. I calmed her down and then suggested that she close her eyes for part of the drive to Clarksville. Amazingly, she complied and was quiet for the next half hour.

The relative quiet gave me an opportunity to reflect on just why K was so tired. She was tired because the night before she'd been up until after nine, having gone to a Sounds baseball game and followed it up with ice cream from the new shop around the corner. Sadly, this was not an uncommon occurrence this summer - we've been keeping pretty late hours. Luckily that has meant late mornings as well, but K's mini-meltdown reminded me that she is only 7.

She's only 7, but she's the youngest in the family, so she's not really treated like she's 7.

I think our family functions more based on the median age of our children, not our children's actual ages of 11, 9 and 7. I plan and execute activities based on what will keep the girls happy, occupied and engaged. But I base most of this on a relative age of approximately 9 - B's age, not K's. After the birth of a new child, I think a family (or maybe this is just our family?) is pretty centered on what's possible for the age of the newest family member. That holds true for a few years - at least as long as naps are absolutely necessary. But after naps are a thing of the past, it's easier to begin to stretch that littlest girl to do things she might not necessarily choose on her own.

In a lot of ways, I think it's very good for K that she has two older sisters. She may have seen more museum exhibits, been to more events or tried more adventurous foods because she has older siblings. K is not one to hold back, so when she has a question about an exhibit, an activity or something she sees, she asks. And when she asks one of her numerous questions, she learns things. Having older sisters is helping her grown and learn. But I can see that it's also tiring her out a bit.

As I pondered the state of our family last night and my use of the median age of my children to center our family, I had an image of a spinning top. Using a median age, there's one family member plopped in the middle of the top and the rest of us are spinning around it, some of us holding on for dear life. (I've been a bit tired lately.) We're still a family unit, still functioning together, but perhaps not as smoothly as we might otherwise.

What's a better model? I think a wheel with four spokes and a center is likely a better model. That model gives each member equal weight, but allows the center to rotate amongst the family members. You can also spot a problem right away since a wheel with an off-kilter spoke isn't going to function properly. This image is a good one for me to keep in mind as we transition to a season in J's life that is going to require working longer, harder and smarter. We're going to have to share him more with his work and still keep the wheel of our family spinning smoothly.

I'd like to say that I saw K's tiredness and immediately took steps to get rest for her and for our family. That's only sort of true. She and her sisters spent the night with their cousins and then we did have a lazy day at home watching last night's So You Think You Can Dance and reading in bed together between piano and ballet sessions. But it was once again 9ish before the girls got into bed. And tomorrow we are going berry picking, which requires an early start.

I'm imperfect at this mothering thing. I sometimes see what needs to be done, but it takes me a while to get it done. Still worse, there are times when I don't even see the need right before me. My goal? To rest this weekend and free more days on the calendar next week. Progress, not perfection. And I hope that part of my progress moves us towards moving smoothly as spokes on a wheel and not as a top spinning out of control.

ORDINARY

2011-06-27T22:49:00.000-05:00

3 a : of common quality, rank, or ability

I am reading a great book right now. It's called I Thought It Was Just Me by Brene Brown and while the book has contained many thought-provoking ideas, today a passage made me actually stop reading to think for a moment about it. Here it is:

In our culture, the fear and shame of being ordinary is very real. In fact, many of the older women I interviewed spoke about looking back on their lives and grieving for the extraordinary things that would never come to pass. We seem to measure the value of people's contributions (and sometimes their entire lives) by their level of public recognition. In other words, worth is measured by fame and fortune.

Our culture is quick to dismiss quiet, ordinary, hardworking men and women. In many instances, we equate ordinary with boring or, even more dangerous, ordinary has become synonymous with meaningless.

I was sitting at the pool while reading this, having conquered - or at least tamed - my fear of joining the local YMCA for the summer. But these words brought me up short because of a line of thinking I had explored last weekend as a result of reading this book. Brown argues that a large part of our shame comes from the disconnect between how we want to be perceived and how we are perceived. She encourages readers to write down how they do and don't want to be perceived in several specific areas. As I did this, I considered writing down that I didn't want to be seen as average or ordinary. I don't think I actually included this word, but the fact that it was on the tip of my tongue (or pen) is telling.

Why don't I want to be ordinary? Do I really believe I am of uncommon quality, rank or ability? I'm frankly not someone who enjoys being noticed a great deal of the time. I remember telling my daughter B how I really thought for years (decades, more truthfully) that it was wrong of me to want anyone to pay attention to me. (Her reply? "Well, that's pretty much the exact opposite of how I think.") If I have mixed feelings about being noticed, why would I want to be something other than ordinary?

Perhaps the key to my resistance to being ordinary is Brene Brown's suggestion that ordinary equates with boring. I've always harbored a fear that I am a bit on the boring side. I'm passionate about some things, but my interests tend to be narrowly defined and deeply felt, not broad and sweeping. I'm not particularly funny because I'm not quick on my feet. Part of me has always wondered exactly why someone would want to be friends with me - though I've never had the courage to actually ask. So if I fear being boring, and ordinary registers in my brain as boring, I may have found the source of my resistance.

The fact remains that much of my life is very ordinary. At least as ordinary as life with three extraordinary daughters can be. Yet I have no problem seeing the beauty in the ordinary. I think there's great delight, fulfillment and lessons in a day that is packed with ordinary tasks like grocery shopping, swim lessons and pool time. Everyday, ordinary life is something I treasure - because it goes by so very fast.

Today at the pool, we ran into someone who was in B's kindergarten class. As she and her dad walked past, I recognized the dad first and thought, "Is that S? Would she really be that old?" But as I thought back and realized she was B's age, it was definitely the same girl - she'd just been frozen in my mind at age 5. The dad and I chatted and he talked about how he is about to have a third daughter - who will be 20 years younger than one sister and 10 years younger than the other. He said he remembers daughter #1 at age ten, even though she just completed her freshman year of college. Ordinary life goes by so quickly. I don't want to wish it away by longing for something more extraordinary.

Yet how much of the ordinary do we really remember? Perhaps there are some cumulative memories that stick for their sheer volume - things like hot chocolate made with real milk or pancakes on snow days. Mostly, I think the strongest memories are the extraordinary ones, but those memories might be less influential on who we are than the smaller, more common events that slipped through our conscious memories.

I think the key to marrying the ordinary and extraordinary in family life lies in ritual. The ordinary events best-remembered are those that are a part of the fabric of your family's liturgy. Pancakes on snow days? They'll be remembered precisely because we don't have pancakes three days weekly. Or maybe they won't be remembered at all. But I do think the things that we treat as sacred, as special, as ordinary but seen through a lens of reverence - those are the things that sink into the hearts of our children.

I'm ok with living an ordinary life. I'm less ok with being an ordinary person. So I think I'll focus on finding joy in my everyday, ordinary life and do my best to live as someone whose gifts, weaknesses, accomplishments and failures are uniquely, uncommonly my own.

READING

2011-06-26T17:13:00.000-05:00

1 : the act of reading

My family loves to read. Saturday morning B came upstairs and found J and I like this in bed:

So she ran downstairs to get the camera and document it. (Note the stack of books on the bedside table.) It's not just J and I who love to read. The girls do, too. Last week a friend met us at the park to play during A's ballet lesson. She'd been out of town and had recently read my blog to catch up on what we've been up to. She saw that I mentioned a book I've been reading (the wonderful The Art of Family) and asked whether I ever write about the books my girls read. I kind of laughed at the idea, partly because it's such a daunting task. They read so much - and have so much free time to read - that it would be impossible to talk about exactly what they read. But then I decided this would be a perfect week to tackle a blog post on this. We've recently made a trip to the library and the shelves are stocked with books for A, B and K - and combinations thereof.

First, a look at our library shelf:

See those books falling over the others, misaligned and half-hidden? I started to straighten them before taking the photograph, then decided to give you a real-life snapshot. And this is real life in our house - shelves filled to overflowing, with books here, there and yon, complete with tissues for bookmarks.

There are a few categories of books that my girls like to read. A has more far flung tastes in books than perhaps any other member of our family. She'll read fiction, non-fiction, fantasy, mystery, biography, you name it. Even so, historical fiction is probably her favorite. So when I separate out the books that are just for A, it looks something like this:

Where do we find books for A to read? From a couple of places - about a third of the books in this stack are books that A found on the shelves of the library and asked to read. The others came from a list that the reading specialist at B's school sent home. I went through the list ahead of time to check for content and availability and then had A choose the ones she wanted to read. I starred the historical fiction ones - like The Darkest Evening, Annie, Between the States, After the War and All Their Names were Courage. She found Orphan of the Sun on her own, another historical fiction offering that ties nicely to the Ancient Egyptian history we'll be studying in a few weeks.

B's stack is similarly high:

B's tastes are narrower than A's. This stack boasts books about a three inch high boy, a girl who circumnavigated fairyland, a boy elected president, and knights. Only four or five of these books are from the reading list. The rest are the result of time spent in the stacks, checking out covers, reading flaps and following her instincts. After B selects her books, I go to Amazon on my phone to read the library school journal review and check for content. This largely keeps objectionable content out of the house, but my girls are reaching an age where they are going to encounter ideas unlike those we have in our home. That's OK. I think they are old enough to begin to discern for themselves - and to ask me questions about the rest.

A final category that B enjoys is graphic novels. Today she read this:

But not long ago, she read a graphic novel rendering of The Odyssey that was excellent. B's style of drawing is akin to what's found in a graphic novel, so these books are great inspiration for her. The challenge is finding ones that are appropriate. Many of those geared to boys are heavy on the violence and the ones for girls are heavy on the romance. Any suggestions you have would be appreciated...

K's stack is considerably shorter:

And this is the book she's been working on since our last trip to the library:

K really wants to read books that are challenging for her. There are lots of books out there that she could read in one sitting, but she wants to choose longer books that take her several days to read. The Royal Diaries book that she chose is one she's seen in our house many times before. A loves this series and has read every book at least once - some many, many more times. K has enjoyed reading about Elizabeth and has asked lots of questions surrounding the history of England, which A and I are happy to answer. I've also noticed that K is far more drawn to non-fiction than either of her sisters were. She'll check out books on weather, animals and more at the school library. I just haven't found the right spot for her to explore in our public library for this type of reading material.

Even when I try to capture via photograph all of the library books in our home, I miss some. A is laying in her bed reading a book that B finished yesterday. B finished her graphic novel and went to her room to read one of the books she started a few days ago. (B regularly reads more than one book at once - on Friday she had five books going.)

Some of this love of reading comes directly from my girls and who they are. Their insatiable curiosities are well-fed by books. Some of it might be learned behavior. We certainly do what we can to encourage their reading - both with our words and by example.

If you have reading suggestions - for any of the five of us - please just leave a comment.

PLAY

2011-06-23T18:30:00.000-05:00

3 a : recreational activity; especially : the spontaneous activity of children

A girl flits into the room wearing a yellow Belle dress, purple cheetah print high heels and pink sunglasses with fur at the corners. Her sister tears apart teal and silver duct tape, affixes it to a shoe box and creates a seascape. My girls know how to play.

A doll elevator

The doll and her ladybug enter the elevator

The elevator in action

Cardboard and aluminum foil choker

Getting in character

Over the last few days, B has made a child's elevator, a doll elevator and a goth metal stud choker, amongst other things. If I'm lamenting an over-scheduled summer with ballet and piano virtually every weekday, my girls do not seem to be suffering for it. Instead, they are making the most of their downtime, using it to create, playact and read. There's a definite difference in the ways each girl plays (K revels in imaginary worlds, B creates) and a noticeable drop off in A's willingness to play. She far prefers reading to crafting, dressing up or playacting.

Yet even tween aged A came home from her first lock in this morning excited about the game night. One of the things she thought noteworthy? That they played a spy game in the church sanctuary. "Yes, this space is sacred," A was told, "but no more sacred than many other spaces. Just don't break anything." What this wise youth minister gets is that play is sacred, too. A book I'm reading puts it this way:

Play keeps us attached to the sacred, the imaginary, the human. We grow bigger, become larger entities, in the act of play. We become creators more than creatures.

I've learned from watching my children play. Play doesn't come natural to me. It's something I need to learn to allow myself to do, need to train myself to want. I take life far too seriously. But I've been playing in my own way over the last week:

Is summer fun for you? Are you watching your children play? Are you making time to play? Play isn't just for children, you know.

TIME

2011-06-21T17:39:00.000-05:00

1 c : leisure (time for reading)
4 d : the present time

Yesterday morning as I lay in the bathtub, I prayed for enough time in the day. Sound strange? Maybe it is, but I knew what needed to get done and that the allotted hours just might not be enough. Here's a quick sketch of yesterday morning:

8:00 - everyone awake and in some stage of eating breakfast
9:00 - depart for grocery store (K joined me)
9:35 - return from grocery store, unpack groceries
9:45 - depart for K's swim lesson
10:00 - swim lesson (B joined me)
10:20 - B's school friend shows up at the pool, B begs to stay
10:30 - kind friend agrees to let B and K stay at the pool with her
11:00 - return home
11:40 - depart to take A to ballet
12:30 - collect B & K from the pool
12:45 - lunch
1:10 - depart to pick A up from ballet
1:50 - pause for breath before beginning laundry and dinner

Yesterday was our first day of thrice weekly ballet classes for A. This seemed like a good idea several weeks ago when I needed a break of a few weeks between ballet sessions. Yet now that we have activities scheduled for four weekdays during the summer, I'm wondering whether there will be enough time to have fun with my girls, enjoy lazy time together, just live life the way I want to live it. My response was to schedule plenty of fun into our week. What remains to be seen is whether we can all enjoy our summer if I exhaust myself in the process.

In the midst of this transition, I'm in the middle of the best parenting book I've ever read. In the section on child-led spirituality, there is this passage:

Children's sense of time is different from adults'. It is elongated because they haven't yet suffered from the accumulation of many experiences to detract from the present. They take all the time they need to address what life puts in front of them, in the right now.

This is how I want to experience time. By taking what's right in front of me and not getting too far ahead of myself. This doesn't mean I throw my plans out the window. I need to plan so that we don't waste the free moments we have. But I need to hold those plans loosely, not clench my hands around them. Today we went to the state capitol, a field trip K has been begging to go on for weeks. When I signed up for the field trip, I clicked a couple of extra boxes for activities in the state museum. But when yesterday arrived, I didn't think an extra hour after touring the capitol was a good idea. So I canceled that part of the field trip. Instead, we hung out at the library, doing a much needed restocking of our book supply.

After the library, instead of the pool or Chick-fil-A or anything else, we came home and read, read, read. This is something else The Art of Family has affirmed. That reading teaches us spiritual lessons that can only be learned through the art of reading. The art of quietly spending time alone, waiting for the action to unfold and imagining other worlds, teaches us to stay in the moment on the page and wait.

Yet as much as I love reading, I want time for other things, too. Which is why after reading, we watched a movie together. This is the kind of time I want - time to read, time to hang out together, time to simply be a family. So I'll keep praying for more time - and to be fully present in the time I have.

LAUNCHPAD

2011-06-19T09:00:00.002-05:00

: a nonflammable platform from which a rocket, launch vehicle, guided missile, or girl can be launched

It's difficult to write the perfect blog post for every occasion, but as I was thinking about Father's Day and how to encapsulate what J is for our girls, the image of a launchpad came to me. I recently read Lift and if motherhood is about breathing life into your children's hopes, dreams and talents, then fatherhood is about giving your children - especially your daughters - the firm and stable ground from which to launch themselves.

J is just this stability for our girls. They know who he is, what to expect from him and that he will be there for them no matter what. Girls can't jump as high, soar as far or fly as long when they don't have a launchpad for a father. Any basketball player will tell you that you can't get as much height when jumping in sand as you can when you're on the court. Girls know when their fathers are dependable like a launchpad and they know when they're like shifting sand under them.

They also know that some fathers allow them to land gracefully, crash and burn or take the long way back home. This knowledge gives them the confidence to pursue their dreams, knowing they'll never be alone in their successes or failures.

I was talking with a friend not long ago whose husband enjoys a more flexible schedule than J does. (On weekdays, J is consistently gone between 11 1/2 to 12 hours.) She asked how I manage it with grace. I admitted that I don't always handle it gracefully, but that it's easier now that the girls are older. There's the added factor that J loves his job. More importantly, when he's here, he's fully present. He eats dinner with us every night. He helps put the girls to bed. He attends every game, every recital, every school. He knows what's going on in our girls lives and knows who they are as people.

This is a dad who willingly watches our daughters' favorite TV show, which happens to be So You Think You Can Dance. He doesn't just watch it, either. He watches with us, critiques choreography and execution, has his favorites and his not-so-favorites. Is he a closet dance fan? Not really. But he's a fan of our daughters. And they love watching this show. A loves the dances, B loves the music, K loves the performances. So we do this as a family - we watch, we vote, we laugh together, gasp together, recall our favorite routines from past seasons together. And if J is sometimes wishing he was watching a baseball game instead of a dance show, he never lets on. This television show is more than a way to kill a few hours on summer evenings. It's a launchpad for family memories. It's a shared experience that helps strengthen the community that is our family.

I have no aspirations for my daughters to be astronauts - A hates math far too much for that, B could never follow all of the rules required and K will probably never be tall enough - but I do look forward to seeing the confident, bold, strong women they will be because they have a father who served as a launchpad for them.

TEACHER

2011-06-18T10:41:00.000-05:00

1. one who causes another to know something

A writer of a blog that I read recently wrote about all that she learned over the course of the last year with her children. This resonated with me as much as if a chord had been actually plucked in my heart. As our school year wound down, I was focused on what A learned this year and whether it was enough. I didn't stop to consider the very real value of all I learned through the process of being teacher in addition to mom, cheerleader, chauffeur, chef and guide.

So what did the teacher learn this year over the course of the Truss Academy for Girls' first year?

To relax and plan in equal parts. In other words, to make a plan and then hold it very loosely rather than gripping it fiercely. At the beginning of the school year, I was resistant to writing down any sort of plan for the week. I had created a rough monthly plan (that went largely unheeded as the year went on), but I was worried that creating a weekly plan would lock us in. Worse, I was worried I would be unable to relax and enjoy the ride when things inevitably did not go according to plan. What changed? At Advent, I began making a weekly plan for A because I was crafting a unit study for us from two other studies I'd found online. It was easier for me to do all of the planning on the weekend, write it down and then go about our week. At the time, I didn't see this as a big shift in our daily approach to homeschooling. It was only when we finished the study and I attempted to quit the weekly plans that I found A really enjoyed having her week laid out before her on one piece of paper. This taught me...

To be intentional and flexible. Making a plan for each week allowed me to be more intentional, especially about our approach to history. By looking ahead at what was coming, I was able to craft essay questions that helped A retain the subject matter far more than when she was taking notes and summarizing passages (both of which I still believe are important skills for collegiate success). What I had to be careful of - as a Type A personality - was to still be flexible. Sometimes I built flexibility into the plan, leaving blocks of time for us to go on a walk or visit a park. Other times, we seized the moment and just moved part of one week's plan to the next week. And all of this was possible because I was learning...

To listen. I was beginning to listen to A's verbal and nonverbal cues. Sometimes she told me what she wanted more of, other times I had to watch the way she approached a subject to know whether to move on or stop and graze for a while. Alongside learning to listen to A, I was meeting monthly with a spiritual direction group, where I was learning to listen to God and to look for the ways he was working in my life. How many subtle communications from God, friends and family have I missed over the years because I've been focused, rigid and preoccupied? This year I learned to hear what was said and not brush it away in haste because it didn't fit my plan. And I was able to listen because of an ongoing lesson about making time...

To care for myself. One of my husband's main concerns about the plan to homeschool was summarized in one quiet question, "Can you do this and be nice to the rest of us?" That was the question going into this experiment - was there enough of me to give? Would I be exhausted at the end of each day, snapping at everyone, disappointed with myself? I've learned a great deal about myself and my needs over the years. I need time alone, I need a certain amount of quiet, I need space in my day to just be. Would this be possible while homeschooling? I found that it was not only possible, it was crucial. Early on, I found that if I waited until lunch time to shower, I could retreat upstairs to read, bathe and rest. This hour or so midday gave me enough fuel to get through my days.

I'm not sure what next year will look like in many regards. Will an hour of quiet be possible with two daughters to teach? I'm not sure. But if I remain relaxed and flexible while being intentional about caring for myself, I'm confident a new balance will emerge. Because another thing I've learned this year is that...

I have something to offer my children as their teacher. I'm reading a beautiful book about family right now and one idea that has immediately rung true with me is that we should give our children ourselves. I don't mean we should forgo who we are in order to help them become who they are meant to be. It's the opposite of that: it helps them become who they are meant to be if they understand who their parents really are. And I am both learner and teacher. I love learning. Love, love, love it. It excites me like few other things can. I get an almost physical jolt upon learning a new fact, making a connection, seeing a link. This is part of who I am and it's a huge blessing to get to share that part of me with my daughters. Sharing it with them doesn't mean they're going to feel and experience learning the same way I do. It does mean they will know and understand me better - as their mother, as a person.

I told my husband part way through the school year that I think of all the jobs I've ever had - in marketing, business development, non-profit program management, non-profit administration and development - homeschooling is the one that uses nearly every gift I have. I am their teacher, but I am learning so much as we go along. And I couldn't be more grateful.

COMMUNITY

2011-06-14T16:43:00.000-05:00

1 c : an interacting population of various kinds of individuals (as species) in a common location

In third grade, B and her classmates created quotes for memorizing. This is B's.

I'm like the John Mellencamp song. I was born in a small town. At my high school reunion a few weeks ago, J got to see the small town effect up close and personal. He's a city boy through and through, so he doesn't have a friend he spent grades 4 through 12 making memories and mischief alongside. Even two decades after high school, there was a familiarity as we sat at that table and talked. J liked what he saw. He wants that for our girls. He wants friends who've known them their whole lives. He wants deep and lasting community for them. That's harder to come by in a city the size of Nashville. (Which is one reason my husband would be happy to move to a suburb, where this type of community is easier to find.)

My take is a little bit different. I enjoyed my high school reunion far more than I could have anticipated, but it reminded me of some of the things I don't miss about small town life. I don't miss the gossip and feeling like people are in my business. I never liked feeling like people knew everything about me and were talking about all of it - the good, the bad and especially the ugly. It's easier for me to jump in and out of the flow of community in my neighborhood here. Sometimes I'm able to ride the current along anonymously. Other times I'm willing to know and be known. It's up to me.

Last week several milestones were reached in our family (including our first daughter to get her ears pierced!). These milestones were largely A's, and B was feeling sad, frustrated and decidedly left out as the middle child. She knew rationally the reasons that A was being celebrated, but that did little to mitigate her feelings. At one point, B was crying and I was thinking about how hard it must be to be the second born, especially the second born girl. I'm two years older than my only brother, so I don't know exactly how B was feeling. But I can tell you that I'm sure it would have made me as angry, sad and confused as it made her. I tried to talk to B about it, to validate her feelings a bit. Yet there was only so much I could say. I haven't actually walked where she's walking right now.

So I contacted a friend to ask if she'd take B out for ice cream and commiserate. I first got to know this friend years ago when she babysat for us. She would later tell me that the first night of babysitting didn't go so well. B crossed a line and Miss M (as my children call her) put her in time out. B's response? Something along the lines of, "You're the worst babysitter ever! I'm going to tell my mom never to call you again!" It would be years before I heard this story because the next morning all I heard from my girls was, "When can she come again?" In addition to being an awesome sitter and a dear friend, Miss M is a middle child - the middle of three girls, no less.

Sunday evening she arrived to take B out for some middle child time together. I'm not sure what they talked about. I just know they enjoyed being together and I felt a little lighter for having found someone to share the burden of walking B through this time in her life. B might have been completely over what she was feeling by Sunday evening, but I wanted her to know that she's being heard. I wanted her to know there are other adults who've watched their sisters do everything first - and are now amazing people, just as B is sure to be.

I can't parent my children alone - whether I live in a small town, an urban neighborhood or a suburb. I need community. I need someone - many someones - to help carry the burden of parenting. This burden of knowing that my children have needs I cannot meet on my own. That is, in fact, probably the hardest part of community for me - it shows me all that I cannot do on my own. It shows me how much there is to be learned from others, how much I have to give to others. It shows me that life is lived better together.

I have no plans to move back to a small town anytime soon. I love our city - and all it has to offer our family. I love getting to choose whether and how I will engage with community. It's been a blessing to be able to choose community instead of having it foisted upon me. But I hope I'll grow more and more willing to stake my claim in the lives of others. A stake that will require me to give, to receive and to take their eldest daughters out for ice cream when they need it.

VACUOUS

2011-06-12T22:02:00.000-05:00

1 : emptied of or lacking content
2 : marked by lack of ideas or intelligence : stupid, inane

Do you have any irrational fears about your children? Anything that you know to be highly improbable, yet worry about anyway? Or am I the only one? I recently shared with some friends my fear that my girls will turn into vacuous blondes if we get a summer membership at the YMCA. Rational? Not by a long shot. Still a fear? Yes. I bought the membership anyway, letting logic reign over fear. Our first two visits have gone well and I can see even now that it was better for me to go ahead and join this summer, rather than wait another year. They are ready for regular swim time, more frequent routine, a way to build their confidence in the water.

Most of my friends laughed at me when I said I worry about my daughters turning vacuous (one said that was about as likely as them turning blonde without numerous hair treatments), but one said, "Where does that fear come from?" I wasn't sure, so I've tried thinking about what I'm seeing in my mind when I'm feeling that fear. I often find this a good technique for me when I'm feeling something, but not quite sure of its origin. I'm a pretty visual person, so when I'm feeling something strongly, there's generally a mental picture to go along with it.

I spent a lot of time at the pool, especially when I was the ages of my daughters. Was I vacuous? Is it myself I'm remembering? I'm not sure. I can't call up a mental picture of me at age 7, 9 or 11. But I'll say straight out that I'm fairly certain I was never vacuous.

Today J and I were joking around about vacuous daughters when one such daughter asked what the word meant. I told her empty-headed, like a vacuum had sucked out her brain. She looked at me like I was crazy and said, "That's never going to happen, Mom." When I saw the actual definition of "lack of ideas or intelligence," I knew how right she was. Will my daughters ever be void of ideas? I hope not. I certainly can't envision it.

I think perhaps it's the shift from girlhood to adolescence that has triggered these particular irrational fears. Will adolescence change my daughters, emphasizing some less desirable traits, minimizing others I value? Probably. Will it change the very core of who they are, emptying their brains, removing their interests, making them dull shadows of who they really are? Probably not. Certainly not if I have anything to say about it. I love their complex selves just as they are right now. I love the books scattered around our house, the art projects that go on constantly, the imaginative play that transcends age gaps. I love how varied they are from each other. How decidedly full of personality they are. The very opposite of vacuous.

I can't stop myself from feeling irrational fears. What I can do is remind myself of who my daughters are - and, if a time comes when they forget who they are, gently remind them of who they are.