The First Day Never Goes as Planned

I've been homeschooling something like 18 years, give or take a year because I'm too lazy to do the math. And, I promise you, in this house, the first day of a new term never goes as planned. After all these years, though, it always goes predictably.

I can predict that it's going to be a bit rocky.

It begins with me arising early, super early, because I am eager to have everything just so. The environment is readied--I've spent hours getting everything just so. I'm very visual and I find a certain peace in the order and the color. All good.

Then, I awaken the children, earlier than usual, because I want them to be eager to begin also. The details from there vary from year to year, but they go something like this:  Despite great provisioning just days before, we don't have eggs for breakfast. Littlest Darling has a runny nose, a fever, and a croupy cough and she doesn't want me to leave her to go to the store. Two little girls mourn the absence of the neighbor's child who slips in and out of our family life. She is going to "real school" today and will join us at 2:30. There is a bit of envy over lunchboxes and school shoes. Little boys are not so little any more and not so eager to be awakened, either. Everyone wants eggs for breakfast.

We begin determinedly, my enthusiasm ebbing a bit as my lofty plans meet reality. I remember a morning over a decade ago when I had such awesome things planned, such an elaborate environment readied, and three little boys responded ... well, they didn't. I'm not even sure they noticed, but they certainly weren't impressed. Those were days before blogs, before the temptation to leave my disappointing crew in our dining room-turned-learning room and go look again at the beautiful pictures of other women's learning spaces (here's where I am resisting the urge to link like crazy--y'all can find them;-) and to download page after page of other people's plans. No, I didn't leave my regular, ordinary, unimpressed boys in my regular, ordinary home and head off to the computer to escape to some sort of blog perfection. I called my husband and I cried. He didn't get it. Well, he got that I was crying, but he didn't get that I thought those things that were so important to me would inspire the boys. And on that day, I learned it's not about me. It's about them.

Flash forward a dozen or so years. Now, the plans grate up against reality on the first day and I'm not surprised. I know this day is the day I test drive my philosophical underpinnings and see how it all works in real life. And when that beautiful basket with the multi-colored gems is gleefully dumped all over the wood floor and the wee one with the big eyes and runny nose delights in the sound so she does it again, I remember.

They haven't been clicking around Pinterest.

They haven't been trading stories on Facebook.

They haven't been reading wonderful, inspiring books about family rhythm and prepared environments.

They haven't been planning curriculum all summer. 

They are why I am doing this at all.

They are the same today as they were last week. We have to meet in the middle. I have to look realistically on all my ponderings and plans and adjust them according to the real life I live here. With them. I have to recognize where I haven't left margin. Where I didn't consider.

Room.

Room for stopping to wipe noses and to swish toilets. Room for cooking and eating and cleaning up afterwards. Room to be alone, each of us in our own spaces, to think and dream and create.  Room for balance.

Reading and running free. Staying on task and stopping to notice and wonder. Pencil to paper and needle to fabric. Still at the table with close up tasks and quick on their feet with a ball beneath them. Discussing what I planned and pondering things I never would have considered. Planning with diligence and moving away from the plans.

The first day is always a little off balance. These days, I plan for that, too. This is as it should be. The grace of the plans that just don't work sheds glorious light on the beauty of educating at home, together. I can adjust the plan. I can allow them to force me to consider each one of them individually and to see where my notions meet their needs and where they fail. When I see that the first day is their day, I begin to understand that the first day might just be the day when I learn the most.

I learn that I can't do this on my own strength. I am reminded that I must see the child, each child, and meet him where he is. I learn anew that this isn't school at home. It's a lifestyle of learning that requires an incredible amount of sacrifice and even more grace. 

 

It's just the first day. It didn't go according to plan. But that was actually part of the plan.  I embrace the rough spots, the weak places, the small failures,  knowing that He is teaching me; He is begging me to show my children that I can be taught.

Oh, I can!  Show me, God. Show me your holy will.  How does it all fit together? How do we all grow together? What is Your plan for this family? Grant me the grace and the humility to set aside my plan for your better one.

-from the archives

Lord, Hear Our Prayer

The internet is a formidable force for bringing the comfort and consolation and hope of the Lord to all of us. It can be an incredibily powerful medium for community. There is an unfathomable resource for prayer here. We have on the 'net the privilege of praying for people and of being witness to the miracles brought forth when fervent, faith-filled people pray for one another.

Let's be that community of hope and faith for one another.

How about this idea? What if I pop in here every weekend, share Sunday's gospel and talk a wee bit about how we can live it and pray it in our homes? And then you tell me how we can pray for you that week? Deal?

{And please, do return and let us know how prayer is bearing fruit.}

Gospel 

John 6:41-51

The Jews murmured about Jesus because he said,
"I am the bread that came down from heaven,"
and they said,
"Is this not Jesus, the son of Joseph?
Do we not know his father and mother?
Then how can he say,
'I have come down from heaven?'"
Jesus answered and said to them,
"Stop murmuring among yourselves.
No one can come to me unless the Father who sent me draw him,
and I will raise him on the last day.
It is written in the prophets:
They shall all be taught by God.
Everyone who listens to my Father and learns from him comes to me.
Not that anyone has seen the Father
except the one who is from God;
he has seen the Father.
Amen, amen, I say to you,
whoever believes has eternal life.
I am the bread of life.
Your ancestors ate the manna in the desert, but they died;
this is the bread that comes down from heaven
so that one may eat it and not die.
I am the living bread that came down from heaven;
whoever eats this bread will live forever;
and the bread that I will give is my flesh for the life of the world."

Think

I desire to unite Myself to human souls. Know, My daughter, that when I come to a human heart in Holy Communion, My hands are full of all kinds of graces which I want to give to the soul.

But souls do not even pay any attention to Me; they leave Me to Myself and busy themselves with other things…They treat Me as a dead object.

Now you shall consider My love in the Blessed Sacrament. Here, I am entirely yours, soul, body and divinity, as your Bridegroom. You know what love demands: one thing only, reciprocity.” – Jesus to St. Faustina

Pray

Sweet Jesus, I don't want to be the soul who ignores you. I want to be the soul who is ever mindful that you are Mercy itself. I want to be the soul who stops for a moment in the midst of whatever trial I face, no matter how big or small, and whispers

"Please help me"

and

"Thank you."

--Just a moment to receive your grace and so be a blessing to the world you have given me.

Act

Still yourself. Don't be too busy with other things. Don't miss the moments when Christ comes to you. When a child asks again for drink of water (or juice or milk), remember Jesus said that you could see Him that child. And when you pull pajamas on a naked body? He's there. Don't hurry. Don't be too busy. Don't miss the moments when Christ is all yours in unexpected, yet very ordinary, days.

7 Habits in the iGeneration

Do you ever consider the legacy you are leaving? I admit, I do. Probably, I think about it too much. I think that's a longterm effect of cancer survival (we're never sure when the cancer caused by the chemo is going to pop up) and I think it's related to having baby girls after 40. When they are my age, what will they know of me? What can I leave for them that will encourage them when I am not able to do that? It might be a middle-age thing to think about legacy.

Honestly, though, I've been thinking it since I was 24. Cancer thing, definitely. Shortly before I was diagnosed, an influential book hit the bestseller's list. Stephen Covey was writing compellingly about living intentionally and leaving a meaningful legacy. I was earnestly seeking father figures in my twenties and this guy fit the bill. 

Stephen Covey died a few weeks ago. I cried. I was surprised by my reaction, but it reminded me just how much he influenced me way back when. I took the book from the shelf, dusted it off, and wrote about it here.

needle & thREAD

Please forgive me for the tardiness of this post. I was up all night binge reading! I finished three books this week. I had to tear myself away from books to squeak in a little sewing. I managed to put the border on this quilt, begun all those many moons ago for the Whipstitch Quilting Class (I highly recommend those classes, by the way. Deborah Moebes is an amazing teacher. I'm so, so tempted to take the fall wardrobe class. But then again, there's a good bit of wedding sewing to do this fall). I put the quilt away after finishing the mian body of it because my life was intensely busy right around Christmas and into early January. Then, I think I was afraid to work on it. I love this quilt and I have a fear that I'm going to get this far into the process and mess it up. So. Yesterday. The Border. All finished. Now I have to decide how to quilt it. Every square is different and I can't really imagine traipsing color or design over some of those blocks. Honestly, this is one I might take to the experts. I don't know. And yes, I noticed it's nearly Christmas again.

Now, about those books. I discovered Kindle on my iPhone. Oh the joy! I've got my nose in a book instead of mindlessly clicking through social media. And, I might be a little obsessed. Three books, people. And a good way into a fourth.

I read iDisorder on Kim's recommendation. I read Talking Back to Facebook (it was a needle &thREAD read of someone else's a few weeks ago). And I read 7: An Experimental Mutiny Against Excess.  I'm still listening to The Shallows: What the Internet is Doing to Our Brains. To say that--together--these books are life-changing is not an overstatement. Just focusing on the Internet aspect, I'm blown away. In a good way, I think.

iDisorder is the most technical of them all (with The Shallows: What the Internet is Doing to Our Brains a close second). I read it all out of order, skipping from one chapter to another, trying to diagnose myself and everyone I love;-). I learned a lot. I highlighted a lot. I'd already put some practices in place before reading. The book affirmed for me the necessity for them. I was particularly interested in some passages about how we can read one negative comment and fixate on it, despite 20 others that contradict it. I've been living that lately. Heck, I've been living that since the first time I got online. Maybe I'll tell you about that some time. 

Talking Back to Facebook is going to be required reading for everyone in this house. I learned a whole lot there! It's a very readable book, easily grasped by a 13-year-old. I'm still tweaking how it will change behaviors and online presence, but I promise you it's made an impact. This one will be required teenage reading. ASAP.

I'm crawling through the The Shallows. I think it's a great book. I read it because my friend Linda told me that it's required reading this summer for every single student at UNC Chapel Hill. That's how important this book is. I think I might cave and buy the hard copy. It's just not a great audio choice. 

7: An Experimental Mutiny Against Excess. I finished this one at 2:00 this morning. I wish I could put this book in the hands of every person in this country (and in Canada, too). The chapter on media dovetails nicely with my other reading. I'm going to force this family to read that one chapter, at least. But this book? This whole book? This book poses some very, very good questions. Jen Hatmaker is not Catholic. You might even find a post or two on her blog that sound a little anti-Catholic, which is kind of jarring because she's not the anti-anything type. I just get the sense she's not so much into liturgy or beautiful churches. Now that I've gotten that out of the way, read the book. She took seven areas of excess and focused on one a month, whittling away at--no, actually, taking a chainsaw to--ingrained habits of gluttony in our culture. I'm trying to figure a way to pour this book into everyone in this house. I don't think they'll read it; it will be one of mom's crazy ideas. But I'm starving to discuss it. The last chapter is on creating rest. Her take? Praying the Hours. (Yes, I know. That's liturgy. We are a very complex creation, aren't we?) I've talked a lot about praying the hours around these parts. I've never thought of it as rest. Verrrrry interesting. Especially at 2AM.

I have the sense that the conversations I will have about these books with people close to me in the next few weeks will be as life-changing as the conversations I had about this novel idea called "home education" all those many years ago.

I'm going to take a little break next week. There will still be posts here every day. If my mail and history are any indication, there are a lot of people searching schooly things. So, next week, I'll make it easy and put those things front and center. And I've got a guest hostess to come share books and sewing with you in this space on Thursday. I'm so exicted about that! Honestly, there have been some brutal internet moments in the last few weeks. Let me hasten to say that I am so very grateful for all your kindnesses. (It's that 20:1 thing). And I'm tired. The negatives? They just crush. The two people who commented around midnight last night? You are gifts. So I'm going to step away, rest, and pray. Think about all this reading. Read some more. And sew. Ah, yes. I'm quite sure I'll sew.

What about you? Sewing? Reading? A little of both?  Or are you embroidering? Pulling a needle with thread through lovely fabric to make life more beautiful somehow? Would you share with us just a single photo (or more) and a brief description of what you're up to? Will you tell us about what you're reading, also? Would you talk sewing and books with us? I'd love that so much.

Make sure the link you submit is to the URL of your blog post or your specific Flickr photo and not your main blog URL or Flickr Photostream. Please be sure and link to your current needle and thREAD post below in the comments, and not a needle and thREAD post from a previous week. If you don't have a blog, please post a photo to the needle & thREAD group at Flickr. 

       Include a link back to this post in your blog post or on your flickr photo page so that others who may want to join the needle and thREAD fun can find us! Feel free to grab a button here (in one of several colors) so that you can use the button to link:-).

Mommy cried all the way home...

This is a repost of a repost.

I posted it here in 2008, in response to the comment of a reader named Mary Beth. I'm posting again in response to Heather's comment on this post. Rare is the mom who hasn't wrestled with herself over whether to bundle a bunch of kids and take them church. You are so not alone:-).

In part, Mary Beth writes, "I am a young mom of a two year old and a three month old who has just happened upon your blog.  My husband was out of town so I had taken the two of them to church on my own one recent Sunday and the two year old's behavior was out of control.  I left after mass wondering where we were going wrong-how could I get him to behave during church and what exactly were reasonable expectations for behavior for a two year old during church?  Especially a particularly active two year old.  I was feeling very discouraged and really wanting a Mom Mentor."

Her words brought back this vivid memory, a column from early 1997:

Sometimes in this space, under this byline, I leave the impression that all is well in my household all the time and that we should all be striving for spiritual perfection. Or perhaps I lead you to believe that if all is not well, it can be resolved in 600 words or fewer to fit this space. Nothing could be further from the truth. (My apologies to the editor: this column is 859 words.)

A few months ago, my husband had worked 80 hours in a week and he was out of town on business. The baby was three weeks old, up to nurse several times at night. The two-year-old, who had had complicated surgery to repair his hand twice that month, was having nightmares that woke us all in the night, at different times than the baby woke us. It was Sunday morning and I was one exhausted mom with four tired, cranky children. I was so very tempted to skip Mass. Surely God would understand. But whatever gene controls guilt in cradle Catholics works very well in me. We went. And it was a disaster.

My first mistake was allowing the four-year-old to enter the pew first. That put him out of arm's reach. My second mistake was sitting so close to the front in a very small church with only one exit — in the back. I prayed we would make it through Mass.

The baby was an angel. The eight-year-old was an angel. Just as the homily began, the very active four-year-old bumped the overtired two-year-old (the one with the cast on his arm). The two-year-old "bumped" him back, cast and all. They both howled. Father stopped speaking and stared at me while I gathered my three youngest children and made my way to the back of the church and out the door. My cheeks burned as I felt what I was sure were disapproving glances. I left the children with an usher and went back just long enough to gather carseat and diaper bag and tell my eldest to go home with a neighbor. He tells me that as soon as I left the priest commented that it was a shame that the nursery wasn't open that day.

Since there was no place to go but outside and it was too cold for the baby, I put my children in the car and drove home. I was disappointed that I couldn't stay for Communion, humiliated by my exit, frustrated that I couldn't control my children all the time and very weary. Two extremely quiet, much chastened children sat in the backseat while Mommy cried all the way home.

My initial reaction was to scold and punish the boys. Their behavior was entirely inappropriate and they knew it. But then I began to reflect on what had happened. I was a young mom in church with several children that surely were God's blessings both to my husband and me and to the Catholic community. I thought about all the times in the past eight years that I have felt that events that should be opportunities for support and fellowship were occasions for judging parenting skills in light of personally held "absolute truths."

Committed Christians tend to be extremely conscious of the principles behind their parenting decisions. They spend a great deal of time discerning what is important in the effort to raise Godly children and they feel passionately about the choices they make. The problem is that not all Christian parents come to the same conclusions. There are many theories on child raising — many Godly theories. What is acceptable in one family may not be in another and both families are positive that their way is God's way. The disparity can make for a lot of judging and criticizing — both spoken and unspoken. It can also lead to much stress.

In her book Motherhood Stress, Deborah Shaw Lewis comments on this phenomenon in a chapter entitled "Everyone Knows My Job": "…I think our Christian community needs to realize that e unrealistic ideals of motherhood and family we sometimes espouse as `spiritual' can seem like one more stress on already stress-sensitive mothers. I have all these expectations; now it's my church or my minister saying I need to do this." Perfectly behaved children every Sunday is an unrealistic ideal.

The week after this incident, I went back to the same Mass (this took some convincing by my wonderful neighbor) People stopped to congratulate me on the new baby and comment on how well-behaved the boys were.

Their words were warm and comforting. Except for one woman, everyone who spoke to me that day was older; they had all raised large families of their own. Perhaps they knew from personal experience that this phase of motherhood is a mighty struggle and that I needed to feel welcome in my Father's house, despite my imperfections and those of my children.

I hope one day I can give the same support to another young woman; I certainly know how important it is.