Preparing to Discuss 9-11

 

I've been watching the 9-11 series on National Geographic, some with some of my children, some just Mike and me. Watching. Thinking. Remembering.

This is history. Truly "living history" in every sense of the word. Some of my children remember. Patrick was assigned an essay about a fear for a composition class this week. he didn't hesitate a minute before deciding on a topic.  He is afraid to fly. He does it--he has flown to Spain and to the Netherlands and to Brazil and back and forth to Florida and countless other places in the last year. But he's still a 5-year-old who flew homemade airplanes in Lego skyscrapers for many September days on end. He is still afraid to fly.

He has siblings who didn't live it. We'll gather those wee ones and we will tell. We will read stories. Here are some of the ones in our collection. Do you have some to share as well? It's not yet too late to fill our book baskets.

Little chapel

A few years ago, my mother attended a book signing by author A. B. Curtis. She bought a book for my children and mailed it to them. I have to admit I was skeptical of a children's book about the tragedy of September 11, 2001. How do you capture the horror in rhyming verse and whimsical pictures? You don't. Instead, Ms. Curtis tells the story of St. Paul's church, an historical church that stands fewer than 100 yards from where the towers stood. The chapel became a refuge and launching point for the rescuers who were on the scene. Every time I read the book tears well in my eyes at the thought of the fireman who hung their shoes on the chapel fence before they went into the towers:

Oh what gallant men did we lose

Who never came back to get their shoes!

The book is a gentle re-telling. Our children are surrounded every day by references to the horror that forever changed our world. They will ask what "9/11" means and they surely deserve to be answered. But, they should not see that footage and they should not be bombarded with remembrances more appropriate for grief-stricken, terrorized adults. Childhood is all too brief. Very soon, they will be old enough to learn the details of the day. For now, this book tells them a story of hope amidst the charred ruins. A story we all need to hear.

You can read the entire book and see the pictures here. But get the book. Really. It's worth holding in your lap.

Fireboat

Fireboat is a whimsically illustrated children's book that tells the story of John J. Harvey, a fireboat that witnessed the growth of New York city throughout the 20th century. There are lots of intersting little things to learn about culture and about fireboats. It's a gentle, happy picture book. Then, the book takes an abrupt turn and becomes stark when the author reaches September 11, 2001. She focuses onthe heroes and not on the violence, but this is still a very realistic book and the whimsy evaporates into the bright blue sky, just as it did that Septmember day. It's a good read and it's  story that somehow sticks with us long after the covers of the book are closed. I strongly suggest parents preview it--you might you want to use it with children older than the typical picture book age.  To extend the conversation, you might visit the John J. Harvey website or take a peek at the study guide for the book.

America the beautiful

It's not technically a 9/11 book, but I love to read (sing) Wendell Minor's inllustrated version of America the Beautiful. On the page where we sing, "Thine alabaster cities gleam/Undimmed by human tears" Minor has painted a picture of the fallen tower site with the towering lights gleaming upwards to commemorate the loss. It's an image that just fits that particular place in the song written so long before the event. And this book, this song, these words--they do so much to heal hearts and remind us of the blessings of this great country.

10 Habits of Happy Mothers: Say No to Competition

This is probably my favorite chapter.

If only we could eradicate competition in the mommyhood. Oh! the friendships there would be. Oh! the work that would get done. Oh! the creativity unleashed. Oh! the peace that comes of knowing we are well loved.

Instead we compare. And we compete. And in so doing we defeat ourselves and our neighbors. What a huge waste of potential. What a thwarting of God's will. 

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Dr. Meeker writes, "We want to stop competing, but we are scared to death. In out hearts we long to just simply be. We know that life is more than producing and competing and we wonder, Why can't we simply live differently? What would happen if we pulled back, slowed down, and rested for a while? Would we be okay?"

Is this an American thing? Are we just taught from a very young age to compete? There's that whole academic competition thing, even in little girls. And then, many of us heard our mothers competing with other mothers. The ways women compete with one another seem timeless: how big is your home? how beautifully decorated? how clean? how fit are you? how blonde? how thin? how well paid? how well educated? And we haven't even begun to discuss your success as measured by the achievements of your husband and children. 

Why are we "scared to death" to stop competing? What harm can possibly come of that? Someone will get ahead of us? Play that out in your head a minute. Ahead of where? Ahead how? How does the success of the mom next door at all impede our own personal progress? If she's an awesome wife and mother, does that somehow make me less of a wife and mother?

No.

I am called uniquely to this one (dashingly handsome) man. And I am called uniquely to these nine children. No one else can answer this call, never mind answering it better than I do. It's my call. Only mine. 

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Mothering is not a competitive marketplace. And you know what? Homeschooling isn't a competitive endeavor either. Neither is crafting home. Or cooking family meals. Or loving your man. "Being competitive professionally can be good, as long as healthy boundaries are maintained. But when it come to being competitive in relationships as mothers, we always lose. Always."

So why do we do it?

Because we are insecure. Because we need affirmation and validation, some of us desperately. Dr Meeker points out that we have been conditioned to size up and judge our neighbor and that some of us don't even see it coming. We measure her against ourselves because we are afraid we aren't good. (I didn't say "good enough"--my mail indicates some of us don't think we are good at all.) We compare. And then we compete. And then we complain.

It's funny (sort of); a few years ago, I wrote a column about women comparing and the unhappiness it caused. Instead of "Quit Comparing," the title I gave it, the copy editor at the paper mistitled it, "Quit Complaining." That's what happens, though. We compare and we compete and inevitably, we complain.(They fixed it at the Herald, but you can read it here, still mistitled.) Comparison and competition breed discontent. 

We have to get a grip on this. Dr. Meeker believes that saying "no" to competition is crucial to all the other habits. "Breaking the habit of of competing helps break many other important habits in areas we're examining: money issues, living more simply, loving others better, improving friendships. [Stop for a moment and think of all those issues in light of competition: she's got a point, doesn't she?] If we can't get our drive to compete under control, we will have great difficulty getting the other habits under control as well.

So, we need to really examine our insecurities. Comparing and competing are bred in insecurity. I think that's an intensely personal process best done in prayer. And then shared with our spouses and maybe a close personal friend. Look hard at them. Stare them down. Bring them into the light of day and watch them shrivel. 

Be rid of them. 

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That's all for now. I'm off to capture the glory of the morning with a new lens. Literally. At the suggestion of someone who could easily be a blog competitor, but chooses instead to be a close personal friend, I have taken Michael's lens as my own until I get a new one for myself. And I'm literally seeing my world differently. In the email where--quite out of the blue--she suggested a new lens, she opened a flood of fresh ideas and happy thoughts. 

How to abolish competition?

Encourage instead.

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{{This post is the 7th in a series discussing The 10 Habits of Happy Mothers: Reclaiming our Passion, Purpose, and Sanity.}}

The rest of our discussions of  The 10 Habits of Happy Mothers: Reclaiming our Passion, Purpose, and Sanity can be found here. The first two conversations are 

Part 1(discussing Habit 1)

Part 2 (still discussing Habit 1)

Part 3 (still more on Habit 1)

Part 4 (Habit 2: key friendships)

Part 5 (Habit 2: your thoughts on friendship_

Part 6 (Habit 3: Value and Practice Faith)

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Yarn Along: Real Quick

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Just a minute here today, the Fios man is outside trying his best to bring us into the 21st century. We have to go backward before we go forwards, so internet is a bit spotty.

I needed a portable knitting project as I marched five children through both the dentist and the orthodontist last week and I'm going to need that project in the waiting room while four of those children get braces. So, portable knitting and reading that can be taken in short chunks and interrupted frequently by receptionists:

I cast on Just Enough Ruffles with some amazing Elizabeth deHority handspun cashmere. All the details are here on my Ravelry page. I'm reading Living Artfully. This book was recommended to me several years ago and I bought it as soon as she suggested it. It didn't really click with me then the way it does now; I think my brain was full of just too many other things. This book is about looking at life through a creative lens. I'm kind of in a better place to do that now. I'm enjoying it in this season, that's for sure.

Once I'm all good with the Fios guy, I'm heading over to Ginny's for more reading and knitting yarns. See you there?

Just my Favorite Jeans.

This is a little story about my favorite jeans. Old jeans. They were my "fat" jeans after Stephen was born, nearly 13 years ago--so called because they were the first jeans I could wear after maternity clothes. After Sarah was born (my second baby in my forties), they were my "goal" jeans, as in "if I could just wear those jeans again, I'd be very so grateful." These are well beloved jeans, probably the last jeans I ever bought that don't have at least a little "stretch" woven into them. 

They survived the "great jean purge" a few years ago (how I wish I could have all those jeans back). I just couldn't bring myself to give them away. And I wore them pretty much every day for a two blissful weeks last spring. My favorite jeans, my favorite jacket, my favorite place.

 

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My happy jeans.

I got a notion to do something with these jeans, to cover up a pretty intense mud stain (not the one in the picture). How hard could it be? To applique and then to embroider and give these old jeans some new life? So I recalled an embroidery tutorial and set off a bit haphazardly. I cut a flower from a favorite Heather Bailey fabric and then cut some Heat and Bond to "glue" it to my favorite jeans. 

I might have been a little reckless.

I bought Heat and Bond Ultra. Ultra. Just as I finished ironing, I caught this line in the package directions:

DO NOT SEW.

Hmmm. That's pretty harsh. It doesn't say, "sewing not recommended." It says, "DO NOT SEW." Just like that. In all caps. I thought about it. What could happen? My jeans will spontaneously combust?

I could not peel the fabric off the jeans. They would look "unfinished" without the embroidery. That would be just a random patch of fabric. No dimension. No handwork.I had no choice but to press on. These were my favorite jeans.

So, I proceeded with the plan.

I might have rushed a bit.

I had read through the tutorials on Wild Olive several weeks prior. I confess that I didn't go back and reread them. I just forged ahead. Through concrete.That stuff was not intended for sewing. Needles broke. My fingers were killing me. The embroidery looked pretty much beginnerish. Beginnerish through concrete. I thought about re-doing it. My stepmother kindly suggested that a thimble would help. I kept on keeping on. 

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What was the alternative? These are my favorite jeans. And really, they will do very nicely for mucking about in the mud at Bull Run.

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And with the rest of the floral fabric? Why not the next Stitch-by Stitch project: a hipster belt?

Sure. Why not? Let's just rush right in. Let's make this thing. It was pretty easy. I did want to do a little variation. Instead of free-motion quilting. I wanted to hand quilt it. Just around the pink flowers. Why not? Some project needs to be my first handquilting project. 

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Because, newbie, you just stuffed super stiff interfacing between those layers. Again with the sewing through concrete?

This wasn't quite as bad. Oh, and I found the tutorial after I quilted. That is one very beautiful tutorial. I look forward to the next project.

Ladies, so far, I'm not finding hand needlework to be very relaxing.

And there was one more little problem. I didn't check the size when I cut the pattern for the belt. I just assumed.

One size fits all.

Um, no. Despite the fact that my jeans fit, the belt doesn't fit the way it's supposed to fit. These hips have cradled nine babies. Move that button over an inch or two. Now it looks ridiculous. But I can button it.

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 I learned a lot.

Katie's belt was second. We altered the pattern. She tried freemotion quilting. She loves her belt!

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Skills we Learned:

freemotion quilting

buttonholes and buttons

(and a little embroidery and a little handquilting)

Stitch-by-Stitch projects so far:

An Eye Mask and a Whole Wardrobe of Aprons

Reversible Totes

See our knitting needle cases and Kindle case here

See our Fancy Napkins here.

 

The First Day Never Goes as Planned

I've been homeschooling something like 17 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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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. 

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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.

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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.