The Patience of the Heron

Yesterday my dog and I went to the woods and ran eleven miles on a gorgeous trail of damp fallen leaves, twisted roots, and rocks.  We ran from morning until nearly noon, and watched pale grey skies turn blue and temperatures rise until sweat began to trickle down my body in a steady stream. 

              During the run, we passed the big blue heron who lives at the lake.  She has two favorite rocks upon which she stands for hours, and we usually see her fly from one rock to the other in order to get away from us as we pass. 

It was my great pleasure to see that yesterday she stood her ground.  She eyed us with her round eye as we passed nearby; but did not take to the air.  It was a joy to run so near to her: the long neck fully extended, her blue grey feathers sleek and lovely.  Her still presence suggested a willingness to be patient and observe me before taking flight.

This afternoon, in the wake of a frustrating morning in court, I began thinking about the heron and its patient pose at the lake.

I am a woman who likes to get things done.  After a full morning at court followed by a trip to another court to take care of a few warrants, I came home to find the boys had done no homeschool in my absence.  The only accomplishment seemed to be a new level reached on the Wii game.  My husband had just gotten up and was having coffee.  The house was a mess.  The boys were still in their pajamas.  It was 2pm.

I could have started shouting orders.  That's what I've done in the past.  Shouting usually results in some minimum accomplishments by the boys and a whole lot of crying, frustration, and bad feelings all around.  The beauty of having run eleven miles the day before was that I was too tired to shout.  Instead, I observed. 

Walking through the house, I saw something I usually overlook. . . the boys were happy.  They were cringing a bit because they had been caught goofing off; but I could see they'd had a nice morning.  They had managed to take care of one another and let their father-- who had been working all night-- sleep through the morning.

Realizing the momentous effort that would be involved in getting everyone back on "schedule," I knew I wasn't up to it.  "How about we take a break today?" I asked.  Their faces beamed.  After the horrible fights I had mediated all morning in court, happiness and family peace seemed far more important than insisting on planned math and Latin lessons.

Like the heron on her rock, throughout the afternoon I simply watched . . . my children.  Spencer played outside for an hour.  John Robert did a load of laundry.  They all helped their Dad in the yard.  Later, John Robert began reading a book on the green couch.  Spencer came in and sat in a nearby chair and began reading about the Civil War.  Denver sat on the floor near them both and began to "read" some books of his own.  After a while, I made a buffet of snacks on the kitchen island and invited everyone to eat.  The boys sat on the kitchen island and ate and talked.  There were no complaints.  It was peaceful.  John Robert invited me to a game of chess, and told me all about a science show he'd been watching.  Denver invented some new rules for chess, and we played a game by his new rules.  My husband went to work out.  I read books to Denver until I was too tired to keep going.  Spencer went to karate.

Was this a "wasted" day?  I don't think so.  With the image of the heron in my mind, I realized that patience-- and a willingness to simply observe before judging-- can turn a rough day into a beautiful one.     

 

A Peek at my Big Fantasy

Lately, I've been having fantasies.  I am sweating, my heart is pounding.  I am hot, dirty, and in a hurry.  I am running a marathon trail race.  What did you think I was dreaming about?

When I was 24, I took up running as a way to lose weight.  Ten years, three marathons, and one ultra marathon later, I was sidelined by continual injuries.  Ten years have passed in which I rarely ran.  I mostly took brisk walks, went on hikes, and did yoga. 

At age 44, my body is now telling me it is ready to get back in the race.  Yesterday, I ran nine miles on hilly, rocky, root woven trails.  I LOVED it.  I am not very sore today.  Could it be that I am not too old to run?

I recently read about a man who took up running at age 70.  He was recovering from cancer at the time.  Twenty years have passed, and he is still running marathons. 

Why not me?

 

My Pencie Noo Noo

This morning before daylight I got a special treat.  I'm not talking about the migraine headache that began at 2am and persisted until well after five ibuprofen and sunrise.  No.  After being awake most of the night, I had given up on sleep, and I was shopping online for new running clothes-- did you know they make really cute running skirts now?  No matter.  Near dawn, I heard footsteps on the stairs, and I assumed it was Denver.  I left the office to check.

There on the stairs was my nine and a half year old Spencer.  "I had a really bad dream," he said.  I put down my coffee cup and led him to the living room.  After turning on the fireplace, we sat in the rocking chair with a sleeping bag around us.  He didn't want to talk about his dream.  So I just began to rock him.  We hadn't done that for . . . how long?  Months?  A year?

As we sat in the dark, cozy comfort of the living room, I began to sing to him.  I remembered a favorite song from his infancy.  I thought he was asleep.  I sang it anyway.  Afterward, he hugged me tightly.  My Pencie Noo Noo.  Almost too big for my lap; but if we wiggle and turn just right, he still fits.  Ahhh....and my headache is going away. 

Spencer plays with magnets at the Tellus Museum.

36 Hours of Adventure

On Monday, we left for a little adventure.  We drove to Red Top Mountain in the North Georgia Mountains and took a wonderful hike around Lake Allatoona.  Throw in a few candy bars and juiceboxes, and you've got a great day!  We had never been there, and the boys had a nice time running on the wide trails and seeing the remains of a fireplace from one of the first white settlers.  It was a perfect way to stretch our legs after a couple of hours in the car.  The weather was perfect!  

After several miles of trail hiking, we left for nearby Cartersville, and our free stay at the Hilton Hotel (thanks to John's accumulated travel points!).  I enjoyed doing yoga at the fitness center while the boys enjoyed swimming in the heated pool, which was half indoor and half outdoor!  We ate at Chili's restaurant-- which was a big hit for the boys.  Poor John had forgotten how different it is to travel with three boys and a wife after doing so much travel for work.  We are a traveling circus!

On Tuesday, we went to the Tellus Science Center.  The boys had been there once with Mimi and Paw Paw, but John and I had never seen it.  The boys loved it.  John enjoyed the exhibits related to flight and space best.  The boys seemed to love it all, and I am so grateful we could take them and allow them to take several hours to see everything from dinosaur fossils to rocket replicas to minerals and panning for gems.  It was a sharp contrast to the other school groups being herded from one place to the next with no opportunity to linger or ask questions.



John and the boys talked about the Wright brothers.

  

The boys dig for fossils and find some they can keep-- shark's teeth, sea urchins, etc.



Denver and Daddy work a crane.







 





After a full morning of experimenting with sound waves, admiring huge megalodon jaws, and other interesting things that we don't often see, we reluctantly left the Tellus Museum.  After a stop at Cracker Barrel-- where Denver entertained everyone in the building with a child-sized accordian that he would NOT stop playing!!!-- we mosied home to unpack and get comfy.  Spencer said he was ready to get home.  I agreed.  It was hard to believe we'd only been gone 36 hours! 

 





The Boys admire the Periodic Table of Elements
displaying examples of REAL elements.

Oops! You mean I'm not perfect?

Today was a perfect day.
The boys had a friend over.  They played all afternoon-- mostly nerf guns and mostly outside.  It was lovely to hear their shouts and laughter and not a moment of anger between them.  They even included Denver in their games, which made him ecstatic.  I made cookies and set out pizza and clementines and cherries and juiceboxes and milk and stayed out of the way until it was time to take their friend home.  A few hours later, the boys went to their Mimi's house while John and I went on a date.  It was a perfect Saturday. 

While listening to the boys as they played outside this afternoon, I spent time  reading a marvelous book entitled "Raising our Children, Raising Ourselves" by Naomi Aldort.  It is a powerful book offering concrete ways to be a more attentive, loving, effective parent.  In reading it, I realized (yet again!) that I am far from a perfect parent. 

Thanks to Ms. Aldort, I found a major change I can make in living with my children.  I wonder if it rings true for other parents out there: 

It is embarrassing to admit, but sometimes my frustration with the boys arises out of a fear that their failures mean I am failing as a parent.  For instance, if Spencer is "behind" in math (he hasn't yet memorized his multiplication tables, for instance), it feels like I have failed as a parent and teacher.  Likewise, if Denver is whizzing through a first grade curriculum as a kindergartener, it feels like my success as a parent and teacher.  But that conclusion is untrue and unfair.

A child's development and learning belongs to him, and although we parents can support and encourage, we really can't (or shouldn't) take either the credit for successes or the blame for failures.  This kind of thinking is unfair to my children and extremely unhealthy for our relationship.  My children should be free to experience their lives without my value as a parent being attached to their choices.  Other people might judge me that way, but I have the responsibility to my children not to judge myself in that way.  I love my children.  I want to support and nurture them.  They should get full credit for their successes and full support during times of struggle.

I learned something new today.  It might help me be a better mom. I am not perfect, but it has been a perfect day.

What I Mean When I Say We Didn't Do Anything Today . . .

If you called me on the phone right now, I would tell you that we've done nothing today.  I feel happily rested after having spent more than an hour sitting outside enjoying the unseasonably warm weather and enjoying my family.  Here is all we've done today: 

I cleaned the hardwood floors today, prepared three meals for our family, walked the dog for a half hour, did my ballet dvd, and read an entire book about Ancient Rome.  I helped Denver overcome his frustration by walking with him to the lake and finding a piece of bamboo, dragging it back to the house and assisting him in making both a sword and a bean shooter.  Later, Denver helped Spencer make a bean shooter, too.  I looked after Spencer, whose foot hurt from a flying sidekick competition; and John Robert, who has a sore throat. 

I went to the library and checked out books on the Middle Ages for Spencer to devour.  I helped Spencer look up some answers on the computer regarding moats.  I checked out beginning reader books by Mo Willems for Denver, and I read him three after we got home.  Spencer read another three to him later in the afternoon.  Spencer went to Mimi's for Spanish class and to work on his ballista with Paw Paw.  He then ran around outside for most of the afternoon.

John Robert rested most of the day, drank orange juice, ate donuts, applesauce, and two peanut butter sandwiches.  He played on the computer a bit, read some, but hasn't gotten out of his pajamas today.

Denver went with me to the library where we looked up books and played on some rocks.  He read books and listened to his brother and I read to him.  He played with his brothers indoors and outside.  He made things out of bamboo.  He played on the Wii.  He rode his go cart while his daddy followed him on a bicycle.  He took a walk with the family. 

John has mostly been puttering around working on the cars and plotting ways to help our septic system.  

The day has been beautiful.  It feels like I've done nothing at all.  It seems like the boys have "accomplished" nothing.  And yet, when I stop and write it all down, I realize that even the most relaxed day has learning in it.  

The Care and Feeding of a Ninja

It is not easy to raise a ninja.  They can be tricky.  One minute they're outside battling bad guys; the next minute, they want to make fresh carrot juice with your brand new juicer.  You have to stay on your toes.  Earlier this week, another mother who was ridding her home of excess plastic toys and Halloween costumes (an admirable goal), passed along a bag of ninja clothing and accoutrements-- swords and foam throwing stars.  Denver was delighted!  Armed with weapons and dressed in black, Denver joyfully tormented his brothers and the dog all afternoon.  In the midst of his behavior, I sometimes forget that Denver's love of costumes is not about being adorable.  For him, it is about imagining being grown up.  For him, costumes are a way to think about what it might be like to be a powerful adult.  When he is playing, he does not like anyone to say how "cute" he is.  



Denver prepares Carrot Orange Apple Juice.

As Denver knows-- and as I often forget-- Denver is on his way to being an adult with the power to make his own exciting choices.  I am only here as his support crew and cheerleader for another ten years or so-- and I know I'll love every minute of it.  Earlier this week he was a ninja.  Today he decided to be a chef.  Who knows what tomorrow may bring?  But for now-- Carrot Apple Orange juice, anyone?



Our Last First Visit from the Tooth Fairy

Her arrival has been anticipated for weeks in our home.  Denver commented on a wiggly tooth before Christmas, and since then we've been subject to frequent demonstrations of the tooth's increased movement.  Denver is six, and has long awaited the moment when he would have a delivery for the tooth fairy.  Last night while brushing his teeth, that day finally came. 

Ceremoniously, I handed him the little white wooden tooth box.  He placed his little tooth inside and beside his pillow.  Then he couldn't stand not looking at it; he took it out again, looked at it, lost it, found it, and placed it carefully back in its box-- Whew!

This morning I heard, "Momma!  Where are you?"  He came into the office with a dollar in one hand and a First Lost Tooth Certificate from the Tooth Fairy.  I read the certificate to him and showed him The Tooth Fairy's signature.  He let me take his picture, and then enjoyed looking at his picture for a moment. 

Never one to savor the moment too long, Denver plunked his certificate on the table and went to his armoir to find his wallet.  With his dollar tucked safely in his Batman wallet, he said, "Well, that's it then.  Can I go on the Wii?"

"Sure, Buddy," I replied.  That's the last time one of our sons will lose his first tooth. 
 

WARNING: Appearances Misleading



We went to the Atlanta History Center's Homeschool Day yesterday to learn more about Ancient Empires.  I had high hopes. We went with two other homeschool friends, a mother and son, and had a lovely afternoon.  Denver and Alex had a particularly good time together.  Nevertheless, I found myself struggling with the experience. 

The Atlanta History Center offered a variety of activities for children.  It purported to be for ages six through teens, though John Robert and I agreed it was geared primarily for lower elementary.  Despite this, John Robert was a good sport, and participated in everything.  We went from activity to tightly scheduled activity in a hurry-- building mayan temples, building an aquaduct, erecting an obelisk, Zulu warrior training, and learning about life as a gladiator in Ancient Rome. 



This all sounds marvelous-- except it wasn't really.  Students were rushed from one activity to the next with no time to think, discuss, or ask questions.  There was little history provided with each activity, and no books or other materials from which to learn more about an area of interest. "Teachers" displayed little or no knowledge of their subject matter-- How much do you have to study to pronounce "obelisk" correctly or to know what years an empire existed?  So perhaps it is for the best that students were discouraged from asking questions.  They may have been able to learn a lot from one another, though, if they had the opportunity.

One of the reasons I took my boys out of school was to immerse them in real learning.  Too often they went to school and "learned" about Native Americans by getting their pictures taken in a feathered headdress, or learned about early colonists by making a pilgrim hat.  That is not real learning.  Parents and teachers love those activities because they are cute and make good photo opportunities.  The worst part of that type of experience, though,  is that it plants the seed in the child's mind that they "know" about a topic because they made a paper hat.  Of course, nothing could be further from the truth.

I want real experiences for my children-- not thirty minute fabricated activities with little to no explanation behind them.  We can get that in school.  Most of all, I want all children treated like welcomed guests whose questions and interests are worth listening and responding to.  I want deep, focused learning; not just cute pictures. 

That is why we homeschool.
      

Running with Wild Lady and Wonder Woman

 There have been few joys in my lifetime as marvelous as an early morning run with my dog.  Twenty years ago, I trained for my first marathon with a cocker spaniel mix named Jack.  These days I run with seven year old Lady, a german shepard who has never had the slightest interest in living up to her name.  Once on the trail, she becomes Wild Lady.  One morning, she ran off the trail in front of me.  I heard a high pitched scream, then here came Lady toward me with a raccoon in her jaws.  After another wildlife encounter with a skunk, she now wears a leash, but she doesn't seem to mind.  We are a pack.  


Lady races through the cold morning with joy and wild abandon.



There is something so deeply satisfying about running through the woods.  Lady feels it, and I do, too.  Normal life disappears and it is just body, breath, pounding feet, and drumming heart.  There is the sound of the forest; and the roots, rocks, and hills that make up the running path.  Deer, heron, hawk, an owl, squirrels in abundance, armadillo, the occasional otter as we pass by a lake.  These are the neighbors we have come to know and treasure. 





Although I look nothing like her, I sometimes feel like Wonder Woman when I'm on the trail-- strong, effortless, maybe even beautiful.  Other responsibilities disappear, and my dog and I, we are just flowing along between the land and sky, beneath the trees, as long we can before turning for the car, and the children, and our secret identities as housewife and semi-mild mannered suburban house dog. 

I Feel Like a Child who Resists Taking a Bath

A wise yoga student once told me that her yoga practice is like her child's insistence that he doesn't need a bath.  He always thinks he doesn't need one; but afterward, he feels so much better.  Not only that, but one bath is not sufficient.  No matter how clean and wonderful you felt after Monday's bath (or yoga practice), by Thursday, you'll need another one for sure!

That is the way with me as well-- though not with bathing!  After 44 years of living, a lifetime of eating and exercising (I used to call it playing!), and nearly 20 years of yoga practice, I still fool myself into believing that I feel fine without eating well; I feel fine without exercising; I feel fine with just a little meditation practice, hold the asana.

I'm admitting right now that nothing could be further from the truth.

Like a lot of people, I am joyfully immersed in self-improvement projects at the start of the new year.  Why not?  It's as good a time as any.  Unlike my earlier years though, my stimulus for eating well and caring for myself is not a dislike of my body.  I have come to love this old gal.  She has taken me through so many experiences-- childbirth, marathons, years of living!  In fact, it is because I love her that I want her to feel better and have more energy.  Carrying around extra weight is a drain.  Feeling tired when you have three children, homeschooling duties, household duties, and three part-time jobs is a challenge.  As Swami Satchidananda said, It is with a healthy body and a tranquil mind that we can best serve God. 

The joy is in discovering how quickly the energy returns!  After only a few weeks of eating delicious sauteed greens-- especially swiss chard!-- from Sara Vinson's organic garden, www.yellowhenfarm.com, and exercising a little every day, I am feeling a rush of energy upon waking that I haven't felt for months!  I am loving my new juicer (as are two of my boys), and caring for my body has such marvelous side effects-- Lo and Behold, I'm not grumpy!  Wow, I have energy to do twice as much as usual.  My thinking is clearer.  My pants are a little loose.

Why do we ever veer away from this joyous path?  I know why . . . chocolate brownies!  Hee hee!  Really, there is the message in our culture that pleasure comes from that which is worst for us-- that is, staying dirty.  It turns out that we're happiest when we care for ourselves-- that is, bathe regularly.  Now if only I could convince my sons of that! 

Advertencia: A Banana Bread Education?

Denver creates his own Banana Bread Education

This morning I spent an hour talking with a caring mother who is worried about her child's education.  The child is in high school and failing many subjects despite the child's ability to do  well.  The mother wanted to talk about homeschool as an alternative.  She was also interested in Georgia's Virtual Academy, and anything else that might work to get her child to focus on schoolwork. 

Although I had no idea what to tell this wonderful, caring, worried mother, I did have an image in my mind of what school looks like when you don't want to do it.  It goes on for a minimum of 12 years, and it may look something like this:

We are a homeschooling family relatively new to living without school buses, hours of daily homework, weekend projects, months of prepping for annual testing, and the limitations of the school calendar.  Although we do have things we are learning that are quite in keeping with traditional education-- algebra, Latin, writing, robotics projects-- we also have so much freedom in how, when, and what we learn that life is altogether more lovely than it used to be.  I dare say we are learning more than ever before, but we're learning so effortlessly that it often feels like play.

For instance, Denver is six, and he will tell you that he cannot read.  Yet, two weeks ago he read the recipe to make banana bread.  He looked in the pantry and identified the ingredients needed (by reading the container labels).  With minimal assistance, he measured out the ingredients, correctly reading the fractions on the measuring cups and reading the measuring spoons.  With very little assistance (I asked him to allow me to move the bread in and out), Denver set the timer on the oven and made the most delicious banana bread I've ever eaten. 

So what was Denver's banana bread making?  Math, Home Ec, Chemistry, Reading?  Could that have been taught in school?  In fact, what was taught to Denver?  Nothing.  He was just playing and enjoying being part of our family and doing grown up kinds of things-- reading, measuring, using a mixer, and creating good things to eat.  Yet I have no doubt that Denver learned something that afternoon.  He may even have learned something from me; but I didn't set out to teach him anything.  We were just making a dessert.

Spencer helped me learn a similar lesson today.  He walked up this afternoon and said, "The Spanish word for warning looks a lot like our word for Advertisement.  That's weird." 

I tried to remember what he was talking about.  "Oh, Yes," I said, "Advertencia does look like Advertisement."  We briefly discussed why that might be.  I was proud he had been studying a bit of Spanish with his grandmother, and was obviously learning something from her teaching.  I silently congratulated her on teaching him before asking, "Where did you learn that?  Was it from Mimi?"

"Oh, No," he said as he skipped away, "I just read it on the back of one of my toys."

Who could have planned that?  Who taught it?  No one.  Was something learned?  Yes . . . by both of us.

Learning happens in so many ways.  School isn't the only way.  Life may be a better way.  A gentler lesson plan more in keeping with a child's own interests may be a better way-- if you can give a child that freedom; if the child is willing to embrace that freedom.  Certainly, more structure is needed to learn certain things-- trigonometry, for instance.  But many things can be learned much better if it arises in the course of our lives and in a way that is ours to choose. But I didn't know how to say that to the worried mother this morning.  And I can't guarantee that I'm right.