How We Flunked Book Group

An article came out in Mothering Magazine not long ago about Mother-Daughter Book Clubs. Several friends have been talking about the idea and a few have even started their own. The girls and I were asked to join one. We love books, and read a lot. We often have several read-alouds going, in addition to the books we read on our own. We were excited about it, but at the time, we weren't available to meet on Sundays. We knew that our conflict would be shifting after the holidays, so we agreed to join in January for the second book. The email came with the name of the book and the next meeting date. We checked out the book and readied ourselves to join in the fun. Only it wasn't very fun.

The first time we sat down to read the book club book, I fained enthusiasm. The book was in the fantasy-mythical creature genre (which isn't my favorite) and I struggled through the first chapter. This is good for us, I thought. Stretching out of our comfort zone, pushing the limits a bit. The girls seemed interested and when I checked in with them, they wanted to continue. By chapter two, however, it was like pulling teeth. Everyone disappeared when I announced I was ready to sit down and read. Normally, they swarmed around me on the couch like flies. By the middle of the week, we were halfway through chapter two and had only one week to finish the book before the book club meeting. This was not fun. This felt an awful lot like homework.

The next time I suggested we read together, the girls groaned. This was not good. I suggested we sit down and talk instead. It took about 20 seconds to decide that this book was not a match for us. I agreed to contact the leader, and we decided to ask if we could hold off to see if the next book was a better fit. Now that a few weeks have passed, and we are back into books of our own choosing, I wonder if we ever will decide to join. Maybe assigned reading just doesn't fit with our unschooling ways.

Another friend is in the early stages of her book club planning and it seems to be going very well for her. Out of the 5 mother-daughter pairs in the group, only one has backed out for similar reasons. When I heard this, I was secretly relieved. Maybe I wasn't so crazy afterall. Someone else didn't like to be told what to read and when to be finished either! But chatting with my friend about the details of their group made me feel a bit envious as well. It sounded sweet and creative. They were even planning activities to do as a group after their discussions. I used to love that stuff! But then I had to remind myself that my ability to play teacher has been trumped by my firm belief in the principles of unschooling. As unschoolers, we decide what to read and when to read it. We decide if and when to create activities or play games or take classes. The beauty of our life without school is that, for the most part, nothing needs to happen in an imposed timetable. We may have flunked book group, but we're still reading!

What's Mine?

I've been thinking lately about the challenge we have as parents in figuring out where to draw the line in responsibility for our children. I mean, on a basic level, we, as adults, are ultimately responsible for our children. Legally, we are responsible. But as unschoolers, many of us choose to take a very different view. I, as a human being, am not responsible for the actions of another human being. I can no more control another person's actions as hold back the tide. My children are individuals, they are autonomous, they are not me, and yet every single day, I struggle with this very reality.

So much of our society tells us that we are responsible for controlling our children. And in many circumstances, I buy into that: Don't run in the library. Look both ways before crossing the street. Keep your voice down! Don't touch that. Be careful. Whatever. But last night I heard something that really helped. "If it doesn't have my name on it, it's not my responsibility."

This is good for me. Slogans and simple phrases help me figure out in the moment what's right for me. My daughter Janey's bedroom? Not mine, she can keep it as messy as she likes. The carpet in Janey's room? Sorry, it's mine. The title to the house is in my name. If she spills nail polish on the carpet, it's a big hassle for me, that one's mine. My son Charley's tendency to go without socks in the middle of winter? Not mine. As long as I know I can put up with the whining several hours after we leave the house because his feet are cold, he's on his own. If I know I just won't be able to deal with it, I stick a pair of socks in my bag. It becomes mine when I know I won't be able to let it go. His teeth? Well, technically they're his, he should be able to choose whether or not to brush, right? Wrong. The dental bills come to me, in my name. Until he's old enough to pay for that, dental hygiene is mine, too.

I've had an issue in the past with feeling overly responsible. For other people, mostly. Are you okay? Comfortable? Happy? What do you need? It's been hard work to realize that taking care of me is a big enough job. But when it comes to parenting young children, it gets tricky. How much do I let go? How often do I intervene? When is it necessary and appropriate for me to control my children? My head spins just thinking about it. But the big lesson I'm getting these days, is that when I take care of myself first, it's good for all of us. My kids are learning first hand how to do that for themselves. I can already see Janey's tendencies to put others' needs before her own. She's the oldest, and like me, is very good at caring for others. Not a bad quality. As long as she's not sacrificing her own happiness in the meantime. Like Janey, I have to be careful not to stick my nose into places it doesn't belong.

My kids have already learned that they are very capable people. Years of making their own choices and figuring out what works for them on their own has taught them that they do know what's best for them. When I slip up though, and try to control when it's none of my business, they let me know. It's very uncomfortable all the way around. It's humbling, but important. Another opportunity for me to listen; really listen to my children. When I'm tired, or irritated, or frustrated, it's hard to listen. But I try. I try, every single day to give my children the same respect I would like to receive in return. And most days, it works. If it doesn't have my name on it, it's not my responsibility.

It Takes a Village to Heal

It has been snowing here for 5 days. It usually snows enough once or twice a winter for us to build a few snowmen and sled a bit, but it's usually gone in a few days. We got 12 inches last Sunday, and even with the rain yesterday, it's still here. Last year, the snow wasn't much fun for me.

This time last year, I was being prepped for surgery. I slipped and fell on the ice in front of my neighbor's house and broke my wrist. The x-rays revealed a rare type of bone tumor which had weakened the bone and ultimately caused the break, and one year ago today I had that tumor removed, and my left distal radius rebuilt.

I've been thinking a lot about what life was like for me one year ago. I came home from surgery in pretty bad shape. My mom had spent over a week with us before surgery, and completely took over for me. I was in pain and pretty much worthless. I had friends staying with me around the clock for 7 days post-surgery because I was unable to care for myself or for my children. Friends cooked and cleaned for me for weeks afterwards. Heidi was up all night with me one night when I was so sick, I couldn't even make it to the bathroom by myself. My friend Mary even came over one day to help me fill out the mountains of insurance paperwork I just couldn't seem to do on my own. Beth came over and scrubbed my toilets. Maud played with my kids. Khaliqa slept on my floor so I could leave at 4am for the hospital without waking the kids. Gabriella made CDs for me to calm me down and to listen to during surgery. Katie drove my kids everywhere. Jodi flew in from another state to be with me at the hospital. Lucinda spent the night and cared for me, even with a migraine. Ruby brought movies and cherry flavored lip balm. Cara brought my kids their favorite meal. Carrie looked in on me constantly, and countless others showed up in various ways. It was a humbling experience, for sure. I really, really needed help. And I got it.

The thing about it, for me, though, was that I literally had no other choice. I could not do it alone. I had to ask for help. In the past, I had often been the one to help others. I was the one cooking meals or watching my friends' kids. It was much more comfortable being the giver. There were moments, last year, when I was sick and tired of being so needy. My kids were sick of it, as well. I just wanted to be able to be a mom and an adult and take care of myself.

Eventually, of course, my arm healed and I no longer needed to be medicated, and slowly but surely, I got well. In the meantime, I felt so amazing grateful. I felt like the luckiest person in the world, to be surrounded by so many loving and generous people. When I worried that my kids would be scarred for life by my surgery, my worthlessness as a caregiver, and the strange metal contraption sticking out of my arm, my friends reminded me that I was giving them something else instead. I was teaching them what real friendship looks like. That friends show up. Friends do for us, when we can't do for ourselves. Friends cook, clean, care for our children, and sit with us throughout our most intense pain. Friends are there when we need them most. What a gift.

The Three Cocoa Birthday

My little baby boy turned seven today. I still can't believe it. We started the day by ice skating in the park. It was crisp and cold and beautiful out. We practically had the rink to ourselves. As we walked to the bus stop, we decided that we had time for a hot cocoa. We placed our order and warmed our hands inside the cafe while we waited. As the server handed us our drinks, I mentioned that it was Charley's birthday. Within seconds, Charley was whimpering behind his cup. He'd asked for no whipped cream (shocking, I know) and this one most definitely had whipped cream. His whimper turned to sobs and I was about to scoop out the offending cream with a spoon, when a kind woman who had been standing behind us knelt beside him.

"Why, we can't have such crying. It's your birthday after all," she smiled at Charley, winked at me, and took the cup from his hands. "How about a brand new hot cocoa?" Before I could protest, she had leaned over the counter and ordered a whole new drink for Charley. He was astounded. I glanced at the barista to make sure they weren't completely annoyed. He smiled knowingly and waved me off. This woman was obviously a regular. "What kind of books do you like, Charley?" Our new friend asked. "You do like books don't you?" Charley nodded his head enthusiastically. "Well, thank goodness for that. You see, Charley, I own a bookstore. I'd like to invite you to come on over to my store. Let's pick out some special birthday books for the birthday boy."

Normally, I would have intervened. I would have insisted that another drink was unnecessary. I may have even checked my watch and noticed that we didn't have time to stop by the book shop because the bus was due any minute. But something about this woman left me speechless. She was warm, kind, firm, and well, almost Mary Poppins-like. Next thing I knew, we were parading down the street, warm drinks in hand, behind Charley's new fairy godmother. We turned down an alley, halfway down the block. She stopped in front of an old antique store I'd passed many times before.

"We're not quite open yet, Charley. But I'd like to give you the early bird special. Come on in." She unlocked the door and warm air rushed toward us. The store was absolutely magical. Vintage postards and matchbooks lined the tops of glass cases filled with antique shoes and costume jewelry. Janey and Macy were thrilled with the ancient trinkets and toys that filled the shelves. The owner led us to the book shelves and began sorting through titles. She and Charley discussed which ones he should bring home, while the girls and I nosed around the store.

Crash!
"Ooppsie," Charley stammered.
I turned around recluctantly. Hot cocoa was dripping down the shelves. Our hostess hardly looked up.
"Ah, well. These things happen, you know," she explained. "No need to ruin a birthday, now is there? But someone's going to need another cocoa, aren't they?" Charley beamed. This truly was his lucky day.

As I wiped the sticky cocoa off the books, Janey was sent back to the cafe with strict instructions from the store owner to bring back yet a third hot cocoa for Prince Charley. I was amazed. Somehow this woman had a softspot for Charley, and on his birthday! How could I interfere?
By the time the mess was cleaned up and Janey returned, she and Charley had picked out a stack of books for him to take home. The woman placed the books in a bag and took Charley's cup from his hands. As she secured the plastic lid with heavy duty packing tape, she smiled, "We want to be sure this one makes it all the way home, now don't we?"

As we left the shop and said our good-byes, the woman crouched down to Charley and met him at eye level. "Read lots of books. Lots and lots of books." And so we did.

Food Glorious Food

Janey is 11 and a half. She's changing in every single way and it's hard on her, and everyone else in the house as well. She is moody and irritable and also hilarious most of the time. Lately, she and I have been going head to head on food. My kids have always done a pretty great job making their own choices about food. I don't force them to eat things they don't like. I often suggest that they try something new before deciding that it is disgusting, but they are usually adventurous eaters and know how to make a peanut butter sandwich when they don't like what's being offered.

A few weeks ago I began to notice that Janey was becoming a junk food junkie. I couldn't remember the last time she'd had a vegetable. She ate macaroni and cheese and cereal for days. She scarfed on potato chips and chocolate. I calmly let her know that I was concerned she might not be getting the nutrition she needed. Inside, I was freaking out. As the days passed, I found myself getting more and more controlling. I watched her like a hawk. I was obsessed with what she was putting in her mouth. This was not good for our relationship. We already drive each other nuts. She told me to lay off. She reminded me that her body knew what it needed, and that right then, it needed more chocolate. I left the room, and freaked out again. And then I had to stop. I was making myself crazy.

It didn't take long for me to remember, and I pretty much knew all along, that my obsession with Janey's diet had nothing to do with Janey. It had everything to do with me. I love food. I eat well....most of the time. But, I do have my moments when nothing but chocolate will do. I also suffer from a nagging fear that if I'm not careful, I will turn into a junk food junkie as well. Tonight, the kids are at their dad's. I had popcorn for dinner. I don't want to Janey to know that. I want her to believe that I prepare healthy, creative, nutritious meals for myself, even when she's not looking. But I have the sneaking suspicion that my relationship with my daughter will improve greatly if I can begin to let go of my fear that she is going to turn into me, and just love her, exactly the way she is.

Just One of Those Days

Today was one of those days when I was ready to throw in the towel. Retire. Quit. Wash my hands of this whole parenting gig. I was done. My kids had been away, on vacation with their dad for 6 days last week, and I missed them so much. When they returned last Friday, my reserves were full. I had the patience of a saint. All I wanted to do was be near them, to hear their stories and watch their goofy interactions. The honeymoon ended today, however and I had long, detailed fantasies about what it would be like to go far, far away.......alone, for a very long time.

Maybe it was the whining, or the complaining. It could have been the bickering and the arguing. Perhaps it was the way I came up against resistance and negativity from all three of my kids repeatedly throughout the day. Who knows? Whatever it was has now passed. All three of my cherubs are sleeping soundly and the only sound I hear is the tapping of my fingers on the keys. Ahhhhhh. Peace at last.

One of the things that happens for me when I am having a rotten parenting day, is that I panic. I worry that I will never, ever be able to muster up love or compassion for these rotten kids, ever again. I quickly lose track of the fact that most days aren't like this at all. Most days I actually like my children. But, no. My mind races ahead years, decades, even, to what it will be like in my now grown children's therapy sessions, as they process the tortuous years they endured being raised by such a crazed, heartless mother.

I had a brief moment of clarity today as I listened to the complaining and whining drone on and on. Everyone just wants to be loved, right? In that moment, my children were whining and complaining because they felt unlovable. They were experiencing discomfort on many levels, and struggling with a very basic desire we all have to be loved and accepted. Most days, I am able to love them right on through those bumps in the road. Most days, I can strap on my patience and unconditional love like a suit if armor and walk right through the battlefield. Today, I could not. I am learning that I can't be a great parent all the time. Some days, I just don't have it in me.

I'm noticing a theme in our house these days. Several times a day, I find myself reminding the kids that it's okay to make mistakes. It's actually more than okay, it's necessary and important. I try to come up with fun, silly responses to lighten the mood for Charley a bit, when he holds himself to an expectation of perfection when he's writing his letters or trying to remember how to spell a familiar word. When Janey melts into a puddle of tears because she messed up her knitting, I gently remind her that mistakes are the way we know we're learning something. We joke about how human beings aren't even "allowed" to be perfect. All the perfect ones get sent to Mars because Earth is only meant for imperfect beings. I spend so much time and energy every single day helping my children understand that in this life it's about progress, not perfection. I guess it's time for me to listen to my own advice.

I'm Back

After a long, relaxing holiday break, I'm back. It's amazing how quickly I fall out of old habits. I was getting really good at getting on here and writing regularly and it all fell away when holiday hoopla set in. It was fun, slow, a bit lazy and self indulgent, and now it's time to whip myself back into shape. Early to bed, early to rise. Daily time carved out for writing. Dressed and out of jammies by 10:30am......okay, noon. Anyway, it's a brand new year.

My kids are away for a week. They are traveling with their dad and so far I've received five phone calls. They've hardly been gone 24 hours. The first one came at 4:15 this morning.....A.M. Seriously. Charley was so excited he could hardly get the words out.
"Hi Mama!"
"Hi Charley. Where are you?" I fumbled for my watch. No, it couldn't be......4 am! How could his dad have let him call me this early? Oh, wait. His dad probably thought it would be hilarious for him to call me.
"Mama, we're leaving for the airport soon. Call me in about 20 minutes or something and I'll probably be there."
"Wow, Charley. It's still the middle of the night. You must be excited."
"Yeah, I am. Where are you, Mama?"
"I'm still in bed, Charley. It's 4am."
"Oh, okay. I'll call you later, okay? Bye Mama."
"Bye Charley."
Please let me fall back asleep. next thing I knew it was 8:15am and the phone was ringing again. This time it was Janey. A few more updates came throughout the day. I miss them. The latest message was from Charley. He told me that they arrived in Florida, "It's all the way on the other side of the country, Mama," and that he was having a really, really good time. Wait till they actually get on that cruise ship. Can't wait for the next call.