Back on the Horse

The problem with taking such a long break from writing is that it's hard to remember that it ever came easily at all. I've been composing posts in my head for weeks now (a good sign, I think), but actually sitting down and typing out the words is a whole different story, as they say.

Lotsa stuff has been goin' on around here. Good stuff, mostly. I'm up to my earballs (as my friend Brigid says) in prospective budgets and board meeting agendas and federal paperwork mumbo jumbo. I wake up in the wee hours remembering the e mail I meant to send the previous day. I daydream about what it will feel like when all this preliminary work is done and my project is actually up and running. And I toss and turn at night wondering if I am completely bonkers and doomed to fail.

With the excitement of getting funded and potentially carving out a job for myself it's been hard to for me to figure out how to strike a balance through it all. Getting out of balance is not such a good thing for me. I get mono-focused and grouchy and irritable and tend to treat those closest to me badly. Up until last week, I hadn't been on a run in weeks. Not a good sign! But Tuesday I laced up those sneakers and forced myself out the door before the kids woke up. I had a feeling that writing would follow just a few days behind.

I'm feeling a bit better. Like I'm taking better care of myself, but I'm still pretty baffled as to how I'm going to tackle this project without abandoning my children and our unschooling life completely. Transitions are hard. I've been working toward this for over a year. I suppose the only way to figure it out is to take it one step at a time.

That's a good thing....right?

Living with a hormonal pre-teen is taking all the patience I can muster these days. I find that when I hear Janey's footsteps coming down the stairs and into the kitchen, I often feel like hiding, or pretending I'm on the phone. It can be grim.

Tonight, I got home from the grocery and she was upstairs listening to music with Charley. I didn't hear any screaming or ranting, so i breathed a sigh of relief and started dinner. Then i heard the footsteps. I braced myself, but continued making pesto (yes, it was delicious, thank you).

Janey walked into the kitchen and stared at me. Her face went from grimace to look of confusion in a split second.

Janey:"I can't remember if I was mad at you before you left for the store."

She looked perplexed. After a moment of strange silence, we burst out laughing.

Me: "That's got to be good thing, right?"

Thank god for the laughter!

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.

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.

New Post up at the Life Without School Community Blog

I have a new post up today at the other blog called Life Without School. It's a response to a reader's question about how you can unschool as a single parent. For those of you who haven't seen it, it's a magazine style blog with a variety of contributors. I'm one of them. Check it out.

http://lifewithoutschool.typepad.com/lifewithoutschool/2007/12/unschooling-as.html#comment-92082186