STRONG

1 : having or marked by great physical power
2 : having moral or intellectual power

My daughter B turns 11 today.  Almost exactly eleven years ago, I held her in my arms for the first time and that afternoon got to hear her 20 month-old sister A say, "Baby come.  Baby come."  This baby we had been telling her about for months had indeed come and our family has never been the same.

Holding a frog at Cheekwood

B has been strong from the start.  On her first birthday, she cut her foot and got stitches.  She had recently started walking and shortly after the stitches, she took a step, winced, and kept walking.

Tough girl - in a cardboard choker she made

We've made more trips to the ER for B than all of the rest of our family combined.  Her arm has been out of socket twice, she's had a near miss with a concussion and then there were the second degree burns from the time she touched the lawnmower while it was hot.  None of it has daunted her - or even slowed her down much.

With her caterpillar, Artie

Releasing Artie (now a Monarch butterfly)

This is a difficult season for B.  As J and I have talked, daydreamed and pondered moving for the last year or two, B has been adamant about not wanting to sell this house.  In her grandest plans, she wants to live here while she goes to college and then buy the house from us.  So she has very mixed emotions about our impending move.  She loves her small bedroom here, filled as it is with natural light from her wall of windows.  But she loves the backyard at the new house, where she and K have mapped out spots for hammocks and a fort.  And she loves her room there, with its big windows and nooks and crannies.

B in a swing of her own making, summer 2007

B is strong physically.  She's the one who helps me move bookcases or furniture when I want something done and J is at work.  But she's not just strong physically.  She's strong because she feels so deeply.  A and K are sad that we are moving, too.  So are J and I, truth be told.  But B is the one who has walked from room to room with her iPod, recording and documenting this home the way it is right now, so that she will never forget where she spent a decade of her life.

There are times (especially in our homeschooling) when I think I am not strong enough to be B's mother.  I admire her strength and struggle to not be intimidated by it.  But there must be a reason God gave her to me to mother.  From the very beginning, I have prayed for the wisdom to train B without breaking her spirit.  Because her beautiful, strong spirit is something that I believe will guide her through this life.  It is what makes her who she is - stubborn, creative, willful, empathetic, lovely.

A few years ago on a work retreat, we did an activity where we dreamed together about our organization's future and our personal futures.  As a part of that, I remember saying that I want to be like my daughter B when I grow up.  I still do.  I want to know who I am and find strength in that.  I want to feel and own my emotions the way she does.  I want to fight for who I am and what I want.  I learn from her every single day.  It is a gift to be her mother.

Reading together (years ago)

P.S. I let B read this post before publishing it.  Upon reading that I sometimes feel like I am not strong enough to be her mother she laughed and said, "Well, you're still alive.  That's proof enough!"  I should mention that she's funny, too.

LONELY

1 a : being without company : lone

Yesterday, I drove A and B to Kentucky for camp.  This is A's third and B's second year at Barefoot.  I first heard about Barefoot at the church we used to attend.  Each year, they would play a video that showed this fabulous camp with kids of all shapes, sizes and skin colors doing art, sports and learning about God.  It made me cry every time.  I remember thinking, "I can't wait until my daughters are old enough to go there!" 

I blinked and they were suddenly old enough.

Last year, B went with a friend.  But that friend is a grade below B, so she was slated to attend a different session this year.  I tried to find another friend to join her.  I checked with two other families that I thought might enjoy the Barefoot experience, but I couldn't find anyone.  So I signed her up hoping that there would end up being a familiar face or that she would quickly make a friend.

When we arrived yesterday, K and I walked her sisters to their cabins.  We dropped A's stuff off first and then headed over to B's cabin to help B put the sheets on her bed.  B's cabin was mostly full when we arrived - or it seemed so because all of the bunks near the door already had occupants.  The counselor was there and remembered K from Barefoot Day Camp, where she coached K in soccer.  B was very quiet as we made her bed up.  I could almost see her folding in on herself, like a box that folds up when not in use.  When we stepped outside, B looked... I have trouble finding the word for it.  Was she stunned that she really was there without a friend?  Wide-eyed at doing this alone?  Or was my nearly fearless child afraid?

"It's going to be OK," I reassured her quietly.

"But I'm the only white one," she whispered.

"I know," I replied.  "Maybe some other girls will arrive that look more like you.  But E, the girl in the bunk below you, has a very kind face.  Maybe you should try talking to her.

B nodded, unconvinced.  K and I started to leave and B said, "Can I come with you?"

"No," I said.  "We're going to leave now.  I think you should go back into your cabin.  Try to find someone to talk to."

I am not a parent who lets her children get out of their commitments.  But I came oh-so-close to telling B, "Call me if it doesn't get better.  I'll come and get you."  I did not say it aloud, but my heart said it.

On the drive back to Nashville, I was pondering the whole situation.  Should I have sent B a different week?  Was there another friend I could have asked after the first two couldn't go?  I felt like as my heart was breaking, God whispered to me that sometimes the hardest things in my life have been the things I learned the most from.  While this is absolutely true, it was less than comforting to hear this in relation to my child.  As much as I want my children to grow into who God has made them to be, I would love for that to involve less pain, less hurt, less wounding than my own path has held.  Yet mere hours before dropping B off, I wrote her a note that I hid in her suitcase.  It said, in part, "Be who you are this week.  But be open to God showing you more of who you are."  Was he going to show her through loneliness?

It's not unlikely.  The day before taking my girls to camp, I had lunch with the women who were in my spiritual direction group last year.  When we stopped meeting officially in May, we agreed to try to meet monthly for a meal to stay connected.  Over lunch, we were talking about friendships that shifted and changed.  One of the women was talking about a party where some people purposely avoided talking to her.  I told her that my counselor once told me that the more emotionally healthy you are, the more likely you are to be lonely.

"Why is that?" she asked.

When she asked this, I realized that I'd never asked why.  I think I didn't ask why because as soon as I heard it, it rang true in my heart even if I didn't know exactly why.  So I did the best I could and told my friend that what I've experienced is that the more closely I listen to what God is telling me, the more I veer from the prescribed, common path.  This makes me lonely because there are people who don't want to journey with me when I am not going where they want to go.  This loneliness I feel makes me lean in closer to God and listen more closely, which creates this cycle of being closer and closer to God, but perhaps without company on parts of my journey.

B is more self-aware than most ten year old girls.  She knows who she is and who she isn't.  I suspect that some of this emotional health she has does make her lonely at times.  I don't know the right way to parent her through this.  Thus far, I've tried to affirm who she is, give her tips on building friendships when she asks and, above all, love her.  This last one is easy because I think she's an amazing girl - one of God's best creations (alongside her sisters, of course).

And while she may be lonely at times on her journey, I am praying for God to send her people who see how lovely, strong and amazing she is.

TEACHER

1: one who guides the studies of another; especially, one whose occupation is to instruct

Between my three girls, our family has been served by thirteen teachers over the last nine years.  Mrs. K is the only one to teach all three of them.  My girls have had good teachers, great teachers, high energy teachers, mellow teachers, nurturing teachers, tough teachers, teachers who liked them as people and teachers who ended the year not knowing my daughter any better than the day they met them.  Mrs. K is the best of the best.  She's the kind of teacher who gets to know every child in her classroom and who then finds something likable, something teachable, something unique and valuable about each and every child.

About five years ago, we were in the process of leaving Hull-Jackson, a public Montessori school that had served as the launchpad for educating our daughters.  Looking back, I know what a gift this style of learning was for A and B.  A learned to read easily and early and a traditional kindergarten would not have been an ideal introduction to schooling for her.  But Montessori worked great - she read at her level, did work at her level and never noticed that she was any different from her peers.  I guess I should more accurately say that Montessori worked great until A reached first grade and then self-selected reading over every other possible activity.  She never wanted to work on math or science or anything other than reading.  That strong preference for one style of learning and one subject, combined with a principal who was nothing short of a tyrant, sent us looking for another school.

In the search for that school, we met Mrs. K.  She was (and is) a second grade teacher at Lockeland.  J met her first and came home enthusiastic about this teacher who seemed kind, knowledgeable and more than willing to help our family make the move to a more traditional style of learning.  Going in, we had no idea whether A would actually end up in her class.  But she made us see that a move to Lockeland was feasible for our family.  To our great relief - and the answer to many prayers - A ended up in Mrs. K's class.  It was a great year for her and the transition was easier than I could ever have imagined.

When B was assigned to Mrs. K's class the following year, I wondered how that would go.  A is an easy child to have in your classroom - compliant, well-behaved, a fairly quick learner.  B is another story - let her get bored at your peril.  As we prepared for parent-teacher conferences the fall that B was in 2nd grade, I said to Mrs. K with a smile, "I'm sure we'll have more to talk about this year."  I will never forget her reply, "Oh! B is great.  Sure, she's different from A, but I love having her my class."  I knew right then that it would be OK.  And it was.

Relief is the only emotion I felt when K was assigned to Mrs. K this year.  K has wanted to have Mrs. K as her teacher nearly her entire life.  The first morning of kindergarten, K got dressed and said, "Do you think Mrs. K will like my outfit?"  I didn't have the heart to tell her she was going to have to wait two years to actually be in Mrs. K's class.

In the years since our family has known Mrs. K, she's given birth to two girls of her own.  They are blessed to have her.  They have a mom who, I feel sure, will use all that makes her great in the classroom to help them succeed in learning who they are and growing into the best girls and women they can be.  In many ways, that's what Mrs. K has done for A, B and K.  She's seen them as individuals, taken the time to get to know their strengths and weaknesses and guided them through second grade - a year that serves as a bridge to a more independent stage of childhood.

While she's been busy teaching these girls of mine, I've been learning from her, too.  Learning to see the challenging aspects of my daughters as part of the whole package.  Learning to teach my girls where they are instead of comparing them to some guideline set by a stranger.  Learning to take the teachable moments and enjoy the just-be-present moments.

I am always ready for summer to arrive and that is no less true this year.  But combined with my desire for summer is a thankfulness for the year K had with Mrs. K - a great teacher.

WONKENSTEIN

: a funny little creature that seems to be a cross between two characters from the books Frankenstein and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory

While A and K were at ballet Thursday, B and I headed to Starbucks.  With three daughters who are active in things like ballet, basketball and art and the full time job of homeschooling two of them, it's difficult to get time alone with any one daughter.  Thursdays offer one such small window.  From 4:30 to 6:00, both A and K are at ballet.  I can't make it happen every week, but I like to squeeze in something a little special with B on these days.  She's a fan of antique shops and art studios, so sometimes we stop by a neighborhood shop to browse.  Today had been a busy day filled with cleaning (one of my least favorite things to do), school and appointments, so I thought it would be nice to allow myself a break from the house and all that needed doing.  Hence the trip to Starbucks - each with a book in our hands.

I ordered a decaf latte.  B opted for hot chocolate and a cake pop.  We sat companionably at our table, sipping and reading.  B can be a prickly child.  As the middle daughter, she sees the advantages of being the oldest or the youngest - and she's acutely aware that she occupies neither position.  Yet she is also the daughter who is the most like me in looks and temperament.  In some ways, she has a difficult time making friends her own age - she can be too blunt, too single minded, too unwilling to play the games most girls play.  But there's a reason it was pleasant to take her to a coffee shop this afternoon - B is going to make a great adult.

B and I chatted a bit as we sipped our drinks and read our books, but we mostly sat there together quietly.  That is, until B finished her book, looked up and said, "I'm ready to go now."  (I told you she can be blunt.)  I asked her to clear our table while I read to the end of a chapter. 

On our ride home, she told me about her book.  It was called Wonkenstein, and was about a boy whose parents constantly gave him books to read.  Instead of reading them, the boy threw them into his closet.  Turns out, his closet was doing something with all of those books: taking characters and merging them together into new characters.  Wonkenstein is a coupling of Willy Wonka and Frankenstein.  Eventually there's a Potterwookie as well (Harry Potter + Chewbacca).

For most of the ride home, we constructed our own imaginary creatures.  I said I might merge Katniss from The Hunger Games with Anne of Green Gables.  Katniss could have used a good splash of Anne's willingness to be a good friend to temper her strength and cunning.  We then wondered what it might be like if Peter Pan combined with Jack from Breadcrumbs - we thought Jack might have held on to hope a bit longer with some of Peter in him.

I love these kinds of conversations with my daughters.  Not just because we're talking about books, but because we're dreaming together.  That's more magical than Wonkenstein himself.

PERSPECTIVE

2 a : the interrelation in which a subject or its parts are mentally viewed; also : point of view

It's so nice to have an in-house art teacher.  I was trying to draw cowboy boots today and couldn't figure out how to draw the feet.  The body was full frontal, so should the boots be to the side?  To the same or different sides?  I called B over and she quickly showed me how to do it.  When I asked whether to point the toes of the other foot in the same direction, she said, "If you want to look Egyptian!"  She then posed for me, demonstrating how awkward it is to stand with your body forward and your feet going the same way.  I got her point.  It's really all about perspective, isn't it?

A friend was recently talking about a mutual acquaintance.  She was sharing how this person's family is so authentic, so genuine, so real.  She talked about how they show their faith through their lives and how they've been such a blessing to her during her time in Nashville.  My perspective is entirely different.  The mom and dad in this family have both been judgmental, artificial and critical of my family.  From my perspective, they aren't any of the things my friend said.  So who's right?  I think we both are.

I have many mutual friends who find this family completely delightful and servant-hearted.  But I am not going to deny my own experiences and invalidate them.  This family makes me feel judged and hurt.  I don't admire them, respect them or even like them.  Is that wrong?  Or is it just the result of trying to hold in tension my own truth and the truth of others' experiences?

Someone might meet me and later describe me as a great listener, as someone who didn't say the right thing, but just listened and made them feel really heard.  Another friend of yours might tell you I'm standoffish, that I don't go out of my way to speak to them and sometimes even intentionally don't come over to chat when I could.  Who's right?  Both would be.  Depending on the day, my mood, how I feel and how well I know you, I might not initiate conversation.  This doesn't mean I don't like you.  It doesn't even mean I don't want to talk to you.  The vast majority of the time, my perspective is that if you want to talk to me, you'll start talking to me.  I start from the baseline assumption that people have better things to do than talk to me.

I have a deep desire to give people, including my children, the opportunity to have a different perspective than my own.  I think we each bring a unique viewpoint to every person, situation and circumstance we encounter.  Given this, clearly we all have different perspectives.  And I think these different views and ways of approaching life reflect God beautifully.  I think he's far more diverse than any one individual, so the myriad perspectives we bring collectively reflect him far better than any one of us does.  The challenge is how to honor our own perspective and the perspectives of others.  This is easier for me with some people than others.  I think overall I'm a very accepting person,but there have been a handful of people that I've encountered in my life who have taken a nearly instant dislike to me.  Without exception, I've always been hurt by this.  For some bizarre reason, I expect people to, if not like me, then not react with such strong dislike.  I'll be honest and say that my hurt in these instances has kept me from even attempting to see, much less value, their perspectives.  I'm not saying this is right or good of me.  It's just the truth of who I am.

I'll keep working on developing a willingness to let others see the world their way.  And in the meantime, I'll direct any technical perspective questions to my astute 10 year old.

MUSIC

1 a : the science or art of ordering tones or sounds in succession, in combination, and in temporal relationships to produce a composition having unity and continuity

I'm not a music person.  I'm especially not a classical music person.  I've always seen music as primarily a vehicle for delivering lyrics.  There are some artists whose voices I particularly like, but far more often I like a song based on whether I like what it says and how it says it.  There's a reason this blog is called Word Girl.  I'm really all about the words.  Or maybe I should say it used to be all about the words because my daughter B is ushering in a whole new world for me.  A world where I don't just tolerate music, I actually enjoy it.

B started taking piano lessons in December of last year.  She immediately took to it.  Her first lesson was right before Christmas, so she went three weeks between her first and second lesson.  In that span of time, she learned the entire book her teacher had given her.  That was a harbinger of things to come.  For years, we've tried to help B find something she loves.  She's good at sports - she just doesn't care about playing them, especially on teams.  But piano?  She plays all the time.  We never have to remind her to practice - although I might have to remind her to play what the teacher actually requested.  I've never timed it, but my best guess is that she plays for at least an hour daily.  She'll walk over, play a song through a few times and wander away.  She does this all day long.  So much so that I hardly notice it anymore.

As a part of our homeschool, I thought it would be fun for B to get to learn about a few composers.  She chose Bach and asked piano her teacher if she could learn a Bach song to go along with it.  She's been learning Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring.  So strong is B's musical influence in our home that J is whistling this song as I write this blog post.  Jesu is the song that always makes J cry at weddings.  (In his defense, it's hard to not cry at weddings when you have three daughters.  That whole giving them away thing? Yikes.  I'm not sure I'll ever be ready to just give them away.  What horrid language.)  He's joked with B that her learning this song is a blessing because by the end of her mastery of it, he'll be immune to the song's beauty and emotional content.  I'm not so sure.

B's been having trouble sleeping of late.  I blame this partly on Dr. Who, partly on hormones and partly on B's strong will - if she believes something she can will it into being.  So if she thinks she can't sleep, she definitely can't sleep.  In college, J listened to Eric Clapton's Timepieces and he jokes that he never heard the third song because of his Pavlovian response to the music.  A few bars and he was out cold.  I thought I'd see if I could work the same magic for B.

I downloaded a copy of Jesu and a few George Winston songs and burned a CD.  After a few nights, I decided five tracks weren't enough.  So I did some research, listened to countless songs on Freegal and made another, longer CD (12 tracks, nearly an hour long).  I didn't really think much about it at the time.  J was out of town, so I didn't really have anything better to do.  It was only when he commented on how odd it was for me to be researching and selecting classical music that I realized he was right.  It's pretty out of character for me.

This realization delighted me, in part because it made me realize how B has changed music for me.  I enjoyed making her CD and have even listened to the playlist a few times since creating it.  That may not sound like much to you, but for me, it's proof that I'm learning from this daughter of mine:  learning to appreciate an art form that doesn't immediately resonate with me, learning to love something because my child loves it.

Tomorrow I leave for a weekend silent retreat.  I have a three hour drive each way.  I normally drive a good portion of the ride with no music at all - letting the silence begin to seep into me before the retreat officially begins.  But I think this time, I might bring along a bit of musical accompaniment in the form of a copy of B's CD.  And I have a niggling suspicion I'll miss the bits of piano music I have grown accustomed to hearing throughout the day.

BRACES

4 e plural : an orthodontic appliance usually of metallic wire that is used especially to exert pressure to straighten misaligned teeth

My ten year old daughter B got braces almost two weeks ago.  J and I both had braces when we were young, so it wasn't a shock to find out we had a daughter who needed to see an orthodontist.  J went on to have jaw surgery after years and year of braces, so we're hoping early intervention can spare B surgery down the road.  In addition to braces on her top teeth, she has a palate expander.  Along with the expander came a key for me to use to tighten it each night.  I was NOT thrilled about this.  I'd heard horror stories about friends sobbing as their parents turned their device nightly.  With great trepidation, I learned how to insert and turn the key, wondering whether I could bear to hurt her every night.  This has turned out to not be a big problem, since B either has a high tolerance for pain or orthodontia has improved a bit over the last two decades (I'm guessing a bit of both).

The best part about B getting braces?  She's thrilled - thinks they're the coolest thing ever, has wanted to show friends and family in person rather than tell them ahead of time.  I attribute this stellar attitude, in part, to her age.  I had braces from 6th grade to 8th grade - roughly ages 12 to 14.  Is there a more awkward age than this, even without metal in your mouth?  I think not.  But ten year olds are young enough to not really care what others think, to still want to stand out from the crowd a bit.  And ten year old peers mostly haven't sharpened their claws to attack those who dare to be different.

B especially enjoyed one day last week when she had on a turquoise shirt that matched her rubber bands nearly exactly.  Several people remarked on how well she matched and it just delighted her.

B can be difficult.  She's strong in ways I'm not.  She's bold.  She's confident.  She knows herself.  She's going to make a great adult, but can be a challenging kid to parent or befriend.  Today I'm thankful for all these traits of hers that sometimes make me wonder why on earth God thought I was capable of parenting her.  I'm thankful her strength makes her grin excitedly to show off her braces, instead of hiding her mouth behind her hand, a smirk or anything else.  Today, I'm able to be thankful she's exactly who she is, braces and all.

Pre-braces.  Isn't she lovely?

COMPROMISE

1 b : something intermediate between or blending qualities of two different things

My parents like to tell the story of the first time I used the word compromise.  I was young - 4 or 5 - and I was debating something with my father.  The details have been lost - I wanted something and he wanted something else.  Perhaps I wanted ice cream for dinner and he wanted an actual meal.  The part that is remembered is this: after a bit of discussion, I said, "How about we compromise?"  My father laughed at me, thinking I didn't know the meaning of the word I was using.  "Compromise?" he said, "What's that?"  "You know," I replied, "We don't do it your way and we don't do it my way."  Not a bad definition, is it?

You can see some things about me in this story: 1) I loved words at an early age, 2) using the right word in a given situation was important to me even way back when and 3) I've always been quick to compromise if it meant avoiding conflict.

I recently had an epiphany regarding homeschooling my daughter B.  It's been an up and down process thus far, so I was praying last night that God would grant us a good day today.  I felt one good day would go a long way towards me believing this could be done - that we could actually get through a year of homeschooling together.

My prayer was answered.  B was motivated from the moment she woke up.  She took her Psalms study to bed with her so that she could do it before she even got out of bed in the morning.  Before I left home at 7:45 to take K to school, B had already completed her vocabulary warm up, had a math lesson and was at work on her math problems.  By 10:15 when it was time to leave for the orthodontist, only two items remained on B's daily plan: science and Latin.  That's when it hit me.  The source of her motivation?  It was the fact that we were going to the orthodontist and then piano lessons.

This opened my eyes to a pattern I've seen, but not recognized, in our homeschooling: B's best days have been our busiest days.  A trip to Cheekwood?  Her work was done and she was ready to go.  The lake for her birthday?  Friends over to do schoolwork alongside my girls?  Appointments?  Errands?  These are the circumstances in which she thrives.  Maybe you're thinking, "Great!  Now you know how to give her a successful year.  Just make sure there's something to do or somewhere to go everyday."  The challenge?  These same days that B loves are the hardest days for me.  They are good days, but exhausting for this introvert mom.  It tires me to drive across town for one appointment, then back to our neighborhood for a piano lesson, during which I rush home, eat a sandwich and return to get B.  The truth is that my favorite homeschooling days are the days when we don't have to go anywhere between dropping K off at school and picking her up.  Those are the days when I can work out, do laundry and read my Bible - all in the same day.  (Not one of those things has happened today, just in case you were wondering.)

Clearly, a compromise is needed.  I can't go on trying to teach a child who is decidedly unmotivated to do her schoolwork.  But I also can't give her a jam-packed schedule every single day without it coming at too great a cost to me (not to mention what it would cost her sister A, who is wired a bit more like me).

So what should I do?  Should I set aside one day each week when we'll do a field trip to an art museum, a public garden, even an antique shop?  Is one day weekly going to be enough to motivate her?  Do I relax our television and electronic standards and make them a goal she can attain by completing quality work in a timely fashion?

I clearly need to find a compromise.  I not only need to, I want to.  I don't want to force B to conform to the way things work best for me, but I don't think I can - or should - conform to what she wants.  How do I blend the qualities we each need in our days, weeks and months to arrive at two satisfied people who have learned from each other?

Suggestions welcome.  In the meantime, I'm going to work on having compassion for both of us as we work through this.

COMPLICATED

1: consisting of parts intricately combined
2: difficult to analyze, understand, or explain

B is now 10.  Last Saturday, we celebrated by going to Holiday World with her sister A and two friends.  It was a great way to celebrate reaching double digits and entering her second decade of life.  If any of my children are symbolized by an amusement park, with its twists and turns, loops and swirls, screams and gasps, it is B.  When she was two, I could only take her to a playground if I didn't really watch her while we were there.  (I would look up from my book long enough to determine that she was still nearby and then go back to reading.)  She would lean way out, reaching for a bar that seemed just beyond her, only to grasp it and haul herself to where she wanted to go.  She rarely looked like she would make it unscathed.  Yet she made it nearly every time.  Around this age, I used to joke that if fear came in pill format, I would have given it to her because she had none of her own.  She still does amazing things on the playground - finding uses for the equipment that I'm sure the designers never imagined - but I'm able to watch her antics now without leaping from my seat and spotting her every move.

That fear (sadly? or thankfully?) has developed all on its own over time. At Holiday World, B rode the first roller coaster with great anticipation.  It was a big, scary, twisty roller coaster.  I rode it and could feel my neck whipping around.  (In fact, my neck was sore for two days after our trip!)  B decided after this coaster that she didn't like the part of the ride where you are climbing slowly up.  She didn't like the way that pushed her back into her seat. So when we got to the next coaster, B decided not to ride it.  We talked it through - she was certain of her decision.  She and I stood in line with her friends and sister so that they didn't have to wait alone.   While we were waiting, a couple behind us in line started talking to us.  They were intoxicated - I could smell the alcohol on them - and they were therefore loud, in our space and saying things I would hope they wouldn't say if they weren't uninhibited by drink.  When they found out B wasn't planning to ride the coaster, they started trying to talk her into it.  B wasn't swayed.  She knew her reasons.  I helped her explain that she had thought about it and just didn't want to ride.  I was proud of her determination and her refusal to be bullied into doing something she didn't want to do.  Maybe it was fear that helped her decide not to ride the roller coaster, but it was strength that helped her hold firm in that decision.

B is, and always has been, complicated.  She's the only one of our children whose timing was a surprise to us.  With both A and K, we were hoping to get pregnant.  With B, we were surprised.  And she's been surprising us ever since.  I've said before that I think it fitting that her conception was spontaneous and unplanned because that's exactly how she is - B refuses to fit into the molds people want to put around her.  This gets her into trouble sometimes.  Those who expect people to be straightforward and easy to understand are inevitably frustrated by B.  Is she straightforward?  Shockingly so, sometimes.  She will tell you exactly what she is thinking and feeling.  Is she easy to understand?  Far from it.  I've studied her closely for years and she still amazes me with the way she sees things other people miss.

Yet underneath her spontaneity, creativity and free spirit is a person who loves stability.  I think having a father who is a launchpad has served B particularly well.  She wants to know the boundaries, the framework, the rules.  Not so that she can stay within the boundaries, framework and rules, but so that she knows what she has to work with.  I think this has been part of why the transition to homeschooling has been difficult for her.  I am still hopeful that she will ultimately love the freedom that homeschooling offers.  I hope she'll hit upon a subject she loves and jump in feet first.  I've already seen hints of this with her first composer study.  She chose Bach so that she can not only learn about him, but learn to play Jesu, Joy of Man's Desiring.  I have no doubt that she'll fuss and fight with me about the completion of her composer study.  I also have no doubt she'll learn to play the song beautifully and that the song will be her favorite part of the entire project.

There are times when I think B is the daughter most like me, but I wonder whether it's just that I want to be like her.  I see her unbridled creativity and her joy in it and I want to be that free.  I listen to her pour out her heart - with tears of sadness and anger, with raised voice and passion - and I want to know how to release my feelings instead of bottling them up.  I watch her learn a song note by note, working on it every day and I want to love something that much.

Being B's mom is a difficult job.  A daughter this intricately created requires serious work to shepherd.  But I have no doubt that it will all be worth it.  Because she is one amazing child.

Happy Birthday, B!

FOURTH

: the grade B completed today

Singing at Graduation (complete with hand motions)

Today my middle daughter B graduated from elementary school at the ripe old age of nine.  Before her graduation, I thought I wouldn't cry as much as I had last year when A left fourth grade.  Turns out that was a bit optimistic on my part.  In my defense, it's difficult to watch sixty fourth graders sing songs like Butterfly Fly Away and not cry, but the thing that made me not just emotional, but sad, was realizing how much of B's last year I missed out on.

As a part of the program, there was a slide show with pictures of various field trips from this year.  They visited the Nashville Zoo, the quiz bowl and had an overnight trip to Chattanooga to visit the Children's Museum and Aquarium.  I missed out on all of these, largely because I was busy homeschooling A.

This is the difficult thing about having three daughters - I feel like I'm always missing out on something.  It's not that homeschooling was the wrong decision or that I'm a bad mom for not going on field trips.  It's just that I want all of my daughters to feel equally loved.  I want to be able to go on field trips, even when my schedule makes it impossible.  I want to be able to sit and read Paddington Bear to B's class or Ruby's Wish to K's class.  I want there to be more of me.

I'm probably hit a bit harder by this because I am so very tired right now - perhaps more tired than I can ever remember being as we head into summer.  The adjustment to homeschooling and the push to finish our year well combined with a trip over Memorial Day weekend and school going these extra few days longer than normal has left me exhausted.  I'd like to be doing something fun with my girls to celebrate today, but instead I'm sitting in the air conditioned house to escape the high heat and humidity while A reads The Odyssey, B plays on her new Nintendo DSI and K plays a variation of softball that involves a window scraper and a blue inflated ball. 

In a few minutes, I'll gather my strength and we'll head out to B's 4th grade end of year party.  We'll hang out with friends she's made over the last four years, look for spots of shade to stand in, eat a bit of pizza and try to soak up a few more minutes as a part of the 4th grade community. 

B and Mrs. McC, her awesome 4th grade teacher

PIANO

: a musical instrument having steel wire strings that sound when struck by felt-covered hammers operated from a keyboard

Since our girls were little, J and I have hoped to help them find an activity they love by middle school.  That proved to be remarkably easy with A.  At age three, she started asking to take dance. I finally relented and signed her up for afterschool ballet in first grade and that was that.  She's been dancing ever since.

B, on the other hand has played soccer, taken ballet, played basketball, done an art club, taken jazz funk dance, played soccer again.  She liked most of it, but didn't love any of it (except the art club).  Then, over the summer she told me she wanted to learn how to sing.  She started choir in the fall and never once complained about going on Sundays to sing.  In December, I asked her if she wanted to take piano.  She jumped at the chance and learned the entire piano book between her first and second lessons.  She practices all the time, always without being asked.

I would never have chosen for my daughter to dance.  I have two left feet.  I know nothing about dance.  The atmosphere of most studios stresses me out with the slightly snobby air.  But for all that I don't know much about dance, music is the one thing I understand even less.  I don't even like to listen to music very much.  Music is basically a vehicle for lyrics for me.  I don't know how to read music.  To be brutally honest, I can't even hear the beat in music most of the time.

So I didn't know how I would hold up to have a daughter banging away on the piano.  Could I stand the noise?  Much to my surprise, it's been just fine.  It doesn't hurt anything that B plays almost every song melodically from her first try.  And, honestly, it's just grace that I can enjoy her gift of music and see it as a gift.

My mom came up to visit recently and she loved seeing B play the piano that was my grandmother's.  B comes by her musical gifts honestly.  My grandmother played the piano, sang in and led her church choir for years.  J's grandmother has perfect pitch and it was pure delight one Christmas to have her visit and play any Christmas carol I named without hesitation. It does make me happy to see B carry on the gifts, but even more I am happy to see B for who she is.  I'm not happy because she's inherited this gift, but that the gift is hers.

Just like A shows a crystal clear version of who she is when she dances, B's piano playing is part of her.  She plays when she's happy, when she's sad, when she's mad, when she's bored.  And as much as she loves that piano, I love her more.  I love seeing who she is and imagining who she'll be.

REUSE

: to use again especially in a different way or after reclaiming or reprocessing

After K's soccer game today, B and I went to art and craft heaven.  We pulled into the parking lot of a warehouse, walked inside and were encouraged to take anything and everything we wanted.  At no cost.  This ZeroLandfill event had carpet samples, unwanted binders, tiles, wallpaper and fabric.  It was wonderful.  B and I took turns filling our bags and finally grabbed an empty box to fill with carpet tiles for covering our basement floor in a quilt of carpeted colors.


J found out about this event a few weeks ago and sent me info on it via e-mail.  He thought it would be a great source for collage materials - and he was right.  I'm especially excited to use a set of sheer fabrics that I found.  I can already imagine using them to hide and reveal certain portions of the image underneath.  B was the perfect child to take with me to this event because she is creative to the core.  While looking through upholstery fabrics, I found a book of tassels and fringe.  She was (as expected) excited and said right away, "I can just picture these as part of a carousel."  We brought home every stitch of tassel we came across and I found myself wishing I had told friends who sew about this event.  It was a quilter's dream: tiny pre-cut squares of every shade, color and texture imaginable.  (Let me know if you live in Nashville and want information on this event.  It continues next Saturday.)


As we sorted through our treasure trove of wallpapers, sheers and fringe this afternoon, I thought about how much I enjoy repurposing items.  I think one reason I've been drawn to collage as a medium is the way it allows you to take one thing and turn it into something entirely new and different.  At its best, it turns something useless into something useful, something unwanted into something desirable, something discarded into something beautiful.

I remember walking through an art gallery with an aunt one time and talking with her about Marcel Duchamp and why his art was important.  If you're not familiar with his work, he was an expert at pushing boundaries and was the first artist to take found materials and dub them art.  He called them ready-mades and while I wouldn't want his infamous Fountain hanging in my living room - or anywhere in my house for that matter - he paved the way for artists today who paint on old window frames, salvage tin for sculptures or turn bicycle chains into jewelry.  Much of my favorite contemporary art involves reclamation items that have been transformed into something new.


I partly like art that takes old things and turns them into something else because it is, to me, the essence of creativity.  To take something mundane and see the beauty in it is not only art, it's an act of faith.  Because seeing the beauty in the everyday makes us see the fingerprints of our creator all around.  It makes us take notice of the deep purple in a bowl of black beans drying in the colander or the glimmering white cloud juxtaposed with a sky of muted gray ones.  Choosing to go through life looking for things to reuse is, at least for me, a spiritual practice.  And it's one way we can all choose to be artists.


I think I'm drawn to this practice because I love it as a metaphor for my life.  I like the idea of God reclaiming me to be used in a different way.  Taking the pieces of my life or myself that could have easily been consigned to the landfill and making them not only tolerable, but put to good use.  I like the idea that just like the discarded materials B and I collected today, I can be made into something different, something beautiful.  I don't think God's going to make a carousel out of me, but I look forward to seeing him take my tattered and torn self and turn it into something useful, beautiful and maybe even fun.

B's carousel (with tasseled entryway)

CONNECT

4 : to have or establish a rapport

Last weekend, we took B and K to one of B's favorite stores.  She loves this place.  It's an eclectic mix of really cool things - jewelry, clothing, soaps, candles, purses, even puzzles.  While there, B found a puzzle of Alice in Wonderland.  It was a perfect puzzle for her: 500 pieces, challenging imagery and a cool box that looks like a book to hold all of the pieces.  We bought it for her and she and I worked on it over the span of two or three days until it was completed.

When we first started the puzzle, I was ready to quit.  This is a hard puzzle.  All of those cards that border it look remarkably similar unless you spend lots of time looking very closely.  I spent a few minutes on it that first day and wondered whether we'd bitten off more than we could chew.  Then I walked away.  But B didn't walk away.  She worked on the quote first, then Alice's body.  Meanwhile, she tackled the border in chunks, which made it more manageable.

After B had made some progress and it was clear she wasn't ready to give up on this puzzle, I joined her again.  I picked one area to work on and was encouraged to see some progress.  That kept me going.  B and I work puzzles well together.  While we were working this time, I told her that on my last silent retreat, I did a puzzle and it was the only time I felt a little lonely.  I felt lonely because I rarely do a puzzle alone - I always do it with B.  She smiled and asked whether I would do a puzzle on my retreat this weekend.

Puzzles are a natural fit for B.  She's highly visual, great a spatial concepts and mathematically minded.  While two of these three descriptors might fit me, I am legally handicapped in the area of spatial concepts.  It literally hurts my brain to try to figure out how to mentally flip and rotate figures.  Yet I like puzzles.  And I found with this puzzle that it was a joy to lose myself in it.  To look very closely at the box and see that the Queen of Hearts has quite a few differences from the Queen of Spades.  Who knew?  Did I have to move the pieces around to get them to fit?  Absolutely.  Sometimes it was absolutely comical to watch myself find the piece that I knew belonged in a spot and work to turn it the right way.  But instead of shaming myself for this, I smiled inwardly and thought, "I should probably do puzzles more often. Maybe I'd actually get better at this."

We finished the puzzle yesterday before school.  While we were on the last few pieces, B said, "The sad part will be taking this puzzle apart when we're finished. Let's leave it for Daddy to see when he gets home from work."  It's still sitting on the dining room table, but I've told B that we can take it apart and do it together one more time, then seal it and hang it on her wall.  (I also bought the Wizard of Oz puzzle by the same company for us to do before tackling Alice again.)

I'm leaving for a silent retreat momentarily.  As B headed out the door with J this morning for school, I told her I'll think about her as I work on a puzzle.  She gave me a hug, smiled and headed out without so much as a backward glance.  (This was in sharp contrast to K, who is nearly devastated any time I leave and had to make sure I knew it.)

Later this morning, I thought about how much I enjoy puzzle time with Bekah.  While we connect the pieces of the puzzle, we connect with each other.  And this daughter of mine loves connecting.  She can be prickly.  She wants connection on her own terms.  But that makes me all the more happy to seize the moments when they appear.  Perhaps I should start searching now for the perfect puzzles to complete during those teenage years when she hardly wants to inhabit the same room as me.  Nah.  I think I'll just savor the moment and look forward to the next puzzle that helps us connect.

COLLEGE

2. c : an independent institution of higher learning offering a course of general studies leading to a bachelor's degree; also : a university division offering this

Last night, I was laying on B's pillow pet on her bed, snuggled under a blanket as we talked.  She loves these evening chats.  I suspect that's partly the result of being the middle child - always acutely aware of having to share her parents, but desiring real relationship with each of us.  We were talking about school, how her day had gone and the book she was reading when, for no apparent reason, B said: "I don't want to go to college."  A conversation ensued:

Me: "Oh, honey.  That's years away."
B: "But I don't want to go.  My friends will make fun of me for having stuffed animals.  And... (her eyes fill with tears) You won't be there."
Me: "Boo, that's not for years.  You're only nine."
B (a tear trickles down her cheek): "But I don't want to go.  I'll miss you."
Me (seeing that the line of reasoning that this was nearly a decade away was getting me nowhere): "Well, you can go to college and live at home."
B (shocked, the tears stop as she tries to figure this out): "I can? How?"
Me: "You could go to Belmont during the day and take your classes and then come home and sleep here."
B (visibly relieved): "Oh.  Well, that's what I'm going to do."
Me: "OK, honey.  Let's say your prayer."

I don't for one second believe this fiercely independent child of mine will choose to live at home while she goes to college.  I don't think she'll be torn about her decision to leave home when the time arrives.  And I don't think she'll be taking her stuffed animals with her.

What I do know is this:  parenting tween and teenage daughters is difficult.  Most days, I feel like I've suddenly been put in the deep end when all I know how to do is dog paddle - or tread water.  I fear that I mess it up as often as I get it right.  So I want to remember last night.  I want to remember laying cuddled on my daughters bed (a bed that is so filled with stuffed animals and blankets that I have called it her nest) and hearing her say that she doesn't want to leave our home to go away to college.  I want to remember, in the days when I am once again alone with the man I love, that my daughter loved being here.  That she loved me.  That her eyes filled with tears at the thought of going away.

She'll still go.  She should go.  That is, after all, what we're raising them to do.  To go.  And be who they were made to me.  To be gloriously, uniquely themselves.  And I have no doubt I will love the B she turns in to.  This daughter (each of my daughters, in fact) is so full of surprises that when she asks J and I what job we think she might have as an adult, I find it hard to choose one from the dozens of possibilities that pop into my mind.  There are so many things she could one day be.

But I'd like to remember her like she is today.  Today she is a girl who has given up fighting with her sisters for Lent.  She is a girl who teaches her mom how to draw trees and creates elaborate etch-a-sketch creations.  She is a girl who hates to take showers, but loads the dishwasher without complaint.  She is a girl who loves stuffed animals - and loves me.

CONNECTION

1. a: causal or logical relation or sequence

Last week as I was dusting the bookcase in my bedroom, I saw a book sitting on the shelf and thought, "That's a book I've always loved.  Why haven't I shared it with the girls?" Determined to correct that, I sat down with B and K a few nights ago and read them part of Where the Sidewalk Ends.  This book is old (more than thirty years old, in fact), worn and well-loved.  On our first reading, we only got through a few poems before we needed to pack up and leave to meet someone.  So last night, while the girls finished eating their dinner, I read to them.

If you're unfamiliar with this book, it's a collection of children's poetry with rhythmic words, funny punch lines and fabulous illustrations.  I've always loved to read, but this is the book that made me love poetry for the first time.  I received it the summer I was seven and I've held onto it ever since - through college, moves and more.  It's interesting to read this book to B (age 9) and K (age 6) together.  B gets every punch line, sometimes even before it arrives, but I sometimes have to explain a joke to K, who isn't as adept at reading between the lines.  Even given B's love for words and her sharp mind, I was blindsided, stunned and touched by her insight after one particular poem.

Here's the poem:

Hector the Collector 
by Shel Silverstein

Hector the Collector
Collected bits of string,
Collected dolls with broken heads
And rusty bells that would not ring.
Pieces out of picture puzzles,
Bent-up nails and ice-cream sticks,
Twists of wires, worn-out tires,
Paper bags and broken bricks.
Old chipped vases, half shoelaces,
Gatlin' guns that wouldn't shoot,
Leaky boats that wouldn't float
And stopped-up horns that wouldn't toot.
Butter knives that had no handles,
Copper keys that fit no locks,
Rings that were too small for fingers,
Dried-up leaves and patched-up socks.
Worn-out belts that had no buckles,
'Lectric trains that had no tracks,
Airplane models, broken bottles,
Three-legged chairs and cups with cracks.
Hector the Collector
Loved these things with all his soul‹
Loved them more than shining diamonds,
Loved them more than glistenin' gold.
Hector called to all the people,
"Come and share my treasure trunk!"
And all the silly sightless people
Came and looked...and called it junk.

And here are the illustrations:

I paused after reading the poem and said to K, "How is he feeling?"  Before K could answer, B said, "But that's right.  Now he's like his stuff.  Broken."

I was stunned.  I've read this poem dozens of times and never, ever thought of it that way.  My shock must have shown on my face because she said, "What?  I'm just making a connection like they teach us to at school."  Well, that's definitely a connection.  She's right about that.

I puzzled over what to title this post.  My first idea was "daunting" because I'll confess it's a bit daunting to think about homeschooling this child next year.  Can I keep up with her?  Can I challenge her?  Can I teach her all that she's capable of learning?  I also considered "inspiring" as a title because I trying to keep B challenged will no doubt inspire me to make my own connections.

But as daunting and inspiring as this is to me, it's also exciting.  Because when a child is making these kinds of connections for herself - when she's thinking so quickly and so deeply all on her own - how much fun will it be to teach her?  All I'll really have to do is put great books, engaging opportunities and lots of questions in front of her.  She and her amazing mind will do the rest.  And the best part?  We'll be so much more connected after investigating, learning, talking and living life together.  I feel certain that a year together will leave us with connections we can't even imagine right now.

TRUFFLE

3. a candy made of soft chocolate, shaped into a ball and dusted with cocoa

A few nights ago, I had a truffle for dessert after dinner.  As the girls protested that I was having dessert and they weren't, J told them that when they were moms, they could have a truffle.  "In fact," he said, "if any of you want to do mom's job for a whole day, I'll buy you a box of truffles."  I don't think he actually thought any of the girls would take him up on this offer, but midday Monday, B told me not to make my own lunch.  "I'm making lunch for everyone, so that I can be Mom today."  As a part of her mom duties, B decided to blog, here is her brief post:

Guest Post by my daughter B, age 9:

Hi! I'm being a mom today because I'll get a box of truffles. By the way, Mom wouldn't let me name this post Truffle Mom because it's two words and Mom only uses one word for her blog post titles.

As a mom, so far I have (1) made lunches, (2) went grocery shopping, (3) chopped celery, (4) folded laundry and (5) written this blog post.  Mom was telling a neighbor how much easier her day has been with me helping like this.  By the way, my mom is typing this because I am a slow typer.  My mom wanted to write "typist," but I made her change it to "typer" because I don't care whether it's a word or not!

She ran out of steam with blogging because of her typing skills, but it was amazing to me how much I was able to get done with a shadow mom helping me out.  I not only made a smoked turkey corn chowder for dinner, but prepped tonight's dinner.  This turned out to be a special gift to myself since today was our first day back at school in nearly three weeks.  The fact that dinner required only that it be popped in the oven, not prepared, was glorious.  We would otherwise surely be eating frozen pizza.


It was interesting to see the jobs B found easy and the ones she found difficult.  On our trip to the grocery store, I gave her a list and a bag and told her to get the items on her list and then meet back up with me.  She had trouble finding them and eventually asked someone from the store for help.  As she came back with her items, she told me she was destined to be a bad mom because she couldn't find the food.  This really made me laugh since grocery shopping is one of the easier (if not most pleasant) tasks I perform as a mom.


As J and I lay in bed last night, I gave him details on B's performance.  Once she decided that she was going to do this for the day, she didn't complain.  She collected laundry, folded laundry, loaded the dishwasher and more.  Watching B be helpful actually seemed to dissuade A & K from attempting to earn their own box of truffles.  When J asked if the other girls wanted to give it a try, K replied, "No way!  Mom works all day and never plays."  Luckily for her, B was kind enough to share a truffle with A & K... something her own mom will only do on occasion.


I hope I can learn from B's example and do my various motherly duties without complaining.  Maybe I'll even get a box of truffles for my efforts.