INHERITANCE

1 b : the reception of genetic qualities by transmission from parent to offspring

Last week, I was with a group of women when our talk turned to how messy it is to allow our children to feel and own their emotions.  Earlier that day, I had taken B and K to the downtown library right after picking K up from school.  (Mistake #1, as it turned out.)  On our way there, I asked K whether she had finished all of the Boxcar children books.  She hadn't, so I told her I would need her to go with me to the return desk.  (Mistake #2)  While that was fine at the time, upon arriving at the library, K was more than a little dismayed when B got to have the parking ticket validated while we sorted through the returns. (Mistake #3 and, boy, was this a biggie.)  One small thing set off a ten minute sobbing fit from K.

She cried while we returned the books.  She cried while I picked up our books on hold.  She cried while we walked upstairs to the children's section.  She cried while sitting on the tiny green sofa in the children's section.  The girl was feeling a lot of emotion about not getting that ticket validated.

Throughout all of this, I tried to do 2 things: not shame her and not shame myself.  Not shaming her meant not saying unkind things to her, not pointing out that she was making a scene and trying to encourage her to get her emotions under control while not threatening her.  Not shaming myself meant not beating myself up over an ill-timed trip (see mistake #1 above), not losing my temper and setting firm, enforceable consequences.  K left the library without a single library book that afternoon.  She also left without crying.  It took far longer than I would have liked, but she did settle down and read her Boxcar children book.

That night, a friend was sharing how her children get upset over the small things in life (no eggs for breakfast on Monday, scrambled eggs instead of sunny side up on Tuesday) and how it's easy as the parent to be offended by this behavior.  But if we put ourselves in their places for a while, we see how little control they have over their lives and we can then imagine how it might upset us to not get to choose what we have for breakfast.  As a group, we talked about how to let our children express their emotions while trying to minimize the sensory onslaught that their emotions bring.  I don't, by any means, have the answer for how to do this.  I do know this: I am ok with my children feeling - and expressing - anger to me.  That's part of their job as children, isn't it?  To get upset with their parents.  To separate their views of the world from mine.  To articulate when I am doing something that they disagree with.

Here's the thing: I don't want my children's emotional inheritance to be one where they lock up what they feel and don't learn healthy expressions for the whole range of their emotions.  Because I am learning - slowly and as an adult - that you can't really feel joy without letting yourself feel anger.  You can't experience gladness without letting the guilt in.  You must feel all of it to feel any of it.  This isn't easy for me, but it's an area where parenting has pushed me beyond my inadequacies.  It's an area where I am teaching myself when I say to them, "Don't yell.  Tell me what you feel and tell me what you need."

What inheritance do I hope to leave my children?

A love of books

A love of art

The ability to name their thoughts, feelings and desires

An acceptance of people who are not like them

A willingness to listen

A belief in the value of community

The knowledge of how to throw a great party

The ability to cook a tomato tart for a friend

Faith that when they get it all wrong, it will still be OK

I can't know what they'll get and what they'll miss.  I can only keep trying to be a parent who hands down these things as an inheritance.

POEM

: a composition in verse

The poem is not my favorite literary form.  That would be the novel.  Yet during our trip to the library yesterday, I checked out three books of poetry.  Two by Mary Oliver and another that I found on the shelf and just thought looked interesting.  I first heard of Mary Oliver at a silent retreat.  At each retreat, we start our time together with a few readings before we enter into silence.  Once Oliver's poem Praying was one of our readings:

It doesn't have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention, then patch


a few words together and don't try
to make them elaborate, this isn't
a contest but the doorway


into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak.

Praying happens to be in Thirst, one of the volumes I found at the library yesterday.  The other volume is Blue Iris, which the one I've chosen to read first.  It's been a lovely journey so far, filled with meditations on nature and lines like "the long work/ of turning their lives/ into celebration/ is not easy" from the poem Sunflowers.  It has made me think and simultaneously calmed my restless, wearied, overburdened mind.

Why did this novel reader choose some books of poetry for company right now?  In part, it was because another recent (non-fiction) read had excerpts of several poems that I thoroughly enjoyed - by Mary Oliver and several other poets.  But it was also because I haven't been able to concentrate enough to read a novel.  I am now 100 pages into one, but while it is thoroughly readable, I am not jumping headlong into it.  Part of me wonders whether this is my spirit reining me in and discouraging me from numbing myself too much with words (as I am prone to do).   So when an idea struck me to spend some time in a book of poetry, I thought the idea might be divinely inspired.

Poetry has lessons I need to learn. 

Lessons about
slowing down,
savoring each word,
visualizing time, place, flowers, trees,
seeing the extraordinary in the ordinary,
and grasping everyday life as the gift it is.

If magazines are fast food, cotton candy reading and novels are healthy entrees, poetry is rich, decadent dessert.  Meant to be taken in small portions and savored.

I don't know whether my time in Mary Oliver's words is meant to teach or comfort me, I just know I am sinking into it and letting her words wash over me.

Black Oaks

Okay, not one can write a symphony, or a dictionary,
   or even a letter to an old friend, full of remembrance
   and comfort.

Not one can manage a single sound, though the blue jays
   carp and whistle all day in the branches, without
   the push of the wind.

But to tell the truth after a while I'm pale with longing
   for their thick bodies ruckled with lichen

and you can't keep me from the woods, from the tonnage
   of their shoulders, and their shining green hair.

Today is a day like any other: twenty-four hours, a
   little sunshine, a little rain.

Listen, says ambition, nervously shifting her weight from
   one boot to another - why don't you get going?

For there I am, in the mossy shadows, under the trees.

And to tell the truth, I don't want to let go of the wrists
   of idleness, I don't want to sell my life for money,
   I don't even want to come in out of the rain.

From Blue Iris: Poems and Essays by Mary Oliver

ASSESSMENT

:the action or an instance of assessing: determining the importance, size, or value of

My daughter B hates the word assessment.  I know this because she told me so not long ago: "Assessment just means test.  I hate that.  They should say test."  So I thought it would be funny to block off part of my girls' schedule for today for assessment purposes.  Instead of testing them, I wanted us to talk about the importance and value of what we're learning.  I wanted us to assess together why we learn - broadly - and why we study the specific subjects that comprise our weekly plan.

While B was upset (read: threw a 10 year old's version of a temper tantrum) when she saw an assessment slot on her daily plan, her mood did improve as we drove out to Long Hunter State Park to walk while we assessed.  This park is lovely.  It's far enough removed from the city that we've seen deer and wild turkeys on past walks, yet it doesn't take us all day to get there and back.  The weather was perfect for our outing - not too cold with loads of sunshine (something we have been sorely lacking in Nashville of late).

On the drive, I offered up the first question, "Why do we learn?"  Both girls jumped right in - and not in the direction I would have expected.  B's immediate response had to do with the fact that learning by individuals is responsible for the advancement of society.  She talked about a person studying science and finding a medicine.  Or someone studying mechanics and inventing a machine.  I found it interesting - and not at all surprising - that this creative child of mine sees learning as a platform for boosting one's creativity.

A took a slightly different approach.  Her response was that we learn now in order to help us later in life.  I asked what that might specifically look like for her.  For example, how might she be at a disadvantage in the future if she stopped learning today?  That prompted a great discussion of how our minds can atrophy just like our muscles if we don't use them regularly.

Before moving on to our next question, I offered my own reason: We learn in order to become more of who God made us to be.  I think he means for us to use our time here learning so that we can help others (like B said) and find vocation and passion for ourselves (as A mentioned).

We then moved on to "What's good about learning?  What do you like about it?"  Both responded that learning is fun (with B seeing the added bonus that sometimes learning lets you show off a bit - that might require a follow-up conversation...) and I heartily agreed.  I told them that I've always loved learning and that I like it still.  We talked about how homeschooling lets me not only teach them, but continue to learn.  I told them that everyone has some gaps in their learning and that I love the chance to fill in some of my own gaps as an adult.

The final question was "What's bad about learning?"  A talked about how sometimes learning was time-consuming and could take her away from something she'd rather be doing.  This was to be a theme throughout the day as we worked through these three questions subject by subject.  I don't remember B's response to this question, in part because our conversation took a completely unplanned turn when I said that I think one bad thing about learning can be that once you learn something, you can't un-know it.  And that might be preferable with some things - like the Holocaust.  This prompted a full discussion of what caused the Holocaust and how people let it happen.  It was fun (if I can use that word when referring to the Holocaust) to have A jump in as I explained how WWI set up WWII.  That eldest daughter of mine knows and understands history.


Once we arrived at the state park, we walked through these same three questions about every subject we study.  I won't bore you with their individual answers, but my main take away is that they are very clear on why we are learning what we're learning.  There wasn't a single subject (even the dreaded grammar) that they thought is useless.  Instead, they were quick to offer reasons for studying everything from history to Latin to the Bible.  That doesn't mean they like everything.  I heard more than once that a subject could be boring and that it could take time away from other things they enjoy more.  But I was encouraged to hear them talk about learning, to see their minds click into the why behind the lessons, to just walk alongside them in the sun and discuss something very near and dear to my heart.

My daughters are in a stage (a stage that I fear is here to stay) where they fight/bicker/argue a lot.  I used our assessment day to talk about this, too.  I asked why God puts us in families and then what are the good things and what are the bad things.  They see our family as a place of support and fellowship ("So you won't be lonely," B said) and they were quick to expound on the good things.  I offered my own opinion that one reason for siblings is to learn conflict resolution.  They have sisters so that they can learn to live with someone who thinks and feels differently than they do.  I admitted to them that their fighting tires me.  We talked about trying to not respond in kind when a sister uses a sharp tone of voice.  I have no illusions that their behavior will change overnight.  Maybe it won't change at all.  But I think the advantage of conversations like the ones we had today is that it helps you keep perspective.

I thought before today that our school year is going well.  I know after today that my student-daughters would agree with me.  I thought before today that siblings just fight - it's part of what they do.  I know now that my daughters see the value in having sisters, even if the benefits get hazy in the fog of their own selfishness.

B may not like the word assessment, but by mid-day, she was declaring this one of the best days of her life.  We didn't get a history lesson in.  Grammar sat waiting on the shelf.  No Latin was spoken.  But it was a great day of learning.  And a great day.

DESIRE

: to long or hope for : exhibit or feel desire (conscious impulse toward something that promises enjoyment or satisfaction in its attainment)

Sometimes God just wants to talk to me about something.  I shudder to think how many of these conversations I may have missed over the years, but I am listening now.  Two weeks ago, my reading for the day was Psalm 20, verse 4.  It's not long: "May he grant you your heart’s desire and fulfill all your plans!"  It might seem simple enough to you.  It did to me, too, at first.  My first impulse was to pray this verse for someone else, but as I started to do that, I heard a quiet whisper, "This is about you, not someone else."

I paused.  OK.  The desires of my heart.  I'll pray for those.  Long pause.  What might those be?  It almost felt like I was speaking another language.  My brain could not comprehend this string of words.  Or maybe it was that my heart couldn't comprehend.  I didn't journal much that day.  I just sat with the fact that I didn't know the desires of my heart.

After a few days, I asked J whether he knew the desires of his heart.  Without hesitation, he named two or three things.  As he named each one, I nodded along and my heart stirred in recognition.  Yes, I'd seen those desires in him.  By the end of our conversation, he'd named roughly a half-dozen desires.  I was tempted to ask J what he thinks the desires of my heart are.  But that quiet voice reminded me that letting others define me was probably part of what got me here - here being a woman with nearly four decades lived and a heart seemingly empty of desire.  Asking someone else the desires of my heart was not the way to go.  I'd have to figure this out on my own.

I tried using collage to help me figure out the desires of my heart.  Two things pretty quickly bubbled to the surface during that exercise.  I want to write and I want to create.  What I create doesn't always matter - collage is a current favorite, but I think the main thing is for me to use my hands to make something.  Whether that thing is tomato tart, a card for a friend or a journal cover, the point is the creating.  It satisfies me.  The writing?  I don't just mean this blog.  My heart desires the writing of a book.  And a little exploration of my heart let me see that I've bundled this desire up because it competes with another desire: my desire to homeschool - or do some form of work that is fulfilling. 

I am not, and never have been, motivated well by money (much to the chagrin and bewilderment of a former boss).  What does motivate me is sharing what I know, learning new and interesting things and seeing that my efforts directly benefit people.  Homeschooling satisfies not only those desires, but a desire to know and understand my children well.  I think my job as a parent is not to define who my children are, but to discover who they are and defend that to the world at large.

As I worked on my (still incomplete, unglued) collage, I got an image of the desires of my heart.  They were in the back of the closet, wrapped in heavy canvas, crisscrossed with leather straps.  With some prompting, I tried pulling those desires to the center of the closet, where I could see the package a bit more clearly.  There are layers of desires here, that much is clear.  How many - and how long they've been buried - I can't yet say.  But I finally see that they are there.

Having seen that I have desires, I've begun to see that God has been fulfilling my desires even when I didn't know it.  As I ran this morning, I realized this is one such desire.  I am not a particularly talented or gifted runner - far from it.  But it's the one form of exercise that feeds my body and soul.  Running clears my mind, it promotes positive self-talk instead of negative and it makes me aware of my body.  In the time after my leg surgery in 2010, I missed running.  Not at first, of course.  I could barely walk from one room to another.  But the longing was there.  I would see people running and my heart would ache.  I know now that this ache was desire.

For part of this journey I've been on, I wondered whether I even had desires, so discovering that they exist - and I've buried them in canvas and straps - brought forth new questions.  Why did I start hiding my desires in the closet in the first place?  Are those first hidden desires still there?  Why am I afraid of desiring?  Do I think the disappointment will be too much for me?  Do I fear conflict with J if our desires don't match?  Am I afraid that knowing my desires and acknowledging them to myself will make me more attractive, more radiant?  I'm still unpacking and attempting to answer some of these questions, so I don't have answers for you other than to say that I think the very fact that I am asking these particular questions indicates that many of the answers will be affirmative.

I finished a book today that was a perfect January companion.  It was thought provoking, encouraging and challenging.  It was the kind of book that makes you think about where you've been, where you are, where you're going.  A chapter that I read today talked about desire lines.  These are the paths you see that cut across the grass in a park.  Not the nice, neat, orderly paved paths.  These are the ones that show where people actually go.  If I could look at my life up to this point, where would my desire lines point me?  What have I been ambling toward, circling or walking through for years without seeing?  Where have I been going?

Since this post has contained so many questions, let's end with a few.  What are your desires?  Do you know them well?  Do you take them out of their containers every once and a while to polish them and then put them back on the shelf?  Or do you carry them around in your pocket, on a piece of well-worn, oft-folded paper to remind you of who you are and what you want most? 

Finally, my biggest question for both you and I: does knowing and pursuing the desires of our heart make us selfish? Or does it make us more fully who God made us to be?

JANUARY

: the first month of the Gregorian calendar; from Janus: a Roman god that is identified with doors, gates, and all beginnings and that is depicted with two opposite faces

January is for recalibrating.  It is for returning to regular life after the excitement, sugar, reflection, and gift-giving of Advent.  It is for asking why we do what we do.  And whether we should keep doing it.

January is for beginning anew.  For starting anatomy instead of continuing with a dry astronomy text.  For choosing one running route and sticking to it until I can run the entire thing without walking.  For reading intentionally - whether it be a non-fiction book or a classic.

January is for listening.  To God.  To my body.  To my heart.

January is for continuing to listen when one of the three voices above seem silent.  There are things to be learned in the silence.  Silence does not mean there is nothing to be heard.

January is for looking back.  What things am I glad to leave in 2011?  What memories will I treasure?  Where did I go wrong?  Where am I headed in the right direction?

January is for looking forward.  What do I hope to continue in 2012?  Where are we going academically?  How is what we're learning impacting our daily lives?  Isn't that why we learn?

January is for planning.  How much vacation time does J have?  How do we want to spend it?  Spring break is when?  Am I willing to miss Holy Week for a trip to Philadelphia?  Should the Philly trip wait until May?  Can I go on two silent retreats or should I limit myself to one?  Is two selfish?

January is for starting slow.  I need to remember that when my mind gets carried away with planning questions.  This month has brought three four-day weeks in a row.  I'm trying to see that as blessing, not curse.  We've started our school year slow.  My plans for each day have been achieved easily and without nagging from me or groaning from the girls.  Does that mean I'm asking too little or that we've hit our groove?

January is for remembering.  Remembering that last January is when I finally felt like I had a tiny idea of how to best homeschool.  (I'm a slow learner.)  This month is for remembering that what I do best as a homeschooler - and parent, perhaps - is listening to my children and following their lead.  They have within them kernels of who they will be as adults.  I want to weed, water and tend them so that they can bloom. 

January is for remembering.  For remembering the magi who followed a star, the God who took on flesh, the extraordinary who became ordinary.

January is for being open to new possibilities.

May this month bring you all this and more.

UNEXPECTED

: not expected : unforeseen

Raindrops giving way to snowflakes.

Ballet canceled.

Hot chocolate for after school snack.

Three girls + one mom = four books, four blankets.

Two episodes of Ruby Gloom on a weekday.

I love snow days even when the snow doesn't really amount to much.  At bedtime last night, I thought there was no way school would be canceled today.  I went to bed thankful for the snow afternoon described above, resigned to making the cold trip to take K to school this morning.  When J finished his shower, I climbed out of bed, pulled on yoga pants and a sweatshirt and plodded downstairs.  I looked out the window to confirm: no snow.  Then I saw an e-mail that mentioned school was canceled today.  Really?

I found the home phone (helpfully left on the charger well out of earshot from our bedroom).  Yep.  A call had come through.  Checked the MNPS website?  Confirmed.  No school.

Instead of lamenting the fact that I was out of bed, when I could still be snuggled up with my current book, I told the girls they could have cereal for breakfast (normally a weekend treat).  I made myself a cup of hot chocolate and sat down to read a friend's blog.  Her post, conveniently enough, was about Valentine's crafts.  So now I know what we'll be doing today (between books, recorded episodes of The Next Iron Chef, and a math lesson to keep us on track).  We'll snuggle in, pull out the craft paper, the new stamp pad I bought last week, the scissors and the glue and play together for a while.

I love the unexpected gift of a snow day - even when I don't get snow to go along with it.

Here's hoping your day brings unexpected gifts and that you receive them with open hands and willing hearts.

EPIPHANY

3 a (1) : a usually sudden manifestation or perception of the essential nature or meaning of something (2) : an intuitive grasp of reality through something (as an event) usually simple and striking (3) : an illuminating discovery, realization, or disclosure

I had a small epiphany today - apt, during this season of Epiphany.  My realization didn't hit me with a bolt of lightning.  It was more like a seed that planted itself in my mind, burrowed in, was watered and fed over the course of a drive home and bloomed before my very eyes.

The day started much like any other.  After getting K to her classroom, I headed home and found A and B already at work on their daily plan.  Thankfully, this is not an uncommon occurrence.  We consistently get more work done in the morning hours, when we're fresh.  If the work is done in our pajamas, no one minds.  It's still good work. 

Before 9:00, A and B had wrapped up their independent work and we moved into our math lesson (prime factorization, for those of you who are curious about such things).  By 11:00, a Psalm had been read, numbers had been factored, anatomy had been started, a folk tale analyzed.  All that remained was for literature to be read.  I encouraged A to hop into the shower and told the girls I would take them to the library and then to Chick-Fil-A for lunch.  That's a treat around here.  Most weekdays, we eat lunch right here at home.  So A showered, I laundered clothes and B factored a bit more via Khan Academy.

After our lunch outing, they accompanied me to a dentist appointment.  They split their time there between playing on J's iPad and reading their books.  I set a timer for A, who got the iPad on the first shift.  When it went off, she was to hand it over to B.  The appointment took a bit longer than I'd anticipated, so B ended up playing for 12 minutes longer than A had.  (Don't you love how precise children are?  It was exactly 12 minutes longer, they both assured me.)  I had expected this since I didn't set a second timer.  And as a mom, I'd already planned a solution - A could play during the drive home.  What I hadn't planned on was to be greeted by their fierce discussion when I came into the waiting room.
As we walked to the van, B muttered in frustration, "A is mad at me."  "I'm not mad at you.  I just don't want to play without asking," A nearly spat back.  As it turned out, B realized she had played for longer than A, so she tried to give A the iPad back to equalize things.  But my rule-following firstborn didn't want to play an extra 12 minutes without checking first.  We had a short discussion about it before the drive home.  I don't really remember what I said, just that A ended up playing on the drive home.

As we drove home, it occurred to me how typical this was of each of my daughters.  B hadn't really done anything wrong.  She's a ten year old girl who has limited screen time.  Who could blame her for losing track of time and playing a little longer than her allotted 20 minutes?  A likes clear expectations - and fulfilling those expectations.  I told her she could play for 20 minutes and she wasn't going to play for one minute more without asking first.  Yet they could each learn so much from the other.

So as we pulled into the driveway, I turned off the van and faced them.  "Let's talk for a minute before we go inside," I said.  Both girls looked a bit wary.  "B, did you do anything wrong when you played for a few extra minutes on the iPad?"  "No," she immediately replied, "I didn't do it on purpose, so it wasn't wrong.  It was an accident."  I turned to A.  "Did B do anything wrong?"  Slight hesitation, then "No." 

We then talked about how B knew whether she had done anything wrong.  She is a strong child - inside and out - and she has a very clear sense of right and wrong, regardless of whether she's been told to do or not do something.  She didn't need me to tell her it was OK.  She knew where her heart had been in the moment and that was enough for her.

A, on the other hand, wants things set out very clearly before her.  Give her a rule and she will do her best to follow it.  This is a lovely trait in a two year old and a terrifying one in a twelve year old.  As I explained to her, she must begin to decide for herself between right and wrong - without asking someone else.  She can watch her younger sister to see this in action and hopefully learn from her.

And what can B learn from A?  I asked her this and she replied with a bit of a smile, "To sometimes follow the rules?"  Well, yes.  And to realize that not everyone has such a strong barometer - or the same barometer of right and wrong - as  her own.  There is far more gray in the world than B sees with her black and white vision.  A is more moderate, more accepting of others who see and do things differently - B can learn from this.

I'm not a parent who revels in confronting my children with their weaknesses.  I hate conflict.  Even conflict with my children.  While this could have turned me into a terrible, permissive, weak parent, God has spared me that.  Today, I was able to take one minor incident and show them how the way they reacted was a reflection of who they are and how God made them.  They listened.  They heard me.  I think they even knew, acknowledged and agreed with the areas where I suggested they should grow.  It won't happen overnight.  Or maybe ever.  But I am thankful to have seen for a moment a glimpse of the source of their behaviors and to have offered some words to help them see themselves more clearly.