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A friend explained to me that adolescent eagles have longer tail feathers than adult eagles. These tail feathers assist the maturing bird in flying, because they tend to lack good judgment in their air-borne expeditions. During puberty, hawks tend to overshoot and undershoot their destinations. The extra length of feathers accommodates the awkwardness of flight imbalance of the struggling youth. A full grown adult sheds these feathers when he has mastered flight.

I love how nature whispers clues to me about raising my own children. As my boys approach the clumsy, bungling, gawky teen years, I move from being ultimate authority into a place of flight adviser, "I wouldn't take off from that position. You won't have enough runway to gain speed."

"You can go on the camp out, but you might not want to go to party the next day. You'll need some good rest sometime over the weekend or you'll be too tired during the school week to study."

My son can heed my advice or try it his way. I have to talk myself into letting him try and fail on his own. It's easier to tell him to go bed rather than watch him fall apart, because he has not rested the night before. Which experience does he learn more from?

I still have to force myself to listen to stories I've no particular interest in concerning my young men's interest in science experiments, cheesy science fiction, twaddle movies and games in order to keep the lines of communication open. It's a gift I give to my sons, not something I like to do. If we are talking about his stuff, the more likely he is to listen when I speak to give advice. I also must discipline myself to not react with anger when I see his failure, or I won't be the soft place he falls in times of trouble. He'll find someone else who most likely lacks maturity and won't have his best interest in mind to listen to him.

Because he's a teenager, my authority must take a back seat and allow advice to drive, or he'll never have a chance to try things for himself. Otherwise, he'll leave my home without developed tail feathers, yet expected by the world to fly with precision. How many adults do I meet who are unprepared to face daily challenges with excellence?

I've just returned from a conference in Nashville. I had a lovely time, and I look forward to reconnecting with my family today. Much to my surprise and delight, I'm being offered many opportunities to travel with my work. For the first time in my 14 years of being a mother, I have decisions to make concerning how much I can be away. Can Buck juggle my jobs and the pressure of his own? What happens to the hearts of my children when they are used to me being around twenty-four seven? It's a blessing to even consider these things, but I'd like to be wise.
Off to church and then a pioneer themed birthday party with Pooh Bear. It promises to be a long fun day.

42 Years of Observation

1. Every day counts, even if it doesn't seem so that day.
2. Every word counts, even if it doesn't seem so at the time.
3. Discipline doesn't achieve everything. Sometimes grace is better.
4. Children require everything.
5. God is good.
5. Husbands need attention.
6. In a relationship, nothing good grows in a long periods of silence.
7. April Fool's birthdays are challenging. One shouldn't have to be on guard the entire day.
8. Anything worthwhile requires hard work.
9. Friends help me breathe.
10. People taught to have a relationship exclusively with the Bible or exclusively in Eucharist cannot find a relationship with Jesus.
11. Children are close to the heart of God and have much to teach us about Him.
12. There will be a great and terrible day of the Lord.
13. Revenge costs the one seeking it the most.
14. Chickens and toddlers make me laugh.
15. Laughing is important.
16. Exercise releases tension even when I think I'm not tense.
17. Listening is the better path.
18. Letting go works out better than clinging to impossibility.
19. Grandparents are a treasure to cherish.
20. Love foolishly, even if it means it will hurt.
21. Music moves me.
22. Good food matters.
23. Learning keeps life interesting.
24. Stories are the quickest way to the heart.
25. Blogging is good for my soul.
26. Bill Cosby, Bin Laden, Bono, Oprah, the Pope, President Bush, are people just like you and me.
27. Growing things nurtures me.
28. Character reveals the inner man.
29. The charitable assumption is the high road.
30. Always better to focus on the Presence of God than his absence.
31. Together, brown and blue speak to me.
32. It's not right to demand of people what only God can give.
33. Quiet is essential for me to become.
34. Kindness brings the giver peace.
35. Anger gets in the way of relationship.
36. Wonder takes me where I want to go.
37. Mercy triumphs over judgment.
38. Abide is one of my favorite words.
39. Time does not wait for me and doesn't heal anything.
40. All I have to give is enough.
41. Art and beauty inspire.
42. Sudokus help me sleep.

Six Word Memoir

Almost tagged me to write a six word memoir. Tomorrow is my birthday so here's my memoir:


Will I be smarter at 42?


Six people I tag to write their own six word memoir:

Kat at The Secret Life of Kat
Thicket at Todays Lessons
Scott at The Glory of Everything
John at Locusts and Honey
Fancy at The Fancy Pants Factory
Amber at Homeschool Diva

Play along if you like by writing your own and tagging five more bloggers.

Fall Creek Falls

Off to Fall Creek Falls for a day hike. Catch ya later.

Buck tilled my garden over the weekend, and now chickens wander, scratch, and dust bathe all through it. Nothing planted yet though I should have sown at least few sugar snap peas and spinach. I'll make the hour trip to Stanley's Green house in a few weeks instead of sprouting from seeds. Except beans, watermelons, and flowers. Anyone can grow vines and flowers from seeds. When it gets warm again (yesterday it spit snow), I'll form the garden paths with my clay tiles and stones. I always say gardening is much more about art, so straight rows just won't do.
Won't be long till we start seeing baby chicks following momma hens again. Or hear them peeping from the hayloft. No matter how many times I've seen a baby chick, I'm still astonished by the cute factor of walking yellow fuzz balls.
When danger of frost is gone, it's time for the academics of home school to come to a close. We start in July and end in late April or early May. Tater is behind everyone else, because his trip last summer got him started late. I relish the free time away from the school books. In between swim team, I'll do the projects I put off during the school year. Here are some of my summer projects besides gardening:
1. Adopt a minimalist vision for my garage. Again.
2. Wrestle my unruly walk in closet. Again.
3. Help each child declutter their rooms. Again.
4. Take two of my children to vision therapy every two weeks an hour and a half away.
5. Work on a workbook regarding adoption issues with a friend for my son. We're developing a beautiful plan in the making to further draw him into our family. He keeps his precious heart at a tentative distance at present without even knowing it.
6. I'd like to find botanical and bird wallpaper for my kitchen and redo the counter tops, but wallpaper is altogether out of fashion. And how could anyone match the picture in my mind's eye? I can't decide on counter tops, mostly because of the expense.
7. All three boys will attend scout camp, and I asked Helen to consider keeping Pooh Bear so Buck and I could have some time.
8. Peace goes to New York this summer.
9. New flooring for the home school room would be gravy, but probably unachievable.
10. Visit Dollywood several times with our season's passes we got for Christmas.
11. Catch up with friends and family we don't see much during the school year.
12. Consider service projects.

After five year here on our pretend farm, I'm hitting my rhythm. Steady, not frenetic. That wouldn't do, and my relationships couldn't withstand it.

Must not get to wrapped up in the future when it's time to seize the moment of homeschool now. Off to hit the books. And laundry.

May the morning star
which never sets
find this flame still burning:
Christ, that Morning Star,
who came back from the dead,
and shed his peaceful light on all people,
your Son who lives and reigns forever.
Amen

Confession

Here's how I know I may have gone to Starbucks a little too often this past winter. A hip college aged girl approached me from out of nowhere in a school building and spoke in a chipper sweet voice, "Hey, I know you. You order a tall black and white hot chocolate with a squirt of cinnamon dulche' at Starbucks, right? My name is Austen. What's yours?"

Oh, dear. Makes me feel guilty about the children of Compassion I could have sponsored with that money.

Currently admiring the new space on my home school bookshelves. Don't worry. It won't last long.

I'm thinking of decluttering the homeschool room today. This job never goes well for me, because in order to declutter, I must get rid of books. I tend to want to hang on to books. What if I eventually need the book for some unknown upcoming project in the next fifty years? I am sure the Loudon County Library would not have it, since it's book collection is about the same size as mine. I think it would be easier for me to part with a body part than a book. I probably should have been a librarian instead of a mother. Wish me luck.

Not what I wanted to hear

Pooh Bear announced that her brand new white Easter shoes were great for climbing very tall trees.

I have a quandary, a good one this time, that I'd like to get out from inside me through blogging. Yesterday (and both had to happen on the same day), I attended a meeting about an excellent classical high school homeschool co-op which is coming together beautifully and approval of acceptance letter into a wonderful new public high school academy opening in another county. Peace, my oldest son, enters high school next year, so I've been stewing over these possibilities for a good long while. Both top choices became reality on the same day.

Classical co-op option
-Has the most rigorous course of study ensuring a willing child's path to college and scholarship.
-Matches the heart of my educational philosophy.
-Instructors of the highest caliber. One is a personal friend whom I admire greatly.
-My favorite course mixes history, English, and Bible in an Omnibus type setting. This is not offered anywhere else in this region.

-Costs several thousand dollars.
-Only two days a week in class instruction. I'd have to teach the other three days.
-VERY long academic days as son adjusts to intensive study

Public Academy Option
-FREE, all courses, all books, no mandatory hours of volunteering for momma
-Outstanding principal with innovative and progressive ideas. I've known her top notch work and incredible reputation for years as she was previously principal in the zone in which I used to live. No nonsense tolerated.
-College prep, advanced, and honors courses recommended.
-Fine arts.
-Brand new school building.
-Best teachers from all over are applying to teach there.
-Five days of instruction from people who know and hopefully enjoy what they are teaching.
-Keyboarding course.
-Clubs, sports.
-Even starting ground for all. No cliques already developed. Everyone new to the layout of the building. Culture to be developed with a high academic standard from the start.
-No upper grades until next year.
-I know some great families sending their children next year.

-Need for a cellphone.
-Need for something more than just the second hand clothing our son has always worn.
-May not accept transfers after this first year.
-End of homeschool read alouds and Bible study.



I have a concern that Peace needs to learn more of the bigger world than the co-op will offer. Doesn't that sound outrageous? I don't worry he'll fall into anything negative, because he stays clear of "goof offs and trouble makers" in all the academic classes and activities outside our home. In fact, I excitedly mentioned seeing a boy from last year's co-op at the Public Academy, and Peace responded, "Mom, that kid is not someone I'd want to hang out with. He was disrespectful and disruptive in class."

Some of my homeschooling friends may not understand why I would consider public school. High school is not something I want or like to teach. It would completely consume me, because my boys are not naturally self-directed learners. Could be bad parenting and homeschooling on my part, but I've had to stay on top of my children to keep them studying from the beginning. Could be that I have a slew of boys who would prefer to catch frogs to composition. Probably a little of both. As much as I love the idea of "delight directed learning" I haven't had the chutzpa to pull it off. My answer to all things challenging is putting on discipline, so that's how my family has accomplished homeschooling thus far.

Some of my other friends and family members have never understood why we have homeschooled. All I can say to that is my children have begged me to do so, and Buck has agreed. Homeschooling is neither easy or especially fun for me, but it's been worth it for the children. I intend to homeschool the other three children next year. We'll see what comes of these two options for Peace.

Me ma called this evening and sounded remarkably great. She told me her day started off horribly, but she's well on her way to something better. She spoke to each of my children just like she's done forever. Pooh Bear mentioned her new white Easter sandals. Tater and Wise One told her about the Wii game Zelda. Peace made a special effort to tell her, "You sound just like yourself now! Not like you just had brain surgery. I'm so glad to hear you sound good now."

I probably won't have another terrifying nightmare like I did last night where my mother was in excruciating pain and no one would listen to her as she cried out. Tonight maybe I'll dream about something incredibly sappy like unicorns, rainbows, and Teddy Bears.

To those whom have been so kind as to pray for her: your prayers seem to be making a difference. God, Our Healer, be praised.

China, the world is watching Tibet. Again. Please don't disappoint us.

Update on my ma

I found myself chatting on the phone late last night until 12:25. My mother has lost track of time and couldn't pull it together to call me until then. She's still not eating and now not drinking, so she's now dehydrated. Her blood pressure has dropped, and she is not allowed pain medication. We discussed things she's been worried about long before the surgery. I begged her to voice her concerns but to try and lay them down for now. I planted a seed that if she's still declining that it's time to look at a rehabilitation hospital to get her up to speed. She agreed, but I don't know that she can hang onto the thought. I'll speak with her husband about it. We'll see what today holds in store.

Kat's fun music geneaology

Kat posed these fun music genealogy questions today. Check them out here

1. What was the first album you remember buying?

The first album I ever bought was Tommy by the Who. I promise I had no idea as a fourth grader what I was singing when I memorized all the songs- especially the nasty Tina Turner song about sexual healing and the one about the perverted Uncle. Sheesh! What exactly were my parent's thinking when they let me buy that?

My first concert ever in junior high was Rick Springfield, who appeared and performed recently on Oprah. Yawn.

The first eight track, oh my goodness, yes, eight track, I listened to was my step father's Sweet Baby James by James Taylor. I still love that music.

2. Who were the significant artists/songs/albums during your childhood/high school/college years?

In junior high, I dug Styx. Owned all their albums. The commercials with Mr. Roboto now crack me up.

In high school, I became a huge guitar ballad fan through guitar playing fools who favored Dan Fogelburg, James Taylor, Billy Joel, REM. We hung out on weekends, cooked spaghetti, and endlessly sang "The Reach", "Fire and Rain", "Sadness or Euphoria","Locomotive 8" until we were perfectly hoarse. One of these high school hang out buddies is still a musician while also holding the respectable job as head of the French Department at a major university, Ritt Deitz. He still writes and sings his own tuneage too.

I was also in on the ground floor of Contemporary Christian music. Try not to laugh, but Evie and Jim Neighbors were my first two Christian albums. Next came the 77's, Russ Taff, Joni Erikson (did you know she recorded an album?), and Petra. Bless all their 80's hearts. My friend Rhea and I joined a Christian music club to score these magical tunes, but I think Rhea ended up paying for the tapes. You couldn't pay me to listen to any of that now. Thank God for David Crowder, Charlie Hall, Tim Hughes, and Matt Redman.

As for college, I feel head over heals for Peter Gabriel's lyrics after attending his So concert. Ricky Lee Jones enchanted me. The Cure and New Order introduced me to great dance music. Then there was my husband's crazy band.

3. What are the connections between the various artists in your musical geneology?
My favorite songs are still long slow guitar ballads like "It's been a While" Stained, "Everything" Lifehouse, "Higher" and "Hold Me Now" Creed, "Breathing the Breath" Matt Redman, "All I Can Say" David Crowder, "Gone" John Mayer. I attribute my particular affinity for men and guitars to the influence of all those hours of misspent youth with my high school friends.

The Truth About Horton

Hey~! I'm mad at the makers of Horton Hears a Who. The "bad guy", a sour mother kangaroo, dis'ed home schoolers in her second statement of the movie. Something about pouch schooling her son to keep him away from the riff raff. I had a hard time with the entire rest of the film because of it. Her comment made me skeptical on behalf of all homeschoolers, liberal to conservative, and kept me looking for other agendas.

However, my children enjoyed the movie and didn't even seem to notice.

And I LOVE the Dr. Seuss book. The theme of "every person is a person, no matter how small" is one close to my heart. Why did they have to ruin the story for me?

I finished off the third and last book of the Hawk and the Dove Trilogy, The Long Fall, on the plane. The words felt like preparation for the days which followed. It's funny how fiction can move me into self examination. Turbulence prohibited passengers from moving about the cabin, so I was stuck buckled in my seat wiping tears and snot consecutively on my sleeves as I sobbed. I was so connected to the characters, I felt like I was losing a dear friend, though I won't spoil any of it for anyone who has yet to read these profound books. I would have put down the book if I could have, so as not to make a spectacle of myself. However, the power of story and the anonymity of being on a plane with complete strangers made picking up a leftover copy of People in the magazine holder in the seat pocket in front of me instead of The Long Fall inconceivable.

I tried literally for years to read these books without success, but I am certain it was something divine saving the Hawk and the Dove for this particular time in my life. This is literature and insight into humanity at their very best.

Muddled Days

Days and nights have blurred together for me. Once they put my mother in a hospital room, I was able to spend every moment with her for the last three days. No wifi allowed in the rooms, so no updates till now. Her short term memory has returned in part, but I see it coming and going...probably has something to do with pain killers and a misfiring brain.

Anyhow, she got strong enough to walk with help, so she was able to go home today to recover for a full month. Her husband will have his work cut out for him. God bless him.

I hated to leave my mom looking so frail, but I flew home today to the arms of the my delightful family. And not a moment too soon for Pooh Bear. She cried on the phone last night begging for me to hurry home.

I'll welcome sleep in my own bed tonight, but Mom's husband told me she refused to eat all day. I call and begged her over the phone to try. She also started having auras (seeing patterns which were not really present) last night- pre-seizure brain activity.

If you're the praying kind, keep 'em coming.

A quick update for you dear hearts, like Almost, kat and anonymous. Thank you for your amazing kind words and prayers. My mom is progressing though it's not an easy road. She has no short term memory at this point, so she's asking repetitive questions. It scares me. I'm miffed with the hospital for not being forthright about care. My mother told me to expect she'd stay a few hours in recovery, proceed to an ICU room for a few days then to a regular hospital room and home maybe by Friday. The problem is that noone warned us that the hospital is overcrowded and the day after surgery still no ICU room, which is outfitted for the comfort of the family, is available. This severely limits my ability to visit her as she's still in recovery on the second day! It seems the job of the recovery room keepers is to keep the family away, so noone's hippa rights are violated by visitors. Arghh! The nurse this morning had great compassion for me and hid me from the recovery room keepers next to my mother for over an hour. To my horror, the good nurse was trying to feed my mom oatmeal, a much depised food to me ma's palate. Before the surgery, my mom said, "Tell the nurses if they try to feed me jello, oatmeal, or applesauce, I might just forget my manners and spit it in their face." The nurse was very concerned that my mom keep down food, but I suggested chocolate pudding might get a much better response than gagging oatmeal. It did, of course. I spent the rest of the day sitting in the horrible same chairs, begging for a peek at my mother and a chance to talk to the surgeon. The night nurse sent for me, because she couldn't get my mom to eat the unattractive and unappetizing chicken pot pie (maybe?). Hello! I again suggested the desperate measure of chocolate pudding and coke which the nurse let me feed her. Finally after one more ten minute visit, the keepers insisted on no visitation past 8:30 p.m., and sent me packing.
The surgeon called me at 9:30 to update me. He said the short term memory loss was common for a week, and he said it might be more long term. He apologized for not telling us ahead of time about the overcrowding issue. He kindly said he'd warn his patients in the future. Jolly good. He told me maybe by Thursday mom will be walking down the hall. Oh, yeah. That's what I'm talkin' about.
My answered prayers today have been the compassionate nurse and the doctor taking the time to call. I suspect he'd been there since 7:00 or earlier and called so late at night at his earliest opportunity.
Still praying for an ICU room tomorrow and the return of short term memory quickly and completely.
Love,
True

Church of the Pines

i woke up yesterday with the dread of today consuming every corner of my brain. "It's Sunday. i'll find a little way to do church on my own," i thought.
So, i slapped on my running shoes and sought the Lord about how to observe the Sabbath in this unfamiliar town. On my ipod, i cued up the ten minute version of "Where you go I go" by Brian Johnson as a spiritual and physical warm up. Great for focusing on obedience in prayer, so i listened again and contemplated,"Not my will,but Yours." My attention was drawn to the pine trees as i plodded. i selected a tree on my running path as Cathedral i'd return to at the end of the running church excursion. i then asked, "God, what is that my mom and i need?" EVERYTHING. EVERYTHING flashed across my mind, so i cued up my ipod to "Everything". David Crowder sang to me, feet pounding to the pace, something i desperately needed to hear, "You make everything glorious, and I am yours." Next Tim Hughes cut to my soul with "Christ in me. Christ in me. The hope of glory. You are everything!" as it became harder to keep my breathing steady.
The grand finale blasted Lifehouse "Everything" which took my sweaty body all the way back to the chosen tree. i wrapped my arms around the massive trunk of the pine and connected with my Father. "Find me here. and speak to me. i need to feel you." i took in the sweet smell of sap and fingered the soft texture of the needles tenderly.
"i need to hear you." Oh, yes i do! "You are the light that's leading me to the place where i find peace again." Peace!
i looked through the arch of my pine tree cathedral to the perfect blue sky dotted with exquisite white clouds. "How could i stand here with you, and not be moved by you? Would you tell me how could it be any better than this?"

"You're all i want. You're all i need. Everthing! Everything!" This experience of intimacy comforted me like nothing or noone else.

i was moved and grateful to share this holy moment with Him in the midst of my emotional storm.

Harrowing

Solemnly talking living will and surrogate care wishes with my mother and her husband last night.

Getting up at 3:30 a.m. for a quick shower and dashing out the door for an all day vigil at the hospital.

Hugging and "I love you's" and comfort for a broken heart yearning for someone not present as the gurney rolls my mother away for six intense hours of brain surgery.

Sitting endlessly in chairs in a sterile unbeautiful waiting room with no windows or plants.

Discussing with one of the top neurosurgeons in the country about the odd and complicated aneurysm now clipped, safe, and secure.

Visiting three precious minutes with my mother, head sewn ear to opposite eye at the hairline, one eye horribly swollen and bloody, IV port in the neck.

Whispering, barely audible "Cold." "Headache." "Headache." "Headache." "Feet." and a final "I love you."

Praying for peace and comfort.

Navigating a new and complicated city alone.



I thought surgery would be the worst of it. Now I quite certain the worst of it will be recovery.

I was graduated from the finest school, which is that of the love between parent and child. Though the world is constructed to serve glory, success, and strength, one loves one's parents and one's children despite their failings and weaknesses-- sometimes even more on account of them. In this school you learn the measure not of power, but of love; not of victory, but of grace; not of triumph, but of forgiveness. You learn as well, and sometimes, as I did, you learn early, that love can overcome death, and that what is required of you in this is memory and devotion. Memory and devotion. To keep your love alive you must be willing to be obstinate, and irrational, and true, to fashion your entire life as a construct, a metaphor, a fiction, a device for the exercise of faith. Without this, you will live like a beast and have nothing but an aching heart. With it, your heart, though broken, will be full and you will stay in the fight unto the very last.

Mark Helprin from Memoir from Antproof Case

Healthy Eating Families

Parent's University at Kat's focuses on healthy eating today. My children are healthy eaters for the most part. I made moosauka for dinner last night and every child ate some, eggplant and all. They enjoy most all food, including spinach, broccoli, and salad.

I educated myself when my sons were little about the goodness of whole foods. I joined an organic food cooperative until grocery stores caught on to the healthier trends.

Beginning at the age of 38, I've learned to grind wheat to make fresh bread, keep amusing dairy goats for milk, garden for beautiful veggies, and tend hilarious chickens for fresh free range eggs all in the past four years. Before age 38, I had an arrogant city girl disregard, yes apathy, for the source of my food. I gained more respect and admiration for My Creator and His creation, and for the fine folks who contribute to our grocery stores once I began to participate in a more self-sustainable life.

Today I'm going to split me wide open, so you can look on the inside. I'll take the zipper from my forehead to the end of my big toe and pull down quickly. I've purposely kept my innermost thoughts off my blog for the last few months, because I have been afraid to form my pain into words. Next Monday, a surgeon in Tampa will shave my mother's head, cut a rather large "c" shape into her skull, pry open her cranium, carefully and skillfully cut down into her brain, and clamp a life threatening brain aneurysm. I know the particular details of it because I watched a video of the procedure. Every time I think of this happening to my ma I gasp for breath. She anticipates a full recovery in one month, but we know full well the serious risks. She and I have dialogued through the tough "what if" questions over the months of waiting for the surgery- unpleasant questions like, "What are your wishes should you become debilitated in some way?". We'll have time for more if need be as I'm able to go be with her this weekend before.

Mom was diagnosed at the end of October,and the wait for care has kept us on eggshells. She got second opinions and smartly shopped for a the best surgeon in her region. Read anything on untreated brain aneurysms, you'll get the feeling it's a ticking time bomb. I'm dumbfounded and amazed that the surgeons wouldn't have rushed into surgery the day after the problem was found.

I'm grateful that my mother and I have come through the distance of strained relationship to a place of tenderness. It's the grace of God I can lay down the past and walk in friendship with my mom into this challenging week ahead.

She'll be in ICU for at least 2 days if not more and a few days in hospital following ICU. I visited my aunt (on my dad's side- not great genetic news for me on either side) just after she's had two brain aneurysms repaired, and I remember her just asking me to sit quietly and hold her hand, because her head ached and throbbed so terribly. It's daunting to think of my mother in great discomfort.

By another miraculous act of God, Buck was able to get the week off to take care of our children at home. My mother won't be up for the constant noise and chaos of four children for a bit. Either way, the children have achievement tests and classes which they must stay in town to attend.

If you are so moved, please keep us in your prayers. If you are a local friend, give Buck a call and see how he's doing while I'm gone. His schedule and tasks are numerous. Thanks and God bless for Helen for keeping Pooh Bear for a few days.

I'm fairly certain my children held a secret essay writing contest in our van and didn't tell me about it. When I was cleaning out the trash from the vehicle this morning, I found fifty two pens and pencils scattered front to back.

I wonder who won?

Here's what I'll be doing for the next three days.



Here's why.

Patience verses Anger

Kat chose Practicing Patience as the topic today for Parent's University. For me, to talk about patience in parenting, I must address the flip side of that coin- anger. I am not an endless font of patience (notice photo of red hair) and my response to my patience being tested is anger in a range from slight irritation to mad as a wet hen. What I know is that with any breach of patience with my children, I can see the hurt on their faces and eventually in their behavior. Patience builds trust. Impatience tears down relationship. And if my child's face no longer registers something when I show irritation, things are not as they should be.

Anger is not a pretty thing, but the consequences of leaving it unresolved in parents and children leads to devastation of families. The best source I've ever read on this has been Dr. Ross Campbell in his book
Relational Parenting.

It's tough stuff, but check out his anger ladder.

The Anger Ladder
Positive
1. pleasant~seeking resolution~focusing on source of anger~ holding to primary complaint~thinking logically
2. pleasant~focusing on source of anger~ holding to primary complaint~thinking logically

Positive and Negative
3. focusing on source of anger~ holding to primary complaint~thinking logically~unpleasant and loud
4. holding to primary complaint~thinking logically~unpleasant and loud~ displacing anger to other sources
5. focusing on source of anger~ holding to primary complaint~thinking logically~unpleasant and loud~ verbal abuse
6. thinking logically~unpleasant, loud, displacing anger to other sources~expressing unrelated complaints

Primarily Negative
7. unpleasant, loud, displacing anger to other sources~expressing unrelated complaints~emotionally destructive behavior
8. unpleasant, loud~ displacing anger to other sources~expressing unrelated complaints~emotionally destructive behavior~verbal abuse
9. unpleasant, loud ~cursing~ displacing anger to other sources~expressing unrelated complaints~emotionally destructive behavior~verbal abuse
10. focusing anger on source~unpleasant, loud ~cursing~expressing unrelated complaints~emotionally destructive behavior~
throwing objects
11. unpleasant, loud ~cursing~ displacing anger to other sources~expressing unrelated complaints~emotionally destructive behavior~verbal abuse~throwing objects

Negative
12. focusing anger on source~cursing~unpleasant, loud~emotionally destructive behavior~verbal abuse~destructive behavior
13. unpleasant, loud~ cursing ~displacing anger to other sources~ destroying property~ verbal abuse ~emotionally destructive behavior
14. unpleasant, loud~ cursing ~displacing anger to other sources~ destroying property~ verbal abuse ~emotionally destructive behavior~ physical abuse
15. passive aggressive behavior

This chart helps me keep number one as my goal for myself and my children in every test of patience. If I don't seek patience as a lifestyle, I'll one day be facing my growing children as they exhibit negative behavior I may have taught or left untrained, God forbid. I remember:

"Children have no defense against their parents' anger."
–Dr. Ross Campbell

There are only two ways to express anger- action or words. If anger cannot be expressed outwardly, then it turns inward. We've got to allow our children to fail and mature in expressing anger. If not, the results can be tragic.

The bottom rung on the ladder, passive aggression, is the best motivator of all for me to operate in patience as a parent. A passive aggression person is someone who found no means for learning to deal with anger. The child has so disconnected from relationship in self protection that they no longer understand their own actions. If I continue to be bothered by my own child and angry with my him, I could end up with a child who is depressed, sneaky mean, or self destructive yet unaware of the "why" behind it all.

Onto the pressing question of, "What if I blow it as a parent?". And I do. What if I speak to my children in an unpleasant or loud way? What if I get off focus? Or move off primary complaint into a litany of pet peeves? Here is where I apply the monastic principle of beginning again. You may have heard God's mercies are new every morning? Well, I say God's mercies are new every moment for a mom- we are simply to shake off the dust and begin again. I am to apologize and move on back up to the top of the ladder toward resolution as soon as possible. Being in the habit of self examination in the midst of conflict is not easy but worth everything.

The other key is to allow myself to be accountable. Last week, a gigantic conflict appeared between one of my sons and myself, and in fear, I did not handle things well at all. I had exercised no patience or understanding, but went straight to anger. I called Buck to warn him that we'd need to have a sitdown as soon as he got home from work. The three of us huddled in the living room, and I asked my son, "Want to explain our day, or shall I?" My boy requested me to tell Buck our broken situation with the stipulation that he could take notes on all the things to share after my turn, because he was quite certain I would leave out my negative behavior. I started from the beginning being sure to bring forward every loud, unpleasant, intimidating fault of mine. In the end, my son didn't write a single thing on his paper, and I could see his relief growing as I took responsibility for my anger and apologized to him in front of my husband. I'd have damaged my child's heart further if I'd have done it any other way.

Sleep, a peaceful family schedule, exercise, and healthy food remain essential to the patience equation also.

Be encouraged. I didn't grasp patience vs. anger in my home growing up. Instead, I've learned by failing and learning as a parent. It's never too late.

Early this morning when I was five minutes from shewing the children out the door for science class, Pooh Bear whined about Wise One getting more breakfast than her. She weighs a whooping 37 pounds at the grand old age of seven, so I assumed the two packages of oatmeal had filled her tummy just fine. She moped until I agreed to toast her an additional frozen waffle. "But Wise One got two waffles and a big bowl of peaches!" she exclaimed. Next she narrowed her eyes, shot me the look of death, placed her hands on hips, screwed up her chapped little lips to whimper, "And I don't think there is really such a thing anymore as the greatest mom in the world either."

I turned my head to mute my giggle and hide my smile.

You are so right about that one, Pooh Bear. There is no such thing, at least in this house.

HB2795

Tennessee home schoolers have a job to do. State legislature votes tomorrow on a bill(HB2795) to impose state testing of TCAPS on home schoolers. I know many home schoolers oppose testing at all, but we have our children tested with a national test every year. I use the results from the Stanford and from daily work and tests to plan goals for the next year. However, I would be discontent with a government which forces my children to take additional, unnecessary, and state-centric tests, because they want to have a thumb on my children's education. I guarantee the state does not care about the education of my child more than I do. Why would I want my children to endure three more grueling days of testing to the three they already have? Why has Tennessee stopped using national tests to gauge progress? Is it because we fall so far behind nationally?

A friend Miriam brought this point to my attention. What is to be done about the results of the TCAPS? If a home schooled child gets behind, will the state demand we put the child in public school? There are multitudes of children failing in public school. Will the government demand those children be home schooled?

Call or email your Tennessee reps today on this matter.

Peace: Mom, I have a slight fever. My head hurts. I don't feel like throwing up or anything, but I'm really tired. What do you think it is?

Me: (with a completely serious face) That is exactly what I'm told it feels like just before you die.

Peace: (gets a huge grin past the pain) How do you feel, Mom?

Me: Oh, I'm just fine, honey.

Peace: I'm told "fine" is exactly what people feel like just before they die.

Wanna help save the Smoky Mountains? A friend who is an amazing adoption attorney has left her job for a time to lobby with integrity in Nashville.

The Weeks in Review

Last week had been a doosey. Buck was on the long road home from Uncle Earl's funeral when I came to the conclusion one of our milk goats just might have rabies, because she'd suddenly become aggressive. I called goat experts, my vet, UT Veterinary Hospital for advice. UT asked me to bring the goat in immediately. Buck had the van, the farm van wouldn't start, and I had a child I couldn't leave at home alone. The fleeting thought of taking a biting goat in a little old Honda did not appeal. I decided to wait till the next morning to take her and had Peace put the nanny in seclusion for the night. Of course, she cried out like a baby. I considered the fact that we drink the raw milk (no conclusive research has been done, so the route of caution would be taken), and our entire family would have to go through the rabies series at no less than $400 a shot. That's $14,400 and pain for the lot of us. The medical conclusion? After three excruciating days of waiting and observation, UT vets told us we had a goat with new behavior problems brought on because she missed Buck, the one who usually milked her.

She's home now happily munching her hay, and has discontinued her aggression now that her (and my) favorite man is home on the farm. Insert an annoyed smile from me here.

In the very good news department, last Sunday we got an air card to replace our dinosaur dial-up service. It works like a charm, but I can't figure out the technological parts of document sending- essential to the course I'm teaching. The update in technology will probably allow me to put my own pictures back on my blog again. Blogger paired with dial-up became downright contrary about loading photos a few years ago, so I stopped trying.

Monday started this week with difficult news. The school we hoped our oldest son would attend decided against providing high school next year. Parents, including myself, were visibly shaken by the announcement. There are no schools like it in the area, and I have a very late start in finding an alternative for next year. My son, who is not scholarly by nature, needs academic minded folks around him to inspire his best work. Other choices offer godless arrogance, good hearts and intentions which graduate high schoolers to junior college, cut-throat culture, Christian Lite. Nothing fits the bill. I'm grieving the loss of an excellent choice as I wrestle through a new plan for Peace's high school years.

Mid-week I attended a college reunion dinner. I knew my two favorite friends from those years wouldn't be in attendance, so I went with a bit of self conscious awkwardness. What if no one would talk to me, and I had to sit in secluded silence? "I could enjoy people watching", I told myself. What if people I liked pretended not to know me? "I'll move on", I reassured myself. Still reunions are tricky personal business for me. The first person I saw when I stepped out of my van was a friend from my church studying counseling at the college now. She put my heart at ease immediately. After we chatted, I walked over to the cafeteria where dinner was to take place. I scanned the crowd and glanced at a vaguely familiar face and read his name tag. Joyfully, it was someone who had been very good to me at time I really needed a friend in college.

I walked up to him with anticipation and announced my name. I expected a hug, but got more of a look which read, "I don't really know you. I'd like it if you wouldn't talk to me." I tried my charismatic approach of questions to help him let his guard down but was unsuccessful altogether. Not a great start.

My natural confidence waned.

I spoke cordially in line with a few friendly people I recognized but didn't know well. I walked into the assigned reunion room and saw only one table with open seats. At that table, I spotted three faces of people who had never been my friends, and it was likely they were not especially interested in getting to know me now. I forced myself to sit down with them next to someone at that available table I couldn't quite place. Until he warmly spoke. I breathed in a sigh of relief, because I'd be able share my dinner with at least one kind and genuine gentleman, Drake, I'd connected with in college classes. The other folks at the table turned out to be interesting and funny. I discovered Drake and I share common interests in things ecumenical and contemplative, unheard of from this crowd.

Everyone from our class was asked to share from their life now. I tried to fade to the background but was discovered at last. I kept my words few- an accomplishment, I know.

I enjoyed a few more conversations with sundry people and even an invitation, and drove the hour back to common life as I know it.

Friday and Saturday I've studied for my upcoming teaching weekend away.

This is what I've been listening to lately. It's not really a video, just the song. A worship leader at church introduced it to us about a month ago. Don't know anything else by the songwriters/singers, Brian and Jenn Johnson (misspelled on the intro), but the lyrics are intense and fabulous for me.

By the way, I am of the opinion that three minute worship songs are for sissies. Wink.

I admire my son, Peace. Yesterday he came in from his early morning chores before school and explained to me he'd taken care of a dead hen in the chicken house. Being a city girl, I am squeamish about thinking or touching any hurt or dead animal. I mostly let my men handle the dirty work 'round the farm. Without telling me, Peace simply took out a plastic bag from the kitchen, suited up with gloves and coat, and placed the dead body into the bag and then into the trash can. Can't throw things like that into the woods because it attracts coyotes. Have to bury things deep and put rocks on the grave otherwise which we did with our goat for the same reason. When Peace was done, he threw his coat and gloves in the laundry. How many 14 year old boys do you know in America can take care of business like this without batting an eye?
I was touched by the solemn and matter of fact manner in which Peace dealt with the situation. We think it may have been Petunia, my garden digging buddy. Petunia followed behind every time I went outside to see if she could collect worms I'd uncover from flower beds or the garden. I thanked Peace for his care and teared up a bit. "Mom, it's just a chicken," he responded,"And by the way. When I die I'd prefer to be buried in a grave than put in a plastic bag in the garbage."

Time Won't Let Me Go

Kat poses the question of finding personal time in the midst of parenting for Parenting University.

You're not getting the typical response of "Make sure to make 'me time'" from me. I have spent too many parenting years selfishly and unsuccessfully looking for ways to make me happy.

The last few years I've lived with far more intentionality and integrity. I've reformed my social grid drastically from accepting any and every invitation outside my home I could squeeze in, to carefully weighing the cost of each and choosing wisely. I used to believe that the more fun stuff I did, the better and more pleasant mother and person I'd be. It simply wasn't the case. I began to see my own children as getting in the way, and I think I was running away from any serious self examination. I'd been pouring my life into a sieve when I was under the illusion I was filling my bucket.

Eventually, I did not like the shallow person I was becoming and set out to change. I cleared my calendar and began to listen to the still small voice of God inside. He helped me to lay down all the "good things" to save for "the best things". With great trepidation and a deep seated fear of loneliness, I quit book and Bible studies, teaching/speaking, attending concerts, homeschool support groups, coffee/lunch out with friends, cooking/jewelry/craft type parties, and retreats altogether for a good long while. I even limited my time on the phone and at the gym. After some reclusive months, great opportunities opened which I'd never had before, and I was at last spiritually more prepared to accept. I know those opportunities to be directly connected to obedience to God.

The result of quitting the rat race? I've become introverted, introspective, sensitive, a better listener (not that I don't have much more to learn about listening), and more effective at everything I do. I work smarter. I understand the difference between cutting down the time tree with a sharp edged ax and beating it with a baseball bat.

As for personal time today? I refuse to be that frantically busy person with a chaotic life again. Now I don't require enormous amounts of personal time. It's built into the day even though my family is present. When my responsibilities of the moment are fulfilled and my children feel enough enjoyable connection to me to be at peace among themselves, I can steal away to my room and read, write, and most of all, just be and remain in the True Vine.

He gets it from his dad

Peace casually posed this question yesterday afternoon in conversation, "You the know the Miss Universe Pageant? It doesn't seem quite fair. Why is the contestant who always wins from Earth?"

Buck retold the joke to friends at our lovely Valentine's Day dinner last evening. Someone asked from across the table, "Well, is there also a Mr. Universe?" To which Buck responded by pointing his fingertips into his chest, haughtily wagging his head, and replying, "Hello?!"

Love

When I don't feel loved,
I try to make myself feel better
by thinking of my mom and dad
hugging and kissing me.

When I do feel loved,
I feel joyful,
kind,
and honorable.

by Pooh Bear Vyne

The Daring Book for Girls, twizzlers, a Star Trek movie, a necklace, a shirt, a dozen long stemmed red roses, and some pink toile pj's composed the Vyne's Valentine's Day celebration.

This blogger shares a more thoughtful approach. Tonia, I admire your family's ways.

Developing Compassion in our Children

Compassion. My favorite word. Kat
has made developing Compassion in our children the topic for Parenting University this week. For me as a parent, I hope to live the principle which is a far better teacher than words.

I believe compassion is a gift given by God already present inside children. It's a gift something like innocence and purity. Ever seen a small child cry when she stumbles upon a dead bug? Ever had a little one gently rub your hand when you are shedding tears? So why don't all children continue to exhibit compassion? I think it has more to do with adults not preserving, even stomping out the gift in children. Tragically, I know I have done so with my own children. For example, when we lived in the city, my children cried out, "Mom! That person has a sign that says they are hungry. Aren't Christians supposed to feed the hungry?" My answer? "We don't have time for that. We're on our way to..." or "It's too risky to talk to a stranger." "We already give to..." I wrestled my conscience for a long while over these calloused positions and finally came up with doable solutions. One great remedy was pulling together bags to hand out with pop top food, napkins, and shelter phone numbers plus fifty cents for the call.

Country life does not afford that kind of opportunity, but opportunities of compassion come abundantly in other forms. When my child excitedly shouts, "Hurry! Come look at the bluebird." I decide I'd better drop everything to take the time enjoy the moment with him. Otherwise, I'll diminish the importance of my child's passion. I also try to eliminate judgement from my talk in daily life as much as possible, especially about people not present. No more "He's such a creep, because...", "What a jerk!" "She deserved everything she got." "He's a bad person for all these reasons." "What a loser." Every single human being on the earth has value whether they continually make poor choices or act exactly as I'd like. We strip away compassion in ourselves and our children when we make out anyone, stranger or lover, as disposible in some way. The message of "bad guys, good guys" with no hope of forgiveness leaves everyone in a vulnerable position of moving to being unforgivable themself one day. How many times have I done just what I'd hope I'd never do? Lose my temper with a child? Use cutting and thoughtless words? Manipulate someone for selfish purposes? Use force rather than waiting for natural consequence to take it's course? I believe I owe compassion even to myself in order that I might offer it to others.

Here are some quotes which tell it much better than myself.

“Compassion is sometimes the fatal capacity for feeling what it is like to live inside somebody else's skin. It is the knowledge that there can never really be any peace and joy for me until there is peace and joy finally for you too.”
Frederick Buechner

"All major religious traditions carry basically the same message, that is love, compassion and forgiveness the important thing is they should be part of our daily lives."
Dalai Lama

"Be kind whenever possible. It is always possible."
Dalai Lama

"Happiness is not something ready made. It comes from your own actions."
Dalai Lama

“Compassion will cure more sins than condemnation.”
Henry Ward Beecher

“Make no judgements where you have no compassion.”

"Without a rich heart, wealth is an ugly beggar."
Ralph Waldo Emerson

Buck, Pooh Bear and Wise One have been gone for days to dear Uncle Earl's funeral in Pennsylvania. Uncle Earl has battled dreadfully with cancer for years now, and I know death has brought him final peace and rest. When we got word about his passing, Tater had just been diagnosed with the flu, and I volunteered to stay home with him. Peace stayed home to help me with the animals. The peditrician prescribed everyone doses of Tamiflu. Tater got better in three days, and none of us have any symptoms a week later. That's a miracle. Tater got the flu around this time of year, and everyone in the family caught a version of it following. Those were miserable days for everyone. So, I 'm feeling lucky to have avoided that same plight.

Buck and the two youngest arrived home late last night after a wintery drive through snow Cincinnati to Richmond. He told me I'd have been nervous as a cat with those slippery road conditions. I could tell the long drived taxed him, but he's off to take a sick goat to the vet. Sigh. No rest for the weary here.

Winter brings many things. Right now things seem dreary to me- drabness of nature, bitter cold, death, missing my husband, sickness of people and animals, difficulties with children. All these things seem to be an expression of Lent.

As with seasons, even seasons of the church, things are sent to remind of what is to come. Peace and I noticed a family of cardinals which live near the top of my driveway, and another flock on down the road. The flash of brilliant red feathers darting against the browns of barren thorns and trees encourages me to look toward the bright greens, cheery yellows, and romantic pinks of warming weather. I wait for spring. I wait.

Triple Negative from the Runway

As spoken to an air traffic controller with whom I am intimate:

.
.
.


"I will be on the side of the taxiway, and I ain't gonna be no factor to no aircraft"


After thoroughly dissecting the sentence .. the controller decided it was OK to proceed with business as usual.

Organization

Kat has picked the subject of organization for Parenting University today. I can tell by her orderly personality she'll have some great advice to offer, but organization is not my strongest suit. However, there are two areas which work for me at this time- homeschool and meal planning.

Homeschooling
Since I have four children in four different grades, I must find a way to keep track of all the books required. Each child has the following books of his or her own: language arts, vocabulary, math, literature, practice test taking, composition, and at least three teacher's guides per child. Every student has at least one novel to read at all times apart from the textbooks. We also have several references for history, science and Bible. In the course of one school day, that comes to about twenty eight books in use.
How in the world do we keep up with so many texts? I consulted with other homeschool mothers and borrowed their ideas. I've come up with a system which works for us. I've color coded each child's materials. Peace is red, because he is melancholy. Pooh Bear is purple, her favorite color. Tater is green being so very full of energy. Wise one is blue because he is serene and peaceful.
According to the person's color, I've bought painter's tape at Wallyworld to match. Each child's text has a strip of colored tape across the top spine and an inch around the sides. I tape two strips of colored tape to the bottom spine and side of teacher's manuals. If I spy a book with green tape on the couch, I know to call Tater to come fetch it. If Peace leaves me something to check, I know to find the blue taped teacher's manual.
Each child has a basket with a colored ribbon attached to catch sundry books and carry them around the house or out and about. It's fairly easy to take work on the road with a prepared basket. We have one assigned shelf where the baskets rest and another for books to placed in colored order when not in use or in the basket. The notebooks of paper I've purchased also match the child's color.
Around 1:00 in the afternoon, children, books and papers are spread all over the house on couches, kitchen table, homeschool table, breakfast counter, living room floor, my bed, my floor. It takes about five minutes to clean up the chaos at the end of the day.

Meal Planning
I don't like to cook or shop. I hate to think of "What's for dinner?". I'm always looking for new ways to make this work for our family. Currently I'm subscribing to a website which masterminds a five day dinner plan, shopping list, and recipes for each meal. Once a week, I shop big for breakfast items, bread, milk, yogurt, fruit, orange juice, snacks, and the website's list, and the deed is done. The recipes are fairly easy, so cooking is not too big of a deal.

There. you have my very best organizational tips. You might not want to ask about other areas of home order, because I have entirely too much stuff. I think if I was a rich woman, a library and office might solve every problem, because books and papers are the things in too great of abundance for our allowed space.

My mother braved the seriously juvenille antics of Alvin and the Chipmunks with my children, so Buck and I could see

There Will Be Blood

in the theater. I wanted to like it, because of the brilliance of Upton Sinclair, hero and reformer of the American industry.

Truth be known, I suppose I like a screenplay to be a really good and terrible tragedy or something somewhat redemptive. Neither was true of this movie.

It's no spoiler to sum the plot up for you, so you don't have to sit through the tedium. Oil companies, like the main character in the film, never had and never will have any kind of heart.

After a splendid weekend with Grandma, I spent the day helping a friend get her new homeschool cooperative off to a good start. I learned applied algebra from an eight year old boy and a game of dice. I admired others playing a real pirate game called "Shut the Box" which formed math equations. We looked at a map of the world to find the true size of Alaska compared to Texas. Watching children learn is a wonder. I'm grateful for the opportunity.

On a Much Lighter Note

I found a lovely list of Family Read alouds here. I have not looked at the rest of the site, but the excellent recommendations are in order by grade level.

Since I have multiple age levels in my home, I choose the family read aloud at the highest grade level and make sure to read appropriate grade level books to individual children.

Open Letter to President Bush

Dear Mr. President,
Arrogant. Rude. Childish. Inappropriate. Each time you flashed that smug trumping smile and even reduced yourself to snickering during your State of the Union addresss, I became infuriated like never before. It was like watching a fourth grade boy taunt, "Na, na, na, nuh, boo, boo. I got YOU!"

Perhaps you isolate yourself with people who won't speak the plain truth to you, so I'll say it myself. Apparently noone has told you over the years that smirking in triumph over your enemies does not build trust in either those who support you or in those you so visibly disdain. If you expect to accomplish the goals you set out last night by working together with opponents, you will be sorely disappointed. Will you have the gall to blame THEM if they do not cooperate? You only succeeded in alienating those you mock further.

I voted for you. I've trusted you. Please make amends, sir, before it is too late.

Sincerely,
Truevyne

This evening I feel that nervous urgency which visits me in the very beginning of my creative process. I have two projects due in one month, and I get the jitters as I'm about to jump into planning. I'm to prepare "lectures" for my training, and a series of prayer stations on the theme of refreshing for a retreat. I also have another side project of making a display for a conference, but I've secured two thoughtful designers to assist me there.

I'm at the point in the shaping process where I read and mull over the requirements. I almost always feel overwhelmed and panicked at the volume of material to be covered. I think, "This may be the time I really won't be able to think one. original. thought." I do not like to learn by lecture nor give lectures. I endeavor to present materials in such a way that the focus is on the work and not me. It takes enormous yet natural effort for me to move from a script toward developing ideas in community through creative means. I weigh that effort against the ticking clock and gulp.

After the initial "creative ball starts rolling", I relax and enjoy the flow of ideas. But beginning for me, is the hardest part. I wonder about the cause of my anxiety. Fear of failure? Deadlines? Worrying my muse won't cooperate? Other busyness? Lack of interest? Insecurity?

The interesting part of it all is that none of this is required of me. I do it for the joy of the work. I don't need consolation- it's simply a matter of getting over shivering and thinking about how cold the water is before I dive into swim.

Do you ever have trouble starting projects? What helps or hinders creativity in you?
Do you fear failure? Do you enjoy the work of your hands and mind?

Faith in Parenting

Kat is hosting the topic of faith in parenting this week for Parenting University blog project. Here's my submission:

Maybe you, like me, have heard and believed the expression

Love the sinner, hate the sin.

Today I came to the conclusion that this is not a biblical statement. How? Through the difficult work of parenting one of my sons.

Last night this son managed to expose my last nerve and jump repeatedly on it. I found myself talking at him, lecturing really, while he shut down and shut me out. Sullen. Arms bound tightly around his knees. Sour expression on a hardened face. Everything about him screamed, "I'm not listening!" except his voice.

This morning he woke up and greeted me with his arms flung wide, a huge delightful grin on his face, and exclaimed "Mommy!" In this magnanimous gesture, he was testing if the storm had passed between us. We embraced in a giant bear hug.

His polar actions got me thinking about the rock wall I'd hit in him last evening. He has a particular weaknesses which I'd like to see gone, and I hammered hard like he was made of some kind of stone. "It's so easy to tell the whole truth! It's not like in this family you are mistreated if you make a mistake. We have grace! So, why, oh why, do you keep this up? The truth is easy. Furthermore, why do you take things so far with your brothers. You stir up trouble and act surprised when discontentment comes flying back at you! Why don't you get it?", I demanded. How ironic that I'd insisted so passionately when I know deep in my heart this boy struggles terribly with impulsivity and self protection. Obviously, I was stomping about on my moral high horse on moral high ground.

Problem is that love doesn't work that way. I asked this child point blank this morning if he believed he could be deeply loved by me, and more so by God, when he lies? He painfully answered, "No. I don't deserve it. I try and try to be good, but I always fail. I don't know what to do." Doesn't that break your heart? He felt helpless. He'd internalized my anger and judgment of his sin as directed to core of his person, because I was picking on his weaknesses. If I couldn't somehow manage to rebuke my son without him feeling attacked, then I certainly wasn't "hating the sin and loving the sinner". I realized that if can't accomplish this statement with my own beloved son, then why did I think I could do so with anyone else on the planet?

I've decided the saying should go like this instead:

Love the sinner. Hate my own sin.

That's much more like the Gospel. My propensity to lecture a child utterly mocks me. In fact, it reveals my own pitiful weakness of controlling behavior and judgment.

Mulling this over has given me new depth to understand Paul's words in Roman 6:15:
"For what I am doing, I do not understand; for I Am not practicing what I would like to do, but I am doing the very thing I hate."

This morning I spoke to my son about Paul's words. The Great Apostle Paul failed again and again. Next,I shared my own entrenched weaknesses. I laid out my choices. I could shut whom I chose out, believing myself to be a good person. Of course, I'd be forced to work diligently to hide or justify my own sin if I made that choice. Or I could take another route entirely in which I'd humbly admit my shortcomings and the hurt which they cause yet know that I am still deeply loved by God.

In this new conversation, I watched my boy come full circle from "I don't deserve love" to "I am incredibly loved by God."

Deeper still, I asked my son if we both could try to embrace the unlovable parts of ourselves and promise to remain open to God's love when we feel like closing the door on others.

As parents, we are the keepers of the faith until the child learns to have faith for himself. Yesterday I failed. Today I've gained astounding faith for myself and my child.

The fire yesterday got me thinking of my attachment to things. Gandhi is said to have only owned the few things in this picture. At the othe end of the spectrum, I'm overcome with all the stuff in my house. There are days I'd like to get rid of it all and live a much simpler life. However, I have things to which I'm attached.
Here's a list I've come up with so far:

a fruit bowl from my grandmother's house
my notebooks from Catechesis of the Good Shepherd
a picture over my computer of a woman in a storm
a metal piece of artwork in my living room of birds in a tree
a few antiques
a quilt from my grandmother
a picture I painted for Buck which hangs in our bathroom
last supper figures my husband and I made together
a creche made for Meredith Lee and my work in the city
of course, old photos
a chest Helen and Clay refinished for my fortieth birthday

How long would it take to replace all my homeschool material collected over seven years? I shudder to think.

I'm sure there are more items I'd miss. I know I'd be impatient and irritable working to replenish my home. I don't like that about myself.

I thought of how my neighbors might be ever so grateful to have everyone make it out safe from the fire. However, I considered the grief they'd experience as they remember something sentimental lost in the flames. How the grief would keep coming in waves over the entire year as they reached for something they used for a particular holiday, and it would have been destroyed.

What would you hate to lose? How would you handle such great loss?

Sirens approached. More than one. Blue and red lights flashed. Tater yelled through the bathroom door as I relaxed in a hot bath, "Mom, the house at the end of driveway is on fire!" Buck and the boys ran the quarter of a mile down the road for a closer look. Our neighbors stood shivering in the freezing cold helplessly watching the blaze.
"It's bad, honey," Buck reported to me, "I'm taking them some blankets."
Pooh Bear looked down the distance from the porch, "Everything's burning!" Tears filled her eyes.
I thanked God when Buck assured us that all people and animals were completely safe. Not being an expert on such things, I wonder if any amount of repair would undo the massive damage. The roof caves in at the middle in the morning light. Whisper a prayer for these folks. I can't imagine what it's like to lose everything.

Vyne Family Grace and Courtesy

Kat and Jessica asked if I might share about the development of our family discipline system. It's a long story, so feel free to skip this post if the topic sounds uninteresting.

Keep in mind that I felt I had come to a crisis, and that our family needed deep healing. My family mostly seemed just fine from an outsider's perspective, but on the inside I saw incredible disrespect for one another. Sometimes disrespect spilled outside my family as well. My children would bicker, disregard, and tear one another down. While some parents turn a blind eye and say, "Kids will be kids", I couldn't stomach it. Nor could I control it.

The first month of our parenting revolution moving from punishment to respect, I decided it would make a difference in our family if I put on some additional discipline myself. I tried in every way I could think of to take external consequences off the table and seek ways to motivate my children internally. Ultimately, it was a complete disaster. I found myself constantly annoyed and frustrated with my children for not making good choices. Things would fall further into disaster when I leave for dinner out with friends or book club, because no one had a vision for the plan except me.

The next month, I realized I'd come to the end of myself and began to seek God's help. I did not like what I was hearing from Him. I felt God leading me to cancel all my own plans and listen carefully and quietly on behalf of my husband and children. That month I had been asked to be a leader at a retreat. I'd organized a girlfriend getaway. I was part of a book club. I was planning a teaching project. God asked me to cancel everything until further notice for at least three to six months and then carefully weigh with Him every moment away from my family afterwards. I even gave up long conversations with people on the phone. Five minutes of phone chat was my limit. I gave up meeting friends for coffee or dinner. It seemed downright reclusive.

Although I didn't understands it initially, letting go of my agenda was key to the success of our parenting revolution. It gave me the gift of the most precious commodity. TIME. When I wasn't working with God on the plan or homeschooling, I spent the rest of my time tying heart strings individually with my children. I spent at least an hour of one on one time with each of the four children every. single. day.

I concentrated on deeply listening without outside interuptions to the problems in my house. And God was faithful to speak in a time loneliness for me. Everyday, I'd wake up and ask the day's plans.

The first assignment was to discuss with all the children, "What is a good family?" and "What is a bad family?". We spent two hours thinking and writing our down every one's thoughts. I returned to the topic later in the day again to go deeper. I wanted to keep it positive, so I stopped the discussion as needed when I saw the children becoming restless. We called our big list "family agreements".

The next day we talked about the "why's" behind all the agreements we'd written the day before.

Examples: "People in families should ask before they go in someones room." Why? "It makes me mad." What else? "It's MY room, and it makes me feel like I'm not important if I people burst in and touch my things." "People might damage something I care about."

"People in families should speak nicely. We should use calm voices and gentle faces." Why? "I feel scared when people yell at each other. It's like hurting with words, not hits."

"People in families should not hit one another." Why? "No one likes to be hurt."


Again, so as not to exasperate the children, I watched for signs of disinterest and stopped. Other times we'd pick it back up again. After all, I had the gift of time.

The next assignment was to figure out what in the world we could do to love one another in times of disrespect. This was by far the hardest assignment, and precisely what took three months to negotiate. I was firm in that I did not want punishment but relationship. Some sweet soul came up with, "We could serve one another when we've done one another a disservice." How? We batted around ideas I can't quite remember that day. Apologies didn't offer the incentive to stop a repeat of the disrespectful action again. One suggestion was to do the other person's chores, but that seemed so complicated as we explored implementation. Someone stumbled upon time away from each other- time away from everyone thinking over the "why" behind the disrespect. Everyone liked that idea. I randomly picked a family agreement from the days before of "People should wait turns to speak." If this agreement was broken, did it require same amount of thinking time away from people as hitting? Certainly not. We gauged each agreement together and assigned thinking time. This took days, because every single person had to agree completely. Someone would say, "That's too long." especially if it was something in his personal area of weakness. Another would say, "That's too short", because the disrespectful thing had happened so often to him.


We spent the following months working out the fine details which came up along the way:

Where would a person serve thinking time?

After much struggle we came to the conclusion of outside, since we live on a farm in the middle of nowhere. And yes, Buck and I have served thinking time outside for sundry infractions of the agreements ourselves. Mostly I've served for being impatient or harsh.

What if two people needed to serve thinking time at once? Front yard. Back yard.

What if it got too cold outside? The garage was an option, and thinkers were welcome to take blankets, sleeping bags, whatever seemed necessary.

What about Pooh Bear outside by herself? She goes outside for very short thinking times, but she also has a thinking chair inside she may use. I didn't like the idea of someone so young being alone outside for more than a few minutes even if we do live a long way from others.

Could the person play and think outside at the same time? We decided, yes. It's not punishment. Bikes, trampoline, skateboards, petting a variety farm animals would connect us back to good ways to burn energy. We just couldn't be around other people.

What happens if the person didn't agree with thinking time? We'd hammer it out till every party agrees.

What if people wouldn't take responsibility for his or her actions? We'd work on it as positively as possible until everyone came to harmony.

What if a person came in saying, "He deserved me to yell at him, and I'll do it again."? Back outside for more thinking.

What if someone woke up grumpy and said, "These agreement are ALL stupid!" They'd stay entirely away from the family until they agreed to keep them again, even if it was for a whole day which actually happened. To break the cycle, we asked the grumpy son to call ANYONE he wanted to talk about any injustice in our family and hold Buck and I accountable. We suggested names of friends, pastors, teachers, and told him we'd make any change the person asked, because we simply couldn't be a family without our son. Ultimately, he did not want to make that call, because he knew he was being unreasonable. His heart melted, and he joined back in the family agreements.

What if someone stomps, slams doors, and yells on his way out to think? Adding time for each broken agreement didn't help. It took a few months for me to think this easy solution up-I modeled zipping mouth, walking slowly and carefully with hands on thighs, carefully opening and closing the door, running quite a bit away from the house, then stomping, and yelling, "It's not fair! I hate this! This is stupid! Why do I always have to go outside? My family stinks!" It got laughs from the kids, but my son who struggled with his angry exit, changed his approach.

Who would be the judge of hearts? Me.

What if I made a terrible mistake in judging? God showed us the example His Son on the cross forgiving for what they did not know they had done. Plus one child chimed in, "It's just time to think and play outside. Nothing like dying on a cross!"

Where was Buck during all these many discussions? Mostly working, but he'd come home, look over what we'd decided, and put his stamp of approval on every detail.

Are we a perfect family? Not by any stretch of the imagination. All the Vynes exhibit selfishness, pride, anger, and other unhappy behaviors at times. Figuring this system out has been messy, but there has been a huge difference in the way we treat one another inside the Vyne household. In the beginning, the boys spent lots of time exchanging tit for tat serving of thinking time. A year later, we find less need for the entire system. Grace and courtesy developed within each person has become the rule rather than the exception.

When I see that commercial for a minivan in which "family time" is portrayed as three children with headphones on doing separate things and barely tolerating one another in some horrid conversation, I know we're markedly different. With God's help, we've built a way together to work through conflict with dignity and without power struggles.

Internal Discipline

Kat is featuring something new on Thursdays called Parent University. Today's topic is discipline. Here's my contribution.

Every parenting expert says it- discipline comes from within. However, parenting
experts seem to spend an exorbitant amount of time tauting external forces parents might use. Time out. Taking away privileges. Consequences. Spanking. Positive reinforcement. Negative reinforcement. Rewards. Punishment. None of these things come from within the child. They're something adults can impose on a small person.

So how to work towards internalization of discipline? Great question. It's all about letting the children feel the weight of the problem themselves. Little people won't ever catch on to what is important if everything is handled for them by us.

Let's take the typical scenario of one child tugging the toy from another. Let's says they are old enough to speak well (3 or up). I can put the child who tugged in time out or send her to her room. I can take the toy back and give it to the victim of the crime. I can give stickers to my children if they haven't taken toys from one another all day. I could even spank the child who stole the toy. Parenting experts might agree that these are all perfectly fine interventions. I disagree, because all of this involved the extrinsic resource of the parent.

Why not request the children to hand the toy in dispute to the adult? The adult could say, "Whoa! Both of you want this toy right now. What can we do that is fair for everybody?" Let the children determine with one another what works. If one has a hard time finding adequate or appropriate words, then help. I promise three to ninety year olds can figure it out.

May sound simple, but I hadn't quite caught onto how to expand the idea more to family life. After all, I had been indoctrinated with behavior management in college courses for my special education degree. So, I found I had to go cold turkey with external force parenting.

Why? A friend gave me this great counsel concerning my future as a mother. Teenagers only give as much control as they want give to anyone. External force simply does not work on teenagers. Grounding. Taking away cell phones. Taking away driving privileges. All external forces. I'd be dire trouble if these were the only things I have to "control" my sixteen year old. Teens can walk away from control without relationship, and I've seen many simply jump the family ship. I don't want to use power with my children; I want relationship. Relationship is respect, and no one has ever demanded respect. It's earned.

A year ago, we decided as a family to stop punishment altogether. Can you believe it? We all still wanted some way for each to be held accountable for disrespecting one another, and so everyone came up with a system together in which we could live well.

What has been the result? Pandemonium? Bedlam? Nope. Quite the opposite. My children have developed more self discipline this year than any year before.
It took weeks, maybe even months, and many hours of family meetings to hammer it out, but we have arrived at a relatively peaceful household containing six strongly opinionated individuals.

So what's your advice on discipline? Post it and submit it to Kat, too.

Interesting Cross Cultural Adoption Post

Great post here on a common experience I've had over many years of being the adoptive mother of a biracial child.

Six Words

Here are some words at present I could live without in the English language. My middle son has worn them out with his constant use.

Awesome
Stupid
Sweet
Spaz
Dude
Awkward

As in: "SWEET! That band is AWESOME! You're a SPAZ,DUDE, if you don't like them. It's so STUPID and AWKWARD that they aren't touring in Knoxville."

Am I raising a surfer or something? What's come over that child?

Fashion

Why,oh why, does my daughter believe that the following actually matches?

plain gray long sleeved Gap shirt
red windbreaker pants with cute snaps at the ankle
bright pink socks
ruby red slippers
plaid Christmas purse
light blue hair clip

When I asked her to change, she emerged with:

a red summer top with spaghetti straps over the same gray shirt
white socks
same read pants and slippers

She doesn't look any better by any stretch of the imagination. I just hope the seven year old version of "What Not to Wear" isn't filming in town today.

Birthday

I truly did not appreciate my own mother until I looked into the bright eyes of my first born son for the first time. I knew right then and there, that if my mother loved me a fraction as much as I loved the itsy bitsy baby in my arms, then that was quite enough for me. My mother loves me. She doesn't want to change me, make me something better. She loves who I am. What an incredible gift to give a daughter. I only hope I can do the same for my daughter.

Having my own children has helped me understand the judgement I held against parents in general. Negative things in particular which I'd harbored against my mom evaporated on the spot as I cradled my wriggling infant son. His birth brought healing to my dissonant heart.

As I continue to grow as a mother, I continue to increase in admiration for my mother. Today is her birthday, and I want to honor her with words, but I fall short. So I'll simply say-

Thank you, mom. Thank you for all that you've done for me, and the friendship we have today.

The two women working on my hair today had me in stitches. Yes, I did mean two ladies. I do have lots of hair.

Somehow the common hairdressing topics shifted to hot flashes and menopause which I have yet to experience.
So I asked, "Is it really that bad? I think I'd like to get hot for once since I'm cold natured."

Deena grinned and spoke in a humorously sarcastic tone, "Oh, no. It's not that bad. You just wish you were DEAD."

Beatrice chimed in, "Honey, it's sleeping that is worst of all. You wake up burning hot all over, so you kick off all the covers in a hurry. Ten minutes later you jolt awake freezing to death. Repeat this cycle through the whole night, and you begin to understand the horror of it."

Together they pronounced, "There nothing like it."

I can't wait.

Next the conversation skipped onto Jane, the other hairdresser who was supposed to be come to the shop. Deena answered the phone, said a very few words, came back and shared with Beatrice, "That woman must take the whole morning thinking of a new excuse, never been used before. Right now, she's apparently sitting in her car on the side of the road throwing up all over the place. She can't even drive into work. Who knows what she'll say tomorrow."

Beatrice answered, "Jane did make $100 yesterday, so she probably doesn't need anymore money for a day or two. I wish I lived like that. I get off work here and go right straight home to work in my own beauty shop."

I told them about my precious aunt who owns a shop in Georgia who takes care of every elderly woman's hair in town for free. Apparently, Beatrice gets up before dawn, picks up customers who can't drive any longer, does their hair, and drives them home just like my aunt. Of course, it was Deena who told me so.

I could see the friendship between the women. I liked the way they talked to the other customers while I was there. I don't go to the salon often at all, and it was pleasant to be with these two fine ladies this afternoon.

My children scattered to the wind throughout the weekend. Pooh Bear went to birthday beauty parlor party/sleepover in which I was given the privilege of manicuring nine year old nails, already bedazzled with sparkles and updos. To make things a little complicated, many girls asked for completely different colors on e.v.e.ry. s.i.n.g.l.e n.a.i.l.

On the fly, my youngest son, Wise One was invited to spend the night as well.

When I picked them up on Saturday morning, both were grumpy with one another until I performed mommy magic. I let them buy doughnuts. Wise One decided to use his own money to buy one for Pooh Bear, because they's argued all the way to the store. What about? She wanted to sing, and he wanted absolute quiet.

Peace, not one to enjoy a leadership role, was asked by his Scout leader to come to a leadership training. I asked Peace to seriously think about it, and he finally agreed. The young man came back walking on clouds. He told me stories about nature, leadership movies which contained cheezy elements, pranks, talks. Two other boys shared a cabin with him, and he especially liked talking in a vampire voice to the one who'd been reading a scary book before bedtime. His leader talked to Peace about staying the course to The Order of the Arrow- an honor in the Scout world. I've heard that the award has lost its meaning in certain troops by giving it to every scout, but ours troop doesn't look at it that way. It is earned. We'll see if Peace merits such a thing.

Tater is very concerned that some of his best friends, Owen and Tory, are leaving for L.A. this week. They called last night and invited Tater to sleep over one last time. The kids will probably only be gone four months, but you'd think it was forever. He's been moping around for two weeks. Kudos to a family who actually let their children try for their dreams in such a real way, and we hope they break a leg. Both will audition for television and movie productions.

Early weekend recovery bedtimes for all to be rested for school tomorrow are required. This means I may be able to sneak some personal reading time after teaching this evening.

It occured to me that we have an odd family. How many people have teenagers who still like read alouds? As a lover of literature, I am so grateful for it.

I started the Hawk and the Dove trilogy today with my children as a read aloud. I tried to stop after one hour, but Peace and Wise One protested loudly! Obviously, it's going to be a family hit.

On a homeschool note, my children are older. This book seems to be just right for my fourteen year old. My seven year old girl doesn't mind listening, but I hope to read it to her again when she turns fifteen, just like the girl in the story.

Sound of Music

The Sound of Music has always been my favorite all time movie. My seven year old Pooh Bear watched it for the first time. Her response? After a few unsolicted inquiries to me about the vocation of a nun she stated,

"Just so you know, Mommy. When I grow up I do not want to become a nun. I want to get married and be a mom."

Had to wipe my brow on that one, right?

I'm now savoring The Hawk and the Dove trilogy by Penelope Wilcock. The book was recommended by Miriam about ten times, and I tried to get into the story for an entire year unsuccessfully. I just was not drawn in within the first chapters. "Keep reading," Miriam chided, and I did. Now I can hardly put it down, so I've devised a way to relish each story in the book. I only allow myself one chapter a day, so that I might treasure each character and memorize the lesson within. Yes, it's that good. Father Peregrine, a proud yet broken Abbot charged with overseeing a humble Benedictine monastery, lights a fire deep in my soul. His character displays a uniquely relational perspective on intentional love in community.

In order to keep myself on this Hawk and Dove diet, I'm also allowing myself to read as much of The Pillars of the Earth by Ken Follet as I like. I had no idea when I picked up this book, that it contained the story about a monk as well. It's much lighter reading, and I'm enjoying it so far. Don't be fooled, this current best seller doesn't hold a candle to Wilcock's depth and insight.

Nerdy or no, my son Peace is handy with model kits. When Pooh Bear's soccer trophy fell to the floor via our clumsy cat Janet and the plastic girl broke off at the foot kicking the ball, I knew the fix it man. Peace got right to work but lost hope when he realized the kicker was top heavy and model glue wasn't doing the trick. I knew he was up to something questionable when he took the project into his room and emerged with a silly grin on his face fifteen minutes later. "Don't mess with the pony tail, Pooh Bear," he requested trying hard to suppress giggles. Peace handed Pooh Bear an entirely different trophy. "That's not mine. Does it say my name?" she inquired. Surprisingly, it did. She couldn't resist touching the hair of the soccer player and it drooped. Buck, Peace and I exploded with laughter. He'd taken one of his old trophies, changed the name plate, and stuck the pony tail on his boy kicker to make it a girl. Peace had discovered the trophy maker's top secret. The only difference in the mold is a flying ponytail.