are we there yet?

for some reason, and i don't know from where i got my information, but for some reason, i thought once upon a time that parenting was hardest in the beginning climbed to its height of difficulty when the child was around 5 and then became remarkably and uneventfully well, easy. i've only been at it for 15 years, but based on my personal experience and that of my friends with older kids, it.only.gets.more.challenging. 

yesterday we were trying to finish up supper for a family walk. as we tidied the dishes and swept the floor, one of our boys argued. not over the task of sweeping, but over a dispute that he and i had had hours prior over, well, i honestly cannot remember what. but he was what we in the south like to term "stewing" and what i mean by this is this boy who i adore cannot stand being w-r-o-n-g. and he cannot stand being called out. and when i do call him out, it turns into a back and forth like something from a courtroom. "what is your evidence?" "how can you prove probable cause?" "did you see the defendant lay down that towel and then leave the scene?" 

y'all. it's akin to that darling stage in a child's development when everything is "why?" only this go around the kid has a larger vocabulary, an arsenal of excuses and doesn't require snacks or naps to refuel their energies. 

i've been thinking a lot about how we never really leave a stage of parenthood, it just sort of changes. parenting to me feels like i'm that little kid starting out on a road trip with my parents. my small legs dangling over the seat. i can't see past the front seat, and i keep asking, "are we there yet?" o, sure. i should be all "enjoy the ride, look out the window. enjoy the adventure." but, really. all i want to know is "when are we freakin' going to get 'there' cause i'm feeling carsick? " wherever there is.  

i have decided to keep a tally of how often i get interrupted whilst using the loo. every.single.time. i go to the bathroom, i hear, "hhheeeeeeyyyyy, mom?" and guess what? my kids are too old for this. the youngest is 8 for crying out loud. it got me to wondering how much of life repeats itself.

for instance, the other day i was standing in the kitchen. the 13 year old walked over to me and hugged me. hard. and you know what? it was the best thing i have ever felt in my life. in fact i told him that his affection is the only gift he ever has to give me. for the rest of his life. he rolled his eyes as he shot a glance in his father's direction. "riiiiight." but i meant it. wholeheartedly. a hug from your toddler is precious. an unsolicited hug from your teenager is epic. a choice action. a reminder that in all of this screwed up parenting game, you still are in the game. at least. 

sleepless nights still come though you are no longer up feeding a wailing infant. you are feeding your fears of whether or not this whole thing will work out. 

fighting over independence? yup. only the littles who want to "do it by myself" are now 15 year olds who think they no longer need you for, well, anything. 

getting them to eat well, stay safe. none of that changes as your children get older. it just gets bigger. as does your love. they can do more so you expect more. and sometimes that leads to more frustration when they don't do the things you know they can do (and have told them to do like a million times). and then you remember they are just a kid after all. and you remember that handy and effective tool called grace. the grace that is extended to you over and over. and with all your might, you wrench that out to use on your kid. and boy, is that the best thing.

i remember gazing at my newborn with a love that felt otherworldly. yesterday as my 13 year old walked out the door, i felt that love. a hundred times stronger. only instead of it being one sided, it came back when he said, "i need you to be my mom." 

and when i am invited into the 15 year old's inner circle, a circle of one, i am grateful. he shows me what he's working on, thinking about and i cautiously tread because i never know when he's going to become incensed with me. and showing him any kind of affection is akin to court room, "permission to approach the bench" kind of exchange. never one to show his anger. i read an excerpt from a paper he once wrote, "i rarely become anger". what? is this kid really mine?

o, but he is. and so are his 3 little wild ass brothers. we have a somewhat long history with one another. a tiring history. and speaking of tiring. parenting older kids, with all the running around, staying up late helping them understand a math concept, shuttling around to this place and that-is just exhausting. so take cheer, dear young parents. you have time. so rest now.

xo,

gf

school daze: gorilla in the midst

{herein lies the 3rd of a 4 part series on our schooling experience. if you would like to read the other two, kindly go here and here.}

how the natives best concentrate

studying more about sociology is something i would someday like to pursue. perhaps that is because i took an amazing sociology class as an undergraduate. the professor was compelling and kind. for some reason the most remembered aspect of her class was the story she told of her own daughter's wedding.

this sociology professor at this large midwestern college was quite literally shut out from her daughter's most important day, her wedding. because her daughter had decided to marry a man who was mormon and her mother was not, this sociology professor was not invited to the nuptials of her beloved daughter. the shock and confusion still pierce as i think how hurtful this must've been for this vulnerable mother who felt this part of her life was worth sharing with a classroom of kids who were her students. 

what does this have to do with my third post on homeschooling you might wonder. well, a lot actually. 

that story and that sociology class made me long to understand people. and my deep desire to understand people is another reason why i decided to try to understand my people, my children. the best way i found to understand them is by studying them, learning with them, and occasionally teaching them.

when my sociology professor mentioned the newly adopted religious beliefs of her daughter, i questioned exclusivity. what mores would one have to adopt and accept to make this seem reasonable? my own faith beliefs are of inclusion. including and inviting. this component of the mormon church still mystifies me. 

before i became a mother, i was an elementary school teacher. my third son is not unlike some of the students whom i taught when i was a free{educational}agent only they were female and named jennifer. he is my most emotional child with two settings: off and on. there is really no gray with harry. there is no revving up. he is on full throttle. or he is asleep.

still struggles with reading, but sweets help him persevere

when he turned 7 i realized his reading wasn't advancing like i thought it should so i asked a friend who happens to be a reading specialist to come hear him read. her assessment was that he just needed to have lots of repetition in his reading. "have him read and reread the same book." in addition she suggested, "have him take a new piece of literature and scan it for words that are unfamiliar. then have him decode the word." wow. okay. that is sort of what i have being doing with him all along. repetition, scanning for difficulty and then decoding {him}.

somedays i feel like dian fossey amongst the gorillas-waiting for this particular primate to make advances that can be recorded and examined. "is he making progress?" "does he know how to grasp this concept?" "is it developmental or laziness?" perhaps i am a sociologist{or primatologist} after all. 

this quirky boy of 9 sees and hears and feels things on a different plane than most. he modulates his mood to fit his observation. nothing gentles him like nature. and nothing impassions him like nature. recently we were sitting in our school room which happens to be a sun porch, a room that is literally all windows. how distracting this can be when the squirrels and birds are showing off, but how delightful too. this boy-who-claims-he-needs-glasses noticed the tiniest chrysalis hanging on the branch in our neighbor's yard. he kept trying to point it out, but my failing eyes could not make out the treasure. i strained. i tried, but it would not register in my view. i finally did the most despicable thing a parent can do. i lied. "o, yes. wow. how tiny. how magnificent you were able to spot that!" 

i still don't know if he saw an actual chrysalis. it seems out of season for that kind of metamorphosis. but what he saw or thought he saw is still telling. he saw magic and wanted to share it with me! 
with me! 

that is how i feel most days with this boy. magic. trying to see. trying to hear. trying to communicate with my gorilla in the mist who is in my midst. this boy who can spot the tiny magic in the neighbor's yard, but cannot see the box of cream cheese in our refrigerator. the one right in front of his eyes. he is a mystery to me.

and this mystery is teaching me: to hear, to see, to feel, to touch and enjoy.

truth be told it's my boys who have been schooling me at home. and this boy-our third son's lessons are on patience and laughter and grace. lots and lots of grace with a gracious amount of tomfoolery smeared on for good measure. 


learning to see-the chrysalis in the tree regardless if it's actually there. appreciating the birds of the air. and taking copious notes to keep up. i am still learning. there is so much more to learn.

xo,

gf

{next friday i will be ending this 4 part series on our choice to school in our one room schoolhouse-the place i affectionately refer to as the cottage-on-the-hill. i hope you come back to read the finale.}