My Heart as a Pendulum

While my family has really enjoyed homeschooling, this year we are partaking in the beauty and routine of public schooling.  My oldest daughter loves school, religiously completes her homework, and refuses to miss a single day for any reason.  My son is having a hard time moving with the flow of the class and remaining engaged in activities.  Both are making friends, gaining academic skills, enjoying the routines, and say their day at school was "GREAT!"  They are also both clear in their pleas of homeschooling next year.

In public school, they miss their homeschooling community, the more flexible flow of our days, the free time available after completing required tasks, the mid-week spontaneous vacations.  They also miss their daddy and the comforts of being home to rest and process at their own pace.

My heart moves like a pendulum on this issue, back and forth every week or two.  In talking with many friends, I see homeschooling as a definite possibility.  A clear and simple routine will need to be in place, more chores, along with built in breaks for me.  A babysitter will be able to back me up so I can run errands, manage business details, exercise, and get out without children.  While I love the connection in homeschooling, public school is a definite reprieve for me.  I need that routine and time with our wee toddler while the big kids are accountable to other adults.

Tonight my son had an upset stomach.  I asked him how long he has had diarrhea.  "Since the school year started."  Oh, my heart as the pendulum swings the other way.  (I remember the feeling of stomach knots when I was a public school teacher.)  Parenting is such a balance of taking care of ourselves and our children.  The fine art of this challenge is finding the sweet spot where most of our needs are met and we come together in the middle to love on one another.  I am still searching for this sweet spot.  It is out there.  I can feel it when I cuddle up with my sweet children and listen to their hearts beating in rhythm with my own.

Choosing Health

The love of my life, M, died of lung cancer 12 weeks ago.  He was the young father of our three young children.  M ate well, exercised, had a variety of well-rounded routines.  Then why did this happen?  After asking myself this question too many times to count, I have come up with my own translation of events.  M had a family history of cancer.  His parents and grandparents died of cancer.  Each generation seemed to die younger than the last.  M's branch of the family tree has been the hardest hit at the youngest ages.  His parents were the first to die in their generation and M was the first in his.  This genetic predisposition is just the beginning of the challenge.  M and his parents unknowingly lived in homes with radon and worked with chemicals in an old building for much of their last 15 years.  I blame these exterior factors for the loss of my beloved at a tragically young age.  Perhaps I choose to blame these things because they are outside of my control.

After testing our 10-year-old home this last summer and autumn, I discovered my children have unknowingly been exposed to harmful levels of radon for their entire lives.  They also carry their father's genetic predisposition.  This is unsettling.  As the remaining single parent, I have also been exposed to this deadly gas.  I also worked in old buildings.  We are not alone.  Many people I know go to school and live in old buildings with possible.  Our metropolitan area also has substantial air quality challenges (large company emission levels allowed for small companies) that have led to cancer in people we know and love.  It is a true privilege to make healthy choices for my family.  Not everyone gets these choices.

Why bring down our energy by talking about death by everyday poisons?  In my opinion, once we know about a problem, we can finally do something to rectify the situation.  Ignorance may be bliss, but it can also be deadly.  After finding radon in our home, I had a mitigation system installed.  I am comforted in knowing our levels are now far below "safe levels".  I make a point of providing regular doses of fresh fruits and vegetables for my children.  They have plenty of physical exercise and outlets for their emotions. 

I take comfort in knowing my children live in a newer home and attend a newer school.  I take comfort in knowing their school doesn't have asbestos in the walls or lead in the water.  I take comfort in knowing my children eat healthy foods, drink a lot of filtered water, stay away from plastic dishes, eat plenty of fruits and vegetables, hang out with friends often, and regularly spend time outside.  I take comfort in trusting I am strong enough and resourceful enough to handle the raising of these extraordinary children in our changing world.  I take comfort in knowing it is a gift to get to live life fully with these people at this time.  I take comfort in knowing I continue to choose to be here with my children.  I take comfort in knowing I am doing my best in the roles I have been given.  I take comfort in loving this wild adventure we intentionally choose to share each day of our blessed lives.

The Stretching of Public School Snow Days

In the dark, alone in the kitchen, when my children would usually be dragging themselves around on the floor looking for socks and breakfast, I get to be alone.  My children are sleeping in three different beds without me.  Snow days.  As homeschoolers, snow days meant we got to stay home and play in the snow and drink hot chocolate with my partner, watching the snow and freezing rain fall.  I had already expected to be with my children and meet their vast needs all day.

Public school snow days feel a little different.  On these days, I am surprised to find my young children with me, to get to meet their vast needs all day, while also needing to get my own business-as-usual done anyhow.  I am again surprised at my new full life as a single parent.  For our first snow day yesterday, we had a couple neighborhood children with us so their parents could work.  I was the mother of five children for several hours.  This was a wonderful and busy experience.  Before bed I got a little of my own work taken care of.  Today is another snow day, full of freezing rain-slicked surfaces.  There will be more children joining us, more indoor projects, and less work completed.  Now I know what it feels like to parent young public school children when there are snow days.  It is like much of parenting and life, both bitter and sweet.  I intentionally focus on the sweet.

I trust I will eventually get our errands run, our mail opened, our floors dried, our laundry folded, my meals prepared.  I trust I will somehow get to my surrogate grandfather's memorial service far away tomorrow with the necessary items in hand.  I trust I will find the details needed within my deceased partner's texts and emails to negotiate with the builder of our "dream home" (that we will sell asap).  I trust I have it within myself to get through this day with grace and love and patience and gratitude.  I trust that what is most important will be done.  The holding of hands, drying of tears, filling of bellies, warming of toes, reading of books, stacking of blocks, coloring of pages, cutting of snowflakes, connecting of hearts.  Despite my endless list of tasks, I know it will all be okay.  We are buoyant creatures.  I am thankful just to be alive with these miraculous people, complete with our daily fears, tears, and joys.  I treasure getting to experience the stretching of another snow day with my children.  I would not trade this day for anything.  Such infinite blessings.

Getting to Volunteer at School

I got to volunteer in my children's school for the first time this week.  My oldest child is nine, so this may be a strange declaration.  My children were homeschooled until this September.  We had chosen last spring to give public school a try after too much time together was not benefiting my relationship with my persistent, determined son.  He now loves kindergarten, playing with peers, dressing for the occasion, and daily free choice time with different art mediums.

My children's school is having a canned food drive.  Last week they could have a popsicle at lunch if they brought in a certain number of canned goods.  As the parent of children going through a lot right now, I wanted my children to be like the other kids (whose parents prepared for these things in advance) and get the prize this time.  My children don't make a big deal out of most things, though this day I felt I wanted to show them I show up for them in this way.  After my children went to school, I put their canned goods into bags, wrote a love note on the outside of each, and delivered them to their respective classrooms (unlike the lunch bag mix up that occurred the day before).  When I said to a teacher I wanted my children to be able to have a popsicle, I really meant I want them to know I am here to support them in a variety of ways.

Teachers hugged me and expressed their condolences for the loss of my partner to lung cancer two weeks prior.  Now that I am no longer struggling to simultaneously care for my ailing partner, my home, and my children, I get to have the energy to reach out and connect with others in new ways.  I talked with the third grade teacher about how it would be fun to team teach the group of 38 students together, and volunteered to grade papers at home.  (Before my first was one year old, I had the privilege of teaching third grade.)  Near the office, there was a great project underway with an artist in residence.  What a colorful, child-crafted scene!

So this week I returned to school with a cracker-eating toddler on my back to spread and coax charcoal grout into a permanent mural.  I found such delight in meeting new people, having small conversations with other adults, working without talking, caking my hands with black chunks, pouring buckets of black water outside in the sunshine, narrating my actions for my toddler, using my body to do things other than care for children and tackle mountains of paperwork.  Simple delights.  I got to volunteer in my children's school for the first time this week.  I look forward to an unfolding of relationships and new delights within each new day, and within this new-to-us community.

Arriving Early

Arriving early is new to us.  As homeschoolers we've had more leisurely schedules for the majority of the week.  Now that we are waking early for public school all week, we are all accustomed to rising in the dark and getting started on the day.  Instead of strolling in on time or late for activities, we are discovering the thrill of arriving early to socialize, meet new people, catch up with old friends, to sit, to rest, to laugh, to play together.  I do look forward to a time in my life when I will get enough sleep, when I can sleep in until I'm fully rested.  (A part of me thinks it may be complete fantasy to believe I'll ever be fully rested again, yet it is a creation that brings me comfort.)  Until then, this time we have is such a gift.  I treasure these new experiences with my children.

The Blessings of Each New Day

Dearest Radiant Readers,

Each new day bring a new adventure.  My children and I are figuring out how to gracefully manage our morning to allow for breakfast, sitting down to breakfast together, kissing Papa, and making sure all preparations are in place before getting on that school bus.  Each day is darker than the last at this time of year.

Each day brings something new.  This is my fourth day without my two older children at home, as the school year has just started and this year my children are a part of it.  After days of shuffling things from one place to another in spare minutes, the counters are visible.  We've been able to attend medical meetings together, run errands, rest.  My baby is a few days from her first birthday and is able to take quiet naps (on my back or in my lap).  A friend came to love on our baby so I could get a great cleansing massage (sweat, tears, emotions, knotted muscles).

My partner (the Papa) has completed five days of radiation on his right lung.  For now he can still talk and swallow and eat solids.  We are prepared in all ways to make smoothies for his wounded esophagus.  He is sleeping a little better with an air purifier, humidifier, and oxygen machine.  Friends have come from near and very far to visit, leaving so much love and nourishment.  On this long road with cancer, be it weeks or years, there are so many ups and downs.  We are hoping and praying for many quality years together as a family of five.  When we break it down into digestible chunks, each day is truly a gift.

With the help of friends, I may make it to our thrice yearly adult book club without the big kids.  A friend offered babysitting so I get to attend a yoga class or just have time alone once a week.  These little yet big things help keep me afloat as I do my best to be a calm, patient, joyful mother and wife.

Each day brings great unknown adventures.  Today is a wonderful day.  My partner is able to drive himself to simple appointments.  I have sunshine, open windows, a baby napping on my back, computer keys under my fingertips, cats sunning themselves, clean laundry, quiet.  My children have their favorite class after school today, getting dirty and crafty on the farm.  When we intentionally focus on the abundance in our lives, it is simple amazing how much love and light there is in our world.  Like water to a garden, our attention on our blessings helps our appreciations grow.  Each day is such a gift.

Such gratitude,
Jenn Mer

The Gift of Rebalancing with Quiet Time

I last wrote about my challenge of homeschooling and juggling the needs of three children around the clock.  Feeling so drained from meeting the endless needs of my children, we've chosen to partake in the resource of public school for our big kids next year.

In my search to fix what was broken, many friends shared with me how they use various resources.  Many families with young children employ a babysitter, a grandparent, and daily quiet times.  My partner and I are the main adults in our children's lives and may hire a babysitter once every month or two.  Grandparents are sadly a small part of our lives.  (We are joyfully adopting other grandparents for our family.)  Upon being reminded about quiet times, we started having them that same afternoon.

My children now have two hours alone in a room with the door closed.  They have a clock and activities and are quiet until the predetermined time.  At this very moment, I am in the midst of a miracle (knock on wood): my three children are all in separate rooms with the doors closed.  My window is open as thunder rolls wildly outside.  My home is otherwise oddly quiet.  What a tremendous gift.  It hasn't been this quiet in our home since long before my eight month old daughter was born.

Quiet time is a game changer.  Our baby is sleeping better in the day, leading to better rest at night as well.  Our big kids are rested and calmer and have time apart to help them appreciate being together once again.  My mind ponders idioms that feel right: "Fences make good neighbors" and "Absence make the heart grow fonder."  Also, "This too shall pass."  I give such great thanks for this one quiet moment.  May I rest and replenish enough in this moment to be more the mom I want to be for these amazing young people.  They are such a gift in my life.  Now I am rested enough to see more of the awesomeness within each child.  I love lightening, thunder, and pounding hail.  I love my children.  I love this way of refilling myself.  I love my quiet time.

Enjoying togetherness once again

Journeying from Homeschool into Public School

I've been homeschooling my children since leaving my public teaching position when my oldest child was 10 months old.  This constant togetherness and synchronicity is our life.  My first child had three child-centered classes each week from that time to now.  Our second child had about one class a week from age one to four before joining his sister for most of her activities at age five.  Our third child joined us eight months ago.  She has not attended any baby activities, very unlike her sister and brother.

Life as an "attached parent" is intense.  The co-sleeping and homeschooling without any childcare, other than my working-seven-days-a-week partner, is consuming.  Throw in daily meals, driving with a screaming-while-detesting-car-time baby, home tasks, the endless academics, my partner's expectations that our children be far above average in every way possible, a son who loves to argue, and life with my three beautiful children is slowly becoming overwhelming.  My partner supports us in infinite ways, such as running errands with and without our older children, doing the grocery shopping, laundry, dishes, home maintenance, transportation to some activities, and being with three children while I have a weekly bath.

When I venture out into the world with my wee babe, leaving the two older children with their dad, it is to have adult connection with my supportive, female friends.  With them, I feel validated, understood, cherished.  Coming down from the high of connective friend time back into my privileged life, I have withdrawals that include my biased view of how consuming my "attached parenting" lifestyle is, how much of my time and energy I give to others, my unmet needs for solitude and exercise.  After adult time, I see my need for exercise without the usual hiking while carrying a baby and negotiating with my strong-willed son.  (Why do we argue as we hike through the forest?)  I see that my times alone are my weekly bath and taken in the middle of the night in the dark on the bathroom floor four feet from my sleeping baby.  Not only am I sleep-deprived, I have busy-brain-insomnia tonight as I write.  When I mention as gently as I can to my partner my feelings of being out of balance and desiring more time alone to exercise and think, he points out the sacrifices he makes to be home with us every evening, how he prioritizes gym time over social time, how he takes care of the house, how my saying I need more time alone feels to him like a slap in the face that he's not supporting me in all the right ways, how this is the phase of our lives for sacrificing for our children, how our lives are so amazing there's no valid reason to complain.  This conversation between us has gone in circles and repeated itself a hundred times.  I hear his words and have nothing to say.  He's right.  He supports us in so many ways.  Yet, even reflecting on the blessings of my amazing life, I sometimes feel like I am drowning in the needs of others.

Something has to give.

I chose to homeschool my children eight years ago because it felt like the right way to support the children I adore.  Time caring for my children was and is very rewarding.  With my previous experience teaching in public schools, I knew what the public system looked like from the inside.  I knew I could improve upon that through alternative education.  And I did.  I call my partner the Tiger Dad because of his high academic standards for his children.  He says he wants his children, now ages five and eight, to be two years ahead of their grade academically.  He says he isn't the one who chose to homeschool, so he shouldn't be the one to do the teaching, nor is he equipped to teach.  (We all enjoy his spontaneous lectures and quizzes on every subject.)  So it falls upon me to meet and balance high academic standards with the developmental needs of my young children.  For me, this reflects the public school setting where there is a disconnect between expectations and the developmental needs and abilities of children.  Homeschooling with three busy children feels very different than it did when I began with a toddler eight years ago.

In the search for balance between academic excellence and the feeding the delicious joy within my children, we have found awesome programs to support our needs: classes and co-ops that teach, inspire, and delight.  My son has always efficiently and easily pushed my buttons.  He has great knowledge and interest in hitting me where it hurts.  His dad taught him the lyrics to Eric Clapton's Tears in Heaven.  For me, this is a sad song written by a father about his son falling out of a window to his death.  I explained to my son why I feel sad when I hear this song.  I asked him to please stop singing it around me.  In response, he sang the song over and over on a loop next to me for a solid half hour.  He stopped after I had sufficiently ignored the words.  His dad found this funny.  "The boy has good taste in music!  That's a good song."  So my son and I get into some hot spots in our long days together.  Those spots are getting too hot for me and I am beginning to crack under the pressure.

What about public school?  If my son attends public school for a year, we will have a bit of time apart, a different perspective on our relationship, and a little space in which to grow fonder of time with one another.  It's a relief to think about public schooling as an option.  I imagine I will have exercise and fresh air while walking through the local park to school each day to drop off and pick up my inquisitive son.  In our free time, we can play together in the natural setting of the park in all seasons.  He will learn to make friends, negotiate, and solve problems without a parent right next to him.  He will build upon his existing skills of getting along in a group, socializing, and staying on task.  He will befriend local kids his age.  When presented with these ideas, he's thrilled to try out our public school, to make new friends, to have lunch and recess with so many other children, to have P.E. and music.  Kindergarten is a great time to take public education for a spin.

If my son is sold on attending public school for a year, my daughter flatly says no.  She sits quietly and cries when we want to discuss it.  Now, if she continues on with her homeschooling activities and her brother has his own scheduling needs of getting to and from school, our wee third babe gets even less of my time and attention.  I'd be even more frazzled than when homeschooling with three children.  My partner and I are discussing with our oldest daughter the many benefits for our whole family by trying public school for one year.  Here are some of the perks.  Baby will get to attend library story times and a baby-centered class like her sister and brother did.  She will get the quiet naps she needs.  She will learn to nap off my body (not in a carrier nor by breastfeeding) and then I will get personal time.  I will get to go shopping with only one child.  We will save money by investing in free education instead of super-awesome-yet-definitely-not-free private programs.  Extra funds could be used for a taekwondo class to increase focus, determination, and precision.  My older children will learn to make friends, solve problems, meet new challenges, be held accountable to other adults for their choices, and learn a new system with same-age peers without a parent nearby.  They will get to try new and challenging tasks and get through with grace and confidence.  They will see how a simpler routine will help their parents be more peaceful.  I feel relief and joy just thinking about the possibilities.

At this moment, my oldest daughter has no interest in public schooling for a year.  She wants to stick with our existing academic and social communities.  I don't blame her.  We will be stepping away from an amazing bounty of resources for one year in public school.  In my ideal world, this whole homeschoolers-spending-a-year-in-public-education scenario would all work out with grace and joy, leading to more peace, balance, and growth.  I continue to make my lists, to find the silver lining in journeying into a year of public education, to sell my daughter on the possibilities.  An experiment with my family.  My family continues to connect, learn, play, and create our plan together.  What a gift to have the choice of how to learn and grow, how to be apart and together.  What a journey we share.

Time to play in the park