twelve

Two weeks ago, this dapper fellow,

our beloved Firstborn,

celebrated his twelfth birthday.

Twelve seems a rather important year to me, a rather pivotal point in youth. I feel a weighty excitement for this boy as he faces the great adventure of adolescence and the journey toward adulthood. And along that bumpy, passionate, confusing, glorious path of discovery, I intend to enjoy every possible moment with this sweetness of a human that has been given to me.

The Collision of Idealism and Reality or Pride vs. Humility

There was a day, not so very long ago really, that I was a self-described and proud-of-it Control Freak. Wanting to be in charge, at the helm, and solely responsible for all the day to day accomplishments-and failures- in my life. This was not reflective of an absence of faith, because I have always trusted God to show me the path for my life; but in the mundane, the details, there dwelt my pride, my vice, the shortcomings of my faith.

This intense drive for what I called "perfectionism" was the driving force behind many of my successes; it was the pride that drove me through high school, college and graduate school, it was the pride that planned a wedding, it was a pride that seemed to hold all the minutiae together. Control=Power and Power=Success...Oh Yeah!

And then God sent me children.

Because Providence had placed me, during my first year of marriage, in a position at a truly inspiring Montessori school, I had already begun to awaken to the possibility that control and perfectionism are not compatible with positive experiences in raising children. This was a very difficult pill to swallow, but I recognized the wisdom and have so often been grateful for all I learned during those years of association with that school.

Still, I had my ideal, my vision of a perfect family life: all that was necessary was to control the environment and I could indirectly control the direction of the family and my children, said I. Fool proof, I thought. Only now I know I was the fool.

There are a few guiding principles that I have clung to over the years, ideas that have survived the purging of control and self-centered idealism. Oh, I am still a fool in many ways and still let myself stumble into idealism with the inevitable subsequent bruise of disappointment from time to time. I call it The Collision of The Ideal and The Reality. When the two collide and the heart is set firm in Pride, the injuries are painful and the medicine bitter; but when the heart is soft with humility, such a collision can bring unforseen riches.

Since I am in the midst of my always unplanned, but seemingly regular, semi-annual "self-check/doubt everything I am doing mode", I may try to devote a couple of posts to exploring those "Guiding Principles" that have worked for our family, so far. Unless Reality intervenes.

february evening

It was such a lovely evening here at the Suburban Ranch. When I returned from teaching, The Prof was busy firing up the grill for some yummy rosemary-lemon salmon fillets, the children were noisily playing together outdoors and I lay on the floor watching Baby O try to conquer the basket of musical instruments. As The Prof went out to load the grill, he left the door open and let the gentle wintry breeze blow in the 70* air along with the sound of shouting and laughter and aroma of citrus and herbs. Firstborn and his dad played a little catch--baseball tryouts are next week--while the fish cooked and the baby cooed the wonder of maracas.

Dinner conversation was lively and diverse while the whirl of it all was eased by a crisp glass of white wine. Plans for landscaping and gardening were sketched on scraps of paper, presentations of British accents were offered, as well as detailed and dramatic tellings of the days doings. (Firstborn installed a doorknob all on his own today, don't you know?!)

After eating, the table was cleared, books were read and there was a great snuggle on the Big Bed with nighttime prayers and whispers and a hundred strokes of the hair. It was all so cozy and cuddly.

And that is it. There is no point or moral here, except to say it was a lovely Februrary evening, the kind of evening you hope every one remembers when they start the tale of "Back when..."

Hope!

Hope.

lovely today

This morning we arose to the gusty arrival of a cool front. Yesterday it was in the nineties and before long it will be in there again, but for today and the next several days, it will be beautiful.

Windows are open and the neighborhood is back to life with outdoor activity. So if you are looking for us, check the park, the hiking trails, the neighborhood streets, the sandbox, the clothesline, or at least the chair next to an open window. We are sure to be in one of those spots breathing in the faint aroma of autumn.

Free ranging in childhood. It's a good thing.

When I was a child growing up in Small Town, Heart of America, I spent hours and hours out of doors each week. Without my mother or father. Sometimes with friends and sometimes alone. I played with the neighbor children, dug in the dirt or snow, wandered about really. And once I got my own bike, my little world expanded tremendously. I rode my pink "Fair Lady," as it was titled on the metal bar, all over the village. I would cover miles in any given day, occasionally lost on the route, but nearly always lost in thought. I challenged myself to the steepest hills and was rewarded with what seemed to be record setting speeds on the down hill slope. The "New Park" and the "Old Park" were requisite stops as well as Six-Mile Creek, the library with the purple pillars and a few back and forths in front of my friend Bonnie's house in hopes that she would see me and come outside (she lived "across town" from me).

My friends tell me such freedoms are no longer possible for children of this generation. Times are different now, they say. How? Sure, some things are different: children nowadays don't spend much time outdoors, they are afraid or bored, or most likely unaware, of what authentically wonderful adventures await them out there. Correct me if I am wrong, but I believe there have been scoundrels throughout history and there have been good people throughout history. Nothing new there. Children need to learn how to discern between the two. Nothing new there. Young children, adolescent children and young adults need to learn to be aware of their surroundings and be prepared to respond accordingly. Nothing new there.

So I say shame on us for not giving our children the gift of freedom and exploration. During those countless hours of unsupervised play I relished in childhood, I worked out a lot of questions in my head, I gained confidence by finding my way back on course when I was lost or conquering those insurmountable inclines and by being trusted to go out on my own, I explored and observed nature and figured my way out of what seemed at the time to be scary situations (once there was what I believed to be a rabid dog taking the same walking route I had chosen. Gasp! I changed routes. Quick.)

I, for one, do not wish my children to grow up in fear of the world around them, suspicious of strangers, skeptical of the kindnesses offered to them by others, and closed to the wondrous experiences that arise from prudent risk-taking. Quite the opposite, when they leave the shelter of our home each day and for good on some distant day, I wish for them a confidence, gained by experience, that allows them to adapt to any environment, think quick in unexpected situations and enjoy a diversity of people and surroundings.

This summer I have had the pleasure of reading a great deal, both online and with bound pages in hand. What a wonderful trail I found myself on when I stumbled upon a column by Lenore Skenazy, entitled "Why I Let My 9-Year-Old Ride the Subway Alone." (If you are a regular reader of this blog, you may recognize Ms. Skenazy's name.) In the column, the author describes finally giving in to her 9-year old son's pleadings to try riding the subway in NYC all alone. The tale stirred up tremendous national controversey...some feeling the this mother should be imprisoned for child abuse (or neglect, as the case may be) and others hailing her as a queen of common sense. All of this led to the creation of a website named, quite cleverly, Free Range Kids. There one can read hundreds of testimonials of parents who fight the battle (against well meaning family, friends and neighbors) to allow their children the freedom to ride a bike to the nearby library or walk around the block alone. If, like me, you are prone to sentimentality and have happy roaming memories of your own, you may get misty-eyed reading the reminiscenses of others' roving childhood adventures. (Feel free to weigh in on the subject or share your own story, too!)

Quite coincidentally as I was hopping around online tonight, I came upon this L.A. Times article by Rosa Brooks, "Remember 'go outside and play?'" She writes about Lenore Skenazy's column and all that followed but goes on to say:

Reader, if you're much over 30, you probably remember what it used to be
like for the typical American kid. Remember how there used to be this thing
called "going out to play"?For younger readers, I'll explain this archaic
concept. It worked like this: The child or children in the house -- as long as
they were over age 4 or so -- went to the door, opened it, and ... went outside.
They braved the neighborhood pedophile just waiting to pounce, the rusty nails
just waiting to be stepped on, the trees just waiting to be fallen out of, and
they "played."

All in all, "going out to play" worked out well for kids. As the American Academy of Pediatrics' Dr. Kenneth Ginsburg testified to Congress in 2006, "Play allows children to create and explore a world they can master, conquering their fears while practicing adult roles. ... Play helps children develop new competencies ... and the resiliency they will need to face future challenges." But here's the catch: Those benefits aren't realized when some helpful adult is hovering over kids the whole time.

She continues:

We parents have sold ourselves a bill of goods when it comes to child safety.
Forget the television fear-mongering: Your child stands about the same chance of
being struck by lightning as of being the victim of what the Department of
Justice calls a "stereotypical kidnapping." And unless you live in Baghdad, your
child stands a much, much greater chance of being killed in a car accident than
of being seriously harmed while wandering unsupervised around your
neighborhood.

Thank you, Department of Justice and Rosa Brooks. Give freedom back to our children!

thank you

Just a quick note to thank you, dear readers, for all of your lovely comments and the many e-mails. Your words have all meant so much to all of us. The birth was beautiful, Little O is so handsome and it is always a delight to be reminded of the strength of the extended family we have with all of our friends, both near and far.

I'll be back soon with more pictures, but in the meantime, I am luxuriating in my babymoon while my parents spoil the grandchildren for a few more days.

mirror, mirror, on the wall

Or, rather...mirror, mirror on their little faces.

I've been in a "funk" lately. Why aren't my children smiling more? Why are they so often bickering? Why the seemingly constant complaints and lack of gratitude? Why don't they work more earnestly at their tasks? Why are their rooms such messes? Why?!?! I've been doing this long enough to know the answer to these rantings of mine. If Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy. It's an old saying that we've all heard tossed out in jest or seen cross-stitched onto a little pillow at a garage sale. But, oh, the truth behind it.

My dear midwife once told me of attending births in which the mother, having just given birth and upon learning the gender of her newborn babe, expressed severe disappointment. "How could the baby be a boy," she moaned, "when I had so expected, anticipated and longed for a daughter?" Or vice versa. The tragically fascinating result was that the baby, sensing the mother's disappointment would go into medically inexplicable respiratory distress. My midwife sadly explained that she had witnessed this unspeakable "conversation" between Mother and Newborn on several occasions. Even to the extent that when Daddy held the baby, respiration would rebound and when placed again in Mother's arms, the distress immediately returned.

Imagine how these little ones, even from the very beginning, are sensitive to our sighs of frustration, averted eyes, sullen tones of voice and subtle expressions of disappointment. Imagine how they seek, even from the very beginning, our approval and our unqualified love. Fathom for a moment, the immense responsibility we mothers (and fathers) have to be steady and encouraging, even in the face of frustration.

Now for the hard part: The Admission. To use another old saying, the children are doing as I am doing and not as I am saying. What am I doing? Not being very happy. So, back to my initial ranting interrogation: Why aren't my children smiling more? 'Cause I'm not smiling much. Why are they so often bickering? I am not being a constant model of pleasant exchanges. Why the seemingly constant complaints and lack of gratitude? I've been complaining a lot lately and probably not sounding to grateful. Why don't they work more earnestly at their tasks? I flutter about highly distracted, not giving my full presence to my work. Why are their rooms such messes? Umm...my room is the messiest.

It hasn't always been this way. Back when I was fresh at this whole role of Motherhood, I was always very mindful of my moods and actions, knowing how strongly they would impact my children. But somehow as the family grew, the house grew and the possessions grew, my focus has grown a bit fuzzy. I remember an exchange I had years ago with another dad, a father of one delightful daughter. He remarked about how difficult parenthood is and I laughingly replied, "yes, you have to be good all of the time!"

The Professor and I had a similar conversation yesterday. He, patient spouse that he is, has been growing weary of my "funk." I gave him the rant (see above) . We talked, though, about how having five children (because though the fifth isn't yet born, he/she certainly plays into my moods) is just a lot of hard work, all day, every day. And I got to thinking that the hardest part isn't the physical effort at all, but the mental perseverance. Keeping tempers in check, not exxagerating my disappointment or frustration to small glitches in the day, etcetera, etcetera. But, for me, the hardest part is the self-discipline. I want my children to be more self-disciplined than I am. Guess what? That isn't likely. They do as I do. For better or worse, consciously or unconsciously, they strive for the model put before them.

And so it is back to my knees I go. Overcoming my weaknesses is not something I can do alone. Only through prayer and the graces received through the sacraments will my children's faces become a reflection of the peace and joy they witness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Prayer to obtain the Grace to give Good Example

O God, what a pwerful exhortation Thy divine Son addresses to me also when He says, "Let your light shine." It is Thy holy will that I should give to my children in all things the example of a life pleasing to Thee. How else can they become virtuous themselves? I ask, therefore, for thy assistance, through the merits of this Holy Sacrifice, to lead a truly christian life. Enrich me with Thy grace, that I may be able to avoid in all my words, actions, and omissions what is unworthy of the name of Christian. Help me to exercise all the virtues of a Christian life, and to arrive at ever-increasing perfection, so that my life may be an example for my children.

How wonderfully, O Lord, hast Thou worked in Thy saints! Watch over and graciously protect me. I am indeed not worthy of such great graces; but Thou art a merciful God; Thou lovest my children, since they are also Thy children. For their sake and that of Jesus, Thy Son, grant my petitions. Amen.

~from "The Christian Mother: the Education of Her Children and Her Prayers" by Rev. W. Cramer, copyright 1880; republished in 2004 by Holy Cross Pulications.

presence required

It seems strange to return to my blog and realize just how long it has been since I have really written anything. Inspite of the many witty and insightful essays that are created in my head while loading the dishwasher, dusting the living room or laying awake late at night, I find that in reality those ideas are still locked inside my head or long lost. Meanwhile, this blog has become a venue for quick family news reports and jotting down notes rather than real thoughts and reflections on the "Soul of the Family." In many ways, the days have a similar feel to them. Crossing off items on a list, making new lists, quick updates to my husband on essential information and lots of promises to do things later.

Years ago, I attended a parenting workshop given by Montessorian, Patricia Oriti. She suggested we each try a little mental excercise to help us stay on course. "Close your eyes,"she instructed, "and envision your family unit just the way you would ideally like it to be." She confessed that her own vision of family life brought forth the image of a band. She and her husband and their two children were playing together...in a band. Slightly embarrassed, she admitted that none of them had any musical talent, but the point was that they were doing something that was fun and very much together.

Ha! I like the vision of us all cleaning the house together. Okay. Maybe that isn't the greatest vision. Honestly, I like Patricia's family band image. Pleasurable, together and yet generous and challenging. Now, how to get us to even closer to that place? I mean the house still has to be cleaned, Daddy still has to go to work with his crazy-erratic schedule, life must carry on.

I dread that I am losing that magical, fearless ability to live in the moment. Living in the present is that fantastic skill that little tots and teenagers come upon so naturally. It allows them to experience life in a way that we preoccupied, worried-about-the-future adults can no longer appreciate but rather regard with a patronizing pat on the head and a clucking of the tongue. Yes, I realize it is a sign of our maturity that we can avoid danger and negative outcomes because of our ability to look ahead. Our children's very lives depend on our prudence in knowing "what could happen if..."

However, is it necessary that the Present always succumb to the Future?

I have had a long career of playing and teaching the piano. Many a mother has come to me quite excitedly reporting that her three or four year old loves music, spends a lot of time playing the piano, seems to show some real ability and raw talent. And then the dreaded question, "Do you think we should sign him up for lessons now?" As if a love for music and hours joyfully spent at the piano have no value. The message seems to be that playing the piano is Not Important Work but studying the piano is Very Important Work. Indeed, nothing delights me more than when the parent of a student reports (usually with some degree of concern) that the child, having abandoned the assigned pieces went on to spend an hour or two creating their own music or basking in the pleasures of long ago learned, but beloved songs. Lost in the moment. Not concerned about what awaited them at the end of this moment.

The new edict is that this family band must make music together every day and get lost in that momentum of music making--at least from time to time. I am reminded of a public debate that I participated in as a part of a college history class. The British professor posted papers around campus that read: Your attendance is Required on Monday, this date, for a public debate... We tried to explain to him that the word "required" should be struck in favor of "requested." But, to no avail.

There may well have been a lesson to be learned from that history professor and his eccentric ways. Perhaps a pinned up scroll in my family room should read:

Your presence is Required here and now

{body, heart and mind}

in this very moment, in this very place.

preparing for next term: part II

I will continue to quote Dr. Montessori on the matter of spiritual preparation of the teacher. In my previous post, she was asserting that the moral defects of anger and pride are those moral defects which prevent us from understanding a child. Skipping ahead a bit, she speaks of the danger and gravity of these defects in regard to children:

Anger is one of those failings held in check by the determined reaction of others. It is one of the things that proves how difficult it is for one man to be subjugated by another. Therefore he is a prisoner when he meets a really strong person. A man is ashamed of showing anger before others because he at once seems himself in a humiliating position; that of having to retire by force.

It is therefore a real relief to be able to mix with people who are incapable of defending themselves or understanding; people who believe everything as children do. Children not only forget our offenses immediately but feel themselves guilty of everything of which we accuse them.

The teacher is here invited to reflect carefully on the serious effects of such a state of things on the life of a child. A child's understanding would not see through the deception; but his spirit feels it, and is oppressed and often warped by it. Then the childish reactions appear which really represent an unconscious self-defense. Timidity, deceit, caprice, the frequent weeping, which they seem to justify, night fears, any form of exaggerated fear--and similar obscure things--represent the unconscious state of defense of a little child who has not yet sufficient reasoning power to understand the real conditions of its contacts with adults.

Whew! And later she continues...

What our method asks of a teacher as preparation is that she should examine herself, and purge herself of the defect of tyranny, eradicating the ancient mixture of pride and anger with which her heart is unconsciously encrusted. She must cast off pride and anger and--first of all--become humble before she can put on charity. That is the state of mind which she must attain. This is the central point of equilibrium without which it is impossible to advance. This is the inward "preparation," the point of departure and arrival.

This does not imply that we should approve of everything the child does, or abstain from criticizing him, or do nothing to help the development of his intelligence and feelings. On the contrary, we must never forget that the whole point of the argument is to educate, to become the real masters (maestri) of the child.

What is called for is an act of humility. We must pluck from our hearts a rooted prejudice, just as the priest before ascending to the altar recites his Confiteor. Only thus can it be done.

There is so much to comtemplate in this chapter. I hope I am not doing a disservice or misrepresenting Dr. Montessori's ideas by offering only excerpts to my readers. In studying her methods I have been amazed by how much they reflect her love and admiration for the Church, so I considered myself blessed when I came across this book wherein her spirituality is so clearly laid out for us.

preparing for next term

Like many other home educating moms, I am pausing to reflect on the past term of learning and contemplating how our recent experiences might shape the next term. I find myself returning to the very basics, the soul of the matter: my own spiritual preparation for teaching and guiding these young perons. I am blessed to own a copy of "The Child in the Church" (out of print) with contributions by Maria Montessori and some of her followers (edited by E.M. Standing). Chapter four is taken from two courses of lectures given by Madam and is entitled, "The Spiritual Training of a Teacher. "Allow me to quote liberally from the opening of the chapter:

A teacher must not imagine that he can prepare himself for his vocation simply by acquiring knowledge and culture. Above all else he must cultivate within himself a proper attitude toward the moral order. Of vital importance is this preparation is the way in which we regard a child. But our subject must not be approached from its external aspect only--as if we were concerned merely with a theoretical knowledge about the nature of a child and methods of instructing and correcting him.

Here we must insist on the fact that an instructor must be prepared inwardly,and must consider his own character methodically with a view to discovering any defects within himself which might prove obstacles in his treatment of the child. To discover defects that are already rooted in the conscience, some help will be required, some instruction...In this sense the teacher must be initiated into her inward preparation. She is too much occupied with "the wicked tendencies of the child," and "how to correct its naughtiness," and "actions dangerous to the soul, caused by the remnants of original sin which are in the child," etc.

Now, skipping ahead a bit, here are some pointed comments:

A teacher must be able to see the child as Jesus saw him. A teacher is one who can rid himself of all the obstacles which make him unable to understand a child; he is not merely a person who is always trying to improve himself. Our instruction to teachers consists in pointing out to them which states of mind need correction, just as a doctor would diagnose a definite and particular illness from which a human organism is suffering or in danger. Here, then, is positive help: "the moral defect which arises in us and prevents our understanding a child is anger.

And, since no moral defect acts alone, but is always accompanied by, or combined with, other defects--just as Eve was joined by Adam as soon as sin made its first inroad--so anger is mixed up with another moral disorder, which appears less ignoble and is therefore the more diabolical: pride.

Oh, goodness, there is so much more spiritual wealth offered by this wise woman. I am reading slowly, trying to return myself to the patient and kind mother and guide I once was. Constant prayer, much contemplation and great amount of trying to live in the present moment are my aids. Anger often seems to swell when we stop working with "what is" and react instead to our idea of "what should be." I have read that Dr. Montessori would mentally greet each childwith the salutation: "Behold the child!" Which is to say, here is this lovely little person, individual and unique...what shall we offer one another today? What shall discover and where shall we go in our journey? What does he bring?

seeking a quieter life

Since the beginning of the year, I have been on a quest to quiet the clutter in my life. I hesitate to use the word "simplify" because its overuse has broadened its meaning beyond any firm definition. But a quieting of the clutter is for me at the heart of simplicity, regardless of where I live, what I eat and my choice of hobbies. In light of this, I have been purging. Honestly, though, purging is easy. Satisfying. Own it::Don't use it::Get rid of it.

The more difficult task is not allowing the purged to be replaced by new objects of desire. Excess quickly becomes a master whom we must serve. Excess demands storage space and attention in cleaning and caring. Excess distracts the mind, detracts from beauty and drains the soul. Less really is more.

For me quieting the clutter is a combination of disposing of the excess and imposing self limitation. "Self-limitation" is a term Wendell Berry introduced to me in his book Home Economics. While he was discussing the concept as it applies at a community or societal level, I was attracted to the idea and have been reflecting on its value in a home or individual life. Self discipline is a great challenge to me and although it goes hand in hand with self limitation, conceptually I deal better with limits. Allow me to provide a few practical examples I am experimenting with these days:

• Recognizing that I need to eat fewer sweets, but knowing that it is difficult for me to resist an easy grab cookie or candy in the cupboard, I now (mostly) avoid buying pre-packaged treats but allow myself to store ingredients instead. Thus, in order to enjoy a sweet indulgence, I am forced to prepare and clean-up and, in other words, have imposed limitations of time and energy on my bad habit.
  
• Realizing that the children had more clothes than I or they could realistically care for (laundering, folding, returning to closet, maintaining, storing, etc), I imposed stricter quantity limitations for the new season. Each child is permitted three play outfits, two going-out outfits and two Mass outfits. Such limitations have no tolerance for sloth in the task of daily laundering, but they also liberate us from the unscalable mountain of laundry that was such a burden to everyone.
  
• Naturally one of the easiest applications of self limitation is to carry and use cash only. Even a carefully written budget can easily be ignored or trumped by the ease of a credit card. But putting $30 in my wallet and knowing that it is my budget for the Saturday morning trip to the Farmer's Market is the easiest way to self limit.

The possibilities of self-limitation are everywhere and, for my temperament, so much easier than resisting the temptations one must meet face to face with self-discipline.