Please stop bringing up the "s" word!

As a homeschooling family, one word that people constantly bring up to us is “socialization.” As if the fact that we are educating our children means that we are completely out of contact with civilization, while in fact most home school families I know have lives rich with outside activities. I actually had one friend who used the example of a home schooled child she knew who was a tattle tale. This was comical to me. Apparently, prior to homeschooling, telling on other children simply didn’t exist, and so any character flaw that a child displays is immediately ascribed to the fact they are home schooled. I guess children in government school don’t have any flaws. In my observation, all children seem to have innate character differences right from birth. Some children seem shy, some outgoing, some children are clingy, and some are independent. The fact that children are individual with differing personalities (and flaws) doesn’t even come to mind when people are trying to convince me that my children will have poor social abilities if I educate them myself.

I have a completely different take on what positive social skills look like. In fact, I find that our children have improved social opportunities. One difference that I see in public schools is that children who are different from the majority are ridiculed for their individuality. Bullying is back on the upswing. If you are a shy person by nature, you better change, or expect to be cast out for the balance of your school years. Another big difference is the ability to socialize with different ages groups. Public school kids are grouped by age and those groupings encourage kids to avoid other children, especially younger ones. In my home schooling circles, the older kids nurture and look out after the younger ones. They don’t say “ooh, yuck, don’t play with the little kids!” like you see on the public school playground. Also, because my children are always with me or another adult (in public school children have sizable blocks of unsupervised time where they are being negatively socialized by other kids), I have not had to drill “stranger danger” into them. When we are out in public, my son, who tends to be shy by nature, is friendly to everyone he sees. He is careful with younger children in the nursery at church. He is not afraid of older children on the playground.

An ironic side to the argument people make about me needing public school to properly socialize my kids, is that these same parents chronicle for me the list of issues the school is currently dealing with regarding, teen pregnancy, drug use, and violence. They tell me how their child learned their first dirty word in Kindergarten from one of the older kids, and then try to convince me I need the school system to properly socialize my children? In truth, the social reality defined by the culture of our schools is in conflict with our Christian values. Negative peer pressure surrounding materialism (designer clothes and cell phones at age 7), and the complete intolerance of anyone who is different are in direct conflict with those values. The school itself perpetuates those values. I mean, the one-size-fits-all curriculum itself is designed to work for the people who fall in the middle. If you are stronger or weaker, you will stand out, and you may fail if you don’t conform. I understand there is no other way for schools to address the issue, there is one teacher and 30 kids and they have designed a program that works for most.

The other socialization case people make for public schools is the idea that they are not being prepared for the real world. Another concept I find entertaining, unless of course the real world is run like “The Lord of the Flies.” The one thing I remember most about entering the work force is how completely different it was from my school years. All of my peers were different ages and backgrounds. There was no bullying, name calling or making fun of the top performers. We treated each other with respect, and individuality was equated with creativity and therefore encouraged. We also never snuck away to use drugs or drink on the job or hide in the bathroom to perform sexual acts on each other. We did not disrespect the boss and there was no peer pressure to do the wrong thing (“come on, try it!”), but there was a lot of pressure to be honest, work hard, and get along with others. A very similar environment to my classroom at home, and the interactions we have with other homeschooling families.

So if you are concerned about socialization as an issue for my children when I chose to home school, rest assured, so was I. And please, stop saying the “s” word around my children.

To The Invisible Moms

I received this essay in an email and I liked it so much I decided to post it here in my blog:

Invisible Mother......

It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I'm thinking, 'Can't you see I'm on the phone?' Obviously, not. No one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all. I'm invisible. The Invisible Mom, that's me. Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this?

Some days I'm not a pair of hands....I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, 'What time is it?' I'm a satellite guide to answer, 'What number is the Disney Channel?' I'm a car to order, 'Right around 5:30, please.' I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude - but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again. She's going; she's going; she is gone!

One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England. Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, 'I brought you this.'

It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe. I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription:'To Charlotte , with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees.'

In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work.....No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their names. These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished. They made great sacrifices and expected no credit. The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of GOD saw everything.

A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, 'Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it.' And the workman replied, 'Because GOD sees.'

I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. I became aware of GOD's whisper to me, 'I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become.'

At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride.

I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on. The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.

When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, 'My Mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table.' That would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, 'you're gonna love it there.'

As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot see if we're doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.

Share this with all the Invisible Moms you know. Hope this encourages you when the going gets tough as it sometimes does. We never know what our finished products will turn out to be because of our perseverance and dependence upon GOD's written word.

A Degree in Parenting

Did I spend long hours and countless dollars earning a college degree to prepare for making homemade baby food?  Did I spend weeks, months, and years studying statistics, psychotropic medicines, and 19th-century American poets so I could read Goodnight Moon a thousand times to a two-year-old?  Did I work fifteen years, trudging my way to management so I could negotiate potty time with a power-hungry toddler?  Did I walk away from a salary, title, and freedom to wipe sticky noses?

Turns out I did.  Seminars on Dealing with Difficult People are perfectly suited to the stubborn toddler. Sharp organization skills make for an efficient home. I don’t budget millions of dollars or compete for high-dollar contracts anymore, but I stay on top of the family checkbook and clip a few coupons these days.  Hours of research I did on breastfeeding, nutrition, childhood sleep patterns, vaccinations, and infant brain development remind me of late hours at the office with the cleaning crew giving funny looks because I was interfering with their routine of privacy.

My husband is CEO and I’m the Operations Manager and our board of directors consists of God the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.  Accountabilities are high!  Countless experiences firing incompetent staff, however, seem very appealing when the family is not cooperating with my 5-year plan.  But then again, they can’t fire me either!

I used to dream about quitting my job to be a stay-at-home mother.  I envisioned a perfectly weeded garden stocked with cucumbers, carrots, and squash.  Me in a floppy hat picking fresh green beans. My “young’uns” playing in the sunshine nearby.  Then I would wake up and look around at my friends.  Many of them had aged rapidly since the onset of parenthood.  Then I began to get scared and wondered who I would be if I wasn’t “Director of So and So” anymore.

My husband reassured me that I would be an excellent Mother.  This is why he married me, he said.  I wasn’t so sure.  Men usually get to add Father to their resume without giving up the old titles.  Other women tell me that while motherhood may require you give up the titles, you get to keep all the jobs.  And eventually, you learn to live with the fatigue.

So here I am, President of Home.  It’s just like when I first entered the workforce and I had so much to learn.  It’s exactly like that.  I’m starting over.  Well, now that I’ve figured that out I feel so much better.  I hope my family can survive the training period.  I’ve heard it could last well over 18 years!

The Autumn of My Year

It is starting to feel like the end of Summer now. The cicadas sing their shrill music in the tree tops, vibrating in synchronized melody. It feels like I have been sleep walking through most of this year. First with my Mother's sudden death, then my Aunt's longer passage. So I take a breath, lean my shoulders forward and push into the next years of my life, changed by the experience but determined to live well in the time I have with my own children.

Autumn seems to be as good a time as any to put some things to rest. There has been time to cry, pray, and remember. Now I lift my eyes and look forward. I cannot see what is ahead. None of us can! But I have hope. Hope that is seen is not hope. We walk by faith, not by sight.

I started this blog because I love to write. But mostly I love to write satire. I prefer to focus on the irony of life, the part that can be so comical at times. Unfortunately, this year has offered few opportunities for that. Instead it has offered little laughter, much grief, and circumstance for reflection. Growth is good, but we are all due for a healthy dose of joy. Perhaps I am ready to write again.

Aunt Joyce

Most people know by now that my Aunt Joyce has brain cancer. To be exact, a stage four glioblastoma. People I know in the medical field get a real funny look when I share that, because they know what an ugly kind of cancer it is. When we were told the news about her tumor, it was a terrible shock. "How does this happen?" We asked. Then just 3 weeks after that, my Mother died suddenly. Actually, when the call came in late, I thought it was my Mom calling to tell me bad news about my Aunt. I saw the number on the caller ID and said out loud, "Oh no! Not already!" But the voice on the other end was my Dad. And even as he spoke the words, I couldn't hear them, because they were so unexpected, "Your Mother has just died of a massive and sudden heart attack. Your Mother..." What? Say that again...No! Don't say it again. No! No! No!

Now my Mother and my Aunt are indelibly linked. I will forever look back on this period of my life as a time of bad news. My Mother and my Aunt were good friends and sisters-in-law, linked together first by my Father, and second, by a time when my Mother took care of my Grandmother while she too died slowly, and so unfairly, of a merciless disease called cancer.

In later years, after Mom and Dad moved to Minnesota, Mom and Aunt Joyce chatted about grandchildren and hobbies on the phone, exchanged photos, took vacations together (with the husbands of course), and maintained a close and loving relationship. My Mother was gone before we could say goodbye. My Aunt will suffer a long goodbye. Two same but different losses reminding me of the fragility and unfairness of life.

My Mother was very worried about my Aunt. She asked me to check in, be her hands, eyes, and ears from afar. Of course Mom is gone now, but this is all I can do: go by for visits with my Aunt, try to remember something interesting to chat about, make an effort to be a comfort, let her know I am listening, and remind her that Mom is waiting, along with Grandma, to greet her with arms open wide, a familiar smile, and an assurance that we will all be together again someday.

Grieving

So I have now begun to move through this thing they call a cycle of grief. And because each loss is unique, each person experiences it differently, so they say. At first, just a numb fog. Then lots of emotions, all the time. Each day is unpredictable. But what has impacted me the most is how terribly ill equipped most people are for being with someone who is grieving. Oh sure, the first couple of weeks people expect you to cry, and they put their arms around you and listen to you. But then, suddenly, people think you should be all better now. And they begin to try to cheer you up. They say things that are completely insensitive, like, “Are you all better now?” or “Look at the bright side.” What? OK, my dog didn’t just die, it was my Mother. Or they say nothing. Do nothing. Avoid the topic. That’s harder to take. It was my Mother. It’s me. It’s my Dad. We deserve acknowledgement, validation that it’s OK to feel this loss. It’s easier for me to avoid people than feel the pressure to be OK when I am not, or worse, to be alone in the crowd. The real truth is: people are ready to stop listening long before you are ready to stop talking…

TERRIBLE NEWS

Two weeks ago I lost my Mother. Not lost really; she died. Passed away, lost, no longer with us; all nice ways to say a terrible thing: she is gone, suddenly, without any warning. Gone.

Usually writing has a cathartic effect on me. But I can’t even write about this. Not this. It’s too soon, too awful, too raw.

Two days ago, I cut my hand. One of those deep, jagged kind of cuts that just won’t stop bleeding. Then I thought this is how it is with my Mother. People want to give me advice or encouragement to help me cope, or heal. But I can’t do that. Like my cut, I cannot begin to tend to the wound, until it stops bleeding. Something I have no control over. It’s not ready. I can only apply pressure, but it continues to bleed. Each morning when I wake, I think “could it be…?” No, then I remember: it’s not a dream; it is real.

The bleeding finally stops in my cut and I began to tend to it, change the dressing twice daily. Wash it gently, apply peroxide, a thin layer of antibiotic ointment, a clean bandage, and then wrap securely. It starts to look better. The healing begins. Over time it will mend, leaving a jagged mark in its wake. A cut like that never repairs itself invisibly. The scar is forever. Just like my Mom. I’ll never be the same.