In Defense of Teens

It's probably not a great idea to sit down at the computer late at night when I'm "fired up," but here's a quick message I think is important to share.

For the parents reading this, remember holding your new baby in the presence of someone who asked you how things were going?  Maybe you decided to give them a real answer instead of the canned "great" response.  Maybe you were vulnerable and replied that it was tough, the baby isn't sleeping well, he cries inconsolably during the daytime, you're exhausted.  And instead of a hug or a cup of coffee, you got the SUPER HELPFUL retort, "You think newborns are hard!?  Wait till he's a teenager."

A few years pass by and instead of a colicky baby, you have a strong-willed, cunning, bottomless-pit-of-energy and fearlessness wrapped up in a sticky, uncombed mess of a three-year-old.  You long for the time when you put the child down and he stayed there.  You have exchanged your sleepless nights for napless days.  It's all too real how much of a relief it is to know your precious angel is finally in bed for the night because you can stop wondering for a few hours if they're in peril from the inability to make wise decisions.  The stranger at the store watches as your wrangle your way across the parking lot and comments with a chuckle, "You'll miss this when he's a teenager."

In the blink of an eye after some very long days and nights, you reach the tween years.  At nine years old, your child is feeling big emotions and learning how to express them appropriately, albeit not always successfully.  Sometimes, they hit so fast you didn't see them coming.  He's not a baby anymore, but he's not an adult either.  These are more or less the overlooked years, which I guess is why we've given them the name "tweens."  You don't get as many overt reminders that the teen years will be harder, but you've been conditioned by so many to be wary of what's coming that it's always echoing as a refrain in the back of your mind.  "Just wait till he's a teenager."

Well.

Stop it.

A few years ago, I wrote a post about believing the words that I spoke only to myself about myself.  The same principle applies here.  On one hand, it doesn't seem beneficial to belittle the present-day struggles of a parent in the trenches by offering them a dismal picture of the future.  Additionally, it seems a bit like a self-fulfilling prophecy to warn of the abysmal experience of raising teens.  If we expect that, it seems most likely that's how it will go.  One must also consider that our children are always listening.  If society expects teens to be the worst, why should they behave any differently?  Generations ahead of us paint our children with broad strokes - they're lazy, disrespectful, phone-obsessed, unmotivated, sassy, inappropriately-clad.  These things might be true of some teens, but not all.  Dare I say, these things might also be true of a similar percentage of the older generation's own general population.  

To the parents of littles, I offer you this encouragement:  Stay the course.  Put in the hard work in the early years.  You won't be this tired forever.  Don't let it slide.  Let them learn lessons the hard way now.  Expect good things from your children.  Pray with and for them.  Thank the Lord for sleep and new mercies every morning.

To the parents of teens:  Just love them.  Talk to them about little stuff and big stuff.  Work through politics, faith, social issues - give them the lens through which you would have them view this world.   Laugh with them.  Pray over them.  They're not to be feared.  These people you've raised are on the cusp of adulthood, and what better time to nurture your relationship with them then when they're preparing to launch?  

To the teens:  You're awesome.  I don't think people tell you that enough.  It's been my joy to laugh and learn alongside two awesome teens (so far).  I don't want to be all "I believe the children are our future" but we're counting on you to do the things you're capable of doing.  Do hard things.  Don't settle.  Don't compromise.  (And don't listen to anyone who says your generation is a bunch of hooligans.  We know better than that.  Prove them wrong.)

To my elders:  I love you.  And I hope some day I remember the words I'm preaching to myself.  I know the world seems topsy-turvy, but I also believe the world has always been topsy-turvy.  Before you jump to conclusions about someone because of their age, just consider that you might be wrong.  

To everyone:  The good Lord knows I have a foot-in-mouth occurrence nearly six times daily (plus or minus).  I'm simply suggesting that we weigh our words and try not to diminish the struggles of others.  It doesn't help to tell someone who is having a hard time that someone else has it worse or that it will inevitably be harder later.  Be an ear.  Give advice (only) if they ask.  Coffee is usually a good idea.  

May the words we say be used to build up instead of chip away.  

Words are, in my not-so-humble opinion, our most inexhaustible source of magic. Capable of both inflicting injury, and remedying it.” – Albus Dumbledore

The Best Kind of Neighbor

I grew up in a relatively small community in the Baltimore metro area.  We lived in a modest, paid-for home that my parents bought in the 70's.  Our backyard was enclosed by a chain-link fence with a privacy fence on one side to keep us delineated from the four (to six) neighbors' yards (depending on how you counted) that abutted ours.  The house to our left was nestled atop a hill.  This hill was perfect for riding bikes down for a minor thrill.  We practically wore ruts in diagonal lines across that slope, but never so badly that a good rain wouldn't fluff the grass right back up.  

The woman who lived in that house on the hill was more than a neighbor.  I would say she was more than a friend.  She was family, closer even than many of my blood relatives.  Mrs. Ruth opened her back sliding door to us every time we knocked, offering us Tastycakes and refrigerated Hostess cupcakes and anything else she had in her pantry.  She and her husband joined us for Christmas brunch every year.  Mr. Bob trekked back and forth from their door to ours carrying packages like Santa Claus.  She brought with her a feast of homemade sticky buns and pistachios, which I ate until my fingers and face were dyed red.  (I recently asked her for her sticky bun recipe, and she mailed it to me! What a treasure!)  When she needed help delivering Avon books, my sister and I trekked them around the neighborhood.  When she went out of town, we took care of her parrot, George and her dog, Brittany.  When our clothesline was full, she let us hang our extra stuff on hers.  We kept her company at the annual craft fair.  My sister was in her daughter's wedding.  When she wanted to get the house ready for a family reunion, she hired us to clean. Then, she invited the four of us to her family reunions.  She never cared, at least not out loud, if she looked out her kitchen window and saw us climbing her trees.  

Not one moment was forced.  We just did our lives together.  

Now as an adult, we live in a similar type of neighborhood.  We don't have clotheslines so there aren't as many spontaneous backyard chats.  Our yards are mostly delineated by privacy fences to keep children and pets in and riffraff out (I guess).  Most folks keep their grass and flowerbeds nicely maintained, the trees trimmed, and their homes tidy.  Then there are some folks (ahem) that are in a season where other things like caring for and educating eight kids (ahem) take priority.  For the past year, one of these things has been adding on to our home (about which I could and really want to dedicate a whole bunch of posts.  Some day, Lord willing.).  When we began our renovations, all I could think was, "Our neighbors are going to hate us."  There is noise, traffic, bad parking jobs, trash, mud, gravel, and all manner of extra people coming and going at all hours of the day.  It's been in the works since July, and it's not over yet.  As one who wishes to offend no neighbor and who gets stressed out by ridiculous things like whether my kids are making too much noise in the public right-of-way of our road while riding bikes and if we've been parked on the street offensively-too-long, it's been an interesting few months.

This afternoon, as I took a break from frantic-feeling school lessons (Would you believe we're behind? Yes. Always.) to put some lunch on the table, I heard my phone ding.  I received a message from our neighbor to the right with this picture attached:

This is a view of my Leah from her backyard running across the muddy, clay hills in our own backyard like a raving lunatic, something she has enjoyed doing almost daily since they started moving dirt.  The note she sent me was absolutely precious.  I hope she doesn't mind if I quote it here:

That is a memory maker of a hill right there. I love it! They will have memories of that just as much as they are going to have incredible memories in your pool.

I almost cried.

That simple note from our sweet, sweet neighbor melted away eight months of meaningless anxiety.  This neighbor shares my sentiments on what's important - finding joy in the mundane, appreciating beautiful messes, taking pleasure in watching children make memories.  

I've been thinking a lot about neighbors lately.  I know I'm not to any of mine what Mrs. Ruth and Mr. Bob were to me.  I don't know exactly how to fix that, but I'm willing.  We have quilt literally built a bigger table.  Maybe they will come if I just open the door.  Our church touts the slogan "Life is Better Together." I wholeheartedly believe this is true, not only in our church family, but of our closest neighbors as well.

For Homeschooling Noobs/Hopefuls/Contemplaters - Things You Probably Didn't Ask Me to Tell You

I'm going to begin by apologizing.  Much like when you scour the internet for a simple recipe for, say, homemade hamburger helper (or something fancier for my more-gourmet friends) and you end up reading the entire irrelevant life story of the recipe developer, I fear I may end up straying from my original intentions for this post.  With all humility possible, I thought it might be moderately helpful to offer a few thoughts to anyone considering homeschooling this coming fall, for whatever reason you might be thinking about it.  

Homeschooling is simple, but it's not easy.  There's no right way to do it, but there are a million different ways.  I believe God equips parents to educate their own children, but I also believe it's a calling not to be taken lightly.

Early in 2012, about a year after I lost my civil engineering job and just months before our fourth child was born, I was lounging around one evening, probably feeling sorry for myself because door after door had been closed to me on the job front, when Sam casually said, "Have you ever considered homeschooling?"  That was easy to answer.  I chortled and said, "Nope." Not even a little.  That was basically the end of the conversation, but over the next few days and weeks, it turns out that I did consider it.  A lot.  All it took was the simple mention of it, and it infiltrated my thoughts.  I did two of the nerdiest things possible: (1) I made the mother of all pro/con lists, and (2) I went to the library and checked out all the books I could find about homeschooling.  There may have been more, but I specifically remember three.  I also remember the fear and trepidation that came over me when I took them to the counter.  I did not want the librarian to think I was a homeschooler, because, obviously, those people are weird.  I guess people select books on stranger topics because she didn't bat an eyelash or give me the side-eye.  I dove straight into "The Well-trained Mind: A Guide to Classical Education at Home" by Jessie Wise and Susan Wise Bauer.  Long story short, the road map in that book empowered me.  I found the scales falling off of my eyes, so to speak, and suddenly it became crystal clear how a parent could successfully educate their child at home.  I admitted all of this to Sam.  Upon Ben's completion of second grade and Abby's completion of Pre-K, I withdrew my babies from public school and brought them home.  The rest, I guess, is history.  (Some yet to be written.)

A lot has changed since then, including my answer to "Why do you homeschool?"  We started because we felt like our eldest was coasting and hoped we could challenge him.  We wanted to be able to travel during the off-season, sometimes for weeks at a time.  I felt like I was being urged by God to do it, in spite of my lifelong vehement opposition to all things homeschooling.  Those things are still true, but we keep doing it because I love what it's done for our family.  I love spending this time together.  I love being able to go at our own pace.  I love that we can spend extra time on some things and gloss over others.  Though exhausting for these introverted ears, I truly love the conversations. Your "why" might be entirely different.  And that's okay.

The best thing about homeschooling is that there aren't any rules.  Okay, there are a few, but in Georgia, there aren't many at all.  (More on that later.)  Perhaps a better way to say it is that with homeschooling, there are a million different ways to do it, and there's no single "right" way.  This might be frustrating to the planners who want a cut and dried schedule or exhilarating to the free-spirits who are more prone to winging it, but either way, the biggest gift is the flexibility.

Lest it sound like I'm lobbying, let me be clear that I am not.  School choice is a personal one, and regardless of where your kids are learning, I hope that you, as parents, are involved in their day to day education.  That said, here is my spiel to people who reach out to me with the general inquiry, "Tell me a little bit more about homeschooling."

I used to recommend "The Well-trained Mind" and Cathy Duffy's Top 102 Picks for Homeschool Curriculum as the two go-to books for beginners.  These are both great resources, but because my focus has shifted from academic rigor (which you most certainly find in The WTM) to living life together and loving learning, I now recommend "Teaching from Rest" by Sarah MacKenzie.  This short book reinforces what our family is doing and why - and offers practical suggestions on how-to.  

People ask me what curriculum we use, and it makes me cringe a little.  We still largely use the recommendations from "The Well-trained Mind," but I won't say that what we do is the best or perfect or even right.  We're doing the best we can, for us.  There are literally a million options for curriculum from workbooks you pick up at Sam's Club to complete box sets from dedicated homeschool vendors to free online options to online public school.  What I'm saying is that what we use isn't necessarily what I recommend everyone else use.  Maybe that's a cop-out.  It's just too broad a question to provide a singular answer especially if the inquiry is meant to be used as a recommendation.  How do your kids learn?  How do you want to teach?  How involved do you want to be?  These are questions to ask yourself.  Then go find Cathy Duffy's book, thumb through some curriculum at a homeschool fair or a friends' bookshelf or a used book store, and take a chance, but keep it simple. Worst case, you scrap it and try again.  (There's that flexibility thing I mentioned earlier.)

In Georgia, there are very few actual requirements.  Summed up, you must:

1.  File a Declaration of Intent to homeschool before September 1 each school year with the GA DoE.  

2.  Include five core subjects in your studies: Math, English Language Arts, Science, Social Studies, and Reading.

3.  Have your student tested every three years starting at the end of third grade by a national standardized test.  (There are multiple ways to accomplish this.  I got approved as a tester so that we can do it at home.)

4.  Provide 180 days of instruction.

5.  Keep annual progress reports for each student.

None of that is too complicated.  

I'm typically hesitant to offer firm advice, but I'll try to wrap this up with a few tidbits specific to things I've lived and learned.

On having babies & toddlers while homeschooling older kids:  Utilize nap time.  Encourage independence on the part of your older kids.  Hold the baby while you work through schoolwork.  Just let the littles be near you.  My favorite joke is that I'm training bomb defusers and air traffic controllers.  A lot of times, the big kids have quite a few distractions around them.  They adapt.  And if they can't, we table it and come back to it when things have calmed down (i.e. - nap time).

On homeschooling preschoolers and kindergartners:  Let. Them. Play.  Read them books.  Get them outside.  Do not feel pressured to structure things or use formal curriculum.  That's the full extent of my advice, but I hold to it.  If your two or three year old wants to learn to read, absolutely let them.  Do not make your two year old learn to read if they would rather chase butterflies and make mud pies.  They'll learn to read soon enough.  It's not a race.

On high school:  Keep in mind that transcripts will be required for graduation and it's to your benefit to keep good records (if not before) beginning in ninth grade.  Also, do not be afraid!  You can do it!

A few resources:  Rainbow Resource (favorite curriculum vendor), Weird, Unsocialized Homeschoolers (fun blog with practical homeschooling advice across the ages), The Smiling Homeschooler (Todd Wilson "The Family Man", great podcast on homeschooling but also offers me the greatest hope that everything is going to turn out okay for my kids)

What have I missed?  Tons.  Ask questions and I'll try to give you a vague enough answer that I can't be held accountable if things go terribly wrong.  But seriously, I'm here to encourage.  If you decide to take the plunge, I'll be your biggest cheerleader.  Happy Homeschooling, friends!

An Unexpected Treasure

Ten years ago, I was twenty-five years old.  Sam and I were neck-deep in a bathroom remodel we were desperately trying to finish before the arrival of our third child.  We'd arrive home from our jobs, inhale a quick dinner (maybe), and work for hours doing all the things that come along with an extensive remodeling project.  One morning, I woke up and groggily walked out to the coffeepot,\ as I do every single day.  In my half-awake state I heard an unfamiliar whooshing sound coming from the hallway across the house.  I walked that way and about halfway across the living room, my foot squished into the rug, which should most definitely not have been wet.  The water on the floor got deeper, and the noise got louder as I approached the bathroom.  A cap had blown off a pipe and was shooting water onto the wall and floor with the force of a fire hose.  I did what I do in all emergency situations.  I yelled for Sam.  We got the water turned off in the yard, called out of work, and spent the day remediating the water damage.  To this day, ten years later, I get anxious when I hear water, whether it's a drizzle outside I didn't know it was supposed to rain, or the dishwasher whirring that I didn't know someone had started, or even someone washing their hands in the bathroom.

A few years after that, once again in a half-awoken state (a common theme in my life, it seems), I heard the door to our garage lower as Sam left for work.  Moments later, I heard the strange sound of what I thought might be a lawnmower outside of my bedroom window in our backyard.  "That's interesting," I thought. "Maybe someone is pity-mowing our yard for us."  I stumbled, once again, toward the coffeepot before even glancing out back because my priorities are, admittedly, not in perfect order.  When I reached the kitchen, I was able to see straight out the big windows that give an almost-panoramic view of our backyard and witnessed no fewer than half a dozen policemen with guns drawn, and a police helicopter flying so low that its skids were hovering just a few feet above where the treetops would have been, had they not been bowing towards the ground from the force of the wind.  As I looked on, a policeman ripped the sheet off a blanket fort my kids had made on our back porch the day before.  I did what I do and called Sam on his cell phone.  No answer.  I called my dad 700 miles away and cried with fear.  I would soon find out that a robbery had occurred a few miles south at a convenience store and the fugitive burglar was hiding (and subsequently apprehended because WRPD and Houston County Sheriff's Office don't play) in the stormwater detention area behind our fence.  Even now, years later, when I hear the unexpected sound of a nearby motor, I peek out of my blinds half expecting another invasion by police forces in relentless pursuit of a criminal.

I tell these stories to highlight the fact that I have experienced very little trauma in my life.  I do not say this from a position of bragging, but most humbly and by God's grace.  Prone to fear, I get a little knot in my stomach when I can't quickly place unexpected sounds, particularly water and engine noises.  It's almost laughable.  Hold that thought.

Last week, as Ben pulled a notebook from a pile in our office, some very-yellowed newspaper clippings fluttered to the floor.  Not exactly sure of their origins, I was curious enough to peek at them.  The first two were of little note about distant family members, but the third one took my breath away.  Both of my grandfathers served in the Pacific in World War II.  My dad's dad was in the Army and fought in both Okinawa and the Philippines.  Occasionally, he would talk about his time there and in our conversations what I noted the most was how much compassion and love he felt for the  Philippine people.  Although I knew my mom's dad served in the Navy on the San Francisco and New Orleans, he did not talk about his time in the war.  In fact, we really just knew not to bring it up.  Having lost a brother after the war as a result of the devastation of what we now know is PTSD, my grandfather coped with his experiences by shutting them away as many men and women of that great generation did in order to carry on with post-war civilian life.  I can hardly blame them.  Based on his dates of service, my dad has been able to track the movements of the ships my grandfather was on and figured out some of the battles in which he fought.  These puzzle pieces are all we have had as a tribute to his time in the service.

Until the newspaper clipping fell to the floor.

I will let the words speak for themselves.

(In case it can't be read, some quotes)

Young McGrath, home on furlough after approximately eighteen months of active duty in which his ship took part in practically every engagement that the navy has encountered during his stay there, is rated as an Electrician's Mate, 2/C, but had to transform himself into a gunner when the gunner whose place he filled for the remainder of the voyage was scalped by a Jap bullet during one of the engagements.

My ship once had more than a hundred feet blown off during a battle.  That was a big hunk out of a ship, but we got it repaired.  I thought my time had come, however, not then by the time a Jap plane plummeted to our deck, sprayed the whole section with high-test gas, and then burst into flames.  It looked bad for awhile, but we came through finally.

Young McGrath helped to rescue the line Marine who remained on Guam for twenty-one months.  He was operating one of the search lights when the Marine swam out to a lifeboat. 

The Electrician's Mate-Gunner will report back to the San Francisco later this month.  He has already signed for more sea duty. (emphasis mine) 

It was surreal to come across this piece of history one day in the midst of our normal routine.  No one in our family had every seen this article or knew these details about his time in the Navy. We lost my grandfather nearly 19 years ago, and with each passing day there are fewer of these brave men and women left to tell their stories.  When I stop to consider how weak and cowardly I am when contrasted to the bravery and fortitude of the young people of the greatest generation who not only witnessed, but ran towards and fought against the unspeakable horrors of war, what I feel is gratitude.  We cannot thank you enough for your example and your courage.  And, on a personal note, thank you, Grandpop, for coping with trauma in the best way you could, for being one of the bravest men I knew even before I had an inkling of your war experiences, and for loving and living with passion and a smile for the rest of your days.

Quiet

There's something magical about staying up at night, enjoying the sound of silence, while everyone else around me sleeps.  It's even more special on beautiful fall evenings when the temperature is so perfect that there's no whirring of air conditioning running and it's not cold enough to turn on the heat.  Fall is that way, quiet and magical.  I don't know how anyone would enjoy any other season more.

In an effort to dig into the season that I hold in such high regard, I resolved to step away from the clutches of social media in October.  I can't honestly say I'm coming running back to it.  Sure, I logged in to make sure I didn't miss things like announcements about neighborhood yard sales (oh wait, still managed to miss those), happenings in our homeschool co-op, and my local news headlines.  What I needed a step back from was the noise - whether in the form of the insta-awesomeness of everyone I "know", the passionately charged, election-season political opinions of acquaintances from high school, the comments sections of literally everything, the time-wasting Tasty & Nifty videos, the funny memes, just all of it.  I have no willpower.  I can't just look a little.  If I give myself access to it, 2 hours later, I'm taking a quiz to find out what my favorite bread says about my personality and trying to solve the mystery of how two people I know from two different states and stages of life know each other.  It's like the bag of Halloween candy that remains untouched if I don't break the seal, but if it's open, I can't stop myself.  Inevitably though, even small interactions with social media cause my blood pressure to rise, and I get sad and wonder to myself, "Is this really what we've become?"

It behooves me to turn the sound down. It's not just an ostrich-with-her-head-in-the-sand kind of thing.  Literally, good things happen when I step away from the computer/phone screen.  I had this nostalgic thought that maybe I could not know every opinion and life happening of every person I encountered.  I could wonder about people instead of coming into interactions with a pre-conceived notion developed through the lens of social media.  Maybe, I could just get to know people through conversation.  Maybe it would be awkward (because that's my specialty), but it would be true.  Maybe I don't need everyone to know what happens in my life at 10:20am on a random Tuesday.

I started this year out with "Brave" as my 2018 theme.  I'm not abandoning that, but I'm tacking on another word for the final three months, and that word is "Quiet."  There is so much value in turning down the noise.  It's a little gift I'm giving myself.