Sunday, February 26

Stress. It's so stressy.

The other day, James brought up an idea in an article that he'd read. I'm going to try to find it, but the gist was that one of the biggest stressors in life is Unmade Decisions. While it seems silly that opportunity is stressful, it also makes sense. There's that level of uncertainty - if you don't know what you want to do, what are you going to do? If you can't make a decision, opportunities dissolve (and they may not be ones you wanted to take in the end, but you'll never know, now), communications dwindle (we all know the discomfort of realizing you didn't communicate something, and now it's awkward, so you keep putting it off, and it keeps getting more awkward... but the need is still very much present), the pressure of deadlines and expectations and disappointments pile up. It's all very paralyzing.

You may have plenty of options in front of you: gap year, wander the earth like Cain, work, intern, university, community college for a bit with an eye to transfer, community college with an eye toward certifications, apprenticeship. But where you're going to be in a year, in two years, is going to look very different if you take the wandering route than if you take the work route. So there's that high-level, intrinsic uncertainty that erodes as any attempts to make plans or decisions when there are Unmade Decisions - especially the ones that hinge on an Unmade Decision.

Some of this seems unavoidable, and I default to rest, hydration, nutrition, and spiritual care. Then just suck it up beyond that. But I did find this article at Psychology Today, which doesn't address the stress of Unmade Decisions directly, but is very thoughtfully presented input on making sound decisions.

This discussion came up in the context of James' stress, specifically. He is so stressed. Honestly, he's doing fine. He's on track-ish. (There's always room for improvement when your parents aren't doing the paperwork and planning. It's harder in the short term, but so much better in the long run. Hence, the -ish. It's said with love, and a nod at reality.) He's got ideas and plans, and they're good, but the stress in his head is impacting his ability to think, or to plan. It hit me the other night that he really needs to make the decision as to which college he will commit to attending. I suspect that having that uncertainty no longer floating in his head will smooth out the chaos in there a bit and let him get to working on the immediate tasks with a little more confidence. (And, honestly, I pitched that half expecting it to be blown off as Crazed Mumbo Jumbo Mom Spouts, but it wasn't. He gets that that is contributing to a certain inability to make other plans, to engage and get excited about something concrete and attainable. So, whew. I'm glad he pulled something helpful from what I put out there. I'm even more appreciative that he shared the information he had on Unmade Decisions - it was like connecting two dangling thoughts into one coherent concept, for both of us.)

I need to keep reminding myself that it's best to have the mind of a beginner, even as the parent. We don't really have to have all the answers - we just have to be willing to wend our way toward finding them.

Be encouraged!

~ Dy

Saturday, February 25

First Visit Without Me, Still Don't Know What I'm Doing

It's John's turn to visit colleges he's picked this Spring. He's at his first visit without his brother, which I think is going to be really great for him. They get along well, but they are so different, and they operate on different frequencies. So it'll be good for John to explore at his pace and see what resonates with him.

He's also there without me, and while it's fantastic for him to have time with Z, and all that ... This is weird. So I'm up, doing paperwork, paying bills, quieting the Calendar Vikings.

And texting with a friend who is about the same distance down this path as I am. (She's got one fledging, and one running the system check to get on deck next year.) She, too, sounds like she's being held hostage in a game show where you have to figure out the rules as you play and they throw wet things at your head when you get a question wrong. I had no idea this was what we sounded like, but there's been a lot of, "You, too!" and "I'm so glad it's not just me!" flying back and forth this morning. So, yeah. There's that.

So, to those of you fledging your first this year, we raise a toast. Yes, it's before 5. Yes, it's a stout one. We salute you. You are not alone.

Be encouraged!

~ Dy


Friday, February 24

Understanding

Last night, when the boys returned from class, James said, "Wow. Now I understand how hard what you do really is."

I truly appreciated that. He wasn't talking about the teaching, planning, guiding, or feeding aspects, but that's OK. Because what's really killing me this semester is Thursday's driving.

Z and I have a car sharing arrangement that allows whoever is driving more miles to take the most fuel efficient vehicle. So, two days a week I get his commuter car. (We're not quite where we can sell the Suburban, but we are very, very close.) It's a great arrangement and it's run smoothly for the most part. Yesterday, however, on his way out the door, James snagged the keychain with the one and only key to Z's car. I didn't realize it when he grabbed the keys, because we keep all the keys on the same shelf. We have copies of most keys, and he just didn't think about it being an issue.

But when the rest of us got ready to head out to run errands, hit the book store, get shoes, and head to class (all things I'd planned because Jacob had opted to skip ballroom to buy us an extra two hours), I couldn't find the key (obviously, with it not being home). Eventually, I called James to ask where he'd set it when he'd gotten in the previous night. (This is the one time I hated that he's so good about putting his phone on vibrate while he's in class. I had to keep calling and just hope it was in his pants pocket.)

"Well, I have one here, in my pocket."

"That's the only one. I need it!"

So, bless him, James drove up from Ballroom to bring me the key. And I tasked him with getting Jacob to ballet so I could take the Littles straight to sign language because the delay had made it likely that no one would get to the right place in time if I had to do both (there is no time to detour to the house, really, and we hit rush hour traffic). He did (because he's awesome). And then he had to drive back down for class, and to pick up his brother who'd waited for him at a coffee shop, then drive home. When he got home, he'd logged 192 miles. Or, as we like to call it, A Full Thursday.

He was beat. I sympathized and suggested a hot cup of tea and an early lights out. He probably slept like the dead.

And as much as I hated for him to have to run the gauntlet of a Thursday, I'm actually glad he did it. It's good for him to understand that sometimes the schedule is a high wire act and we all have to do our parts in order for us not to keep falling off the wire and having to scramble across the net, back up the ladder, and out onto the wire again. But it was also very good for him to have first-hand experience of the way you scramble across the net, back up the ladder, and out onto the wire again. Ta-da! It can be done. And it's OK.

I mean, I wouldn't ever shove a kid off a bike just so they could learn to get back on, but it is good to fall off and see that it's not the end of the world. I guess we'll just call those the happy accidents in life. (One more, and then I'll stop. Promise.) Things come apart at the seams and you learn how to use double-sided tape or a stapler to keep it together until you can get home and redo the seams, right?

As a parent, it was a huge win, if only because I didn't yell (well, outside my head). It was an accident. It wasn't malicious or indicative of any massive character failing. It was just a goof up, and although it made SO many things hard for the rest of the day, it didn't do an actual harm. Plus, the Littles got to class on time, and that was fantastic for them.

Happy accidents, none on the actual highway. I'm a happy camper. And today, we get a spare key made for Z's commuter car...

Be encouraged!

~ Dy

Thursday, February 23

Homeschooler's Peace

I know, there's spiritual peace. It's a thing. I do understand that, and totally embrace it. But that's not at all what I'm talking about. On a practical level, when I'm talking about peace, I'm talking about whatever dampens the noise in my head:

- The frequency that broadcasts financial recaps from eleven o'clock at night to three in the morning. There's a lot of speculation and wild guessing.

- The Question Channel, which seems to be staffed by precocious toddlers - Constantly asking "why", but about deep things, like educational plans, curricula choices, the meaning of life.

- Calendar planning. That's just a lot of Vikings grunting and bashing, really. I don't think anything will shut them up.

This morning, I found online Russian classes for John. And ordered a ton of Russian children's books. Why? Because between keeping up with Latin, Spanish, and ASL, I just. do. not. have the bandwidth to learn Russian and be of any use to him. He'll be fine. I'll learn it someday. But we needed something to add support for him, now.

In case you're interested:

CLRC offers them.
So does Wilson Hill.
And Amazon has a fantastic selection of books.
And Audible has some good material, as well. Great way to blow some of those six credits that just sit there, month after month.

For Spanish (and French) for Jacob, I bought a one-year family subscription to The ULAT. (I'm pretty sure I've mentioned this before, but I'm cramped for time and can't go look it up just now. I'll edit later to add a link if I have.) Anyway, we tried it for a month and I was impressed. Even my Verbal Language Resistance Protesters got a lot out of it - and they were trying diligently NOT to.

The cost is $35 for a year. $180 if you want graded quizzes and exams. Not a bad deal. So if you're in the market for French, Spanish, or English lessons (not English grammar, but someone who needs to learn English as a second language), this is a great resource. You can couple it with DuoLingo and really knock it out of the ballpark.

That quieted some of the static in my head.

Then I paid the bills. So now there's weeping, but at least the financial report tonight won't be quite so full of speculation. That's something, right?

Now, to hide from the Vikings!

Be encouraged!

~ Dy

Friday, February 17

TGIT... erm, F...

Wow, got up this morning and thought, "How is it Thursday already?"

But it's Friday.

So that gives you a good indication of how I'm doing, here. Happy, but totally not caught up.

We're in a lull at the moment, which, really, we needed. There was a harrowing, break-neck race a couple of nights ago to submit an application before the midnight (please let it have been "midnight Mountain time") deadline. One of the children got a fantastic crash course in the value of submitting applications before the actual deadline -- when successful submission opened up a variety of additional scholarships for which he qualified. Each one required an essay. He had 40 minutes to do it, and our internet crapped out at the 30 minute mark.

I can't tell you how fantastic it is to have a child get a clue that you didn't lob at him from across the room.

I also can't tell you how thankful I am that I'm not a heavy drinker, because it seems like a totally legit go-to at some points.

But I didn't yell. I climbed in bed with a book and told him to text me when he got the issue fixed. He did. The moment has passed, it's done, and now we're moving forward.

Jacob tried to find another class he could move into, to free up some of the time crunch on our Thursdays, but that was a bust. We both plan to use some insane Introvert Time Protection Schemes when he's registering for this fall -- not because either of us is introverted, but because introverts know how to guard their time, and we clearly have no clue at all. We can't be trusted with the calendar.

I want to sit in this lull and enjoy it, but I also want to hurry up and get to the next adventure. Life is weird. But so good. It's all good, and I appreciate it!

What are you looking forward to? And what are you enjoying now?

Be encouraged!

~ Dy

Sunday, February 12

I'm Not Proud, But There It Is

So, I cried, "Uncle!" today. One of the boys got up and went to his Troop's church, since it was Scout Sunday. Another one is sick. Z is sick. One is sounding a little sketchy. That left me, and the Littles...

And I just did not have it in me to get back in the car again. And drive. Again. After waking them up early. Again.

While it sounds awfully trite to say that I wanted to stay home and tend to my house, I don't think it is. Or rather, I don't think it conveys just how much a home can deteriorate when you're driving over 100 miles a day, working extra hours at your other job, still mostly educating the children, and you haven't spawned a single "housekeeper" type child. (Not a one of them shows love by picking up. Which is not to say they don't show love. They do. They just step over the shoes in the living room to do it.)

So I'm not proud of opting to sleep in (although I didn't sleep in - I got up at 6:30 and worked, which was dumb). I sort of consoled myself by pointing out that we did go to mass yesterday (no, we're not Catholic, but there was worship. And doxology. And the gospel. It counts.)

Then I absolutely scoured my room, vacuumed every nook and cranny, and re-arranged it (in the hope of confusing They Who Live Here into dropping things in, or at least, near, the hamper). Also, the last time I checked, there are only two people who actually reside in this room. So why is there a full seven people's worth of stuff in here? Weirdos.

We cleaned, and cleaned, and cleaned. Em piled her craft things atop her bed so that she could vacuum her room. It looks so tidy and precious. It's quite spacious, actually. As long as you don't notice that the entire bed is piled three feet deep in craft supplies. We have got to figure out a better storage system than random bins and bags along the walls... but I'm still fairly new at this, and I have no idea what would help. James just needed a drawer to hold computer parts. John's sword lives beside his amp and his guitar fits behind the door. They are so simple. Craft supplies? I'm lost. So tonight, she's sleeping on a cot in her room, and tomorrow we'll see if we can't hammer out a plan. (Other than a bonfire. She said that was a terrible plan and we agreed to sleep on it.)

But tonight, I am relaxed. Thankful. My home isn't making my skin crawl, or making me restless and tense with the visual clutter. It's no Dwell layout, not by a long shot, but it's comfortable. And I really needed that. I really needed to be at rest long enough to get it done.

Be encouraged! (Of course, this post may not have been terribly encouraging for you - but whatever encourages you, restores you, rejuvenates you, and gives you space to breathe, that is what my prayer tonight is for.)

~ Dy

Thursday, February 9

Thank Goodness for Cell Phones

With the older boys out and away so much, we got them cell phones to help with the logistics. Sometimes I wonder why we bothered. They seldom answer them. Neither one has set up voice mail (not that any of us checks it -- what a different world it is since the advent of caller ID!) There isn't a segment of society I know of that is more likely to leave the house with 9% battery charge and no charger cable.

And yet, what a difference it's made to have this technology readily available.

One little message lets us know they've arrived safely.

"Survived"

"not dead"

"didn't die"*

None of mine send normal messages like, "made it on time" or "we have arrived safely at our destination and will now proceed with the scheduled activities". I'm OK with that. They're communicating with me. They're giving me what is, truthfully, the only part I care about: Are You OK? It's wonderful. And they're good about that.

With one swipe of a finger, they let us know if there was a change in plans: "Going to Austin's" or "Sent the Littles ahead with John".

In the 80's? Yeah, that wasn't gonna happen. (You may have been a better kid than I was, and been better about touching base. My friends and I tended to act like once we left the house, that part of our lives was paused and the part we were in was the only one with anything actually happening. Not consciously, mind, but looking back at it, that seems to be a reasonable explanation. We weren't intentionally jerks, but we were thoughtless about anything that wasn't the here and now.) I think kids do still tend to be a little thoughtless about anything that's not the here and now, but cell phones make it easier to remember to let your mother know you're not dead in a ditch right now.

My poor mother. All our poor mothers. We may or may not have had a quarter on us. Or thought to ask a friend's mother if we could use their house phone. And when there was a change of plans? Mmm-boy. My mother is gone, but if your mother is still alive, would you please apologize to her on my behalf?

If only for that, alone, the cell phones are wonderful. Add in the ability to say, "We're out of cream," when they'll be passing the store, or "Do you need gas money?" while you're actually AT the bank, and it drops the whole difficulty factor of communication by a full magnitude.

So while these perks don't negate the very real concerns our kids have to face with learning to navigate technology, and they don't replace legit parental involvement and communication, I am feeling the very real love for what positive things they've brought into our lives.

Be encouraged!

~ Dy

*actual examples of standard messages

Wednesday, February 8

The High Adrenaline Start

After a particularly long night earlier this week, I collapsed into bed. What felt like minutes later, I heard, "It's 8:30. There's coffee. Thought you might want to, you know, get up." I schlepped out of bed, checked my calendar, and FREAKED. I had an 8:30 appointment!

Out the door and on the road by 8:35 (it was not going to be an attractive meeting, that's for sure) when the individual I had messaged about running late replied, "I thought it was XX day, is it not?"

Why yes. *whew* Yes, it is. When we'd scheduled the meeting, the parties involved weren't sure which date and time would work best, so I plugged in both to be on the safe side. Then I never deleted the extraneous one once we'd nailed down the details.

I went back home, kicked off my shoes, and knocked out two hours of work over the best tasting, most appreciated cup of coffee I've had in ages.

Later that day, I related the story to the kids. Not as a cautionary tale, but as a reminder that we all do dumb things sometimes, and it's OK. The difference is in how you respond. Do you own up to it? Do you do your best to make it happen (fix it, clarify it, etc.)? Do you communicate? Those things go a long way toward smoothing the path forward, and allowing you to go a little easier on yourself.

Keeping those to a minimum, however, will preserve those vital minutes that are prone to being shaved off the end of your life! I'm not gonna lie about that. Goodness.

Be encouraged!

~ Dy

Sunday, February 5

I wish I'd gone into research

I was never good at taking notes, and when I did, I'd often lose them. The running joke in our house, as we search for yet another list I've misplaced, is that this is why I never went into research. But after educating children, having cancer, and refurbishing a house, I wish I had. It would be nice to have volumes of well-tended notes to refer back to, to see if there are new patterns or untapped ideas.

This morning, over sad coffee, I read through the recent posts in a Keto group I'm a member of. (This group is scientifically oriented, and is based on the work of Drs. Phinney and Volek.) The NSV (non-scale victories) are amazing -- off of blood pressure medication, off of insulin, off of statins, off of anxiety medications, no longer categorized as diabetic/pre-diabetic... the list really does go on and on. Daily. The weight stabilization (both gaining and losing, to find optimal) is impressive. Every day, people are getting their lives back, and the healing that's happening in this group comes straight from the learning, growing, and taking control that the members are engaging in to save their own lives. It's my morning read, and is such a place of encouragement for me.

And yet, weekly, I also read stories of doctors who (essentially) won't take notes. They acknowledge that their patients are improving in ways they hadn't expected, but they won't acknowledge or record what their patients are doing differently to see such drastic results. (I have, personally, had the same experience with my new oncologist -- he won't listen to what I'm doing, claims it has no impact, and then when things go far better than the evidence would suggest, or than he expected, he shrugs and says it's a fluke. Sometimes, flukes are part of a pattern you're not seeing.) Some doctors threaten to fire their patients for going off the USDA (or the ADA) recommendations. I don't get that. (And, to be fair, many doctors are saying, "Whoa. Wait a minute, here. What's this?" They have a special place in the hearts of every patient who has healed and gotten his life back.)

I get that a physician has a responsibility to provide a certain standard of care for his patients, and that this standard is described by protocols in place. But we must always be learning, and taking notes to facilitate knowledge and understanding is not precluded by that mandate. If what you're recommending isn't working, and something else works, you don't have to become a kool-aid-drinking-total-believer. But take notes. And if you see it happen again, take more notes. Look for patterns, and if you start to see a pattern emerge, pay attention. Have the mind of a beginner. Why is this not the norm in the medical profession? Was it ever? (I want to say it was, but then I think back on my antibiotic-happy family physician and reconsider my stance... the truth is that I don't know.) I do know that most people become physicians because they want to help people. They want to improve lives, facilitate health, be an integral part of making this world a better place. But it's easy after a while to defer to protocol and forget that we're still learning.

Am I saying Ketogenesis is the answer for all the world's ailments? No. I'm not. Do I think it merits a serious look for some ailments, particularly diabetes? Yes. Do I wish that more people were taking notes and comparing them? Yes. Do I wish I'd gone into research and learned to take better notes, myself? Oh, goodness, yes.

While teaching the kids science over the years, my mantra has always been,

"Once you start acting like you know all the answers, you stop asking questions. Don't be that guy."

Because while there is SO much we know now, there is SO much we do not know.

When I'm an old lady and you see me in the street, yelling, "Take notes! Pay attention! Look for patterns! Talk to others!" Well, you'll know why.

Be encouraged!

~ Dy

Saturday, February 4

That Was Bracing

I awoke this morning to a cold house and the heat just blowing for all it's worth. It seems that after Z and a boy had let Buddy the Dog out this morning, he'd decided he wanted back in. Since they were already gone and the rest of us were asleep, he ditched the back yard and tried the front door, which, luckily for him, was not secured. So he nudged it open and happily curled up on his bed in the living room. Leaving the 22 degree air to waft through the house for us. Anybody had any luck teaching a dog to close a door?

So, I'm up. Really up. Wide awake and ready to roll! That's good.

And Z had made coffee before he headed out. Also appreciated.

We have a quiet weekend planned. The Scouts are serving a pancake breakfast this morning, and Jacob has rehearsals. A little reading, a little cleaning. Worship tomorrow. Our weekends aren't the most exciting thing in the world, but they are so very nourishing -- time for us to spend together, time for us to regroup.

It just hit me that the kids probably don't see the rhythm of it all. Hmmm. I don't want to be pedantic and turn every interaction into a "lesson" for them, but I don't want them to miss the opportunity to spot the importance of downtime, of cycling your activity, of touching base and recharging. They're going to need that one day (some sooner than others). Maybe I'll point it out this afternoon - make a pot of tea, read aloud, express my appreciation for this time. The appreciation bit is absolutely genuine. And who doesn't love a little hot tea on a cold afternoon?

I do hope the house is warmer by then.

Be encouraged!

~ Dy

Friday, February 3

The Best People In The World

Do you know who the best people in the world are? They're the ones who "get" your kid. The ones who believe in her and have high expectations for her, but who step in with grace and affection and love when the kid gets overwhelmed, or makes an honest mistake, or even does something boneheaded.

They're the ones who give you room to laugh and shake your head and remember that we were all once just-barely-grown and trying to figure it all out.

They allow you to shed your frustration and come back to a place of support and encouragement.

They're the ones who point out what they love about your child when your brain is freaking out and you're starting to wonder if the only real options available are homelessness or living in the basement. (Which, they're not. But the brain is a crazy organ with a warped sense of humor.)

They're the ones who willingly write up a letter of recommendation on only 12 hours notice because someone didn't read the application all the way to the end before taking a deep, panicked breath and starting on the essay.

They're the ones who share their own stories with your child -- about missed deadlines, or botched labs, or fender benders, or whatever mishap your own kid is currently beating herself about the head for. (We actually spent about half an hour at book club a couple of weeks ago sharing stories of freak car incidents we'd all experienced, to encourage a young man who'd had One Of Those Days. In the end, he was able to laugh - mostly at us, and our ridiculous stories - and realize that he hadn't doomed himself to being That Kid forever and ever.)

They laugh gently, they cluck sympathetically, they point out that it doesn't mean you're awful, it means you're human.

And humans are fantastic if you give them room to be!

The best way to find these people is to be one of these people. If you have this, feed it regularly and roll around in it - you're all doing good work, and it matters. If you don't have this, fire it up. Roll up your sleeves and go love on some kids. You'll find your people. They tend to create a symbiotic energy, encouraging and loving on each other and each other's children in turn. It's a beautiful gift you can give to yourself, your children, your friends, their children, and so on. It really is.

Be encouraged!
~ Dy

Thursday, February 2

I Don't Know What I'm Doing, And Neither Do They

Yesterday, I had such a wonderful visit with a friend. I think you would find it encouraging, too. So that's what I'm going to talk about.

Kids Don't Know What They're Going To Do -- and that's OK.

To be fair, in my circle of friends, the parents seem to have a good grasp on that, but the kids don't believe them. The fledglings are stressed, worried, unsure, and a little weirded out by this whole process. The parents, after a couple of decades raising children, have realized that nobody really knows what they're doing, and that's OK.

Certainly, we educate ourselves, we approach choices thoughtfully, and try (with all our might) to make sure we're making the best choice we can with the information we have. But in the end, it always feels like we're blindfolded, throwing darts. It takes us a while to realize all the others around us feel the same way. Thankfully, we're not all actually doing just that (that sounds like a terribly dangerous room to be in), but it absolutely feels that way. We come to terms with that at some point.

So I'm not really talking to you. But in a way, I am. When we understand that about ourselves, we can combine that understanding with the fact that that kids - who still have way more energy than we do, tend to experience things very deeply, have a drive to do Amazing things, and are also blessed with the ability to be ABSOLUTELY CERTAIN about many things - are also still very much just younger versions of their adult selves (they just haven't realized yet that the blindfolds-and-darts feelings don't ever really go away), and we can then relate to and encourage them in meaningful ways. Mostly by modeling and living what we know to be true. Definitely by using more than words...

Other than, "Don't worry about it," which sounds supremely ridiculous after umpteen years of, "You have to take care of the things in front of you!" and "Deadlines matter!" and other such prudent direction.

...Other than, "You'll figure it out".

...Other than, "You don't have to know what you're going to do." Again, compare this to at least a dozen years of hearing people - family, friends, strangers in the grocery store - ask them what they want to be when they grow up. After a while, it's pretty easy to interpret that to mean they're expected to have not just a clue, but an entire plan. If your fledgling is in the last few years of school, he/she likely feel like it's quickly heading to a double jeopardy round -

"I'll take College Majors for a thousand and pray I don't choke, Alex."

Some kids do have a plan. They have a solid plan. It is THE PLAN. And they come apart at the seams when that plan changes, or dissolves. They need us to model that it's OK.

Some kids are afraid to make a plan, because if it changes or dissolves, then that's failure. We have to think fondly back on some of our more meaningful failures and let them see us laugh about it, now. It's OK.

Some kids use the hold-off-on-all-decisions-until-there-is-only-one-option left approach to figuring out their path forward. For this, I can only recommend a hearty snifter of brandy and a good book. That one's painful to watch. But they're going to be OK. And honestly, they're going to be OK much more quickly than they feel, or we fear, or than anyone suspects. We need to reflect that they can do it, and that it will be OK.

I think the key might be in knowing (in our hearts) that it will be OK, and then freeing ourselves up from the pressure and the uncertainty to listen to (really hear) them, to empathize, and then we can throw darts to get the timing down for when to nudge and when to break out the tea and sympathy.

If you  have fledged ones, what do they say was the most encouraging for them? What would they say helped the most as they were heading out? We'd love to hear their thoughts!

Be encouraged!

~ Dy