Sing a New Song: Creativity

One of the things that drew me to a Charlotte Mason-style education all those many moons ago was the inclusion of music, art, and handicrafts. I wanted to be sure that education in our household never resembled the checklist style of learning being propagated in other educational venues. To me, educating a child is like weaving a tapestry. A utilitarian tapestry of only dark colors was not my goal.

I wanted several different tones and textures of threads. I wanted a fine (sort-of-classical) academic education, to be sure, but I also wanted to touch the heart and soul, the creative spirits of my children.

Recently, a conversation with a very creative soul led me to think about whether or not this is a creative household. Looking back, the train of thought seems rather ludicrous. My husband is a television producer/director/writer. I write a little myself ;-). My kids all have blogs and love to write and take photographs. Yet, there is a part of me that longs to "touch" creations. And then, I looked around.

This is, by far, my favorite piece of furniture. Michael  painted it for me last year for Mother's Day. He's always been creating--paper, pencils, paint, photos. He's a visual guy who loves to both create and to appreciate art.

But then I considered the next child. The one who can take a cardboard box and packing tape and replicate an entire television set. The one who decides that they can't play basketball in the basement until the walls are hung with NCAA banners of his making and the floor is marked to look like a basketball court.

And then to the next child. Ah. Stuck here a bit. He wants a kit and detailed directions. He's afraid to make a mistake. Perfectionism is not a good creativity enhancer. File that away to ponder a bit. Perfectionism will kill creativity. And perfectionism breeds burnout in a big way. We can't be afraid to make mistakes. We need to stretch and to grow, lest we wither and die. We need that creative stretch not just for our children (though they really, really need it), but for ourselves as well.

The fourth child has been begging me to learn to bead jewelry, to learn to sew, to learn to crochet. She loves to make flower fairies, to redecorate her bedroom frequently. Yep, creativity here, for sure. In a minute, dear...

But it was the fifth child who brought me up short. Just before Easter, I went into his room to look for a Sharpie. He hoards them. We're not sure why; we just know that if we need a Sharpie, Stephen always has them. So, he wasn't home and I needed a Sharpie. I opened his desk drawer. There were two packages of Prismacolors still sealed, a  brand new package or water colors, and a whole rainbow of Sharpies. Basically, two years' of art supplies were untouche din his drawers. He'd borrowed and scrounged when he wanted to draw.

When he got home, we had a heart to heart. He loves to draw, so I knew it wasn't that he was uninterested. Indeed, he tends to keep things "just so": clothing, food, toys. He doesn't want to mess them up. As he was telling me that he just wanted his supplies to stay nice and new, I thought of all the times I've hesitated to begin a project because I was overwhelmed by the thought of the mess, the loss of control over my environment. I thought of all the times I've said, "in a minute, dear."

Stephen and I read the parable of the talents and we talked about how eager God is to see what we DO with the creative material in our lives. In the past few days, I've noticed one brightly colored picture after another coming from his hands--and his heart.

Shortly after my discussion with Stephen, I sat down with Sewing with St. Anne. Long have I promised to learn to sew with Mary Beth using this book. No more promises. It was time to move. The girls set off to the fabric store. All you fabric junkies might not understand, but this was a trip to feed our souls if only because of its novelty.  Mary Beth and Katie had never been to a fabric store before. I took them to G Street Fabrics. Eye candy everywhere. We were drawn to the cotton florals. Half an hour later, we left the store with a stash of fabric and seam binding and thread. We are going to make bibs for Karoline (and probably some kerchiefs and hair scrunchies too--I am sure I overbought). Admittedly, these might be the most expensive bibs ever made, but I think it's cheaper than therapy and how creating will feed our souls! Just working with beautiful materials fends off the burnout.

The boys are eager to watch the bibs take shape and have already thought of some needlework projects of their own. Something about monogramming numbers on cleats and soccer bags...

As I seek to understand how important creativity is, I've been blessed with very creative women who share ideas and philosophies on creativity. Kim and Alice and Rebecca listen to me muse and encourage me with the gentle nudging of kindred spirits who know that the soul yearns for more than academics. They ensure me that nursing mothers don't have to put creativity on hold. I am reminded that one of our friends creates extraordinary rosaries while nursing a baby and another writes novels.

Mary Beth and I have spent hours looking at the art on Kimberlee's rosary site and Alice's Garden of Grace. As Kimberlee has shared her passion for creating with me in conversation, I've become more aware of how important it is to deliberately nurture creativity in a household. Posts like these make me pause and re-evaluate the atmosphere in my home. Am I giving time and attention to ensuring that creative pursuits are supported or am I just benignly allowing them to squirrel away cardboard and packing tape and calling it good? There's a place for cardboard projects,to be sure, but my children also need more from me...

And I need more. We have a house full of good writers, due, in large part to the example my husband and I set. If I never back away from the books and the keyboard, I set a one dimensional example. That's not good for the children. And it's not good for me. My soul, created in the image of the Great Creator, longs find expression in art.

Inspired by her Easter present, which was created by Kimberlee, Mary Beth reminded me again how much she wants to bead. And now I do, too! And I think that Patrick is captivated by the stones and the patterns and the place for precision in the creation of rosaries. So, we went off to buy crimping pliers and a few stones to get us going. With a creative spirit whispering in my ear and giving me a generous shove, Mary Beth and I made a simple St. Therese chaplet. I even managed to do some of it with Karoline on my lap. Admittedly, babies and toddlers can make the experience  of creating a tedious one, but if I can be content not to have everything "just so" and not to complete everything according to my time constraints, we can be happily creative here.

Handcrafts, art, and music cannot not just add-ons in this lifestyle, things we get to if there's leftover time. They need to be deliberate pursuits to which time and energy are eagerly donated.

Do we get burned out because we are stuck in a predictable but controlled rut?  It's simpler to make the checklist and hit the same routine of read, narrate, drill every day. This is one of the points which bothered me most about the CM Planner. There was no way to record those things that were not in the read-and-narrate or complete-a-page modes. If we are slaves to the checklist mentality, we will  begin to burn out because we will drive out all creativity and recreation. (Note how "creativity" and "recreation" are such similar words.)

That is not to say that all creative pursuits are spontaneous. Indeed, you will have to plan for creativity.You will need to find supplies and instruction, mentors and direction. And you will need time. Creativity isn't as easily contained. It needs a bit of breathing room and some time to germinate. It's hard some times to "justify" taking time for "real school" for paints and papers and sewing and songs .  Those creative pursuits are just as real. And they are necessary. Denying the time and opportunity  to be creative is setting oneself up for burnout. John Paul II reminded us that "With loving regard, the divine Artist passes on to the human artist a spark of his own surpassing wisdom, calling him to share in the creative power." God is calling! Can you hear him?  Put away the morning books and spend the afternoon sharing in His creative power.

Sing a New Song!

I've been at this home education thing for some time now, long enough to recognize the symptoms. When I start to say and write things like this I know I'm coming perilously close to burnout. I know; I wrote the book on burnout. Well, not the whole book, but I did write a chapter on it. And it's easily the most-requested and discussed chapter in the entire book. Since I wrote that chapter ten years ago, one would think that burnout was not an issue in my house. One would think.

But our lives are constantly evolving and one thing that mothers of many learn is that just when you have it all figured out, the family dynamic changes. A new baby is born, a husband begins a new job, a child takes on a new challenge, we pack, we move, someone is ill, someone dies. Slowly, without our recognizing it, we are like the frog dropped in temperate water who doesn't recognize it when the water begins to heat to boiling. We are rapidly approaching burnout.

Recently, a reader wrote to ask me about a passage in Real Learning. She asked me to clarify what I was trying to say when I wrote this:  Burnout occurs when we are out of sync with God. It happens when we shoulder a yoke that is not His.

When I responded, I told her that God tells us that his yoke is easy and his burden is light. So, if we are straining and fall under the yoke and the burden, it's not God's. Something that we are doing, or something in the way that we are doing it is out of God's plan. I don't mean that life is never hard or that our homes must always be filled with only sunshine and roses. But I still mean that if we are straining and falling and sinning under the strain of the yoke, it's not God's yoke. He never leads us into sin. Yes, we will suffer, but I have learned that it is indeed possible to suffer joyfully. Burnout is not suffering joyfully.

So, is it a sin to snap at your children all day long? How about only half the day long? Is it a sin to be unavailable to your husband? Is it a sin to find yourself, at the end of the day, surrounded by mountains of laundry and the remnants of an scarcely nutritious meal? Is it a sin to go about your daily round feeling as if you are always on the brink of tears, scarcely ever sharing a smile or an encouraging word? Well, yes, it is. None of those things are God's will for your family. And whatever circumstances of your life are causing you to behave that way need to be pruned. You're burned out and that is sad, scary, place to be. But you don't have to stay there. And God doesn't want you to be there.

Here's a caveat: Burnout is not another phrase for clinical depression. They are two different things, though they can be related and look very much the same. I'm not saying that mental illness is sinful. I'm saying that if you are burned out because you have a shouldered the wrong yoke, then you're not living in God's will. Depression isn't God's will either--He doesn't want you to live in that kind of pain. If you suspect that you are depressed, don't hesitate to talk it over with a doctor. None of the burnout remedies will hurt if you are depressed--indeed they will be healing--but depression requires even more help.

Now, back to burnout. If your heart is heavy and you are wondering why you ever thought it a good idea to stay home with a gaggle of small children and medium sized children and teenaged children all day every day, it's time to take stock and lighten up! Let's take this love-filled Easter season, the time the Church has set aside to celebrate new life, and let's learn a new song.  Let's look at ways to bring the joy back to the home education lifestyle. Let's throw open the windows and let a fresh breeze blow through our homes (okay, it's 20 degrees outside this morning, perhaps we should only do this metaphorically today:-).

Begin with prayer. Lock yourself in the bathroom (nah, not there; they always want to join you there). Lock yourself in the laundry room and just lay it all down. Give God every last exhausting detail. Share every problem, no matter how big or how small. Tell him how overwhelmed you are. Beg him to right the wrongs and to help you see what His will is for you and your family. Ask Him to be your constant companion on this journey back to joy. And then believe that He will be. Because He will. He wants you to find joy in your vocation. He wants you to know love in your vocation.

Sometimes homsechooling mothers give and give and give and then they crash and burn. They look up and say, "I'm serving, I'm giving, I'm loving...I'm utterly depleted." Why? Because we are not called to love from the depths of our being. We are called to love as He loved. We fill ourselves with Him, first, and then that love  overflows. We know that He is God and that He loves us,infinitely.

So, we love our families and our friends and our seemingly unlovable acquaintances. We love them with His love. We've drunk deep from the well of Him and it bubbles up and out. That love is not going to burn out. Instead, it will be like candle flames. Light one candle after another and it just gets lighter. Brighter. Even warmer.

This is not a "school" day. It's Easter Monday. If you planned to hit the books today, don't. Instead, sit with your children and make a "joy list." Ask them to help you remember all the things they love to do with you. Do they like crafts? Which ones? Nature study? Where? Why? Favorite books? Teatime? What to eat or drink? Revel in your successes. Then, take that list, put it on the refrigerator and resolve to do some of those things this week. Not after the regular school is finished. Do them first. Make the "joy" things the priority.

So, the joy list is the first thing today.

The only other planned thing (the rest will come from the joy list) is to take a praise walk. It's important--when you are burned out--to get outside every day.  If Charlotte Mason could take a walk every day in in Lake district of England well into her old age, so can we! Get outside today with your children and revel in the goodness of our Lord's springtime.

Tomorrow we'll look at another layer of burnout recovery. For today, just pray, make that joy list, and take a praise walk.

Burnout isn't a death sentence. It doesn't mean you need to put the children back in school. It doesn't mean you need to stop having children. It doesn't mean you are a failure.

Burnout is an opportunity. It's a chance to sing a new song. Let's sing it together.

The Beatrice Brigade

Don't miss this essay on women who choose to educate their children at home and how the West will be won! It's gratifying and inspiring and insightful.

HT Jennifer.

Planning and Recording for Real

It's been nearly a year since I Lissa launched this blog.  When Lissa first pestered me about proposed a blog, I protested.  I thought that there was no way I could find time to write here on any regular basis and still keep my "other" job as a columnist.  I just wouldn't have enough words.  Lissa told me that writing would breed more writing and that blog writing was different.  She was so right!

She also said that blogging would make me a better teacher, a better mom, maybe even a better wife. Also right.  As I organized the narrative that is always running in my head, I also organized my household and my "homeschool" (I  hate that word but it's too early this morning to find another way to express it). All was well as I blogged just enough to frame life in the heart of my home.

Then, I had a brilliant idea.  It had been suggested to me by more than one expert that I needed a way to make my children accountable to my husband for lessons.  In most homes, this could probably be accomplished with an evening conversation. Not here. My husband works erratic hours and is often gone.

Also, my inbox was filling with "how to" questions.  When did I cover such and such?  What was the toddler doing?  Who held the baby during read alouds?

So, I had this brilliant idea. I'd blog the day in detail and Dad would have a  complete picture no matter where he was or what time he checked in and all those questions would be answered. Faithful Over Little Things was born.

At first, my entries were written with an eye toward showing how we wove real learning into real life. Slowly, though, something started to change. I discovered that I could make a template of what we usually covered at the table each day and then just fill in the details. Instead of a conversation, the entry became a list. It was quicker, easier, more efficient to cut the conversation and just list what we did--just list those things that could be quantified and checked off at the end of a day.  Funny thing though (unless you're my kids, then it's not funny at all): our days were starting to look like the blog. My tapestry of learning was becoming a straight seam. The work at the table--the "just the facts ma'am" stuff--became the whole goal. There were chains at the learning room table and they were growing bigger and heavier. Yesterday, ten of us were at home and eight of us were crying (for the record, teenage boys did not cry).  I'm not a straight seam kind of person and my children aren't straight seam learners.

There is a fine line, it seems, between planning and recording for real learning and being a slave to one's plans and records. The basics need to be covered--the list-able, predictable, slightly boring basics. But they should happen in such a way that they are not the central focus of the day.

Yesterday, before the breakdown, Katie was gluing jewels to a wooden frame.

Katie: Look, Nicky, I'm doing my school. Isn't it pretty?

Nicky: That isn't school.  You're not doing real school.  If you were doing real school, it would be boring.  If you were doing real school, you'd be bored.

All would be well if the conversation ended there. I would assume that Nicholas had decided that what was happening in the large institutional building across the street was boring. But then, he held up the book on the table in front of him and

Nick: I am doing real school.

When did we start calling it "school?" How did we fall into this lifeless rut? The materials are actually quite "living." Even the methods--narration, copy work, picture study--are "living." Something subtle happened in late February and early March and it killed the joy.

When I write a column, I can raise a question, present a problem. But I have roughly 700 words to answer it or solve it.  For fourteen years, I've been wrestling with and writing about life's mysteries and nailing neat solutions in 700 words or fewer. Needless to say, I haven't tackled anything too big or broad:-). But this is not a column. I have no editor (unless you count my ten-year-old). I don't have to solve anything this morning. I'm blogging. I'm thinking in narrative. I'm working it out in my brain by getting it up on a screen. It's not neat. It's not tidy. It's not solved. But it's real.

Today, it's supposed to be eighty degrees. I got up at 5:30 this morning and bought birdseed.  The garden needs weeding.  The feeders need filling. I've promised to play basketball before lunchtime...

It's a beginning.

Dictating Narrations

Over at Faithful Over Little Things, there have been some questions about narration at my house. We are a hybrid narration household, not a strict Charlotte Mason household. I hear lots and lots of oral narrations, most of them in the kitchen. But I also record many narrations, particularly for young children. As early as three or four, I help my children create narrated notebooks and lapbooks. It's tedious and time intensive and I wouldn't trade it for the world.

I frequently record my children's narrations for them. It's not a Charlotte Mason habit; I'm quite sure it's a University Virginia Education School habit. It might even belong to the "Whole Language" school of thought. I remember doing it as a student teacher. I remember a whole bunch of parent volunteers scheduled to make it happen in my classroom (the second year--the first year there were no parent volunteers; I'm not even sure there were parents).

I've always stressed to children (mine and others) that real authors are people who have their thoughts written down. When my kids are little, I write or type for them in order for them to see that print is speech in writing. I've never had a child initimidated by the writing process. They think that writing is as natural as breathing. And they know that we write only on days that we eat.

They watch me write. They see my writing appear in the newspaper or on this blog. They watch Daddy write and the script is read on television.  We are a print-intensive household. The first child's career aspirations? Print journalist. The second child? Novelist. The third wants to be a professional soccer player and the fourth wants to be Melissa Wiley.

Before they are ten, we have a balance of narrations and stories that I have heard and keyboarded and stories that they write using invented spelling. Just last weekend, Nicholas took a blank Waldorf book and colored pencils in the car with him while we drove two hours to Richmond (and four hours back ). He wrote a story about a girl named "Bee" and her adventures all over the world.  He asked us to spell some words and he spelled the others as best he could. Today, I'll ask him to narrate about his trip to Richmond for his private blog. I'll spell everything correctly and we'll use that entry for reading practice.

Is it certified Charlotte Mason? No. Does it work? Well, it's worked for the first six children. They are all prolific writers. And they love to write. And that wouldn't be all too interesting except that the second child has learning disabilities that defy being able to compose like that. The specialist who tested him insisted he shouldn't be able to write. But write he does.

So, am I glued to the computer all day?  Sometimes. What miraculous machines that can take my words and make them look so beautiful. I can even find a picture there with which to illustrate (or I can take one myself and put that into the machine, too). When Mommy prints it for me and I put it in my book, I have the satsifaction of knowing that what I've said is worth publishing--real publishing. And I know I will be read. That's why God made Grandmas.

Usually, I shoot for two or three recorded narrations a week for each child under ten. I do the narration writing always if the child is under ten. The only compositions they write are things they have chosen to write. After ten, I can usually tell if it's the keyboarding is getting in the way of what the want to say. Then, I bear the burden for them. By twelve, I require a great deal of written narration. Most of it handwritten or keyboarded by the child.

If we're all working on a notebook project that requires written narrations, it does feel as if I'm in this computer chair all day. Like so many things, I know these days are numbered. Right now, I have more children ten and under than over ten. Right now, I record for them much more than they keyboard themselves.  But there is change in the wind. My ten-year-old set up the blogs for her younger siblings entirely on her own. She often records their journal entries and then calls me to proofread. I'm fairly certain that the book entitled Bee's Adventures was her idea. Big brothers oblige little ones at the computer, proud if they can keyboard quickly enough to keep up with the storyteller. And pictures?  Oh , the photography explosion in our household is remarkable! Words and pictures are family culture. So, I have a sense that my time-intensive days are numbered.

I know the pattern now.  First, only I feed them all the time, then we gradually move to little bits of solid food that any patient person can spoon into them. Then, before you know it, no one needs me to so much as cut his meat. They are all writing. And they're writing things that entertain me and amuse me and make me think. The days of hours of keyboarded narrations will be distant memories, just like all those dinners when I cut steak for a toddler and two pre-schoolers while nursing an infant.