For Grandma

I am what I carry: The Bag Tag

Like Dawn, I love Vera Bradley bags. They are just so Happy! Between babies, I had several Veras for different moods and seasons. They are all medium size totes, suitable for wallet and checkbooks, keys, and cell phone and the occasional spare shin guard or two. When Karoline was born, I switched to a black microfiber Vera--quite the chic over-forty mom bag. With the springtime though, came the opportunity to indulge in a fanciful Happy! bag of epic proportions. It makes me smile just sitting there, all pretty and pink and well-organized and ready to go at a moment's notice. And it's so incredibly big and heavy, it does have its own designated space in the house, kind of like furnishing.

So let's see what's in it.
In one of the many pockets: my cell phone, wallet, and a charger for the van, because I have a tendency to forget to charge until we are out the door and I might actually need to use this phone. I don't like cell phones. I'm hard of hearing and these babies are hard to hear.  My cell phone doesn't ring, it sings. It sings Let them cry, them giggle, let them sleep in the middle. Let them be little. Totally embarrasses my kids. I love it.

The interior pockets are full of all those don't-leave-home-without-it things that make life out and about so much more pleasant. There are some samples of colored pencils sent to me from Julie when I ordered a little wooden rattle for Karoline. Colored pencils are much preferred to crayons as the weather warms here in Virginia. My children are happy as long as they can draw everywhere we go. Though I'm not the purist I used to be, I much prefer wooden toys for my babies. This makes a soft noise. Karoline doesn't like loud noises, bells, or whistles. This rattle does, however, make quite an impressive noise if dropped from a height of say...six feet... onto the church pew in front of us. I know. So does my husband.

I'm actually kind of bummed about the pencils in the picture with the sticker. These are all remnants of our ortho-ortho week. The orthodontist has pencils on his checkout desk. They used to be blue triangular pencils that were our very favorites for handwriting. We picked them up at every visit. What a bargain! Spend five thousand dollars a year for orthodontia and you get FREE ergonomically correct pencils. Now, they're just normal pencils. I want a fee-adjustment. The sticker is from the cast room at the orthopedist, where Patrick is a frequent flyer. When they know we're there, they all come to see the boy who can wear through the bottom of a cast a week. They applaud. They think he's cute. They don't have to figure out what to do with the other seven kids while we sit for hours in the cast room.

Every well-provisioned soccer mom is a hottie has Hotties in her bag. These are little sacks of charcoal that warm when the package is opened--very handy for warm hands and toes a when watching soccer games in snowstorms in March. I'm afraid to purge this item. Just as soon as I do, it will hail for the Memorial Day tournament or something. There is also sunscreen; we go through about one of these a week. The yellowish stuff is antibacterial gel, necessary following trips to porta-potties at soccer fields all over the East Coast. Need to go potty? Just ask me. I know where they all are! Finally, this pocket holds arnica.  It's the remedy of choice for bumps, bruise and all injuries which might find us back in the cast room for another sticker and a round of applause.

The "tea pocket" holds an assortment of tea bags so that I can have a cup of whatever I need, whenever I need it. I notice I'm low on caffeinated teas. I'll have to replenish those. There are also two packets of Emergen-C.  Add these to bottled water at the first sign of a sniffle and you'll chase that cold away. And then, there are Ginger Altoids--excellent remedy for motion sickness and  morning sickness. I keep an extra tin of these hidden in the car as well.

We're still going through the pockets, friends. Lots of pockets in this here, bag.                                             

Lipgloss! You can have your makeup, your hair dye, your manicures...just leave me the lipgloss. I love lipgloss -- and I'm a bit of a lipgloss snob. Here, we see Aveda Lip Shine (Grapefruit Pulp is my favorite, though it's not pictured here), Origins Lip Shimmer (with Aloe and Vitamin E and a hint of peppermint--all about smells I am), and  Burt's Bees Lip Shimmers (Guava, matches the bag). In the little round tin is homemade healing salve. This works for diaper rash but it's coveted by a certain U-12 soccer team which has been known to go through an entire tin after a particularly rough game. Then, there is a Aveda blush that I always forget to wear. And my miracle wand--Tide to Go. This got red Jello out of an Easter dress and we never even left the table.

In another pocket are church contribution envelopes and my checkbook. The picture I took revealed way too much information for the web. That about covers the pockets.  In the main compartment is a church bulletin, an empty holy water bottle that I keep bringing to church and forgetting to fill, my rosary case (the rosary is in my bed), and a copy of my favorite rosary CD. I've stopped leaving this in the car. It gets mighty hot in the car in Virginia, better to carry it everywhere I go.

For a recent trip to the fabric store, I tossed this pattern into the bag. It's a vintage apron pattern and I'm hoping to stitch up an apron before Monday, which is National Wear an Apron Day. It's very convenient that this great holiday falls just after Mother's Day.One could, theoretically, wear a new Mother's Day gift apron for Apron Day. But, if someone who looks like they have been cut from this family's cookie cutters just happens to be reading this blog (highly unlikely because why would they care about a post detailing the contents of my diaper bag? They rifle through the bag regularly.), skip the apron. Just clean up the craft room and make it look something like Heather Bailey's studio. But don't paint it pink unless Daddy helps you. End of hint.

Oh, these are handy. I have to have sunglasses outside--in the dead of winter, at twilight, all the time. My eyes are super sun sensitive. I'm very proud that I've had the same sunglasses for two years now. Love, love, love them. And keys are good, too. Actually, I've had the same set of keys for quite some time as well. St. Anthony and I are on very good terms.

Also in the main compartment: my planner (got to love that shade of pink). The planner was a gift of Sean Covey himself. He called a few years ago to ask permission to use a couple of my articles on time management in his training materials. And he sent me a new planner as a gift. Believe me when I tell you that it's quite a shock to receive a phone call from Sean Covey. Believe me also that it's still a joke around here that I had anything to contribute to the Franklin Covey discussion of time management. Incidentally, inside the beautiful Covey cover is a hybrid of Covey Simplicity pages and Michele Quigley's Catholic Woman's Daily Planner. I still haven't found my ideal planning system. But I keep trying and life does run much more smoothly when I apply Seven Habits principles to the liturgical year and family-centered living.

And there's a claw hairclip in this shot. Whenever the little cherub starts to eat my hair, up it goes!

We also have a change of clothes for Karoline and an extra sweater for chilly, air conditioned places. Note the roses on the clothes. We've got lots of rose covered clothes in our house this year.

The sunhat is an absolute must for my bald baby. This one is in the diaper bag; there's one in the stroller, one in the van, and one in the house. No one wants this baby's head to burn. Ever.

Hey! This is a diaper bag, after all. There is a fresh diaper and some ziploc bags for the dirty ones, and a couple of cotton wipes in another ziploc bag. I've gushed enough about diapers. I think Ill leave it alone for this post:-)

Finally, the bag does tricks. Not a boring bag at all this one. Now that I've emptied it, I can show you what happens when I turn it inside out. Tah-dah! Isn't it too cute for words? Of course, I can't use it this way, because I've just decreased storage space significantly:-).

That was silly and sort of fun. Bags really are an important part of our lives, aren't they?

Boy, I am so glad that you didn't ask me to detail the inside of my van. A locker room it is. Not pink. Not cute. Smells like cleats.

I tag Rebecca, Kim, and Katherine.

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.

You light up my days...and fill my nights with song...

April 1, 2007

Dear Papa,

I had planned to write a long column this weekend, in time for tomorrow. But the baby was sick and my hands were full ,so all the writing I did was in my head.  I planned to write about that sobbing prayer two years ago, when I begged you to intercede for me. And then I'd write about all the little miracles strewn like roses in the days and weeks and months that followed.

Instead, I stayed up all night, dancing with my daughter.  She was feeling poorly and whimpering to be held. I gathered her up out of my bed and swayed with her in the darkness. For hours.  I sang my full repertoire of musicals.  I moved on to old Raffi tunes. I added a little Glory and Praise. And then, I switched to "You Light up my Life."  Her tears ceased and mine fell freely. I settled into the big chair, her head heavy against my chest and I remembered.

I remembered a time two years ago that was dark and sad. I was struggling with depression and so was Mike. Together, we were fumbling in confusion. Recovery from childbirth had been difficult. Recovery from a miscarriage more difficult. A year of infertility following that miscarriage was a year of pain like none I'd ever known. No light. Only darkness.  And on that Friday night, I held an eerie vigil in front of the muted television.

Please God, I don't know what I'll do without my Papa. And yet I know, I know that he is yours; he always was. Morning dawned and the day moved forward and then you were gone. And as naturally as the sobs escaped my throat, my soul begged your intercession. Tell Him, Papa! Please tell Him how sad I am, how much I want a baby, how much Mike needs him. Tell Him, Papa--I know you can.

And you did. Within an hour of that prayer, the answers began to become so clear.  You led us to a different parish. You put people in my path who would insist that I get to know the Little Flower you loved so well, the dear Saint you called a Doctor and by whom you trusted that the fullness of faith could be taught. She and you taught me about Love--Love incarnate, a good and gentle God who understood my pain and stooped to bind my wounds. I re-read all your letters to me. I read her words. Light dawned, love flickered.

Looking back, I should not be surprised that in the months following your death, I pushed by forces greater than me to travel. You were never afraid to travel. I had not been on an airplane in fifteen years. But I flew three times that year. The first time, I went Chicago and visited the shrine of St. Therese and left my petitions there. The last time, I went to Florida at my husband's insistence. We were there for an art gallery opening but we took a day trip to St. Augustine and the Shrine of Our Lady of La Leche.  I had a long talk with Our Lady that day. She already knew.I'm sure you told her.

One night, nine months after you died, my husband lit a candle in a church where you once celebrated Mass, in the presence of your relics. And then, our wait for a baby was over and yet it had begun. For nine more months, I was still, love growing inside of me.  I learned to love your favorite prayer and I prayed the rosary with St. Therese, sometimes twenty decades a day, including the five new decades that were your gift to me. All the time, I was almost afraid to believe, almost afraid to think that the light had returned and darkness was dispelled.

  Then she was here.  A glorious, beautiful, darling little girl. We call her Karoline Rose. She is a shower of roses, a basket of blessings. She is sweetness and she is light.  As she grows, I will tell her.  I will tell her about her Papa. She will know you and she will be grateful to share your name.

But now, she calls again. Enough remembering. I am living in the present, embracing every moment. I know you're here. I know you see her dear, dimpled chin. I know you watch me kiss her fat little cheeks and I know you smile.

Thank you!