Jillibee'sness

An "apple" for the "teacher"

We are entering our 4th month in our new house.  This is a house with at least 9 different fruit trees. I did not realize this when we bought the house, so this has been a fun part of discovering our new home.  Having never owned my own yard, I do not know a whole lot about plants.  I'm more of an animal person. So, it is against this backdrop that for the first month I lived here, I thought the little green balls on my tree were pomegranates.  As the fruit got bigger and turned yellow, it became clear that this was an apple tree.

I know just a little about apple trees because we had them growing up, and we still try to go apple picking every fall.  So, I was confused when my greenish yellow apples started prematurely falling on the ground.  They were small and did not look ripe but I tried one.  I expected it to be tart, but it was sweet, kind of a golden delicious.  It was not a very tasty apple.  I could tell they were far from ripe, but still they fell.

My 5 year old picked and ate them every day.  I was worried he might get a stomach ache from eating unripe fruit but he he LOVED them so I let him go for it.  One day last week he brought me one and I gave it another try.  I don't  know what it was that finally tipped me off, but as if a veil had been lifted, I realized why the apples did not taste right.  They are pears.  Immediately after realizing WHAT I was eating, this strange apple became a delicious pear.  In fact, these are the best pears I have ever eaten. I never knew that pears were supposed to be drip-on-your-shirt juicy. 

This is the first day of school kind of.  My middle son and I started community college last week. He has taken off on the piano and is preparing for a music degree in conjunction with his high school diploma.  But his other classes will be taken through a charter school in which he and my 5 year old are enrolled. They do not officially start school until the second week in Sept. 

My daughter, who is part of a home school program affiliated with our local school, was supposed to start today but she does not meet with her adviser until next week and we have some issues about which math book she should begin.  She wants next year's I want her to finish last year's. This was a stupid, tired argument last night.  I wanted to win more than I wanted to appreciate the way she likes to start fresh. I won...which means we both lost.  Today was over 104 degrees and we had all kinds of activities planned, none of which involved books.  So we either started or didn't start school today depending on how one defines a school day.  It was kind of a sucky apple, but not a bad juicy pear, kind of day.

I have been struck by how this apple/pear analogy sums up my idea of successful home schooling (or even parenting).  I was so fixated on what I thought the fruit was supposed to be, that I completely missed out on the pleasure and bounty of all those delicious pears, practically falling on me, as they wore out their welcome on the family tree.  Only after I accepted it for what it was, did I enjoy what the tree had to offer me and the rest of the world.  The pear never changed, but changing my expectation of the pear turned it from strange to perfect. 

I have been at this parenting game for 23 years. I should REALLY know this by now.  I have long known, I did not get the moldable, blank-slate, kind of kids. The model I received have a deep agenda of their own that must be honored or it wilts and drops to the ground (in the case of my middle son), or just rolls away from me and becomes a little rotten (in the case of the others). 

My 23 year old, because he is my 23 year old, is loudly, proudly, not a whole lot like the "mini-us" we thought we were shaping him into when we were rookies.  His world view seems to be vastly different from ours.  For instance, what scares or motivates me politically, inspires a mixture of scorn and pity from him, a fact he made public on my FB wall this week.  (Thankfully, the part that he does retain from our parenting style is the ability to say things in jest so they don't sting as much).  I am proud of him, even when I feel perplexed, scared, or hurt by the ways we differ.  Funny, how talking back and writing on walls has become a virtue, instead of a "time-outable" offense.  I really like that he can form his own opinions from his experience, education, lifestyle, and peer group. I love that he trusts me enough to disagree. 

For the most part, my misconceptions and missteps to date have yielded juicy fruit in all my children, a fact I do well to remember as I head into a new school year with the idealism of Fall.  There is THE PLAN and then there is that stuff we actually end up doing.  In hind sight, both are good. I hope that I will be able to strike a healthy balance between mapping our course and allowing the terrain to motivate us to forge new trails - using the character and demeanor of my children as my compass.

...and a little child shall lead us... While I am wringing my hands over the best way to establish a "rite of passage" for my kindergartner's first day, he is blithely reading at about a second grade level.  I think it is time I wake up and smell the pear.

Just another ordinary stay

I just saw "Eat, Pray, Love".  I am a big fan of all three activities, so I thought I would love this movie.  I hate spoilers, so don't worry, I am not going to be one.  I am also not going to draw fire by critiquing a movie that everyone in my demographic is sure to adore.  I am capable of it, a fact I proved when I gave Odie, the sweet young ticket taker, a piece of my mind.  He made the fatal mistake of asking "What did you think?" at precisely the moment I was longing for someone to hear what I thought.  (Thank God he was a theater major. it led to conversation instead of eye rolling).

My problem with this movie, as with much of life is... my age.  Just as when I read  the "Twilight" series, though a part of me could remember how it felt to not know things and just enjoy the sensual aspects of the story, I can NOT let go of all the lessons I have learned the hard way.  In the case of "Twilight" - self loathing is no reason to let a boy suck on your neck and make you wish you were dead, no matter how shiny he is in the sun.   In "Eat, Pray, Love"  I could not help but think about how much money it would take to bankroll her Spiritual journey.  I hate to admit that I have become that left brained, and certainly my right brain would gladly take a stipend to see if these results are repeatable; but I suspect the deepest spiritual journeys are not begun with a HUGE budget.  When it came to articulating the spiritual truths she had discovered along the way, I felt they just skimmed the foam off of the top of these beautiful locations then served it up with a hefty portion of cliche. 

But the real issues, lest I also be guilty of the skimming, are mine. I just don't believe in the world that was painted with such broad brush strokes. Like the character, Liz, I have prayed the fervent prayer that started her whole ball rolling.  I think most of us, if we are honest and brave enough to admit it, have prayed that prayer: "Our Father who art in heaven, GET ME THE HELL OUT OF HERE!"  But I got a different answer than she did (and it would have been a much different movie):

"Stay".  Not just the polite, spiritual reminder to "Be still and know that I am God"; but that clear and simple Master to Fido: "STAY!"  So I stayed and waited for God to come to His senses.  I recommended that He check out a few movies and self help books I had read on the subject.  Going is very popular.

But I have to wonder, what ever happened to stay?  My parents stayed.  And what I have discovered by staying...is that for me "staying when you don't feel like it" is where the REAL journey begins!  (Talk about your "Eat, pray, love"! Anything to get you through a day!  Though it was more like, "eat, eat, eat, eat, eat, pray, eat, pray, pray, pray, PRAY!" and eventually..."love"...after I had exhausted all other avenues of escape).  When the going gets tough...it is so tough not to get going!  Staying is not for sissies. Staying is not sexy.  Staying is not exciting, exotic, or fashionable.  But in the staying, I have found hidden treasures in surprising places.   I have found strength in my weakest hour and patience when the well was dry.  And I have learned that the well is NEVER really dry.  Real love is a free refill in a bottomless glass.  But sometimes you have to take a sip before you realize just how thirsty you were...and how satisfying even a sip can be.

I promised to blog about homeschooling, not marriage and movies. So I will try to tie it all together. Today my high schooler and I began classes at the community college.  I am filled with excitement at the prospect of being "forced" to be around musicians every day.  I would not have gone to a community college to find musicians (considering I already have a Bachelor's from one of the leading music schools in the world for what that's worth), but it just happens to be the perfect place for my pianist/composer son.  Since he is a freshman in highschool, I thought it best to go through it with him til he gets his own two feet wet enough to stand on. So we are bonding, we are mutually musically growing, AND I still get good Mom points even though there is definitely a lot in it for me! This is a nurturing environment of very caring, capable professionals. That is a change of pace from the place I attended when my pace was fast and furious. So what I did, motivated for him, benefited me  (that seldom works vice-versa).  And that's not all.  It just so happens going to a movie was the perfect reward to my daughter for babysitting.  We bonded, talked about life, and saw a movie I wanted to see as much as she did, and I still got good Mom points for doing so! 

Some days just work out like that.  What I want and what they need are in alignment.  This was not a day that required much patience or imagination to see the prize inside of the box of duty flakes.*  These days can be few and far between at times. On an "award winning day" like today, it makes it easier to see the prize in all areas of my life.

For instance, I came home from the movie and looked past the DEVASTATED kitchen and cluttered family room, to find my husband, worn out from weeks and weeks of 14 hour day after 14 hour day. I can not tell you how sexy it is to see a drooling man who has sacrificed his last drop of energy, trying to stay awake to watch a little "Star Wars" with his sons (one of whom had never seen it).  Talk about heroic!  I am SURE he wanted to come home and retreat to bed, but when his boys asked him to watch a movie he has seen a zillion times..he stayed in their room and he TRIED to stay awake!

This is not my most exciting blog entry. This is not my most exciting day.  But it is a day, like so many others, where I am completely in touch with how full I am.  As usual - I  ate, prayed, loved and stayed...close to HOME!  


*Duty flakes: Not to be confused with "dooty flakes". The only prize you get in THAT box is the message "this too shall pass",

Kick the Bucket List to the Curb

It's me again.  Only, in many ways, it is not the same me who used this format for blogtherapy.  I have been squeezed through that *proverbial toothpaste tube of adversity and come out a more solid me. In the pursuit of housing, marital harmony, launching a young man, keeping 2 adolescents from killing one another, a toddler from accidentally killing himself, all while holding down a job, home schooling and enduring chronic pain; I just did not have or make the time to give a shout out to "whomever it may concern" about endless, depressing circumstances.  (I had Facebook for that!) When the going gets tough, the tough quit blogging.

But I am back.  I am a proud and happy homeowner. I have a proud and happy husband who I am going to keep. I have a launched and thriving young man who gives me false confidence in my ability to survive 2 teens and a 5 year old. (Although I secretly know that I don't claim the prize for my son's triumphs and it takes a village to raise us all, for our entire lives).  I found a method of controlling my pain that does not involve numbing or otherwise altering my brain (feel free to ask me about it if you are interested, but I won't inflict that upon you unsolicited).  My writing job is quiet for a few weeks and I have an empty house.  I am full of gratitude, peace, joy, and love.  I am a living Christmas carol.

From this space I want to promise you all kinds of things. Among them, I would like to write a weekly home school blog and today have every intention of doing that this year. But part of the secret of my new found success is that I set lower bars for myself. That nonsense about "reach for the stars", "believe to achieve", "dream your biggest dream" and any other short needle pointer's paradise; is just too much pressure for someone with my drive and imagination. I could never reach what my mind is capable of conceiving (good thing) and I hate to fall short of my expectations. I am a lot happier and more productive with a more general approach to life (all perfectly suited for needlepoint - the hallmark of a good life strategy).

• Live in the present.
• Love your neighbor as yourself.
• Love yourself as your neighbor.
• God is love. 
• Listen to your body. 
• Trust the people you love with their own lives. 
• Facebook.
• Kick the bucket list to the curb.

Let me explain that last item.  I have recently recognized a sense of anxiety over the idea of checking off items on a bucket list before I die.  I can barely handle my "to do" list and all it requires is that I "buy eggs" and "mail back the Netflix video".  I have decided that it makes more sense to designate someone to write my bucket list for me after I die and then I will be certain all the items can be checked off (by someone else, of course). My friends on Facebook pointed out to me that posthumous bucket lists are called biographies, or obituaries. But I contend that the former is for undisputed "somebodies" - too much pressure and out of my control.  Obituaries are too short and general, and I am very much at risk for getting the gross kind I hate: "Mrs. John R. Enders was a homemaker and mother and served her family and community well". Bleck! I would rather you say "Jillibee Enders favored the blue 'Cross' brand of tweezers, which she was never seen without until she discovered the miracle of laser".  It does not form a flattering picture, but damn it, it proves the people writing it KNEW the person, for goodness sakes!

I have no idea what any of this has to do with you, in fact, I have no idea who you are or even IF you are. And that is precisely my point.  No matter what it is we think we are doing - all we are really doing is living and (in my case) shouting out the truth as we know it. It is like we are a bunch of tourists on different simultaneous vacations shouting our observations to one another. Or at times, we are having nightmares while fully awake, but are fortunate enough to bring a friend.  Whether life is a glorious vacation or a living hell; I find it comforting to read what other folks are living and as a writer, I get great satisfaction from sharing my observations - even if I am a tree typing in the woods with no one around to hear it.*

*I have no idea if a toothpaste tube is in a proverb anywhere. But my experience being squeezed by life persistently for such a long period of time, makes me feel a kindred spirit with all who have passed through the Gates of Col and Aim to catch a Gleem, of Aqua Fresh insight, while we Aim toward whatever may have Crested UltraBrite in the deep cleansing of our soul.

*I am thinking that a tree typing in the woods would have a horrible inner conflict or at least a measure of commitment beyond most writers.  I am concerned though, that a tree typing in the forest would not be a very good writer, because you have to throw away a lot of paper to get a good draft. This would not be a very popular profession among trees, even if you were a Poplar. I guess a tree typing on a PC in the forest would be Ok.  It would have to be an Apple tree though.