Work and Purpose

When people talk about parenting challenges, they usually talk about toddlers or teenagers. No one really addresses the middle years, the years of learning, discovery, and character shaping. My ten year old son is right smack in the middle of those years.

For several months now his behavior has been, well, challenging. We’ve been unable to curb a tendency to bully, and chores have been more miss than hit. We won’t even mention the lack of respect shown toward us as parents. Fortunately, my husband had a clue.

Last week he relinquished ownership of one ax to our son. Instead of taking a turn at things like dishes and laundry, our son is now responsible for making sure we don’t freeze this winter. We have wood heat, so my husband cuts and hauls all our wood himself. This year, he will run the chain saw and our ten year old will split and haul, as well as help keep the heater full.

The change in his attitude was immediate. No more bullying, no more disrespect. He is proud of that ax, and proud that he cuts a little deeper every time he swings as his strength grows. He even wakes up in the middle of the night to check the heater! He’s still a little boy with a lot to learn, and it will be a while before he can perform this job perfectly and without any help, but he stands taller already.

You see, every human being needs purpose. Not just any purpose, but the one God created for them to own. Skills like washing dishes or laundry, while necessary for all humans to know, chafe at a boy seeking to direct his developing testosterone and strength. He is made to work hard, to challenge his limits, to protect and provide for those upon whom he bestows emotional attachment. Keeping the fire going may seem like a small thing, but for a ten year old it becomes purpose.

We’ve talked often in our home about work, but as we have recently admitted, our culture has stripped much of our true purpose out of work. Women, who once spent their days keeping the family fed, clothed, and nurtured with the direct labor of her hands and heart now chafes with time on her hands and her labor replaced by technology and machines. Men, who once tested their endurance against the elements to house their families and prepare the ground to produce food, who once set their minds to outwitting the instincts of animals in order to harness their power or harvest their meat, now chafe at desks and try to bury their frustration in virtual combat. Children, who once filled critical roles as assistants in house and barn, now seek endless stimulation and chafe at chores artificially assigned by parents desperate to teach some semblance of responsibility in a world that requires none.

I appreciate so much of the convenience we experience in our modern culture. We have so many blessings that the denizens of yesteryear never imagined. But unless we in some way return immediate and created purpose to our work, for both ourselves and our children, those same blessings feed the endless misery of an empty life.

The “Whatever It Is” Life

Yesterday my kids held their annual pumpkin carving session. Because buying a pumpkin for every family member in a household of seven puts something of a strain on the already holiday stretched budget, they team up. Boys get one pumpkin, girls get the other. As you can imagine, this is not a situation that leads to peace.

What pictures will we carve? Everyone has a different idea. Something scary! No, something silly. An elaborate design far too advanced for childish hands. Can’t we just use something from the book? And the squabbling begins. Who gets to carve which part? Who has to scoop out the seeds? Mom confiscates the knife and removes the stem herself to prevent accidental stabbings.

The results are… interesting. What is it? No one knows. No one cares. Destruction and creation went hand in hand, the dream come true of every kid. Whatever it is that was created, it is unique, holding a piece of each young participant in its creation.

Like life. There is no cookie cutter life. Each individual adds a piece of themselves to each day, a slice here, a scrape there. Sometimes the bits overlap, sometimes they fail to intersect at all. Sometimes the contributions seem to clash, making no sense together, because the contributors could not agree. Each wants a different design for life, and each sees a different outcome. The result cannot be identified with certainty, leaving an unbeautiful “whatever it is” to reveal the glow within its heart.

In the end it doesn’t matter. Despite the squabbling and the chaos, not one kid was disappointed with the end results. They couldn’t wait to light them up and show the world their delight. Our squabbles and our chaos bind us together, carving something out of this crazy “whatever it is” life we can only appreciate when we step away and let the light shine through.

Approval

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My five year old and I butt heads. Frequently. As in, all day every day. She has extremely strong ideas of her own, and the determination to pursue them against all odds. If she doesn’t want to do something, it isn’t happening without some serious and repeated consequences.

Yesterday it was her turn to run errands with me, her first time to experience a day out with mom like the older kids. She was so excited that she did almost everything I required of her beforehand without lip (let’s face it, perfection would be a little much to ask of anyone), and the whole time we were out she was the model of an obedient child.

We had philosophical conversations, experienced our first lesson in the Dewey Decimal System at the library, picked out books for the whole family, discussed ingredients we needed for freezer lunches, and bought a water spigot for the yard. She asked a million pertinent questions, and volunteered her services for several helping jobs. We have never had such a pleasant time together, and I couldn’t help but reflect on the reasons.

You see, at home there are five. Five voices clamoring for attention. Five bodies filling up my immediate space. Five minds to be filled and trained. Five hearts to be molded and fulfilled. (And that’s just the kids.) A lot for a mama to process and accomplish. A lot for one small girl to feel in competition with for recognition and approval.

Yesterday she had no competition. She could say anything she wanted, help with whatever she wanted, express whatever she felt without delay, etc. I could focus on her every word and action and provide positive feedback rather than the rushed and stressed responses so often prevalent in the mayhem of home.

I was reminded of a principle that I know, but often fail to apply when it comes to my children. Although we as humans do need correction when appropriate, what we crave more than anything is approval. When we receive positive attention, we will do just about anything to keep it. If positive attention is rare, we will demand attention in whatever way produces it, even if the result is negative. In turn, the negative response feeds the need for approval which translates into more negative behaviors.

I sat down with all my kids this morning and apologized. We started over. It was very hard for me to hold my tongue when a math lesson consisting of three problems took an hour and a half. It was hard for me not to express frustration when someone’s undone chore interfered with my own task. It was hard not to complain when for the third day in a row all the kids played in the mud, this time in a pouring rainstorm, creating more laundry on the already heaping pile needing to be addressed.

But I made sure to praise for the understood math lesson at the end of the time. I did the dishes myself. I laughed at their antics in the rain. I tried to give full attention one at a time. It wasn’t a perfect day, but it was productive, and it was a beginning.

Book Review: Silk Peony, Parade Dragon

The mandarin needs a dragon to lead the emperor’s New Year’s parade. Mrs. Ming has seven dragons, but the only Silk Peony is able to parade. She has beautiful scales and many virtuous qualities, but she is a lady dragon and doesn’t have a beard to impress the emperor with her wisdom. The mandarin is mortified, and behaves quite rudely, but eventually agrees to hire Silk Peony.

Everyone, including the emperor, loves Silk Peony, and the parade is very successful. The mandarin doesn’t want to admit he was wrong and tries to cheat Mrs. Ming. Fortunately, she and Silk Peony have a plan.

This is a delightful book with eye catching illustrations for children to por over for hours. They, like the children in the story, will love Silk Peony for who she is. This is a fun way to introduce ancient Chinese culture and mythology to young readers and listeners, and could be used to spark interest in further study of Chinese dragons and new year’s traditions.

Book Review: The Storyteller

The stories of the kingdom have been forgotten, and as they disappeared the fountains have all dried up. A thirsty child is the only person who will listen to the last storyteller. Every day the old man offers a new story that builds on the last. Every day the boy’s cup magically fills with water as he listens.

When a djinn threatens to swallow the kingdom with an enormous sandstorm, the boy knows just how to stop it forever. He begins to tell the djinn every story he has learned from the old man. Every night the djinn agrees to wait one more day to hear the next story, and every day more people gather with their cups to hear. The boy pours all the water into the dry fountains until they are full. When the djinn finally loses interest and attacks the kingdom, it gets a big surprise.

I absolutely love this beautiful book. Inspired by the heritage of Moroccan storytellers and weavers, it connects children from every culture with a tradition that no child can resist. At the same time, children are taught the often forgotten truth that who we are is built upon the stories of where we came from, and that forgetting the past threatens the destruction of our future.

Learning Outside the Box

I’ve always found it hard to explain to questioners what we do as homeschoolers. Not because I don’t know what we do, but because most questioners have preconceived ideas of what constitutes education. They want to know what grade a child is in, what their letter or number grades are, what subjects they are taking, etc. Even babies and toddlers are expected to learn according to curriculum and schedules. The concept of learning in any other way is foreign to most of the modern world.

The truth is that all those preconceived ideas are a relatively recently created box. Once upon a time, education occurred from reading living books, experimenting, discussing, researching, and writing. The concept of grade levels did not exist; tests and scores would have no meaning. Mastery was determined by how well ideas learned could be practically implemented by students, or by how well a student could reason using what they had been taught. A successful education was considered to be the ability to think, discuss, and work, rather than the ability to regurgitate disembodied facts or fill out an answer key.

In the past the difficulty and expense of dispensing information restricted education to those with the means to pay such costs, but much has changed since that argument was used to support the founding of public school systems. Books are inexpensively printed on paper that costs pennies; photography and digital recording have replaced the tedious work of sketching anything to be studied later, as well as made records less destructable, and both can be done by anyone from a handheld device at the touch of a button. Technology has advanced to the point that communication from any point to any other point can be instantaneous with a miniscule cost. Because of the many tools now available, the education coveted and treasured by our ancestors lies at the tip of our fingers, and yet we can no longer comprehend its nature.

So, when I say we don’t know our grade level, I really mean my children are motivated to read books of greater difficulty in order to research their interests. When I say we don’t use a scoring system, I really mean that we work together on projects and correct mistakes until we understand all the elements of the project and produce the appropriate results. When I say that we have never taken a test, I really mean that my children can carry on an hour conversation with anyone who will listen about minute details of complicated subjects. When I say they haven’t memorized standard lists of facts, I really mean that they are capable of reasoning and arriving at conclusions on their own, often putting me to shame. When I say that I don’t have lesson plans or assign lessons, I really mean that my children have the desire to know and keep up with their own educational activities in special journals with my supervision and approval.

This is possible because not only do we function outside of mental boxes, but my children do not spend most of their life in the physical box of the classroom. As a mom of five, I can attest to the difficulty of monitoring, interacting with, and teaching discipline to only five children with five separate personalities and sets of needs. The classroom box renders such attention impossible and reduces everything within it to either rote and drone or total chaos. Neither lead to actual education, no matter how dedicated and caring the teacher; there is simply no space or time to do more than establish the ability to fall in line.

The world desperately needs a return to learning outside the box. I’m grateful for the freedom and the tools to pursue it.

Book Review: When I Draw a Panda

Amy loves to draw, but like many little artists, she isn’t very good at following instructions. Wonky circles and scribbles become pandas with personality and pirate princess crocodiles. Sometimes, if the instructions are too boring, she imagines herself as something else and forgets to draw at all! No matter what anyone else says about them, Amy’s drawings make her happy.

This book perfectly captures and celebrates the free spirit of childhood. Through Amy’s imagination children see the beauty and possibility of imperfection. They will connect with the pencils that roar and crayons that scribble nothing in particular just because they can. Best of all, they will spend hours giggling over an absolutely delightful story.

The Story

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Priscilla prided herself on telling a good story. When Elouise pouted because Ms. Charlotte, the governess, made her rewrite her dictation for poor handwriting, she whispered funny stories about monkeys or kittens who misbehaved. When history lessons were just too boring, she embellished the lives of generals and queens with fanciful romances or tragic mishaps. But the story she told to punish Ms. Charlotte for keeping her in the schoolroom instead of taking her to the town festival changed everything.

It was just the old woman who lived in a shoe, with a Priscilla style twist to scare the timid governess. She was just as surprised as anyone when the impossible shoe appeared in the middle of the schoolroom, along with a mossy, misty forest. Ms. Charlotte was nowhere to be seen, but Elouise huddled close to Priscilla, her eyes wide. Priscilla stamped her foot, hiding her own confusion under mock impatience.

Before she could say anything, Ms. Charlotte stepped from behind the shoe house, but something about her was not quite right. Her walk was just a little stiff, her parasol just a little too upright. And Ms. Charlotte’s hair would never be that messy. As the woman’s mouth opened, the girls heard a whirring sound, then a click as the head cocked to one side. “Who – visits – the – shoe?” The voice was harsh, almost as if someone could make words by tapping on tin. “Girls. We – must – have – girls.”

Priscilla heard a grinding sound as the woman jerked closer, and the front of the dress slid open. Elouise screamed through her own fingers pressed tightly over her mouth, and Priscilla’s heart pounded as metal arms unfolded and reached for her. Tinny, emotionless laughter filled her ears. “The – story – teller – sets – us – free.”

Polaroid Moments

Last week was long. My husband and I had so many responsibilities and obligations that our days began to blur together. There wasn’t enough time for daily chores or time with kids, and certainly not enough time for fun.

We ended the week with a wedding. My husband officiated, my five year old participated, I monitored kids, and the kids were stuck tagging along with nothing much to do. By the end of the day we were too tired to do much more than sit and stare. But there was the polaroid photo booth.

Such a simple thing. A few old hats and old fashioned handbags. Costume jewelry. Thrift store elbow gloves. A little attitude. And a moment of fun so desperately needed.

The polaroid photo looks a little bit like our busy week. It’s blurry, scarred, and has glaring spots where the exposure was too high. It’s the perfect vessel to capture that simple, silly, crazy, exhausted moment. It’s perfect for our life. Here’s to more polaroid moments.

Mama’s Terrible, Horrible, No-good, Very Bad Day

We all have them. The days that you know you should have just stayed in bed. Instead you dragged yourself out of the comfy covers and made your sleepy, grumpy kids follow suit.

The day that your morning prayer with the kids is an exercise in desperation because in the ten minutes you’ve been awake you’ve already fielded ten fights. The day that not even prayer lifts anyone’s mood. The day that the simplest of breakfasts takes half an hour to prepare because mood.

The day that someone didn’t turn the dryer on bit washed another load so wet laundry sat in both washer and dryer all night. The day that you used every pot and pan in the house to make last night’s dinner but you don’t own a dishwasher so you have to wash them all by hand. The day that you have to remind the kids a hundred times to do the most basic of chores.

The day that it’s ninety by mid-morning and the kids, who begged to go outside, won’t stop running in and out because they’re hot. The day that ocd rules and adhd rages. The day that someone pulls a dozen books at once out of your freshly straightened bookshelf.

The day that you decide to paint your kids’ bedroom because you spent two days making sure it was spotless, only to find that you might as well have saved yourself the two days. The day that you realize you can’t paint a straight line after committing to stripe the room in three different colors. The day that an inexplicable puncture appears in the bottom of your paint can while you are standing on a chair holding it several feet off the ground painting the top of a wall.

The day you finally give up and plop on the couch to watch people on TV have bad days. The day you decide to wait for a new day to clean up after this one. The day you decide to blog about your troubles because really what else was there to talk about? Yep, we all have those days.