Teaching values is a full contact sport

In my line of work, I see all kinds of kids, all kinds of parents, and all kinds of families. I see fully involved parents (working, single, privileged and disadvantaged) with well-rounded kids. There are also plenty of kids who struggle in the "building good character" department. And that can be for a number of reasons.

I've been teaching for more than 10 years. My first year, I wore myself out planning perfect lessons late into the night...lessons that rarely turned out the way I expected. I struggled to survive and made few personal connections with my students. It concerned me that the content just wasn't being covered because we never seemed to get anywhere.

Basically, I was playing football as if it were tennis...or long-distance running. Any profession that involves kids, including parenting - because let's face it...it's probably the hardest job on the planet, has to be handled like a full-contact team sport. I'm not saying we should literally be tackling each other...but follow my metaphor for a bit.

In a team sport, there's a coach or a captain and each of the remaining players has a particular function. Everyone has to do his or her part, or the team will fail. We've all seen those players who seem to think they are playing the game by themselves. The MVP's who become the face of the team. It flies in the face of what team sports are about.

Adults who work with kids (or raise them) are the coaches and captains, and the kids are the players. Some players are naturally good. Others take more one-on-one. Some are good leaders and will become captains or coaches themselves. Still others are much better at taking direction and running with it; they are cooperative and know how to succeed as a unit. Some need to be taken down a few notches as their egos grow, and a few need to built up and supported until they find their own abilities.

Our teams benefit from all types of coaches and all types of players. Some are better paired than others, but no matter what our style as parents, as long as we are trying, we are doing the right thing.

Unlike a football team, however, we can't trade our players, and not all of us have a fantasy team. We have to make the team we have the best one we can. We take them as they are (and ourselves), and we turn them (and us) into the best damn team we can.

History is full of really hard working coaches with heart and determination. Inspirational movies are made about them all the time. And if you've seen any of them, it's hard not to see that creating a successful team is less about playbooks and rules and in-born talent, than it is about trust, connection, and never giving up.

Sort of like families.

And how we train our little players is up to us. We have to mold our coaching style to their needs (even if it means some intense soul-searching on our parts). Some kids need tough coaches. Other kids need patience and a lot of time. Some need a lot of praise. Other need to be left to struggle it out on their own.

And when it comes to values, character building...well, we teach those in the same way we teach anything else. Character is a skill, like any other. We aren't born knowing right from wrong, how to be empathetic, how to work with others. Without training, I believe we'd, like animals, do whatever we had to survive. We'd lie, cheat, and steal our way to a full belly and a comfortable home.

We have to be taught why we should be good. We need to see what good looks like, not just be told. We have to practice it a million times and see success with it to really understand why it's better than taking the easier way.

And that's where we, as coaches, tend to go wrong. We talk a lot. We expect the team to listen. We might even show them our brilliantly drawn out plays. We might tell them loads of stories about how we learned to do it. But, we don't spend as much time just having them run the plays over and over and over and over.

We're much better at it when our "players" are young, especially before they can really talk. We play charades and "show" them everything. And then, when they become verbal, we starting talking at them incessantly, but we often stop "showing" them. Or we might assume that now they can speak, they understand our words. But we would be mistaken.

If it were that easy, we could just sit our kids in front of a video about sharing and afterwards they would miraculously just start sharing, willingly.

But, it doesn't work that way.

Today, my little player wants to sit on his computer and play video games all day. I he were left to his own devices, that's just what he'd do. I could tell him not to, and just sit here typing away. He'd stop, because he has no choice, but he wouldn't be internalizing the lesson of why he shouldn't spend his whole day that way.

It's my job to physically show him and let him practice it. We can go on a walk or a bike ride, and he feels better, more energized. We can make muffins, learning about fractions and following recipes. Or he can head outside and play with his dogs, climbing trees and playing with sticks and frogs. Anything that gets him away from the computer and shows him that other things are just as fun...or more so...that's how he will learn why he shouldn't be on the computer all day. Me just telling him to stop makes me the bad guy...the killer of fun. The rigid authority figure who just doesn't understand.

I can't just say stop, and assume the lesson will be learned. I have to say go to something else, and then go with him.

It's a lot of work, yes. It's takes patience, which is in short supply in this family. And it takes full contact. Hands-on activity.

(Almost) All My Son Needs to Know Can Be Learned from His Dogs (and Cats)

We own a zoo.

Not literally. But we have two dogs, three cats, and three tiny little catfish that are quite likely going to live forever.

I realize that not everyone has the space, the time, or the desire to rescue that many furry lives and allow them to "decorate" their home to fit their own tastes. I put up with fur...everywhere, scratches on the table tops, stains, well-"loved" furniture. I trip over dog toys and have unattractive cat scratchers all over the house. 

When I leave town, I have to find a pet sitter. During the day, I have to have someone come and let the puppies out. It can be a huge pain the butt. 

And it can be expensive. Healthy foods (especially for one very finicky feline who, for awhile, was on a grain-free diet), vet visits, toys, crates, kennels, fences, collars, tags, microchips, grooming...Yes, I know...it's a huge commitment. 

But honestly, I'm not sure there's a better way to teach a child all of the things that owning a pet, especially a dog or a cat, can:

1) Unconditional Love, Empathy, Patience, and Kindness:

There is little a child can do wrong that a dog won't forgive...if a bond has been formed between them. When we first brought our son home from the hospital, we placed his car seat in the middle of the living room and let each of our two dogs "inspect" him, one at a time. The first dog took one sniff and high-tailed it to the corner, unimpressed, nose forever out of joint (there would be no bond formed there). But, Kira, the husky, the one we thought would have the jealousy issues, smelled and smelled and then lay down beside him. She had already decided to keep him. 

Over the first few years, she put up with him pulling her fur, crawling on her, tugging at her, hitting her with his toys, chasing her...you name it. She seemed to get it: he was a pup, and she was willing to accept him as such. As they both got older, her patience grew thinner. But she taught him a lot about empathy and responsibility. He received many the talking to for treating her poorly or unfairly. He had to apologize to her and give her hugs to show he was sorry. And she forgave him. Every time. Mostly.

Their relationship became much like that of siblings. They "fought" from time to time ("Mom...she's biting me for no reason!"...yeah, right...), and there were days they had to be sent to opposite corners. But ultimately, they were tight, and she'll always be his first animal companion and animal teacher.

2) Dealing with Loss and Grief:

We've lost several pets during our son's short life. Three cats have just "disappeared" (we live in the woods and have a coyote problem), and one dog was hit by a car (none of us actually saw her before we buried her...it would have been a terrible last image of her). 

Those losses were surreal for him. He never saw them, so the potential for their return was still possible in his mind. After watching "Frankenweenie" he was convinced we could dig Emma up and reanimate her. Thankfully, he didn't try to follow up on that.

When Kira, the husky, recently died (peacefully at home), my husband kept her in the house until my son and I got home. Believe me, we talked quite a bit about what would be best for him. Would seeing her body freak him out or scare him? Or would it show him death in as understandable a way as possible for a child? We opted to be as honest and open about it as we could. We let him pet her. We let him see us cry. He got to pet her and hug her goodbye. And he knew she was in the garden nearby...next to her friend Emma.

Later, when he had bad dreams or cried because he missed her, we had something real to refer to. He had an image. He knew she was really not coming back. There was closure. It wasn't like flushing a fish down the toilet...it was serious grief over the loss of a hugely important being in his life. Not a fun lesson to learn, but surely an unavoidable one.

3) Not Taking Advantage of Those Who Are Weaker Than You:

The relationships can be just as strong between kids and cats (surprisingly). Not too long ago, we brought home a brand new kitten. He was tiny, and fragile, and my son had to learn to be careful and gentle. He had to learn to respect the kitten's sleep, how to hold him, how to play with him. And for some reason, though he drags the cat around everywhere and pesters him incessantly, the cat loves him more than anyone else in the house. It's confusing to all of us...but it goes to show that the love of an animal knows no bounds. 

Now that we have two new young canines, we're back to learning how to treat baby animals...with patience, and thoughtfulness. Our son is continuing to learn how to empathize with and care for something other than himself who depends on him and loves him no matter what. And in return for his sometimes messy and failed attempts at being a good pet owner, he has earned the undying loyalty of at least one of our new pups.

4) Responsibility and Reliability:

We've given our son the job of feeding the animals. Partially, so they learn to respect him because they need him, but also, so he learns to be responsible to something that depends on him completely. Every morning and every night, he has to think about the needs of someone other than himself. He has to fulfill those needs, even when he's cranky, or tired, or doesn't want to. Sometimes, there isn't a choice. Sometimes we just have to suck it up and fulfill our obligations. Period.

5) Building Trust and Earning Affection:

Our newest addition came with a few neuroses. And she distrusts the boy. She shies away and doesn't want to go outside with him. Quite honestly, he hasn't been that welcoming. I'm pretty sure he likes his puppy more than mommy's puppy (let's face it...animals make their own decisions about us, too, and bond with whomever they want...or not). Now he's learning to build her trust, how to encourage her, how to be patient with her fears, how to accept the fact that she doesn't like him best. He's going to have to work a lot harder for her love. If he thinks it's worth it, he'll do whatever it takes. And eventually, she'll come around. Not all relationships start well or come easily. Sometimes one has to repair and patch and make do. But even though the bond might be a bit rough around the edges, it will be that much more special for all the work that it took. Maybe she's just playing hard to get.

6) How to Lead with Confidence, Consistency, and Fairness:

Our dogs are usually hard-headed, stubborn breeds. The kinds of dogs that need firm and consistent guidance. We spend at least as much time training our son how to train the dogs as we do actually training the dogs. He has to learn not to let them walk all over him, how to control them on a leash, how to make them follow commands. Basically, he has to assert his place in the pack. It takes calm strength, and the ability to reward and correct behavior quickly and fairly. 

He fails at this on a regular basis, to be honest. He loses his patience, pulls too hard on their leashes, plays too rough, gets mad and jealous when they choose each other over him. He plays favorites and intentionally leaves out the newest dog (two's company, three's a crowd?).

But these actions provide opportunities to correct that behavior and show how he should treat them. It's a learning process...one with natural consequences and rewards - fear, nervousness, and unwillingness to follow or undying loyalty of a type no human could replicate. 

Sure these are values he could learn in other ways. With siblings if he had any. With friends at school. With other family members. I'm not saying that if you can't provide your child with a pet you're a bad parent who should be strung up and judged. No, no. I get it that some children are allergic, some of us have schedules too busy to incorporate a dog or cat responsibly. The landlord says no, or it's cost-prohibitive. Maybe you just don't like animals. They are messy and they do ruin stuff. A lot. Obviously, a child can be raised well without animals. 

My argument is this...if it's possible...children gain a lot from animal relationships that they don't from human relationships. They don't feel judged, they don't feel pressured. They know they are accepted, no matter what.  Even when the whole world seems to be against them.

My son, standing in the corner, with the ever-present companionship of his dog, who doesn't know he did a thing a wrong and wonders why on earth the boy is facing the wall and not playing with him. But he patiently waits at his feet.

I have this terrible picture in my head of him heading off to college, leaving one very depressed cat and one very depressed dog behind. The companionship of animals is like no other. It changes us. It molds us. And hopefully, it will make him a better human...one who loves, empathizes, shows patience and kindness, is responsible and dependable, knows how to build and keep trust, and can lead confidently and successfully.

Getting a child a dog or cat isn't just buying him a pet. It's providing him a one-of-a-kind, hands-on education about relationships and what it takes to sustain them and nurture them.

Sometimes we place too much importance on productivity

Okay, maybe I'm being dramatic. Being productive is a good thing, right? I mean, it's such a positive word. We like being called productive. We like feeling productive. And for fanatical planners like myself, we like dreaming about and pre-scheduling all the productiveness we can. 

I don't know about you, but I plan to the point of obsessiveness, and I become irrational about completing things and checking them off my list. My calendar and my "To Do" list often rule my life. And...I'm pretty damned productive...most of the time. Until I'm not. Until I've scheduled, planned, and "produced" myself right into a corner where I rock myself back and forth and mumble under my breath.

Some people are naturally high-strung or easily stressed out. I'm going to assume (maybe wrongly) that more women fall under this category than men, because many of us truly try to "do it all". I think that may be why I only feel "normal" during the summer, when I'm not "working" (I put that in quotes, because any stay-at-home mom knows their job is just as tough as going elsewhere to work). Suddenly, I'm not doing it all. I don't even have to try. I can have a clean house and still have time to write, or sit on the couch and read, or do something fun with my son. 

At 3:05 last Friday, my life changed. My students, bless them, boisterously ran out the door, yelling, chasing each other; some were hugging and crying (even though they will see each other in a few days or text each other ten minutes after they part), because, let's face it, middle school is the land of self-initiated drama. 

I'm still a lot like them. Maybe that's why I stay there. Because, even though they don't make a darn bit of sense to a lot of people, they do to me (most of the time). 

This isn't so helpful for the people around me who are not daily mired in the beautiful insanity of "tweendom". They don't get it. And I'm afraid, that means, sometimes they don't get me.

But, in the summer, when I'm away from it all, I change. I'm not driven by the needs of 90 young people. I only have one. I'm not planning, and copying, and meeting parents, and phone-calling, emailing, grading, counseling, poster-making, website-building, tidying, going to meetings and workshops, trying to fit in a work out, a dog walk, homework help, house-cleaning, raising a child, yard work, running errands, keeping a budget, and trying desperately to find some time just to sit and relax, without 42 things that need to be done running through my brain.

Summer is when I reclaim my balance and my mental health. And for better or worse, it's when I reclaim my place in my family. 

It's common that we dislike doing at home what we have already had to do all day. Housekeepers might have a messy house. Mechanics might drive a nearly broken down car. Landscapers may have an overgrown lawn. Me...I've been "needed" all day. I've answered questions and mentored and discussed and demonstrated from one end of the day to the next. By 5:00, I'm tapped out. 

The problem is...I don't have the luxury of tapping out...so, I keep going - somehow. And I make up for what I couldn't get done during the week on the weekend. It leads to nine and a half months of constantly feeling overworked and knowing I'll never get it all done. Not good for the psyche.

On Friday, I did something very unlike me. I walked out of my classroom and left several things "undone". Yes, I'm likely to pay for it when I return, but, it felt good just walking away. My "To Do" list isn't going anywhere. All the filing and tidying will still be there in August.

And my summer "To Do" list? Normally, by this time, it would already be a mile long. I'll admit...I have planned to get the house in order this first week, one room at a time, cleaning things out and taking several trips to Goodwill, cleaning carpets and dusting places that haven't seen a cleaning rag since last summer. And I have signed my son up for swimming lessons and several day camps (both for his benefit and my sanity). But, otherwise, I'm really just going to work on not caring that my yard isn't perfect and that the dishes aren't done. I'm going to focus on doing things I like to do. It already feels weird. And I'm not at all positive how successful my plans will be. Because, while I'm a pretty darn good planner, but I will admit that rarely does plan A work out. I'm more of a plan B or C or F sort of person. 

It works sort of like this:

Idea + Implementation = Success (this is the ultimate goal)

Idea + Attempted Implementation + Moving on to Idea 2.0 + (Blood + Sweat + Tears) + Attempted Implementation = Good Enough (though possibly quite far from what I had initially expected)

And this can be done quite quickly. In the classroom, I can go from Plan A to Plan F in the course of about 30 minutes, depending on how the planets are aligned, how many announcements come across the loudspeaker, who's broken up with whom, changes in the schedule, snow falling, power outages...you name it.  I've learned over the years how to "let go" of things. I make plans, sure...every teacher does. But I make them knowing full well they'll be changed by lunchtime. I do all my planning in pencil and have a collection of large erasers. I'm flexible, and I've learned to re-plan on a whim. At home, I'm more resistant to changing my plans, and I can doggedly hold on to them until I've nearly driven myself mad. Maybe it's a product of having to give up so much control at school. I'm sort of a control freak...and I've got to have at least one outlet for my neurosis. Or do I?

I'm working on learning to walk away from things when they don't work out the way I want them to. Take some time away. Re-evaluate. Come back later and try again...or not. I'm working on living at home the way I do at work. Plan in pencil and deal with it gracefully when those plans fall through, accept that several living things call this place home and it cannot look the way I expect it to, and embrace the fact that the mess means this house is well lived in and activity abounds. Their idea of clean is not the same as mine...but, it's good enough.

Dealing with a child's failure as opportunity

My son does well in school. We expect it. As an educator myself, I've done everything I can to prepare him for the requirements of school and set him up to be successful and responsible for his own learning. Lucky for me, he's a natural "learner." He likes school. He likes his teachers. And he does well enough socially (he's a bit on the young side and an only child, so he struggles from time to time in that arena). Plus, he's unbelievably kind and accepting of other kids, which makes him easy to take advantage of (something we are working on). 

In elementary school, there are daily assignments, quizzes, tests, math timings (like the one above), recess (his favorite thing, of course), art projects, field trips (not as many as he'd like), and fun days that the class earns through good behavior. The kids get awards and recognition, fair treatment for transgressions. All in all, he's happy there, and I'm happy that he's happy. He's moved right along this year, even excelled in certain areas...mainly reading and math. That's why, on Monday, when he brought me his math timing (which earned a 10/21...the worst he's done all year - his last "not so great" score was 17/21), my eyebrows raised and my brow furrowed. Now, these timings don't mean much. It's not like he'll fail first grade if he doesn't pass it. But, I was surprised. Actually, I'll admit it - I was downright shocked. Maybe I shouldn't care so much, but my jaw dropped, and the overbearing parent in me was about to say, "What the hell happened here? We're you spacing off? Daydreaming? Drawing pictures on the desk?" But the objective teacher in me looked at his paper and saw an opportunity.

"What happened here?" I said, in a soft concerned voice.

"I don't know..." he responded. 

"You know this stuff. You've done it on homework a hundred times. Were you tired or confused?"

"I just can't do it." His bottom lip began to quiver and his eyes filled with tears.

"Buddy, you know how I feel about the word can't. It's a dirty word in this house."

"But I just couldn't figure these out. I did my best."

So I looked carefully at his paper. It wasn't just that he'd not been "fast enough" (I get the whole concept of math fluency with basic facts), he'd actually gotten 3 of them wrong. So I asked him about the ones he got wrong, just to prove that he knew how to do it. I figured it must just be the stress of the timer that had gotten him. 

"What's 9-7?" I said, with a look on my face that said 'come on, you know this'.

He gave me a hopeful and questioning look as he answered, "4?"

My mind began to reel? Seriously? He excelled on the subtraction unit earlier in the year. He did well on the assessment at the end of the unit. Where did all his knowledge go?  As a teacher, I had to consider this, because I see it all the time as younger kids develop. All of the sudden, a student who has done typically well, hits a wall, or falls backwards a few steps. The parents freak out, wonder if they need a tutor, wonder if their child has been hit in the head and unknowingly contracted a concussion. 

I'm not a doctor, so I can't give a scientific explanation, but developmentally, this appears to be normal. Kids who jump ahead fast sometimes suffer from what I call "peaks and valleys" syndrome. Some students plug along at a turtle's pace and get to the finish line with little fanfare and few major disappointments or overwhelming successes. Other students seem to take years to "get it" and then everything just clicks and a whole year's worth of curriculum is suddenly at their fingertips. And still others, like mine, seem to make these amazing leaps and then suffer from what I can only conclude is academic amnesia on a regular basis. I think what happens is that a part of their subconscious brain gets it. But, their conscious mind blocks it from really settling, so it sort of floats in and out until it finally finds a home and decides to stay.

Anyhow, rather than chastising him for not paying attention (which he probably wasn't) or not applying himself, I decided to try a different approach.

"Do you think you need some help?"

With his bottom lip prominently pronounced, he replied, "Yes."

"I could practice with you. When is your next timing?"

He told me he had two more chances to pass this timing before the end of the school year. Basically, the kids are given timings and they pass as many as they can before the end of the year. Not all kids are on the same timing. Some are working on addition, others are working on subtraction, some are working on review. So, I'm actually pretty proud that he made it through all of them, since it's a goal, not a requirement. He doesn't know that, though, and is determined to finish ALL of the timings. So...two more chances.

I sat down and made several worksheets with 21 problems, set the timer on the stove, and watched him struggle, slowly, to make sense of the problems, even when they repeated. It wasn't working, and he was getting frustrated.

So, instead (and I'm no math teacher...but this seemed to work!), I just wrote out the 10's (10-1, 10-2, 10-3...etc.). Then, I pointed at each one and asked him for the answer. Then I sped it up. I repeated the questioning, moving faster and faster, until he didn't hesitate with any of the answers. This morning when I quizzed him in the car, he remembered them all, without a problem. 

I remember whole class choral recitations of the multiplication tables. That "kill and drill" boring memorization stuff I did in school. But, guess what? I learned my math facts. 

Sometimes, the old way is the best way. And it doesn't always have to be fun. Last night, as I watched my son sweat his way through the practice, fail, tear up, and ask for another try. I saw something in him that I wish I saw in more kids (hell, I'd like to see it in more adults): determination. He didn't care if he was having fun. It wasn't about that. He didn't care if he wasn't being entertained (we do way too much of that nowadays). He just wanted to conquer the task set before him. It was internal motivation, propelled completely by his own disappointment in himself.

Quite often, the boy just plain amazes me.

The beauty of independent, introverted children

I have a very independent little boy.

He's smart, stubborn, determined, and less affectionate, in some regards, than a lot of kids his age. Sometimes that's hard to swallow. In the drop-off zone in front of his school each morning, he might return my "I love you" if I say it with the request for the reply built in...my tone, drawing low like an admonition. But at other times, the words roll off his tongue like butter, smooth and unexpected.

With a child like mine, whose moments of affection are sporadic and sometimes rare, they remain a constant and sweet surprise. I almost prefer it to a steady stream of kisses and hugs, because his "moments" seem to come out of nowhere, at just the right time. And they seem to mean so much more because of it.

Once, on a stressful morning where nothing seemed to be going right, I rolled up to the school just as the bell was ringing for kids to go into the building. I was agitated, felt rushed, and certainly wasn't focusing on my relationship with my son. He grabbed his things, and slipped out of the backseat onto the sidewalk, an apple in one hand, his hair still disheveled by sleep, his shoe laces dragging, as usual. At a dead run, he turned, stopped ever so briefly, and blew me a kiss.

I was so taken aback, so surprised, that it didn't even occur to me to blow one back. I wouldn't have had time, anyway, as he'd already turned back around to disappear behind the chain link fence and enter the school.

As a toddler, he wasn't the child who constantly asked to be picked up and carried. No, he wanted his freedom as soon as he was mobile. I'm not sure if it was due to the rather unconventional and harried experience of his birth, but he seems to have been born this way.

From day one, he slept through the night. He didn't cling to me, he didn't look back and cry every time I left him at daycare (maybe for the first week, but that was more about his unwillingness to accept the "new" or to handle transitions with aplomb).

Last year, when I took him to the North Olympic Kids' Marathon, I came ready to run along with him. That sea of children, many with accompanying parents, lined up at the starting gate. I looked down at him and asked if he wanted me to run with him (because of his nature, I never assume he'll want me or need me to do things with him and I don't press myself on him). He looked up at me, smiled (happy I was there to support him), and said, "I got this, mommy. I don't need you to run with me."

So I let him run, and I waited, camera poised, to get a picture as soon as he came into view on the return lap. As soon as he saw me waving, he waved back, smiled, and yelled, "I did it! All by myself!"

So, yes, I guess I could be sad that my child doesn't "need" me all the time. But, since I don't base my identity on him, that sadness is also sweet. He's not an extension of me. He's his own little person. We are separate beings held forever close by blood. He's a lot like me. Introverted, and inwardly affectionate. He loves me. He loves his family. He loves his pets. He cares for his friends. But, he keeps his circle small, and he reserves his reservoir of affection. He comes by it honestly, as do I. A long line of "you know I love you...you know I'm proud of you..." folks who show what they feel in their eyes rather than saying it.

It's not optimal. I know I should be more verbal about my feelings for others (it drives my husband crazy, as he's a much more openly affectionate person than I am), and I try show my affection through words and actions as often as I can. Encouraging him to offer a more outward show of his love for others. But, in the long run, he is who he is.

And that's okay with me.

The things that matter in a relationship...

...are often the things that drive us the most crazy or the things that we typically do not consciously notice. These might range from the socks that are incessantly in the middle of the floor, or the mole just above our loved one's ear. The way they take their coffee. The manner in which they sit in a chair. Their snoring or their temper or their nervous tics.

Holding On 

(original poetry)

My weak fingers bend
back in the wrong hands,
but curve comfortably
at a natural angle
in the crook of your elbow.

It is the difference between
force and choice.
My skin seeks the warmth
of yours, rough and calloused,
a promise of hard work
and commitment.

There is no pretense
in the arch of your bicep,
only a silent request
that I hold on
loosely below it,
my fingertips grazing
the softest part of
your inner arm,
all of the thoughts
without words
pulsing just below
the most translucent places.

Marriage - is it more about being in love or creating a dynamic team?

It's not really a question I would have asked myself...or anyone else for that matter. But, a nearby local radio station DID ask it this morning and drew quite an interesting response from listeners.

Apparently, one of the D.J.s read a story on People Magazine's website about why Diane Keaton never got married.

It's a pretty lame article, really. But, I guess the concept behind it...and behind the radio station's question appealed to me, because it gets at how we define human relationships - which are always evolving and impossible to pin down.

Like all human connections, marriage is different for every couple. It serves particular objectives and fulfills various needs. And it's pretty much impossible to explain in any other terms than "an agreement between two people to be united." Some people do it because they plan to have children. Some people find comfort, guidance, and expectation in the tradition. Others believe in marriage as a religious union. And still others look forward to the financial and social benefits provided by a documented partnership.

For most of us "married folk" in the U.S., it's a choice, though in some cases it may be required or expected by our families and religions if we plan to live together, be sexually involved, and have children. For me, it wasn't...but it did afford me a measure of comfort and expectation. For one, it's a lot harder to just "walk away" in times of disagreement or discomfort if there is a legal connection. That can provide some time to take the whole situation into account before prematurely severing ties. Secondly, it affords us certain social and monetary benefits (taxes, wills, property, parenting, medical agreements).

Notice, nowhere in all of this have I mentioned love. Or passion. Or romance.

It doesn't mean it can't or shouldn't be a part of marriage...but, in my opinion, and apparently a whole lot of other people's, it isn't the central facet. It appears that, according to research, compatibility, mutual respect, division of labor, and emotional support beat out love and passion over the long haul.

Love changes. Passion waxes and wanes. Sexual desire comes and goes. But, companionship and teamwork remain hallmarks of a successful marriage.

To me, love and passion are illusive. Neither need marriage to exist. But marriage can be made better and stronger by both, even if the passion is transient.

That being said - of course I love my husband. But is our relationship centered on hot, wild sex? Well, it used to be...before we were married...maybe even in the very beginning of our wedded bliss. But, then we became tired parents. And we slipped into a comfortable routine.  And we got to know a lot about each other - all the little idiosyncrasies and habits and annoying tidbits.

If this graphic is to be believed, those of us who commit have to do just that to reap the rewards of our commitment. The stress of raising children successfully, competing in the the workplace, planning financially, owning a home, and getting our kids off to college or career are hard work. Maybe that's why, when those things have been accomplished, married couples who have weathered the storms have a great sense of accomplishment. They can sit back, look at what they've done together and celebrate all of the ups and downs that got them there. That satisfaction may even be what causes the upswing and the eventual "second honeymoon". And the benefit is that, at the top of the hill, we have someone to share the celebratory champagne with. Maybe that's the greatest reward.

That might sound depressing. Maybe enough to make those who aren't married rethink the whole prospect. But, ultimately, it was and is a choice for us. Sure we're tired. We work hard at our jobs and at raising a happy, secure, independent child. We have pets, a house, a yard, and other outside responsibilities to ourselves and others. And we struggle to keep our "love life" from sinking underneath the weight of it all. Finding mystery and newness in the person you have been sleeping next to for years can be hard.

I wouldn't trade it though. And that seems to be the overarching consensus among married folk. But then...those are people who got married and stayed married. Ask divorced and widowed individuals, and you might get a very different picture of just how happy marriage does or does not make a person. And since most studies on marital happiness only deal with people who are currently married, they make for pretty skewed results.

I don't think marriage leads to happiness or well-being. Maybe security and comfort. But, it can cause stress just as much as it alleviates it. I also don't believe that parenthood makes us happier. Almost all evidence points in the opposite direction. So why bother?  Well, over time, it seems that marriage and parenthood can lead to a greater sense of accomplishment and life concept. I guess that means that, as we age, having raised a family with a willing and helpful partner gives us comfort and satisfaction.

And maybe that's why the People article on Diane Keaton resonated with the radio station D.J.s and so many of their listeners. There seems to be a resounding fear of growing old alone. It isn't so much that we are all pining for wedding bells and diamond rings.  It seems more likely that we are all just normal social beings seeking to find lasting companionship.

Telling our kids to do things themselves

Years ago, I remember watching this particular episode of The Simpsons where Marge has just had it with her family, books herself a vacation, and takes off for a little unencumbered down time. Of course, the stereotypical results at home (dad can't - and doesn't - handle the children and sort of falls apart without his wife, whom he relies on for most everything having to do with his home life) and the expected outcome (she enjoys her escape for a day or two, but then begins to miss her kids and husband, no matter how much they drive her crazy).

I can relate. My family drives me crazy sometimes, but I wouldn't trade them. Oh, sure, a break now and then might be nice, but being needed (all the time) - while exhausting - is better than not being needed at all. And when I stop to think about it, even though children often take their needs being met for granted, I know that I am showing my son I love him but simply making sure I "show up" in some way whenever I hear, "Moooooommmy!" shouted from some corner of the house or yard...even if "showing up" just means yelling back, "What!?!" and continuing the conversation in this way until he realizes I'm not going to come running every time he calls my name...because I have faith he can solve a lot of his own problems...and because I don't want him to get in the habit of relying on me for everything. I've raised him to be independent, and while I almost always "show up" that doesn't mean I follow the requests. "Mommy, will you get me a glass of water please?"...just as I sit down at the table to eat. "Honey, you know where the glasses are and are perfectly capable of using the water cooler." He rolls his eyes (because he expected me to say this), gets up, and takes care of it himself.

I know some women pride themselves on taking care of all their children's needs. But, as someone who works with preteens and young teens ("tweens") on a daily basis, I'm here to say that this habit can be debilitating to children. Fulfilling their every whim, picking them up whenever they cry, not letting them self-soothe themselves to sleep, making sure they are never bored, keeping them from ever feeling pain or loss or disappointment, ensuring their constant happiness...while these things might sound good, in the long run, they may just ruin our kids' lives.

I've read some pretty good articles about this recently.

"How to Land Your Kid in Therapy" (Atlantic Monthly) 
The Pursuit of Happiness (more affectionately known as "I don't want my kids to be happy") - Huffington Post

I actually linked both articles on my school website as "parent reading" recommendations. I realize we all have our own parenting styles, and some of my favorite parents are what I affectionately call "helicopter" parents (almost always, these are mothers...trained to fly by their family's insistent and never-ending requests --- some of us are easily trained...others of us are very stubborn and resist.)

For some parents (moms, especially), I think catering to our family's every need provides a sense of purpose and proves to us that we are necessary. But, there is a big difference between meeting a child's (or a spouse's) needs and being a slave. And when we take on the role of a slave, we help create "slave owners" who don't seem to be aware that anything is wrong with how they take advantage of their world at home. At first, this only affects the home. But, eventually, our little people won't be little anymore...and they'll head on off into the great abyss, looking for companions to join them on their journey. This is where it will become difficult. Because finding a life partner who wants to sign on as a servant won't be easy. And, according to the Atlantic article linked above, it may likely lead to depression.

So telling our kids do things for themselves isn't neglectful. Quite the contrary...it's one of the best things we can do to ensure their happy and successful futures.

Coming next..."Having purpose, not happiness, is the meaning of life."

The River (considering risk, procrastination, and stagnation)

Today, in class, we listened to "The River" by Garth Brooks. It's one of my simile/metaphor/theme lessons I do pretty much every year...but it's a good one. We listen to the song, make note of the literary devices and rhyme pattern, discuss the metaphors, and establish a list of possible themes, searching for textual support for our ideas.

Every year, though, it seems, the lesson comes on a day when I especially need the reminders that it brings.

You know a dream is like a river
Ever changin' as it flows
And a dreamer's just a vessel
That must follow where it goes
Trying to learn from what's behind you
And never knowing what's in store
Makes each day a constant battle
Just to stay between the shores...and

I will sail my vessel
'Til the river runs dry
Like a bird upon the wind
These waters are my sky
I'll never reach my destination
If I never try
So I will sail my vessel
'Til the river runs dry

Too many times we stand aside
And let the waters slip away
'Til what we put off 'til tomorrow
Has now become today
So don't you sit upon the shoreline
And say you're satisfied
Choose to chance the rapids
And dare to dance the tide...yes

I will sail my vessel
'Til the river runs dry
Like a bird upon the wind
These waters are my sky
I'll never reach my destination
If I never try
So I will sail my vessel
'Til the river runs dry

There's bound to be rough waters
And I know I'll take some falls
But with the good Lord as my captain
I can make it through them all...yes

I will sail my vessel
'Til the river runs dry
Like a bird upon the wind
These waters are my sky
I'll never reach my destination
If I never try
So I will sail my vessel
'Til the river runs dry

Yes, I will sail my vessel
'Til the river runs dry
'Til the river runs dry

___________

"Trying to learn from what's behind you
And never knowing what's in store
Makes each day a constant battle
Just to stay between the shores..."

Indeed. I am not a lover of the unexpected, nor am I very spontaneous. Quite the opposite really, I'm a neurotic over-planner, sometime spending way more time planning for things than actually doing them. In an odd way, I often find the planning more fun than the doing. I know...I'm weird. Not knowing stresses me out, so in way, it is sort of a battle to keep my mental equilibrium amidst all the shifts and hiccups of daily existence.

"Too many times we stand aside
And let the waters slip away
'Til what we put off 'til tomorrow
Has now become today..."

This sentiment is all too characteristic of my life. I spend a lot of time watching the water rather than diving in, always more worried about being careful than experiencing things that sometimes frighten me. And "procrastination" is one of my less wonderful, yet abundant qualities. I've put so many things off that no number of tomorrow's would be enough to accomplish them. 

"So don't you sit upon the shoreline
And say you're satisfied
Choose to chance the rapids
And dare to dance the tide..."

Guilty as charged. To the point that I'm almost ashamed. How many times have I talked myself out of doing something because there are a million excuses or it'd be easier to just "not?" I trick myself into believing I'm satisfied with a lot of things because it's just less complicated to accept life as it is than trying to change it. So much less to lose, or so it seems. In all actuality, there's a lot more to lose by being stagnant and dissatisfied, even if it's only subconsciously. But, risk is also a tough prospect when it might affect others...say, a family. So, risk for a wife and a mother (or husband and father) is more of a luxury than it is for people with only their own needs to consider. It doesn't take it off the table, however. Having other people's needs to consider doesn't make risk less necessary; it just makes it more complicated, and sometime harder to justify.

"There's bound to be rough waters
And I know I'll take some falls..."

No kidding.

So there's that. A lesson for all of us, I suppose. Nothing particularly deep. But, noteworthy, nonetheless.

And since we're on the topic of Garth Brooks...here's a second that really pushes me to consider my daily life....

Making myself (being a working mom who works out)

Quite honestly, I hate exercise. I can admit I like the after effect some days, but often, when I work out at the end of the day, it just makes me feel more exhausted, rather than energized and ready to face the rest of my evening.

But...

That's it, really...there's always a lingering, finger-wagging "But". The alpha conjunction, ever vigilant of the possibilities and ever-ready to point out the other side of the argument.

I'm painfully aware that as I age, it's becoming harder and harder to stay in shape. It's so easy to say I have housework or errands, or papers to grade. The excuses are plentiful. And even when I do all the things I must to motivate myself (pay for a membership to guilt myself, financially, into working out so I'm not wasting my investment...sign myself up for marathons...schedule out my weekly workout in my planner...) I still talk myself out of it.

For now, it's really a day-by-day thing. A daily goal to do "something"...anything really. Walk the dog, run, walk, go to the gym and do weights, yoga...whatever.

And I know I'm not the only one. This whole, working full-time, being a mom, being a wife, and trying to have all my sh** together everyday seriously makes a girl feel inadequate on the best of days. I can usually do ONE thing well in a day. My house can be spotless, but I'm still in my pajamas and my son's played video games all day. I've spent time with my kid, but the house is a mess and there's a giant stack of essays that didn't get graded. My husband is happily satisfied (more on that later in another post, promise), but the kiddo had to go to grandma's and the laundry is piled ceiling-high. I've just run 3 miles and have worked up an admirable sweat and an adrenaline-caused glow, but I'll be going to bed at 8:00 leaving all the housework for another day.

So, yes, I know I'm in good company. In fact, I don't even have it as hard as some moms (especially single, working moms or moms of multiples). And I can admit, that during the summer, when it's just me and the boy, and I have no work-related constraints, I find it just as difficult to motivate myself to work out.

I have this good friend from junior high who's running the Boston Marathon today. I'll be tracking her progress via text today (using a really cool "follow your favorite athlete" app). It's ladies like her that make me feel hard-pressed to complain. She's a teacher, too...so she works really hard, multi-tasking like a fiend all day and fulfilling the demands and needs of hundreds of people (mostly young and rather attention-greedy). She teaches athletic classes after work. She has two kids. She runs at 4 in the morning to fit it in. She goes to church. She doesn't drink. And though I've never been there, I suspect she has a nearly immaculate house.

She's my hero and my nemesis all in one.  And what it comes down to is...every woman has her hurdles to jump, her mountains to climb, her obstacles to overcome. Mine is often self-motivation. I stress easily, criticize myself on a whim, and then find myself tired and irritable, cleaning the house and telling everyone around me to "wait"...including myself.

Life is short. And it's easily to lose one's priorities amidst the ocean of readily available obligations. Some of us have better compasses. Others of us, just have to fight through it on a daily basis, reminding ourselves to be kind to ourselves and just keep going.

So, today (don't know about tomorrow - I'm not setting myself up for failure on this), I'm going to focus on what matters. My family, my friends, my animals, my students, and myself. The living things that care if I forget them, not the inanimate objects and responsibilities that only have a demanding voice because I let them.

P.M. update...

So, I did NOT workout. I came sooooo close, but I caved to my husband's bad mood (I'm terribly easily drawn off course in that way), and instead found myself tidying up the house, nursing a child with a headache, making peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for dinner, and drinking a beer while taking care of the bills (which are almost late). 

And even though I could really get down on myself, I'm trying hard to be forgiving and less critical of everyone, including myself. I got a lot done today...I graded a whole set of 90 papers in between classes and after school, I cleaned off my desk at school, I took care of about 20 student needs (I won't go into specifics), I ran an errand (yes, a WHOLE errand), and picked up my son from after school club. I did a dozen house chores, and now here I am, actually writing.

So I wouldn't call today a total failure. Just not a monumental success.

There's always tomorrow. 

Okay, actually there's no promise of that...today is all that matters and all that I am sure to have. So, if there IS a tomorrow, I'll try again. If not, today could have been worse. So, I guess I'm okay with that. We have our health, we have each other, and that's enough. 

Literary fortunes, Seamus Heaney, and art as a means to an end

For awhile, on my poetry tumblr site, I was doing these "poetry fortunes." So much better, really, than a stale, yellow cookie with a piece of advice or an obvious bit of information inside. I close m eyes, spin in a circle, run my fingers along the spines of my books, pull one down, let the pages fall where they will, and open my eyes. Whatever I find there, I mine for meaning and consider ways I might be able to apply it to my day or my life. Really, it's an interesting way to start a day, and it always makes for deep thinking during down time. This bit is from "Harvest Bow" by Seamus Heaney (one of my great literary loves). "The end of art is peace." It's a line that tugs at the corners of my brain because it could mean so many things. I consider the "means to an end" and that "end" being art...which invariably leads to a sort of "crazy" that is necessary to life. Without art, we cease to be human...we cease to seek peace, love, war.... In our hands, we hold the power of creation, and when we create well, we feel the satisfaction of our production. For me, it isn't the harvest bow, but rather a completed scrapbook full of important moments collected and arranged lovingly and artfully...or a poem...or, yes...even a blog post.

The Harvest Bow

As you plaited the harvest bow
You implicated the mellowed silence in you
In wheat that does not rust
But brightens as it tightens twist by twist
Into a knowable corona,
A throwaway love-knot of straw.

Hands that aged round ashplants and cane sticks
And lapped the spurs on a lifetime of game cocks
Harked to their gift and worked with fine intent
Until your fingers moved somnambulant:
I tell and finger it like braille,
Gleaning the unsaid off the palpable,

And if I spy into its golden loops
I see us walk between the railway slopes
Into an evening of long grass and midges,
Blue smoke straight up, old beds and ploughs in hedges,
An auction notice on an outhouse wall—
You with a harvest bow in your lapel,

Me with the fishing rod, already homesick
For the big lift of these evenings, as your stick
Whacking the tips off weeds and bushes
Beats out of time, and beats, but flushes
Nothing: that original townland
Still tongue-tied in the straw tied by your hand.

The end of art is peace
Could be the motto of this frail device
That I have pinned up on our deal dresser—
Like a drawn snare
Slipped lately by the spirit of the corn
Yet burnished by its passage, and still warm. 

Images of my life

So much is held by the eye that cannot be explained in words. If we are inclined, dedicated, and able...we try. But always, we have the disappointing knowledge that our mouths and fingers will fail to communicate the entirety of our experiences.

Our husky-mix, Kira (who just recently passed and now has a place in the garden next to Emma) and her little buddy, Mosin. This shot captured both of their personalities so well...one wistful and calmly interested, the other highly inquisitive. Pets can truly be a window to ourselves...maybe even a bit of a mirror.

Reading in our house is of paramount importance. A nightly ritual and place to go early in the morning before the world has begun to spin. Poetry, especially, holds a place dear to my heart, and to see it in the hands of a child, loved and enjoyed, is definitely smile-inducing.

Nothing says "Happy" quite like a smiling cat. I actually took several shots in an attempt to get him with his eyes open. But every time, they closed with the flash. As I flipped through the images, it struck me that this photo was perfect just the way it was. Utter contentment. A moment in which to pause and stay awhile.

This was just a few weeks before we lost her. She just seems so far away and well...ready to go. Which, in reflection, I can now see she was. Funny how we don't see things that are right in front of us when our minds are just not ready to digest the information provided.

I used my son as a subject at the park one afternoon. Several great shots came out of that day, but this one still makes me smile. That perfect satin skin, those lashes, and that innocent admiration of the simplest things. It's the only thing that takes me back to those times in my own life...watching him.

I have a weird inclination toward photos of old shoes. Not sure what the draw is, but I love this pair of my son's. Bright blue, like his eyes. And who doesn't see "art" in a pair of well-loved Converse?

A blurry action shot, for some reason this one grabbed me. Even though I didn't intend the hazy appearance, it seems fitting for the moment...high energy and fast-moving. I love watching my son play sports, especially when he's in the zone. At this point, he was without the help of a coach, when the other kid had his yelling out instructions and advice. I was having a hard time trying to photograph the match and be his coach (where the hell was he, anyway...we'll never know). That's why all the images turned out so blurry. Mom, yelling "Hold him! Keep on your feet!!! Don't let him turn you!!!" just wasn't conducive to clear, crisp photography.

Another shot from that same afternoon at the park. For some reason I like the profile shots. A little soft around the edges because of the movement of the swing, but such a sweet, happy smile.

Holding my tongue

There are many times when what has come out of my mouth should never have been allowed to enter the air. I'll admit I have a temper with a hair pin trigger, and I can be pretty snarky and sarcastic. I say things before I think, and then hours later, after considering all the facts (even if I don't have them all), I wonder if maybe I went too far. Maybe I didn't give the other person a chance to really explain, and so I took away a truth that really didn't exist for anyone but my "jump the gun" self.

I work with pre-teens. And they can most certainly be ornery with their interactions with adults. In fact, they can be just plain mean. It's hard to remember, as some of them are actually bigger than me, that they are really just "little kids" in "big bodies". And while some of them have been raised right, learning appropriate and increasingly mature ways to deal with their emotions (namely anger and frustration and hurt, since those tend to elicit the most outwardly negative reactions), others have not. In fact, a growing handful of them have only seen models of poor emotional control from the adults in their life.

I'm thinking of one young man in particular. I'll leave out the specifics of course, but suffice it to say, he's a child of a broken home. He spends time at dad's house for a week...and then mom's and new stepdad's for a week...and so on. Mom and step-dad are newly married and both have new jobs that keep them busy for large portions of time. Dad is admittedly learning to balance things at home. But between them is this angry young man with pent up emotions. Add hormones and you have a recipe for a very dangerous weapon of mass destruction: a pissed off, out-of-control teenager with no outlet.

The outcome is this...every time the boy is faced with any sort of frustration (a bad grade, being asked to stop a behavior, other kids in class) he blows. And the blow ups are increasing in frequency and severity.

Now, add that to a class room with a teacher (me) who keeps things pretty controlled and has quite particular expectations (basically, there just isn't room for any B.S. in my presence). I mean, obviously, I like kids...or I wouldn't be there. And I'm pretty understanding of their drama. I get it. But, I lose it with kids like this, because I'm at an absolute loss. I'm not a counselor, but it's apparent that this child needs help...he's in crisis. And he's chosen every adult in his presence as a target.

Enter the second problem: I don't make a good target.

Recently, after an altercation with another adult in the building, he made a run for it...out the side door and off campus. That led to a 911 call and the police were dispatched to find him. He tried to take them on with a stick he found on the ground.

When I heard this, my first reaction was to laugh out loud. Really? A stick? What were you thinking, son?

But, then I began to really consider things. A child with this much anger (whom I really don't think is mentally ill) has got to have a reason for it. What on earth is going on in this young man's life to cause these violent outbursts?

In my experience, violence begets violence. An angry child comes from an angry parent. A violent child (without mental health issues) is acting on fear. So what is this boy afraid of?

So, let's circle back. I've got a temper. And yes, my dad does, too. I had a great model for that. But, he's also a pretty loving parent and always has been, so it balances out...I think. I look at my own son and wonder, what does he think when he see me not dealing with my anger in a constructive manner? And how will this manifest later in his life? I don't see him running off campus, taking on the police with whatever he can find on the ground...but I do wonder if he'll direct his anger appropriately.

And it definitely gives me pause. What can I do to help myself hold my tongue? If for not one else but him...and might I be able to smooth over some situations with other children if I laid on a bit of sugar with my biting wit? I mean, they need boundaries and expectations, and even more than that, they need someone to hold them to it. I'm pretty good at that. But, my military upbringing doesn't always have to manifest itself in "drill sergeant" communication styles.

I blossomed out of sheer determination as a child. My brow furrowed, my lips pursed, my breath audible. I took my "coaching" as a challenge. Sure I got mad. I stomped. I huffed. And I showed them...by doing exactly what they expected.

These tactics don't work on all kids. In fact, with teens, it can actually do the exact opposite...especially if they don't feel loved or connected. See, I had that. Even though I was pissed off and felt misunderstood, I knew that no matter what my parents were behind me. Both of them. So many kids today don't have that. They just have the tired, worn out, angry parent who teaches them there is not alternative and that there is nothing good to look forward to.

A tongue must speak words of encouragement and love to balance out the words of criticism and anger. I'm not saying we should all be dripping compliments and "I love you's" at ever turn. Kids (and adults) need both. And I really don't think kids should never see us angry. After all, that's how they learn that we struggle with it, too. Take for example a child who sees his parents argue...but then hours later they are smiling and happy with each other. He learns that arguments can be solved and that relationships should be strong enough to weather them.

So while, I do need to find ways to control my temper (especially its outward display), I'm not sure it would be in anyone's interest to completely control the emotions that lead to that temper.

Embracing a messy life

They leave little messes all over the house. They're there when I get home from work; they're there when I wake up in the morning. I notice them with a growl and a sigh as I step over them to get to the coffee maker, or move things on the couch so I can sit down and enjoy my first cup. When I walk into my son's dark bedroom to wake him up, I trip over them. They pile on my office floor. And strewn across the dining room table at any given time, there they sit, making me crazy. Those little clutter piles, shoes, books, drawings, bags, stacks of mail, all the contents of my husband's pockets...they annoy me to no end. But try as I might, pushing my family to the level of order that I require just doesn't work.

Oh, they try. Sometimes. But, they forget. Not because they don't value a clean home (they appreciate that more than they know) and not because they take for granted that mom will take care of it because she's a neat-freak like that (although I do think they assume that occasionally). No. They just don't need it to be as tidy as I do. When their stuff is in a pile by the door, it's easily accessible and won't need to be found in the morning when they need it. That pile of odds and ends and change from my husband's pockets? We'll it's going right back in, so why would he put it away?

I'm not saying no one should clean up their stuff. I couldn't breathe if everyone just gave up putting their things in the proper places. And I'm pretty sure they'd all be concerned if I up and stopped the record player that is my litany of requests to "put it where it belongs....and if you can't find a home for it, you'll have to get rid of it." My son has become a genius at finding "homes" for things. For, in his little mind, nothing is meant to be thrown away. Every little scrap of paper, tiny plastic toy, and t-shirt that no longer fits is dear to his heart. And he comes by his "packrat" mentality honestly. My husband is nearly as bad.

And then there's me. I'd just as soon put it in a bag and drag it to the thrift store as put it away -- one. more. time.

That's not to say that I don't create my own clutter. Because I surely do. I think they annoyance comes, though, from knowing that I'm the only one who's is really bothered by it...and therefore, I'll be the one left to pick it up...or request that it be picked up by someone else. There is actually a chore in our house called "clutter patrol"...and it has to happen on a regular basis. Mostly because the little messes drive me crazy and make it seem as if the house is actually dirty, which it isn't.

Oh sure...I could really become a Nazi about the whole thing. I could rant and rave and groan and buy bins and label them and neurotically require everyone to put everything away in it's properly marked spot. But I know that will be an impressive failure. Why? Because even now, the dirty socks sit right beside the laundry bin...on the floor. The back pack is 3 feet from the hook where it should be hanging. The "properly marked spots" already exist. It's just that no body seems to care about them. Maybe if I made it a game and gave away prizes...or if I added a monetary incentive...or if I threatened someone with an early death...I could get them to put their stuff away...every time.

That got me thinking...why do I try so hard to keep it all together? What exactly is the point? Especially when, no matter what I do, even if I can control my own messy life and keep some semblance of outward order, I most certainly can't control anyone else's.

It's not that I'm planning to stop asking everyone to put their things away. Someone has to do it, after all. But, I can let the little messes stop bothering me so much. I can look away sometimes. Even better, I could learn to embrace them.

After all, every little mess is a reminder that someone I love lives here. Really lives here. They leave their mark all over this house, and in all honesty, if those little messes weren't here, my house would lack personality. The clutter in our house is evidence that we are here, inhabiting this space, making it our own. I'd much rather have their little messes than not have them and instead have a home that looks like the airbrushed perfection on the cover of Better Homes & Gardens.

That isn't my life anyway. My life is a blissful, glorious little mess, full of love, and laughter,a nd activity...and we have the clutter to prove it.