Is There Room For One More?

I did it.  I jumped on the No More Homework Bandwagon.

I am in the process of writing the "Dear Teachers, We respectfully decline..." letter to Avery's teachers.

Please understand, I am not a rude parent.  I do not mean any disrespect to Avery's teachers, and I am not teaching him to disrespect his teachers either. I am the parent who has always, ALWAYS backed the teacher up, whether I agreed or not, because in the school, the teacher is the authority.  I have wrestled with this decision.  I understand the purpose of homework.  I have ridden the fence concerning this since the beginning of the school year.  I've read through the research of homework vs. no homework.  I've watched my child and wrestled with what I know and feel in my gut is absolutely best for him, and what the public school system requires from him.

Honestly, though?  I wish I had done this sooner--about ten years sooner, when Noah was in kindergarten.

I wish I had stood up for both of my non-traditionally learning children sooner.  Homework has always been a fight in our house.  Fifteen minutes, yeah, sure, whatever.  Try 2-3 hours of yelling, crying, begging and finally, just giving up.  It's never been pretty.  It's always been a stress on our relationships with our children, and on our marriage. There have been afternoons I've given up, and waited until Shawn got home from work so he could deal with it.  If we thought the boys were tired when they got home, they were/are definitely tired at that point.  Homework has always been a horrible stress on our children.  It's too much to ask of them at the end of a day of sitting for 6 hours, especially at Avery's age, and with his diagnosis.

There has to be a give.  Home has to be a safe place for my children.  It has to be the place where they can let it all hang out, relax and not be stressed.  It has to be a place where, after having to sit still for 6 hours in school, he knows he won't have to sit still for another 2 hours for homework.  I am standing up for my child.  I know Avery best, and I know this is not a healthy way for him to learn, or to live.

This does not make me a lazy parent. This is not a cop-out, Avery is not getting away with anything. Shawn is working with Avery on programming and coding, something he loves and excels with.  Avery is still working on Reflex Math, a school supported computer program he does here at home.  I am still reinforcing his weekly vocabulary and handwriting through sentence writing, which is something he enjoys.   We've also recently discovered he loves madlibs and has a great time with those (and doesn't know he's practicing handwriting and spelling with those!), and he loves to sit down and make up homework for himself to do when I'm working on mine. Avery loves to read, and when he's not forced to do so, it's the first thing he does when he gets home, and he will read for 30 minutes or more, uninterrupted, on his own.  He also loves to read to Ezra, which has become a wonderful bonding experience for both of them (as opposed to the stress imposed on all of us by homework).

Last week was my experiment week. Without homework our afternoons and evenings were calmer.  Our relationship was easier and less stressed.   Our home, overall, was calmer, and believe it or not, more structured.  Avery was calmer, less anxious,
and less wired.  He was happier and livelier.  That's all the research this mama needs.

The Social Services Episode

There's a sitcom we really enjoy because it kind of hits close to home.   There's also a twist on things that makes us laugh about our own lives.  In fact, it hits sooooo close to home, that, even as we laugh, we've often had to turn off an episode before it started a marital argument!

One episode in particular sticks with us, just because one day we know social services is gonna come a'knockin' on our front door.  One of our brilliant children will have said something stupid partially true, but not have given the entire story.

In the episode we joke about, the family is trying to clean up quickly, the mother chucks a beer bottle at one of the kids so he can toss it in the trash, and accidentally hits the kid with it instead.  Barely a scratch (do you see where I'm going with this???), but by the time the kid finished bandaging himself, he looked as though he'd had major surgery. And, of course, he told his teachers his mom hit him with a beer bottle, who turned around and called social services.

Yep.  I'm sure you can take it from here, especially if you have children. 

So, as I said, Shawn and I just know that one of these days, social services will most likely show up on our doorstep.  One of our beautiful, brilliant children will have told a story to a teacher or a friend, but will have neglected to include the most important words, "but it wasn't on purpose" or "it was an accident."

Things like:
"Dad dropped the baby down the stairs after telling him to be quiet." (because he tripped over Avery's toys while carrying him)

"Dad punched Noah/kneed Avery in the throat/kicked one of them in the leg." (because they were boxing or wrestling or otherwise sparring, and they were all wearing protective gear)

"Mom tripped Ezra." (because she was stretching her leg and he didn't walk around it)

I've got a million other stories like those, and those three aren't even the worst of them.

So, dear, understanding social worker, please come in, have a cup of tea and a (store-bought) scone, and allow me to enlighten you about living in left field.  And I'll even tell you about the time Noah smacked Ezra's head with the door (because Lilly rushed him to get outside first).

It's the Most Wonderf--WAIT! It's only October!

I should warn you, prior to writing this post, I completely broke my own hard and fast rule and purchased Christmas decorations before Thanksgiving.  Stupid Kohls and their cute little reindeer and santas.  Geez.  Next, I'll be camping out at midnight before Black Friday and throwing elbows and blacking eyes for the last box of chai k-cups.

This time of year my depression begins to worsen.  The lack of lighting in the day, the cooler air moving in, and, I think most of all, the materialism we are seeing more and more of in the stores, all have an affect on me.

As I wander through the stores, I see them moving each holiday up further every year.  I noticed this year the Christmas items are now prominently displayed directly next to Halloween items, not even waiting for October to be over.  With the retail business shoving Christmas stuff down our throats, I’m finding it easy to lose the ‘feel’ of Christmas before Halloween even arrives.  I am saddened deeply by this. Thanksgiving barely gets an honorable mention.

I saw a meme on social media proclaiming, "Tis the season to bribe our kids with Santa!"  Really?

Please don't misunderstand me.  I LOVE Christmas.  I love the feel of it.  Just not the stuff of it.  Does that make sense?  I love the meaning behind it.  I can't wait for the smells, the sounds, the things we do with the boys to celebrate, but everything else has me just cringing.

What kind of world are we raising our children in?

Answer:  A greedy one.  A selfish one.  A self-centered one.  A rude one.  An incredibly materialistic one.  Are you getting the idea yet?

I think this is something we have to ask ourselves, whether you consider yourself a believer or not.

Shawn and I get discouraged trying to keep it simple, trying to keep it intentional.  Often, the retail business can make it feel as though we’re fighting a losing battle.   We feel as though we try so hard to raise our children honorably and meaningfully.  We do not bend to their every whim.  We do a lot for others, and involve the children in all of it. Yet, we still feel as though we are missing the mark. We want to be intentional.  We want to raise loving, intentional, thoughtful, selfless adults.

I saved this link from last year and wanted to share it with you.  I'm going to start working on it soon, in order to keep the ideas flowing, as well as to begin growing (and most importantly!) the FEEL of Christmas. And, you know what, I'm just going to say it--Merry Christmas!!!

http://www.foxnews.com/opinion/2015/12/11/elisabeth-hasselbeck-how-our-familys-christmas-went-from-getting-to-giving.html

A Good Laugh

Y'all know I love animals.  And y'all know I love Jesus.  So, this will make sense.

We--myself and Shawn--were deeply in need of a good laugh by the time we got home this evening.  It's been a long, emotionally charged day.  Pulling into our neighborhood, we'd reached the exhausted stage of goofy laughter, when everything and anything is funny, and our kids are looking at us as though we've got three eyes.

Sometimes, Jesus knows just how much you need a good laugh over a really good cry.  Tonight, He gave us that good laugh in the form of a sweet old yellow lab.

Quick backstory: There are a few yellow labs who occasionally wander the neighborhood.  We don't know their names, so we lovingly refer to them as "Traffic," because they're really all we see for traffic out here.  In the past, I've loaded them in my car (they really prefer the taste of my toddler), and delivered them home.  I've never actually met their people.

Okay, back on track.

Standing in the middle of the road was one of our neighborhood labs--except it wasn't Traffic 1 or Traffic 2.  We made a split second decision that Shawn would walk with him through the neighborhood, hoping the dog would show him where he lives (and keeping the dog safe from cars), and I would take the boys home--getting out of the car to switch places, the dog jumped in!  He quickly settled himself into the passenger seat and seemed to charge me, "Home, James!"

The neighbor in the car behind us shouted, "Looks like you just adopted yourselves a new dog!"

We laughed, shook our heads and headed off--Shawn walking home, and me with the dog, and the boys, looking for anyone who looked as though they might be looking for a dog.  I've never had a dog who loves car rides, so I laughed hysterically as this dog settled his huge bum first in the passenger seat next to me, drooling everywhere, then climbed into the back to settle next to Avery, then between Noah and Ezra, leaving drool EVERYWHERE.

After talking with several people but coming up empty, I turned our car toward home, with a bowl of water and a fenced in back yard (and our own very unhappy dog yapping up a storm inside HER HOUSE). 

Shortly after, a very distraught looking woman in a mini van pulled into our driveway--yep, Hoosier's mommy.

Hoosier, I hope you know that we needed the good laugh you gave us tonight.  The way you very comfortably settled into our car, and our hearts, was priceless.  I will be cleaning your drool off my windows and out of the crevices of my seats for days to come, but you're welcome to hang out in my car anytime.

Can We All Just Stop Apologizing???

Well,  unless you really need to, that is.  But that's something you might need to take up with Jesus.

No, seriously.  We need to stop apologizing for infractions we have no control over.  I'm done with it. Next time you apologize to me for something that has nothing to do with you, or some other 'silly' reason, I'm likely to either hug you, or swat your hand.  Can you tell I kind of hit a wall with this today?????

Example A:  A friend really needed to talk, then apologized for taking up too much time (the reality is, she talked for less than 10 minutes, she spoke to the heart of several of us, and sparked an amazing group conversation.).  Ummmm.  Hello?  If you need to talk, you need to talk.  Get it out!  Why are we so worried about taking up each other's time?  Isn't that what friendship is about?  When we meet for coffee, groups, and so on, we are in safe places.  We are there, intentionally, for each other.  One of my biggest pet peeves is when people ask "How are you doing" but don't mean it.  They ask merely because it is the polite thing to do.  I've learned to read the situations and the people who really mean it, and the people who could care less; for the people who could care less, I want to ask why they bother.  Please, if you need time to talk--don't apologize.  Your friends love you dearly.  What you have to say is important.

Example B:  While ordering lunch for myself and Ezra today, the person in front of me became impatient and made a huge point of peeling out of the drive through after placing his order.  When it was my turn at the window, it confused things a little, and the cashier apologized profusely, several times.  Dude, it totally wasn't his fault--it was the impatient guy's fault; he couldn't wait out the two cars ahead of him for a $2 cup of coffee????  I reassured the cashier numerous times, but it didn't seem to help the situation.  It really was completely beyond his control.  There was nothing he could've done about it, yet he continued to apologize.

Even I do it.  I'm tired of hearing the words come out of my mouth.  As if smoothing any kind of situation over will make apologizing better--I'm sorry I took an extra 10 seconds at the check out stand, I'm sorry I laughed when I maybe should have just smiled, I'm sorry my name is Amy, I'm sorry I'm this instead of that, I'm sorry for this and that.... In awkward situations, I even resort to the "I'm sorry I'm just a dumb little woman" routine.  Ugh.  I'll leave the deeper issues and politics out of this...

Society has taught us to apologize, for everything.  We have become so conditioned to just apologize.  Whether it's our fault or not, we must apologize.  No matter the infraction, or the size of it, or the matter of our own personal control over it, we must apologize.  Society insists it is the polite thing to do.  We have to do the back and forth, "I'm so sorry," "Oh goodness, you've got nothing to apologize for" banter.

And I'm just plain tired of it!  I'm over the over-apologizing.  So please, stop apologizing.  You've done nothing wrong.  Instead, I want you to smile, straighten your back, hold your head high, walk with confidence, and remind yourself that I gave you permission to not apologize!

Paying Our Dues, Part 3, The End (Finally?!?!?)

Now, dear one, it is my turn to pass those very words on to others.  To pass them on with the same love, life and truth:  It will be your turn.  Some day, it will be yours.  Just hang in there.

It is my turn--our turn--God's turn--now.  It took us 15 years to get here, but we're here.  Before you accuse me of being materialistic, please know this is about safety, first and foremost.  We were not safe in our old neighborhood.  This about happiness, and safety, and God's provisions and learning to bloom where we are planted, until God replants us.  Last year, God gave us the home of our dreams.  And, even though it's absolutely beautiful and has everything we asked Him for, it's the home of our dreams because our children are safe, because the neighbors are good people, because the schools are good places where my children have found their tribes and the help they need and the things they excel with, because they've got a huge yard and beautiful wild animals roaming through it.  My dog has a yard she loves, a fenced in area that is all hers, where she can romp and play. And a few months ago, God gave us a new family vehicle, the vehicle of our dreams--yes, it's a huge honking luxury mom mobile SUV that seats us all quite comfortably--but my kids are safe, my dog is safe and doesn't have to sit in the cargo area when she travels with us, and least importantly, I'm not climbing over any other seats in high heels and skirts to get to the driver's seat!  Most recently, in a time of great need, God has provided a new job for Shawn, a new journey for our family, an answer to many prayers.  It does not escape me that we are the family I used to be so easily jealous of.  I say God gave these things to us, but let me be clear---we had to earn them. I shouldn't say He gave them to us, so much as He provided.  He gave us the tools. We had lessons to learn, most importantly, learning to be grateful for what He provided at the time; it may not have been what we wanted, but it was what we needed.  He has provided a career for my husband, and my husband has always worked hard.  He's provided the people who taught us how to use our money smartly, how to tithe and make sure we are good stewards of what He provides for us.  He's connected us with a church family, and with other Christian brothers and sisters along the way, who have helped us make this possible by teaching us how to live better lives, be better Christians, and raise our children in a better, more praiseworthy light.  Now, this is God's home, and this is God's car.  He has trusted us with them to use them for Him--we know we must use them for the church, for the teens, for transportation needs, for connection groups, for preparing meals for others, and for anything else He calls us to provide.  We still deal with many of the same things we used to deal with, my health being one of them, but He still continues to provide.  I can't imagine our lives any other way than the way they are turning out.  God has provided so much for us.

Most importantly, six years ago, God gave my friend those words to speak and she listened to Him, then spoke them with love.

So, please allow me to tell you this, if you are feeling at all like Shawn and I used to feel--your time will come.  Trust me.  Work hard.  Be grateful for what God provides, even if it's not necessarily what you want, but it is what you need. Pay attention to the lessons He's teaching you.  Trust in God.  Trust in yourself.  It will be your turn.  Be blessed, be loved, precious one.

Paying Our Dues, Part 2

Yes, we wallowed...

But....

We did eventually learn to laugh about much of it over the years as we also learned to allow God to lead us through the life He chose for us, and we even learned to be grateful for much of it, even more so for the lessons those years taught us.  Without a doubt, I can't--as in, won't--give any of those years or experiences back because they've made us who we are now.  They created us as individuals, and as a family.  We eventually learned to look at each situation and ask each other, "What does God want us to learn from this?"  Once we lost the bitterness, pain and anger, we realized there were so many lessons God had been trying to teach us, and we'd been missing the point the entire time.  We learned to laugh--because the alternative downright sucked the life out of us.  It was no longer an option.  We could have allowed those experiences to make us hard, broken, bitter people.  We were giving everyone else, and the other negative experiences in our lives, too much power and that was not how we wanted to live, nor what we wanted to teach our children. And we laugh now too.  We have to.  We want our kids to remember the good times, and we want them to remember things better than they were, and to remember just how God PROVIDED. Yes, that house was a hovel, and that car was embarrassing, but they were shelter and transportation in times when so many people don't have either. Looking back, if we'd moved--my gosh.  I never would have met my best friend.  What a loss I would have suffered.  More than that, we wouldn't have been able to afford what we went through to have Avery and Ezra--talk about a loss.  I can't imagine our lives without them!  I don't know that we would've learned our lessons that God was trying to teach us, that we would have found the churches that saved us, and so many other people and events that molded us and formed us.  And now, we wouldn't have this amazing, incredible, crazy life.   But again, I digress!  :)

As I said though, at the time--we were anything but grateful.  We were angry, frustrated and bitter and felt stuck. When the housing market tanked and we lost the house we'd been building, we became even more bitter and angry.   When I visited this friend's house that day, it was for advice and support concerning Noah, doctors, Asperger's and just remembering how to breathe through everything Noah was going through, and everything we were going through as his parents.  I remembering trying to hold in my "in awe-ness" when I walked into her beautiful home.  Oh, how I envied it so much!  Finally, when we reached her kitchen after talking for a bit, I couldn't hold it in anymore and blurted out, "Your kitchen is just beautiful!  It's like the kitchen of my dreams! Your entire home is just amazing!"  She covered my hand with hers, smiled and said, "One day you'll have yours.  One day it will be your turn."

Oh my goodness, those words.  At the time, they were meaningless because I wasn't in the right place emotionally, mentally and spiritually to receive them.  But they did sink in over time, and they have stuck with me ever since.

Paying Our Dues: A Testimony, Part 1

"Our praise is based on the goodness of God, not the circumstances in our life."  --Spreadingjoy.com

Recently--as in, the past few months--it's been on my heart to email a friend and tell her how much a few words of wisdom she shared with me really affected me at a time when I really needed them.  They weren't about parenting, even though God was using her in a mighty way to support me through Noah's diagnostic process (having already been through it herself with her own child), housewifery, Christian life, homeschooling or anything else we had in common.  Side Note: I did email her and thank her.

This friend's words, spoken in love, in truth and life, were about paying our dues, and eventually having the life of our dreams.

For the first fifteen years of our marriage, Shawn, Noah, several pets, and eventually, Avery and Ezra, lived in what I can only describe as a hovel.  We actually referred to it as the van down by the river, and frequently broke into that skit when we couldn't handle things anymore.  Chris Farley, if only you knew how much you are missed.  From the beginning, we never really considered it a permanent home, calling it our starter home.  Sure, we were excited to have bought our first house, but we didn't see ourselves there beyond five years.  Throughout those fifteen years, we complained.  A lot.  As God worked on our Christian walk, we complained less, and learned to concentrate more on how He provided.  But I digress.

During those early years, we complained.  We whined.  We moaned.  We hated it.  We couldn't drink the water and had to order our drinking water.  The neighborhood was awful.  Our neighbors, at the time we finally moved, were meth dealers and cookers.  There had been a raid just months prior, involving several federal and state jurisdictions.  We had downright crazy neighbors who had me charged with reckless driving, claiming I was endangering their children, and determined to make our lives as miserable as they possibly could. There's obviously a lot more to that story, but that's what it is--another story.  Eventually it got to the point we couldn't go outside.  We didn't dare go outside.  We found arrows shot into our backyard where our dog played and pottied, so we didn't even dare let her out on her own. The school was--well, eventually the principal and I ended up on a first name basis and it wasn't because we were best friends.  We pulled Noah, enrolled him in private school, eventually he was 'removed' from that school and we homeschooled... You get the idea.  We couldn't run the microwave and any small appliances at the same time, or use the WIFI and the microwave at the same time, lest we blow a circuit.  One year, we went through at least 4 microwaves.  One Christmas, we had to cook and reheat using Sterno because the microwave actually blew on Christmas morning. We couldn't flush the toilet while someone else was showering without scalding that person.  I can't tell you how many times one of us would flush, remember, cringe and yell, "CRAP!  GET OUT FROM UNDER THE WATER!  NOW! NOW! NOW! I AM SO SORRY!"  We drove ancient vehicles for quite a while, too.  You want a good laugh?  The key broke off in the driver's side door of my Camry, and we couldn't afford to have it fixed, so I had to climb through the passenger door, over the passenger seat and gear shift, to get to the driver's seat.  At the time, I taught at a private, well-to-do preschool, and it was humiliating, to say the least.  Shawn and I made poor choices with our money in the hopes of getting our family out of the neighborhood, but when the market tanked, we continued our poor choices hoping to just get Noah out of the schools with the neighborhood kids and avoid putting Avery in at all.  We thought they were smart choices at the time, but they only set us back further.  We laugh at a lot of this now, but at the time--whew.

Remember, during this time, we were also dealing with my health issues, my severe depression and infertility--along with Noah's diagnoses, and a myriad of other things.  We often wonder if Avery's allergies and asthma, and perhaps even Ezra's heart defects, and goodness knows what else, have to do with the chemicals in the air they were exposed to thanks to our neighbors.  We were also dealing with the normal marriage stuff, my parent's divorce, extended family dysfunction (we have to wonder on what planet we live when we're the functional, normal ones???), Shawn's family stuff, and some other "things." Much of what we were dealing with escalated the normal stuff to near nuclear, and our marriage almost didn't make it.

During those first years, we looked around at others our age who were doing well.  They were driving nice vehicles, living in nice homes.  They didn't (seem to) have the struggles we did.  They didn't have crazy neighbors.  They also may not have had the debt we had when we started out, or--they built up debt to get to where they were.  They may have also had parents helping them.  And, many of them were working couples, whereas I chose to be a stay at home mom, making us a single income family.  We just felt screwed, over and over.  If something could go wrong, it would undoubtedly happen to us, not to anyone else.  That's what it felt like, anyway.  Yes, we wallowed.  We wallowed a lot.

"Kids, Just Let Her Have This Moment"

Some of the best advice my loving, devoted husband has given our children as a loving, devoted dad has been, "Kids, just give her this moment.  Just let her have this, okay?"  They sigh, they groan and mumble a bit, they kick the ground, they roll their eyes--but they also laugh, and try to hide their smiles as they try to not let me know how much they actually love it.

Typically, it's one of those moments when I am in full on cheerleader mom mode.  To my kids, it 'might' be embarrassing, I suppose. My kids (and husband--who has, um, asked me to maybe not yell "THAT'S MY HUSBAND!!!" when he runs through the finish line at his next race.....  What's the fun in that????) will roll their eyes as I yell, cheer, dance, wave my posters, and drive my stickered-penned-and-otherwise-plastered-mommed-up-SUV to and from each event, but in their hearts and minds, they know I'm their biggest fan.  I've also been known to cheer and dance during homework, but (you're probably grateful) we don't have pictures of that. *sad face emoji*

To me, that's what's important.  My children and husband know how much they matter to me, and they know how proud I am of them.  This is my gift to them.  No matter what they are doing, I am, and always will be, their biggest and loudest cheerleader.  This is something I get to do as a their mom.  This is what I want them to pass on their children.  These are some of the stories I want them to tell my grandchildren about me.

This is what I want you to receive from this post:  Let your biggest cheerleader have his or her moment.  Whether it's your neighbor, sister, brother, mom, dad or cousin's sister's brother's gerbil's half-grandfather's sister, or a random stranger--let them be your biggest cheerleader, let them have their moment and know in your heart just how much you matter to that person.  Then, pass it on.