School's Out. I'm Officially Turning the Cooking Over to Atticus for the Summer, and This is How I Feel:

"You're more of a Domestic Cat Mom."

Yesterday I mentioned to my daughters that I'd read this article about the ways in which the children of "tiger moms" are, generally speaking, unhappier than non-tiger cubs.*

It got me thinking about the definition of success, and about how my definitions have changed over the years. There was a time when "success" for me would have meant following my dream to become a stage actress. But as I explored that possibility, I became disenchanted because when I seriously examined what I was doing, I realized I got bored during the run of a play. While it was always fun at the outset -- the read-through, the first rehearsal, figuring out the character -- to play a Tennessee Williams villain, or to take up smoking in an effort to make inhaling look realistic to the audience, in the end it all just got a little dull.

When I set out on a quest to find a new spark, a purpose, the meaning of life, my definitions grew fuzzy for a long time before they came back into focus. I remember -- sometime in my twenties, I think -- a friend's mother saying that she was worried about me. I was "just drifting." I had no plan for success, no goals. Where was I going, she wondered?

I didn't know where I was going either. I was worried about me, too. If I had crafted a plan entitled, "How to Achieve Happiness, Relative Emotional Stability, a Strong Marriage, and a Highly Imperfect But Fulfilling Life," that plan would not have included, "Have a conversion to Christianity, abandon everything you thought you believed, become a Catholic, give up birth control, have babies and miscarriages, and trust God even when life is annoyingly hard and challenging." Point A and Point B would not have appeared, in my previous perceptions, to ever, ever merge.

But when I decided that my priority in life -- my one thing, my definition of success -- was to figure out what I did and did not believe in, other things began to fall into place. My faith, my marriage, my family ... that's my hierarchy. It's the kind of hierarchy that Atticus and I have tried to teach our daughters, too. Get things figured out with God and the rest will eventually follow. Writing, for example.

That doesn't mean that life won't require discernment, courage, the discipline of an education, or that our children can skip sifting through the often-confusing choices available to young women in the career and family arenas. It doesn't mean their lives are predetermined, predestined, or guaranteed to be easy. It simply means that if they define success in spiritual terms -- How's stuff going with us, God? Are we good? -- the worldly terms don't much matter, and the worldly choices become a little clearer. A successful life might end up including stage acting, or it might not. It might mean being an at-home mom, or teaching in a public school and hearing kids tell you that you made a difference to them. It could mean a loud, public life, or a quiet, hidden one.

Their one thing. That's what I want my daughters to figure out, know, understand. And I can't, tiger-mom style, force that on them or on anyone.

~~~~~

"Thank you for not being a tiger mom," Anne-with-an-e said.

"Yeah, you're more of a Domestic Cat Mom," added Betsy.

I can live with that.

*Obviously, it's not quite as simple as that, and the article is worth a read. 

Ramona's Summer Reading List, Part One

Ten-year-old reader (nearly 11 ... eek!) looking for ideas, so I'm starting a list for her. Here's the first installment, in no particular order.

She's not three anymore. (Sniff, sniff.) 

Where the Mountain Meets the Moon, Grace Lin

Because of Winn Dixie, Kate de Camillo

Number the Stars, Lois Lowry

The Winged Watchman, Hilda van Stockum

Magic by the Lake
Knight's Castle
The Time Garden, Edward Eager

Island of the Blue Dolphins, Scott O’Dell

The Little White Horse, Elizabeth Goudge

Anne of Avonlea, L.M. Montgomery

The Story of Doctor Dolittle, Hugh Lofting

Love That Dog, Sharon Creech

Justin Morgan Had a Horse, Marguerite Henry

From the Mixed-up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, E.L. Konigsburg

Rules, Cynthia Lord

Beorn the Proud, Madeleine A. Polland

The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland in a Ship of Her Own Making, Catherynne M. Valente

The Witch of Blackbird Pond, Elizabeth George Speare

Lilly's Crossing, Patricia Reilly Giff

Sun Slower Sun Faster, Meriol Trevor

The Phantom Tollbooth, Norton Juster

The Cricket in Times Square, George Selden

Bits and Pieces of Our Days

It was a high school graduation weekend around here -- no one in our immediate family this weekend, but I accompanied Atticus to some Friday night receptions, then Saturday, the girls and I (Atticus had local graduation duty) hit the road to celebrate with "our twins."

"Our twins" are S. and J., and I've known them since before they were born. When their mom and I met, our husbands were colleagues -- English teachers at a small school. And because it was a small school, these two literary types were both required to assist with football coaching. And because small schools revolve around sports, and because two youngish football coaches' wives had no children and no other excuses not to go, Sally and I hit the road together for an away game and had plenty of time to talk. We found out that we were both English majors, too. We discovered that we both wanted families but were struggling to have them (I'd had two miscarriages by that time.) We unearthed shared passions, and realized we loved one another's company. Our husbands were becoming friends, too, and so we were given the gift of that rare mix -- two couples, four friends, all of whom not only get along but thrive in one another's company.

Soon, Anne-with-an-e came along, and then Sally had the twins (she didn't find out she was carrying twins until she was seven months along ... can you imagine?!), then they had another boy, and we had Betsy, and they moved away. I worried that things would change (and of course, in practical, everyday ways, they did), but we have remained great friends. And our kids, despite the two-hour distance, have grown up together.

And now the twins are too grown up for my taste. Can't time stand still for just a wee bit while I catch my breath?

*****

Mother's Day.

Quiet, lovely. Time to catch my breath.

Mass. (Thankful for our pastor, who so sensitively did not single out mothers to stand up for a blessing, but blessed all women at the end of the general intercessions, including spiritual mothers.) Savored this chocolate mousse cake, compliments of Atticus. Read this book.  Napped. Thanked God for my daughters.

*****

Looking forward to reading my two Mother's Day gifts -- Sally Thomas's Brief Light: Sonnets and Other Small Poems, and The Scent of Water by Elizabeth Goudge.

*****

Finished reading last week: The Snow Child. Will need to post about it separately. Too much to say. Betsy read it on Sunday/Monday, and it was fun to discuss it with her.

*****

Schoolish stuff: Schoolish hath endish. Pretty muchish. 

Poetry Friday: Luci Shaw

Wrong Turn
by Luci Shaw

I took a wrong turn the other day.
A mistake, but it led me to the shop where I found
the very thing I'd been searching for.

(Read the rest of this succinct and perfect little poem here, at The Writer's Almanac.)

~~~~~~~~~~

The Poetry Friday Round up is at Anastasia Suen's Poetry blog. 

Busy Morning = Compensate With a Cute Video

Without Homework or Tests? How Is That POSSIBLE?

It's fascinating to me, the ways in which people react to what they consider (or don't consider) an education.

This headline says, "Photo Series Explores What Happens When Kids Don't Do Homework." A little foreboding, no? Kind of a, "This is your brain on drugs," feel to that one. The headline for the Toronto Star article is a little more straightforward: "Children of Toronto alternative school, 40 years later." I also saw a tabloid headline that screamed, "What did the children who went to school WITHOUT homework or tests do next? Students of free-spirited experiment 40 years later."

(Without homework or tests?! Horrors! Witness the freaks of educational nature as they grapple with pencils and backpacks, moaning, "I don't know how to fill in the bubbles on this hellish thing called an answer sheet!")

Anyway. Got that out of my system.

To get the full story, rather than just the snippets that Yahoo or a tabloid would have you to read, visit Michael Barker's website. He's a photographer who attended the Alpha Alternative School in Toronto in the 1970s. With Ariel Fielding (who provided the text and interviews for the project and also attended the school), he has put together a fun and interesting "Then-and-Now" scrapbook of lives and experiences. It isn't definitive; it isn't meant to be. It's not a treatise on education or an in-depth examination of alternative methods. It's just a handful of stories -- stories of people who happened to go to a school that was different.

It was worth visiting the website for the full essays -- especially due to things like this Yahoo snippet from Flannery Fielding, for example. In the Yahoo bit:

She says, "I think most kids at Alpha had a sense of supe­ri­or­ity about the free­dom we had -- to learn, to play, to be our­selves — although for me and my friends, that even­tu­ally trans­formed into a kind of dread about what we might be miss­ing, how hard it was going to be for us in the 'real world.'"

On Barker's site, her quote goes immediately on to say,

From ALPHA I went on to two dif­fer­ent alter­na­tive junior high schools and then to a ‘reg­u­lar’ high school, which was ter­ri­fy­ing at first but turned out to be eas­ier to adapt to than I expected (although I never really got the hang of home­work.)

Fielding affectionately recalls the freedom and joy the school provided. She also honestly mentions that, "The down­side of that free­dom to do what I liked was less expo­sure to math and other sub­jects, and I think that worked to rein­force my sense that I wasn’t good at math or French."

Another former student, Maggie Marelli, said

I’d say ALPHA gave me a sense of com­mu­nity and of myself as a val­ued per­son, with things to con­tribute, and also the abil­ity to explore and learn in an inde­pen­dent fash­ion. The dis­ad­van­tage was prob­a­bly that, as a kid who really hated aca­d­e­mics, I took every chance I could to avoid the for­mal learn­ing ses­sions, and thus have some holes in my foun­da­tional knowl­edge.

Gaps.
Early influences.
Weirdness in school or out.
Trying to pin down the definition of an education.
Questions about what might have been different had we gone to a different school.

We all have those. I went to public schools for twelve years (thirteen, I guess, if you count half-days and naps at Kindergarten, where the main thing I remember learning is that I loved to quote my Kindergarten teacher to my siblings: "Mrs. Nelson says it's not polite to interrupt.") I still have gaps in my foundational knowledge. I always will. One thing I've learned is that learning is lifelong.

Marelli also said:

At my main­stream high school I was quite shocked by the stu­dents vs. teach­ers men­tal­ity, which seemed like such a bar­rier to learn­ing....

I believe the demo­c­ra­tic nature of ALPHA has made me a more sen­si­ble per­son. I also see that qual­ity quite strongly in the peo­ple I went to ALPHA with, now that we are all grown up....

ALPHA was a home to me, and my class­mates were a fam­ily. I don’t think you can have a bet­ter start in life than that.

I didn't closely read the comments on the Yahoo page -- I skimmed just a handful of them and some were exactly what one would predict: criticisms of the school, triumphant proclamations that alternatives will never produce math geniuses, snarky comments about the lack of doctors and lawyers among the eight subjects. But there also seemed to be a contingent who saw the project (even that edited piece of the project) for what it was: a snapshot. A look at some interesting, sometimes average people. Some quirky, some "normal" (whatever that is.) The acknowledgement that some people will thrive in an alternative educational environment and others will not. An affectionate look back at a unique place and time. A brief, human reflection.

Just as the Alpha School Project was not meant to be an exhaustive research piece, my musings on homeschooling are not definitive proclamations. I never claim that our way of educating is the best possible of all ways and I won't claim that we don't have gaps, are academically superior, that we have all the answers, or never take a misstep.

What I can claim is that our eclectic methods work for us, and our situation is really all I can speak to. We are average, sometimes-interesting, sometimes quirky, sometimes normal people making our way in the world. We're figuring it out as we go. We give each other room to make mistakes. We love each other. We forgive.

And, as Maggie Marelli said, "I don't think you can have a better start in life than that."

When Spelling and Christian Charity Collide

This morning, Ramona, holding a community flyer, said to me, "Huh. I don't know if I even want to volunteer for this -- they spelled it 'volenteer'!" 

(Photo courtesy of Stock.xchng.)

Ramona Tweet

Karen Edmisten‏@Karen_Ed

Yesterday Ramona had a slip of paper clipped to her unruly, post-swimming pool hair: "I'm giving my hair a detention."

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Poetry Friday: Elizabeth Spires

Beautiful poem from Elizabeth Spires. Read more about her here, at The Poetry Foundation.

The Faces of Children
by Elizabeth Spires

Meeting old friends after a long time, we see
with surprise how they have changed, and must imagine,
despite the mirror's lies, that change is upon us, too.

Once, in our twenties, we thought we would never die.
Now, as one thoughtlessly shuffles a deck of cards,
we have run through half our lives.

The afternoon has vanished, the evening changing
us into four shadows mildly talking on a porch.

(Read the rest here, at The Writer's Almanac.)

For Tanita, Because It Was Her Idea

When I posted this, I mentioned that Atticus couldn't bear to eat the clementine he'd packed for his lunch (he hadn't looked before he packed) because Ramona had accessorized it thus:

Then Tanita Davis said that she would have placed those taped bits on something else to be discovered. 

So, Tanita, today I'm inviting you over for coffee and fruit: 

Hope you can make it. 

Recent Reading: Mine and Ramona's

Ramona:

* For Ramona's book club, we finished The Five Little Peppers and How They Grew, by Margaret Sidney. 

First published in 1881, the sometimes old-fashioned language was a minor hurdle, but once she cleared it, Ramona was in this race to the end (and was sad to reach the finish line.) Lucky for us, there are other Pepper books.

We're adding the Peppers to the list of families we love to spend time with: the March family, the Mitchells, the Quimbys, the Rays and the Kellys, the Penderwicks (and many more, of course, and you know who you are, Cuthberts and various and sundry other dreamboat families.) 

I linked above to an edition with a lovely cover, but the book is also available for free on Kindle.

* The Girl's Like Spaghetti: Why, You Can't Manage without Apostrophes! by Lynne Truss

Truss's books are among my all-time favorites for:

1.) Laughter
2.) Teaching punctuation, grammar, and usage. (Why, yes, I am a fan of the Oxford comma.)

Ramona's also been reperusing Twenty-Odd Ducks: Why, every punctuation mark counts!

~~~~~~~~~~

My recent reading:

I just read The Edge of Sadness by Edwin O'Connor. Wow. Just wow.

That's my sputtery, completely inarticulate reaction.

Here's the longer version: The book was recommended to me by a priest friend whose taste in books is always superb, so I picked it up. I was instantly engrossed. The book was published in 1961 but its story of an alcoholic priest, Fr. Hugh Kennedy, is timeless. The writing is exquisite. A couple examples:

There are all sorts of answers suggested to this problem [of suffering], most of which are as old as the problem itself; some are foolish, others are as reasonable as the mind of man could possibly devise. But here it seems to me we deal with something reason cannot reach, and with that part of man which reason does not touch, for when someone stands fixed and helpless before another's suffering -- especially in those cases when those who suffer are plainly innocent of any guilt -- then the cool light of reason may not be of much help. A syllogism does not support a mother who has seen her baby burned. 

And:

So that when the time comes for me to go, I know that I will go with full confidence in God -- but I also know that I will go with sadness. And I think for no reason other than that ... well, I have been alive. An old priest who was dying, one of the saintliest men I have ever known, one of those who had the greatest reason to expect God's favor, many years ago surprised me by telling me, with a little smile, that now that he was going, he wanted desperately to stay.  

"A single memory can do it," he said.  

And I suppose he was right. The memory of an instant -- of a smile, of leaf-smoke on a sharp fall day, of a golden streak across a rain-washed  morning, of a small boy seated alone on the seashore, solemnly building his medieval moated castles -- just this one, single, final flash of memory can be enough to make us want to stay forever. 

It isn't, however, all sublime reflections on faith, aging, and the human condition. There is sly humor.  Oh, how I loved Fr. Hugh's observations -- full of annoyance and amusement, and ultimately affection -- for his earnest, young assistant pastor. And there are precisely drawn characters: real, funny, maddening, and heart-wrenching.

I just now went Googling for an interesting link about the book and found that Terry Teachout wrote about it last week. (But avoid his piece until after you've read the book if you don't want spoilers of a sort....)

Highly recommended.

The "What Will They Do With the Kitchen Counter While I'm Out of Town?" Experiment

Before I left for Birmingham last week, I told my family that I'd be conducting a little domestic/sociological experiment. Of course, the fact that I told them I'd be doing this skewed my results, so it would be more accurate to say that I warned them, "Don't let stuff pile three feet high on that counter while I'm gone! You have no idea how many times a day I actually clear debris and shrapnel off that counter!"

(That's a mom's version of, "Hypothesis: If parental unit does not make expectations clear before said unit leaves town, results upon homecoming will be ugly.")

Ramona vowed to keep a captioned photo journal of the counter while I was gone. Here are the findings of our little experiment:

Ramona: "Day 1 Description: Not bad. About the same as when you left." 

(Me: I don't think I left my glasses there. And I don't remember leaving that birthday present teetering precariously on the counter's edge. But, okay. Not bad.) 

~~~~~~~~~~

Ramona: "Day 2 Description: Pretty good." 

(Me: Yes! That's what I'm talkin' about.) 

~~~~~~~~~~

Ramona: "Day 3 Description: Not horrible, but not great." 

(Me: Ummm, why does that gift keep migrating? Why are my glasses traveling around the counter when I'm out of town? I do, however, like that cookbook being out. It contains the chocolate cake recipe Atticus used for my birthday cake.) 

~~~~~~~~~~

Conclusion: 

Be sure to yell at everyone about the kitchen counter before you leave town.*  Make your expectations clear.

* I didn't actually yell, but, "Tease your daughters about the counter," doesn't sound as blogworthy as "yell at everyone." 

Yesterday's Ramona Tweet

After math:

Me: "See, Ramona, fractions aren't so bad, are they?"

Ramona: "No, but they are annoying."

The EWTN Trip

Ok, so, the trip.

It started with an invitation some time back from the ever-lovely Donna-Marie Cooper O'Boyle to be a part of her five-part series, Catholic Mom's Cafe. Donna invited me to discuss the subject of miscarriage with her, and given that it's an important topic to me, I said yes.

I used to travel somewhat regularly. In my pre-conversion, pre-kid, businesswoman days, I had to attend trade shows and I knew how to pack a bag, hop on a plane, hail a taxi, and avoid the hilariously overpriced drinks in the hotel fridge. I have forgotten all of that (except avoiding the overpriced drinks.) When we went to Florida last year, it was the first time I had flown in years (we normally drive our rickety van everywhere), but at least that trip brought me up to speed on airport security and quart-size ziplock bags.

Moving on....

Ramona wasn't thrilled with (or used to) the idea of my going out of town, so my instinct was to schedule as little time away from the family as possible. I drove to Omaha late Monday afternoon and spent the first hour-to-ninety minutes slogging through a sleet-and-snowstorm for which I can only be grateful as I'm sure I shaved a goodly time off my stay in purgatory. Monday night was delightful -- time spent with friend, Jack, and Orange Leaf frozen yogurt. Flight on Tuesday morning, arrival in Birmingham about 3:15 p.m., transport provided by kindly EWTN driver to comfortable EWTN guest house.

Here I am (that's me behind the camera), missing all the other ladies and their group pictures:

As it turned out, all the other guests taped their segments on Tuesday; since mine was taped Wednesday morning and one of the women had to leave before I arrived, there was not a single moment when all six of us -- Donna, Lisa Hendey, Lisa Mladinich, Marge Fenelon, and Woodeene Koenig-Bricker -- were together. Thus, the magic of photo manipulation:

Lisa M., Donna, Woodeene, Marge, Lisa H., and me, hovering in the corner, always late to the party. 

Can I express how lovely these women are? Talking, laughing, praying, sharing meals, swapping stories personal and professional, supporting one another ... my short time at EWTN was more than a chance to have a discussion with Donna-Marie about the pain of and healing from miscarriage, as tremendous as that opportunity was (and my prayer is that the show can reach and help many women.) It was also a chance to share time with my cyber colleagues, to hear their voices in person, to express my admiration for them, and to  know that the Body of Christ is alive and moving among us.

Wednesday, after my taping, I had time for a little final chatting with Lisa Hendey and Marge, then Mass at the EWTN chapel, lunch, and back to the airport. I was home by 11 pm Wednesday night.

And now that I know Ramona can survive a couple of days without me -- more importantly, now that she knows that -- maybe next time I'll get to town a little sooner, have time to tour the EWTN studio, and not have to hover in group pictures.