October 1st: A Recap

 It's October 1st. It's 86 degrees. The sun has turned autumn gold and the grass is fading. The temperatures dip slightly and then rocket back up to the 90s. The weather is a tease as always but I know after 23 years in this town, that the cold won't stick around until after Halloween.

The oldest child is 14. Beautiful, terrible 14. A world of possibilities. A world of fear. A world of self confidence. A world of doubt. Hair half pink, half blue. I've been roughly shoved into the world of apprentice colorist, as I learn to bleach and dye hair with a shave on the sides.  This kid looks at me with pleading eyes and wants me to create the vision so clear in their head. I doubt myself, worry, set a timer, and try my best, and it ends up not too bad. My eldest child still flits through the world as a pixie, like a butterfly. Like a hurricane. Like a force of nature. Art still pours out of her fingers like it's life itself. Academics and theatre and writing take the stage now. Music is still there but got burned by a bad band teacher. She worries that she will never know enough to make it in the world. And then she turns around and amazes all of us with how much she has always been grown up in her mind. Our family learns speak the language of Autism better and better as time goes on, carving out a safe place for our neuro-spicy family. 

The middle child is 12 and Lord help us all. The testosterone rage that descends on this sweet kid's mind. He alternates between sweet as honey and spicy as fire. He's learning to find himself. To know himself and what he needs. He's learning to speak up for what he needs. He's teachable and coachable but only if it's NOT me or his dad. He leans in where his strength lies and works hard, even at chores (amid loud protests). He's a loyal friend that cheers hard for his buddies and celebrates their achievements. He loves to play baseball, some for the game and I think some for the camaraderie. He still notices too much the moods of those around him and tries to make it all smooth as silk but that is in the power of no person, no matter if they are 12 or 112. He's still rocking his mullet, now with a pony tail we call his "Jim Hawkins" a la Treasure Island. He has his own style and ideas amid the mess of being 12. Music runs through him and it doesn't matter if it's trombone (even though he hates practicing but loves being good at it) or just riffing with his brother unconsciously as they go about their day.

The youngest is 10 and in some ways, found his stride with a good fit in sport. It was soccer. I should have known. He's the right build, has amazing speed and tenacity. Plight of the youngest child being dragged to whatever is easiest for Mama and Papa to make happen. But he spoke up for himself and said no more baseball, only soccer and running. He still does math like it's breathing, and spends his time on the trampoline, running shirtless and barefoot around the neighborhood, his summer blond mullet shining in the sun. We finally found the right bait to catch this last reluctant reader, coupled with a perceptive eye doc who gave him a bump in magnification to help his eyes track better together. He's still my jokester, still my black and white thinker. He seems so carefree and then surprises me with worrying about how he will ever learn to buy a house. Still strong and wild, still my monkey man. I love seeing him grow more into himself as the others have done before him.

I'm 46 and 11/12ths and after much mental resisting began to settle down of the business of being a true teacher to these kids, not just facilitating their curriculum. Seeking out information to make their learning go better and to navigate the peculiarities of their brains. I still have several books of my own cooking on the back burner of my mind and hard drive, (one added this month) which I give time to occasionally, but being a good teacher is my primary focus right now. I am still the queen of overthinking and still am plagued with the idea of the perfect "right answer" even though time has taught me there isn't one. Matt and I find more grace for each other and the kids as we learn to accept ourselves as we are and not as we wish we were. The lens of our neuro-diverse brains continue to color our world, often not the same color, but it blends to a good hue and works. I look forward to the year that is coming. To the change in the weather. To a change of scenery.

My heart is walking in the world today

 You are 12 and therefore know everything and with opinions about what you should be doing at all times. But I gently ignore all that and pack you off to Boy Scout camp to move rocks and do work that you are not willing to do but don't protest too sharply at. 

I think of how you are and if you remember to drink water. Because it's so very hot today and you forget. I figure that no news is good news and you are making it just fine.

And then in the late hours of the night the storm rolls in and the lightning crashes and the thunder booms and shakes the house and I think of my boy in a tent and how you will handle this moment. Will you be afraid? Will you sleep through the whole thing like you did before? Will you run for cover?

I don't know the answer yet. And one day not too long from now I will not know the answer unless you call home. Later today when I pick you up you will tell me how you handled yourself in the storm. But someday the storm will come and you will be a man who takes it as it comes or not. Who has the skills and the strength and the mind to face it or not quite yet. My heart will be walking around out in the world, as they say so blithely. But it doesn't make it easier to know it's coming.

You be the rocks. I'll be the river.

 You'll be the rocks. I'll be the river.

You are steady and immovable. 

Compressed, hardened, stoic 

Faithful and steadfast. 

I change shape with the weather. 

Flow and freeze. 

Rage and ripple.

We bend and flow in a timeless dance

You hold the path in

clear sharp boundaries

I wear the hard edges to smooth and round

We are glacial valleys

We are waterfalls

We are cliffs and shore

We are babbling brooks

We are deep mountain lakes

We are.

You'll be the rocks.

I'll be the river. 

We will go on

Together.

October 1st: A Recap

 October 1st, 2022. It's 53 degrees and the sun has shifted enough in its path (we shifted, I know) that the morning rays beam through the windows in new and interesting ways, lending warm but clear light to the blue walls in my dining room. We are settling into our homeschool rhythm. Navigating life and changes with various amounts of stumbling, triumph and humbling moments.

The oldest child is 13, nearly 14. She spends a ton of her time tromping about the neighborhood, dog on a lead, earbuds cranking out whatever neo-goth-irish folk music her phone suggests to her. It's her way of moderating her body when everything gets to be too much. She delves deep into her art, drawing and redrawing the same pose until it's perfect. She is woman-child embodied. Alternating between a very logical and thoughtful way of relating to others and a very emotional state, with the cares and troubles of this world invoking all the intense feelings. Her beautiful mind nimbly connects things she learns about herself and the world and she astounds me with her intelligence sometimes. She is learning to advocate for herself as an Autistic person and we are all re-learning the language she has been speaking to us her whole life, but with new ears and new understanding. She and some of her friends are newly enamored with the more relationally romantic aspects of life, which are hard for the parents to navigate with this first child. She often resists parental input, even good and kind encouragement, so when all else fails, I send memes and videos to let someone else's words tell her how amazing she is. If we find ourselves alone and driving, her inner world pours out to reveal the hidden depths of things she is processing.

The mIddle child is 11 and we get occasional hints of the first steps on the path to manhood in that telltale whiff of odors brewing in his armpits. Yes, puberty. It's not here, but it's coming. Of all the kids, he is still the most observant of the humans around him, the first to ask if someone is ok. The first to offer a hug. The first to say, “How can I help?” I have to remind him that it's not his job to fix the moods and problems of grownups, but he can ask for a hug if he needs one. He treads anxiously into new things: art, theatre, trombone, Boy Scouts, baseball. All of these things fit with itchy newness and trepidation, but then once he gets it, he wears his new skills like comfortable old clothes. He is still so loud, the king of punny jokes, so socially motivated, such a pest to his brother, such a good friend, a dreamer, a builder, a self-doubter, with innate musical awareness leaking out of him at every turn. I still find him outside, gloriously dirty and barefoot, shaping some creation to his will. His hair still has the cutest cowlicks forming bead-head horns on his head every morning. He still struggles to get his academic abilities to line up with his intelligence so we focus on his strengths and skill build to shore up the weaker areas. His multifaceted mind bounces from connection to connection, all with joy. All with hope. It bubbles out of him in irrepressible heaps.

The youngest child is 9 and still my little Loki. My jokester. My prankster. But now with sass. So much sass. This guy drops the best one-liners. He is always covered in dirt, always barefoot, always pondering the mysteries of the sky while lying back in the big circle swing. He builds lego creations like a master. He draws funny art to make us laugh. He has the black and white thinking that we didn’t see as early indicators of the oldest child’s Autistic traits. This knowledge allows us to provide tools to avoid the meltdowns that used to plague him. We are getting better at teaching and asking questions rather than making assumptions. He is brave, kind, unendingly silly, a live wire, sporting a 6 pack from just living life, and still Team Papa, his favorite human. He loves me too, but I see now that Matt and this boy are cut from the same cloth. Not exact copies, but the ingrained pattern is there. No wonder Matt is his favorite. He’s a natural mathematician, he is innately musical, he is a ham. He is also so hard on himself. He directs his anger inward and so we work hard on not using shame as a teaching tool or allowing him to shame himself into compliance. He wants so badly to be bigger and better at something than his siblings. He wants to shine in his own way and can’t see that he does already.

I’m 45 and 11/12ths and often still feel like I am in what Ira Glass calls “The Gap” (go watch the youtube video about it) in so many ways. I see the musician, linguist, teacher, wife, mother, writer, friend, activist, and artist I want to be, but am not there. And I struggle to carve out time (or remember to organize the time I do have) to create enough work to bridge that gap. But in the middle of all of it, I enjoy it. Don’t get me wrong. I shed plenty of tears and struggle but I give myself way more grace than ever before. I love when new knowledge and information works its way into my life, improving it in new and beautiful ways. I am grateful and looking for the good in each day, as my wise friends have taught me.

Homeschooling a 2nd Year

Second Year

Same as the first

A little bit louder and (hopefully) not a little bit worse!

I'm planning for the 2nd year of homeschool and I can't tell you how much stuff there is to process. I bought 2 different planners because I couldn't make up my mind. I also have been experimenting with a  digital planner. As a person who is a bit scattered, I'm almost 98% sure that a planner is not the answer but I gotta try.

I'm Still Here

 C asked if I could keep on writing in this space. I've written here so long and honestly just sorta stopped one day. I'm not sure why. Priorities shifting, I guess. I started posting to social media and it was so much easier, faster and didn't require me thinking or planning. Just a photo, a blurb and bam. Done. And then people left comments. :)  That was probably my favorite part. Interacting with humans when I was still at home in baby-land. Covid has done nothing to dissuade my habit either! It has been a lonely 10 months. Not horrible, or painful, or full of financial worry as many other have had, but lonely. But I'm still here.

October 1st: A Recap

October 1st. It’s 61 degrees. The moon is full.

We have been slowly shifting from a performance focused school mindset to a love of learning school mindset.

The oldest child is nearly 12. We are fully into the moody, blessed years of pushing against the constraints of childhood and getting ready to grow up in mind, not just in body. She’s too dang smart for her own good with her newfound access to technology, and this very afternoon I was googling how to foster self control in children, since that isn’t my strong suit either. It’s beautiful and terrifying to behold. The angsty pixie haircut, the love all things black. The hours spent in her self-made cocoon of sheets and Christmas lights, drawing and listening to music on her headphones. But she still has that cute little upturned nose she got from her Grandma Jackie and sleeps with her ragged stuffed bunny. I coax her out into the sunlight by making her walk her dog and sometimes make her forget her angst by dancing with her in the kitchen until she giggles. She’s smart enough to see how ridiculous the mood swings are and has the grace to (sometimes resentfully) laugh at herself. If I get her alone and out of her room, she tells me all the crazy fun things that are bouncing around in her beautiful brain.

The middle child is in the waning part of his 9th year, set free from the bounds of public school and set loose on the world (neighborhood) to test his mettle. He is a dreamer, a thinker, a builder of epic lego concoctions, a consumer of books, and a distract-o-bot who loves making art and comics with his trusty BFF (the middle F fluctuating between the two parts of Frenemy) /youngest brother at his side. I see him out in the sun on the sidewalk, or catch a bare foot dangling from his hammock and I ask what he is doing. “Just thinking”, he replies. He’s all war and knights and battles and pirates, troll hunters and epic beasts, his eyes lightly skimming over the gore and horror of the topic and landing on the feats of bravery, band of brothers camaraderie, cool weaponry and armor. He’s the one who seeks out new music and chases down rabbit trails of snippets of songs he hears until he says, “Mama. You gotta hear this music.” And I find myself listening to D.J. Marshmallow without knowing how this happened. He’s the one who is never in his body, but somewhere in his head. The scars on his knees and elbows (and this week his mouth) are evidence. He keeps my first aid skills fresh. This week he had me googling “wound care in the mouth.” Good times. He’s still my sensitive soul. The one who passes through logic to the heart of the matter and no amount of words will explain it all. I just hold him while his big grey-green eyes look up at me, as if I have the answers.

The youngest child is my live wire. My prankster, my jokester. My Loki. Still mercurial in his moods, still my early morning riser who greets me (and the dog) at the dawn with the grin only a 7 and a half year old sports, all teeth too big for his face and gaps between them big enough to squish through a considerable amount of jell-o. He’s all muscle and scrappy quickness. He climbs and jumps and leaps where angels dare to tread. He’s the kid who told me days after it happened that he had gone for a walk alone around the block. I never even knew he was gone. I thought he was outside playing in the yard while I made dinner. He follows wherever his big brother leads, but will straight up cut you if you don’t also listen to his opinion. He holds himself to a high standard and when he doesn’t understand or get it perfect the first time, is so hard on himself that I have to tell him that I don’t let anyone talk to my kid that way. Not even him. His mind is quick and logical, cunning and silly. He doesn’t let anything slip past him. Cookies in the house? He knows how many are in the box and how many everyone else has already had. He’s gonna get his fair share. He’s desperate to be big, but is still the one who comes in for a morning snuggle.

Charlie is 9 months old and has a nose for legos. I wish I had started an art piece called “Things I fished from my puppy’s mouth” the day he came to be with us. It would be disgusting and epic. He chews things he shouldn’t but brings them to me as if to say “Please take this away from me.” He’s the best soccer goalie in the family and makes epic stops, leaps and catches mid air, as long as the ball is kinda flat. He’s a great addition to the family and we are finally coming out of that phase where I feel like I have a hairy baby to take care of, but who I occasionally put in a big metal crate to sleep and if he were a human, that would be totally wrong.

I’m 43 and 11 months and I’ve had a grown up job for most of this year where I get paid and everything! And no, I don’t mean homeschooling 3 kids. That’s my other job, which is awesome and I am loving but am not confident in yet. I’m a freelance project manager for a marketing firm and who woulda thought after managing a house, 3 kids, a rental, childcare, finances and everything in between that I’d be good at holding all the strings of a project in my hand and making sure everything gets done. Matt says I’m the best he’s ever worked near. High praise! I got a bit closer to finishing that album I’ve been working on forever and amidst love and loss and Covid, I found that I do survival really well. It’s looking forward and making plans for 5-10 years out that is harder to keep my mind on. We are renovating the house after nearly 14 years of just living with things exactly as they were the day we moved in and this week after working with the guys who were setting the countertops, one joked that they should hire me and the other asked me when I was going to get my General Contractor license. I talk the talk but am still fumbling my way through this process. Hard and costly lessons are good teachers but hard masters. I try to keep my eyes on the good things most of the time. I look for good and glory and grace. It’s hard in the midst of all of this to not get swamped by the weight of it all. I fight the good fight, rest and then wade back into the fray.