Refried Beans Revisited

Well, it is official. Our daughter attended a screening day at the church school, and had so much fun that she decided she wanted to go. And when she decides something, it usually happens. There is no person I know who has such positive intention when she sets her mind to something. She repeats her intention as if it were already true, and it happens.

Last year, it was, "I am going to meet Richard Dean Anderson." She had it written on small bits of paper in her room. She repeated it often. She was convinced that she would meet MacGyver. The only problem was that the tickets went on sale on the Internet at 5 a.m. PST one day in January, and they sold out in two minutes. But by August, we had a photo of her with the biggest grin imaginable, squeezing the breath out of the poor guy.

Since her screening day at the school, she's been saying, "I'm going to the Academy next year." Her father and I were still discussing options and deciding about private school, but she kept repeating her intention. Of course, her desire played the biggest role in the decision, but the expense was a consideration that she did not control. Yet she kept repeating her intention.

One day I happened into the school office while I was at church, mainly to tell them that we were still seriously considering. The receptionist mentioned that there was another screening next week. I was shocked. I thought I had an understanding with the principal. Here they were, letting someone else test drive my new car when I had already shaken hands with the salesman. I panicked at the possibility of losing our option.

"Let me write you a check," I said.

After filling in the final paperwork and handing her a $300 non-refundable deposit check that secured the spot, she happened to mention that another child was intending to leave and open up a second spot. I smiled through my annoyance. She would have made a good car salesman.

Well, at least the decision is made. One more positive intention come true. Well, at least until the novelty wears off. We'll see if a lifelong homeschooling night owl can make it to school by 8 a.m. every morning after an evening full of homework. Hopefully we won't be hearing by Christmas, "I am going back to homeschooling. I am going back to homeschooling."

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Refried Beans

It's like deja vu all over again. Twice baked potatoes. Refried beans. I feel like I did years ago, as a mother approaching Kindergarten with her firstborn. Only this time we stare down the barrel of high school.

There are more comparisons with my preteen daughter's early years than I like to admit. All she wants to do these days is sleep. She eats all the time, or is fussy about what I try to feed her. She whines when she does not have enough sleep or food, and cries often. Music soothes her. She likes a nightlight (emanating from a computer screen as she sits in front of it). She has colic in the form of hormones, and giggles at the least provocation. At least she is potty-trained.

Unlike when she was a toddler however, I find that I am no longer able to provide for her all that she needs. Where once I was the center of her world, she now has expanded her domain to include best friends and boys, teen idols and yahoo groups. She has grown into a lovely, strong, no-nonsense young lady, and I find that I admire her. Instead of looking back wistfully and missing my little girl, I look forward to witnessing the young woman she is becoming.

Just as when she moved from preschool to school, this transition from preteen to teen is not without its decisions. We have multiple paths in front of us which we can take, any of which would be acceptable. But somehow the "best" path must be found, without being able to travel down it first. We must squint into the underbrush, trying to detect the thorns and brambles. We try to climb to the highest hill to see which path leads to the most generous pot of gold.

These multiple paths are similar to the questions that we had at the turn of the millenium. Is there any school good enough for our daughter? Should we start our fall-birthday child this year or next? Should we homeschool? We researched and toured, and attended open houses and put in applications, just to keep our options open. The ultimate decision came with a phone call from an excellent preschool which was very difficult to get into. The director was offering my daughter a position in their "gift of time" program for five-year-olds waiting to start school.

It was during this conversation that out-of-the-box thinking won the day. We decided to send our daughter to this lovely afternoon preschool after a morning of homeschooling Kindergarten. It was brilliant. (The director thought the idea so brilliant that she called me in a subsequent slow year to ask if I knew any other mothers interested in doing the same thing.) We repeated the plan with our second child, since the underbrush was already cut away. The teacher and I worked together, where I was the primary teacher and she was my support.

Once we made the decision to homeschool our daughter, I knew we were in it for the long-haul. To satisfy doubters, I would say, "We are taking it a year at a time." Yet in my heart I could see our path straight and clear for many years ahead. My son followed in his sister's footsteps, with adjustments made for him as necessary. We have worked for years with a wonderful teacher at a homeschooling charter school, where I am the primary teacher and she is my support.

I saw this new multiple fork in the road from far off, but I ignored it as we continued along picking poppies and letting butterflies land on our fingers. But it looms closer now than ever. The word I find in my mind and on my heart is this: discernment. To be able to perceive that which is obscure in order to judge wisely and objectively--this is my perseverent prayer.

Just when we thought we started this discernment comfortably early in the process, we have added a new urgency. Our K-8 church school had a second open house to attract students in this belching economy. This second open house prompted some out-of-the-box thinking. What if my daughter were to enter eighth grade in the fall at this lovely little school? She already knows half the children in her class from church and choir. It would be the softest place for her to land into the school system. Just for grins, I popped into the eight grade class to talk to the teacher. Turns out there is one spot in the eighth grade, with no one waiting.

With some consideration, I see many advantages to this eighth grade option. I would remain her primary teacher, if only in spirit, choosing to take advantage of the curriculum and offerings this school provides, in exchange for compliance to their schedule and requirements. I am used to being accountable to our charter school. Teaching my daughter would not stop; in fact, it may ramp up given the demanding nature of middle school. Another advantage is that this school feeds into the local private high school, which feeds into the local prestigious private university which my daughter knows she want to attend. It is tempting.

I ended up putting in the application to the church school, just to keep our options open. As active parishioners with an excellent student, the spot is ours if we want it. My daughter's first response was to sob, and her second to blink, and her third to see the bright side and smile. Much like when she was two. This is a serious consideration to ponder for us, as it would be life-changing in this household. But a soft place to land it is. A single class of nice kids whom she knows already, with no substance abuse or open romance. People tell me these children are more like siblings than anything, since they have been together for years. They support and tease, and play and cajole. They even wear uniforms to level the playing field. It would be a place for my daughter to belong, fully accepted and absorbed into their group. They have asked her for years to go there. The principal insists that prospective students spend a day on campus with a buddy, and my daughter is looking forward to that in a few weeks. Only she can't decide which of her friends she wants to be her buddy.

If we made this decision, I would continue to homeschool our son, mainly because he needs the personalized attention right now and I am not ready to completely give up my life. His class level at this school is full anyway, with a wait list. But in the spirit of keeping our options open, I put his name on that wait list just in case I get a phone call in a few years when the time is right. For now, the principal told us to take our time deciding about our daughter, and she promised to call us first if she got any other offers for that one eighth grade spot. We could then decide to put in our deposit or not. So the ultimate decision may come in the future with a phone call from an excellent school which is very difficult to get into. Refried beans.

Etymology moment: Refried beans are only fried once. The Spanish term "frijoles refritos" actually means “well fried beans." The error in translation comes from assuming re- is a prefix and frito means fried (which it only does in Frito-Lay land).

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The Life of Cycles

Apparently, God thought cycles to be a good plan. Day, night. Winter, spring, summer, fall. Evaporation, condensation. Life, death, rebirth. Mankind has taken God's concept of cycles and run with it. Bicycles. Chain saws. The calendar. Cycles are all around us, and as part of our everyday life as breathing. Yet sometimes we resist these cycles and cause ourselves pain. The cycle of homeschooling is not exempt from these natural laws, and acknowledging the many inherent cycles can give peace to an otherwise discouraged outlook.

I recently attended a talk at church given by an old friend whom I consider wise. I hadn't seen Diana in fourteen years, but we've been exchanging Christmas cards across the country all this time. As former head of catechetical ministry at my church, she was the first person I met there when I went searching for community. At our first meeting, she spoke to me in her confident Southern accent about the liturgical year. Diana showed me a colorful wheel with the seasons of Lent, Easter, ordinary time (the "long, hot summer"), Advent and Christmas. I will never forget how wide my eyes became as she explained the big picture of the cycle of the Church calendar, suddenly giving meaning and place for all the holidays and traditions that I so haphazardly celebrated. She gave me cycle.

In her recent talk, Diana focused on preparation for Lent, the Church's springtime. She spoke of our own seasons of generation and retreat. In looking through the viewfinder of an entire life, there are years when we are more generative, making children and making plans. Then there are later years when we may retreat to be closer to God, letting others make the children and the plans. Zooming in more closely to shorter periods of time, generation and retreat are built into our calendar. We generate during the day; we rest at night. We generate on the weekdays; we retreat on the weekends. We generate during the school year; we retreat during summer and holidays. As long as we follow these cycles without resistance, we are open to feelings of peace and contentment.

It is when we resist these generative and retreat cycles that problems arise. Too much work and no play make Jack a dull boy. Too much play and no work make Jack a jerk. Consistent generation without break causes burnout, depression, fatigue, and a desire to quit. Extended retreat without production causes chaos, guilt, shame, and resentment. Honoring our cycles and rising above our mood-driven nature allows us to stay balanced on the generation-retreat cycle, and remain balanced in our emotions and surroundings.

There are cycles that occur in the background of our lives that affect our outlook as well. Long ago I recognized a cycle of excellence that permeates my teaching. Sometimes I was spot-on with planning, preparation, execution, and results. Other times it is all I can do to produce the minimum required. It is at these minimalist times that I am tempted to feel discouraged, outraged at myself, guilty, and desirous of quitting. Fortunately, I have a free token that I am able to use at times like these. It is called, "This too shall pass." I was given this wisdom as a child, and it has served me well in my life, bringing a token of optimism when it is needed most.

Homeschooling as a form of education does not have a monopoly on this cycle of excellence. Every school child has good years and bad; good weeks and bad; good days and bad. Every teacher is subject to the same. The difference is that homeschooling can feel like running a marathon alone. If there is no support, or someone to validate you (including yourself), then it can be easy to fall into discouragement during the low ebbs in the cycle of excellence. A homeschooling teacher can feel so singular in the huge responsibility of raising up a child in the way he should go, that it can be overwhelming.

In the eight years that I have struggled and succeeded and struggled again, I have learned two things about the ups and downs: respect the generative-retreat cycle, and accept the ups and downs in the excellence cycle.

I recently spent two weeks staring at the wall. I had no motivation to do much of anything outside of my own interests. The laundry piled up; the schoolwork stacked; and dirty dishes appeared as food disappeared. I beat myself up for my apparent laziness, and I was as discouraged as I can get. I knew it would pass, but it sure was taking its sweet time. One day as I was writing to a friend about how busy my life had been the last four months, I realized the problem. I had run for months with too much going on, and had worked evenings and weekends to get it all done. Instead of using evening and weekends to regenerate, I was using them to generate more. As soon as my projects let up, I let down. I had burned myself out, and my body and mind were forcing me to take a long overdue break. Unfortunately, that break caused more chaos and it took much longer to pull out. I had not respected the generative-retreat cycle over a period of several months, and the outcome was burnout.

Of course, my excellence was impacted hard by this burnout. But even with a balance of output and rest, the cycle of excellence goes on with a mind of its own. As a teacher, I know that when I accept the times that I do not shine, I more quickly get back in my game. Accepting a student's ups and downs presents more challenges. It is so difficult to accept a mediocre paper from an outstanding student. But sometimes mediocre papers happen, and pushing for perfection each and every time is going to impact the psyche of the student. Conversely from the student's perspective, expecting perfection from himself can also cause problems. When a 98% is failing according to the child, it is time for a good chat. Teaching acceptance of cyclical excellence and mediocrity (i.e., not every test will be 100%) will do more for the perfectionist child than the extra effort to keep the wind in their idealistic sails.

Respect and acceptance. Works for more than cycles. It reminds me of a homily that I heard at a friend's wedding. The priest said, "All you must do is treat each other with love and patience. Love and patience. Nothing more is required, and nothing less works." Respecting your natural cycles is a form of loving yourself. Accepting your natural ups and downs is a form of patience with yourself. The system seems to work when I follow it. Apparently, God thought cycles to be a good plan.

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