Updates and such

We're still trying to find a school for Snuggler for the fall. Yes, this fall. That means two weeks from now. It's not an easy process; New York is notorious for being difficult about school placements, and we're looking at a complicated array of needs. I went to visit one school a couple of weeks back, about which I had many questions and for which I only began to find out answers yesterday.

After talking with the school social worker I spoke with the "educational consultant" who is helping us, to de-brief. "I think that woman doesn't like me," I told her, "But she'll get over it!"

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My mother gave Snuggler a Nook for her birthday. I have mixed feelings about it; I'm beginning to hate what screens do to the family dynamic. But there are benefits, too.

The other night Snuggler downloaded an app called Songify, which turns whatever you say into a pop song. My kids are big Jane Austen fans, so they recorded oddities like "Mr. Darcy eating cheesecake in a bathtub outside", and had them altered into some sort of rap song. It was quite clever. And then all five of them (Eldest is home for an end-of-summer visit) sat around doing preschool karaoke and laughing endlessly.

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When you have several children, there is an enhancement to the one-thing-always-leads-to-another rule, so one thing leads to two or three things. I dunno what's with that; somebody must think that moms of many have an inner need to stay busy. On Tuesday I took Big Guy for a routine checkup and now I need to set up appointments for allergy shots, an ENT visit, and possibly a sleep study. Yesterday I went for a routine checkup and now I have to schedule a bone density test (thanks to my broken jaw), a dermatology visit, a mammogram, colonoscopy, GYN appointment and, er... something I can't remember. I go back to the dentist in ten days.

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Nonetheless, things are looking a bit better around here. I know that sounds ridiculous, because the odds that they could get worse (or even continue in the same vein) are pretty small. Snuggler is feeling more like herself. Andrew's depression is lifting. The boys are less anxious. My jaw is healing. I've had work coming in steadily, and even -- gasp! -- had time to do it.

I've been getting plenty of walking in, usually between two and four miles a day. This is easy in the city, because a) we have lots of sidewalks, and b) the alternative is paying for public transportation. At $2.50 per person per trip, it makes sense to walk if at all feasible. I also get in an extra quarter mile walking to the grocery store after discovering someone ate the last butter/milk/bread. And you know how often that happens!

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Tomorrow I'm off to Big Guy's school for his "senior meeting". Yes, it's his last year in high school. It will also be Eldest's last year in college. Andrew will officially become a senior, too, in October. Me, all I get are senior moments. I think that's okay, don't you?

Uncertainty

At midnight tonight Eldest's two final projects are due. We haven't heard from her in a week; she's pretty much incommunicado in times of stress. I doubt she's had much sleep, and she's a kid person who needs her shut-eye.

A while back I read Dreamland by David Randall, and learned all kinds of tidbits about sleep. There was a whole chapter on insomnia, another on the relationship between sleep and aha! moments, another on apnea and sleep disorders. Apparently the research shows that the number one factor in how many fights a couple has is how much sleep the wife got the night before. And the number one cause of friendly fire in battle is sleep deprivation. Lack of sleep affects our judgment in significant ways. But apparently the professors at Eldest's prestigious institution haven't read up on this particular body of research.

There's not much a mom can do to make life easier for her stressed-out offspring from a distance of several hundred miles. I've been thinking of her for days, knowing... well, knowing that I don't know how she's doing, and praying for the best.

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Not-knowing is a maddening thing. Then again, there's a lot less uncertainty in life these days than there used to be. When people left Europe to immigrate to America, the family they left behind didn't know for months, perhaps years, what became of them. If someone headed west to the prairies, there was no way of knowing how they fared. Goodbyes in those days were truly goodbyes; you didn't know if you'd ever see that person again.

Last week I went somewhere with Snuggler and Little Guy, and forgot my phone. Snuggler wailed, "But what will we do if..." I looked at her kind of oddly, realizing that being a digital and cellular native has its drawbacks. "We'll do what we would have done 15 years ago," I replied, "We'll figure it out. If we need to."

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Dancer called this morning at 7:50; her express bus broke down on the highway, leaving the passengers stranded on the desolate fringe of East Harlem. I told her that as long as she stayed with the other passengers while walking to whatever other bus route was nearby, she'd be safe. It was inconvenient and scary, and she was likely to be late for school, but hey -- she was safe.

Dancer was already walking with other people. In truth, she would have been okay even if she hadn't been able to call me. She's resourceful and sensible, and I think being in this kind of situation is how one becomes resourceful and sensible. Travel is one of the very best tools there is for learning how to come up with a Plan B. Buses and trains break down, get delayed, cause missed connections. It's nice to be able to call Mom, but after you've gone through that kind of thing a few times you stop calling and just figure out how to handle the situation. You realize you can deal with that level of uncertainty.

Growing into my own adulthood

It's funny how milestones can mess with your brain. Eldest is the same person today as she was last week (when she was -- ahem! -- still a minor), but there's this weird thing going on in my head that sounds kind of like this:

Omigosh.  All these years I've been working toward raising kids into adults, and... well... omigosh. It's done. I mean, it's not -- but it is. How...?

I'm so articulate, unedited.

Somewhere in my drafts folder there's a post I've been working on for a year and a half about how parenting can be frustrating because it lacks a sense of accomplishment and closure. I kept hoping I'd generate some kind of helpful insight out of that, but suddenly I find I an adult child, and my youngest has made his first communion. Huh.

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If you met my competent, capable Eldest today, you would not know that when she was three she was capable of two-hour, purple-in-the-face tantrums. Several times a day. I hope I don't embarrass her by telling you this, because this story is actually about me, not her. Those tantrums were... trying. No matter how resourceful I was, there was no miracle fix for the problem. I had to live with it, live through it, grow by dealing with it -- or go crazy.

One day when my daughter was in meltdown mode on the sidewalk in a very public place, after a very long while (and a lot of silent prayer) I said to her, as mildly as possible, "When you learn to put all that determination to work for good, you are going to be a very strong woman!"

I said it for myself, of course. After all, she was only three. What could she understand about being a strong woman?

Silly me, I thought my problem was my child's behavior, when the real issue was my feelings: I hated my lack of control over the situation, and was mortified by the thought of what others might think of my parenting. Life got a lot better when I realized that a huge part of becoming an adult is learning to distinguish between reacting to a situation and responding to others.

Reacting is about me: my fears, my feelings, my background, my weaknesses.

Responding is oriented to others: their needs, their feelings, their problems and concerns.

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On another day in early momhood I went grocery shopping at the bottom of the hill. It's a big hill, with a step-street of 130 killer steps. When it came time to go home Eldest couldn't -- couldn't -- walk any further. I looked at her in disbelief, but knew this was non-negotiable. And so with 22 pounds of Big Guy (age one) in the backpack, I picked up my 31-pound three year old and the four bags of groceries, and I talked myself up those 130 steps. I exclaimed to my kids, "Do you see how amazing your mother is? Did you know she was this strong? Can you believe your mommy is this wonderful?"

I was talking to myself, of course. That's another part of becoming an adult: learning that self-talk matters. There are times you're the only one who's gonna give that pep talk. And beating yourself up is no better than letting someone else beat you up. It's better to be encouraging.

A week after the stair incident someone said something to Eldest about me. With big eyes and in utter seriousness my daughter affirmed, "My mother is amazing and strong!"

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Last week I told Eldest I didn't truly feel like an adult until the day I held her in my arms. I think that's because adulthood has a lot to do with learning what it means to love.

You're not really an adult until you think ahead to the impact your actions have on others.

You're not really an adult until you're willing to take on burdens because you care about more than yourself.

And I suspect you're not really an adult until you value others more than you value your fears.

I'm still thinking about it. And learning.

My first adult

It's what happens to babies, you know: they grow up.

Today Eldest received a voter registration card as one of her birthday gifts. She's certainly one of the greatest gifts I've ever been given.

Huh. Really?

Oh, I am SO in over my head! As a favor to a friend I agreed to coordinate a political debate. Yeah. Me.

What?

And, uh, these are candidates for Congress. Of the United States. And they're all from a party I rarely vote for.

You may ask... well, you may ask whatever you want, but don't expect me to know the answer. I am so far outside my comfort zone I can barely wave to it. But this is how we grow, yes? This is how we learn new things. Oy.

Okay, so at least I'm not moderating the debate. (I was asked, but refused.) Someone from the League of Women Voters will wrangle the candidates. Me, I'm just the shmo who makes the intro speech and runs the stopwatch. That's not hard, right? Unless I hit the wrong button on the stopwatch.

Today I had reporters calling me. Really. Reporters?!? 

But despite all that (the event is tonight at 7pm), I  sat down here to write about something completely different. Something good. Something happy.

Snuggler got mail today, and she is IN to her first-choice selective middle school! Oh, we are doing the happy dance here! She was so certain she'd bombed the entrance exam... and she didn't!

Plus, Eldest completed her last exam of sophomore year today, and we'll pick her up this weekend.

Provided, of course, that I make it through tonight's debate. Which I will. Because that's what we do when faced with new and challenging things, right? We make it through.

Really.

Spring break!

Anticipation is building: Eldest arrives this afternoon for her spring break. I cannot tell you how much I have missed her. Last year I went up to visit at least once each semester. This year I haven't seen her except when she came home at Christmas. And while phone calls and texting keep us loosely in touch (I am a far cry from a helicopter parent), it's not the same as being able to wrap your arms around your girl and give her a good hug.

Two years ago, when Eldest got into college, people asked if I was worried about sending her off to school so young. I suspected they thought I hadn't thought this through. But if you know Eldest you know early college was her idea, and you also probably knew which college she'd attend even before she applied. In fact, if you really know Eldest, you would have predicted this when she was about three.

And then last week, while watching Kiss Me, Kate, the contrast between Eldest's chosen path and the path of her age-mates struck me full-force. For the leads in the cast were all Eldest's age. They were neighborhood kids with whom she'd been in productions when she was nine. And they were still here, still living at home, just getting ready to go off to college, having this last great performance as a send-off.

I thought of Eldest, slogging through problem sets and being a 'learning assistant' for a math/comp sci class and trying to find a job that will look good on her resume for that pivotal after-sophomore-year summer. I thought of her doing grocery shopping so that she doesn't have to pay for a full meal plan, and of how she tries to cheer up her overworked friends in her most-intense college. I thought of the choices she's made for activities on campus -- wise choices -- to balance her social life with her academics. And I thought, That's a lot. That's a lot for a kid who isn't even 18.

It is a lot. And yet it's the lot she's chosen. Selfishly, I miss those extra years of hugs and late-night chats that might have been mine, had she followed the usual track. But wanting to hold her is no reason to hold her back. I'll be happy to hold her this week, though. And I hold her in my heart, always.

Family update

Little Guy has been taking a robotics class this semester. It's outstanding. What better activity can you imagine than to build something, program it, push buttons to make it move automatically, and then put your masterpiece into a ring with someone else's invention and let the two objects destroy each other? This is boy heaven. (Perhaps girl heaven, too, but no girls signed up.)

Thursday was the last session, and my parents arrived in town just in time to attend the observation session. Little Guy and his partner had built a robot whose arm flipped over its head, scorpion-like, to grab at the opposition. But what all the boys were in awe of was the rattlesnake robot someone else had built, which zapped out and bit at whatever came near it. Very cool.

At home we have an almost-complete Lego Mindstorms kit, passed down from my now-college-age nephew, and most of another kit passed on to us by my friend Kate. Little Guy had tried using Mindstorms a few times, but the projects were so complex he gave up after an hour or two. The software's also considerably older, and not as easy to use. But yesterday he pulled out the boxes anyway and started fishing around; he'd decided to make a robot, the one he said was hardest robot in the guide book. "I figure I can do one section a day, Mom," he said.

And he's succeeding. Whatever else they built in robotics class, they built up my boy's confidence. So far his new robot can rotate, and it has one arm that's supposed to claw at things. The arm isn't working yet; Little Guy has matter-of-factly analyzed it and has some theories on what needs to be changed.

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Snuggler has had a good time with Kiss Me, Kate. She's been hanging out with the 12- and 13-year olds, who tend to chatter less in the wings. Having funny, engaging older kids who've adopted her as one of their own has been a delightful solution to the impulse to shush kids her own age.

Thursday night Snuggler had her MRI. This was the last step in ruling out neurofibromatosis. I stayed in the room with her. She's always been sensitive to loud noises, and certain types of clanks and noises were clearly more stressful to her than others. There was one beeping sound that shot her heart rate up from 93 to 104 in a matter of seconds. I watched as she took deep breaths and closed her eyes to calm herself, and within another ten seconds her heart rate had dropped back to about 96. It was an impressive display of mind over matter. I exhaled, too: she has learned to cope.

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Big Guy started a class at the historical society last Saturday. It's free (a prerequisite, since he often can't manage activities even when he wants to go), seven weeks long (a manageable length), and there's no homework (which makes participation more likely). I am trying not to get too excited that he's trying this, because I don't want to be frustrated again if/when he stops going. Last semester he made it to four classes in a course on U.S. protest music. This class is on American revolutions that didn't succeed.

History used to be Big Guy's passion.When he was five he once opened a conversation with my mother by saying, "So who's your favorite Civil War general, Maman?" Later, when he was hospitalized at age seven, he went to the day room and drew pictures of the Monitor, of ironclad fame. A social worker asked him perkily, "Which TV show is that from?"

We don't see much of his history passion any more. I am grateful that we see it at all.

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Dancer goes into tech week next week. I remind myself that at least her tech didn't overlap with Snuggler's tech, and that it didn't even conflict with performances. She is excited to be dancing in three separate pieces for her spring performance, including an excerpt from Balanchine's Stars and Stripes, and the four cygnets piece from the end of Swan Lake. She's also in a new piece being choreographed by Brian Reeder.

If you're in the city and are interested in coming, drop me a line and I'll send you the link for buying tickets.

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And guess who's coming to visit? Eldest's spring break starts at the end of this week. We are sooooo missing her, and are beyond eager to have her home.

Snuggler was feeling kind of off this morning, probably because Big Guy was "difficult" last night, and then again this morning. It's wearing. She sat down next to me on the sofa and I held her a bit and then whispered, "Should we have a tea party this afternoon?" She perked right up.

So we went into the kitchen and made vanilla cupcakes with almond-cream cheese frosting. We popped up some maple-peanut popcorn, and Dancer graciously gave us permission to use her Chinese teapot and cups. We moved the drop-leaf end table to the center of the living room and got out the German tablecloth. And we had tea. Green tea in the Chinese pot, Keemun black in the everyday teapot.

Eldest, just before she went back to college

When the kids were littler, sometimes I would make up a tea party and we'd pretend we were all adults, and we'd chitchat about our children. Eldest was Mrs. Brown, and her children were similar ages to my own. Dancer was Mrs. Julia, and I believe she had something like 20 children. Snuggler was Mrs. White, and she had three kids. We talked about the difficulties our offspring were having, and what kinds of things helped them, and what we planned to do in the future. I kind of miss those days. And I kind of missed Eldest, who wasn't here to pretend with us.

I'm guessing that Snuggler feels a bit better, because she got on the computer and started working. I thought perhaps she was writing (she does that), but no -- she was making graphic inventions. Like this: 

Bubble Tapir, by Snuggler

Year Two

Eldest called on Monday night; her laptop died. She's taking two computer science courses (one of which has a huge term project due next week), so this was a bit of a crisis. However, before she called me she'd taken her computer to tech support, found out it was a hard drive problem, learned that everything was covered under warranty, and resigned herself to a computer-less life until Thursday. I commended her on how she'd handled it... and suggested she steel herself for the possibility that the computer might not be up and running on the anticipated schedule. Delays happen. I know.

Then Eldest called last night. Since she'd had to go to the computer lab to do her work she was efficient about it. Browsing through FanFic sites when someone is waiting for a computer isn't cool. And so 9pm rolled around, and she unexpectedly had a whole evening ahead of her. No onerous problem sets to keep her up until midnight. Oy, what to do?! (I should pause to explain that Eldest attends one of the geekiest schools in the nation; everyone has too much work, and if they're not doing p-sets they're squeezing in an extracurricular activity.) My heart sang hallelujahs that calling home to talk to the family qualified as a good way to fill time. Though I did suggest that later perhaps she could do something novel, like read a book.

Year two of having a child in college is a lot easier than year one. It's akin to the second year of parenting: when the raw newness has worn off, you realize that you can actually do what's required with some illusion of competence. You've amassed enough data points that you grin when you fly only half-blind. The relentless letting-go-of-my-child ache is ameliorated by knowing that every string that has been cut is being replaced by new connections that will allow you to relate as adults. And all that is good.

Love that girl. I just love her and love her and love her.

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Math and girls: How we got there.

Today is the first day of Eldest's math camp. I'm a fly on the wall, doing odds and ends like getting a trash bag for the paper scraps from cut-n-fold polyhedra, or providing a drink of water when I can hear Eldest's voice starting to go.

Right now they're learning about game theory using Skittles. I don't know half of what Eldest is talking about, but I'm used to that; I've been superfluous to her math education since she was ten.

I had some correspondence recently with a reporter from Newsweek who is writing an article about how to encourage girls in STEM subjects (science, math, etc.). Eldest didn't want to do an interview; she had enough of fame as "the brilliant one" in high school, and is happy being an anonymous brain at her brainy college.But this is what I told the reporter:

We did lots of things to nurture Eldest's innate passion for math -- online courses like eIMACS and EPGY, programs from Art of Problem Solving, a local math circle -- but in retrospect there are two things that worked particularly well.

The first was that we always drew a distinction between computational skill and conceptual ability. Kids can grasp many higher-level concepts long before they master the ability to actually do the number crunching. And since schools take forever to get past basic number operations, many bright kids get bored with math before they ever get to the good stuff. It's possible to provide brain food separately. There are fine books to have around the house: picture books by Greg Tang, the classic Math for Smarty Pants by Marilyn Burns, The Number Devil by Hans Enzensberger, The Ten Things All Future Mathematicians and Scientists Must Know (But are Rarely Taught), How to Lie with Statistics and so on. (For even higher-level math, browse the resources here.)  

The second, and most important thing we did was to get Eldest a "math friend". When Eldest was nine we hired Alison, a high school junior and math afficionado, to come over one afternoon a week. My instructions to Alison were that I didn't care what topics they covered, I just wanted her to nurture Eldest's love of mathematics.

Alison taught Eldest to do calculations in different bases, and they did cool Fibonacci stuff, and even some baby calculus. It was awesome. Alison was thrilled to earn $10 an hour (minimum wage back then was about half that), I was thrilled to get a young woman to mentor my child at a reasonable rate, and Eldest was thrilled to have the complete attention of a big girl who shared her passion. Win-win-win.

Alison came every week, and then twice a week in the summer. When she went off to college, she came home and taught Eldest whatever she'd learned that semester: symbolic logic, topology, and things I'd never heard of. She discovered there was a market for doing 'cool math' and started her own tutoring business. After graduation she went on to teach math in a private school.

When I first broached the idea of doing a math camp for girls this summer, Eldest said doubtfully, "Do you really think anyone would come?" Well, yes. With all the focus on standardized tests these days, it's the fun, hands-on, make-ya-think math that has evaporated from schools. And middle school is exactly when it's important for girls to get some reinforcement that it's cool to like math.

I only have one mathy child, so my experience in nurturing a math passion is based on n=1. (My other kids are quite competent, but do not have the blazing passion for math that Eldest has had since she was little.) YMMV, and feel free to ask questions.

She is sixteen, going on seventeen...

Tomorrow my firstborn will turn seventeen. In honor of that momentous occasion, I'm posting a piece reprinted from Daily Guideposts: Your First Year of Motherhood. For this girl of mine still makes my heart sing.

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Month One, Day Nine

Accompanied by trumpets, cymbals and other instruments, they raised their voices in praise to the Lord and sang, "He is good; His love endures forever" -- II Chronicles 5:13

I sent my husband out this morning to buy sanitary pads. I gave him detailed instructions: brand, size, price. Eager to help in any way he can (he's still feeling guilty about my long labor; the other day he threatened to walk up to complete strangers to demand, "Do you realize what you did to your mother?"), my dear Andrew went off to execute a task that I, as a woman, still find mildly embarrassing.

He came back a while later, breathless, and tossed me the bag. "I did it, but I was so flustered I left my wallet in the store!" he called as he left again. Fortunately the checkout girl had seen the wallet and set it aside. She returned it, suppressing a smirk.

Our marriage ceremony included no vows promising to do mortifying things for your spouse, but having a baby sure pushes the envelope. Seeing Andrew in this giddy state is kind of fun. He glows. He holds Elizabeth just so, fearful of breaking her. The tenderness with which he looks at her is divine. He startles as easily as the baby does, the Moro reflex of fatherhood kicking in each time he has to do something new.

I laugh with delight at this view of my husband, just as I chuckle at the ridiculousness of God's grace in giving me such a phenomenally dependent and delicious baby. Elizabeth, Elizabeth, I want to sing, Your life has changed everything! God knew His world wouldn't be complete without you! It's true, of course. The thanks that bubbles up is too big for my soul to contain, a sure sign that it's meant to be offered to Someone Whose heart is bigger.

Ah, dear Father! How good you are! How good you are!

© 2011 by Guideposts

Math and girls

Over the weekend Eldest and I were thinking up ways she can pull in a little more money this summer. We decided that a one-week, half-day math camp for middle school girls might be just the thing. So I wrote a note to our local parents' list asking if anyone was interested, and we got a handful of responses. That surprised me, since one advantage of the camp will be lots of hands-on enrichment activities, exactly the kind of thing that kids no longer get in school. You'd think there would be huge demand.

Then this morning it occurred to me to post the same note on our homeschool email list. Bonanza! Within an hour my inbox was filled with inquiries. And this surprised me, too, because homeschoolers generally already do a whole lot of hands-on stuff. And middle-school girls who are homeschooled don't usually face the same social pressures of girls-don't-do-math as tweens in school.So you'd think there wouldn't be that much demand.

So we live and learn. Eldest is working as a counselor at a day camp for the next three weeks, which now turns out to be a doubly-good thing, since it will help her have a better understanding of how to run her own camp in August.

Spring Break: an interview with Eldest

What's the best thing about college?
It's not boring, and everybody there is really nerdy (in a good way), so it's easy to make friends. It's nice being around smart people, so no one thinks I'm a freaky super-genius.


What's harder than you thought it would be? Easier?
Feeding myself and finding time to sleep. Living away from home and making new friends has been easier than I expected.

What's good about being home to visit?
I get to see my family again, and dinner shows up -- poof! -- on the table. I don't have to do my laundry, either.

How is the second semester different from the first?
It's harder academically. I'm taking more difficult courses this term. But I know lots of people, so I don't have to spend as much energy making friends. I also kind of know what to expect now, and that makes it easier.

How are you different from who you were at this time last year?
I'm still the same person (my DNA hasn't been altered by going to college), but I have more confidence now. I used to think I could never go to college because that would be hard, and I didn't think I could do hard stuff. But it's worked out pretty well so far, and I feel pretty good about myself. I can go back to college and have all my egotism crushed out again, and still survive. Somehow.

How has your spiritual life changed?
This is the first time I've had people close to my age who share my faith. I go to a Bible study with a group of four other girls, and I like that. And our pastor talks about things that are relevant to college students, so it's easier to pay attention to him.

What's the most fun thing you do at school?
Sing! I'm in the concert choir, so I get to sing classical music in a big group, and it's fun to hear the music come together. And I'm also in a nerdy-songs a capella group, where I have a lot of friends and laugh a lot.

What do you miss most, now that you're a college student?
Food. My siblings. My parents. Sleep.


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Look who's here!

Eldest arrived home -- first semester of college completed! -- on Thursday night. Big Guy was able to come home for a day visit today. We walked through the park (at least until we hit a 100' stretch of ice on the path, at which point we slid) to go see Little Guy and Snuggler perform in Jack and the Beanstalk. It was a fun show with good acting, and it was nice to have most of us under the same roof.

Prayer

I've been getting up early this week because Eldest is in the midst of final exams, and I promised to pray for her. I suppose that might hint of asking to win a football game or battle -- whose side is God on? -- but I've simply asked that she have a clear head and a calm heart. No magic answers, no miraculous influx of knowledge. Just the ability to use what she knows.

I'm not fond of the view of God as a magician, who waves His magic wand and makes problems go away. Nor do I care for the image of God as Santa, someone grants every deep-seated wish if you're good. And don't get me started on God as Superman, the hero who will swoop in to avert danger and bosh the bad guys.

If God is really God, He can do anything a magician or Santa or Superman can do, and then some. To limit Him to being an ace-in-the-hole supernatural lackey whose job is to make my world comfy seems a bit ridiculous: someone who created 400,000 different kinds of beetles and 170 billion galaxies almost certainly has a far more sophisticated understanding of what's really needed in any given situation than I do. That doesn't mean I am insignificant, or that my needs don't matter. It means that my personal view of what's important/tragic/needed won't consistently map up correctly with the bigger picture. 'No' is always a legitimate answer, even if I don't see why, and even if I don't like it.

So I don't think the main point of prayer is to persuade God to come over to my point of view. If there's persuading to be done, it's quite likely I'm the one needs to shift positions. Prayer is about articulating, as best I can, a yearning of the heart, and directing and offering it to someone who can either do something about it or who can change my perspective. There's only one way to start that process: with communication. Which is why I pray.


P.S. Eldest texted to say she's done! She's coming home tomorrow.

A happy weekend, and complicated parenting

Eldest had a 7pm exam Tuesday night (!), caught a 10pm bus, and arrived home at 2am. I think she is genuinely thankful to be here, where everything is known and nothing is new except the paint in the bathrooms and kitchen. It is hard to underestimate how big a shift it is to go away to college: it's a new place and new people and a new level of independence, new responsibility and new problems to solve on your own. There's a degree of stress in all that newness which subtly erodes the fun and excitement of being away. Eldest has done a masterful job of handling it. I'm really in awe of how well she's doing.

Big Guy arrived for day visits from his residential facility on Thanksgiving and yesterday and today. He, too, has had a big dose of newness this fall, although it's been unalloyed by the kinds of positives that Eldest has had. There are new people in his life (many of whom are not happy additions), new structure (at least some of which has been helpful), and a new need for emotional self-sufficiency. It is an unpleasant situation for him, and he is desperately homesick. He has been working hard, holding up better than we expected. I am proud of him.

The family dynamic of having everyone home is both wonderful and complicated. It is good -- very good -- to feel that things are normal again. And yet normal is a mixed bag. It includes happiness and silliness and bickering; it encompasses thoughtfulness and annoying table manners; it extends to balancing seven people's needs, and being mindful of who is feeling left out or annoyed or needs time alone. It's wonderful, without necessarily being relaxing.

When the kids were younger, people would look at my lineup of little ones and stammer, "How do you do it?" I shrugged and smiled and said, "You do what you have to do" or "You get better at it as you go". There's something about being outnumbered by your offspring that drives home the grim truth that you're not in control. Once you've got that reality nailed into your brain, you can deal better with life as it comes. Which, I think, makes you a better parent.

At best, "being in control" as a parent means you swerve back onto the road enough times that you end up heading in the right direction. You re-orient yourself when life drives you off-course, and then re-orient again when you make mistakes, and yet again when you suddenly realize you were asleep at the wheel. The key thing is to know which direction you're headed.

Being in control isn't about being the master of our destinies; it is about wrestling control away from our reactions and teaching ourselves to respond.

Maybe I think this way because I'm notoriously easily overwhelmed. If I think about how I'm going to tackle the whole of my life (or even the better part of a day) I tend to hyperventilate. I find that it's better to know my priorities, quit drafting my master plan, and get working on the next thing that needs to be done. Because that much I can do. Usually.

In which our family will be reunited, for a day

It looks like Big Guy will be able to visit for a few hours on Thanksgiving. A social worker brought him over for a short visit today, and we have the green light. Snuggler and Little Guy were wildly excited to see their brother, whom they've only seen one since he left for his residential placement in September. The visit was shorter than anticipated and it was very, very hard for the kids to say goodbye. There are times I wish I had a rheostat for Snuggler's emotions and could turn down the flow; she feels things so intensely.

Eldest is one day away from being done with her whirlwind week. Her classes this term seem to clump exams within days of each other (as in today and tomorrow), she had a friend visiting for the weekend, a concert to sing in, two extra (fun) classes to teach, her job, and a list of homework that was so long it seemed to preclude sleep and eating and even the ability to construct a coherent sentence. But she's getting on a bus tomorrow night (after her 7pm exam) to come home for the holiday!

And so on Thursday all seven of us will be together for the first time since the end of August. It's been a long, feeling-the-loss-of-others time. It's been a time of adjustments, both emotional and logistical, a time of growing up and digging deep. I'm incredibly proud of my kids for how well they've done: Eldest, adapting to her first term at college; Big Guy, in finding his footing in his new environment; the younger kids, in re-shaping their lives with the older two away.

I'm looking forward to this weekend as much as the rest of my family. Yet reality often isn't as perfect as we imagine it will be. So I'm reserving energy to deal with the fallout of my kids' massive expectations, and for helping those who will remain at home cope with the pain of saying goodbye -- again -- after a temporary period of 'normalcy'.

Wishing you a happy Thanksgiving, and a long, long list of things for which to give thanks.

A visit to Eldest

Call me crazy, but sometimes a mom's gotta see her college girl. And sometimes a mom's got a big deadline and needs a block of time to do some work. And sometimes those two needs coincide, and spending four hours on a bus each way makes a whole lot of sense, because unless you sit in front of two 20-something girls who speak loudly and like, use the word like almost, like, every third word (which I did, and did not appreciate at 7am), you can get a whole lot of work done.

How is Eldest? Fabulous. We went for a long walk and had lunch at a kinda cool middle eastern restaurant, then took another long walk back to her dorm. Hung out there while she prepped for teaching her SAT prep class tomorrow; I worked. Then we went for a long walk in a different direction and ended up in Chinatown for supper. Along the way to and from all that we talked about her music groups (she's singing in a concert choir as well as an a capella group) and what was harder than she expected about college (getting herself fed at breakfast and lunch), and how to do laundry.

I got to hug her and walk hand-in-hand, re-stock her with fresh-picked MacIntosh apples, and be happy to be with her. It was short, but it was a whole lot better than nothing at all.

Missing my girl

This going off to college thing sneaks up on you. Busy, busy getting ready, all the excitement of something new, a trip, a city to explore, and so on. Back home, and life seems pretty normal for a while, until one day you realize you keep expecting her to walk in the door and chatter with you, and there's silence where her laughter ought to be, and that funny lump inside you isn't indigestion but a longing for someone you've loved every minute of her life.

And on that day you cry a bit -- not in misery, just in longing -- and you spend a while cradling memories of your child as a newborn, as a toddler, as a kindergardener and fourth grader and lanky tween and 9th grader. You think of belly laughs and silliness, of first words and first heartbreaks. Your heart is rich and thankful, brimming with gratitude for this tremendous gift of a life which has made your world bigger.

And you miss her.

Delivering Eldest

Before we dropped Eldest off at college we took care of some important details.We blew bubbles, to recall the flyaway years of her childhood...

And (because college is a serious thing), we tested gravity...

And we made sure Eldest was prepared to construct her future...

 

Then we went to her dorm, and installed her in her 'shoebox single'...

 

We went back to visit a few times, bearing gifts of convenience (namely everything that didn't fit into her two suitcases) and pleasure. Eldest seemed glad to see us each time, though also happy to be there. She has made several friends, found out which a capella group specializes in nerdy songs, gone on a top-secret midnight tour of something I can't mention because I'm sworn to silence, and talked herself out of being nervous about tomorrow's multivariable calc placement test. We met her for church this a.m., and met a girl who's the eldest of seven, and another girl who's one of five (both in her dorm). 

Our last farewell was sudden and fleeting. Snuggler cried for 40 minutes, and then we went and bought excellent ice cream. There were more tears on the bus ride home. We arrived, distributed college t-shirts to all and sundry, and ate the Godiva chocolates I'd brought. Chocolates are a good thing to have around when a lot of people are sad and lonely.