Ay yi yi resilience

I’ve been struggling over this month’s theme for several weeks now. It’s been rough. How rough, you may ask? This is the first time I’ve ever been late getting a post up here, and I considered just not doing it at all and running away. Every time I started to think about resilience it was like opening a dark cabinet, peering in, seeing an eternity of zilch, and going out for tacos. Or like like playing chess with a squirrel. Or something about something with hopscotch or something. My point is that resilience…is…sigh.

My professional side, the teaching part of me, insists that resilience can be taught, and hey music is a great place to learn it. You learn it through supported failure, and when you’re part of an ensemble and learning with others, there’s gonna be a lot of supported failure. Daily “one more time” with failing and finally succeeding, and through the whole process getting really good at dealing with it all.  I’ve been doing that for 30 years now and still learn from the process. My sons have no interest whatsoever in playing an instrument. Breaks my heart.

Then there’s my parenting side. This is the side that wants to play hopscotch with a taco-eating squirrel. I know about the importance of teaching resilience to my sons, but how? I have one son who is amazingly resilient, who learns from his mistakes and failures, and noticeably improves through the process. And I have a perfectionist son who despises failure and would rather shoot the metaphorical horse than get back on. One son I support through the process, the other I look at in despair, wondering what I should do and when or how.

See, he’s the complex one, and there are still so many outstanding issues that I don’t know where to start. So while I agree that resilience is necessary for life, do I push that one before or after improving his barely-existant executive function skills? At the same time as improved focus or just one or the other? What about self-discipline or self-motivation or “doing something because it just damned well needs to be done and it doesn’t matter how much you do not want to do it?” So. Yeah.

Because of his twice-exceptionality, he works twice as hard to just appear average. And because of his 2e, skills that others have picked up easily are still a work in progress for him. And because I am an exhausted homeschooling mom of the aforementioned 2e child, I have no idea where to begin. So teaching and encouraging resilience becomes just one more thing of a million things that keeps keeps getting pushed aside by all the other things.

So like everything else my wonderful and stubborn child needs to learn, this will be baby steps over a long period of time. He’ll eventually get it (I hope), and I’ll continue to name my grey hairs after the learning experiences. In the meantime I’ll  go out for tacos with my hopscotch-playing squirrel and hope for the best.

Sometimes I sit and think

You have a lot of time to think when a dentist is drilling your tooth for your very first crown. Thinking is about all you can do. Talking is surely impossible, as every dental implement known to man is crowded into your maw in an exciting game of “Will This Fit Too?” Listening to music is nearly impossible, for the drill is screaming like a banshee inches from your ear. Your hands are tightly entwined, breathing is the slow focused pattern you used last during childbirth, and the dental assistant points out to Sir Drillmaster that “she’s not in pain, I think that is her relaxed face.”

So you sit and think.

You sit and think about how you came to find yourself here in a dentist’s chair. You think about how strong your teeth have been, and how despite your perfect oral hygiene you also have wickedly strong jaw muscles. You think back on your 30 years of flute playing, and how stretched out your neck and jaw muscles must be on the right side, after so many years of playing with your head to the left. You think about the stress you’ve always had, and how it has gradually crescendoed since you became a mother a dozen years ago.

And you think about your strong jaws and stretched neck muscles and incessant stress, and you know the TMJ has won. Playing flute hurts (but it’s tolerable) and you’ve cracked at least one tooth from the clenching. The stress won. It won.

Because your bite is so messed up it takes nearly twice as long to set the temporary crown, you have even more time to think. You think about over-excitabilities and innate wiring and inner reactions to outside stressors and how many times you’ve tried to manage your stress and how many times you’ve failed.  You wonder if you’re always going to feel this way, and what the stress could do to your body next, and you feel sad. Eventually you feel lightheaded, but that’s from reclining nearly upside-down for 90 minutes.

You realize as you stumble out the door to the car that you have more thinking to do. About self-care and stress and living an epic life instead of a to-do list. But that thinking will have to wait, for ibuprofen and muscle relaxants and soup will prevent any kind of coherent thought.

Be still my soul

Put on your oxygen mask first.
You can’t pour from an empty cup.
Make time for yourself; if you don’t, who will?

We’ve all heard these, we all know they’re valid and important, and we know we should abide by the simple rule of self-care.

Then why is it so hard?

I am the parent of a challenging twice-exceptional son. It has been a marathon at a sprinting pace since he was born. He is always on and I need to be as well; to stay one step ahead of him, to try to keep him safe, to revive and nurture the gifted soul within that was nearly damaged beyond repair. I am the parent of his younger brother, who has his own needs and quirks, and is nearly as demanding as his brother. I am the wife of an intense man, gifted in so many ways, and challenging in so many more.

But in order to nurture those sensitive souls found inside my home, I must do the same for myself first. And I fail miserably. Because I need to be on to stay ahead of it all, I have a very hard time turning off. When I was in college, I would come home on breaks, and for the first 48 hours or so I would just pace and shake. I was convinced I had something that needed to get done. A paper that needed writing, a flute piece to prepare for juries, a final that needed just a little more preparation. But there was nothing, and my psyche wouldn’t believe it. Things had been so stressful and I had been so overextended for so long that it took some time to come down off that ledge.* There is none of that release today; now I have a little hut on that ledge and I never leave.

This year I decided I’d had enough. I’m gradually…sadly it’s so very gradually as to be nearly imperceptible…making changes to nurture my own soul so I can support and nurture others’. You know how you keep hearing about the physical manifestations of stress? I’m starting to see and feel too many of them, and that frightens me (as do the resultant medical bills). I have a birthday ending in a zero this year, and I’d like to see another four or five zero-ending birthdays.

Because we parent gifted kids, and/or we’re married to gifted spouses, and/or we’re gifted ourselves, we need to step back from all the chaotic intensities and care for ourselves. We run the risk of burning ourselves out on the very life that entrances us. I’m very slowly bringing some self-care into my life, changes that will return me to me, and I welcome you to join me.
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*I really want to smack college Jen upside the head; she didn’t know stressful and overextended.

No break for creativity

It’s spring break here at The House of Chaos, and I just have to laugh. But not a real laugh. A “please, for the love of all things, this winter has to end before my mind breaks” kind of laugh. Chicago has been “enjoying” a cold spring; yesterday it was finally sunny and <gasp> in the ’40s. I say this week has brought neither spring nor a break, and feel rather cheated on both fronts.

What this week has brought, however, is a renewed appreciation for my sons’ creativity. When the break began, we had to set down some ground rules. Our homeschooled son still had a class mid-week and work to do, his younger brother wasn’t likely to have many playdates because his friends were all on vacation, and I had to work every day. On top of all that, we put a strict limit on screen time. Because we’re mean parents, that’s why. Oh, and because too much of the glowing boxes turns my sweet children into mutant zombie hellhounds. None too pleasant, that.

The boys have stepped up. Books are being read, Snap Circuits are being built and rebuilt and hacked, and the creativity is out in full force. On Wednesday our oldest designed, built, and developed a Role Playing Game out of Legos. It involved a D20 die, rolling to advance the story line, and a quest for budder (yes, butter, but with a D, and it’s supposed to be gold…or something). It was well thought out, detailed, and utterly fantastic. He’s writing everything down and keeping detailed notes on the game; turns out it can be used as part of the new Game Design merit badge with Boy Scouts.

I love how the creativity flows without the distraction of screens…or me. If I’m around, they’re suddenly bored. But if I’m unavailable, lo and behold they not only entertain themselves and each other but create for the joy of it. (And before someone starts railing at me for leaving them home alone, my husband works from home and they know better than to interrupt him for anything less than blood/bone/vomit/fire.) I think I need to get myself out of the equation a bit more in the future.

Because creativity is best developed when an antidote to boredom.

What a difference a year makes

Fifteen months ago we pulled our then 10-year-old son from public school and jumped into the grand homeschooling adventure. While it has not been an easy road (read: I am going to lose my mind if I have any more conversations about Minecraft, a game I refuse to purchase), it has changed my son’s life.

This month’s theme of Enrichment and Creativity lent itself well to me looking back and taking stock. Back when he was still in school, I had to do a lot of afterschooling to pick up the slack. Not only was I reteaching many of his lessons in a way he could grasp, but I was providing tutoring and experiences and opportunities he wasn’t getting in school. Now I call that Wednesday…or pretty much any day of the week.

Because of this, he’s a different kid now. A year ago he was withdrawn and anxious. Today he is almost back to his curious and enthusiastic self. I pray that remains as he slams into adolescence; he’s 13 months from 13 God have mercy on me. I no longer have to enrich his learning because everything I did is now called school. Fun additions are lessons. Curiosity and creativity are encouraged, not brushed aside in favor of test prep. Best of all? Learning is fun again.

I never expected to be a homeschooling mom. Then again, I never expected to have a twice-exceptional son and go through absolute hell trying to educate him like everyone else. I like this way so much better. Enrichment is just…the norm. And it’s flat-out awesome.

New beginnings, Mulligans, and self-forgiveness

It never ceases to amaze me how my mood shifts with the sunlight. I’ve started this post at least four times; the previous three it was dark and gloomy and spitting snow and my writing was dark and gloomy and depressing. The sun has finally has popped out for a brief visit here in Chicago and my mood is considerably lighter. Still heart stopping cold, though. I’d better write fast, clouds are moving in.

This month marked one year of homeschooling here in the House of Chaos. It has not been easy. Don’t know why I thought it would be; nothing about my son has been easy. Ever. It has been marked by a great deal of trial and error, learning experiences, boxed wine, and repeated application of forehead to the nearest solid surface. If nothing else, I’ve learned that flexibility is key. I’m not so good with flexibility.

So I’m calling a Mulligan, forgiving myself, and starting over. At least this time I have a slightly better idea of what I’m doing, as well as many more homeschooling friends. I have learned, again and again and again, that the more flexible and relaxed I am about homeschooling my son, the happier we both are. And, of course, the more he learns. The more I try to recreate school at home, the worse off we both are. That I have to relearn this every six to eight weeks is more than a little frustrating, and is apparently my homeschooling lesson to master. The over-achieving perfectionist that I am, I’ll keep working on it until I get it right. I’m sure I’ll have puh-LENTY of opportunities.

I knew homeschooling my son would be a challenge, and it has more than lived up to that expectation. What I didn’t expect, however, was how often I’d have to relearn that lesson. You’d think I would have figured that out by now; he’s been advanced parenting for almost 12 years. I’ll learn and forget, relearn and forget again, forgive myself a thousand times over, and finally get it right.

Eventually.

How Do I Pick a Theme?

Earlier this month, Christine talked about the usefulness of picking a theme for the year. Later, Jen touched on the subject in her recent post. This sounds like a good and worthy thing to accomplish. I think it would help me with setting goals, and staying on track with what I want to accomplish. What I am having trouble with is getting my synaptically overloaded brain to stop and pick ONE thing. Or even just two. Earlier this month, I mentioned two goals I am hoping to work on for the year. I am continuing to work on those things, though progress in some areas is slower than in others. 

I am playing with the ideas of scaling back, trimming down, focus (How? In the middle of typing this, I had they urge to look up croque madame recipes. I followed that urge. I’m back now…but for how long?). Where was I? Oh yes, trimming down. I think I have too many interests. I would like to turn at least one of them, even two, into something where I could actually earn some money doing something I enjoy. I enjoy writing –though preferably fiction writing or essays. Then I ask myself, how much do I enjoy writing if I can’t even manage to get my post for this blog in on time? (It was due Friday morning). I’ve been knitting and crocheting a lot. Making a lot of gifts for friends, but not doing so well in the “stockpiling and inventory for an Etsy account” area. And then, somewhere in the middle of my knitting and crocheting, I miss my writing. I am having ideas, but no, I can’t put down what I’m working on, especially if there is a deadline –like wanting to finish a baby afghan before the baby is born. I start to get obsessed with one project or another, needing to keep working on it. Just one more row. Just one more pattern repeat. The same thing happens when I’m writing, except I tend to be much less cordial to anyone who dares enter the room where I am working. This may be a reason I’ve been sticking more with the needle arts than the “Word Crafting” lately: I enjoy getting along with my family. And with that, I think I have come up with my theme for the year: “Stress-reduction.”

When goals aren’t enough

I’m not a resolution maker and I’m ok with that. It’s not that I’m against goals, I certainly have enough of those, but resolving to change based on the flip of the calendar isn’t for me. I pick a word of the year instead. This year my word is enough. (complete with period), and I will react/cope/plan through that lens this year. Previous years’ words were grateful and strong, and having those words when I did really set the tone for those twelve months. 

As I was chewing on the word enough. and mentally working on the theme for this month, I took a long, hard look at my success with goals. And what I saw was not pretty. Actually, it was pretty eye-opening and more than a little embarrassing.

I have a tendency to set goals, and as soon as it gets a little difficult, I convince myself that I’m just fine with the status quo and give up. This is why, among other things,  I am still 35 pounds fluffier than I want to be (I  love myself the way I am). Any audacious goal I have gets shunted aside and I lie to myself that it’s ok.

It’s not ok. With my word this year being enough., I’m done with that. I’ve had…enough. Yes, I have an unusually challenging life, homeschooling a complex twice-exceptional son, but what am I modeling by lying to myself and giving up when it gets tough? Not something I want my sons to learn. The few areas I’ve not done this are in my flute playing, my writing, and my marriage; three areas of which I’m proud. And while I’ve sure as hell wanted to give up and relinquish parenting, I haven’t. I suppose I should call that a win.

I have some audacious plans for this year, many of which are still bubbling to the surface. I’ve always envied those who’ve been able to set goals and follow through 100%. This year I have the personal challenge of balancing the belief that I am enough. just the way I am and declaring enough. already on my bad habit of giving up when the going gets tough.

Perhaps I shall make that a goal.
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Jen writes over at Laughing at Chaos, and is the author of “If This is a Gift, Can I Send It Back?: Surviving in the Land of the Gifted and Twice Exceptional.”

The joy of a clean slate

So we’ve reached the end of the week, the month, the year. It’s time to wrap up 2012 with a big bow and stick it in the memorabilia cabinet. We’ll bring it out once in awhile, mainly to laugh at the fashions and music (if I hear my sons do a variation of Gangnam Style one more time I may stab my eardrums with cocktail forks), but for the most part it should stay unbothered. And that’s a good thing. On a scale of “not too bad” to “let us never speak of these twelve months again,” 2012 fell somewhere around “we made it, so let’s just move on, shall we?”

That is what is so fantastic about January 1. There is a delicious joy in a clean, untouched slate. It’s like a freshly fallen snow, smooth and pristine (yes, cliche, I know). You look across it and it’s perfect and unblemished as far as the eye can see. There are no marks upon it, and the possibilities are endless. Anything can happen, and that’s exciting and a little frightening. The possibilities and untouched perfection bring me great joy. It’s a year that I haven’t screwed up, a year that hasn’t stuck its wet finger in my ear. The last several years have made me a bit skittish, sorry.

I’m feeling optimistic and yes, joyful, about the new year, for the first time in a long time; I hope that doesn’t come back to haunt me. I have great plans for 2013. Right now I’m peering out the metaphorical window at the New Year, crossing my fingers that the great turning of the calendar page will bring a fresh…everything. In a few days I will throw open the door to the New Year, stare across the 52 weeks of unblemished perfection, and welcome in the New Year.

Joyfully.

That crazy educational path

Our oldest son was 4 when we first had him evaluated at the Gifted Development Center in Denver. With the incredibly detailed report (full of new terms like twice-exceptional, sensory processing disorder, and vision therapy) in hand, I dove into researching just what we had living in our house. Those were the dark ages, long before blogs and Facebook made connecting with others easy. Dr. Google sent me to email lists, and I joined as many as I could.

Learning about giftedness from email lists full of experienced and wise parents has both a good and bad element. You’re gonna learn a lot, but it’s a bit like drinking from a fire hose and you’re likely to be scared to death. “I have what to look forward to???” (In all honesty, I still run into that: the best SENG session I attended last month scared me worse than any horror flick…2e + looming adolescence = I no longer sleep)  Lurking on those lists taught me a lot, and education was at the top of the list.

The topic I saw most often was how parents educated their kids. It was never “place child in public school, let simmer for 12 years, graduate, enjoy the fruits of your labors.” It was more like…

Hat-tip Bill Keane

Public school, private school, homeschool, part-time school, independent study, concurrent enrollment high school and college, online education (in its infancy then), private tutors, afterschooling…sometimes one right after another, or within a year. I thought certainly they were exaggerating. That many educational changes? That often? A kid could be that…complex?

Ohhhh…Jen of seven years ago, how you have grown. Now you have The Most Complex Child on the Planet™ and are playing the Education Tango. To date my 2e son, now 11, has been in three elementary schools in two states and is now homeschooled, with heavy doses of afterschooling and tutoring stuck in there as well. Right now the plan is to homeschool as long as necessary (he thinks forever, I’m praying for a high school start date in three years), but at least we have the options. His younger brother? Public school, third grade, thriving. We used the same ingredients and recipe to make these two, they are so very different, the mind boggles.

It’s back to school time. The form school takes? Well, that’s a different story.

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Jen writes over at Laughing at Chaos, and is the author of If This is a Gift, Can I Send it Back?: Surviving in the Land of the Gifted and Twice-Exceptional, recently published by Gifted Homeschoolers Forum Press.