Spring is coming

qCrash! My feet collapse the snow thrusting my legs knee deep in ice. Woodsy smells greet my nose and the snow lice, so active last week in these woods, are slowing down. Spring is almost upon us.

The warmer temperature exhilarates me but is quickly chased by a cloud of dread. Soccer starts soon!

Our family loves soccer. Everyone but me plays and in years past I’ve helped coach one or two teams. The girls learn so much from the team sport. My problem is not with the activity itself but with the inevitable scale-tipping that ensues. With a practice and a game per week, per child, our schedule changes from comfortable to insane.

I don’t remember being rushed around as a child. Why are our schedules so much more difficult today? Why do so many of us as parents think that activities are so much more important than family time?

My oldest daughter, Katherine, just started with a quality dance program this year – in fifth grade. She loves tap, ballet, and jazz but she’s in a class where the vast majority of kids are two years younger than her. We started her “too late” to keep up with her peer group.

When I was a kid only the serious dancers did ballet every year. I never remember being in a class with significantly younger children yet I took a wide variety of classes. I took gymnastics one year, swimming the next, dance the year after.

Today’s kids must start their activities in first grade or younger and stick with them for fear of being left behind. But which is worse for our children – being left behind in an activity or left out of meaningful time with your family?

For some families this problem is lessened by the parents’ participation. A parent can coach and so get more time with their child. Part of our family’s choice to homeschool comes out of this dilemma.

Rather than the children and I spending time in separate places during the day, we learn together most mornings. Afternoons we’re often doing school work together with friends. By the time we head out for our evening activities, we have had at least 5-6 hours of time working in the same space.

So as we dive into our spring activities, I will try to remember my current perspective. Scrambling from one place to another in the evening, I hope to remain content with the slice of peace we had when the air was crisp and the fire was crackling.

See you on the fields!

In the trenches

The rules for homeschooling are endless. I’m not talking about the actual regulations - I mean the unspoken, societal rules. They come out in statements like: “I could never homeschool because …” or “if you are going to homeschool, then you should at least ….”

Most of the time, this doesn’t phase me. I have a good education and an IQ well above average. I can roll with the punches.

After almost two years of writing for the paper, someone finally wrote in about my articles – to critique my grammar. To make matters worse, the person claimed that if I was going to homeschool my kids, I should at least use proper grammar!

Thankfully, this came in email so I had the opportunity to turn red all by myself without an audience, and I could react logically. She had a point – I sometimes used the word “I” as part of the compound object of a sentence, which is incorrect. I am teaching my children so I should use proper grammar. I promptly asked all my homeschooling friends for a quick lesson on my error and bought a new book on the subject.

As I read the grammar book and reacquainted myself with complicated works like “subject”, “predicate”, and “conjugated verb,” I noticed that I was learning. What was the point of homeschooling anyway? What was my goal in this endeavor?

The standard school model is that the teacher knows the information and channels it into the children. With 25 expectant faces peering at her, she must know the information and explain it in the most engaging way possible. I imagine that she can’t pause and learn alongside her children. She is the source of knowledge – she needs to be.

That’s simply not my model. I am not the fount of knowledge waiting to pour into my kids when they allow it. If I expect myself to know it all, in the home setting, my haughty attitude will prevent instruction. I’m showing them how to learn – my ignorance or error is an opportunity. (How about that verb tense matched nicely with the subject of the sentence? J)

For example, we’ve been learning about the Dani people of New Guinea. Before this, I knew nothing about the Dani people and very little about New Guinea. We’ve spent about 3 weeks studying these people and other tribes in the South Pacific.

I could read ahead and share my new-found information. But it’s much more fun to spend a couple of hours a day on the couch reading Torches of Joy, Island of the Blue Dolphins and Call It Courage. Then, fascinated, we bring up GoogleEarth, WorldBook Encyclopedia or watch the DVDs from NetFlix that show other tribes in New Guinea.

If I knew all about these tribes, I wouldn’t be having half as much fun. I would not be modeling that learning is an adventure and a plain old good time. In contrast to the traditional school model, I teach my two children by putting in my best effort to learn alongside them – even when I make mistakes.

I’m thankful that someone read my column thoroughly and consistently enough to notice my errors. I’m doubly grateful that she corrected me so that I can learn from it. But I cannot hold myself up to an unattainable standard that as a homeschooler, I must be able to know and pass along all knowledge. Instead, I want to imbue my children with a love of learning that they achieve through the journey we trek together.

Is Learning More Important Than Caring?

(Published in Nashoba Publications, February 2008)

How could I possibly feel bad for ants? I had felt similarly before. A deer used to bed down her young fawns in our backyard. I’d be doing some household chore, like washing the dishes, and I’d look up to see her feeding her young ones. I remember thinking to myself, “We’re just two mommies each taking care of kids”. But I really didn’t expect this kind of connection would occur with members of the insect order.

We put the ant farm on our kitchen counter where they had the best chance of being warm. During the winter, much of our school work happens in the kitchen, again because of the temperature. So as we watched the tiny creatures move about we began to feel as if we were living parallel lives in our separate spaces. The difference was the ants lived in a transparent house feasting on a Jell-O-like substance while the kids watched from above, wishing they could eat neon green Jell-O.

One morning we were eating egg sandwiches and noticed something strange inside our small friends’ abode – tiny, hair-like particles had appeared overnight along with three round, black objects. “What are those, Mom?” Laura asked between bites. Interested, we studied the new items. The six hair-like fibers seemed to be jointed and the three, dark, spheres where of dissimilar size and shape. All were sitting neatly in a pile right next to what seemed to be the ants poop mound.

“Oh my goodness, Mom, that was an ant!” Katherine figured it out – one of our ants had been dismembered by his friends and thrown on the rubbish heap.

What had I started? As a homeschooling mom, I’m always looking for hands-on learning opportunities. So while preparing to study the biology of ants, I had been completely sucked in by the ant farm’s claims. “Learn about ants by watching them tunnel!” “See how their community works together!”

Six weeks later, when our ants arrived, I began to see behind the slick marketing to notice a few missing points. I read the instructions to my two eager helpers and they went something like this, “freeze your ants before dumping them into their habitat because they are stinging, Western Harvester ants and you don’t want any chance they could get out.” What? I paid to import stinging ants? With widening eyes, neither child wanted to help anymore.

Dutifully, I froze the frantic ball of blackness for the recommended duration. (I was already starting to feel strangely about freezing the creatures.) When I brought them out of the freezer, I quickly dumped them into their home and slammed the lid down. I certainly didn’t want stinging ants in my house. We watched the ants’ movements quicken as they warmed up and acclimated to their new home.

My kids wondered, “Mom, which one is the queen?” I searched the written details and discovered another fact conveniently left out –our little colony of ants had no future. I had to explain to the girls that no queen meant there would be no eggs or babies. We had just put these tiny insects into their graves with no hope of reproduction. Yet if we released these warm-climate ants in the snow they would never survive.

This sad fact was soon overlooked by all of us. “Look – they dug a whole new tunnel last night!” “Katherine, come quickly – one ant is carrying something up to the top level.”

We observed this ant family everyday for 3 months and conveniently forgot their fate until that one morning we realized they’d torn their buddy limb-from-limb. It seemed that every day thereafter, more bodies appeared on the mound while fewer workers patrolled the tunnels. With sadness, we noticed that about thirty ants dwindled down to a half dozen.

I finally stuck the ant farm into the closet where I could shelter the children from the ramifications of our purchase. Really I suppose I wanted to hide the evidence of our wrongdoing. “Not all dead yet”, I thought. “We can’t chuck them in the trash today.”

Finally the girls and I had a little meeting. I explained my concerns about the ants’ existence and asked them what they thought we should do. Should we just let the last three ants die slowly in their now smelly, gelatinous home? Katherine suggested that it was more humane to just kill them quickly and end their lonely struggle. So with an air of sadness, we dumped the three sister ants out and plopped them in the fire.

What had we learned? The girls knew a lot more about ants’ lives. Intimately, they understood the roles of these creatures’ head, thorax and abdomen. They understood that ant communities are organized and work together.

I was more worried about the tangential lessons they might have absorbed. My purchase showed that it was OK to trap God’s creatures and deprive them of the joy of reproduction and the hope of freedom as long as we learned from it. How could I make this a positive learning experience on every level?

We decided to do some research. We looked into the Bible at Genesis 1:28 when God is done creating people and he tells us to reign over the animals. People sometimes use that scripture to justify heartless treatment of animals yet that verse clearly states that we are made in God’s image. “Hmm – if we are made in God’s image, then how does God treat animals”, I wondered with the girls.

Further on in Psalms and Luke, the Bible talks about God’s compassion for sparrows. So we decided that God’s intention that people manage animals could not imply that he intended us to callously mistreat any of them, even just ants.

In spite of realizing that I’d thoughtlessly spent our money, I was relieved that our consciences eventually kicked in and told us that we had not treated these creatures properly. We’ll think carefully next time we consider bringing a bit of nature inside. I hope that come spring, the deer mommy will be back and we can learn from nature without encasing it in plastic.

Trick or Treat

published in Nashoba Publications, November 2007 as a column

I’ve done a bad thing.

Sitting in the corner of our “school room” is an unattended chicken halfway into the mummification process. The natron it’s sitting in (ok, really it’s salt, baking soda and baking powder), is so wet it’s changed color but miraculously there’s no smell.

Four years ago when my oldest child was in first grade, we studied Ancient Egypt. (We do a sequential study of history which repeats every four years.) When I went on homeschool field trips with other families who were also studying the Ancients, the mummy question came up: “did you make the chicken mummy?” The meaning behind their inquiry was, “are you really studying this time or just breezing through the book? How thorough, how serious are you?”

I still remember those amazing women who had made chicken mummies – oops I mean whose kids made chicken mummies. They were right up there with women who could knit tiny ducks, fold origami cranes or fashion pigs out of those fuzzy wires.

So this year, I was not – not – not going to miss this experience. I would, I mean my kids would, make a mummy. There were just a few problems.

One would think that pouring salt on a chicken would be cheap. Salt is only 50 cents a box but we’ve used about 20 boxes so far. And baking powder & baking soda - that stuff is pricey! I’m afraid to calculate how much muslin costs per yard and how many yards it takes to wrap each little chicken appendage. So far this extremely skinny poultry has cost me about $50 and I haven’t even started wrapping him.

The first time we processed the dead body by pouring rubbing alcohol all over him, toweling him off, making the “natron”, filling his body cavity and bag with the solution – the kids were fascinated. We did the process with friends and there were 5 kids out on the lawn debating who would do what and what to name each family’s chicken.

But for some reason, the thrill wore off. No one wanted to help with the job – it became right up there with cleaning the litterbox. Only 5 weeks to go before he’s done. Ugh.

In a rare fit of brilliance, I remembered reading the Amelia Bedelia book where she is told to “dress the chicken” and makes a little outfit for it. I suggested that to decorate our doorstep for Halloween, the girls make “chicken” an outfit. Off they went, digging through the basement piles of cloth. (Apparently a shrinking chicken is much more interesting if you are clothing it.)

I didn’t expect them to come back with black lace. But I’ve got to say, there’s nothing creepier than pallid chicken skin coated in sexy black lace. I was quite surprised that not one of our trick-or-treaters mentioned anything about him. (They probably just chuckled – “that’s the homeschoolers house” as they left.)

A few days later, we were touring the Museum of Fine Arts Boston with friends when the docent showed the children the dress mummies wore – a web of beads on strings was woven in a lace-like pattern and placed on the wrapped mummy. “Just like our chicken, Mom!”

While I’m not completely enamored with our personal mummy, we are having a good time with the field trips and books. The whole time period of Ancient Egypt is fascinating. By far the most interesting thing has been the mummies.

Did you know that the Egyptians mummified more than people? Today pet cemeteries are reputed to cater to those people who idolize their household critters but that’s tame in comparison. The Egyptians spent months and loads of money saving their cats for posterity. Then they shipped many of their little kitty mummies to one city where they all could hang out together: hundreds of thousands of shriveled cats.

What a beautiful, if a bit excessive, picture of how that culture adored their felines. But to get the complete story you have to jettison yourself forward in time to the 1900s when Londoner’s reportedly ran out of fuel and the more modern Egyptians sold all these cat mummies as combustible material.

Wow. And I’m worried about the smell of a chicken mummy in two Zip-Loc bags.

Lasting Memories and Rotting Mammals

published in Nashoba Publicastions, July 2007

We’re spoiled. We are accustomed to doing field trips in small groups. There are enough homeschoolers to organize large educational adventures, but in a group larger than about 15, many children (at least mine) seem to resort to a pack mentality where the learning opportunity ends up sidelined to social dynamics.

So when about thirty people attended a nature study field trip run by an author on the subject, I wasn’t sure how much we’d absorb. (A “nature-study” is characterized by spending relaxed time observing nature and then recording what you saw with drawings and writing.)

Three days later, we left for Colorado and I brought the nature study notebooks I‘d purchased for the trip. These are notebooks where each page has space for drawing and a lined section underneath for writing.

Over the years, I have taken so many photos that I have no clue what they are anymore. I hoped that drawing special occasions would help my children preserve lasting memories.

In spite of the fresh inspiration, I got serious groans about my ideas for logging their trip. “OK. Just draw and write about one event from each day. That’s the only thing you have to do.” (I didn’t mention not arguing with your sister, behaving in restaurants, and hiking at elevations 2 miles above sea level.)

From each day of our 6 days in Colorado Springs, they somewhat grudgingly drew one event. Paratroopers with colored smoke; orange mountains; wildflowers; cliff houses; Thunderbird airplanes – this was just what I’d hoped for, minus the whining of course.

We left Colorado Springs and drove to Estes Park, Colorado. There I learned how to get the kids to draw without complaint: the Junior Ranger Program. It motivated the children to point out yellow-bellied marmots, ponderosa pines, picas and elk. They were more pumped to discover life than even we were.

And more than just noticing wildlife, the Ranger booklets asked the kids to draw! One project was perfect- they needed to sit somewhere within the park and observe at least 3 forms of life, within arm’s reach, that depended on each other.

I didn’t need to do more than read the page to them before they were scoping out the landscape for a good place to investigate. “Look Mom – bones, skin, fur!” Katherine hollered.

Pulling over, we discovered a grisly scene. A dead juvenile elk, one hoof in the air, had its bones picked almost clean. The hide was attached in spots. The skull pulled off. This sure was the cycle of life up close.

“I will not gag”, I thought as Laura pointed out small insects picking the hide clean. The smell didn’t get to me but insects…?!

As we were dive-bombed by magpies, we noticed bird poop on the carcass. Nearby, Laura found tufts of grass that had been recently munched.

Without prodding, they sat down to draw. Laura decided that a mountain lion had killed the elk. Using multiple colors, she drew outlines of a cat-like creature, a living elk, a magpie, an ant and the carcass then she drew grass over the whole thing.

Katherine painstakingly drew the bones in front of her being picked by a magpie. Then using color, she drew in the bits of remaining skin and to beautiful blue color of the magpie’s plumage.

I don’t know if it was the life-and-death subject matter, the Junior Ranger motivation or the fact that we carved time out of the day to observe and draw but there was no complaining.
And I’m positive that when they are 40 and look at their drawings, at least one lasting memory will have been made.

Next Generation’s Leaders: United States Air Force Academy Graduation

published in Nashoba Publications, Sept, 2007 as a column

“Laura, let your sister lead for this part of the hike. You don’t need to be first all the time.” I must repeat this phrase to each child several times a day because we usually hike for the daily physical education component of our homeschool. Each child walks fastest and most cheerfully when they lead. Put my 6 year old behind anyone and she can’t help herself – she slows way down.

As a parent, it’s nice for me to see my girls want to lead. Honing this drive requires a good leadership model and for that I tend to point them to Jesus who, by most people’s accounts, was at the very least a successful leader. Washing the dirt from his followers’ feet, he nurtured while he was in front – he led by serving.

Every chance I get, we point out historical models of servant leaders. People like Mother Theresa who became a leader by helping people considered to be lower than low.
Watching my kids, I don’t see service-oriented leadership nearly enough. “I got to the Leapster first, so it’s my turn.” (What happened to that phrase I long to hear, “No – you go first.”?)

I’m sure we all see this in our kids – leadership motivated by selfishness. Observing our culture’s me-centered philosophy, I worry. How will our country survive with everyone out for themselves?

With this concern foremost in my mind, I was all eyes and ears as we attended the United States Air Force Academy (USAFA) graduation over Memorial Day. Sitting in Falcon Stadium with about 15,000 other people, I pointed out the sharpshooters sprawled out on their bellies around the top of the field. My girls observed bomb-sniffing dogs which ran up and down checking the seats. As I told them, “The Secretary of Defense, who works for President Bush, is speaking here today”, the famous USAFA band began to play.

All eyes locked on the field as seemingly infinite rows of uniformed young adults marched into view. With precision, these men and women snaked down the side of the field into their chairs. As the first column of new officers hit their seats, they marched in place – still in perfect sync until the last airman was in place.

Watching these organized kids, I couldn’t help but notice these youth were thinking of the group first – they couldn’t even march together unless they did. As excited as they all were, their advance on the field was breathtaking for its uniformity and perfection.

Awestruck and wide-eyed, Katherine and Laura stood, hands over their hearts and sang our National Anthem with thousands of other people. The regality of the display in front of us made gave me an emotional catch in my throat as I tried to sing.

Finally settling into our seats, the Secretary of Defense’s speech was gripping. He hammered on the subjects of integrity and service. “You must be great citizens. In everything you do, you must always make sure that you are living up to the highest personal and professional standards of duty, service, and honor – the values of the Air Force, the values of the American armed forces, indeed the values of the United States.”

Secretary Robert M. Gates went on to point out that sometimes doing the right thing has no reward aside from your own personal integrity. This reinforced the Air Force’s honor code which we had read before we came and seen repeatedly in our visit to the AFA: “A cadet will neither lie, cheat, nor steal nor tolerate those who do.”

Throughout Secretary Gates’ speech and every speaker’s talk, whenever the words “the graduating class of 2007” were spoken, a deep cheer rose from the waiting graduates, eliciting chuckles in the audience. These serious students were obviously not lacking joy.

Various young men and women were recognized for accomplishments both physical and academic. Finally every former cadet would have their turn at the podium; get their diplomas; and then exit the stage to be congratulated by the peer who had preceded them.

Male graduates would plow down the ramp into their peer and bump so hard they often fell over. Female graduates, on the other hand, would run full-bore down the runway; jump into their male peer’s arms; be whirled in a circle; and then put their hats on to warmly greet the next graduate.

My girls had their eyes glued on these female officers who were obviously cherished by their male peers.

The whole audience couldn’t miss the camaraderie in this group. These students clearly knew and respected each other. Both as flight members and as individuals, they had achieved something great by completing their education.

In the midst of graduating over 900 airmen, children ages 7-10 were instructed to gather down by the field. Laura, my youngest child, was upset to discover that she was 4 months shy of the age requirement – she wanted to rush on the field to pick up a graduate’s hat when they were dismissed.

Walking Katherine down to the field, a 13 year old girl explained how she would lie to the officers to get on the field. “But Mom, that’s totally against what the Air Force is about”, Katherine whispered agitatedly. She continued, “Laura couldn’t get a hat because she wasn’t the right age.” I reminded her of the Secretary of Defense’ speech- at least we were confident that we had done the right thing even though there was a cost to Laura. I knew Katherine wondered if, according to their honor code, she should tell on the fibbing 13 year old. Thankfully we lost sight of the girl as Katherine joined the throng of children.

Watching all the other nervous parents stuck on the side, I tried to track Katherine as over 1000 kids waited, desperately wanting a hat.

The announcement was made – these amazing young men and women had graduated! Their hats flew; Thunderbirds buzzed the stands with a resounding boom; and young children flooded the field.

Waiting on the side, the anxiousness of the parents was palpable. Both dads and moms were nervous. But we hadn’t taken the new graduates into account. Almost instantly, I spotted Katherine, being led to the kids’ pickup area by my cousin. Other graduates led children or tried to help young ones find hats.

My blood pressure returned to normal, only to sky-rocket again as the Thunderbirds performed amazing feats in the air above us.

On a high from the excitement of the day, I gathered Katherine and we returned to our seat along with the graduates in a much more orderly procession than the pushing and shoving needed to get onto the field. These new officers were much more polite than your average person.

In fact as I recalled the past few days of touring the campus with my cousin Jonathan, his manners were impeccable but not in a phony way. He was genuinely concerned about my kids. Watching him bump into friends around campus, discourse was happy and kind.

Observing Jonathan’s concern and love for his parents and grandmother at this graduation, it was clear that he saw himself as a servant first. His first priority in every situation seemed to be making other people feel loved and safe.

And yet, like every kid who gets into the USAFA, Jonathan is a leader. Only a handful of children are admitted to this school and given a free, Ivy-league level education. In exchange, they agree to serve – their family, their Flight, their Wing, their country. Learning to serve, they become leaders.

Watching the new graduates with their families, I realized that instead of leadership visibly motivated by self-service, this entire school seemed to have trained these children to lead by serving others.

In the stands, as the last Thunderbirds buzzed us, Katherine stood tall on her seat screaming “I want to fly one of those!” She’d found flesh and blood role models to follow.

Leadership 101

Published in Nashoba Publications, Sept 2007 as a column

Child’s play is not always innocent. Read or watch Lord of the Flies and you can’t help noticing that the child in charge leads through sheer strength of opinion. Observe a group of school-aged children negotiate their next activity and it’s inescapable that brute force of will predominates.

In my experience this doesn’t stop when childhood ends. I recall one business meeting when I was presenting an idea and a co-worker actually stood and tried to remove the marker from my hand for the offense of trying to finish explaining my suggestion.

In each circumstance, the person leading with an iron fist was not truly respected. At the first opportunity, bullies are frequently overthrown for another tyrant.

As books about birth order will tell you, it’s often the oldest child in a family who has the personality of a leader. My family is no different. As a homeschooling parent, I overhear a good amount of my oldest child’s daily social interactions. As a result, I often find myself proud of her for her innate tendencies and concerned that she learns to lead lovingly and with concern for those following her.

In July, we met a man running for leadership at a national level – Jim Ogonowski was at the Civil War Reenactment in Groton. Watching him work to connect with every person he met, including my girls, I realized he was someone I wanted my kids to know better. I called his office a few days later and asked if they could do an educational talk to children about politics.

As I perused Ogonowski’s web site and got feedback as I promoted the event, I learned what a gold mine I’d bumped into for my purposes. He had spent 28 years in the Air Force and Katherine had seemed awe-struck at the graduates of the Air Force Academy when we attended their graduation in May.

Digging deeper, I learned that Ogonowski’s family worked with recent Cambodian immigrants to enable them to farm in New England. As I worked with fellow homeschoolers to narrow the scope of the event, one of Ogonowski’s aides informed me that no matter what the topic, leadership through service would somehow work its way into the conversation. Apparently this concept was of prime importance to him. What a coincidence that this was also in the forefront of my mind.

In preparation for our planned meeting, the kids and I brainstormed about what organizations they might want to lead; how they would go about winning votes and the fall-out from being a visible leader.

Katherine decided that our homeschoolers’ chorus steering committee should have an elected student liaison and she wanted the job. When I explained that her friends might get mad at her if their ideas didn’t win out, she was unfazed. “Yes, sometimes people are going to disagree with me. That’s fine.” (Whose kid is she anyways?) Laura had ideas for improving chorus and being elected but had no desire to run for the job.

The day of the talk both of the girls had ideas about why Ogonowski was running. They understood that if he won a Congressional seat he would help write and decide on laws. We met other homeschooling friends at a playground before the meeting in hopes of making the kids too tired to squirm.

Yet as we drove from the playground to the meeting location, Katherine told me that she and her friends had been debating several political topics. One discussion point included the virtues and faults of President Bush. These debates lead into conversation about the start of the conflict in Iraq and our continued war there. It didn’t seem that meeting at the playground had created the desired calming effect. Katherine was rather riled up and ready to hear Ogonowski’s positions on the subjects.

Thankfully, he did not disappoint. After explaining his story to the almost 40 children and parents in attendance, Mr. Ogonowski asked for questions. Several children had written up their questions for me to ask for them. “What is your position on housing for poor people?” “What will you do about labor bonding in Asia?” “Why would you leave the military to be in Congress? There would be no Congress without the military.” “What do you intend to do to stop global warming?”

These kids had done their homework. After answering each query, Ogonowski countered, “don’t you have any easy questions for me?” At this point, their playground debate came up. “Do you think we should have gone into Iraq?” Realizing these kids really cared about his stand on the hotly debated issue, Ogonowski gave a thorough answer detailing faulty intelligence but pointing out that at this point, we’ve got to clean up the mess we made.

The kids understood and sat up straighter in their chairs – knowing they’d been heard, not patronized.

A parent asked Ogonowski, “How do you think kids this age could best prepare for leadership?” He answered by extolling the virtues of the Eagle Scout program. Ogonowski told them, “Working on a service project where you may miss time playing with your friends and where you need to stay focused on the task – that prepares you for leadership.”

A few days later, I asked Katherine what she’d learned. “Anyone can run for office”, she told me. She also remembered the copy of his schedule that we’d mistakenly grabbed while cleaning up – he’d worked from 7AM – 9PM that day.

I’m positive this experience hasn’t all sunk in. But I am grateful for a leader in our community taking the almost two hours to speak with only a dozen family’s kids. I intend to keep quoting what seemed to be Ogonowski’s underlying mantra – look for how you can help and do it.

Now, let’s start with the dishes.

Long Distance Family

Ever spend a few days with people and wish it could be a lifetime? We spent 5 days in Colorado at a family graduation and all four of us walked away wishing the relatives lived closer.

Two hours after meeting my 2nd cousin, Katherine skipped along holding his hand. Almost immediately upon seeing my Aunt, Laura ran joyously into her arms. Both children screamed excitedly and couldn’t stop talking every time they saw my parents. And yet, we all live across the country: Massachusetts, Texas, Arizona, Colorado. These are long distances – there’s no way to make these people part of your everyday life, much as we might like to.

Somehow, Laura, my 6 year old, latched onto my Aunt Janet who lives in Arizona. She doesn’t remember meeting her Great Aunt before but within minutes of being introduced, my shy child, who doesn’t usually even like direct eye contact, embraced my Aunt.

Laura had heard all about my Aunt’s loss – her husband, my Uncle, died 2 months ago. Laura understood that Aunt Janet missed her husband as much as I would miss her daddy. She had heard that my Uncle Russ had endured 2 years of chemotherapy towards the goal of seeing his grandson graduate from the United States Air Force Academy.

So at graduation, after the hats flew; the band played, and the Thunderbirds buzzed our heads, Laura comprehended her Great Aunt’s tear-stained face and the whole family’s sadness that the proud grandfather had died 2 months short of the big day. Believing her hugs might help, she stepped forward to comfort my Aunt.

It wasn’t just Laura’s young age. Katherine, almost 10 years old, watched her second cousin once removed as he marched with his classmates. She searched him out on the field amongst the almost 1000 new officers, positive he would help her as she and a thousand other children swarmed over the grass grabbing for a graduation hat. Jonathan did bring Katherine to the place where I could get her. Later, as Jonathan came up in the stands to hug his parents, Katherine jumped in – proud of him too, in spite of the fact that she just met him 4 days earlier.

That night, Laura walked around our hotel room wearing Jonathan’s extra hat. (He’d given it to her since she was too young to storm the field.) Her face beamed: he’d given it to her!

I expect this kind of rapport between my children and their grandparents. In spite of the distance, they see them regularly. So it wasn’t surprising to me that my parents would step in to help watch the girls or that my children would revel in time spent doing field trips together. I hope I don’t take those relationships for granted – it’s just that we’ve all put in effort over the years to foster this closeness.

What is it about family that without ever meeting them before, you can almost instantly feel you know them and they “get” you?

I asked my children, “of all the new people you met. Who were your favorites?” Each child grinned and answered predictably. Laura answered, “Aunt Janet”. “Cousin Jonathan”, Katherine beamed. Their next question was can he/she come to our house? “I hope so”, I answered wishing but not really believing we’ll get that joy.

How can I teach them that this is life? You can love people you hardly experienced beyond what words can express while tolerating people you choose to see every other day. How can I explain this global world where Cousin Jonathan’s text message was sent this second but they probably won’t see him for years? Where they can call Aunt Janet but might never see her again?

I don’t want to destroy their bubble: their hope. So I’ll tell them what I hear so many parents say – that your memories keep people close – and then I’ll try to convince myself.

Young Heroes: House of Hope gets a boost

(published as an informational piece in Nashoba Publications, August 2007)

At her August 11th yard sale, 13 year old Elizabeth Jeffrey’s efforts began to pay off. She’d spent weeks collecting items for House of Hope, a homeless shelter in Lowell.

Through email and phone calls, Elizabeth worked with Sterilite Corporation in Townsend, MA which happily donated 12 laundry baskets to the cause. Pepperell resident Susan Fry donated over $1000 of women’s health products, and other family friends donated items from Oriental Trading Company that will be used as prizes for the resident children

The day before the yard sale, Miss Jeffrey invested hours in the kitchen baking and frosting over 140 cookies. Good thing she did- she made almost $100 on cookies and lemonade alone! The income generated by this one-day event brought in a total of over $500 which Elizabeth will use to purchase items on the House of Hope’s wish list.

When asked if this behavior is typical for Elizabeth, her mom, Colleen Jeffrey replied, “She’s donated her hair to Locks of Love twice and she’s regularly involved in service projects for the community through the youth program at church.”

Craig Plummer, a former middle-school guidance counselor who lives in Brookline, NH, agreed that, “It is unusual for a girl that age to be so forward thinking.” He expounded. “13 is such a ‘find yourself’ age. Girls [that age] are trying to figure it out – where do I fit; what clothes can I wear; do I want boys to look at me?”

He went on to describe the early teen years as “the biggest change since babyhood.” This degree of personal transition typically and naturally drives most middle-school-aged girls to “a more me-centric universe.”

Elizabeth credits her church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Littleton, MA with motivating her for this project. She’s working on projects through their “Young Women’s Personal Progress” program which focuses on fully understanding seven ideals. After learning about the “Good Works” ideal, Elizabeth was required to complete a ten hour service project.

Miss Jeffrey remembered House of Hope’s mission when she went looking for a support organization to champion.

Serving Lowell since 1985, the House of Hope provides respite from the streets for homeless families. Their emergency shelter gives a temporary home to 18 families who otherwise have nowhere to go.

House of Hope’s apartments support ten at-risk families for a longer duration. These ten families could easily slip back into homelessness because their incomes are below poverty-level, they battle substance abuse or they are physically or mentally challenged.

Through both facilities, House of Hope has set up a safety net for local families.

When Elizabeth researched local charities, she found House of Hope had a very concise list of needs and she remembered when her family had donated quilts to the shelter a couple Christmases ago.

Elizabeth described the organization and its needs on a sheet of paper that she posted for all who attended her yard sale. Dianne Kottke, Pepperell resident, said of the event, “The whole thing was very well done. Their advertising was great. Elizabeth Jeffrey was right at the front…”

When asked about the experience, Elizabeth said “I really liked that I got to help someone out and it was really good to experience that.” As an encouragement to other young teens, Miss Jeffrey suggested, “Just consider it [running a benefit] because there are many unfortunate children out there and you can help them out.”

Her mother, Colleen Jeffery says of her daughter’s effort, “She should be proud of herself for all the hard work she has done and for following through from beginning to end. Her father and I are pleased that she has the spirit of charity and service at such a young age.”

It takes a village

(published as part of my column, August 2007, Nashoba Publications)

“Good morning, Katherine,” I said, watching my 10 year old daughter sit up in our tent. “Who’s up, Mom?” she mumbled, barely coherent but slipping on cozy fleece pants and a sweatshirt. Even in August, mornings in VT were pretty chilly. Stumbling out of our tent, she found her bike and raced off, missing my offer of breakfast.

Camping with over a dozen other families in Jamaica, VT felt like being transported back to the days of my husband’s youth when he’d leave his house in the morning, returning only for meals. We were jettisoned back to the time when any member of a town might correct your child’s behavior or feed them cookies – maybe at the same time.

Throughout the days and nights, I found myself interacting frequently with other people’s children. “There’s a car coming. Pull to the side!” I instructed 3 girls under the age of 8 – none of whom were mine. “Ask your mother before you eat too many marshmallows” friends told my children as they tried to pig out on s’mores.

Both of our girls spent their days biking, swimming and hiking. Several times I found my 6 year old Laura playing in the dirt with her friends – all their faces smeared with dust.

Adults figured out what activities they wanted to do and took along interested kids. One day, I hardly saw my 2 children but spent 3 hours at the river beach watching children from 2 other families.

As a homeschooler, I’m with my kids more than not. So it was with mixed emotion that I experienced this vacation. I would have liked to see Katherine’s pride at biking and hiking for 2 hours to walk across the top of a dam. But it was nice to hear that other adults had taught her how to build a fire and stopped her from eating too many pancakes. I wasn’t getting to share as many experiences with my own children but my girls were learning that other parents enforce the same rules.

One week after arriving home from our travels to VT, I found myself in New York City – again experiencing things without my kids. My husband had surprised me with a trip to the Big Apple for my 40th birthday.

Leaving the Broadway Les Miserables production, we walked through Times Square and it struck me how different my surroundings were from the previous weekend. The cacophony of sound and blinkingly brilliant lights were in stark contrast to the stillness and inkiness of a Vermont evening.

Turning up Lexington Avenue in Manhattan, I saw three children zooming up the dark street on their skateboards. Focused completely on those preteen boys the words “your mother wouldn’t want you to do that” sat on my tongue ready to be blurted out.

With a sinking realization of the community these boys were missing, I said nothing. They could be gang members for all I know. Or their mom might be fine with her boys skateboarding at 11PM alongside the taxis. What gives me the right to help keep some stranger’s children safe?

The following day, as I watched trees and greenery again become commonplace, I happily returned to our little town. Our girls had stayed with friends who still required them to talk politely, clear their dishes and clean up their messes. Yet like any 10 year old, Katherine wished we’d stayed longer in New York.

I couldn’t have had two more divergent and rejuvenating vacations. But from rural Vermont to New York City, there’s no place I’d rather live than our tiny New England community: near to amazing museums and the bright lights of Boston while at the same time amongst friends and neighbors with whom we can share the simple struggles and joys of our ordinary life.

Local Families Join the Throngs of Thousands Giving City Kids a Country Vacation

(published as a current events piece, Aug 2007, Nashoba Publications)

“As I comforted my youngest child while we watched Narima [our Fresh Air child] board the bus, I realized I had gotten much more than I bargained for.” said Lisa Clemetson of Pepperell. “I knew I’d be opening my home for two weeks but I didn’t realize how much of my heart I would open as well.”

The Clemetson’s 5 year old Amber added “I missed her.” Sage, their fourth grader threw in “Even Kali [their dog] was sulking around [after Narima left].” The Clemetson family was one of several local families that hosted children this July through the Fresh Air Fund Program based in New York City.

The Fresh Air Fund started in 1877 as a response to an epidemic of disease in New York City tenements. Reverend Willard Parsons asked his parishioners to help poor children avoid illness by bringing them out to live in their rural community of Sherman, PA.

The program grew from that tiny seed to what it is today – a comprehensive charity serving about 10,000 inner city children each year. In addition to this program in New York City, Fresh Air Funds also run in New Jersey, Massachusetts and Toronto, Canada.

As Lisa Clemetson explained, “This program is about so much more than getting kids out of the city. It’s about building relationships and creating bonds.” Instead of keeping children safe from rampant disease, these country vacations now give urban children a break from city life.

Describing the benefits of hosting a child, Mrs. Clemetson went on, “In an ideal world, parents have the opportunity and means to introduce their children to new things. I was struck by the sense that in all circumstances, Narima would have liked to share these new experiences with her family. So I felt blessed that we had the privilege of introducing her to things like picking blueberries, the smell of the ocean, bird songs and catching crabs.”

Echoing a similar sentiment, Reilly Hutchinson, a host mother who lives in Groton said of the child they hosted, “Our family often forgets that his life is very different from ours”. She remembers roasting marshmallows with their Fresh Air child and listening to him marvel at the soft, warm center of the transformed white sweet – something that is commonplace to most suburban children.

The Hutchinson family has hosted the same boy from Brooklyn for 2 years. At the 7 year old child’s request, he stayed longer this year – he lived with the Hutchinson’s for 3 weeks. While the initial year’s stay is typically 5-14 days, the Fresh Air child and host can choose to lengthen the visit as they become more familiar to each other.

The Hutchinson family is not the demographic one would expect to host a Fresh Air child – they have 4 girls ranging in age from teens to early twenties. So rather than bringing in a playmate for their kids, the little boy from Brooklyn found himself with “5 older sister ‘mothers’ [who] just dote on him.”

Some of the host families receive their guests with the intention of simply incorporating them into the host family’s normal life. Other families see the 1-2 weeks as an opportunity to share experiences which might be brand new to the city-raised child while still “doing things that are a treat for the [host] family also.” explained Mrs. Hutchinson.

A common theme amongst all the interviewed families was stated by Mrs. Call of Townsend who hosted an 8 year old boy – it was “neat to see things through their eyes – things we take for granted.” Almost every family mentioned that they had enjoyed blueberry picking with their extra family member.

When asked what her favorite activity was Narima, a 7 year old visitor of the Clemetson family of Pepperell, that she enjoyed swimming in a local resident’s pool. When Narima was asked to share one good thing about her visit, she didn’t speak but just pointed demurely to Lisa Clemetson, her host mother.

Several families talked about the Fresh Air child growing to care about their host family. But this new relationship is not meant in any way to replace the bonds they have with their immediate family.

Many of these children come from families where their parent(s) work outside the home in jobs which don’t allow them to take a typical vacation. Angela Pogue of New York City, NY is one of these parents. Her daughter has visited the Carter family of Westford every summer for the past 8 years.

Mrs. Pogue explained that she grew up in Alabama where her extended family was an important part of her childhood. Living in New York City, she doesn’t have family nearby and she wanted her daughter “to know there is more to life than being in the inner city”.

Angela Pogue expounded, “I’m blessed that I got lucky and got her [Debbie Carter]. It feels like I’m sending her [Tercara, her daughter] off to extended family. I trust Debbie with my children.”

Mrs. Carter is one of the volunteers who organizes this event every July. She interviewed local families to line up hosts and rode the bus back to New York City with the kids in addition to hosting Tercara.

She invests this time because she hopes the children come away feeling that “if you want to get out of the city to this kind of lifestyle, you can have it. We’re no different – we just live in a different place.”

This goal of sharing our lifestyle was another common thread among all the interviewed families who hosted children this July- each family expressed their desire to continue opening their home to these children and their hopes that other families will join the program.

When asked if she’d recommend being a host family for the Fresh Air Fund, Tiffany Call said “Absolutely. It’s another person that’s part of your family for 2 weeks. Think about what you are giving with just 2 weeks of your own time.”

Mother Guilt

(published in my column in Nashoba Publications 6 local papers, August 2007)

“Do you ever get a break?” an acquaintance asked me. This is one of the most common questions about our choice to educate our children “at home”.

I find it odd that people think this challenge is particular to homeschooling. Most women in their thirties and forties don’t seem to feel that they get much time for themselves, regardless of their educational or vocational choices.

Female friends with full-time jobs that have school-aged children seem to perpetually battle guilt. Am I spending enough time with my kids? Is my husband stuck doing too much? Am I doing a disproportionate amount of the household chores? … Shoved way down on their list of priorities is often time for themselves or time to just enjoy their family without a task to be accomplished.

Mothers without paid employment whose children are in school would seem to have it all –blocks of time to themselves, the ability to grocery shop sans whining… Yet reality seems to be different. Volunteer work frequently takes up an inordinate amount of time. Helping with the children’s school, serving at church, running town programs – much of this work is done by this group of women. “You ‘don’t work’. Can you run town football or chair the craft fair for the elementary school?”

Unstated but inherent in these questions is the assertion that being home while your kids are in school isn’t enough work. So often these women say “sure”. Since there is no pay for these positions, the women end up still responsible for home management, all kids shuttling, homework, etc. And they often seem to have the same guilt- is my time with my children good time – quality time? Or have I become chauffeur, maid, waitress and obstacle to my children’s wishes (otherwise known as disciplinarian)?

As a homeschooling mom who spends some time writing and volunteering, I can identify with both groups. But I’m lucky- unlike some other families, my husband seems to understand the effort it takes to educate the kids. He doesn’t expect dinner on the table each night, (which is good because sometimes it’s cereal.) But even with a supportive spouse, I’ve got the same guilt.

Am I always rushing? Will the girls remember me satisfied with my life or frustrated from trying too hard? When we miss a reading lesson, I feel a twinge of guilt but honestly, it’s less than the typical mother guilt. It’s not that hard to get enough hours of “school”: our life has become defined by homeschooling. Every vacation is a field trip. Most life experiences are by nature, educational. Anything we miss, can be made up as long as skipping things is the exception rather than the rule.

But what I cannot makeup is something I share with every other mother – the relationship I have with my kids; the images I’m giving them of motherhood.

So I have to wonder, if most women in this stage of life struggle with guilt and stress, then where is the problem? If I send my kids to school, my neighbor quits her job, or my friend stops volunteering will our lives get less harried?

Looking at myself, I think the answer is “no” because the problem is me – and you. Instead of rating ourselves by our inner and outer peace or by connection to God, we value measurable accomplishments: extra-curricular activities for our kids, service outside the home, a thin body, nice clothes, a put-together appearance.

Until we stop looking outside for our worth, we will make stress for ourselves regardless of whether we work for pay; put our kids in school or choose to homeschool.