It’s hard for me to believe that it’s only been a year since I pulled my oldest daughter (The Adventurer) out of middle school.  So much has changed- for all of us.

Are you wondering, is it all good?

Yes, but please don’t confuse that with easy! Honestly, some days are awesome, some are challenging, some are fun. Some days leave me wondering why am I doing this?

So I take a step back, out of their way and remember.

I’ve shifted my thinking about education quite a bit. That shift has made all the difference in our day-to-day lives. To be brief, I let go. Learning is a lovely, natural process. It doesn’t have to be painful (though that realization can be painful).

When the Adventurer left school, she had been recently diagnosed with ADHD. Yet, a new doctor  was convinced that she did not have ADHD. She thought she was bright, intuitive and sensitive. School was boring her, making her anxious and defensive.

I see zero signs of ADHD at home now. Zip.  She has a high energy level, but now she channels it into her interests.

(WARNING: MAMA BRAGGING AHEAD!)

Now, instead of stressing over grades, she’s learning what she needs and reaching deeper into her own interests.

She’s explored fashion design, discovered she loves ice skating, started her own blog with a  jewelry making business to go with it, studied botany, acting, the history of theater and knows more about Greek mythology than most college grads. She works on her novel when the mood strikes her.

And my girl, she sings. It’s the most amazing thing to me, because I can’t. I was the only kid in the third grade who didn’t make the chorus. Oh, the memories!

As for the Butterfly (now 8), she has discovered a love of chemistry, martial arts and spending lots and lots of time outside. She cooks with me,  plays games,  covers five math lessons in one short sitting and  remembers it all…but won’t bother with it everyday. She has studied medieval history,  geology, poetry and all things related to owls. She knows what it will take  to become a veterinarian (and thought over her goal carefully). She loves video games, painting and crafts. She made Angry Birds out of Bend-a-roo’s for an art show. She hosted our home school group’s talent show and wasn’t the least bit nervous. In fact, she didn’t seem to think it was a challenge at all.

The Princess at Stepping Stones Museum

The Princess, (now 5) taught herself to read. She is constantly adding numbers and asking me if she has the right answer. She plays Stack the States, Poptropica and all things Barbie.  She would be up all night playing if the rest of us would stay up with her. She texts her dad at work because she misses him.

And thanks to the Olivia series, she thinks our next vacation should be to Venice to eat gelato and ride in a gondola.

I agree.

Still, we all struggle with certain things. I miss writing. I simply don’t have time. Right now, at this moment, I should be doing something else.

They say the first year of homeschooling is the toughest.

Here are some random thing’s I’ve learned this year:

• A Charlotte Mason approach to homeschooling is beautiful, especially in other people’s homes. It sounds so perfect, but dictation and narration make me throw up a little.  I’ll keep the nature study.
• The single most important thing my little women need from me is to be fully present, hearing them. I need to not be distracted by other things.
• It’s very hard for an introvert to stay fully present 24/7. Or even 8/7.  I’m working on it, but I need breaks. And that’s okay.
• Each of my girls learn different things in different ways. I’m on to them now. I can help.
• Kids learn. Don’t try to stop them. Let them run with their interests and enjoy the ride.
• I really, really love pecans. I know it’s off topic, but I can’t believe I survived on this planet for 39 years without them. All those wasted years…why? Why did I wait so long?
• Homeschooling is not for wimps. Finding support is essential. I am so thankful for the strong, beautiful homeschooling mama’s I’ve gotten to know this past year.
• I can be crafty once in a while, if glitter glue is not involved. Check out these puffy journals we made together:

There are two ways to live: you can live as if nothing is a miracle; you can live as if everything is a miracle. Albert Einstein

I’m the owner. As I was looking through them, my 11 year-old nephew comes over. I hold one up to the light.

On the runway, NYC, 1992

“Who’s that?” He is clearly perplexed.

“You don’t know? Here, look at this one. ”

“I have no idea,” he says.

“Well here, look at this one… How about this one?” This goes on for awhile. I finally give up and tell him.

“It’s me.”

“What happened?” He asks, innocently. He’s the only male in the world who could get away with asking such a question. I laughed. I really did. He’s such a little rock star.

“I was wondering the same thing,” I say. And I was.

Eventually, I find a slide that looks enough like me on a good day for him to say “oh, yeah, that one looks like you.”

Sweet child, he was just being polite.

And so I am 40.

I’m looking back a little right now, remembering where I was at 20. I’m not wishing to be there again.   Those glory days have been left far behind for my new glory days.  But I can’t help but wonder what exactly happened and how  it happened so fast that I missed the process?

Turning 40, with thanks to Instagram for lighting effects.

I swear it caught up with me all at once. Last week, I looked in the mirror and saw a middle-aged woman looking back at me. She scared the sh*t out of me. All I could think was, my poor kids. Do I scare them too?

My solution? Stop looking in the mirror so damn much. Except the rear view mirror in the car, where I always look awesome. It’s a small look at my best part, covered in sunglasses. Perfect.

Things change. These things, they also drop and sag and wrinkle up like prunes. I want to be happy and shiney about the ordeal, claim that age has bought me great wisdom, patience and the heavenly gift of Spanx.

That would be a lie. Spanx are the devil, I tell you. And I will never give  my soul (or my muffin top) over to that kind of treachery.

All aging aside, I am still so very blessed.

Mother, Daughter, Friend Necklace

I woke up this morning to gifts and love from my family. Wilderness Dad stayed home from work to be with me today. My girls, as I write this, are planning a picnic in the backyard to celebrate.

My days, while they often feel like endless labor, can be so beautiful.

Motherhood is not always a thankless job. The Adventurer gave me this necklace for my birthday. I had trouble reading the inscription and caught myself squinting and moving it closer and then away, trying to focus. I refuse to buy reading glasses. That can wait for 41. It says God made you my mother, love made you my friend. Does it get any better than that?

I’m not who I was at 20. And if I stop examining the lines on my face and look around me, I can see the awesome trade off. Beauty is all around me, in the faces of my girls, in the shared love of my family, in the fullness of my life at middle age.

Middle Age. There I said it. I have been really, really, cranky heading into 40. I’ve been through a lot the past 10 years (haven’t we all). I’m moving on. I’m ready to embrace it and go forward bravely into the  unknown.

So, happy 40th to me. And happy wrinkling, sagging and forgetting  to us all.

May the lighting be forever in your favor.

The Butterfly: Happy and Free

Meet the Butterfly: She’s eight. Like all children, she is uniquely gifted.  She loves life, has a passion for animals and science (seriously),  she rebels against anyone forcing her to do anything. She’s an auditory learner and uses discussion to understand things clearly. She is fiercely persistent.

Relentless. As a parent, this has been a problem for me, but I’m learning.  I’m learning to embrace it, because I know it will serve her well in life. I’m learning to respect her opinions and trust that sometimes, she knows what she needs better than I do.

I call her the Butterfly because she flits and flutters through life, having a blast and making friends everywhere she goes. Having a party? She’ll be there to bring it to life. School didn’t bring that out in her.  School also didn’t beat it out of her, as hard as they seemed to try.

I wrote the following about a year ago, after struggling through a typical school morning.

It’s Wednesday. Like any other day of the week, I have three daughters who are doing their best to stay home from school. For various reasons, they don’t want to go. There’s too much work, the bus ride is too long, it’s too cold outside; lately I’ve even heard the air hurts my eyes.

My first grader is the most extreme in her efforts. She has locked herself in the bathroom until the bus passes our house. Once, she faked throwing up, then pretended to have a terrible cough. The tummy aches were countless. Many, many times I’ve taken her out to the bus crying. She’s typically fine once the bus driver shuts the door and we all move on from the drama.

Yesterday she took a different approach. She told me that she really needed some mommy time. Aww. I thought. That may be the most creative effort yet. I refused to believe that she was manipulating me. I’m still convinced that there was a bit of truth to her statement. She misses me. I put her on the bus and sent her off anyway, feeling like an ice cold mama.

Today, she topped it. When it was time to get dressed, she became a ragdoll, claiming her legs stopped working. So I dressed her flimsy limbs, right down to her snow boots. She fell off the chair when I pulled her pants up and lay on the floor while I finished getting her coat on.

Now, she’s a small kid, even for seven, but I’m not feeling so great these days and it was more than a little difficult to carry her, limp and teary all the way to the bus stop. With her back pack over my shoulder I carried her, putting her down when I could hardly hold her up anymore with a warning, “the ground is cold and dirty.” She didn’t care. She continued being a ragdoll.

The bus pulled up and I lifted her as high as I could to place her on the stairs on the bus. She collapsed on the step. I informed the driver of the problem. She tried to stifle her laugh, saying, “I know, I have three.” I hauled her up another step, then to the landing next to the driver.

My darling didn’t get up. So I lifted her up another step. Without using words, the driver and I exchanged a look. She would close the doors, I would wait out of sight (still panting) and we assumed my darling daughter would get up and move to her seat.

The door shut. I watched the driver try to convince her to take her seat.  I waited in the cold, feeling like quite the failure. Finally, the driver motioned to me to come back. My daughter was not moving, though she was able to tell me that her cough had gotten much worse. I put my aching arms out to her and she fell into them. I brought her back to the end of our driveway and gently set her down as the bus pulled away.

It was an outstanding, award worthy performance. She coughed for me then, repeating that she “thinks it would be best for her if she just stayed home and took it easy for the day.”

What’s a mom to do?  I have to admit that she truly out did herself. I can respect that. Although I was frustrated, embarrassed by my inability to get my child to go to school and all around exhausted by just 9 a.m., I smiled a little to myself.

This kid’s got talent, I thought. Someday, her persistence is going to pay off. Just like today.

As a parent, I wonder what is more important. Being right? Winning? Or having a solid, connected, trusting relationship with my children?

I already know the answer.  I’m happy to have her home now. And she’s happy to be free.

For the record, when I look back at that day, I don’t laugh. I feel a little heartbroken. I wish I had found this more peaceful way of life sooner. I see the changes here in our house. I see the change in my own perspective and understanding. I see the change in my little women.

They’re happy. They’re learning amazing things without being confined, restricted and silenced.

The Butterfly remains relentlessly persistent.

Nothing in the world can take the place of Persistence. Talent will not; nothing is more common than unsuccessful men with talent. Genius will not; unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Education will not; the world is full of educated derelicts. Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent. The slogan ‘Press On’ has solved and always will solve the problems of the human race.
Calvin Coolidge

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We starred at it seriously.

We got as close as we could without touching it, thinking we must be missing something.

We looked at each other, trying to stifle our laughter.

Then we turned to view another exhibit. This one was a sculpture on the floor. It was a brown lumpy mess (I won’t say exactly what it looked like), about a foot high. Moments later, noticing our laughter that was quickly becoming rowdy and uncontrollable, my mother ushered us to the next gallery.

Did this foster an interest in modern art? Do I still laugh in the face of a painting or sculpture that makes little sense to me? Yes. And yes, because my dad and I  had a blast at that exhibit. And we calmed down in the next room, thinking ahhh as we were surrounded by Monet’s Water Lillies.  My love of impressionism was born.

When should we start exposing out children to fine art? My answer is as soon as they show a spark of interest. You don’t have to live near a big city to wander an art museum (although that is great fun), you can open a book or surf the net. Or you can visit a small local museum or art store for inspiration.

Give your kids the opportunity to appreciate fine art in addition to hands-on activities.  My 1^st grader, for example, loves to create little masterpieces using pointillism techniques. She learned it on an episode pf Blue’s Room (so I can’t take credit for the exposure). My oldest loves to sculpt and build with things found around the house. She’s started painting with acrylics and loves it, but last year all she wanted to do was design clothes. I have to remind myself often that creativity needs room to exapand and change over the years as our kids find new mediums to explore.

To get started, I suggest exploring artistic techniques using a book designed just for kids. It’s titled Discovering Great Artists:Hands-On Art for Children in the Styles of the Great Masters. The book contains more than 150 activities with clear instruction and teaches the styles, works, and techniques of the great masters from Van Gogh to Rembrandt, and more.  It also includes full page color photos of projects to be tackled.

Get out and visit an art gallery or museum if you can, scan your local library for picture books about artists and let your children play with art supplies until their little hearts are content (and their little hands are a masterpiece of their own).

Have a great suggestion for enjoying art with your children? Please share! Tell me all about it in the comments!

Yet, oddly enough, a man gets a cold and can’t move for three days. Isn’t it mind boggling how easy it is to take down an otherwise strong, meat eating, beer drinking man…with a little sniffle?

It’s okay guys. I know you can’t help yourselves.

Ladies, when you get a cold, do you get a day off? No. If you get a headache, do you stop doing laundry and cooking dinner? No. If you have the flu, do you get excused from taking care of the kids  or changing diapers? No, because you are a mom.

So, I’m raising my coffee cup in a toast today, to all the moms (mine included) who continue the hard work of motherhood when they are sick, tired and yes, even when they have a cold.

This video is for you, ladies. If you have ever stumbled over a man with a cold while trying to get all the many things you need to get done in a day, you’ll understand!

In my life this week: The Princess, my sweet baby girl, turned five. Although it’s official, she is refusing to accept it. “Turning five freaks me out,” she said.

So she’s staying four. I can relate. Come March, I’m going to stay 39. Turning 40 definitely freaks me out too.

The Princess and the Hedgehog on her fifth birthday.

Highlights from this week:

We prepared for the Classical Kids Art Show.

Preparing recent art projects (paintings, fashion design, sketches) for the art show.

We made recycled paper.

Shredding and soaking the paper.

Grinding up the wet paper to recycle.

The Butterfly created a floor size Periodic Table of Elements with her tutor and classmate. They explained it in great detail when I arrived for pick up. It’s amazing to see two 8 year-olds excited about Chemistry!

Floor size Periodic Table

I learned how to use Instagram on my iPhone. Love it! I caught the cat getting into bed and tested it out…

Kitten in the American Girl bed.

The Adventurer continued to practice for The Mouse Trap. She’ll be playing  two different main characters in three performances, so she has many, many lines to learn. She is also working on perfecting her British accent.

The week ended with the Princesses birthday celebration with family. Barbie was there. Candles were not allowed. The Princess insisted that if there were no candles, she couldn’t turn five.

The Barbie Cake

So she’s four. Again. And that’s  OK with me.

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If only a panic attack was this glamorous...

There is so much to fear in this world, if you choose to pay attention. I try not to pay attention. I focus on all the happy, happy things in the world. Like cupcakes and babies and long baths with lavender salts.

There are days though, when it doesn’t work. I’m cruising through a day, bright and shiny, happy and jolly when something happens and anxiety stops me in my happy little tracks.

Suddenly, something terrifying happens. Freak accidents. Terrorist attacks.  A glaucoma test at the eye doctor.

Okay, the first two don’t cause me to tremble often, but yesterday when my eye doctor put the funky eye numbing drops in my eyes to do a glaucoma test (which really, why do I need it?) I passed out. Cold.

I’ve successfully managed three pregnancies, natural childbirth, a c-section, Chronic Lyme Disease, CAT Scans, MRI’s and root canal. I’ve been a rock climber, cantered horses through open fields without fear. I didn’t flinch when I said I do. But those eye drops, they threw me for a loop. I was out in seconds.

Last year, while having blood drawn I had a similar panic attack that drew a crowd. And by crowd, I mean a team of EMT’s who finally revived me with oxygen. On first check, they couldn’t find my pulse. When I told them that it was just a panic attack and that I would be fine in a few minutes, they insisted I look at my hands.

Ever been to a wake with an open casket?

My hands had lost all color. Apparently my face wasn’t much better. I looked like a corpse. I refused to go to the ER. They thought I was crazy. They were right, in a way, but I know this kind of crazy very, very well.

I was born this way. I have a very early memory of standing at the top of the stairs in my parent’s house, getting dizzy, and waking up at the bottom of the stairs.

My first public display of panic happened in an 8^th grade science class. Then a year later I fainted in church. Then it happened in college, at a bar on Fordham Road in the Bronx. It seems that when I hit the ground in the crowded bar, the bouncers simply carried me out to the curb, dropped me there and walked away in the middle of a winter night in a not so desirable area of the city.

It never happened when I was climbing the side of a cliff. It never happened when I was on stage in front of hundreds of people, or walking the runway, or competing for a sparkly tiara on national TV. It never happened when I felt the weight of responsibility that came with holding a new born baby in my arms.

I feel compelled to share this now, after all these years, because at the eye doctor’s office something strange happened. My doctor understood. She explained what goes on in my body when I have a panic attack so intense that I pass out. She was sympathetic, as only someone who has been there can be. While a therapist can be helpful, (though mine never was), talking to someone like me in many ways yet still totally normal sets my mind at ease.

She is a successful doctor, mom of three girls (just like me) and she suffers from anxiety as well. She’s hit the floor unexpectedly herself.

Hitting the floor like that teaches us something. It teaches us to depend on – and be grateful for – the kindness of strangers who pick you up again and send you on your way. It makes it clear that you cannot do this on your own. And I try to do everything on my own.

I felt accepted. And I can now accept this  about myself, finally. I have a problem. I know. I’ve tried treating it and I will continue to work at overcoming this  inconvenient problem. But in the meantime, I’m  going back to focusing on all the good things in life and the people that wake me up when I check out, dust me off and tell me everything is going to be just fine.

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Roman Fresco Painting - coaster at shop.getty.edu

I struggle a little with art projects. It isn’t that I don’t love seeing what my children create, it’s that I have trouble getting started.I have trouble letting them get started.

I fear the mess. And it takes me time to work up the courage to let them open the paint, especially since I haven’t trained them to clean up properly. I hate the word trained. I guess that’s part of the problem.

The supplies for this project (a messy box of plaster of paris) sat for three months. I regret that. We created little Roman fresco paintings without doing any permanent damage, and we all enjoyed the process.

Creating plaster plaques to paint.

Of course, I mixed the plaster in secret, making the process much less messy. I know I just removed some of the fun and learning opportunities here, but hey, I let them do everything else!

Creating the plaques for them to paint was easier than it sounded. I used several small boxes (jewelry box tops were the recommended size, but I had to experiment a little) and lined them with aluminum foil. We cut a slit in one side large enough to slide the paper clip in to the plaster.

A paper clip inserted into the plaster while wet serves as a hook for hanging.

The Butterfly painting.

We used acrylic paint mixed with a little water and it worked beautifully. I was not, however, able to get the paint out of the Butterfly’s favorite dress.

The Adventurer's painting.

The Adventurer made the largest piece and it cracked when she used a little too much pressure. The plaster is delicate, so I suggest making at least one extra plaque as backup.

The idea for the project came from an old copy of Learning through History- Ancient Rome. It’s a terrific resource  and includes a few projects, recipes for creating a Roman meal together and a section on what it was like to be a kid in Ancient Rome.

You can read up on the history of Roman Fresco Painting if you would like to share some fun facts with the kids while they paint. Or you can just relax, let them play, create and enjoy the process.

I don’t normally do this. At least not often. Because I’m busy.

She scrunched up her face and asked the question that ultimately led to a hurling preschooler.

“Who’s Bono?”

Gasp.

Is it possible my daughter has never heard U2? I did a quick memory search of all of my favorite music that I’ve shared with her over the years.   I continued to scan (it’s like dial-up speed these days) and remember all the singers I love, that she has quickly rejected.

<scan complete>

I forgot to share U2.

The next day, as we were heading out to a friend’s house, I grabbed two CD’s for the road.  Achtung Baby. The Unforgettable Fire.

It was a 20 minute ride. After five minutes, my girls, all three were screaming. This time (for once) they weren’t fighting. They were begging and pleading with me to turn off the music.

The Princess (age 4) was screaming that her stomach hurt.

“Come on, one more song,” I pleaded. “Just listen to this one. ”

“This guy sounds like a dying cat,” said the Adventurer.

I’m not going to share my response to that one. I was outraged. Completely stunned. Horrified.

“I hate it! Turn it off!” yelled the Butterfly, who prefers Radio Disney above all else.

“My stomach really hurts,” cried the Princess. She has a low tolerance for bumpy roads, snug seat belts and apparently, Irish bands.

I made them tough it out ’till the end of the song as I tried to find a spot to pull over to check on the Princess.

And then the song ended. And the Princess puked, quite carefully into a giant plastic cup that was in her cup holder. I pulled over.

They begged me not to ever play it again.

I told them if they behaved, I wouldn’t have to play it again. I laughed to myself as I removed the icky plastic cup, got out of the car and disposed of it in a near by garbage can. I realized I will never have to use the line don’t make me turn this car around again. The threat of mom’s music is now enough to stop their backseat bickering, seat kicking and hair pulling in a heartbeat.

Thank you, Bono. You’re the sweetest thing.

My girls are not embracing my music. It’s not like this rejection has left my heart, empty as a vacant lot, for any spirit to haunt.  I didn’t embrace my mother’s music either.  She tried to help me appreciate Janis Joplin. She did a wonderful impression. I’m not sure dying cat quite captures the pain I felt.(I love you, Mom. And I get it now.)  Lord, wontcha buy her a Mercedes Benz already?

And my grandmother could not understand why my mother and I didn’t share her love of “old blue eyes.” Sinatra was the man, as far as she was concerned. “You know I met him once at the Mamaroneck Diner,” she once told me. She was a woman of many words. And not exclusively accurate words.

This is how it works. They aren’t going to appreciate the music I love. I’m already complaining about the noise they listen to. Really. It’s just noise to me.

The Princess was fine after the music stopped. We went on to our friend’s house, where the Adventurer shared about the dying cat song and how much she hates my choices in music. They were nervous about getting back in the car when it was time to head home.    I promised we could enjoy the silence, which of course reminded me of Depeche Mode, which gave me an idea for tomorrow’s listening…

That’s alright, it’s alright, it’s alright. Here’s Mysterious Ways.  It may make a little girl hurl, but I still love it.

Sunset / Lower Manhattan by David Landisman

I didn’t pick up my camera once this week. I was too busy being sick (thank you, stomach bug). By Friday I was mostly better and managed to deliver the Adventurer and her friend to dance class on time (no small accomplishment).

When the Butterfly, Princess and I returned to pick them up, we watched an incredible sunset.

Not the one in the picture.

Our sunset was not over any such glamorous spot as downtown Manhattan. We watched the with amazement from a parking lot, as the sun set over a strip mall in Monroe, Connecticut.

The girls were mesmerized.

The photo above was taken by my husband (Wilderness Dad) from a treetop (skyscraper) in the jungle (Manhattan) where he works.

We were all watching at the same time.

It reminded me of the movie An American Tail, when the sweet little mousey characters were missing each other, looking up at the same big sky, singing the Somewhere Out There song.

Sappy.

And sweetly connected by something beautiful.

Often, it seems like we exist on different planets, with me homeschooling in last stop before no where suburbia while he spends  his days in Manhattan. I’m not complaining about my life here. I chose it. I like the quiet and solitude and space. I wouldn’t mind crossing the line into rural Connecticut. Still, we’re in two different worlds.

And I appreciate the little connections every now and then.