parenting

Birth Stories

By / October 8, 2013 / 2 Comments

I remember being in the hospital, having just given birth to my fourth child. Howard was there too, I think the new little guy was tucked into the crook of Howard’s arm. This sort of scene is often accompanied by glowing descriptions of the wonder of life and how all of the stress is worth it, rhapsodies on the miracle of birth. That was certainly how the story of my first birth went. We were in a glow every time we looked at her, even when we felt exhausted or stressed. My second and third births also had a measure of glow, but not to the extent of that first one. The fourth birth was different. I remember feeling exhausted and somewhat in despair. I wanted to feel glowing and happy. I knew that I would love this new little person with all my heart. I was already doing everything to keep him safe and cared for, but it did not feel glowing on that day. We were too exhausted from Howard’s stressful work schedule, from four days of stop-and-go labor, from sleeping poorly in a hospital room, from knowing that birth is only the beginning of all the caretaking. I knew that tiny miracle represented weeks and months of insufficient sleep. It was hard to feel happy about that when I was feeling so worn out.

My mother came for all of my births. After my first birth she took care of me as I learned how to care for a newborn. For the rest, she took care of my older kids, plying them with stories and games while I did most of the infant care. Each time she stayed for about a week, which was just enough time for me to want to be in charge again. That fourth time she stayed for two and when she left I still wasn’t quite ready to manage it all.

In hindsight I’m pretty sure I had low level postpartum depression after that fourth birth. I didn’t recognize it because I’d not experienced it with the others. I remember holding my son and telling him he needed to hurry up and learn how to smile at me, because I needed some sort of a reward. He did smile a few weeks later and I emerged from fatigue and difficulty.

Ten years have passed and the pictures of my newborn son make me feel all mushy and happy, just as the pictures of my other three children do. The fact that I did not feel glowing and euphoric in the hours following his birth, or that I struggled for weeks afterward, does not matter. Sometimes love arrives in a rush, sometimes it seeps in unnoticed and fills the spaces. Either way, what matters is the constant nurturing and building of a relationship. My baby boy is now ten years old. The things I’ve done to build a relationship with him these past six months matters far more than whether I chose to bottle feed or if I had to take breaks from his fussing when he was two weeks old.

There are thousands of ways to do things wrong as a parent, but there are also thousands of second and third chances. I am grateful for this every day.

At the End of the Picnic

By / October 1, 2013

We were at an evening picnic on a school night. It was a happy reunion with long time family friends whom we’ve not seen for quite awhile. The weather was lovely, the canyon scenery was stunning, food was consumed, and the kids had run around for hours. Howard and I began to gather our things when one of our friends said
“Leaving already?”
Most everyone else was still settled in for visiting.
“We’ve got to go. The kids have homework” I answered.
The friend waved a hand as if to wipe out the work to be done “Just let it go. they’re smart college-bound kids. It won’t hurt to let it slide for one day.”
I paused for a fraction of a second before answering, because I could see her point. Life should be arranged so that sometimes the work can bend around the fun. However I knew my kids and my family. We needed to get home. Also I had to process the implication that we were high-stress college-focused people. Yes my kids needed to focus on homework, but not because of years-off college. We needed to return to our regular routine because it was the best way to make sure the rest of the evening and the next day were good. Patch would quite happily ignore homework and play all night. But then he would turn into a quivering bundle of stress when he arrived at school with the work not done. All three kids needed to bathe. They also needed time to wind down lest bedtime be made out of arguments.

In that fraction-of-a-second pause I realized that I have high intensity kids who get wound up and anxious about things. My friend’s kids and grandkids are generally easy going. I also knew that if I sat down and explained all of this, she would understand because she is a smart and kind lady. She was just having fun with everyone gathered together and didn’t want it to be over quite yet. I agreed with her. The gathering was really fun, but my family needed to leave while fun was still being had, because the alternative was to leave because someone had a meltdown. I smiled and said “We really do need to get home, but we should do this again soon.”

Hugs were shared and we went home.

Tired at the End of the Day

By / September 24, 2013

At noon I sat on my front porch in the warm fall sunlight. My feet were bare and the pavement was warm. I looked across the un-mowed lawn and felt at peace. We’re still not getting everything done, but the patterns are beginning to settle in and it felt like maybe we could get to a point where the things all get done.

Then there was Gleek’s deep sadness over the fact that we can’t install a mod onto Minecraft, which was the first indicator in a long while that all is not right in Gleek’s emotional landscape. Then I realized that for Gleek’s own good we need to limit the amount of time she escapes into Minecraft. Some escape is good, but she needs to face her thoughts not always run from them. Then there was the conversation with Patch’s teacher where she expressed some concerns for him because he gets anxious. Then there was homework time. Next there is bedtime.

Somehow I have reached the end of my day, knowing I did important things all day long, knowing I did them pretty well, but still feeling beaten down and a bit defeated. I will try again tomorrow.

The Necessity of Battles

By / September 23, 2013 / 2 Comments

I don’t like confrontation. I never have. In my growing years I went to great lengths to avoid conflicts and try to make everyone just be happy. I was in my mid-twenties before I realized that sometimes the fastest way to “everyone happy” is to wade right through the middle of a conflict. Because some conflicts can’t be avoided. Trying to avoid them sends you in circles until you end up right back at the same conflict; like Winnie the Pooh circling in the foggy woods and ending up right back at the sandpit. It just looks a little different because you came at a different angle. I learned to be strong and to be what my children often call “mean.” It is part of the parent job.

Truthfully, the beginning of this school year has been fine. We had a lot to sort, particularly with Link. He had to face the fact that he will have homework and we really are going to require him to do it rather than having him excused from it via his disability. Getting Link to accept these things required me to sit with him for four hours until he wrote a journal entry. Then it required me sitting for two hours while we plowed through some history questions and got them done on time. Then I had to sit him down and make him do two writing assignments in a last minute crunch so that they were on time. Link was mostly cooperative, except for that inner part that wanted to avoid the work. We have now done one of each type of assignment that is likely to be required of him this year. No more big surprises. We have a plan in place to track the assignments. We intend to do at least one hour of homework each day, working on long term assignments if short-term ones are done. The goal is that he won’t have to put in hours on the weekends.

Today Link sat down cheerfully. He worked steadily. Then when the hour was done he said “I like this. I still have time to relax.” Yes. And now he sees it. Before we had the big homework battles and the last minute crunches, he would have seen the one hour of work as a daily drudgery. I knew that about an hour per day was what was needed, but he could not or would not see it. In the wake of the epic homework sessions it seems like a reprieve. Sometimes we have to have a battle so that we can see how good things are when the struggle is over. Sometimes we create the battle by trying to avoid something which really is not very hard to do.

I’ve seen the same thing with other kids in other situations. I set up requirements, restrictions, and boundaries. Then I have to hold firm while the kids wail and flail for a bit. Sometimes they get very mad at me for a time. Afterward they accept. Even further after that, they begin to see benefits and understand why I had to set things up that way. They begin to realize that maybe they enjoy having the house clean, maybe they like doing homework an hour per night instead of in a stressful mad scramble just before due date, and maybe Mom does have a clue sometimes.

Of course the hardest part is that I doubt myself in the midst of the battle. That part of me, which just wants to make it all better and wants to make everyone happy, will fight me just as hard has my child does. Sometimes I can clearly see that what I’m doing is necessary. Other times I waffle, waver, and am not at all sure. It can feel like such a mess in the middle of it. I gave in a lot during early years. I trust myself more now, but it is still hard. In order to learn to trust myself, I had to be willing to face the battles. I had to walk through the hard part and come out the other side so that I could see that making someone upset is sometimes the very best thing for everyone. I had to see that my attempts to avoid conflicts were very like Link’s attempts to make homework go away by ignoring it. Nothing went away, it just piled up. Much better to face things and manage them a little at a time.

I suspect that, like Link, this is not the last time I’ll have to learn this lesson. Though hopefully I’ll learn more quickly each time around.

Public School Resources for Parents of Special Needs Kids: Elementary Edition

By / September 21, 2013 / 4 Comments

Preface: The information in this post is based upon my interactions with the Alpine School District in Orem Utah. Other states and countries will have different resources and regulations about those resources. You’ll have to check locally to find out what can be done, but hopefully knowing what is available elsewhere will at least arm you with good questions to ask. This listing is incomplete. Each child has unique challenges, each school presents unique possibilities and barriers. All that is intended here is some basic knowledge of where to start.

First some tips for dealing with school personnel

Assume that they are competent.
They may not be, but starting discussions with the belief that any difficulties can be resolved by calm discussion puts you in a much better bargaining position. People are not helpful when they feel belittled or defensive.

Gather information before making demands.
Be sure you fully understand the school, the teacher, the administration, and the potential roadblocks. Once you do, pick the crucial needs and start with those. Be willing to compromise on the non-crucial needs. If you try to force a plan that does not work for the school staff, then that plan is doomed to fail.

Keep your emotions in check.
You may be furious or upset, but putting school officials on the defensive is not likely to result in a better outcome for your child. I swallow my frustrations all the time if it allows me to achieve an important goal. What matters is helping your child, not venting your emotions.

Listen.
Many of these teachers and staff have been at their jobs for longer than you’ve been raising your child. You are the expert on your child. They are the experts on what works in the classroom and school setting. Most of the resources I’m going to list, I learned from helpful school personnel.

Respect their time and effort.
Any adaptation that they make for your child represents extra time and effort on the part of school staff. Even if they are required by law to make those adaptations, be grateful for it. It is still a gift, and thanks are appropriate. Also, human beings respond to positive reinforcement. The child with gracious and thankful parents is likely to get just a little bit more kindness than one whose parents are not.

People at your school who can be your allies:

The teacher.
This person is your front line and your most important ally. Often if you can build a good rapport with the teacher, you don’t need much other intervention because you solve many of the problems in the classroom. But rapport is not guaranteed. Sometimes the teacher has to be worked around instead.

The principal.
This person sets the social tone for the entire school. You may or may not have dealings with the principal directly, but still pay attention. The principal has some veto power over what can be offered to your child. We once chose to switch kids into a different school because of the social environment a principal was creating, even though he meant well.

School psychologist.
Every school in Alpine District has one. She’s likely only at the school one day per week, but she exists. She is the one who schedules additional testing and performs much of it. Additionally, she can do in-class observations of your child to see what might be working or not working in the classroom. She can see how your child behaves when you are not there and can report if there is something amiss with the teacher/child relationship.

Resource teachers.
These range from reading and math specialists to speech therapists. Your child will only work with these teachers if they have been tested and demonstrated an additional need. Once you have access to these teachers, they can be additional allies.

Yard duties.
These are the people who watch the playground at recess. Sometimes they are teachers, other times they are separate personnel. Either way, they may have observations about your child in a different environment than the classroom. Depending on your child’s issues, talking with the yard duties may be very helpful.

School nurse.
All local elementary schools have one, though she is usually only present one day per week. If your child’s needs include medical issues, you’ll need to communicate with the school nurse.

Office secretaries.
These people are the front line for many issues that come up at school. They help your child if he gets injured. They dispense medicine according to doctor’s instructions. They see almost everything that happens at school.

Testing and Diagnosis

When my kids were young I was afraid of doing anything that would get my child “labeled.” I was reluctant to pursue testing or diagnosis, believing that we were better off just trying to address the issues we saw, rather than declare what the issues were. I have come to believe that the value of diagnosis greatly outweighs the possible negative consequences of being labeled. Diagnosis is your friend. Really.

I have encountered school personnel who misunderstood, or did not comprehend. I’ve met some who meant well and thought they were helping but who were doing the opposite. I have never met a single one who was dismissive of a diagnosis. I’m sure such people are out there, but I’ve not encountered them yet.

I’ve been through a full diagnostic process for a child four different times. I’ve been through testing more times than I can count. Every single time it has given me more information about what my child needed. The diagnoses shifted information in my head and opened up new paths to help. I did not expect that. I thought that diagnosis closed off possibilities, when it did the opposite. Diagnosis was always an emotional process and grieving was part of that, but afterward we were far more able to move forward.

If your fear of being labeled is strong (or your school has demonstrated a tendency to pigeon-hole labeled children), then there are private means to pursue testing and diagnosis. You can then decide what to share with the school. A good resource for private help is to contact your local college or university. Be sure you get recommendations, because private diagnosis can be expensive and not all providers are good.

Locally I recommend contacting the BYU Comprehensive Clinic (cc.byu.edu 801 422-7759) They did a full work up and testing on Link when he was six. I don’t remember how much it cost, but I know it was not very much for what we gained. More recently we had Gleek diagnosed through a private clinic called TAPS that works out of the Clear Horizon’s Academy. Full diagnosis there cost around $750. University of Utah, Wasatch Mental Health, and Primary Children’s Counseling Center are also places to check.

Diagnosis and testing through the school does not cost the child or the family, though it does cost the school district. You can request testing and I believe they are required to provide it upon parental request. You may get push-back from school personnel if they don’t think your child needs it. They are unlikely to be willing to devote school resources to testing unless significant issues have manifested at school which impact your child’s ability to learn, or which disrupt the classroom for other students. Often they don’t realize that testing is an option or they just don’t think about it.

We have had the following testing done through school resources:
Social and behavioral skills testing
Motor skills testing
Speech and language testing
Auditory processing testing
Psychological evaluation
Psychological in-class observation
IQ tests
Testing to compare academic achievement to grade level expectations
I’m sure there are others I’ve forgotten or missed

Making a Plan

Often the results of testing and diagnosis are useful information and can help you form a plan with your child’s teacher. That may be all that is necessary, though you’ll have to continue to form plans with new teachers each year. If the difficulties are ongoing, or if your child needs additional school resources, then making an official plan through the school is probably a good idea. Locally we have two types of educational plans:

504 Plan.
This flags the child as needing extra help in the classroom and defines exactly what sort of help must be provided. For example: one of my daughter’s friends is legally blind. She has a 504 plan stating that she must be seated at the front of the class, that people must read her tests to her out loud, and that she may use special equipment to help her see. Any sort of diagnosis which impacts education, and which will not go away, merits a 504 plan. I think this can include requiring an in-class aide, but I’m not sure exactly how that works. Link qualifies for a 504 due to his Auditory Processing Disorder and his ADHD (he actually has an IEP instead, I’ll get to that next) Gleek would also qualify for a 504 plan, but she does not currently have one because at the moment she’s getting straight A’s and thriving at school. The moment she needs something the school does not automatically provide, I’ll brandish her diagnoses and get a 504 plan for her.

IEP (Individualized Educational Plan)
This includes everything in a 504 plan, but also outlines what additional resource or educational help that the child might need. In elementary school Link had one of these to provide him with speech services and then writing resource help. Part of setting up this sort of plan is setting goals for what needs to be achieved with the child that year. Over the years Link had goals relating to conversation, speech, writing, and social interactions. He met with speech therapists for learning to communicate clearly and with writing specialists for the same. One year he even had an in-school play group where the school psychologist taught social skills over board games.

For both kinds of plans you meet at least once per year with the teacher, the principal, and any resource teachers. During that meeting you evaluate how things are going and set new goals for the coming year. You can call an IEP meeting at any time if the current plan is not working. One of the values of an IEP or 504 plan is that it stays with your child even when the teacher changes. It is supposed to help provide continuity of support across school years. The purpose and importance of both IEP and 504 plans shifts dramatically on entering junior high and high school, but that is a topic for a different post.

To conclude:
You are your child’s best resource, but you can’t do it alone. Hopefully some of this information will help you acquire a team to help you and yours.

Giving Kids Tools to Succeed Before Allowing Them to Fail

By / September 20, 2013 / 6 Comments

“Don’t be afraid to let your kid face the consequences of bad decisions. You have to let him fail so he can learn he wants to succeed.”

The advice was given to me in a semi-private forum where I’d complained out loud about the epic four-hour-long homework session with Link last Sunday. I wanted to answer back that they’d misunderstood the dilemma, that my son was not being defiant, but every answer I could compose sounded like I was self-defensively missing their point or would require so much background information that I would bore everyone.

Yes parents need to let kids fail, but before they allow it they first have to make sure that the kid actually has the tools to succeed. In this case, Link does not. In theory he ought to. By 10th grade kids should have already learned how to track homework and have a basic comprehension that work must be completed before it is due. Link does not. His entire educational experience has been about adjusting, recalibrating assignments, and letting him make up work he misunderstood or did not finish. Those adjustments were necessary at the time, but now is the time to learn different skills. He needs to learn to turn in all of his assignments on time, that if an assignment needs accommodation that must be agreed upon in advance. He needs to learn to read every paper handed to him and to not wait for adults to explain what he should do. He needs to learn to figure out what he doesn’t understand in class and then ask questions about it.

Truth be told, his current teachers would let him continue as he has been. It says right there on his IEP that he’s allowed extra time on assignments. They would accept late work and not dock it down points. They would be kind and explain. They would lighten the work load when Link seemed overwhelmed. There was a time where that willingness was a saving grace for us. Now it is not what Link needs for his long term growth. What he needs is for me to sit next to him, for four hours, not moving until the journal entry is written, because it is due the next day. Link sat next to me, wanting to do the assignment, wanting to please me, yet wrestling with himself because part of his brain was resisting the work with all of its might. So right now I’m heavily involved in tracking Link’s work and making him do it. Once he is in the habit of doing all assignments on time, once he realizes that is a thing it is possible to do, then I will step back and let him succeed or fail at it under his own power. Link needs to learn that he is strong enough to do hard things, because all of his life people have been adapting for him and that has made him believe himself weak.

I find it interesting that I got similarly hands-on with Kiki at this point in her Sophomore year as well. By January of that year I stepped back and let her handle things again. Already I can see improvement in how Link is doing. The battles Link is having with himself are smaller and more easily won. Most importantly, I can feel that this path is right, so we’ll keep walking.

Mid Term Conferences

By / September 19, 2013

I left parent teacher conferences with no action items. Eight teachers smiled at me, told me that Gleek is a wonderful student, and couldn’t think of a thing she could be doing better. Considering how all-consuming Gleek care was last spring, I feel thrown off balance a bit. I want to go back to all the teachers and say “are you sure?” except then they would look at me strangely. Except their observations match mine. Gleek is happy. She’s getting her work done. I’d like to see her interact with friends more often, but there are hints that some of that is developing. Things will get hard again. Gleek has lots to learn, but maybe I can stop bracing and let go a little.

In contrast, Link’s parent teacher conferences left me with a long list of support items. We’ve got a learning curve to hike. He’s going to have to get used to homework almost every night. He’s got three or four times the amount of writing work than he has ever had before. This is when we have to slog through the difficult to give him the practice he needs so that these things can become easier. In the next three years we need to transition to him managing all of these things without my intervention. Yet I feel hopeful that we’re getting this under control. We’re figuring out the types of assignments and after this we’re going to be able to work ahead so that we don’t end up with some nights piled high with homework.

Funny how one child is sailing clear and I’m certain hard is coming, while the other is in the midst of hard and I feel confident it will soon get easier. My brain is weird.

I am Glad for Hymns at Church Today

By / August 18, 2013

There was a musical number halfway through the church meeting. It was a cello, violin, and piano rendition of I Know That My Redeemer Lives. I sat in the congregation with my eyes closed, attempting to really focus on the beauty of the sound and to feel a devotional spirit from the meeting. The hymn is very familiar to me, so the lyrics floated through my mind along with the music. However I also mused upon the thought that if I really believe in Christ and the gospel, then that belief should inform every action I take. My beliefs should echo through my decisions and how I spend my time. I think I generally do well with that, but in specific details I could do better. It seemed a beautiful message to take to heart from a hymn, so I was content. But then the arrangement of music shifted and grew more complex, the instruments played separate parts instead of being harmonious, and the words for that portion of the song presented themselves in the front of my mind.

He lives to calm my troubled heart
He lives all blessings to impart.

By the time we reached heart, I was crying and trying not to do so obviously. Because my heart has been quite troubled for a long time. Not on the surface, not in daily life, but I was seriously shaken last spring. Several of my beloved people struggled mightily with mental health issues and my parental self-doubt was dredged up and spread in a layer over most of it. When the turmoil subsided, I was glad for the return of stability, but my deep heart was troubled. I let it rest because there were things to do and because I knew it was not time to heal.

This week I send Kiki to college. I send Link to high school. I send Gleek to junior high. The only one not making a schooling transition is Patch. All of us are going to have to adapt to not having Kiki in the house. Patch is having to adapt to the fact that Gleek is losing interest in the games they used to play together. Howard just attended a week long convention and is about to attend another which has historically been a difficult one. There is so much potential for things to be as emotionally chaotic as they were last spring. No amount of logic and calm observation has been able to quell that part of me that is troubled and waiting for the sky to fall again. Yet in church I was handed the answer to a question I didn’t even know I ought to ask.

The closing hymn was Oh May My Soul Commune With Thee, and in the final verse we sang:

Lord, grant me thy abiding love
and make my turmoil cease
Oh, may my soul commune with thee
and find in thee my peace.

Message received. My heart has been troubled for months. It is still troubled, but now I know where to start in finding peace to calm it. Because I can recite to myself the ways that my people are amazing, but He can tell me it will be okay in a way that I can maybe, hopefully believe. I have been afraid for six months and it would be nice to stop. Really stop. Empty out the scared place and fill it with some other emotion, because I’ve reached the point where all the waiting is done. The change is here and I don’t know how much sadness I’m going to feel this week.

In the last few months I’ve had many conversations with parents who have already been through launching kids into adulthood. Several have spoken of ongoing grief at losing the mother identity and struggling to find something else. One talked of having a permanent hole in her heart left by the departing child, which sounds depressing to me. I would like to make this transition gracefully and joyfully, because launching my kids into independent adults has always been the end goal. Yet I cried for two days when they went back to school a year ago, because I knew that it was the beginning of the end of the part of my life when all my kids were under my care and direction. A reasonable amount of grief is to be expected, but I hope this week brings joy too.

Perhaps that troubled place in my heart can instead be filled with anticipation for the many cool things that are yet to come. I’m excited to see how Link will step up to the challenge of being the oldest kid at home. I’m curious to see whether this will be the year when girls become interesting and he starts talking to them. I’m looking forward to Gleek having both choir and art in her schedule. I wonder how long it will be before she makes a dozen friends at school. I’m hoping to see the at-home kids learn to communicate with Kiki via email and skype. There is so much potential for good in this coming year and I’ve been avoiding thinking about it because it was mixed up with the emotional turmoil.

So, song as prayer: Calm my troubled heart. Make my turmoil cease.
These will be my theme songs for the week and at the end of it my world will be a different place. If I really believe all the things I claim to believe, then opening my troubled heart and allowing it to be filled with something else is one of the specific details I need to be better at. Strange how I hold tight to my fears and it is hard to let them go, but clearly this is what I’m being asked to do. I will try.

Evaluating My Summer

By / July 23, 2013

There are days when it is very easy for me to identify all the places in my life where I could be doing better. This would seem like a good thing, not being blind to the need to improve. It would surely be worse if I woke after my kids, let them play on computers all day, expected them to forage through (well-stocked) cupboards for their own meals, and did not realize that this pattern of behavior counted as sub-par parenting. As a short-term rest from Mom always being in their faces expecting chores and homework, my kids welcome this laissez faire style, but over the long haul it is not good for them. They need structure, regular bedtimes, meals, or it can get perilously Lord-of-the-flies-ish around here. So I was noticing the need to improve my parenting game. I opted to take the kids on an outing. We went to a “Fun Arcade” to which we have passes. The kids did have fun there, playing laser tag, driving go carts, steering bumper boats. I had a sort of fun too while I watched them and took some pictures. Yet we all came home cranky and in dire need to be far away from crowds of people and noise. I brought home a lovely headache. Mission accomplished. Sort of.

The plan was for the outing to occupy the morning and I would get business tasks done in the afternoon. Yet I had real difficulty re-engaging my business brain. I’d opened up my long parenting thoughts, spent a morning thinking of the other outings and things we’d like to do this summer. I mused upon ways that I could spend time with my kids and enrich their lives. Those thoughts filled my brain and did not want to be tucked away so that I could answer emails. I was stressfully aware of all work waiting on my attention, but unable to focus on a particular task enough to complete it. This, of course, sent me into an existential despair. obviously I can not possibly be a good mother and a good business owner simultaneously. The best I can manage is a haphazard rotation. I would long for the return of school, when there was more separation between the parenting and the business management, but I quite clearly remember how much I was looking forward to having less schedule for the summer.

I spoke today with a friend about the state of publishing and her current strategy for revising and submitting books. Her assessment of how the business of publishing is currently running was sound to me, but rather discouraging considering the types of things that I write and the speed at which I write them. I don’t write best-seller material, or at least I haven’t yet. My publishing career may never take of because of a hundred factors out of my control. Yet only a few days ago I spilled angst on these subjects and decided to write anyway because I have stories that I want to tell whether or not they ever gain a wide audience. The size of the audience is not how to measure the worth of a story. So I focus on the work itself, not where I think the work will take me, or what public appraisal of the work will bring to me. It is me and the words, me and the story. Those are the things that matter.

After my friend left, I looked over to my kids who were wearing headphones and clicking with their computer mouses. I walked over and kissed the tops of their heads. They didn’t even flinch, because that is a normal thing for me to do. They live in confidence that they are loved, that the cupboards will have food, that we’ll all attend church together, that if they have a problem, or a scratch, or a random thought, they can find Mom or Dad and tell us about it. They usually have to dig in baskets for clean clothes to wear, but the clothes are clean, the dishes get done (mostly), and our floors are clear in the middles where people need to walk. All of this stuff is the work of parenting. It is the moments when I fit grocery shopping and laundry in between the business email and shipping. These things are done with out expectation of accolades, and certainly not because I expect my kids to remember it. The outings (which I’ve been feeling guilty for not doing) are the times that get the photographs and are chronicled as family stories. The true work of parenting is listening when a child wants to tell every detail of her dream. The dream itself is unimportant, but the listening is very important.

The heart of creation, whether it be a family, a story, a business, or a household, is in the quiet work done almost out of sight. When I readjust my vision to focus on those things, I think I may not be doing so badly this summer after all.

Prayers for the Coming School Year

By / July 17, 2013

It is too early to be thinking about the coming school year. Yet taking Kiki to her college orientation filled my head with concerns and fervent prayers for what is coming.

May my college bound Kiki quickly adapt to her new habitat, let her find friends who are enough like her that she feels comfortable, and enough different that her horizons broaden. Let her learn her own limits and discover she is stronger than she expects. Let her miss home enough to call once in a while, but not so much that she can’t embrace the newness that college has to offer.

May high school bound Link learn how to navigate a new social environment which involves hanging out with girls and listening to what they have to say. Let him find friends and places where he feels fully himself, even if he is surprised to discover that he is different than he thought he was. Let him find ways to be kind and of service to others because that always makes him happier.

May junior high Gleek be stressed enough to bring out some of her anxiety so that we can help her learn strategies to manage it, but help her not be so stressed that those anxieties overwhelm her. Let her find friendships in unexpected places, but avoid the notice of insecure peers who are seeking targets. May she use her strength to defend others and help her school be a friendlier place.

May Patch learn to manage elementary school without an older sibling there as security. Let him find his own inner strength and self confidence. Help him know that making mistakes is not the end of anything and learn to change his plans when the world does not go as he expects.

May all of us here at home adapt to having Kiki gone, with the younger kids stepping up and learning new responsibility. Yet let us always be ready to make space for her to return.

Change is coming, there is no way for us to adapt to in in advance, so may we rest this summer and adapt quickly when the time comes.