Lost in time and space

I went to my parent's house last weekend, without Sam or the kids, for Grandpa Charlie's 90th birthday. At my request, Mom, Sarah and I began to organize, scan and label photographs and slides.  There are thousands.  Dad was (and is) a prolific photographer.  And as I sat there, surrounded by the past, my mind became unstuck in time.  My perspective was no longer linear.  It was like being in an airplane and seeing a whole city laid out below, rather than driving a car down one street.  I saw back for a hundred years, through photographs.  I mistook my sister Sarah, with baby Charlie, for Dorothea, all grown up, with a baby of her own.  It was strange and normal, all at once.  It was beautiful.

One of the most touching parts about being unstuck in time was that I had Dad back for a while.  He was there in the photographs, but also present with me.  During Sacrament meeting on Sunday I sat next to him and rested my head on his shoulder, as I did innumerable times as a girl and young woman.  The feeling of the material of his suit against my cheek, the slant and slightness of his shoulder, and even his laying his head briefly against the top of mine all transcended a particular moment and brought me into contact with him as he was, again.  Monday morning, a lady from SaraCare came to pick Dad up, and as they backed out of the driveway I followed, waving and blowing kisses until he was out of sight, just as I did every time he drove away from home in my childhood.  It was another moment of connection, of transcending time, of perceiving outside of time.

Now I miss him.  I'm not sure I did fully, before.   College, marriage, and moving out of state, had distanced me from him enough that by the time Alzheimers started affecting cognitive changes, his presence wasn't really a pattern in my brain, any more.  But this weekend, that changed.  He came back to me.  And now there is a dull ache in my heart and an emptiness.

Yesterday, Sam and the kids and I had dinner with some of Sam's colleagues.  The husband shared something with us that he had learned from his father--speed ball boxing--before his father died.  It was impressive and thrilling to watch, and I could see his love for his father as he did it. (Watch the last 15 seconds).  I had spoken with him about Dad a little, and when I commented how wonderful it was that he had something from his Dad, and I wish I did, he said pointed out that I, too, could "put beautiful things on a table," as I'd told him Dad had.  I will.

What I want to have of Dad's:
Gentleness
Genuine interest in and love for people
A positive attitude
Patience
Testimony
Good habits of journaling and scripture reading
Revelation
Purity of Spirit

And here are some of Dad's pictures:

Homeschooling Resources

I keep thinking I've reached a point of logical ignorance on finding new homeschooling resources.  I can't find time to use most of the resources I have.  But, I did just find another excellent one.  I'm glad to know other moms are doing Montessori at home, and without buying all the expensive factory-made material.  This is excellent.  And so is this!

Structure and Flexibility

We have started homeschooling, and for the most part, it is going well.  I love the flexibility of homeschooling.  I love the lower-stress environment which I can create for the kids and myself.  I love being with the kids during the day and getting to be totally involved in their schooling and curriculum/subject choices.
On the other hand, the thought of managing to cover every point of information that they ought to learn, and doing so in a meaningful way, such that they actually learn and are able to use and apply it is overwhelming.  The thought of lesson plans makes me nervous.  It is not that I don't have faith that I can do it.  It is just that I don't have much faith that I will do it.  Some subjects are not a problem that way.  Musical instruments are great, because I can help the kids practice at a moments' notice.  They have a work book for vocab and spelling that I really like.  Latin is fun.  History is all set.  PE is no problem.  Math is a breeze.  Art is a go.  Logic workbooks are at the ready. So what is stressing me out?  Language Art (which seems so ironic, because that is what I love best!) and Foreign language (is Latin right for the girls?  What about Spanish?) and assessments, writing assignments, etc.

Hmm, so apparently what is most stressing me out is the subjects in which I feel I have the most to offer. Interesting.  Is it because I can't bear to just get some curriculum and use it--I feel like I have to produce it myself?  Or is it because my expectations for the kids on that front are so high?  Whatever it is, this feeling of worry that the kids won't get everything they could or should get has been weighing on me.  Other home school moms would tell me not to worry, I know.  I have been trying to face it an deal with it.  So far, that has led to several things:
1. Looking at enrolling the kids in an online "virtual academy." http://www.k12.com/arva (and going so far as to start the application process)
2. Researching what makes teaching / learning effective.
3. Questioning why I am doing home school.
4. Recognizing that I need to step it up.  Yikes. This gets us to the topic of flexibility/structure.

How do you do that?  Be both flexible and structured, I mean?  In my former life (pre-kids) I was great at structure.  I thrived on structure.  I embraced it.  I think I still do/would.  Except that having kids taught me (read forced me) to be flexible.  That is a good thing, though.  I am grateful for the ability to be more flexible.  It is a good life skill.  However, somehow, somewhere along the way, flexible turned into something more like chaotic.  Or just, unstructured?

I am overstating things, actually.  Our family is not chaotic.  We definitely have some structure.  People are not constantly confused about what is going on.  We have breakfast, lunch and dinner.  We have morning and evening prayers, and family scripture study every day.  Dad goes to work, mom stays home.  We clean up the dishes after we use them.  We go to bed at consistent times (or the kids do, at least.) On Saturdays we clean the house and the kids take baths and we do something fun as a family.  On Sundays we go to church (we are even getting better at being on time) and engage in quiet family activities, including Family Home Evening part A.  Monday nights is Family Home Evening part B.  We do all those things quite consistently, except for when we don't.  The "don't" is the exception rather than the rule, but it exists nonetheless.

But even for all that, there is a lot of unstructured time.  Homeschooling is part of that time.  I have attempted to structure the homeschooling time.  I have a great excel spreadsheet print out that we refer to constantly from 8am to 2pm. It is currently under renovation, though.

So, now we come to the real issue: me.  The kids are always up by 7am, and ready for breakfast, family scripture study, and heading out for a walk.  I, however, am not.  This morning I got out of bed at 9am.  (Granted, that is very rare--it is usually more like 7am for me, too.)  And the reason for that anomaly is that I stayed up far, far too late for two nights in a row, worrying about home school stuff.  Ironic.  Anyway, this all has led to my understanding that in order for all this to work satisfactorily, I need to step it up.  That means I need to have more self-control (and head to bed by 9pm instead of 11:30) and be more accountable.  I need to live a higher law. I need to do things that make me nervous (like lesson plans.)

This is all very good for me.  Having to keep myself to a schedule and be disciplined without some outside influence bearing down on me requires a whole new level of growth.  I'm not good at it.  And you throw the necessity of flexibility in there, too, and WHEW, this is uncomfortable.  I believe I can do it, though.  I think I can, I think I can.  Getting to do home school inspires me to step it up, so I can make it work.  I want it to work.  I'm loving it, generally.  Whew.

So, it has been good to write.  Here is what I just learned:
1. I am most stressed by the subjects I love most.
2. I'm not doing too badly.  I haven't failed.  There is structure in place, and light ahead
3. I'll keep working on this, engage the children in the process, and enjoy the journey.

The kids are watching Planet Earth right now.  There are so many resources readily available for an excellent education.  I can do this!

Centered

Here
I am
sitting still,
while all the time
swinging sattelites
in an intricate dance
around and around
kids are laughing
Sam joins in
I am
here.


What makes being a mother the most important work in the world?
My work is to improve myself--not numbers, outputs, or processes.  The very measure of my success is in the changing of myself from disorder to order, from dark to light, from ignorance to knowledge, from pride to gentle kindness.  I must do this, so that the generations that follow will also be improved.  Each mother is a step forward (or back) for the next generation.  My work is the work of eternity.

I Thank God for My Handicaps

"I thank God for my handicaps for, through them, I have found myself, my work, and my God."

--Helen Keller

"There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle."

--Albert Einstein

Best wishes for Mother's Day!

Ah, Mother's Day--day of expectations and memories.  I sort of wish we could do away with it, but that is probably just selfish.  It makes me uncomfortable for my praises to be sung at any time and in any way.  Having them sung simply because I am a woman and mother (so generic!) means I have no qualms about simply wanting to hide.  Do I have to be gracious about generic praise?  I think not.

Phrases that are particular pet peeves:  (to me) "You should get a break--it is mother's day!"  (to the kids) "You should make it special--it is mother's day,"  (to men) "Show your love and appreciation--it is mother's day."   Shouldn't we help, love and appreciate mothers every day?  Shouldn't moms feel okay about taking a break any day and every day?  It is like the existence of Mother's Day gives people leave to recognize women just once a year.  I'm afraid I'm being cynical.  My family doesn't only love and appreciate me on Mother's Day.  They are reasonably great all year.  I am quite satisfied.  So why have Mother's Day at all?

Two moments to share:

The primary sang in Sacrament meeting today.  My kids pushed their way to the front and were very cute as they hugged and poked each other and waved at me.  They were happy with their singing.  When they sat back down, Ethan asked me "Mom, did you cry when we sang to you?"  "No," I replied.  "Should I have?"  "Well," he responded, "the music director said we should sing loudly to make the moms cry.  I guess I'll just have to kick you in the shins, instead."  I laughed out loud at his idea, but was also annoyed by the expectations people set up for mother's day.  Why do I have to cry?  I had just lost my temper with my kids 20 minutes before, as I tried to get them all out of the baths and into the car so we would be on time for church.  (We weren't.)  I wasn't feeling great poignancy or tenderness.  I was still a little stressed and annoyed.

In our ward on Mother's Day, the men take over all the women's responsibilities for the third hour of church so the women can go to Relief Society where a special "Mother/Woman Appreciation" lesson is taught and some special dessert is handed around.  Today, I didn't want to go to Relief Society.  I didn't want to hear another lesson with generic praise and words of affirmation and encouragement.  I wanted to sit quietly, all by myself, and pray or contemplate or just be.  Either that, or run home and clean the kitchen which had been left an absolute disaster by the kid's efforts to create a "special" mother's day.    Upon being pushed out the door of nursery, I did dutifully make my way to the Relief Society meeting, but I just couldn't bear to stay after the song (a sappy sentimental one sung by two young women).  I resorted to the Mother's lounge, hoping it would be empty.  It wasn't, but I didn't worry too much about what my friend Charity (who was there) would think when I just plunked myself down and closed my eyes and cried.  It was good to be still.  It was good to cry.   

I miss my dad.  He has been slipping away for years, now, slowly covered by layer after layer of the shadow of Alzheimers.  My dad is a vital force in my life.  I frequently reflect on the fact that he is largely responsible for my foundation of self-confidence, my love of beautiful things, my belief that being deeply spiritual and highly intellectual can co-exist in the same person harmoniously, and that kindness and gentleness is the best policy.

My dad's being is vibrant and clear.  He is truly a great man.  Educated at Yale, Union Theological Seminary and Stanford, he pursued a life goal of bringing education to the masses--making it available for anyone at any stage of life.  He was researching distance education decades before the internet existed, and now, as I see his dream being realized through organizations like KhanAcademy.org (where my homeschooling son learns math) and Western Governor's University (where my sister assists students around the country in accomplishing their coursework and earning a degree), I wish he was here to see it, too.  I wish he could rejoice in the advancements of the field he championed, and talk with me about what is best in class.

Dad found so many things to be excited about and grateful for.  A smile was his signature expression.  He would frequently give a whoop and punch the air to express his joy in seeing one of us kids, or celebrate a success we shared with him. His exuberance sometimes embarrassed me as a child--surely adults should be more staid--but I loved it, too.  His excitement about life, about people, and about me, was a great window with which to see the world.  Dad was amazing, and if he thought I was amazing, too, then it must be so.  Dad was free with his praise, and loved to point out the positive about everything and everyone around him.  He was a Dale Carnegie man, and lived the principles faultlessly.

John Olin Campbell III ~1955

JOC III _1965

Olin Campbell family ~ 1990

Dad loved finding the intersection of truth and beauty.  He often took us camping and hiking, and would point out the delicate details around us.  Photography was his art form and his eye captured beauty all around, whether it was a laughing child, an awe-inspiring landscape, a gathering of friends, or a trick of light.  Dad sought to embrace and make permanent that resplendence.

He collected beautiful objects, too.  His collection sat for years atop a low filing cabinet in his study--an archive of his admiration.  I remember particular pieces of the collection: an open geode, a ceramic sphere, hollow and glazed so it resembled a planet.  There was a chime, which lay horizontal, suspended by wires.  It's beauty was in the piercingly sweet sound it made and sustained when struck.  He had blown glass pieces and a birds nest created in reverse in a piece of clear acrylic.  There was a beautiful white stone bowl, which sang when struck and rubbed with a rubber ball.  Among the collection were items we children had contributed, too, as our own sense of beauty grew.  It was always an honor to have a gift placed among Dad's treasured things.

Olin and Janet Campbell ~ 2003

Olin with grandchildren ~2007