Restoring Justis Part 2

The title of the blog is clearly word play. Part One of why I chose this title talks about the irony of the name.

There’s another reason I chose it. I am trying to restore my family. And I am trying to restore myself. Yes, I married into the name, Justis. When the kids were little, we did a little geo-caching and whenever we scored a find, we’d sign as The Justis League. When I was a teacher, I’d always introduce myself to my second grade class with a cape on, throwing my fists into the air, and singing out, “Mrs. Justiiiis!”

Teaching really took it out of me. There was little patience left over for my family after those 9-10 hour days of performing for 7-8 year olds then scrambling to be ready for the next day of non-stop classroom management, trying to inspire kiddos whose bodies were screaming at them to play to sit through lessons instead. Okay, I didn’t require a lot of sitting because instinctually I knew it was ineffective, but we were still pretty confined to the four walls of a classroom, a lame “learning” environment that requires intense creativity on a teacher’s part to keep kids engaged.

When I worked up the courage to walk away from the classroom in spring of 2014, I spent the next few years trying to be an entrepreneur which meant lots of personal development. Over that same period, I really examined my thoughts on the classroom and education in general, and came to many of the conclusions I share in this blog. Once I started looking for resources to back up my suspicions, I realized I was far from alone in my contempt for the system.

The years flew by quickly and my oldest entered middle school. And things started falling apart. My family felt like it was coming unraveled and the bonds continued to fray in her 7th, then her 8th grade years as her resistance to school grew and my husband and I argued over the wisdom of forcing it. My son had never thrived in the classroom and he was concurrently developing awareness of the mismatch of his nature and the system he was trapped in. Around this time, it also occurred to me that my influence as a mother had waned; that my rant against the mainstream wasn’t falling on deaf ears, but bored, apathetic, or skeptical ears. Yet, here was evidence in my own children of the damage the system wreaks on their confidence and their love of learning.

I had thought I was creating a strong family culture, but suddenly it was painfully clear that we were not the tight knit family I always thought we’d naturally be. My husband and I seemed to be operating from completely different paradigms and our differences were taking a toll on our relationships with each other and the kids. Some intense situations (that I cannot share yet due to lack of consent from my loved ones) brought excruciating awareness that it was going to take far more conscious effort to hold onto my kids. Figuratively, of course. To do so literally would actually push them away.

Restoring Justis became my mission. To help my family back to authenticity, to restore what a family is meant to be—a place of safety and trust where one is free to explore possibilities, to be unconditionally loved through failures, and recovery is modeled with grace and dignity. Okay, maybe that’s a bit idealistic, but it’s the dream, right?

It’s a daily challenge, and I often feel at a complete loss as to how to restore that influence. The book, Hold on to Your Kids, helped me forgive myself a bit. It talks about how society is structured in such a way that it damages what should be our children’s natural attachment to us as their mentors, making it much more difficult to parent than it should be. I also believe that our culture of control and coercion, plus the requirement that we turn over their caretaking to the school system for such a huge chunk of their childhood, weakens the bonds nature intended human young to have with their parents.

So, I try to express gratitude to the universe daily for my children whose purpose it sometimes seems is to challenge every hard-earned tenet of my personal philosophy, to ensure that I walk my talk, to obliterate my ego and force the utmost consciousness of every word I speak, every action I take. I get lots of opportunity to model making mistakes and then taking responsibility for them.

I do believe that parenting is supposed to be pleasurable, and that when done as nature intended, it wouldn’t feel so hard, but I’m making up for too many years of unconsciousness, of lazy parenting. I didn’t think I was being lazy, I just thought I had more time. Things can feel pretty precarious these days; Restoring Justis means tightening the bonds that hold my family together. And it means everything to me.

Remtana – Finale

Final installment (I think) of the Remembering Montana series that documented my family’s three week adventure, ranch-sitting in the Bitterroot Valley. In our charge were three majestic horses, two sweet donkeys, and two rescue dogs. For additional entries, scroll down and navigate back. Some of these reflections were recently written, but mostly I republished posts I’d shared via social media during our experience. I mentioned a few additional stories that I’d hoped to reflect on and add to the documentation, but so far, the words for those aren’t coming. Maybe those stories will still be told…maybe not.

Last Day, October 9, 2018:

I know I haven’t updated in a few days. Just me and the animals today. My family left for home early this morning. Really grateful we packed and loaded as much as we did yesterday in the sunshine because we woke up to rain and lots of mud. Got to get out and muck those stalls at some point today, but I think I’d just make a bigger mess if I tried to do it right now. Feeding the horses by myself in the drizzle and sloppy mud this morning was messy enough.

I’ve done years of inner work around the concept of expectations. I used to be a pretty cranky person much of the time because my high expectations of others (and myself) always led to disappointment. This went for experiences too. I’d get an idea in my head of things playing out perfectly, ensuring we all got the most out of a family outing or vacation that when someone didn’t play along as I’d imagined, the dream shattered and I would end up both livid and wallowing in self-loathing, certain I was doing a terrible job of raising my family.

It’s taken me a long time—seriously years of intentional practice—to come to a place in myself that allows for endless possibilities instead of the one imagined outcome, and to realize that each person in my family is an individual with his or her own agenda. Best to enter into situations with curiosity rather than expectation. And then be okay with messy. Life is messy and there’s beauty in the mess.

This approach is helping me to actually know my kids instead of trying to force fantasy kids I made up in my head before they were even born. It helps me to advocate for their authenticity instead of expecting them to represent me as the world’s best mom. Don’t get me wrong—it’s still really hard to disregard the expectations of others that I will control my children and mold them into perfectly behaved citizens. I’ve decided that my job is not shaping, but seeing and acknowledging. Allowing rather than demanding. Not teaching them, but learning with them—always learning.

It was messy getting my family out the door this morning. There were mistakes, meltdowns, and mud. Agreements were made last night that we’d finish the last bit of loading and work together to clean up, but this morning I could tell the kindest thing I could do was to shower them all in love, get them on the road, and embrace the mess that was left.

I implored them to take care of each other as they drove off in the rain toward the foggy mountains (will there be snow?,) eight hours of travel ahead of them. I’ll lovingly clean the messes I insisted they leave behind because it’s the best I can do as they weather the world without me today.

Roots

Holy cow! I almost forgot to post today. I had an early work meeting that happened during the time I usually write, and I’ve been running like crazy ever since squeezing in work, shuffling kids around, and cleaning before I go pick up my sister from the airport tonight.

She’s joining us and some (but not all) of my large family at a reunion for my mother’s family. Mom’s descendants equal more than all the other families (and she has 5 siblings) combined. Actually, only three of my five living sisters and one of my five brothers will be there, so a total of five of my mom’s kids will make it this year. She’ll have ten grandkids and one great grandkid at this event.

We’ve always lived on an island when it comes to family. While I have numerous siblings (10 still living which you know if you did the math above) none of them live in the same state as us. My dad died when my son was three and the kids never knew their paternal grandpa. Paternal grandma lives in Texas and they rarely see her. I have little relationship with her or any of my hubby’s family. They’re just not a tight knit clan. I didn’t even meet his two brothers until my oldest was 9 and they’re all on the other side of the country. It’s awkward for me with them and I know that’s lame excuse, so I’ll not even defend myself.

My kids have never had that grandma that lives nearby and spoils them. My mom is one of my heroes. In our house, we don’t say, “what would Jesus do?” but rather, “what would Grandma Jo do?” She has infinite patience, treats everyone with kindness, and at 76 years old, still moves through life with the awe and wonder of a small child. I couldn’t be more grateful for her influence in my life (though she was much more intense and controlling when I was a kid) and on my children’s world, but she’s just not there much. In fact, she’s made it a conscious choice that I think comes naturally for her to never interfere with (or even advise on) her own children’s parenting.

She’s always lived in a neighboring state (first Oregon until she retired just a few months ago, and now Utah) and she has 25 grandchildren and 3 great grandchildren. Lots of benefits to this large family, and my mom does a pretty impressive job of making sure all those kids feel her love, but it’s definitely on me to ensure they get it with enough frequency, and consistency has always been one of my biggest challenges.  I remember thinking how important it was for my kids to feel connected to their roots so several years ago I asked my mom if we could have a phone call each Sunday so she could tell them stories of their recent ancestors. Never took hold.

Now my mom goes where she’s most needed. Back and forth between an Oregon nursing home where my brother’s MS is ravaging his nervous system at an alarming rate and my baby sister’s home in Utah where my BIL, father to the four small children in that house, is fighting a valiant battle with cancer.

All this foundation about family to explain that culture in our home has turned into a tricky thing. My oldest child is intense and prickly. At 15, she epitomizes the moody teen, and while I do what I can to minimize adversity, I’m always amazed at the frequency with which it arises. I used to let her opt out of family gatherings and make other arrangements, but lately, the disconnect from her roots has become painfully obvious.

Mind you, I knew the importance of and made many attempts over the years to create a strong family culture, but my efforts rarely took hold. We have some special traditions (mostly around holidays) but there’s always been resistance to family activities—particularly by the girl, and with me being the only one (at least it seems to me) who really is invested in creating culture, it’s easy to let things go. Then suddenly they’re teens and I’m like, “shit! I meant to do it differently!”

So she’s coming to the reunion. All four family members are coming to the reunion. Hubby suggested we sneak away from the really small town where this annual reunion is always held and where we’ll spend the weekend to go get lunch in nearby Sun Valley, but I shook my head, “no way! This is family time, period.”  

I usually try to send my son to this small town a few days early (he’s actually always eager to go to this reunion—my [not so] little, family-oriented boy) when I can pull it off because he can free range the whole time he’s there, and I do definitely believe our kids need as much of that as we can give them. Didn’t work out this year, and he’ll be traveling with us to get there but while the rest of us will be in a motel, he’ll be hangin’ with his 2nd cousin twice-removed (?).

Essentially he’s been invited to stay at an AirBnB (that was my grandparents house before they both passed the year he was born) with my cousin’s family who has a boy his age with whom my youngest has a tight relationship. Last year my son, 11 at the time, was the only representative from the Justis League at the reunion thanks to a renewed relationship between this particular cousin and his wife (who happened to be one of my best friends in middle school.) We’ve even had the pleasure of visiting them in San Diego a few times over the last 3ish years.

Population: 402; We always joke that our reunion doubles the population of the town (village?) for the weekend. They’ll close down Main Street (pictured) on Saturday night for a street dance.

Having clear boundaries and allowing my kids as much autonomy as I’d like sometimes conflict. I am not always sure how to navigate and I often think myself into paralysis, but I have come to the conclusion that it’s crucially important to know where you come from and be connected to your kin. Did I just say “kin”? Oh boy. I feel like this whole post reads in the Idahoan small town dialect I grew up with. Guess I’m gettin’ ready!

Why can’t you just listen?!

I’ve studied many types of communication recommended to repair relationships. They all have similarities and make sense, but these empathy-based strategies so hard to practice! Especially when those I want to use this communication with are the people I love most, the ones who share my house. I actually think I’m fairly good at some of it, but there’s evidence that I’m delusional here.  I’ll come back to this in a moment.

My biggest barriers to good communication as I see them are these:

1. Truth-telling
2. Fixing
3. Ego

I’m going to start with ego because I work so hard on this one. I remind myself many times a day to set my ego aside when I’m communicating with loved ones. This is another example of clunky progress in my life with glimpses of success then falling back into old patterns (the theme of yesterday’s post.) I even blogged about the time I straight up asked my daughter to list my parenting qualities that she claimed were making her life hell, thinking I had my ego in check enough to handle the feedback maturely.

What happened instead was a meltdown of spectacular magnitude, the likes of which I had never seen in myself, even in the early romantic relationships of my adulthood that were so marked by drama. I totally lost my shit and flew into a rage at what felt like such an unfair, inaccurate assessment of my mothering. My eruptive response not only reinforced her poor opinion of me but gave her more reasons to conclude I’m a terrible mother. It continues to haunt me since it created such a vivid memory for her to pull up time and again as an example of my poor skills and judgment.

However, I am able to clock evidence that I’ve made progress on managing my ego. I see the tender, reciprocal affection and connection my daughter and I share and am always grateful for our many moments of closeness, even if she chooses to disregard these when she summarizes our relationship.  My baby boy (now 12) has a surprisingly mature ability to check his ego and manage his communication. He doesn’t always choose to exercise this intention, but he’s clearly capable and it’s such a joy when he does; I am certain modeling this for him has made an impact.

Which brings me to a communication skill I own and celebrate in myself: the ability to see and highlight strengths and progress. Not that I don’t still see the problems, but I can consciously shift my lens and feel gratitude—after years of hard work establishing this habit. It’s not foolproof by any means, but I continue to practice!

Ah, fixing. Why can’t I just listen? Is it cultural? My husband has this problem too. For a long time, I didn’t even recognize my own compulsion to offer a solution or a new perspective. In fact, it’s the latter that I’m most prone to do. I’m so determined to shift the lens of the other person, yet I am consistently met with resistance every time I attempt this. I just have such little tolerance for a victim mindset or damning conclusions about the behavior of another—especially when that person is not present to defend his/herself, so forever I chocked this up to “teaching” perspective. But the bottom line is it’s ineffective. Maybe. I keep hoping that I’m planting seeds that will eventually bloom into some wisdom for my kiddos. My daughter is especially critical and intolerant—something I was determined to model the opposite of— and these traits are now inhibiting her ability to fully engage with life.

But the communication experts insist this approach will damage the relationship, and I’ve witnessed firsthand how “fixing” does just that. My daughter’s biggest complaint about me? I don’t listen. This initially came as such a shock when I thought of the endless hours I’ve spent in her room talking about things that are going on in her life or society at large. However, when I really started paying attention I realized I was always trying to shift her perspective or problem-solve rather than just listening. I’m practicing more curiosity because it’s a way to respond that doesn’t invalidate her experience, but man, this is a hard one! Especially when her perspective seems so dangerous to her overall wellbeing.  I have some moments of success here but this takes intensely conscious vigilance and I’m far from mastering this one.

And finally, truth-telling. Ugh. So hard. Authenticity and clarity are so important to me. I can see much more progress here in my relationship with my girl (though it continues to be incredibly effortful when witnessing some of her cognitive dissonance) but for the life of me, I can’t seem to replace truth-telling with empathy when it comes to my husband. Actually, that’s not completely true. And this is going to sound defensive (another poor communication skill—getting defensive) but both Hubby and the girl hate when I try to practice empathy. I work so hard to ensure that it’s sincere, and it can be super tricky to find honest empathy at times, but I know I cannot pull off disingenuous responses.

Evidently, I can’t pull off genuine empathy either because they both shut me down every time I try. I suspect that they enjoy the conflict and have their own need to “truth-tell” and be right.  I get the appeal of argument, I enjoy a good debate, and it’s taken me a good long time to realize that no one ever wins. All this approach does is cause the other person to dig in and defend their position, even contriving evidence, if necessary, to stand strong. I also know that I modeled this for most of my oldest’s life, because damn if I don’t love me a good argument (though of course, I never contrived evidence!)

Knowledge that isn’t applied is useless. Overcoming decades of ingrained communication tactics is so freaking hard, but I am trying. If I could waive a magic wand, I would have family members that were also invested in relationship repair and willing to effort through this with me. All the books, experts, therapists, coaches say that doesn’t matter, and I know that I cannot change others. I’ve seen some evidence that the strategies can work, but the way my family members respond to my attempts at empathy are not very encouraging. I can only assume that I’m actually not good at it, or my family members would not be so resistant, right?  It’s becoming really challenging to sustain the effort, and I find myself backsliding more frequently into my own truth-telling, fixing, egoic communication habits.

Just processing through my current thoughts and conclusions on where I am on my journey to restore Justis (not justice. A part two post about restoring Justis is coming soon.) Thanks for listening. Drop a little empathy in the comments, would ya?

two steps forward, one step back…

I know that’s typically the other way around, but I switched the saying on purpose. I do a monthly written reflection, usually the last weekend of each month, but I forgot to do it this past weekend so I completed the task this morning.

I was reflecting on my familial relationships which are always a primary focus of my energy and these reflections. Don’t get me wrong—I’m no perfect mother or wife! In fact, that’s the reason for this being such an all-important focus area. It snuck up on me and bit me in the ass a few years ago that my family was kinda falling apart. That I had not been vigilant about the culture I’d hoped to create. I tend to be a bit of a perfectionist and work-aholic, especially when I’m doing something I’m passionate about and I can get lost in my endeavors, making me less present and available in my relationships.

In fact, being in the present is a constant challenge for me. According to the Strengthsfinder 2.0 tool, one of my dominant themes is futuristic, which means I spend lots of time imagining and planning for the future. While society needs futuristic people like myself, and even families benefit from having a member with futuristic talent, it can be problematic when it comes to relationships. My mind is constantly wandering; it takes great effort for me to truly be present in the moment, really with the person I’m spending time with unless we’re having some intense conversation about abstract topics.

Which brings me to another of my problematic themes: intellection. I spend way too much time in my head, ruminating and sometimes catastrophizing. This can be very stressmaking but also very fun. I like hanging out in my head; there’s another label for this: intellectual overexcitability.  It was nice to know that there are others who find their inner worlds more interesting than the real world. But again, not great for relationships. My favorite pastime is those previously mentioned intense conversations.

My family members don’t really share this inclination. Well, not exactly true. My girl definitely has some OE (overexcitability) but we don’t usually obsess about the same topics; I can see this tendency starting to affect her relationships also. We both tend to seek out people outside the family to indulge in these energizing (for the OEers but draining for most people) conversations. Luckily we’re occasionally able to indulge each other. Other problems have arisen due to her OE, but that’s a topic for another day…

I didn’t mean for this to be a post about Strengthsfinder themes and neural diversity theories—though great fodder for intense, abstract conversations! I intended to explain the success I’m calling “two steps forward, one step back.” After years now of continuous and what sometimes seems like unsustainable effort and definitely LOTS of mistakes, it never feels like I am making the desired changes in my familial relationships with any continuous forward movement. The Remembering Montana reflections were really helpful and I got to own those lessons again, but the sluggish progress and even backslides are painfully discouraging!  

As I wrote up my monthly review this morning, it occurred to me that instead of the other way around like the saying usually goes: “one step forward, two steps back,” that at least I think I’ve managed to reversed that.

And that’s progress, right!? I’ll take what I can get and celebrate it! (Thank you for following along my lazy, stream of consciousness post!! I know that’s an awful lot to ask.)   

Remtana – homesick

The girl took this on one of our final (foggy) mornings.

Part 15 of the Remembering Montana series documenting the three weeks my family spent in the Bitterroot Valley last fall, taking care of a small ranch–something that was completely novel for all four of us. We’re nearing our departure day in this post. For previous entries, scroll down and navigate back.

Day 16, October 5, 2018:

Everyone else is homesick. The kids miss their pets and their friends. Hubby says, “Two weeks would have been just right.”

Since June, I’ve actually spent more days on the road than at home, and my underfed nomadic spirit is feeling quite nourished from the continuous movement I’ve created this year. On the other hand, I’ve learned that my family does not especially share this love of vagabonding with me. The boy has been my most consistent companion, and he’s the most homesick of all. The bittersweet part is now he’s attached to the animals here—he can’t imagine life without Joe, yet his heart aches for his pet fish and his own dog, Crush. Was it cruel of me to put him in this predicament?

The Black and Tan is our dog, Crush, laying in the backyard with the housesitters’ dog. The boy had requested a photo from them and they texted this.

My family moved often during my childhood. Like, really a lot! I used to resent having to adapt to a new school, make new friends, create a new life; but over the years, I came to appreciate the resulting resiliency. I’ve noticed a risk aversion arise in my kids that I think partly grew out of a life that is too easy and predictable, lacking opportunity to experience discomfort and practice flexibility. Is “stability” really all it’s cracked up to be? How do humans learn to ride the extreme waves life will inevitably throw their way, if they spend their childhood on the beach instead of testing the waters?

I think these challenging last days here are the most beneficial part of this adventure. I see my kids stretching themselves in their boredom. Yesterday, we tracked down a cheap taqueria to celebrate National Taco Day. In the car on the way home the kids suggested we practice some of the improv exercises the boy and I learned at Cottonwood.

Rarely are my kids interested in playing board games anymore but last night, the boy capitulated for an epic game of Settlers of Catan with Hubby and me. The girl hung out close by, amicably fulfilling requests from the kitchen upstairs since she wasn’t involved in the game. She’s also taught her brother and me to play a few songs on the piano—songs she’s learned since being here and having unlimited access to a real piano.

The donkeys, Joe and Eddy, wait at the front porch in the morning for the boy to come out and play. We know the faces of the clerks at the grocery stores and the nice man that works at the post office recognizes me when I come in. The once interesting chores have become mundane. This definitely didn’t feel like a vacation—we really did “live” here, albeit briefly. And in a few days, we’ll move away. We’re already starting to clean and pack, in preparation for the journey.

We’ve got more adventures coming up this year, and the kids are feeling somewhat weary. They’ll get 3 weeks to recharge in Boise between our next two sets of travel plans. Maybe I was a little too ambitious this year… Maybe next year, we’ll spread our adventures out a bit more. We’ll find a balance, right? And while we’re home, the comfort and predictability will be appreciated instead of taken for granted, right? Well, If I’ve learned anything, it’s to move forward without expectations. It will be what it will be. And whether turbulent or tame, we’ll ride that wave–just like we rode this one.

Puzzling

“You’re going to make such a good grandma.” It wasn’t meant to be a compliment. This is what my best friend said to me when I told her I liked to do jigsaw puzzles. I realized I was into them about the time I discovered books on tape, oh, about 8 years ago. I had bought some nice 200 and 300 piece Ravensburger puzzles with an Amazon gift card to do with the family, but no one else was really into it.

I remember listening to lots of zombie fiction in the beginning of my love affair with puzzles, World War Z (brilliant on audiobook!) then much of the Walking Dead series (the reader of these is an amazing voice actor!) It became one of my favorite activities to put together a smaller puzzle—really meant for children–that I could finish in one evening as I listened to my book and drank a (bottomless) glass of wine.  

After awhile, I progressed to larger puzzles that would take much longer to complete. We never had an extra table for me to use, so I would spread it out on the dining room table and we’d just put placemats over the pieces or the completed part of the puzzle during meal times. This resulted in lost pieces that would stick to the mats, fall off, and get kicked away or fall down the floor vents. Sometimes there would be food spills that stained the colorful pieces. So one year for Christmas, I got one of those felt pads and a blow up cylinder to wrap my puzzle projects in and make them portable. This really didn’t work very well, partly because it just didn’t work very well and partly because we had a really hairy dog and the felt piece was always covered in dog hair and just got gross.

I also figured out what kind of puzzles I like. The picture definitely matters. When I’m in the mood for challenging, a large puzzle, say 1000-1500 small pieces that are nearly uniform in shape is my go-to. I don’t care for the challenge of a visually monotonous puzzle. I prefer vivid colors and will do landscapes, seascapes, animals, and even more abstract pictures as long as the colors are stimulating.

I can also milk the pleasure of a puzzle by assembling it multiple times. I’m not a one-and-done unless the puzzle failed to satisfy the first time around. The smaller the puzzle, the more times I can put it together before it loses its appeal. Even with the hours of enjoyment I can get from a single puzzle, I can’t bring myself to spend lots of money on them. They’re kinda expensive! So now if I’m purchasing a puzzle, it’s at a thrift store. Yeah, pretty hit or miss. I’ve settled for less than perfect yet been pleased by how few times pieces are missing. Puzzles are usually just a few cents at thrift stores, so you really can’t expect too much, but once in a while, I’ll find a gem!

I like what jigsaw puzzles do for my brain. It’s so interesting how your vision quickly adapts to the puzzle so that you can scan the pieces for the nuances of the scene or section you’re completing. There are numerous strategies, and which you apply depends a great deal on the style of puzzle. There’s the puzzle piece shape approach where you have to quickly learn the basic shapes that particular puzzle contains—it may seem this is only useful when the puzzle pieces vary in shape, but even subtle differences in the shape of the female and male parts of the standard piece can be the key.

My husband thinks it’s cheating to use the box, but this is often my go-to. I find it very satisfying to pick up a piece, move it over the box to locate exactly where it is in the picture, then place it directly into its exact location in the puzzle. Usually this comes after the major sections are completed by assembling all the relevant pieces nearby and using shapes and patterns to fill in the large chunks of the scene/picture. I tend to use all the puzzling strategies for each puzzle I do now.

Did you know that some people don’t sort the pieces? So weird! I have to start with the edges while also flipping all the pieces and laying them in a single layer so I can see every individual piece. If the puzzle is too large for my surface, I will sort out those main sections based on the patterns on the pieces, a few of those sections at a time, while leaving the rest of the puzzle in the box. Takes much longer this way, but what’s a person to do? If you have a better way when faced with this predicament, please share!

Turns out, several of my siblings are into puzzles also. Love it! Now we tend to do a puzzle when we’re hanging out shootin’ the shit. It’s fascinating to see that there are other ways to attack the puzzle, though we all seem to like running our hands over the completed project. The best part though is that we puzzle swap! They all seem to still spend good money on puzzles, so I tend to get the better end of the deal.

One more thing about puzzles. Like all my favorite active meditation activities, I love the metaphors for life that jigsaw puzzles provide: chunking things down; establishing boundaries; the birds’ eye view; when I get stuck, I often shift my position so I can look at the puzzle from another angle, building something just to tear it down again. I find incredible satisfaction and comfort in jigsaw puzzles. What does this say about me? Don’t know, and for once, I don’t really care.

Remtana – Driving Lessons Part 2

Part 14 of the Remembering Montana series reflecting on the three weeks my family got to ranch sit for 3 horses, 2 donkeys, and 2 rescue dogs in the Bitterroot Valley. Most of these are slightly adapted social media posts that I shared while we were in Montana. Others are more recently written. This is one of the former, and I broke it into two parts.

To fully appreciate this entry, I encourage you to read Part 1 before continuing with the rest of Day 15. I link lots of other days in this post since I reference many of the happenings of the past few weeks, but Part 1 is really a must.

Winter is coming…

Day 15 continued, October 4, 2018

So back to yesterday. It was the boy’s and my first full day back from Helena (read about our side trip here and here) and it was rainy and cold. My plan to hole up and work on my projects (writing, jigsaw puzzling, knitting) doesn’t quite play out as intended. Something goes awry with the girl’s morning coffee, and I remember that I promised the kids I’d take them back into Missoula for cupcakes from Bernice’s Bakery and I have some other errands to run anyway, so I offer to take the girl into town for a cup of joe.

We invite the boy but he declines. The girl’s excited because whenever she and I leave the property alone together, it means a driving lesson. Each time she gets to go a little further on the back roads that take us to the main highway and each time she says, “I love this SO much!”

She cheerfully accompanies me on my errands, we get coffee while at Bernice’s, check out another thrift store where she scores a denim shirt she’s been on the hunt for, and on the way home, she muses over the things she’s going to remember about this adventure. In fact, I have to remind myself that she’s a teenager because she’s also this truly lovely person that I enjoy spending time with.

Later that night, as I’m lying awake questioning the wisdom of that afternoon coffee, the light on my phone alerts me that I’ve received a text. It’s the girl, and clearly she thought I was sleeping so would be undisturbed by the text.  I text her back asking what she’s doing. She’s actually in the house on a bathroom run, so I sneak downstairs from the loft where both Hubby and the boy are sleeping, we grab a package of microwave popcorn, make a jar full of Italian soda, and head out to her freezing RV apartment with my laptop to bundle up under a comforter and watch YouTube.

We’re midway through a video she’s really invested in sharing with me and the computer alerts us to a dying battery. The girl says she’ll run over to the house to get the charger. When she returns, she’s breathless and informs me she’s going to walk me back when we’re finished because the sky is packed with stars!

Around 2am, we exit the trailer and crane our necks to “ooh and aah” over the starfilled sky. So few times has she seen stars like this, and I’m again flooded with gratitude for the many new shared experiences with my teenage girl that wouldn’t have happened without the freedom we’ve claimed for ourselves.

I’ve been thinking about how much driving represents freedom and trust for a teen. I notice the more freedom and trust the girl feels she has, the more I treat her with the same dignity and respect I treat the adults in my life, the more she acts like a kind, caring adult.

There were many moments I feared this Montana Adventure would be a complete disaster (read here about why the boy is permanently scarred from this experience,) but the girl will always associate this trip with lots of thrilling firsts–firsts that reinforced that she is respected, trusted, and free. 

Remtana – Driving Lessons Part 1

Part 13 of the Remembering Montana series reflecting on the three weeks my family got to ranch sit for 3 horses, 2 donkeys, and 2 rescue dogs in the Bitterroot Valley. Most of these are slightly adapted social media posts that I shared while we were in Montana. Others are more recently written.

I broke this slightly adapted social media post into two parts to keep it consistent with the typical length of my entries. Come back tomorrow for the rest of the story. 😉

Day 15, October 4, 2018:

“I love this SO much!” She says for the umpteenth time.

It all started on Day 5. The girl and I had driven into town to engage in what has become one of our signature shared activities: thrifting.

I’m pretty proud of the progress I’ve made at avoiding arguments with my teenage girl by quickly noticing when she’s being reactive and not getting sucked into that reactivity myself. I’m practicing digging for the emotion that is causing her tone, then excavating even further to discover the need she’s seeking to meet through her behavior. It’s tricky with her. She is 14 after all and driven to individuate, so there have been times when I think the mood and tone are purely to agitate discord. She’s also savvy and usually on to me if my tactics lack sophistication.

This afternoon presents a situation with her that is provoking in me my own need to be seen and appreciated. I feel myself getting triggered, finding it extremely difficult to maintain a calm presence, so I alert her to this then fall quiet. We leave Missoula in silence, though she’s plugged into a podcast, while I’m processing my failure to find connection.    

Half an hour later, we’ve arrive at the gate to the property, and she’s about to leave the car to open it, when I suddenly get the inspiration that will dissipate the negativity. I say, “you want to drive us in?”

“What?!” She responds in utter disbelief. She’s never been in the driver’s seat of a real car but she’s been obsessing about it lately, reminding us often that she’s almost of the age to get her permit.

This invitation makes her absolutely giddy, and after I open the gate, I give my oldest child her first driving lesson, and she moves the 2-ton machine a whole 20 feet. She’s over the moon and then proceeds to apologize for how she treated me in town, even articulately explaining the complex emotions that were driving her behavior with some embarrassment but knowing I’m not going to chastise or shame her. Success!

We’ll come back to the day at hand and why I recall the driving lessons on this particular day in Driving Lessons part two.

Remtana – trust and freedom

Thought I was feeling inspired to write up a new post for today. I wrote and wrote. Usually a theme emerges, occasionally different than what I originally intended, but somehow it always seems to come together. Not so much today. Hopefully, I can come back to all that content and find some nuggets to work with, but to stay on track with my daily publishing, here’s the next Remtana installment.

While on a field trip, I was surprised to discover the Center’s stilts had accompanied us on our walk (through downtown Helena and no one was ordered to “get in line”.) Here’s the boy working on his skills…

This is part 12 of the Remembering Montana series that chronicles the three weeks my family got to spend in Montana the fall of 2018 thanks to trustedhousesitters.com, location independence, and my family’s willingness to indulge me in this somewhat crazy experience. Most are slightly adapted social media posts written during our stay. Scroll down and navigate back to read more about our Montana adventure.

Days 13 and 14, October 2-3, 2018:

I think this may be the longest I’ve made it through a post challenge I’ve given myself (Until now! July 25, 2019 On day 50 of a 60day blog challenge!)–even if I am making up for not updating yesterday! More about the boy’s and my 3-day side trip to Helena:

I have met some amazing people since discovering Agile Learning, then joining the Alliance for Self-Directed Education (www.self-directed.org).   The Cottonwood founders were no exception. They insisted that the boy and I stay with them rather than book a hotel and they treated us with tremendous hospitality.

Our littles played happily together, while we three adults had long, energizing discussions about self-directed education and the implications of this “educational” approach for the future of humanity and the planet we inhabit. We shared stories and resources and established a support connection, promising to collaborate and create together. This visit absolutely reinforced the magnetic pull I felt to the ALC network and while intimidated, I’m so super grateful for them (and all the other ALC founders and facilitators) for their courageous trailblazing and generosity with their hard-earned wisdom.

While at Cottonwood, I had the privilege to have several conversations with a 16yo girl who left traditional school to be there. Prior to making the transition to an ALC, she experienced anxiety-induced migraines and other physical and emotional symptoms of an unhappy life. I can testify that she now has the demeanor of someone who is excited about and highly engaged in life.

When I asked her about the biggest difference she’s experienced between her traditional high school and the agile learning environment, she said two words: trust and freedom—that she’s trusted by both her parents and the agile facilitators to choose her own path and direct her own day, to show up to those things she’s committed to. I dug a little deeper and asked how she feels about that trust and freedom, and in her very animated way, she launched into an explanation of the immense responsibility she feels to maintain that trust. This girl may come and go from the center as she pleases, but typically when she’s not there, it’s because she’s at another of her scheduled commitments including community college classes. She seemed keen to engage in philosophical discussions with me and I must admit, it’s pretty impressive to get the insights of a 16yo girl regarding Machiavellian influence on current politics!

Same field trip as above. Rather than round them up when it was time, a facilitator checked in with the kiddos and reminded them there were some scheduled events at the center in the afternoon. Several were having such a good time they decided to stay rather than cut their play short to return. Others who were excited about afternoon’s offerings, returned to the center. The facilitators went with the flow rather than insist the children succumb to the schedule.

I could continue sharing stories about the 14 yo girl who spent much of her time distributing resumes and following up with potential employers, the 15yo boy who is starting his own business and spends much of his time at the center creating YouTube videos, the ongoing discussion as the kiddos try to establish a video gaming policy (adults weigh in too, but they do not exercise veto power), the continuous self-directed making that happens in the workshop, the amazing benefits of the Improv class for those who choose to attend, and so many more, but instead I’ll finish this post by expressing immense gratitude for the 3 days of freedom and play (aka learning) that the boy and I got to experience with the Cottonwood Agile Learning Community.