Well, I feel a bit silly.  Rather than pose this big photo-sharing question on my blog, all I really had to do was ask my teenager.  She didn't know the answer, but she knew how to find out.

(Which, to chase a little rabbit here, reflects the goals of my educating endeavors with my children.  They don't need to know all the answers to everything off the tops of their heads, but I do want them to know how & where to find answers & information when they need it.)

Anyway, SoyCheez grabbed my computer and held my hand just long enough to get me started, then left me to play around and get it all figured out.  Just like a good teacher ought to do.  I'm taking mental notes here.

Teenagers are handy like that for technological questions; that is, provided they are actually around and available.  Which is probably why I went to my bloggy friends rather than the teenager in the first place.  Bloggy friends are generally easier to get a hold of.  :-)  But last night the teenager and I just happened to be talking about the relatives at the reunion, and I just happened to mention a particular picture I'd taken of one of them, and she just happened to want to see it, and while we were looking at it, I just happened to think to ask her my photo-sharing question.  So see, it all just sort of happened.  That's sometimes how it is with teenagers.

Anyway, I just thought I'd mention that.  But I'm not going to turn this into another boring blog post about photo-sharing.  If you are interested in knowing what I found out, go to the comments section of my previous post.  I decided that was the best place to relate my findings.

As for this post, I'd rather continue on this rambling, stream-of-consciousness course by mentioning how much I appreciate those little moments with my little-girl-almost-growed-up.  As she gets older and more independent and closer to the time when she will leave the nest, I've come to cherish little things like sitting on the sofa together looking at pictures and figuring out photobucket.  Not because she is helping me, but because we are doing something together and talking about something other than what chores she needs to do and how much of her own gas she should pay for and whether she should watch a particular movie and all those other potentially-volatile issues of Life With Teenagers.  And I hate it that we have to spend so much time on those not-so-fun conversations, and I realize that I need to work harder at making sure they are far outweighed by the casual, enjoyable moments.  Of course, as I previously noted, those sorts of moments often just "happen".  I just have to set the stage to allow them happen more often.

Which is a good reason for me to get off the computer and get started on my day.  Because the Teenager wants to make hummus today, and if I don't get too far behind on the other things on my to-do list, I can help her.  And then there is that sewing project and that scrapbook project we were going to do together, neither of which will happen during the remaining weeks of summer if I don't start guarding my time a little better.

Besides, I have a little-girl-NOT-so-growed-up-yet waiting for my lap.  And I think I'd better take advantage of that while I can.

Note:  The fact that I am making a new post does not absolve you of the responsibility to comment on my last post.  Go do that now, and then come back.  And don't forget to notice that Cheez (aka SoyCheez) also has a new pic at the top of the blog.  She always hated the old one.

I received a very nice compliment the other day.  We had gone to one of our "Will Work For Food" places, as I call them; that is, one of three eating establishments where Huz has done sign work and as payment, we get to eat free.  This particular one happens to be a new coffee/sandwich shop and, unfortunately, there are rarely any other customers there, even on a Friday night.  Which is why Huz takes us there often-- so that we can get our free food while there's still gettin' to be had.

And no, in case you're wondering, SoyCheez can't eat the food (although she can have a plain coffee).  She either brings her own food or stays home.  In this case she had stayed home, and we had brought along a friend of Spaz & Fuzz'.

Anyway.  On this particular evening, there was another customer in the shop: a very nice older gentlemen who apparently had severe Tourette's or something; I'm not sure and of course we did not ask.  He had such a nice personality that we quickly got beyond his random body movements.  When we first came into the shop, we merely exchanged smiles with him, but that eventually progressed into chitchat.  The coffee shop/deli is not big, and so our tables were close enough for us to converse as we ate.  The kids were at one table, Huz & I at another, and the older gentleman at a third table.

We had only exchanged a few remarks when out of the blue he asked me, "Do you homeschool?"

I was surprised at the randomness of the question, but replied, "Yes, I do."  He then proceeded to explain that he knew another homeschooling family and that their children were very polite and well-behaved.  "Oh," said I.  "I wondered what would make you ask that."

"Well," said he, "your children are so well-behaved and polite, and they don't seem to have had the negative influence of public school."

Now before my non-homeschooling readers click away in a huff, let me insert a few remarks of my own here.  First of all, interestingly enough, one of the children to whom this gentleman referred actually is a public-schooled child-- he was not at that time aware that only two of those three children were actually ours.  Second, I am well-acquainted with many well-behaved, polite public school children.  And third, a child's behavior has far more to do with his home environment than with his school situation.  Not that a poorly behaved child is necessarily the result of poor parenting, but behavior often has little to do with whether or where a child goes to school.  Good behavior is not a homeschooling thing; it's a parenting thing.

Which, by the way, probably explains why my children are not, for the most part, actually well-behaved and polite.  Nonetheless, they were giving that impression. 

So this gentleman remarked that my children were well-behaved and polite, and he attributed that directly to the influence of homeschooling.  Which means he attributed it indirectly to my hard work and efforts.  All analyses and caveats aside, I'll take that as a compliment any day.

I know I beamed.  I hope I said thank you.  I did comment that only two of them were mine and that they weren't always well-behaved and polite.  (To which he replied, "Well, that's good, too."  In other words, at least they're normal.)

Now I don't know about you, but I don't get comments like that too often.  I don't think we've ever been a poster family for the homeschool community.  Not even close.  My kids are great kids, but they really are not the outstandingly well-mannered children who inspire comments such as, "Oh, what lovely children; they must be homeschooled."  They'd be more likely to inspire comments from the people who do have those types of children-- comments like, "I can't believe they're homeschooled!  Such a disgrace to the movement!  I hope no one thinks all homeschooled kids are like that..."   OK, I exaggerate a bit, but you get the point.

And so I often think to myself, "Why do I homeschool anyway?  It makes no difference in my kids' lives."  Well, maybe and maybe not.  This gentleman seems to think that it does.  And I may as well choose to believe him.

It is so easy to focus on everything I have done wrong as a parent.  And it is so nice to be reminded every so often that maybe I have done some things right.  After all, if a stranger is so impressed with my children as to comment about it, well, I guess maybe I haven't done so poorly after all.

So you understand, don't you, why five days later I am still beaming.

Every so often, I come to the realization that there is a high probability that my kids are going to forever remember me as "Our Mother of the Perpetually Wrinkled Brow".  Yes, I know I can sometimes be funny and light-hearted here at my blog, but I'm not actually that way in real life.  Real life has a way of zapping my joy and humor.  I have to remind myself to chill and relax and not take everything so seriously.  To sometimes just raise kids instead of always trying to raise future adults.  To smile at their antics and their quirks instead of scolding.  To just enjoy them every once in a while.

I got to thinking about these things this morning because of a post I read at "Inspiration Station", aka henryteachers.  Log in to HSB if you aren't already, and then go read it.  I love how I learn from and am encouraged by other blogging moms even when their lives are quite different from mine.  Mindy's kids are all younger than my youngest and we are at very different stages in our mothering and homeschooling, yet her blog still inspires me-- and the same goes for my other bloggy friends.  I guess blogging isn't a waste of time!

At the moment, I have the house to myself, a privilege I enjoy most Saturday mornings while Huz takes the troops out to breakfast.  I admit it, I love it when the kids are not around and I am not "on call" to anyone for anything.  But I am going to try to remember to enjoy them today when they are home and be more than just the Crabby Lady With the Chore List.

And the nice thing about having this time now is that I am getting my blog fix now, so later when they are home, I will be less likely to fall into that other role, the one of Distracted Mother On the Computer.  I may end up being the "Busy Mother In the Newly Remodeled Bathroom With the Paintbrush" and the "Cranky Mother In the Other Bathroom With the Cleaning Rags" and the "Old Lady Going to Costco to Pick Out Her New Progressive-Lens Glasses", but at least those are more productive.  (Edited later to add: OR the "Mom in the Kids' Bedrooms Trying to Get Rid of Mice and Turd".  Grrrr.  I mean, isn't this fun, kids?)

Now if you'll pardon me, I need to go make the chore lists for my "future adults".  But somewhere on MY list, I am going to remind myself to enjoy my KIDS today.  And as for you, go read that post at Inspiration Station, and then remember to enjoy your family today, too.

A few weeks ago, Spaz and a younger friend of his were asked (coerced, he says!) to participate in a mime drama on Palm Sunday.  The mime was based on Ray Boltz’ song “Watch the Lamb,”  and Spaz & his friend would portray the two boys going to Jerusalem with their father.  Spaz was a bit upset about it at first.  He definitely has a talent for drama, but doesn’t like to use it.  (Or at least he says he doesn’t; methinks there is a big part of him that really enjoys it, and his reluctance comes from  self-consciousness.)  Feeling he had no choice, he agreed to do it, but later at home had a bit of a meltdown.

“It’s not fair!” he cried.  “Just because I’m kind of good at that, people keep asking me to do stuff!”   Now, “keep asking” is quite an exaggeration.  A major part in a little Kids’ Club skit (cast by his own mom), a speaking part in the Christmas musical, and a few extra lines in the homeschool drama production hardly constitute an overload of acting roles.  But aside from that, well, yeah.  If you’re good at something, people want you to do more of it; that’s how life works.  Not to mention that his mom prays for him to have opportunities to develop & learn to enjoy his talents.

Huz & I explained to him what the song was about.  We told him that it was a deeply moving and powerful song and that people would be focusing on the story that it told.  The actors would be there to enhance that story and draw people into it.  Nobody was going to be thinking about Spaz or anyone else; hopefully they would be thinking about Jesus.  The actors would merely be vessels to that end.  Spaz accepted this thoughtfully and began to make peace with the whole idea of doing it.

We also reminded him that his “father” in the drama was being played by a cool young guy whom Spaz knows and loves.  That helped.  By the time the first practice rolled around, he seemed to have reconciled himself to his role.  As we waited for the rest of the participants to gather, he seemed to be quite calm, nonchalant, and in good spirits.

…That is, until I dropped the bomb that I too was going to participate.  Cheez had been interested, but was sick the day of that first practice and so decided not to.  I’ve long wanted to try doing mime, and since they appeared to need a few more people, I volunteered at the last minute –and was happily accepted- to play a very minor role.  I mentioned this to Spaz just as the last stragglers were coming into the practice room.  I was not prepared at all for his reaction.  He. Had. A. Fit.  “I’m eleven!” he erupted.  “Can’t I do something without my mom?  Now I’m not going to do it!”  And away he stomped to a corner.

Obviously, that kind of behavior is not acceptable, but it is something we unfortunately deal with on a regular and increasingly frequent basis with Spaz.  (And it is one of the main reasons we are beginning to take a more pro-active stance to his ADH issues.)  Only this time we were not at home attempting to do math.  This little tantrum was taking place at church in front of a roomful of people who were gathering to practice a very spiritual and Christ-focused drama.  I was more than a little ticked.

Any semblance of Christ-likeness in me flew right out the window.  Trying to appear calmer than I felt, I stalked over to where he was pouting beneath a Sunday school table and in a quietly menacing voice stated, “I have the power to make your life miserable, and that is exactly what I am going to do if you don’t straighten up and change your attitude right now!”

Uh, yeah.  Can anybody say, “Not a smart move, Mom”?  I should have known better; I did know better.  I was too angry with him to realize at the moment that I had just thrown down the gauntlet in a stubborn battle of wills.

“I’m not going to do it!” he shot back in an angry whisper.  “Get your butt and the rest of you over there NOW!”  I retorted.  “Practice is starting!  We don’t have time for this!”  “I’m not doing it!”  he said again.  “I didn’t want to do it in the first place and now I’m not going to!”  I tried to reason with him.  “You can’t back out.  They have no one else.  You made a commitment, and they’re counting on you.”  “Then why did you have to go and ruin it?” he cried.  “I don’t want to do it with you!  It’s your fault that I’m not doing it!”

Reason wasn’t working.  Once Spaz’ meltdown mode starts escalating, it becomes increasingly difficult for him to pull out of it.  I was acutely aware that everyone in the room was waiting for us, even as they made every effort to not notice us.  Everything I said drew the same response from him.  I was feeling more desperate and more livid by the second.   The rest of the group took their positions and the CD began, without us.  Who could blame them?

I pulled out my big guns.  “Alright, you’ve already lost XBox for the rest of the month; if you don’t want to start working on April, you’d better cooperate.”  And so it went.  My threats fell on deaf ears.  With everything I said, his heels just dug in further.  And all of a sudden I came to my senses.  This was futile.  Furthermore, even if threats could change his mind, they wouldn’t change his heart.  Did I really want loss of Xbox time, or any other form of correction, to be his motivation?

Sometimes being a good parent (or spouse or friend) means backing off.  It means realizing that we have come to the end of what we can do, and that the end of what we can do is only the beginning of what God can do.  And that we need to get out of His way so He can do it.  I quietly left Spaz, walked over to the group, and segued into my position.  Praying, praying, praying.  Spaz has a very tender heart.  I knew that if he sat there long enough, the words of the song might very well penetrate his heart and be enough to pull him out of his mode.  “Please, Lord,” I prayed silently, over and over again, “Soften his heart.  Bring peace to his heart.”

The father and the younger son went through their motions without him.  I stood stiffly next to my fellow soldier, praying.  Pivoted on my heel, praying.  I took the imaginary cross from the first thief, praying.  Planted it in the ground and nailed his hands, praying.  And always watching Spaz out of the corner of my eye.  He was watching now, too.

The second thief made his angry motions.  Was nailed to his imaginary cross.  Jesus started down the road, staggering under the weight of his invisible cross.  And Spaz emerged slowly from his corner.  Jesus continued to stumble, and fell to the ground.  Spaz tiptoed toward the door and turned the knob.

“Did you decide not to do it, Spaz?” asked the director quietly.  Spaz nodded as the song continued to play and the actors continued to mime.  “That’s OK,” she said, probably figuring that she’d rather cut her losses than deal with this sort of brattiness.  She really doesn’t know Spaz and was probably wondering at this point why he’d ever been recruited.  But it wasn’t OK, and I said so.  I didn’t want to make a scene, but I was not about to let Spaz go.  I motioned him back.  “You need to stay in the room and watch,” I insisted quietly, still in my position.  The mime went on around us as though nothing else were happening.  To my relief, Spaz slid into a chair and crossed his arms and watched.  And I continued to pray.

The father watched Jesus, agonized.  The soldier grabbed his arm.  He grabbed for his son and was torn away.  His other “son”, the prodigal, still sat in a chair, watching.  The father took Jesus’ cross and carried it.  Stood helplessly watching as Jesus was crucified.  Clutched his son to him and knelt before the cross.  Still Spaz sat and still I prayed.  The song ended.

We all returned to our starting places and the CD began again.  Father and son began again on the road to Jerusalem.  And before long, the father felt another hand slip into his.  Hand in hand the father and his two sons made their eventful journey through the song.  And the shortest soldier never broke from her stern stance, but inside, she was smiling.  And still praying, but this time, prayers of thanks.

After practice was done, the father said that he had almost cried.  The oldest son –MY son-- said that he had, too.  I told you he has a tender heart.  The youngest son reminded them that crying during the real performance would smear their makeup.

Spaz and I had a nice talk on the way home, and we never had anymore trouble about it.  We did the mime yesterday and it went wonderfully.  Spaz and his “brother” played their parts very well and were very touching.  People were blessed, and not just the ones who were watching.

And that was whole point of doing it— blessing others.  But as a side benefit, it was a learning and growing experience for me, and I think for Spaz as well.  Doing the mime was another step toward embracing his talents and learning to serve the Lord with them.  But beyond that, I hope that he learned something even more powerful from that first practice session, the one that started out as a mother’s nightmare and ended as a mother’s dream, with a child repentant and cut to the core.  I hope that he learned something about himself and something about the Lord.

I know I did.  I was reminded, as I have been so many times before, that while my responsibility is to train and pray for my children, my job description does not include being their personal Holy Spirit.  I couldn’t be that if I wanted to.  And thank goodness, I don’t have to be.

Afterword:  My daughter videotaped from her seat, and despite an abundance of heads partially blocking the view, the video is very powerful.  I have watched it 5 or 6 times since yesterday afternoon.  It is enough to motivate me actually learn how to put video on my computer, except that I can’t find the cord.  I do have nearly 60 awesome photos taken by a friend who is the unofficial church photographer;  we downloaded them to my flashdrive after church, and I spent several hours yesterday cropping and arranging on my own computer.  I’d love to put together a power point with the pics and give it to church, but I don’t know how to put music with the pictures and I probably shouldn’t take the time anyway.  However, I will post some here soon, probably as a slide show.

*Sigh*  Today was one of those major meltdown days that leave me questioning my adequacy to even parent my Kid With Attention Difficulties, let alone homeschool him.  I have been here many times before, and it does not get any easier.  (And in case you're wondering, no, I  did not have the meltdowns; my KWAD did.  But on days like today, I am generally just inches away from melting down myself.  Where is that chocolate-filled padded cell when I need it?)

...By the way, if you are one of those people who doesn't believe in the existence of Attention Deficit, then you might want to go read somebody else's blog today instead of mine.  Yes, i know that was a cranky thing to say.  I said it anyway.  I had a bad day, OK?...

Once this kind of day gets underway, it can be very very difficult to change its course;  even when, by much prayer and gentle conversation, we manage to find some moments of calmness, the frustration returns sooner or later (usually sooner) and the meltdowns escalate.  Happily for me, Huz happened into the house today in the middle of one such episode and was able to provide me with some needed support & backup.  We have tried various means of dealing with this type of thing, and the way I dealt with it today was physical work.  It did seem to have a positive effect, and the day had actually turned around by about 4:00.  Of course by that time we were way "behind" on things and all worn out besides.  Much as I would have liked to just cancel what we had left to do and chalk it up to being "one of those days", I didn't feel that that would be sending a very good message to either of the kids-- the one who caused the problem and the one who didn't.  So hooray :-P, we get to spend our Saturday finishing our week's schoolwork.  Just what I wanted to do.

I feel very sorry for poor Fuzz sometimes.  Her needs and desires so often end up playing 2nd-fiddle to the high-needs older brother.  She has so much potential, so much enthusiasm for learning & doing, and homeschooling her alone would be such a breeze and such a joy.  Yet I can't quite give her the time & attention & guidance she needs when almost all of it has to go to this 2-year-old... oh, wait, I forgot; he's eleven.  I sometimes wonder whether she will ever fully blossom being stuck in this homeschool with a highly ADH classmate and a frazzled, overstressed, AD-afflicted teacher/mom.  (Even as I write this, though, i am struck by the sense that, yes, she is being fed and will continue to do fine-- although I kind of hate to admit that because it ruins my pity party.)

I have realized for a couple years now that we are no longer doing Spaz a favor by eschewing medication.  I believe that doing so was a good thing, for a while.  But for the last couple years we have simply been stubbornly holding onto an ideal and refusing to face reality.  I'm going to do dietary things and those brain exercises with him, I'd tell myself, as soon as I can just get my act together enough to do it.  As though that would ever happen.  The reality is that i will never have my act together enough to do those things, in part because I have AD issues as well.  (I did try meds for myself but saw little difference for the money.  Of course, it probably would have helped if I could have remembered to take them regularly.)  It is time to be realistic and realize that the ideal isn't always reachable.  Huz & I with our own boggled brains can do only so much, and we have probably reached the end of what we can do. It is no longer enough just to keep hanging in there and try to teach coping skills and accomodate his special needs.  We now have ADH meets adolescence, and it isn't pretty.  And we haven't even hit the really volatile ages yet.  I am not just talking about meltdowns and frustration and lack of focus, either.  We have a highly impulsive 11-year-old who cut his hair in Sunday School because "I was bored and the scissors were there"-- dare we think about what he might do at 15 when he's bored and faced with far worse temptations than scissors?  We'd better be thinking about it, before it is too late.

Spaz is truly a great kid, and when he is able to control his emotions, he is loving and tender and really has a heart for other people and for God.  We, esp. Huz, have told him since he was very little that "God is going to use you, buddy."  We just have to do our part as parents to equip him to become a man of God.  And that means doing whatever we have to do to help him help himself.  So here we are.

These are not new thoughts arising out of a single "bad day".  They have been brewing between Huz & me for many, many months.  We have already- finally- gotten the ball rolling ever so slightly on medication, meaning we called the local ADHD "specialist" Dr. to inquire about an appointment.  But there are so many hindrances, including high fees & crummy insurance (self-employed, remember?), the resulting indecision about which doctor to use, and of course that nagging ever-present idealism.  Given those factors along with our own difficulty in following thru on things, I can only pray that we actually will see this through.

Well, I really didn't mean to go into all that.  I only wanted to vent about my day.  And so i did... plus.  To all who made it this far, thanks for reading.

I should add that, once the Meltdown Monster finally made its exit, we had a rather pleasant and uneventful evening.  Just what we all needed! (Thank you, Lord!)  I am praying that our time of schoolwork and chores tomorrow will be equally calm.