too noisy peter

my mom is a trainer. not the kind that helps you work out in a gym (although, given her personality and stubbornness she might not be half bad at it), but the kind that stands in front of large groups of people to prepare them for a job they have just excepted. mostly she trains people to work with teenagers in residential facilities. she is very good at her job. 

one of the curses of having a mother who speaks in front of large groups of people on a regular basis is having family stories become part of the training material. she regularly uses a certain story of a certain daughter who stood in front of the church during the christmas cantata making a slashing motion across her throat every few seconds. when she talks about "family speak" (the phenomenon that occurs when families use their own language among themselves that other people may not understand) she gives away years' worth of inside jokes and family secrets. after decades in the training room these stories have become soundbites, sanitized down so that the players are barely recognizable anymore. she talks about how we call the remote control "the beep beep" or how for years none of us said anything but "shhhhhhicken" whenever someone asked what was for supper. it isn't embarrassing anymore because we feel so far removed from the players that we were in those stories.

I've been thinking about my mom in her training sessions as I think about blogging. I've been trying to decide how long I can talk about my kids online without their knowing about it. I think of this space as relatively private, but of course it isn't. just last week someone I met for the first time told me that she has been reading my blog for years. flattering, yes, but a bit tricky as well. how fair is it to our kids to have an online presence they don't know about? when they go to google themselves years from now, will they be okay knowing I've been recording their childhoods for my own self-indulgent blog fodder? already the precursor anytime I take cora's photo is "okay, but don't send it to anyone." a reasonable request, I'd say. 

but if I'm not going to write about my kids, what the heck do I have left to say?

the struggle is more than blogging. I am at a place in life when I want very different things from life than what my kids want. that has been true since the moment they were born, but now we are to a place as a family that we have the maturity to pursue different stuff in bigger ways. some of us are more ready for that change than others. but for me I feel rather lost when I realize I can do anything I want to do. for so long I have been parenting, direct in-the-trenches parenting my own kids, as well as group home parenting, foster parenting, teaching parenting classes, leading parenting support groups, heck I even teach a parenting sunday school class at church. I am ready for what is next. and I don't have a damn clue what that is.

and of course it is not that simple. just because I am ready for a parenting break doesn't mean my kids are done being parented. and just because I recognize this need for change, this shift in habits and identity doesn't mean I know what to do instead. and just because I know I want something different doesn't mean that change is gonna come overnight, just because I say I am ready.

in our own family speak we often say to each other with a sigh, "too noisy peter." it was a bedtime story favorite of jamin's for what felt like years. you know the folktale: a man thinks his house is noisy so the local wise guy suggests bringing a variety of animals to live inside his house with him. then when he pares his life down just to what it was before, his world is blissfully peaceful and he lives contentedly ever after. 

the problem in our house is that I am the opposite of peter. I rarely complain about the noise. instead I am driven to distraction by the quiet. we hit a seasonal lull and I start saying things like "we should really think about adopting another kid" or "I think we should move to idaho" or "wouldn't it be fun take a trip to south america for an indefinite period of time?" my family is not entertained. they roll their eyes and keep talking about whatever things normal families talk about, just to spite me.

but the past few months I've been hiding. after four months away from life here this summer, a whirlwind tour of new england, coming home to homeschool and homestead, two big disappointments in the potential job arena, an extra roommate and an extra dog, I just don't feel up to it all. it feels like failure not to feel like myself. it feels like paralysis not to know what to leap into next. it feels like a loss to not have a plan, a dream, a vision. 

but here is where the magic happens, too. sometimes the not knowing is the most knowing place of all. questioning where we've been, where we're going, and how we're going to get there is how life happens. I'd rather feel lost every so often than coast through the life unexamined. I'd rather feel too noisy and too quiet and have to do something about it than not feel any of it at all. 

so here we are: change is coming. it's already happening. every bit is just preparing us all for the next bit. the same girl that made those slashing motions across her throat in the church concert has to decide which stories about her own kids the world gets to know. and the wisest around me say I have to get quieter, much much quieter, before I can get myself up to the life noise level I prefer. so that's what I'm doing: paying attention, listening, staying willing to change. even if it means a pace of life different than what I think I prefer. even if it doesn't happen on my own timetable. 

and in family speak, it all sounds just right.

Unconditional

Willing to experience aloneness,
I discover connection everywhere;
Turning to face my fear,
I meet the warrior who lives within;
Opening to my loss,
I gain the embrace of the universe;
Surrendering into emptiness,
I find fullness without end.
Each condition I flee from pursues me,
Each condition I welcome transforms me
And becomes itself transformed
Into its radiant jewel-like essence.
I bow to the one who has made it so,
Who has crafted this Master Game.
To play it is purest delight;
To honor its form--true devotion.

- Jennifer Welwood