So much has elapsed since I last had a stretch of moments to sit down and try to piece everything together in a way worth sharing here. It is hard to know where, or even how, to begin. What to omit and what to include. Sometimes the map of things makes all the sense in the world, and other times I am lost inside of the jumble of unresolved threads that tangle up my mind space. So it goes. I actually feel a bit in a jumble right now, but I have the time this morning so I will see how patient and thorough I can be with the untangling.

We are just on the other side of the crashing wave that is back-to-school energy and we are beginning to settle into the new shape of things. Even as homeschoolers this was always a time of transitions as activities and sports started up their schedules again. But this year, with Eider in school full time for the first time in his life, the shift into this season has felt even more immense. And I know that I should know this already, especially when it comes to parenting, that most things never go as planned, and the way I imagine what will unfold is often just a flimsy hologram distorting reality. Oh well. I am a slow learner to be sure.

There were a few threads of our intended trajectory, back in the mid-summer, that I could see or was beginning to notice were a little rough or loose or poorly placed. I knew that the changes ahead for Eider were going to be big and unpredictable and honestly I spent quite a bit of time fretting over that to varying degrees. That is a bit of an unfortunate habit of mine I think, especially when it comes to Bear. Three years of not really catching any breaks has me ready for some working wins for that kid, and well, I worry. I also knew in the early summer that Maple has some pre-work for an AP class that was looming large. As for Wilfred, who was enrolled to begin Forest Preschool this fall, I was aware that even as he began to really potty train - a requirement for FP- that he was also beginning to resist and hold his poops. Ouch and Owie. In fact, his chant of “I have a poop owie” became a constant for much of the summer, so much so that we began to incorporate it into our family vernacular. Each of us was working through our own metaphoric poop owies, some bigger and more uncomfortable than others.

My own Poop Owie of the summer came in the form of my continued feeling of displacement as a yoga teacher in Northern Vermont. I just couldn’t land anywhere that felt right or true. The new local studio in town that I had begun teaching at in the early spring began to show immediate signs of inconsistency and questionable management. But desperate to teach, I pushed through my doubt and overrode my instincts time and time again. In retrospect, I am a little sad and disappointed that I didn’t heed the truth that lives inside of my own first impressions. It took showing up to teach and interfacing with the studio owner and realizing that she was completely hammered, for the lights to turn on in my own awareness. I was giving a person and a situation the benefit of a doubt that I had transformed into believing was simply me being an asshole and in so doing had become dull to all of the warnings written all over the walls. And seriously no shade ever in a million years for anyone struggling with addiction, which she clearly is. However, I will remove myself from the equation and will not consider return until radical honesty is restored and recovery is engaged. At the very minimum. I know enough about the 12-steps to know she is nowhere in the ballpark of any of it, and so, teaching there is not for me.

I began to explore other options for places to teach this coming fall and started to think that doing things independently was perhaps a little more my style- big surprise. There was a beautiful space in Hardwick that was run as an incubator space for teachers and I respect and admire the woman who conducts that effort. She is clear and conscientious and connected to and passionate about her local community. It seemed like a perfect fit and I was getting excited about teaching there and within that particular format. However, when I visited to get a run-through of using the space, I realized that the studio had been moved from the beautiful third-story light-filled historic building to a dark basement off of the main street. Ughhhh no. I have been teaching and practicing in a basement for three years and it has been killing my soul. I cannot get it together to leave my house and my family for an evening away in another dreary basement. I cannot. Poop owie.

So I paused my efforts to find a local yoga home and moped. Redirecting my attention back to online teaching and summer teaching in Maine and putting a few events together down the road. Blergh what a bummer. I have a bit of distance from the ordeal now, and it doesn’t feel quite so tender, and I have a few other irons in the fire so my disappointment is muted now. I have hope. And in my transparency about the whole shit show of teaching yoga in Northern Vermont, I have begun forging a few friendships of my own that are indeed the silver lining that was previously absent. Plus, I have other shit to think about. Literally.

I reflected in an earlier post about noticing and sorting through thoughts living inside my head that were not necessarily my own. And while it was kind of jokey and just about swimsuits and what I tell myself I can or cannot do, there are far more insidious beasts up in there. At least through my lens. As a home educator, there is a big muscle that I worked hard to build around sorting what is real and what is just the constructed narrative created by the compulsory education paradigm. If you have educated at home, you know what I am talking about. There is a detoxing and a deconditioning that has to happen in order to teach and respond to the child in front of you, versus shaping them into the form of some messaging implicit in the culture of education as it exists in current time. There is lots of deconstructing around concepts such as “ready for” or “falling behind” or “delayed” or “age appropriate”. Each of which are fashioned after a child that never existed to begin with and are pressed forward into reality by the sheer will and autopilot unchecked belief structures of many parents and educators. I want to say all here, but I will say many out of respect for people who I am sure were more self-aware than me when they got going parenting and/or educating.

In specific, I had been functioning within a belief structure that my child was ready to go to preschool because he was three and because he loves to be social and play and engage with other kids. And I was ignoring this very big owie that was building inside of him. He was constructing this wall of resistance that became the obstacle between him and gaining entrance into preschool. I was also beginning to believe that the time I was longing for for myself could only be granted through his entry into nursery school. Yes, I understand that is somewhat ridiculous for a person who has been home-educating children for almost a decade. But when Maple and Eider were little, we had family nearby who gave me a few hours every week to myself. And some incredible in-home care providers who filled in any gaps. None of our life is set up for that now, and I was looking for conventional solutions. Of course.

However, Wilfred was not able to start Forest Preschool this week. He still has a poop owie. We are working on it with each other and with the support of our family md. The Nature Center where he is enrolled has offered to hold his place for him for a period of time which is wonderful. But after a week at home together I am remembering a number of things: the first and most obvious being that there is no time frame for resolving a poop owie, at least not in a peaceful and sustainable and growth-oriented way. Secondly, and even more profoundly, I remembered how very much I love to spend my days with a three-year-old. It is just us most of the time and in the absence of my guilt and stress over not being able to give my attention to educating a middle grader, we are free to do whatever we like most of the time. Yes, we are still driving the bigs around, a lot, which sometimes he likes and sometimes he hates, we are also making playdates, visiting playgrounds, heading to storytime, going on walks, crafting, and playing and playing and playing some more. We ar also resting together each day which is the very sweetest part of my day and one I am in zero hurry to give up. Basically, it is the best and in my remembering, something around the “should” of things is untangling in my heart and mind and I am able to more and more be with this little amazing nugget in front of me. Which of course, is just enough of a drop in tension for the poop owie to be easing.

So, no real time frame. I am not going to hold a spot for him in Forest Preschool. I will check in with them in the new year and hope to enroll him again for a couple of days next fall. In the meantime, we will greet what is and practice having fun and discovering our surroundings and our communities and one another. As for Maple’s poop owie, she didn’t get that AP prep work done. But she landed herself in another AP science class which is probably a far better fit for her anyway. Atta kid. I freaking love her. She’s already busy making costumes for the fall musical, and co-running the fiber arts and GSA clubs that she started last year. What a badass, that one.

Eid has had an amazing first week at yurt school and in the re-commencement of activities: mountain biking club, fall lacrosse, and orchestra. Watching him this week has been such a massive joy for me, it’s like getting to see him be a full-on kid for the first time in years. What comes after eighth grade still feels like a big unknown, but I think I am interested in yoking some of my energy and efforts to help this little independent school of his find the funding and resources to anchor themselves into the framework of Vermont Independent Schools. And who knows? Maybe that will help it expand into high school in time to serve Eider. TBD.

maybe the last swim? hope not. image through moo’s eyes.

My own owies are slowly resolving as well. I am appreciating my capacity to say no to what isn’t a good fit for me, versus shaping myself into something else. There are some exciting things ahead, even as simple as finding a weekly class for myself to enjoy attending and integrating myself into the yoga framework that functions right now. As ever, this practice feels relational and I am in the phase of building some compelling relationships and that is wonderful. I know that I am an endlessly broken record in this space when it comes to identity and perception of self and roles and all the rest of the internal matrix, but I am seeing myself as of late simultaneously in high relief and from a bit of a distance. Two images of me as who I am and how I feel in and for myself, but also a bit as how my kids might see and experience me: which is as their mother, no doubt; but also as a woman of my own. Funny and fun, stern sometimes, gentle mostly, quirky and independent, forever nostalgic, and honest to a fault to be sure. Who knows really? It feels like a bit of a moving target, but in their differentiation from me, this new aspect is being revealed and I think I like what I see so far.

Ok! This was a long one so thanks for reading so far if ya made it through. I am really hoping to find a couple of hours to gift myself with time to write every week. I am not sure when that is just yet but the intention is clear and the desire is certainly big enough. Writing is like an itch that needs to be scratched and such a central part of my own self-care. I want to show up for it. Even if that means part of a morning spent with Freddy watching Cars and me hammering it out with a Lightening McQueen soundtrack in the background. More soon lovies. Take good care. (And don’t believe everything your mind tells you. Sorting. Sorting.)