Category: life as we know it (Page 2 of 4)

Homeostasis

I read on some crunchy, loosely tied to science, blog that our bodies function in a way that craves the things which continue us on our current state. (Defense: I googled homeostasis and the definition that came up validated these claims. Those crunchy, loosely-tied-to-science people are on to something.)

For example, if you’ve indulged in a BK Chicken Sandwich for dinner a few nights in a row, then whatever the greasy pretend-chicken does to our internal organs, our bodies respond with, “okay, to get more of this, I need more greasy pretend-chicken.” (Full disclosure: the BK Chicken Sandwich was my go-to indulgence when I was pregnant. When everything sounded yucky, the BKCS made my mouth water. It’s my favorite grossest thing ever.)

This rule would help explain the 2-beer rule. Someone once told me that his options were either to stop at 2 beers or give in to the fact that he would be drinking all night. Self-control after 2 beers diminished, and I contribute this to the above mentioned Homeostasis Rule. Your drunken body continues to crave more of what has made it drunken.

Looking at the world through this lens explains my weird sister when she says “I crave a salad” because she’s uncontrollably healthy. Her body is functioning in a state that craves things like nutrients from fresh, raw vegetables. Also, those of us who crave bread-y carbs probably have the least amount of self control after eating one or two rolls.

In Rob & Kristen Bell’s new book, The ZimZum of Love, they make the point that the energy between two married people (or any people, really) operates in much the same fashion. If love and goodwill is happening, the relationship continues to grow in love and goodwill. If frustration, anxiety and contempt is circulating, than it breeds that downward spiral.

Perhaps our bodies, minds and spirits (and even organizations) operate much in the same way: we crave more of our current state, even when we don’t actually want our current state to continue.

<<Insert comment about over-tired toddlers that can’t get to sleep 2 hours after bedtime.>>

Image by m. a. r. c. used with permission via CC.

Image by m. a. r. c. used with permission via CC.

To make a grand, sweeping generalization, most people want change or want to change. We want something different. We want to lose 10 pounds, be a better friend, have a closer connection with our spouse, be more present with our children and have more time for causes that hold significant meaning in our lives. We want these things. Wanting change is the problem for only a small population of people. (Side note: in my opinion, if we granted those with addictions this kind of perspective, we would be practicing a bit more of Jesus’ idea of grace, attributing the problem less to character and more to our human nature.)

The problem isn’t wanting change. The challenge comes in when we have to start doing the things that would lead to change. We have to get out a skillet and cook instead of another BK Chicken Sandwich. We have to leave the bar instead of getting a 3rd beer. We have to compliment our partner on something we truly value about him, instead of nagging them about the trash he left on the counter. Some of these things are very hard to do in practice.

Our nature craves consistency even when our hearts crave change.

Perhaps acknowledging this homeostasis vortex will give us the courage to start. And if the theory is correct, our victories will lead to greater victories later on. Not without a few stumbles and failures, we should note. But getting out of our Homeostasis craving cyclone is a change in trajectory, built upon small victories over time.

Currently Changing My Life: Overfield

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It’s so hard to live your values.

I want my kids to become independent and brave, willing to do what the herd may not consider. This means allowing (and even modeling) a tendency to question. Oh, the questions. If someone came up with a tax policy to compensate those who stay home with small children, a per-question rate needs to be involved. But this is how children learn, by asking  how things work, why something would react in such a way and wondering what would happen if...

I even want my children to (respectfully) question authority and systems of power in place. However, this means allowing them to question my own authority and even my intentions when I set parameters for behavior in our home. On more than one occasion, I’ve chatted with my friend Katie about these challenges, lamenting, “it’s so hard to live your values!

So when I see someone living their values, even when it’s hard, I’m inspired. I believe, again, it’s actually possible to live your ideals. I think to myself, “See! I can do it!”

Enter: The Overfield School. This is not a place where I drop my children off for a few hours and outsource my educational and parenting responsibilities. They won’t send my kids through an assembly line that magically transforms them to match an ideal prototype. That’s not what they do and that’s not what I need. Instead, the people of the Overfield community walk alongside our family in helping to develop our children into thoughtful, strong, brave and kind little humans.

Last year, and many years prior, Overfield had one of the best Fall Festival events around. Hay rides, pumpkins, face painting, games, pony rides and bounce houses. It was an all-out extravaganza which provided a fun afternoon and the lucrative raffle served as a primary source of funds for the school.

Yet the work required to host such an event required parents to burn candles at all ends. We had a few key families that put hours equivalent to a part-time (or full time!) job into the event and this year they simply could not take it on again. So, guess what Overfield leadership decided to do?

They decided to live their values.

How we spend our time and the way we marshall our energies are Reggio concepts central to the philosophy. As an organization, we believe in the power of play, the opportunity for exploration and that simple things make elaborate teachers. Our fall festival, while buckets of fun for many, contained an element of busyness and entertainment which simply isn’t a part of the Overfield DNA.

So they changed it.

This Saturday, Overfield families past and present are inviting the community to join us on the hill for an evening of what we do best: art in the meadow, songs around the campfire and hikes around the woods. It’s simple, it’s scaled-back and it’s Overfield. It’s an act of making space to savor the simple joys of childhood – as a family and as a group of families. Families will come to enjoy the evening together, sharing small shifts of work rather than being pulled into long commitments to make the festival happen. The sense of excitement around the campus for the event is electric, not exhausted. It feeds us rather than draining us.

Yes, Overfiled will have to make up the fundraising portion of the night in another way. From my view, leadership taking these steps of faith gives me courage to do the same. Most families that spend money on preschool have to rearrange the budget to do so, but we do it because we believe it’s worth it. We value it, so we’re trying to live like we do. No one promised it’s easy to live our values, only that it’s good. And when leadership puts its money where its mouth is, I’ll fall in line, wave a flag and become a cheerleader for the cause. These are the places that make me a better mom because they’re the places that teach my kids to be brave and make hard, but good, decisions, based on what we believe and not just what works or is easiest.

Often people wonder why we put our limited funds into something like preschool. But in the past few years, Overfield is much more than where my kids learn their letters. It’s a community of people who value certain things – like critical thinking, cooperative engagement and a lifelong love of learning – and we’re trying to instill them into our children the best we can. The communal aspect can’t be understated: when we do it together, and when we live our values as an organization, our families return home empowered to do the same.

In many ways, these preschool years have probably taught me the most of any of my educational experiences.

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On Not Being There

My newsfeed erupted in photos capturing one of the most joyous occasions of my family’s shared history. I have to ignore Facebook altogether to avoid crumbling because it’s painful to be reminded over and over how I wasn’t there.

I didn’t smell the dust and beer and sweat of a day’s worth of celebration. I didn’t hear the jokes and laughter anticipating the big race. I didn’t pet Limelight Beach to give him a pep talk or a congratulatory hug. I didn’t see the horse take off out of the gate. I didn’t get a jab in the ribs when he never let up. No one hugged me in celebration and my cheeks didn’t burn from smiling in the hours following the winner’s circle picture.

Pile this atop the growing list of the ways in which I’m limited by my present reality. Living far from family with a gaggle of young children results in multiple occasions of sitting out the opportunities presented.

“It was just a horse race,” we can try to convince ourselves. (Yet all of the harness racing junkies will vomit in their mouth a little when I refer to the Jug as “just a race.”) Sporting event or not, the family experienced together. It will go in the books as something akin to Cruise 2000. My face will be absent in the pictures because I got the van fixed instead. Not by choice, but a result of circumstance.

Which is where it gets tricky. It was our choice, or so I hear, to have all these kids and move away and attempt to do this unassisted by kin. And while we mostly chose the size of our family and the way in which we spend our days, aware our life won’t share all similarities as others, we didn’t get any fine print to examine.

We anticipated having to rethink the way in which we vacation. We knew Christmas would be consistently small. It’s always been clear we would have to make hard decisions in regard to how we spend our time, specifically around extra-cirricular involvement by our kids. It was obvious money would always be in short supply. We weighed those decisions and found them worthy trades of the added personalities to our little homestead.

I love the little buggers, but nothing prepared me for the heartache of missing life’s moments like Thursday because we couldn’t find an all-day sitter. I wouldn’t trade our little big family for anything, but that doesn’t mean I can easily brush aside my frustrations. Joys outweigh hardships, but the challenges can still be heavy.

Similar to how it’s hard to say I’m pregnant, it’s difficult to share my feelings of frustration – I feel I don’t have a right to complain about the circumstances of life which I chose. Any parent is free to express feelings about challenges of kids, but the number of kids you have increases, so does the times you hear “well, you chose that” when you say these things out loud. As a result, I feel I must be silent about what keeps me up at night.

(Except for this blog, where I get to voice what ails me and put words to the feelings I didn’t fully realize until I start typing.)

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