Shampoo Rinse Repeat

Well, after all these years in the classroom, you'd think I'd smarten up a little. The same Behavior-Feeling Continuum I've used with students and their mental blocks, I could have been using on my own! Why didn't it occur to me sooner? Here's a little background:

You have a student whose abilities are in normal ranges for learning, and yet, something prevents him or her from succeeding in one or another aspect, for example on tests. In other words, this student has no problem with the classwork and the homework in a subject, but bless his heart, when he sits down to a test over the same stuff, it's just not there for him! There can be other reasons, of course. Sometimes, though, there's a Behavior-Feeling vicious cycle churning just below the surface of the student's conscience. Example:

1. Student is handed a test.

2. In less time than a split second, student thinks, "I can't do this!"

3. In that split second, the now familiar knots return, forming in student's stomach, along with one in his throat. His eyes get burn-y and watery.

4. Anxiety rises, the feelings, physical response continue to torque up, the student sometimes loses focus, and then loses whatever confidence he had been able to muster going into the situation.

5. Student performs poorly on the task.

6. Receives a failing grade. Voila! Self-fulfilling prophecy.

7. Student thinks, "I knew it. I can't do_______. (Math, science, reading, etc.)

8. Process repeats upon every similar test/task that this student faces.

Frankly, I wish I could shake the person's hand who so brilliantly thought to identify and outline this physical-mental process. The seconds that all the above takes place are so miniscule that the mind barely has a chance to recognize that anything has actually taken place. But then when it does...

This student is taught explicitly about the vicious circle he's embroiled in and how he can change it.

THIS time, after quality practice, and student exhibits mastery,

1. Student is handed a test.

2. Student changes initial "self-talk" i.e., "I've done well on my homework and classwork. I know how to do this, and I'm well prepared."

3. Controlled breathing, calmness and positive self-talk replace the amped up anxiety he usually feels.

4. Student can focus. He's able to take his time, with each question, the student thinks, "Aha! I remember this!"

5. Student passes the test, begins a new pattern, because now when the teacher hands out the test he can say,

6. "I've done well on this before, I can do well this time, too."

Abracadabra!

Sometimes a student's anxious reaction is so ingrained, he must act out each step in the new pattern so that the physical reaction can't take over so quickly. AND, yes, this seems optimistic, idealistic, and hokey even. Yes, it's cumbersome to teach as detailed as it must be taught. Yes it takes time. But it works. There are times when this is exactly what a student needs to get his esteem back and some success beneath his belt. I've seen it happen so many times, but it's so powerful, it could almost be a miracle.

So what does this have to do with me? Choices. Specifically, to make each choice about healthy food or fitness a conscious one. I set out to make good choices about running for instance. I'm comfortably reading running blogs, and thinking, "Yeah, I can devote thirty minutes to my health! YES! I can stand Jillian Michaels' buoyant body barking orders at me! YES! FITNESS! THAT'S RIGHT UP MY ALLEY! Because I've always been so FREAKING fit!" (Bwaaaa ha ahaha ahahah!) But then again, an hour later at the appointed time, I have a beautiful array of excuses NOT TO. As many well-manicured excuses, in fact, as we have possible write-offs on this little ranch.

But wait right there. That moment there, the one where I begin to slide comfortably into the excuse du jour, that is where the power of conscious control over thought can change things for good. That fraction of a second can be SO powerful if I'll just stop in that moment.

Here's where the power comes in. Change the thinking, and you can change the outcome. Just like "Keep It Simple, Stupid!" when the excuse begins to plant itself comfortably, I must change directions with a simple thought.

1. "I'm changing my health one choice at a time. You'll feel better after this, self!"

2. Lace up those shoes.

3. Put one foot in front of the other.

3. Keep going until finished.

4. Tell self, "See? I told you so."

5. The next time, I am empowered to say, "I felt so good after I completed my run, I know I'll feel good again after this one!" and I'll be right, because it's TRUE, and now

6. A new self-fulfilling prophecy pattern is established!

That's ONE vicious cycle I WANT in place!

This is the plan I have for the next 21 days. I really need to change some old habits and adhere more strictly to some new ones. Using the continuum above, I want to make nutritious choices about food, and conscious choices about my fitness. I have outlined workouts for a week, and expect to use the "plan to succeed" philosophy to push me there. I also expect that after the first week, weeks 2 and 3 will be much easier.

My Shampoo Bottle Plan

• Eat simple good food
• Run
• Repeat

What can a teacher learn from her students? The power of positive thinking.

Recognition of a Gift

     So it's been *awhile* since I posted last. Much has changed as things usually do over time. The boys are bigger, and entertaining themselves most of the time. The Freshman who tried debate has completed that freshman year and indeed enjoyed the class. It's nice to be right every so often.

  I guess the biggest change this year stems from the condition of the economy. My family and I find our selves possibly on the precipice of a new era brought on by the poor economy: do we keep ranching as we have done all my life here, or branch out into new territory by acquiring a local business that will not in the least bit be affected by the weather, save tornado or horrific flooding? I am sad to think that a chapter of our lives may one day soon be over. Ranching has been a wonderful experience. Granted, the opportunity to do so has been on borrowed time it seems, and for that time we've been granted I know we are all grateful. God has blessed us with the unique opportunity to ranch in a time where others are dropping out of the business by the thousands. It's a thankless, moneyless, rainless, vacationless, often unhappy venture. Yet besides the list of "cons" of ranching, there is also a list of "pros". There are no annoying lights at night imposing themselves within the walls of our sleepy bedroom. We impose none on anyone, and if we did light up the beautiful darkly night outside, it wouldn't matter because neighbors are so far away from us, they wouldn't care. We have fresh eggs, and new babies of various species every spring, and fresh peaches in July. Along with the Arcadia we see outside our windows and doors, we have experienced season after season of the trials, hardships and victories, together, and have benefited from these situations in a number of ways. After all this time, I have arrived at the conclusion that when people, more especially families, fight and work side by side for the good of the group, the adversity they face draws them nearer to each other. The group or family becomes like a tapestry, woven together such that one painful experience, or one person, or one victory, cannot be removed from the fabric. It is as integral to the whole as any other. Perhaps it goes undetected in the material, but it binds all experiences and people together. I could extend the metaphor here, but I'll save that sappy "pastoral picture" for some other time. 

Do I want to see this era in my family's life story end? No. I think we may be one of the eroding numbers of small farms and ranches that are still in operation. To that end, I think it is appropriate to acknowledge the time we've been given with this business, to remember and account the mental pictures of us in the barn, marking lambs, moving stock, feeding, delivering babies, sewing up injuries, carrying in newborns, giving shots, cleaning, shearing, watering, and on, and on. We need to recognize the gift we've been trusted with for so long, against the odds, with the blessing of God. 

The Great Debate Debate

The 14-year-old had fresman orientation last night, and I was excited by the fact that he's taking my advice about signing up for debate. We've had the Debate-Debate for about 2 years now. It usually goes something like this:
Me: You should sign up for debate.
14yo: No I shouldn't.
Me: You should. You'd be good at it.
14yo: mmm..no I wouldn't.
Me: Yes, you would.
14yo: I wouldn't. I'm a bad debater.
Me: You would. You could argue with people for an hour a day. Look, you're debating me now.
14yo: No I couldn't. And I am not. Besides, I get to do that already.
Me: But you could fine-tune your arguing skill...you could actually make it into an art.
14yo: I don't need to "fine-tune" my skill. It is perfected already.
Me:(not giving up so easily.) Ummm...learn to argue and remove emotion from your argument, and debate logically!
14yo: You detect any emotion from me right now?
Me: None that anyone else could detect, but I think you're facade is belying your true feelings about this issue. (Evil grin.)
14yo: I have no facade.What you see is what you get. I'm not going to join debate. Besides, I don't like smarty-parties.
Me: You're a walking smarty-party.
14yo:I am not.
Me:ARRRGHHHH! OK, You're not a walking smarty-party, but you have the natural gift to turn people into blithering-idiots.
14yo:I do not.

Last night at the orientation meeting, I went to the debate teacher. I told her that my son has this "gift/curse." I told her that he was not convinced and thatin MHO he should join debate. She agreed to talk to him. She must be good at what she teaches herself, because in a matter of a 20 second meeting with him, he came back to where I was sitting and carefully watching, and said, "I'm signing up for debate."
"Alright," I said, (VERY surprised.) "What did SHE say that convinced you?"
"One word," he replied, "...'research.' "
At that point, I realized...14yo truly IS my son. To this point I've wondered if he wasn't switched at birth. Nope.

I don't know if I'm more excited about the fact that he's decided to join, or the fact that I finally won this 2-year-long debate. (Albeit with the assistance of the debate teacher.)

Hello there, death

I think it's my turn in the barn this weekend. We have approximately 175 lambs so far, and they are faring pretty well compared to years past. Last year was bad. It was like a scene from Monty Python's Quest for the Holy Grail. "Bring out ye dead! (booong) Bring out ye dead!..." Little stacks of dead lambs who couldn't suck, had been stepped on by their mother, or another such problem. No time to mourn each little soul; you learn to be tough, and push on... enabling and ensuring the survival of the more fit. Personally, I apologize mentally to each little lamb that’s lost. "Sorry," I say under my breath as I carefully and respectfully place it outside the barn door to await the wheelbarrow.
And I honestly am sorry, sorry I didn't notice, or know, or sorry just because. I know death and the mourning I experience is different for humans than what I experience for little animals, especially if the little animal isn't a "pet," but that feeling is still there: respect not so much for the dead, but for death itself maybe. Instead of saying sorry to the critter in front of me, I'm actually saying, "Yes sir, Death, I know you're there." There is after all a dearth of relationship between the lamb and me. I haven't spent any time with the little thing, don't know it from any other in the pasture. What else but an acknowledgement for death itself could this compelling need to apologize be? Could a doctor feel the same way about a cancer patient, say? I wonder.

Anyway, that's where I'll be this weekend. In the barn.

Broken bone

The Relay for Life event is cool, after all, though I struggle when I get there to assimilate what is actually going on: some people are dressed in costumes, some are manning decorated booths, or hanging out in tents, but most walk the track. The air is full of talking, laughter, and music from the band playing, aptly, "These Boots Were Made For Walking." On my first lap, I avoided looking at the luminarias in actual fear of seeing Mom's name, then glancing down, I noticed that they were alphabetical. "X" then, "Y." Good. I had already passed hers.
No, not good.
Once again, I hadn't noticed. Just like when she was alive, I avoided and broke her loving gaze. I let go during a hug sooner than she. I let go of her hand sooner than she let go of mine. Especially in high school, I knew she loved me. I loved her, I thought, as much as was possible for a daughter to love her mother. Then suddenly I was a grown up with children and responsibilities. Now with a home and family, I was calling her every day for her old recipies, her medical advice, her calming tone, or for the assurance of her belief in me. Where was I for her? At her funeral, everyone who came by to give their condolences spoke of how proud she was of her children. That was nice, but as I sat there it hit me like a door slamming shut: what did I actually DO for her?
I called her on the Saturday that Austin stayed with them. I asked if she would mind to keep Ethan while I went to San Antonio, a job to which she always, without fail, would reply with a strong, "Absolutely!" Today she said, "I don't think I can today, I don't feel very good." It occurred to me at that moment that Mom and Dad were beginning to age. But she went on..."I need to lay down." Why didn't I get in the car and go check on her? Once again, I didn't notice. Looking back on that day, I realize how caught up in my own life I was. I used my children and my hectic life to justify my passing glance, and I regret that.
People on the track pass by talking and laughing. I look at them and cannot ignore the wounded feeling I have. It's like a bone that is broken, that even the very softness of a breath, or the nearness of a hand, can illicit shooting, streaming, pain. As people pass, the breeze from their bodies sends warm, then sharpening pain through me. A familiar heat generates in my throat and eyes as I look down into the white paper bag with her name written on the outside. A candle sits upon the sand inside. I light her candle.