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Risotto, spring and graduating a kid

by Kara S. Anderson

My friend Jes taught me to make risotto 17 years ago in her family’s little cabin in Wisconsin.

We had traveled there with our friend Tabitha and our 3 babies for a girls weekend (plus infant plus-ones), and Jes had planned dinner, but then needed to nurse her daughter – and so she gave me directions from the couch while The Rolling Stones played in the background.

Although I’m Italian, we never had risotto growing up.

I knew basically what it was, though, so as I stood at the little stove I fretted – the the rice soup in front of me wasn’t doing what it was supposed to do.

“Just keep stirring,” Jes commanded, and I did, and eventually something magical started to happen.

Later, I heard Alton Brown talk about trying risotto for the first time as a child. He was convinced it had to contain heavy cream.

Just rice couldn’t create the smooth texture of risotto, right?

He’s right.

Risotto is kind of a miracle.

But it’s a slow miracle.

***

Last week, when it snowed again, I became temporarily convinced that spring is just not going to happen this year. That maybe it will just snow until July, and then it will be so steamy and terrible, that we’ll all wish we could go back to flurries and 40s.

But as I head out on my daily walk, I see little signs here and there – a robin, a green sprout of something.

A confused daffodil.

Yesterday, a little girl in a cosmos-patterned dress and helmet, riding her bike.

We all know, somewhere deep inside, that eventually weather will change. It will get warmer, then cooler, then we’ll want snow for Christmas and not much after that (unless you are a ski person.)

***

If you want to cry, try ordering a graduation cap while Landslide plays in the background.

I didn’t do this on purpose, but these days when I think of something, I have to do it or write it down. Otherwise it becomes air + yet another nagging worry that I’m forgetting something.

I spend a lot of time lately worrying about how much I’m forgetting. So I take fish oil and do Wordle and tell myself again and again that this is a result of the last two years.

But back to the cap – my oldest is graduating, and I’m listening to Landslide and I normally don’t do things like that to myself.

It’s best right now if I focus on tasks (order a cap, order a cake, print 18 years of photos) and not on the enormity of what’s happening – that my son is graduating, and then leaving for college.

It’s better to choose balloon colors and send invites than to consider that next year at this time, he’ll be in another city – that he’ll have a separate life and that maybe, if I am lucky, he’ll choose to keep me apprised of what is appropriate for a mom to hear.

***

I think most graduations feel big, but homeschool graduations have an extra layer of delicious Raspberry Relief tucked in between the spongy white cake layers of Thank God.

This was never a sure thing.

The older I get the more I realize how few guarantees there are in life, and a homeschool graduation was never promised.

Most of the time, I was sure I was failing in some giant way – not pushing math, not buckling down on Geography.

My biggest fault was always that I was too easy on my kids, and now I’m glad because they still seem to like me and somehow we’ve met all the goals anyway, enough for the first kid to graduate and get into the college he wanted to go to most.

But today I’m thinking of all the time I spent worried – it was making risotto for 15 years straight.

“I’m not a chef,” I told myself constantly. “Who told me I could do this?”

***

Last night I made risotto for dinner.

I know every step now. It’s autopilot. I zest my lemon and the little yellow curls land right in the cup I used to measure my rice.

That’s how it goes when you’ve done something for so long – you figure out all the short-cuts and ways to keep clean-up at a minimum.

Maybe in a few years, I’ll feel confident enough to tell you that’s what I did with homeschooling my kids – that my method wasn’t about my own grand failings, but instead about finding a way that worked for us – (shortcuts + minimizing emotional clean-up.)

But I’m not there yet.

***

I have realized that separate from homeschooling, our kids are like seasons – they are going to grow and change and in so many ways, we have so little control.

It’s better that way – I promise.

Letting your children grow into themselves is the way to go – this I know for sure.

(I know it’s tempting to control and push. You’ll want to make them cut their hair for the photo and force them to wear a little outfit you picked out, but if you do that, you’ll just find yourself years later looking back on manufactured memories.)

So why not let go now just a little, and have faith that they are becoming who they are meant to be and know that really, that has a lot less to do with you than you want …

***

And then with homeschooling, consider risotto.

You have to attend the pan pretty much the whole time. But it’s not as complicated as it seems.

You add some butter or oil and shallots.

You measure the rice and stir.

You carefully add stock and stir some more.

Salt and pepper.

(Lots of pepper.)

More stock.

Maybe asparagus or peas. (If you wanted mushrooms you should have put those in at the beginning, but it won’t be so bad if you add them a little late).

The more you make it, the more you’ll realize the exact moment to toss in some cheese …

I will tell you –

many, many times I have made mistakes in this process –

never once have I had to toss out a batch of risotto.

Because now I know the secret:

Just keep stirring.

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That’s not your thing.

by Kara S. Anderson

This is probably not new information, but you are not your best friend.

You’re not your sister, your husband, your know-it-all cousin or that lady at co-op who told you that kids who don’t read by age 4 are usually dyslexic. 🙄

And so, you don’t have to be their things, either.

What am I talking about? I’m talking about how everyone has their “things” — the things they love, the things they hate, the things that control them and define them.

Let me share a few of mine:

I love books and tea and my big, comfy bed. I love growing tomatoes and playing fetch with my cat and meals I don’t have to cook. I love travel and crushed ice and reading to my kids. I love really old men in blacks socks who buy one pear at the grocery store, salted chocolate, paper letters, small acts of kindness, warm hugs from loved ones and the way my husband’s hand feels in mine after all these years.

I hate cased meats and when the doorbell rings unexpectedly and listening to music that I’m not in the mood for. I hate milk and that poofy thing they do at the eye doctor and confrontation and artificial sweeteners. I HATE the sound of folding paper. And I hate “project toys” that never work the way they said they would and frustrate me and my child.

I don’t trust mayonnaise. I BELIEVE in butter.

These are my things. They make me me.

Other People’s Things

But plenty of times, I have tried adopting other people’s things, because they were passionate or loud about those things, and through their passionate loudness, they seemed to make sense.

I tried giving up paper towels like a friend who is incredibly fiery about the environment. I beat myself up when I would buy a roll, but I also had panic attacks when a pet would explode.

I tried making all our bread products from scratch like another friend, and found us living on Amy’s enchiladas while I waited for dough to rise.

The Other Homeschool Mom

And I have tried being another kind of homeschool mom. I’ve tried doing what the fancy, organized lady on the Internet says. I’ve forced circle times and banned computer time and spent too much money on curriculum that made me, my kids, or both miserable.

I took other people’s things — what they loved or what they hated — and I tried to make them mine. And it didn’t work.

It rarely does. Because they are not me.

Planning This Year …

So this year, as you sit down to plan your school year, I beg of you –factor in your things.

Think about what makes you happy, what scares you, what makes you want to throw your shoes, what makes you feel soft and safe on the inside.

Think about the power you have to make the year ahead good and positive.

Don’t worry about what other people are doing. Who knows — maybe their thing is being miserable?

But yours doesn’t have to be.

You don’t have to worry about anyone else’s things anymore.

You have your things, and it’s time to start living more of the ones you love.

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Bringing hygge to your homeschool

by Kara S. Anderson

For many years, winter and I were not friends.

I would get terrible winter blues and struggled with the cold.

It made me cranky.

Our windy old Victorian was so architecturally interesting and so, so terribly drafty and miserable.

It was built in 1905, and remodeled many times. The last time, right before we bought it, some genius put the bathroom right by the back door, so all was OK unless anyone opened or closed the door at any point – then the bathroom became frigid for 4 hours and there was nothing you could do about it.

And a cold tush is enough to make anyone grumpy.

I was so Waldorfy then you guys – my kids wore woolen hats and long underwear all day … and I knew the cold and dark were getting to me every minute, but I always got through it until one day when the snow would thaw and I’d spot green again.

Eventually we moved, and I started to notice right away that first winter that I didn’t want to hit things anymore, and it was like the beginning of something.

And then around that time I started learning about hygge.

If you aren’t familiar with the idea of hygge, my favorite definition is from hyggehouse.com:

“The Danish word hygge (pronounced hue-gah) is a feeling or mood that comes from taking genuine pleasure in making ordinary everyday things simply extraordinary; whether it’s making coffee a verb by lingering over a cup, to a cosy evening in with friends to lighting a candle with every meal … Words like cosiness, security, familiarity, comfort, reassurance, fellowship, simpleness and living well are often used to describe the idea of Hygge.”

Cosiness.

Security.

Familiarity.

Comfort.

Reassurance.

Fellowship.

Simpleness.

Living well.

Sounds pretty good, right?

***

Things are different now, friends. Sure – winter days are still hard some times, but I know what to do. We make cocoa and pull out library books and we turn on all the twinkle lights.

That reminds me – a few things that make me feel all hygge-ish:

Baking bread. I’ve recently learned to use the dough function on our bread maker, and pretty much every day I make some kind of warm, fresh bread.
Rice pudding. My Swedish aunt used to make rice pudding and it makes me feel so cozy. It’s perfect for breakfast, lunch, snacks and right before bedtime. I’m mastering it in my Instant Pot.
My tea collection. My tea collection is a little out of control. I love our happy little tea kettle, and my favorite varieties for winter at Trader Joe’s Cinnamon Vanilla and Republic of Tea Vanilla Almond (they have a decaf version too).
Beeswax candles. No scent except melting beeswax. Bright. Warm.
Battery lights – you can put these in any window, any little table, any little holder and you don’t have to worry about the cat lighting himself on fire.
Twinkle lights everywhere.
Warm socks.
Cozy blankets.
Good books.
Chocolate.
Cats.
My people.

The End.

Oh – except two quick book resources for you if you want to learn more:

This post contains affiliate links. For more information, please see my disclosure statement. Thank you!

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Just filibuster. (My strategy for the hardest mornings.)

by Kara S. Anderson

Someone asked me recently if my kids ever just wake up cranky.

And I wanted to say, “Oh my good-golly-gosh-are-you-kidding-sister, YES.”

I wake up cranky. Sometimes all of us wake up cranky. Or tired. Or out of sorts for one reason or another.

It happened on our first day of school this year. Thank goodness for doughnuts, new notebooks and fresh pens. (Are there any things better than doughnuts, new notebooks and pens?)

Since our first day of school this year, there have been other hard morning too.

So what do I do when that happens?

In a word, I filibuster.

That’s right. I start reading, and I just keep going.

Because on those kinds of mornings, I have to tell you, it takes everything in me not to just let things slide; to say, “OK,” and go tackle the closet that has all the things falling out of it. Or curl up with a book and tea and forget to put real pants on at all.

If I don’t stay strong — if I don’t do SOMETHING — we’ll miss a day of school.

So when to filibuster?

Not when someone is actually sick.

Not even when a real issue needs to be addressed, like a crummy attitude or a big worry.

But I can usually tell as soon as I spot my kids if we simply need to have a Slow Morning.

Their long hair is matted against their cheeks.

Their feet seem to weigh 80 pounds each.

And then they’ll tell me, of course:

“I just don’t feel good, Moooooom.”

(The length of the “mom” is a good indicator of how slow we need to go.)

“Just don’t feel good,” is not serious. It usually means that their room was dry last night, and they need some tea. Or they slept poorly. Or they slept well, but only after reading a really good book past midnight.

Or maybe they aren’t super excited about sitting around the table with mom, “doing school.”

All of those things fall under the umbrella of “just don’t feel good” in our home.

{Soul Fever Days and Full Stop Days are different.}

But “just don’t feel good” calls for a careful prescription, which I’ve come to think of as Slow Mornings.

This is what we do:

I make a big breakfast.

I love breakfast. I am GOOD at breakfast. (Don’t worry, I’m terrible at lunch).

I make pancakes or crepes or waffles. Waffles cure a lot of things. I make biscuits or eggs, or I short-order cook — poached eggs and oatmeal with apples but no walnuts. I chop kiwi and peel mangoes.

I can breakfast the heck out of breakfast.

And then we chat.

And I ask a very important question: What DO you want to do today? Because usually the answer is not “go back to bed because I am so horribly ill.”

It’s something like go to the park, or see friends, or go to the library to get some new books or yesterday, start a new comic strip.

And I take that in, because that information is important.

And then, I grab a book.

Usually it’s our read-aloud or a book of poetry …

And that’s when the filibuster begins.

This is sort of an Ambush Morning Time in our House. {I’m not going to lie.}

But it’s been sort of magical.

During our Morning Time, I always let the kids draw, or play with play dough or perler beads or Legos or knit. They can do whatever they want with their hands.

And usually, because their tummies are full, and they are busy, once we get started I can just keep going.

{Starting is always the hardest part.}

I will gradually slide into Bedtime Math … We’ll do a science mystery.

And before you know it, we’ll have done at least 30 minutes of school. But often a lot more.

And then, we’ll take a break.

And we’ll talk about what they said they wanted to do. Sometimes we can make it happen.

My son wants to spend a quiet afternoon working on a new comic strip? Perfect! That’s handwriting, spelling, art, fine motor skill work and creative writing.

My daughter wants to curl up and watch documentaries about big cats and knit? I’d say that’s a good way for a kid considering a career as a veterinarian to spend a few hours, wouldn’t you?

“Let’s finish our work for today, and then we can do X-Y-or-Z,” I’ll say.

But wait. Sometimes, we “skip” school.

Sometimes, I find, cranky mornings are a plea for variety. What we really need to do is get the heck out of the house and do something interesting. We need to check out the bird exhibit at the conservatory, or hit the apple orchard. So, we pop in a good audiobook and we go.

Or my son will read to us while we drive. It’s a new thing and I love it.

Whatever we do, I try really hard not to turn it into a battle.

I don’t want my kids to remember battles.

And I try really hard to keep it intentional. To not let us fall into a trap of doing nothing at all, just because the getting going part seems so hard.

So YES. We all have cranky days. Mamas have cranky days.

Having a plan to turn them around helps a lot.

But so does just acknowledging the cranky, and remembering that tomorrow will probably be a better day, especially if we take it easy today.

P.S. You can find another post about holding plans loosely here.

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