Kara S. Anderson

Homeschool connection, not perfection.

It’s not Perfection, it’s Indiana Jones

by Kara S. Anderson

Over the weekend, I made a big announcement: I’ve decided to close my shop here at karasanderson.com.

I know the whole shop closing probably forever thing may have been a little unexpected.

And beyond closing my shop, I’m making some other big changes as well. I’m going to put my blog and social media on hiatus soon too.

(The plan right now is that my blog posts will remain available, but any free downloads on posts might not be available because I’m pausing my email service.)

***

As many of you know, my son started college in September. You don’t know that my daughter has grown up so much in the past couple of months – driving, getting her braces off, getting a job, plus she has big plans to start dual enrollment classes in January.

And so things here are changing drastically.

For a while, I was telling people life felt like that game Perfection. Do you remember? You had 60 seconds to get all the pieces into place or the game would “pop,” and you had to start over. (Dear Lord, they still make it.)

Sidenote: I feel like this game is at least partially responsible for the perfectionism and anxiety I have dealt with since I was 6.

***

But recently I was doing a speaking thing, and realized it’s not the game Perfection – it’s that scene from the third Indiana Jones movie:

Indy is rushing through a series of secret rituals in hopes of retrieving the holy grail, a cup that can be filled with water. One drink grants eternal life, and in this case, the grail will also save Indy’s father, who has been shot.

Indy has to make a literal leap of faith, and when he does, the path appears.

***

And so THAT is really more what it’s like, friends. I don’t have to put all the pieces in place. I just need to have faith and take the next step.

I will tell you since beginning this process, I have felt so much lighter. I don’t necessarily see a path ahead, but I feel it. And for now, that’s enough.

My whole deal – writing, podcasting, my book – they’re all about homeschooling with you. I’ve never been an expert offering advice. I’ve always felt more like a big sister – sharing the raw truth with you, and trying to remind you to be kinder to yourself, more patient, gentler …

***

Right now, I need those things.

I need slow.

I need to knit, and read, and drink tea and yes, write, but maybe not for public consumption just yet.

***

So please know, that as I find my way, I will miss you.

A few people have said “Kara, maybe THIS is the next step – maybe you help mamas navigate what to do as their children grow up and move on.”

And maybe. Maybe at some point.

But it’s all so raw and new – it would feel like serving you crudité instead of a lovingly slow-cooked, nourishing vegetable soup.

It would be fine, but you’d be hungry again in a half-hour.

***

That said, I’ll share a few things that are helping me:

In fact, during that speaking thing last week, the host asked where people could find me and I answered “therapy.”

It’s true. Therapy is a tremendous help.

And you know what my therapist asks me every session …

She asks what I am doing for self-care.

Self-care is a big deal to me, because I didn’t think I had time for it for a long time, but what was really going on was that I didn’t think I was worthy of it and also, I thought that to be a good mom, I had to give my kids every ounce of me.

That is not the recipe.

The actual recipe should go more like, give your kids some of you and then take REALLY good care of yourself so you can wake up tomorrow and have something more to give.

I’ve written a lot about self-care over the years, mostly because I’ve been trying to figure it out.

It isn’t easy. It’s a practice.

***

 

Which brings me back to perfection … the life-choking trait, not the game.

A long time ago now, I changed my tagline on this blog to “Connection, Not Perfection.”

And here I am, seemingly disconnecting.

What the heck, Kara?

So let me tell you this: This is the part of the movie where the hero (YOU!) realizes that she has had everything she needed inside her this whole time. The other character, let’s call her Dumbledore, was just there as a guide for a while.

And it still stands – what I hope for you and your family is connection, not perfection.

Friends, let connection be the lighthouse you seek when the seas get rough, and you’re not sure how to get home again.

I can’t tell you if I’ll be back, or when, but I can tell you – it’s never been about perfection, Dear Heart.

It’s about courage and showing up and continuing to show up, and connecting and reconnecting, and then knowing when it’s time to let go.

So much love to you,

Kara

P.S. A lot of you have asked about my book. It’s not going anywhere. You can still grab it in paperback, ebook or audio.

In fact, play this if you need a little hug:

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Launching a kid (graduation. real time.)

by Kara S. Anderson

It turns out, getting into college isn’t actually the hard part.

I mean it is. Sure. There are visits and applications, and I guess like 18 years of helping your child turn into a college-ready person, but now that my oldest has been accepted to college, I’m learning that the hoop-jumping only increases as we get closer to August.

Part of me wants to go back to that day in February, the day before his 18th birthday, as we all stood around his phone at 4 p.m., waiting for the email telling us whether he got into his college of choice, and then the joyous relief.

It’s weird how memories work, because in truth, that day was mostly terrible.

I spent the morning crying in my office, certain that if he didn’t get into his top choice school that it was my fault; that I had somehow failed him through homeschooling.

***

And now I find myself here again, wanting to help, but not wanting to push – wanting so much to set him up for success as he prepares to leave home.

Wanting.

And yet, sometimes, for a moment, I am able to take a step back and realize this isn’t about me. This isn’t my journey.

I’m the Dumbledore in this story, not the Harry.

***

This is hard of course, so I am coping in my usual ways – tea and Voxer – sending out messages and pleas and saying things that build up until I’m ready to burst (Instant Pot Emotions).

My friend Vanessa reminded me that maybe it’s OK to help, because teen brains are still forming, but not help too much, because my own peri-menopausal brain struggles some days to keep up with the very basics.

How many times can one wash her hands and note we are low on hand soap, and still not be able to remember to order hand soap?

(3 times so far today)

My friend Mary reminded me that all kids are different, and to just focus on what my child needs and that sadly, there is no one checklist that is going to fit every kid in every situation.

And then my friend Shawna, who is a year ahead of me in all of this, provides reassurance that I am not alone and that it will get better:

“It was nerve-wracking and dumb for six months, but it worked out.”

This is my new morning mantra.

***

And that’s what I’m holding on to right now, that if my child really wants to go to this college (and if it’s meant to work out), that I can relax a little; stop making lists and tugging at my hair and thinking that there’s some magical way out there to make all of this easier.

Even the box my son’s graduation party invites came in reminds me: “It always seems impossible until it’s done.”

Thanks Canva.

But also, SHUT UP.

***

Because let me tell you what no stressed mother needs ever: trite little sayings.

What I 100 percent do not need right now is some Hobby Lobby plaque telling me to Live, Laugh and Hug a Terrier to get through this.

What I do need is for it to just be done – in the rearview mirror – over.

Complete.

(Right?)

***

 

Until we get there I’m trying to remember:

This isn’t forever.

It’s an ass-kicker, but it’s not eternal.

At some point, he will either get all ready for college or not, and the difference will not come down to whether or not I worry hard enough.

It’s a high emotion time.

I’m so jacked on adrenaline, I could lift a car.

I am basically The Hulk with a bullet journal.

This is hard, yes, but it feels SO HARD because it’s such an emotional thing.

It’s OK to care so much.

All the feelings are me loving my kid.

So it’s not bad that I worry, and it’s not bad that sometimes I want to take over too much, and it’s normal to be a little bit of a lunatic right now.

BUT …

Ultimately, this is his.

It’s a tricky thing when your kids become adults, because you’ve know them pretty much the whole time (or at least a lot of the time).

You know exactly who they used to be, and all the weird things they did when they were 4, but you’ve only gotten glimpses of who they’re becoming.

You can see exactly where they might struggle, and so it’s really tempting to jump in, and yet maybe your therapist also tells you to “Stop trying to fix it all, Kara.”

***

I was doing a journaling class this weekend and the teacher asked a broad question: Knowing that everything turns out beautifully in the end, what would you change today?

I immediately knew my answer.

I would stop acting like a nut about this college thing.

I wold stop acting like this was all so hard, such a trial.

I would do everything I could to enjoy these days with my son before things change.

***

Sometimes, when I get quiet, and my brain stops spinning for just a few seconds, I wonder if that’s part of the hard too – I wonder if making lists and marking deadlines on the calendar is easier than feeling the big emotions.

I wonder if my brain is tricking me – sending stress hormones flying so I don’t have to slow down and feel the huge shift happening.

I heard author Katrina Kenison say that once our kids leave for college, it’s never the same.

She said it wistfully – sadly. You could tell it hurt her heart.

I heard this on the same day that my son was accepted to college. The same day I had cried – so scared that he wouldn’t be accepted. So scared I had failed him.

We celebrated, and a few hours later I heard Katrina say “it’s never the same,” and I felt such a mix of emotions, but still the big one was relief.

Silly me.

I thought we had done something, and here we had actually started something.

***

As I was writing this, my son texted me to tell me he had found a piano on campus (he’s in early enrollment classes at our local college) and was playing for the first time in years.

It made me recall this post, and specifically what he told me then:

“Mom? I feel like I was born with music in my heart and every time someone pushes me, the space for it gets smaller and smaller.”

***

It’s all a good reminder that so often, our kids don’t need us to push.

They just need us to see them – to be there as they grow into who they are meant to be.

But friends, this is not the easy way.

In fact I will tell you that if you want a quick, simple method for raising your kids, you should pretty much do the exact opposite of me.

Stop listening.

Bark orders.

Keep ’em in line and put them in onesies that proclaim their futures before they can hold up their own heads: “Lil Linebacker” and “Baby Beauty Queen.”

***

But all that always felt desperately wrong to me, and so I tried this other thing …

It’s a killer. It breaks my heart. I worry sometimes that I’m getting it wrong.

I worry right now.

I worry and I want.

***

 

A few weeks ago, my son started growing a bonsai tree because of course he did.

Bonsais start differently than I expected – when they sprout, it’s not in the way you’d think – these thin little green tendrils – so fragile.

I can’t help it. I want to care for this little plant. I want to protect it from curious cats and follow the directions step by step to ensure it thrives.

But …

It’s not my plant.

If I were to take over – even if I just tell my son what to do and still let him do it – it’s no longer his plant.

A bonsai tree can live to be more than 100 years old.

So you can see what I’m getting at here.

At some point, we have to let go.

***

I swear to you, he just texted again wondering about getting a degree in neuroscience.

He’s got a roommate. He’s figured out his meal plan.

He knows which dorm he wants to live in and why.

He’s thinking about majors. He’s doing the work.

I am support staff.

Dumbledore.

Here. Always.

But also, staying here.

He’s not a fragile little bonsai sprout. The past 18 years weren’t nothing.

He strong and ready and I’m …

I’m getting there.

 

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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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The hard part of homeschooling isn’t really the “school”

by Kara S. Anderson

I know this sounds a bit controversial, so roll with me.

Right now, we’re heading into our 14th year of homeschooling. My son is 17, and although we haven’t had a cap and gown ceremony or party (I should get on that), I’m not really “homeschooling” him anymore. Instead, he’s taking college classes and working one-on-one with a Japanese tutor.

My daughter is 14, and we’re heading into high school, so I am still neck-deep in homeschooling.

And I feel confident to say that after years of various ups and downs, starts and restarts, bummer curriculum and stuff that has made it for the long-haul, the actual teaching/learning isn’t the hardest part.

I think these are the things that make homeschooling really hard:

Expectations

Expectations are a killer, whether they are your own or someone else’s; whether they are on you or your kids.

If you ever find yourself feeling like you are “drowning,” most likely you’re actually drowning not in work, but in expectations.

These are the supposed tos and shoulds that creep up on us.

A friend recently told me that she just doesn’t love outdoors stuff and it was so freeing I wanted to cry.

I’ve wanted for years to be an outdoorsy mom – hiking and camping, and taking my kids on awesome nature walks.

But two things always got in the way:

  1. I don’t actually know a lot about nature.
  2. I don’t really enjoy being in nature a lot of the time.

I’m allergic to bee stings – I’m allergic to a lot of nature, actually.

I hate being hot. Or cold.

I get lost super easily.

All of these things make nature walks a little scary and overwhelming.

Still, when my kids were young, I forced myself to do them.

I just wish now that I would have considered other ways – teaming up with a crew – maybe especially another mom who knew more about nature and would also be there if I got attacked by bees or got us lost.

My kids did lots of nature camps, and did nature study with an awesome naturalist who was part of our old co-op.

I wish I could have let that be enough instead of feeling constant guilt and failure about not being “better” at nature.

Comparison

Instagram is the living worst. It used to be Pinterest that made me feel bad, but now, when I start to get overwhelmed, one of the first things I do is take Instagram off my phone.

I always put it back on, because I also somehow love it? but the exposure to ALL of the ideas can make us feel like everyone but us is “doing it all.”

Theodore Roosevelt said comparison is the thief of joy, right before he hopped off the moose he was riding and wrestled a bear and then made that bear his best friend.

Only part of that is true, but my point is, he did things his own way and was successful.

Teddy would have loved nothing more than to punch Mark Zuckerberg in the neck for thinking up social media without considering social consequences.

Fear

A few nights ago, I dreamt that I was at my own birthday party, but I was wearing all kinds of sentimental jewelry and I kept losing track of pieces of it.

So I couldn’t enjoy the insane blow-out party, where I was surrounded by friends and karaoke and cake.

When we worry, it distracts us.

It takes our focus away from what matters most, which is our kids and their overall health and happiness.

We were never meant to be teachers first.

If we wanted our kids to have teachers who cared most about our kids learning just like their peers, we would have sent them to school.

This is not to insult teachers – they work hard and receive specialized training and serve a huge, valuable purpose. I’m just saying, that isn’t our role.

None of that was ever ours to carry.

Guilt

I’ve started to believe that we can get through most things if we can deal with the guilt and shame surrounding those things.

It’s not the mistakes that get us – it’s the guilt and shame over the mistakes. It’s picking a math curriculum that makes our kids cry, and still trying to force it and then later seeing how much harm it did and not being able to let that part go.

I can’t tell you how many mistakes and missteps have made up the last 14 years.

(That last 44, really. Once, as a baby, I slept on my ear wrong and it got folded over and stuck like a Spock ear and my mom, a registered nurse, called our pediatrician sobbing because she was convinced it was going to stay like that. Sorry Mom.).

When we hold on to guilt, we get stuck in the mistake. Like some kind of emotional quicksand. The harder to try to “fix,” the deeper in we get until we’re up to our heads, still trying to justify and explain.

Let the mistakes go, friends. Give them not just wings, but a ride to the airport.

Worry Over Enough

I named my book accidentally. I started writing and stuff came out, and part of what came out was a title, “More Than Enough.”

Because I desperately wanted homeschool parents to know that they were enough. That their family was enough, even if their family doesn’t look like the little Instagram squares that get a billion likes.

I wanted parents to be able to stop wasting their precious time with their kids feeling less than.

This became the whole theme of my book, of course (and shameless plug – it’s now available on Amazon!), but I want to remind you here too – worrying that you are somehow not enough to do this right is nonsense.

No one cares about your kids more than you do.

I have seen it time and again – in every DM, in every email, at every conference where I speak – the parents who worry are the ones getting it right because sadly, the way our love comes out sometimes is worry.

What can we do about that? Maybe I’ll let you know in another 14 years.

Trying to do life too

Where do I begin?

I guess I’ll say this: if all we had to do in a given day was homeschool, it would feel like a Sandals vacation.

But someone has to cook, and clean and do laundry, and take care of pets and cars and broken appliances and plumbing and drop off a casserole and take a sick parent to the doctor and also do our own eyebrows and work-out, preferably before lunch because this afternoon is PACKED.

You’re a damn treasure and we should all get summers off of everything, just so we can sleep.

Re-imagine …

I just want you to open up to the idea that the hardest parts of homeschooling really come from our mindset.

  • It’s trying to force what isn’t working.
  • It’s comparing our amazing, goofy families to how we imagine other families to be.
  • It’s trying to make homeschooling about school first.

Homeschooling is about not being in school; not trying to replicate school. It’s finding freedom outside of a building where someone made up rules a long time ago.

Homeschooling can be HARD. For so many reasons.

But we can release some pressure by not trying to do it the way someone else wants us to, by not comparing to others, by not letting the fear take over, by not getting hung up on missteps and by stopping the worry that we aren’t enough.

OF COURSE you’re enough.

For crying out loud, you’ve read this far.

Let’s practice the beautiful art of letting go of something we never needed in the first place. 🤍

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