Sticky Transitions: 6 Tips for Managing the School-to-Summer Transition

Overheard in the grocery store:

“As much as I am so sick of homework battles and driving around town, I am NOT looking forward to having them all around ALL DAY…”

I don’t know this Mama, but I am pretty sure she didn’t truly mean this. Maybe just the homework battles or driving part.  Or maybe she really did mean the whole messy transition and subsequent two months of summer.

Remember how exciting the end of school and start of summer was when you were in school?  Most kids are thrilled, even those who love school. Teachers LOVE the anticipation and slower pace. It’s often a life- and career-saver! Parents often cringe at this change.

Why? People tend not to like change.  Change means we need to switch gears, adapt to a new routine (which may take a good chunk of summer to even find),  and find a new equilibrium or something close to an equilibrium.  That may mean more kids under our roofs and at our feet, the juggle of working from home or office, getting kids where they need to be, financing summer activities, facilitating and tolerating the boredom they wrestle with, learning to let go a little as they try new things and test new limits.

It’s not actually the “change” to summer that makes us stressed but the transition that is icky. Transitions are sticky for all of us – whether it is the schedule, relationships, yoga poses or our diet/health routines.  Transitions are where we falter, fight and usually, grow.   It takes time, patience and perseverance to hobble through the transition and make it to the other side. It’s ridiculously easy to give up when you’re wrestling with change.

I’m tempted throw in the transition towel on a regular basis.  Recently, we rescued a sweet,  very anxious, puppy.  We kept to all the training guidelines to ease Toby in the first few days:  a regular schedule, a few safe places to rest and run, a comfortable distance from the three cats.  By taking this transition carefully, he began to warm up and settle in.  By day five, I had let him off the leash inside and he jumped on our bed. I was cool with that, but we had agreed, he wouldn’t sleep there. The evening of day six, Toby was resting on the bed after a vigorous game of fetch as I read in bed. I dozed off, as did he. I awoke later and was plenty comfortable, so I left him.  I wasn’t willing to transition myself out of my cocoon, nor could I summon the energy to maintain to the shelter-to-home transition we had worked so hard to establish. Fortunately, my husband has much greater resolve in this area and by day seven, we were back on our nighttime routine.

 

And then there’s yoga.  When I practice yoga, I find myself fighting transitions ALL THE TIME.  Poses are hard, they are uncomfortable. My aging body hurts or those squirrels in my head are dashing in circles. Honestly, I don’t always want to be practicing, but I know it’s good for me (and those around me).  And that little heckler on my shoulder makes it much more challenging to stick with the tricky transitions than my body does.  She’s told me for years shoulder stand is just not possible because twenty years ago, those chunky toddlers caused some tendonitis in my shoulder. Or that I don’t have core strength. Or the studio is too hot. Or whatever the complaint du jour might be. But one day, I wiggle and wobble and falter before nailing it for five long seconds. Getting there was ugly, but being there was not so bad.  As the neutral observer when  I teach,  I get to learn so much about what humans struggle with when things are changing. Mountain pose is fairly doable for most. Lifting one knee so it’s parallel to the floor, not always, and the wobble begins. The mind-chatter amasses reasons why and continues into reasons why tree or warrior three will DEFINITELY not be happening. Keeping a focus, breathing, showing self-compassion balanced with discipline, helps. Then softening somewhere, accepting the wobble, allows most yogis to get into some version of the pose. Leaning into the wobble and ick often makes the transition palatable, if not doable.  A smile helps, too.

 

Same with the school to summer transitions. Here are six tips for leaning in and softening into the challenge, while keeping a focused determination to make the most of this transition and the coming weeks.

  1. Allow for downtime:  Who’s NOT tired at the end of the year? Sleep late. Eat breakfast for dinner or eat sandwiches in the yard while watching for fireflies.
  2. Talk together about the schedule:  Map big dates, weekly and daily targets (I call these rocks and blocks – more soon on this!). Make it manageable and flexible.
  3. Decide and assign on chores:   Most classrooms have these and kids of all ages are capable of helping out. If you have high expectations for household tidiness, consider being flexible here if your kids are now doing their own laundry, accept that you will find some unfolded or left in the dryer after it buzzes. but they are owning this work and it is getting done
  4. Set small and attainable goals: This means for yourself and the fam.   If summer reading tends to be a bit of a plague, rather than saying “read 12 books this summer,” how about “we’ll go to the library this week” or “this week we’ll set up a cozy spot to read in the house.” These foundational steps get the ball rolling and off to a positive start!
  5. Let go of the negativity bias:  Humans tend fo focus on what does awry. Each day, notice what is going well. Maybe the first week, people are sleeping in a bit and resting more. Yay! Pay attention to what is working and acknowledge that. Heck, CELEBRATE it!
  6. Have compassion: Summer, like all transitions and changes, won’t last.  Change is hard and manifests in many ways – off-kilter behavior, frustration, tears, tension, sleep.  Whatever it is, let it just unfold for a bit, acknowledge it and then set a plan so a new routine can unfold. Summers that your kids are home won’t last either. There will be camps, jobs, college, and adulthood. Make the most of the summer days, starting today.

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Take care,

 

 

 

cred: Brit Strackbein Photography

Hamilton in High School

My family is growing weary of hearing me quote Hamilton, but like yoga, I see the parallels throughout daily life.  Plus, I like the catchy show tunes and rap verses.

Recently, I found myself trying to talk less, smile more all in the spirit of truly listening to a distressed high school senior whom I will call Hamilton.

DISCLAIMER: I don’t know much about his story except that he is struggling to get by, has at least a few adults trying to put him in his place and, I believe, is smart, determined, competent and struggling to make his way in the world as he searches for how and where he can become a new man.

I am also trying to talk less in general as I hone my listening skills.  I’ve facilitated professional development with teachers around listening.  I’ve taught kids of all ages about listening, I’ve read about listening.  But like most people, I’m not innately a good listener. It takes effort and practice.  In my coach training, we’re focusing on reflective and empathetic listening.  One of the mantras is “listen twice as much as you speak.”   

In my role at a local high school, it is not uncommon for another faculty member to escort a student to my space to have them “sit a bit” or “just do some work.”  My comfortable and spacious place is intended for college and career exploration but de facto, it can be a holding place for kids when other adults aren’t sure where to put them.  I see this as an opportunity to connect with kids, to offer a safe, quiet place for a short time and ideally, to listen to what’s going on with them.  Sometimes, it’s a bit like the Island of Misfit Toys, but everyone needs to have a place to chill and fit in, and if I can be that island, I’m happy to do so.

A teacher who was monitoring a room known by an acronym I don’t even know the full definition of (it has something to do with discipline and detention and is about as barren and sterile as any institution) slid into my room and asked if Hamilton could come down for a bit.  He is, she surmised, “A bit worried about college and school.”

Well, alrighty. “…take up a collection and send him…

When she gave me his actual name, I told her we had worked together before.  He had been all over the place with where he might apply now that it was January of his senior year.  Shortly thereafter, Hamilton appeared before me, dragging his feet and examining the floor tiles.  I was determined to put my reflective listening in action so I could find out what was going on with this kid because his body language told me he was feeling like a beaten dog.

Best laid intentions, but this Hamilton was not conversant.

I tried many versions of “What’s going on?” “And tell me what brought you here?” and “So, waatz up?”  He didn’t lift his head and his arms went further into his sweatshirt pocket the more I inquired. Time to cut him some slack and offer words, much like one does with a preschooler who doesn’t yet have words.

Me: So, we chatted before when you came in to look at schools, right?

Hamilton: Yeah.

Me: And you were thinking about schools all over the country. It seemed like you were looking to get out of the area?

Hamilton: Yeah. I dunno…

Me: Ok, so now you need a game plan?

Hamilton: Head turns away.

Me: It’s not too late, but there is work you need to get on and I can help, I think.

Hamilton: Body hunches over the table.

I gently ask a few more questions, hunting for clues as to what he’s done about colleges.  Turns out other than taking the SATs he’s done diddly.  I ask if he is serious and wants my help, and he looks up at me and makes eye contact for the first time.  His ebony eyes are glistening, with tears precariously balancing on the lower edge of his eyes.  “Yes, ma’am.”

Inhale. Exhale.

 I see the hurt and shame here. Who knows what got him to the holding pen down the hall. 

Dreikur’s roots of misbehavior scroll through my brain:  Attention? No. Power? Maybe. Revenge? No. Helplessness? Definitely.  He wasn’t just acting out, he’s afraid and feels trapped.  “…helpless…

Then he went and did something that got him ushered out of class and here we sit. “…the world turned upside down…”

“I know this is hard and maybe overwhelming. But it’s not too late. We can find options, but you’re going to have to work,”  I assure him.  I tell him about an upcoming community college visit and the local Black College Expo that offers on the spot admissions.  He looks at me, nodding.  I tell him to come back in a bit and I will have some info for him to take home and read – and hopefully –  discuss with his adults.  Normally, I wouldn’t just dig up documents and hand them off, that’s on the kids.  But this kid seemed to feel like nobody is on his side. “… it must be nice. It must be nice to have Washington by your side…”

I get him back in the room and he is looking even more dejected. I summoned a cheerful but not too cheery tone of voice and smile a lot. I show him how the community college admissions process works and explain that if he came to work in this space, he could do it in no time, and I’d be there to help.  Plus, he’d have an admissions decision within a week.  Befuddled, he looked at me as I acknowledged, it might not be ideal, but it gives him an option.

Me:  Does any of this sound like a plan that gives you some choices?

Hamilton:  Nods and pulls the paperwork closer to point at the “apply here” link.  “…get the job done…”

Me: Think you can come in next week and we’ll do that?

Hamilton: Nods.

Me:   Let me hear it…

Hamilton: Yeah, yes, ma’am. I will come. Thanks… 

As he stands up, he towers over me and  I see his eyes are, again, wet.  I nodded my head and smiled. “…there are moments where the words don’t reach…”

This kid wasn’t misbehaving in class just to piss people off. Like so many high schoolers, he is worried about the uncharted path ahead. Perhaps he is realizing he should have done things differently, made different choices. He was feeling stuck, trapped, without choices and maybe without support.  We’ve all been there and it’s crappy.

I tried listening, even when he was barely able to speak. Empathy and reassurance it had to be, talking less, smiling more.

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Here’s to talking less, smiling more!

Gratitude.

Much has been written and said about gratitude, especially as we move into a new year. Most of us would not outward admit to any downsides to this practice and some of us stumble when it comes to making time to consider what and whom we are grateful for in our lives. Or we might find articulating that gratitude challenging. Or perhaps we are so in the muck of life, that it is actually a challenge to see what we might have to feel gratitude towards.

I’ve been there. Often.  Work, health, parenting – it all gets heavy and busy. So busy that any sense of gratitude gets weighted down, if not suffocated.

 I am decidedly not there right now.

I’ve also noticed that milestone birthdays are often greeted with disdain, regret or even shame.  “Feeling old” becomes the expectation even simply said in jest. I’m celebrating one of those milestones this week and honestly, I have not one bit of regret or shame about a birthday which happens to a multiple of ten.

In fact, I’m pretty darn psyched.  I’m lucky to be here, decades after my Birth Day.  The alternative is far less rosy.

Last spring, I made a list of “50 x 50” – a list of what I wanted to do/see/feel before hitting 50.  I quickly realized that there were not enough resources to make that happen by January. So now it’s a “50 x 60” list, which I am far more determination to make these things happen because I am full of gratitude. Continue reading “Gratitude.”

Hopes & Dreams Revised: Learning to Feel

In graduate school, I observed highly skilled and passionate teachers and wondered how they worked their magic. Later, I’d see similar magic as a young teacher at the Harley School.  I soon learned part of the magic was Responsive Classroom. Being the Type A person I was (am?), I dug in to learn more.


Each year, I deliberately followed the Responsive Classroom’s outline for the first six weeks of school. It was clear the hopes and dreams part had a lasting impact. I saw kids from prekindergarten through middle school ponder what they wanted to do for the year – an enlightening and empowering process for them and for me.  It wasn’t always neat and easy, but with conversation and stories, we got into some deep thinking. Every kid I ever taught was able to articulate what they wanted to accomplish or feel during the year. 

I saved gems like this:

This process gave way to our class rules. Every time one of us slipped and forgot to “do the rules,” we had our class guidelines and shared hopes to buoy us.  It was a beautiful series of miracles in the classroom – not always perfect, but yet miraculous.  This included revisiting those hopes and dreams mid-year, partly to keep them fresh and honestly, in large part because we all know what a two-week winter break does to a classroom routine.  Continue reading “Hopes & Dreams Revised: Learning to Feel”

Busy? Or Productive and Full?

george

There’s a lot of talk these days about being busy.  There has been for months, so the fact that we are still talking about it means, we haven’t harnessed the beast called Busy.  I’ve come to dislike the term, this so-called  badge of honor.  But why be proud about scrambling around?

Confession:

I used to brag about being busy.  It felt like my obligation to be busy. It was a sign of accomplishment, pride, power over my crazy life. And there are certainly still times that my planner and calendar are filled, and many more times my mind and body are filled.

 

Then I read this from Alina Dizik in BBC.com

“We burn valuable time doing things that aren’t necessary or important because this busyness makes us feel productive,”

Yup, feeling productive feels good. Until I realize I am not doing much that is important or necessary. Ouch.

But there’s really no power in being busy. For me, there was also not a heck of a lot of joy, because the business of being busy wasn’t my choice.  But often, I look good being busy.

Why is it that  we in this country, especially women, feel the need to be busy?  Many women certainly have multiple layers of obligations (as do men).  We’re employees, friends, parents, humans. The juggle is not easy and it’s often not about balancing like the classic image of Lady Justice keeping things even. More often, it’s like keeping those (very full) plates teetering on top of those poles.

plates

For the past several weeks, I’ve had an unofficial experiment where I have decided NOT to use the word busy (unless it’s in reference to a phone call that doesn’t ring through).  While I have absolutely no data, I have noticed that if I don’t say “busy” I hear it less often from others.  This includes busy’s kissing cousins named “crazy,” “insane,” and “hectic,” as well as the second cousin recognized as the eye roll and palms raised.  Don’t’ put it out there and see what happens.

For the most part, our schedules are full. But when you put out there that you are “busy,” you’re likely to get that right back. Busy brings the connotation of full, but not to my liking – or full and I don’t want to be doing these things.  

I could easily describe myself as “busy,” too.  But I’m making a concerted effort to have a full calendar and full planner by making conscious choices about what I want and need to be doing.  I’m also not letting those endless little fires build momentum.

So I’ve changed my dialogue – when asked “how are you?”  Often, I simply say “well” and smile and ask, “how are things with you?” In return, I’ve heard lovely stories of kids and work and personal accomplishments from folks I chat with. I’ve also heard details of challenges in work or family life – but these anecdotes generally don’t include the word “busy.”

Oh, and that feels good. Like breathing space to listen to each other.

I can’t do this alone. I’m just not that smart, clever, nor disciplined.   I have tools.  More next time on those tools.

Until then, try not to be so busy.  Breathe, listen, enjoy.

 

Take care,

lisa

 

 

 

LWells