"I would not interfere with any creed of yours,or want to appear that I have all the cures.There is so much to know... So many things are true...The way my feet must go may not be best for you.And so, I give this spark of what is light to me,to guide you through the dark, but not tell you what to see." -Author Unknown
So the other day, Emilee (16) carries a very limp & teary-eyed Grace (4) into my bedroom where I’m working and says “Mom, Grace is sad.” So I stopped working and held her in my arms and asked her why she was sad. She explained, with Emilee’s help, how it bothers her that Maddy (7) always wins. She was so very sad about it, so we tried to help her think of things she’s good at, so she can beat Maddy. She was amused with our suggestions, but ultimately rejected each one, including “nose picking” and “being 4″ and “jumping over floor tiles” These are things we know she’s proud of.
In the end, she came up with her own ideas, “a race” and “tying people up” and “making homemade band aids.”
Madelyn wouldn’t even compete in the tying people up category, which made grace a winner by default. The look of joy & pride on Grace’s face when she beat Maddy at making homemade band-aids was priceless and I suspect Maddy let her win the race, when she realized what was going on.
Around here, we’re not much into competitive sports, where other people make up the rules. And we’re definitely not the types that wake up at the crack of dawn to drive the kids out to a field to play. I prefer that the kids engage in activities that encourage them to be their personal best, rather than focus on “beating others.”
In principle, I’d let them participate in group sports, but in realty, it hasn’t happened. Sign-up dates have often eluded us, as this information gets sent home with kids at school. I’ve often wondered why these groups (soccer clubs, little league, etc..) don’t have more informative websites. I don’t make much of an effort to find out about these things because I’m not interested in attending practice 2-3 times a week or sitting in the sun or wind at 8am on a Saturday while they play.
Yes, competition is a natural part of life. Yes, competition is healthy and normal. No, we don’t need to invent situations where kids can experience arbitrary competition. Life presents plenty of natural opportunities to experience competition, without expensive uniforms, ongoing repetitive “championship rounds” or anything like that. Rivals can (and should) be friends, always. There’s more to competition than warfare.
Arbitrary rules of competition set kids up to live by the other people’s definition of success, instead of creating their own happiness. This might work well for people who define success by keeping up with their neighbors, but around here, we have different expectations.
I expect my kids to excel exactly as much as they wish, at whatever they choose to be a worthy exploit. I expect that they are in tune with their own inner longings, and find it easy to decide what games they’ll compete in and whether or not they intend to win, or just want to play. I trust that the activities they choose and the decisions they’re making today are part of their ultimate identity, something I would never dream of influencing or “shaping,” to do so would be blasphemous.
Radical unschooling has been getting a lot of press lately. People are genuinely shocked to learn that we don’t boss our kids around about every little thing on the planet. They assume, unfortunately, that they must be wild animals with no sense of responsibility, hygiene or social skills. On an unschooling message board the other day, one woman (who arrived simply to bash unschoolers) was flying off the handle about the fact that the kids on TV had no bedtime.
I just thought she was so silly, going on and on about how children “need” a bedtime. What on earth was she so afraid of? Did she think the kids wouldn’t sleep? Did she think they’d stay up all night long and sleep all day? Did she think it interfered with Mom & Dad’s sex life? For the life of me, I can’t imagine what all the fuss is about.
Some of our family’s favorite bonding-times have been when the rest of the world is sleeping. Remember when we shared a basket of jellyfish? Being “connected” to our children means that we’re aware of their needs and treat them the way we’d want to be treated.
Heather from Swiss Army Wife recently blogged about her family’s bedtime ritual “Wise men Sleep when they are tired.” and she made a great medical and psychological defense against crib usage and forced bedtimes.
In the Nightline Story about unschooling, the reporter focused in on bedtimes as a unique aspect of Radical Unschooling;
In this household, there is no bedtime, no alarm clocks in the morning. Eleven-year-old Devin often stays up past midnight — and Martin does not object. “I’m so happy that he does, and that he has that time to himself because his sisters go to bed at 9 or 10. He can have a nice three, four hours with Joe or just me,” she said. Instead of waking up at 7 a.m. to go to school, Devin sleeps until around 10 a.m. “It’s the same amount of sleep,” he said.
How much simpler can it get? Our bodies don’t require a bedtime. We just need to sleep. Regular periods of wakefulness and tiredness ensure that humans WILL SLEEP. Period.
Ron Paul, who plans to homeschool his own kids, blogged about the Nightline special, too. his commenters bordered hilarious; one said
The only thing the reporter seemed concerned about was these kids weren’t going to be getting up at 5 a.m. to crank up their SUV to go sit in traffic to go work for the man.
The reporter was asking about what “jobs” they’ll be able to get.
WHAT JOBS !?!?!?!
The jobs will all be in China and Mexico by then.
The only jobs in the U.S. will be Homeland Security and prison guards.
Prepare to be shocked. My kids have stayed up all night before. Emilee and Meagan did this at the RE Conference last year because they were so eager to hang out with their new unschooling friends. But, they learned more from the experience a few months ago, when they were given laptops as gifts from their grandparents. Emilee actually threw her thyroid off balance for a few weeks because her sleep habits were such a mess. But she didn’t like the way it felt. She learned her lesson. Meagan learned the lesson without medical consequence. Gabriella (9) stayed up all night a few months ago and spent the next day tired, teary and regretting it. Would any of them have understood this if I’d forced them to go to bed, taken away their computers or bullied them into sleeping? Who knows? But why fight about such a trivial, personal thing?
I’m 35 and I absolutely love being up at night when the rest of the house is asleep. I can clean and an hour later, it STILL looks perfect. I can make a dessert and no one asks for a bite. I can dance around with my iPod and not bump into anyone. Do I regret it the next day? Sometimes, Sometimes no. I tend to plan ahead, and do it when I know I don’t have plans the following day, so I can nap if I need to.
The point is, I am in control of my body. I know that I need sleep (thankfully not much, I thrive on like 4-5 hours these days) and I know how it feels to be rested vs tired. I recognize my body’s needs and do what it takes to meet them. I don’t need the same amount of sleep every night. Since I’ve stopped eating processed foods and started getting more exercise, I require about half the sleep I used to. I’m aware of my body’s changing needs on a daily basis and so are my children.
And, in case you wondered, life without bedtime totally does NOT mean parents can’t have sex. The stork didn’t bring my babies.
So the other day I posted an entire entry about my Grace. I’ve been watching her closely because she’s the first of my children to be completely and technically unschooled forever.
If we were a schooling family, she’d be getting ready for kindergarten, which would begin in a few months. As I watch her, I’m completely blown away by her intelligence, her strong personality, her thirst for knowledge and her pride at displaying the things she’s learned. She’s clever, witty and fun to be around.
I can’t imagine sending her to school, to me that would be a completely foreign territory. None of my kids has left home for kindergarten. But now, after being involved in the usnchooling world for a few years, I can’t even imagine inflicting “lessons” upon her. She so eagerly and readily gobbles up information from the world around her. So isn’t it logical to provide a stimulating world for her, with unlimited opportunities to experience life, rather than subjecting her to my limited perspective and preferences? I don’t know what her world will be like when she’s an adult, why would I presume to limit her learning in that way? How pompous of anyone to suppose to “teach” a 5 yr old anything. They’re already learning, duh.
We went a little crazy with the art supplies, Grace likes art
We got a bunch of Magic Schoolbus Science activity kits. They’re supposed to be for older kids, but she likes to help Gabriella (9) and Maddy (7) with the experiments. If I didn’t have to work, I think my kids would do science experiments all day long. Each kit comes with 10-20 experiments and a little guidebook that explains the science behind each one. It amazes me to hear the questions she asks, the conclusions she comes to and her logic process especially when she’s explaining the experiment. “So then glue is a polymer, right, mom?”
She loves to invent her own magic tricks (which aren’t quite magic, yet) and she’s hugely interested in how her body works. She’s taught herself how to count by 2’s (and argued with me when I told her that’s what she was doing. “No, mom, I’m just skipping numbers” as if she invented it)
She likes to eyeball a situation, solve it in her mind and then execute the solution, whether she’s making sure each Barbie has matching shoes, solving a maze, or constructing a lego dacta project.
It amazes me that anyone who has spent time with a 4-going-on-5 year old can look at the process of development a child goes through and say- at this age- that they need to start school. I wonder what people expect of a curious, self-directed learner (and that’s what a 4.5 r old is)
I wonder how many people realize that institutionalized education actually destroys the very children it was intended to serve. I wonder how many homeschoolers see that recreating that environment crushes the little souls they’re trying to protect.
Learning- in the real world- isn’t about meeting someone else’s expectations, or reaching someone else’s goals. In the real world we learn because we want to know, we want to experience, we want to DO. Why remove a child from that?
I love that Grace has “school books” that she enjoys. She has a math book she carries around that she plays with in the same way I played with puzzle books as a kid. She turns to any random page and asks me how to do it. If I’m not around to ask, she looks at the numbers and figures out her own way. She once had an addition worksheet and decided to multiply instead. Not that she knew it was called multiplication, she just saw numbers and decided to multiply. She knew each page had roughly the same directions for each problem, so she multiplied each one. She used game pieces as manipulatives and got them all right. I can’t imagine forcing her to spend weeks and weeks adding up one problem after another when she wants to multiply. Multiplication CONTAINS addition, so why do we waste so much time breaking it down?
She likes making lists. Her letters mostly look like H’s, x’s and t’s, with periodic o’s mixed in. She learns new letters by copying words in books. Sometimes she’ll copy a word and bring it to me to ask what it says. She has it memorized for a while and then forgets. She’s putting together patterns in her mind and remembers that the letter M says mmm, the letter S says sss and she instinctively, mentally, breaks down words into phonetic syllables as she pretends to read. She’s proud to be learning to read.
In our garden, she knows that ladybugs eat aphids. She delivers ladybugs to our rosebushes every time she finds them. I need to remind her to bring some to my tomatoes, too. She takes her “job” very seriously. I love that she feels useful and important. I love that she’s empowered and outspoken. I love that she knows what she wants and expects to get it. I love watching her grow, think and explore the world.
Grace is my 4 yr old. She’s the one that was born in the shower. It’s a weird age, being 4. I know there are a lot of in-between ages when you’re a kid, but I’ve always thought that 4 was really a landmark transition. I mentioned before that we’ve never had a problem with terrible two’s, but 4 is an entirely different story.
At 4, the desire for independence outweighs so very many things. She wants to do everything herself, everything. But then she’ll show fear or vulnerability in contrast. She insists upon picking out her own clothes and dressing herself completely. On the other hand, she’s afraid to go upstairs alone. She wants to make her own sandwich, but she doesn’t like to be in the kitchen alone. She’s enjoying testing the limitations of her body, seeing how high she can jump and how many marshmallows she can fit into her mouth at once.
Seeing how far she can jump
She loves Spongebob Squarepants, doesn’t mind being represented by the boy Barbie and still eats jelly sandwiches all the time. She’s grown out of the butter thing, and no longer views it as a snack food. She loves playing games on the computer and she’s a steward of bugs, collecting caterpillars, ladybugs and roly polies. She hates making messes. Whenever she spills something, she cleans it up before anyone else sees it. If people see her spill, she gets upset and wants to cry. She enjoys cursing when no grown-ups are listening. She gets amused when her teenage sisters laugh at her foul-mouthed humor but she won’t repeat it in front of me. She just blushes, throws her hands up and smiles, that Grace Face smile. If she says anything, it’s “What, did you hear me say anything?” She has the most pinchable cheeks in the family. She takes care of her baby sister, holding her hand in public and making sure that she’s not overlooked in the shuffle of our crazy house. She’s particular about the clothes in her dresser. Shirts can’t go in the pants drawer and pajamas can’t go with sweaters. I’m not sure what all of her laundry rules are because she doesn’t let anyone else put her clothes away.
Grace, protecting Evelyn on the Lion
She hates wearing socks, even with sneakers. She doesn’t enjoy helping in the kitchen as much as Evelyn does, but when she sees Evelyn helping she will jump in to make sure she’s doing it right. She likes to sing. Kanye West’s Heartless is one of her current favorite songs. She claims to not be a fan of Hannah Montana. She enjoys showing off the letters of the alphabet that she can write and recognize. She likes drawing pictures of me and of animals.
Mixed media collage. She drew a caterpillar and now she's adding glue to stick fabric to it
She takes really good care of her coat and remembers to bring it everywhere we go. Sometimes her easygoing personality makes her overlooked in this crazy house, but she knows how to make herself be heard when necessary.
In the book “Give me Liberty” by Gerry Spence, which isn’t about parenting at all, it’s about freedom from the profit-driven clutches of corporations and governments, he says;
“Children, as persons, are entitled to the greatest respect. Children are given to us as free-flying souls, but then we clip their wings like we domesticate the wild mallard. Children should become the role-models for us, their parents, for they are coated with the spirit from which they came- out of the ether, clean, innocent, brimming with the delight of life, aware of the beauty of the simplest thing; a snail, a bud, a shadow in the garden. Children are the closest thing to angels.”
Small children ’s minds clearly live less “in their body” than adult’s. Adults are acutely aware of their own bodies and minds – analyzing its sensations, thoughts and feelings. Kids rarely think of such things. Have you ever heard a child ask “Why do I do that?” They think more about the next fun experience. Sure, some kids may have physical sensitivities to certain fabrics, sounds or foods, but they don’t THINK about it, they just seek comfort. They experience feelings, but they don’t over-analyze them. They just seek happiness. Duh.
instead of teaching kids OUR world view, we need to allow them to see the world through the eyes they were born with, and listen intently to what they're telling us.
Some people would have you believe that kids are selfish, sinful or naturally bad, in need of ‘training” but that couldn’t be further from the truth. At their essence, they are creators. Kids are givers. When people see “bad” in children, it’s a gross and self-centered misinterpretation of the child’s actions and NOT a representation of the child’s inner self. Parenting from a position that believes children are inherently evil will NEVER help a child to be their best, EVER. It’s a self-fulfilling prophesy. These people never see the true soul of their own children because they allow a preconceived notion to cloud their vision. So their children grow up doubting their own inner goodness, free from the responsibility or benefits of peaceful or happy relations because they believe that at their core, that they’re flawed. YOU are not flawed at the core. No matter what your religion has told you. You are infinitely perfect and every experience, no matter what your analytical mind has labeled it, just IS, and isn’t bad or good, it just IS. My favorite part of the audio version of Rhonda Byrne’s book The Secret is the sound of Lisa Nichols’ voice saying
“And your spirit is so big that it fills a room*” (with a blissful giggle that brings out the irony in the idea that anyone could ever feel small or insignificant)
Life isn’t about forcing people to do what you want. It should be about fully experiencing (LIVING) every minute of whatever it means to you to be ALIVE. This includes your amazing children, experiencing them while allowing them to experience their own (paralell) reality.
Inherently evil?
I love how Maddy (7) asks so many questions. In 5 minutes she’s asked me a hundred. “Mom, what’s an errand?” I answered her, then she repeated it back to me in a question. “like if I said ‘I have to run an errand’ it means I need to go do something important somewhere else real quick?” and I confirmed her interpretation. I can’t imagine giving her a list of vocabulary words or asking her to write a sentence for every word on a list (which would be MY list, not hers) Talking, verbal communication, it’s one thing that makes us human, civilized. Why on earth are “schoolers” (not to be confused with scholars, whom I still respect) OK with the idea of interfering with the communication skills of a 7 yr old? How could anyone imagine that ANY list of words would ever meet my child’s need to understand the language in the world around her.
After our little conversation, she stews in her mind a bit, the wheels are turning and she asks me another random question “Did you and dad know each other when you were kids?” and a little later she says “I probably have to google this, but do you know if whales see the way people see?” I had no idea, but I made a mental note of the fact that she realizes the limitations of my knowledge and knows how to research) so we googled it. We never found the answer, because she got sidetracked by videos of whale songs.
Every question doesn’t need an answer. Sometimes questions just lead to more questions and it’s OK. Nothing in real life ever resembles an end-of-the-chapter test.
Birds fly, fish swim and humans learn. -John Holt
Her questioning takes a considerable amount of time every day. She usually hangs out with me in the evening when I’m cleaning the kitchen, grilling me on world history, US history, science, family history, word meanings and telling me all about her doll’s relationships, careers and lifestyles.
Last night, there was something stuck to the burner- I’d wiped it down earlier but I think I got something on it, so it was smoking up the kitchen and it smelled bad. I walk into the kitchen thinking “what the hell is wrong in here, yuck now I have to breathe this $#!+” but I didn’t say it because I was busy listening to her rattle on about something- a story about how our friend Nikki lost her first tooth (For the record, she bit into a taco shell when she was 7 . Nikkie & Maddy share a birthday, and she’s really fun, so it makes Maddy feel special to have her as a friend and Maddy wants to lose her tooth on a taco shell now, so we’re having tacos for dinner)
Anyway, so I keep it to myself- about the smoke- and she walks through the door right behind me. You’d think she just opened the door to the Emerald City of Oz and wasn’t sure if she wanted to go home or not. “MOM- there are a million fairies in the air,” she says, in a lowered voice, lest she break the spell. She points out the sun rays piercing through a thinner patch of smoke and suddenly she’s overcome, enchanted; she’s a fairy. Her arms are raised in bliss and her head is tilted up to the receive the light, and she’s slowly spinning and humming, like angels were singing to her in her head.
To her, the smoky kitchen is beautiful, an amazing thing of wonder. To me, she is the thing of wonder. She’s soaking up the wonder and feeding it right back to me. How can anyone think kids are bad? There’s no bliss quite like experiencing the world through the lens of a child.
*”We often get distracted with this thing called our body and our physical being. That just HOLDS your spirit. And your spirit is so big it fills a room. You are eternal life. You are God manifested in human form, made to perfection.”- Lisa Nichols, The Secret
In the unschooling community, there’s a great respect for children’s inner wisdom. This week, for me, has been filled with confirmation that I need to follow my kids’ lead more often and to value their life’s experiences and authentic reactions.
Be fearless
I love going to the park and often, when we’re waiting for kids to finish their dance, drama or singing classes, we wait at the park where we swing, skate, climb, run or just do gymnastics in the grass. Yesterday, Maddy and I were doing tricks and she said “Can you do a front flip?” I said “no, can you?” It didn’t look like she even had time to think about the answer, she just did it. When she was done, I clapped my hands and said “Oh my goodness, I didn’t know you could do that, wow” and to my surprise, she said “Neither did I, I just did it.” I said “have you ever done it before?” and she said “no, I just did it.” WOW. OK. SO I did it. I was amused at my inner dialog, wondering whether or not she had mentally talked herself into it or if it really was as simple as she’d made it sound. In the end, I took a deep breath, pictured myself doing it a few times and just DID it. She was so excited for me, which was sweet. It was easier than I thought it would be and we both spent the next few minutes perfecting our front flips. I just thought it was funny, though, that I tell people “just do it” all the time and here I was being “schooled” by my 7 year old. Thank you, Maddy.
Flipping, for the fun of it
Love and conflict aren’t opposites
When my kids fight with each other, I don’t always handle it well. Over the years, I’ve gotten better. By stepping back and letting them work it through, I notice they end up fighting less. By discussing anger management techniques and communication skills during peaceful times (rather than in the heat of the moment) we’ve all learned how to avoid conflict or resolve it quicker, finding win-win situations and making allowances for one another’s preferences sometimes. But sometimes, I fail. The other day, Gabriella and Madelyn were fighting and Gabriella lowered her voice to a scary tone and threatened Madelyn. I snapped and made my own voice scary and told her to get out of the room until she could communicate without being mean (Ironic and pathetic, I know) Gabriella left the room and Madelyn looked at me with the sweetest face and said “It’s OK, Mommy, she can talk to me that way. She just wants her Barbie back. We were working it out. I’m not giving it to her until she gives me my doll’s dress back. I planned it this way.” I felt about half an inch tall. I brought Gabriella back and apologized for sending her out, I apologized for using a mean voice and I explained that I am still learning how to handle things nicely and I get upset when I think someone is being mean. I should have asked if they wanted my help first. Then I thanked Maddy for helping me understand the situation.
One of ten million pictures of Barbies my kids take almost every day
Forgive, forget and whistle while you work
My 2 year old LOVES to put her own laundry away. There are other household tasks she likes to do, too. She likes to scrub the kitchen table while I load the dishwasher, she loves to help push the clothes into the washing machine, she loves to help carry groceries in, she follows me around all day “helping.” Well the other day, I put her clothes into her drawer for her. She was so angry with me. She can’t reach her drawer, so when she puts her clothes away I have to lift her up (while she’s holding the folded clothes) and she puts them into the drawer. It seemed like more than I wanted to do at the moment. She was taking her shoes off and I didn’t feel like waiting until she was done, so I just put her clothes into her drawer. You would have thought I’d stabbed her with an ice pick. she grabbed her belly and screamed at me “You puttid my clothes away, I wanted to do it MYSELF.” Her little angry yell was adorable, her face was red and filled with tears. I snickered a little bit because she’s so tiny and so sweet and I loved that she was so passionate about it. I took the clothes OUT of the drawer and scooped her up to apologize (I really should have known better) Then, I helped her put her clothes away, like normal and she went on about her business, without the slightest sign of anger. Later on, she said “Mommy, I sorry I freaked out about my yaundry” and I apologized for putting it away. I really do love that she values her “work” and enjoys helping around the house. I have to remember that it’s ME who secretly wishes someone else would do the laundry, not her. I’m also proud of myself for not teaching her how to hate housework, when we clean, we sing and dance and have a very good time together. If I keep this up, she will gladly take over the responsibility one day. (not that I have any coercive ulterior motives, right)
Being in tune with my kids, communicating honestly and respecting their preferences and desires is a very important part of what goes on in our house. I am, by no means, perfect at this. Clearly, I screw up. We all screw up. But I guess we’ve been doing this long enough that we’ve established an open and constant dialog that they’ve mastered faster than I have. I will continue to be impressed and amazed by their pure love and sweet dispositions.
OK, my theory is that humans are designed to move, a lot and that’s all we really need to do for fitness. Babies are in constant motion, flailing around until they realize they can turn over, then flailing around until they figure out how to propel themselves and after a while they grow into little kids that constantly zip around simply for the joy of zipping around. It’s a good thing. They always come back, especially when you feed them.
I’m always amazed that people don’t connect the rise in obesity among children to the fact that more and more of them are spending their days confined in small spaces and eating things that aren’t really food. I’m also constantly amazed at the amount of people who allow their small children to be drugged into compliance, just for the privilege of participating in things like “all day kindergarten.”
But that’s beside the point, right? I don’t really know anything about obesity and kids because mine don’t sit still long enough to eat a full meal, so I’m not concerned about that. I’m concerned about the idea of taking a body that’s supposed to be in near constant motion and training it to subsist on an hour of motion a day. And not just ANY hour of motion, an hour of specific motion, directed by another person, and injected with competition and skills assessments.
Is there a connection between the fact that busy active kids are trained to sit still in school & grow up to be adults who sit still at work, then go to the gym for an hour, replicating PE class?
I always wondered exactly WHAT was “educational” about being told to play volleyball with the other kids in my class, or doing 100 jumping jacks in 8th grade (I think the teacher was a pervert) or running through any other series of specific exercises simply designed to make us sweat and get our blood pumping, then being forced to sit still for the rest of the day.
Broken-down war memorial, or graduated balance-beam for my 2 yr old?
And don’t even get me started on the lack of dignity involved in the high school PE showers. I mean, come ON- even the WORST gym or adult fitness center has a few private showers available, y’know.
Anyway. Shouldn’t physical education actually be something that results in learning to appreciate the wonder that is our bones and muscles working together? Can it really be accomplished in a group setting? What if high school had worked like the gym does, with yoga, spinning, water aerobics and other courses students could CHOOSE and change at will, in order to get the workout they WANT and NEED without the stupid pretense of “physical education” that’s planned out in the mind of a teacher who doesn’t live in your body or mind? Fitness should be personalized. That’s why the rich and famous choose personal trainers over Richard Simmons Videos (except Sweatin’ to the Oldies is so much fun)
Maddy, working her legs, arms and abs
Today, when I take my kids to the park, I PLAY. I have to, it’s part of my “Let’s not get depressed again, you idiot” plan of action. And it’s extremely fun. I absolutely love hanging from the monkey bars and doing flips. I’ve scoped out all the best (highest) swingsets in town and I can push the merry go round faster than any of my kids. I can also do the splits in all 3 directions and one day I will beat my 9 year old in consecutive cartwheels. She’s teaching me how to do walkovers, too. I have a friend with a trampoline and whenever the kids are done playing on it, I climb up and jump until I get sick of it. I don’t count them, I don’t time myself and no one is telling me to jump differently. All that stuff isn’t necessary for fitness. I’m in motion and I know what feels good. I know what makes me sweat, I know what makes my muscles work. I can FEEL IT. Instead of paying attention to someone outside of me who is “teaching me” about fitness, I’m just doing it. Isn’t that what Nike said? (after it yelled at the little Asian kids to hurry up)
Are we trained by PE class to be oblivious to our own inner workings? A personal trainer can help you with specific goals, but are they always necessary? My favorite routine is 20-30 minutes on the swings, followed by deep stretching and THEN flips on and off the bars. I was pleasantly surprised to learn that that jives with what the pro aerialists recommend.
Why all the talk about aerialists? When I was a kid, I wanted to take gymnastics. I’ve always been flexible. In fact, I stayed limber throughout my pregnancies, doing the splits just to freak people out. Anyway, when I was 12 I wanted to take gymnastics. I wanted it so badly that I made my parents come in for an appointment at the gymnastics school to enroll me in classes. They said no The following month, my 2 yr old brother started karate classes. Yeah, I was pissed.
I can’t change the past, but nothing is stopping me from doing it now.
me, doing sit-ups, MY WAY (no spine-on-the-ground pain)
I think the idea of institutionalized physical education for small children is really kinda evil. Look at any playground full of kindergarteners and they KNOW how to move. They’re climbing, they’re running, they’re jumping and totally having a blast. In kindergarten, PE kids learn the rules to different sports games and that’s all fine and dandy, but don’t call it “PE” call it what it is, games, competition, exercise or something else. At 5 years old, they know their limits. I’m sure the rate of muscle & bone injuries goes up with age, because kindergarteners are perfectly capable of managing their own physical activities.
I’m often amazed at the park to see moms NOT playing. At what age do people LOSE the ability to occupy themselves on the playground? Oh wait— I know the answer to this one. PE class stole that desire, training people to exercise during a specific hour each day and to sit still the rest of the day. Recess stole that desire with 250 kids on a playground with 2 slides and 4 swings.
I wonder if there’s a personal trainer out there who recommends people climb trees, run up a hill as fast as they can and roll down. I wonder if there’s one who specializes in helping me remember how to do really fast flips on the bars. I wonder if there’s one out there who really knows that swinging works your arms, abs AND legs. I wonder if there’s a personal trainer out there who says “don’t count the reps, just play.”
I’m always thinking of new business ideas, and one that I’ve come back to several times is a gigantic playground.
Remember when you were a kid and the slide was five times as tall as you. Remember how it felt to climb that ladder, your heart racing faster and faster as you got to the top, the inner debate about whether to turn around or keep going, until you turned around and freaked out about how high it was. The feeling of letting go, the sliding down and the bliss of reaching the bottom intact and wanting to do it again? Adults need this just as much as kids. How often do you feel that as an adult?
Remember when you were a kid and you learned how to jump from the swing; slowing it down just enough to get the courage to leap off and hoping you wouldn’t fall on your ass when you landed? Then you’d look around to see who witnessed your jump?
Me & my 9 yr old seeing who can hang upside-down the longest
Remember climbing on the monkey bars, to the top of the dome, then squeezing through the triangle to hang upside down or pretending to be a monkey or gymnast on the bars?
As an adult who plays on the playground, I have to say that it’s not nearly the same kind of fun now as it was when I was a kid because all the equipment has shrunk. I can stand under the dome of the monkey bars and touch the top. I know, it sucks. I used to think it was cool when my parents could reach the top, now I realize it’s NOT COOL AT ALL.
Swinging with my kids
But back to this wild business idea I had… Someone should build a gigantic, grown-up sized playground, like in an airplane hangar, and have giant tubes we can crawl through and slides that are 30 feet tall and monkey bars we can’t reach the top of and things like that.
It would be a great business because they can sell memberships just like the regular gym but there’s never rain on the slide, which is never scorching hot from the sun. Being indoors, they can cater to adults’ pansy-ass need for climate control and seasonal allergies.
It can accommodate both organized and spontaneous games of kickball, volleyball, basketball and tether ball.
It would have a giant tree with a tire swing big enough for 4 adults to sit on. And a giant sit-n-spin, like the teacups at Disneyland.
It would have a smoothie bar where we can get fresh organic juices and smoothies, with or without kelp, blue-green algae, brewers yeast, flax seed oil or whatever else grown-ups like to spike their smoothies with.
It would have a heat-sensor camera photo booth so you could SEE which muscles you worked and personal trainers on hand to drool at because they often have the best bodies challenge you to climb higher, see if you can pull yourself up from THIS position and point out that your love handles are shrinking.
Speakers would pipe in the sound of little kids laughing and playing, because when I go to the park with my kids in the evening, sometimes the working parents act like they’ve never heard that sound before, which is the most joyous and free kind of noise on the planet (unless it’s coming from my kitchen at 2am)
Yeah- so this magical giant playground would be called “The Playground” and in the commercial, two big guys in suits would be in a heated boardroom discussion when one looks to the other and says “Meet me on the playground after work” and in the next scene, they’re competing to see who can swing highest, or even boxing in a ring with one another while the secretaries cheer them on.
So there ya go. If you decide to build this business, I think I deserve a free membership. Until then, I’ll just play with my kids on the equipment that’s not quite my size. Did I mention that my husband is building me a 30 foot trapeze unit, so I can practice real aerial acrobatics. I’ll keep you posted on that one
First of all, here are the top 5 reasons every woman needs a riding lawnmower for mother’s day
1- they’re white-noisy, which allows you to THINK – because listening to any thought that isn’t in your head is impossible
2- even if someone is yelling, you can’t hear anything and they can’t hear you either
3- so you can sing as loud as you want or yell or curse as loud as you want and no one will hear you
4- mowing the yard is fun
5- the engine vibrates
Everyone does things differently. In adults, we allow for this truth to be honored and respected. At work, everyone has a different job and that’s “his thing” No one would dare rearrange another man’s workspace, tell him to arrange his belongings a certain way, forbid him to listen to music while he works or check each step of his final process to ensure he “did it right”, though it happens to children. All. The. Time.
In adult relationships (except for religious courtship and arranged marriages), partners meet one another and spend a lot of time getting to know one another; learning how to make eachother happy and how to communicate, finding mutual hobbies, building memories and discovering what their preferences and tastes are and then, they may or may not consciously choose to call one another “family” through marriage.
But children don’t have that luxury. They’re born into our homes and unfortunately there’s a lot of people out there masquarading as “child development experts” that don’t even bother getting to know children. They force them into an “arranged marriage” of a relationship whereby the other partners (the parents) have already decided EVERYTHING.
Imagine how frustrating that would be.
But you’ve heard it. You’ve probably even DONE it. I used to say “My child will never play with a toy that isn’t made of natural materials, there will be no plastic in my home” or “My child will never wear shoes with cartoon characters on them, we’re not free advertising for corporations.” And I called these “responsible parenting decisions” because I was protecting this poor little thing. But what was I protecting her from?” LIFE? Making her own decisions? Reality, or do you prefer the term Pop culture?
Would you do that to ANYONE else out of love?
But children come in and surprise us. Every one of them has their own unique personality and identity from the DAY THEY are BORN.
But here are the experts saying “you can put ANY Child to bed at 7pm” and “At 2 months of age they need to drink 4 ounces every 3 hours and poop 125 grams at a time.” WTF? People buy that crap. People need to stop looking to parenting experts and just mow the lawn more often. So instead of buying into the idea that “In the 3rd month of 4th grade, students must memorize the capitol of every US state” and “the letters of the alphabet must be memorized in THIS order” and “the multiplication tables MUST be memorized in order to proceed…”
Remember being a kid. Do you remember what made you happy when you were a kid? Was it drawing, playing in the mud, swimming, wandering around aimlessly in the woods, building with blocks or boxes? What made you happy? How did you feel when someone told you not to do it? Or worse, criticized you for WANTING to follow your bliss all the time? Why did they tell us that THEIR agenda was more important than ours?
You were BORN whole and complete. Nothing you can think or want is wrong. We are here, in physical bodies, living in a world filled with stuff. This is a reality. Interacting with the stuff of the world can’t possibly be bad. Clearly, it cannot be denied that our minds function in order to decide what to DO with this physical body, this LIFE and the stuff that comes with it. The only way to do that and be true to our own design is to do the things that bring you joy, the things you’d CHOOSE to do without the influence of another human being. And allow our children the same respect, as humans.
that’s why it’s so important to rethink everything. Rethinking yourself, that may be a new way to look at depression. Each depression I’ve been through has represented a turning point in my life, I wonder if other women do that? I know many of us tell time by the ages of our children. I’ve looked at a photo and dated it by saying “That must have been in 2000 because I was standing by the blue chair I bought when I was pregnant with Gabriella but there’s no rip in the side, so it must been taken between April 25th and June 5th of 2000.” Surely, then, it’s not strange at all to look back and say “This was before the dog-death-depression” It almost sounds normal after the other example.
Anyway- so I’m mowing the lawn- 4 acres merits a riding lawnmower- and I realize that I have this crazy fucked up method of mowing. My husband (let me preface this for you) he makes perfect lines that run from one edge of the yard to another. Each one is spaced uniformly, as if he has placed cones as he was turning each corner or something. Honestly, I don’t know how he does it. Or why. I mean, sure it looks nice and all. If you like that sort of thing.
I have a different approach.
I’m arts-minded. I see the starry night of obstacles on my green canvas, OK. There are sprinklers to contend with. Trees, randomly sprinkled throughout the area. It’s an organic environment, we’ve got a mound of gopher holes here, sprinklers, like a graph, dotting through here. We’ve got “old doughboy pool, which, incidentally has a life of its own as my kids’ play area. There’s also “parked boat” and “big hole in the ground” and a bunch of other things. There’s 4 acres, man and it’s a busy place.
So- my lines are (in my opinion) just smarter than his.
Anyway, so here are my sweeping, flowing, ZEN lawnmowing lines. And here’s my husband’s industrial looking, hard, repetitive, BORING mowing lines.
Honestly, so why do we tolerate one another’s strange lawnmowing techniques? Because that’s what it means to be human. If wavy artsy lines inspire me, then that’s part of who I am. It’s the same reason we tolerate a messy desk, shoes that don’t quite make it into the closet and constant singing. because there’s really no reason to fight about these things.
There was a time when my husband and I would have fought over the lawn mowing. When we were first married, we bickered a lot.
“How come you can’t just do it RIGHT?”
“Right? so there’s a right and wrong way to cut the fucking grass? Come on- who the heck cares, it will grow back in a few days anyway- those lines don’t show up all the time and so what if they did? Are wavy lines THAT offensive? Let me tell you if a helicopter was looking for survivors on this landscape our wavy lines could SAVE YOUR LIFE, OK. So don’t tell me there’s a right and wrong way to mow the lawn because I see way more benefits to MY WAY, OK?”
But we never had that conversation, we’ve matured a lot over the years. Instead, he just decided just to mow the lawn without me around and keep it mowed so I couldn’t get to it. One day, though, as it happens, I heard him mowing and it sounded like so much fun. I’d been writing descriptions of hairstyles for a client for nearly 5 hours and was restless. So I went out and asked him to give me a turn. I covered about an acre with beautiful wavy mowing lines, watching the grass change colors by each row, rejoicing in not shredding anything messy, watching the grasshoppers hop away and hoping not to hear a field mouse’s squealing death (it happens). I was enjoying being alone; just me and the mower and a few of my favorite musicians. I sang at the to of my lungs to Paramore, Pink, Evanescence and a little bit of Nine Inch Nails and probably a few others, I forget. And that was the point. For a few long minutes I got to make art of my yard, feel the wind in my hair and SING as loud as I could.
But there’s more to it than that (There always is)
Once the kids got wind that mommy was mowing, they wanted rides, too. They’d ridden with Dad earlier and wanted to ride with me now. One by one, we made yard art.
Gabriella had a thousand questions for me about the engine. she also orally calculated the amount of days between everyone’s birth date. Then we had to discuss the various grains that grow like grass does, and speculate whether we were mowing rice, wheat or barley.
Madelyn was queit, watching the cut grass spray out of the sides and performing the Heimlich maneuver on me each time we went over a bump.
Evelyn shouted “woohoo” in my ears every 2 seconds and narrated for me, like a sportscaster. “We going this way now, we gonna hit tree mommy, can’t hit the tree.” and then again like Dustin Hoffman in Rainman “gotta go around it, gotta go around the tree”
And it hits me- this is how humans are supposed to co-exist. I’m BLISSFULLY doing my own thing- mowing the lawn and the girls are welcome to come join me. I learn about myself and the world from the girls by just watching them be whoever they are than I would ever learn by trying to make them be something else. In addition, they get to explore and experience new things every day, by my side. Never abandoned, never alone, never un-parented as the unschooling naysayers would imply.
There’s nothing wrong with mowing in lines, mowing wavy or mowing a herringbone zig zag. In fact, you might win some kind of award for that last one, surely that’s a recognized art form. I’d vote for you.
There’s nothing wrong with narrating the day, examining the infinite combinations of numbers in your world or holding on for dear life. This is who we are. I am me and you are you and if I want to truly serve ANYONE then I need to see that I’m not taking away from the happiness of those around me. Servitude isn’t lowly, it’s not a burden. Caring for the kids IS heaven. I chose this and they deserve to have me approach each conversation with as much love and open-ness as a ride on the lawnmower. See, they don’t care what the path looks like, they just want to be with us. I was waiting for one of the kids to point out my wayward mowing technique, but they never did. Even as I criss-crossed over my own lines and looped around obstacles, leaving crop circles in the yard, they never noticed. They were just enjoying the ride.
So next time someone asks “Why unschool?” my answer will probably not be very helpful. “You can learn a lot from mowing the lawn.”
One of my favorite 13th century Persian poets is Rumi. Unfortunately I can’t understand a damn thing he wrote because I don’t speak Persian. Luckily, he’s been translated several times, this one is translated by Shahram Shiva:
A true Lover doesn’t follow any one religion,
be sure of that.
Since in the religion of Love,
there is no irreverence or faith.
When in Love,
body, mind, heart and soul don’t even exist.
Become this,
fall in Love,
and you will not be separated again.
.
It’s one of my favorite poems because it speaks to the concept that God is Love, and any institution that seeks to create rules and restrictions in the name of God, instead of allowing humans to live through love and be guided by their soul’s stirrings is truly separating them from love, instead of bringing them closer to it. Read into it whatever else you will, there’s a lot packed into those words. I could analyze it for hours, but I digress.
Anyway, I had an interesting conversation that reminded me of the poem and challenged the depth of my belief that true love has no limits and made me see a kind of oppression that just might exist in even the happiest of homes.
I had a pretty intense conversation with a friend I haven’t spoken to for quite some time and the conversation turned to marriage. I learned that my friend has an “open door policy” in their marriage. “Part of it is that I wouldn’t be with anyone who was in any way oppressive, and the other part is that I am not oppressive.”
That really intrigued me and led me around to a million different thoughts about the nature of oppression, amongst adults. As unschoolers, we spend a lot of time making sure that we’re not the source of oppression for our children, but do we extend that same courtesy to our spouses?
I always thought I did until I considered this open door policy. The more we talked, the more I understood the nature of the philosophy, which, at its core, is the same as radical unschooling. Dare I call it radical marriage?
It takes an amazing amount of confidence and trust to be in a relationship like that. But then, who that values and loves themselves isn’t capable of confidence & trust? I mean, imagine if your husband were to tell you that he’s been fantasizing about the lady that cuts his hair? Imagine, seeing a man at the check-stand and coming home to tell your husband how hot he made you.
If your spouse is truly your best friend, then statements like that would reasonably occur with frequency because humans are sexual. A ring doesn’t take that away, or a certificate from the state or the church. And how much of our sexuality is repressed because we can’t talk about it with the one we’re closest to?
What is it about the dynamics of marriage that imply ownership? I mean, is this the 2000’s or the 1800’s? How much deviance in marriage occurs because spouses simply can’t talk to one another about things? A lot of people I know say “My husband is my best friend” or “I can tell my wife anything” but do they mean it? Or are certain things off limits?
As an unschooling mom and soon-to-be law student, I find myself spending hours pondering the origins of rules & limits where most people say “That’s just the way things are.” I also try to consider their psychologoical & sociological consequences and cross-cultural counterparts. But this is one I hadn’t considered before.
Imagine a marriage where it’s impossible to cheat. I have so many friends who would have been spared a lot of heartache if their relationship was one that tolerated that discussion. I imagine that complete freedom would impact whether or not a person actually acted upon so-called deviant fantasies. The “thrill of being bad” doesn’t exist when nothing you do can truly be bad.
The idea of a complete lack of jealousy intrigued me. I think it would take a high level of confidence, a strong sense of self to realize that the actions of someone else have nothing to do with you. Knowing who you are, knowing you are loved- isn’t that at the core of any enlightened mindset? The character traits that were evident in this unfamiliar marriage dynamic were clearly things I wanted to inspire in my children, but I was surprised to see them in a situation that I once thought was destructive.
Mothers, when that second baby is born, you don’t love your first any less, do you? With six, I can say quite confidently that love knows no limits. “When in love body, mind, heart and soul don’t even exist.” In any relationship, jealousy fear and anger aren’t born of love, they’re born of fear: fear of losing someone, fear that you’re not worthy, or fear of the unknown. Removing that dynamic is huge.
I’m not suggesting we all embrace polyamory any time soon. Examining “extremes” is an excellent way to become aware of your own inner “battle lines.” I can’t imagine being comfortable in that sort of relationship with my husband- I’m totally not mature enough for that. But I can see the logic behind allowing your loved one to experience their own reality, being present with their emotions and not getting caught up in them.
I mean, that’s a huge part of radical unschooling and this parenting style. So my eyes are opened to a new line of thinking, which is always fun. Sometimes it’s another religion, sometimes it’s a book, a quote or a song lyric that sets my wheels turning and other times, it’s a friend. Thank you, dear friend.
Six or seven times this week I’ve heard the term “terrible two’s” and honestly, I thought it was gone; dead, like the notion that it was OK to leave infants to cry alone in a crib and that women were less intelligent than men. I haven’t ever experienced a terrible two year old. Ever. Two has developmental distinctions from other ages and perhaps it’s the exploring, investigating and vocalizing that parents have a hard time dealing with. It’s always been one of my favorite ages, though, even when I was a mean mommy.
Madelyn, at 2 yrs old
Personally, the developmental stage I’ve most often called “terrible” occurs around age 4, but since we’ve learned so much about peaceful parenting my current 4 yr old really doesn’t seem terrible. Translation- I have learned to be a better mom, our family is more sensitive to the kids’ needs, so I’m not having a “terrible” time understanding her, like I did with my older children.
I have full faith that the ease with which we’ve navigated the teen years thus far is also credited to a developmental understanding and open, honest communication. Genetically and historically, there’s absolutely no backup for the idea that any specific “age” in childhood be any more “difficult” than any other. Parenting is a relationship, not a set of hurdles.
Anyway- I find 2 yr olds amusing and amazing, here’s a list of things my 2 yr old has done today (in order)
1-wake up & tickle my neck saying “you want yours coffee mama, come on yets make yours coffee now, time get up”
2- “Nooooooooo” upon seeing me turn over & try to steal a few more minutes of sleep “It’s sun shining mommy, geeettt uuuupppp ppllleeassee”
3- “gankgoo” which is her word for thank you because I just couldn’t resist her saying please to me, I don’t want to teach her that good manners don’t work, so in our house, please really IS a magic word. I’ve noticed that if I ignore my kids when they’re two they become demanding and repetitive. Do you know any kids like that?
4- We arrive in the kitchen (she’s pulling me by the hand) and she gives me step-by-step instructions for making the coffee. I’ve noticed that I can be lazier if I keep her talking, so I just ask “What do I do next?” and she enjoys telling me. If her instructions are vague or worded wrong, I smile & enact a literal translation which simultaneously frustrates & amuses her. We make it as far as putting the cup on the counter when she says “You do the rest yo-self now, I need go potty” I offer to help & she yells “NO- I do myself, I big girl”
2 year old Grace
5- She yells from the bathroom that she needs help. Removing the TP from the roll is hard for her, she hasn’t quite figured out how to rip it off. I often leave a few squares removed for her, but today there were none. I didn’t detect any shame at having rejected help, then needing it. I pondered for a while if that was a natural feeling, or if we’re taught to feel bad asking for help. I return to the kitchen. and hear her washing her hands and flushing the potty
6- I’m playing farmville on facebookmaintaining online relationships with family and friends all over the world and she climbs up on my bed with my wallet. It’s a daily ritual of hers, to remove the contents, separate all the coins, cards and receipts into three stacks and count everything. Today, I notice, she has a few different stacks of coins. it looks like nickels and dimes are in one stack, there’s another stack for pennies and another for quarters. She’s counting everything. She counts 18 pennies, 7 nickel/dimes and 18 quarters (even though there’s only 12 there) After she’s done counting, she puts everything back very carefully and puts it back into my purse.
7- After disappearing for about 45 minutes, my FaceBook time is over and she wants something to eat. She heads into the kitchen to see what everyone else is eating. At one end of the table, there’s a jelly sandwich, then leftover corned beef & cabbage, then plain noodles with butter. After discussing their food with each sister, she decides upon the plain noodles. The other girls and I are amused at the way she “works a room” making eye contact with everyone, then having a brief conversation “Whatchoos eating?” and “It’s yummy?” and “Oh, yous make it for you?” and “Is any yeft for me?” and, when offered a bowl of it, replies “No gankyou, maybe yater, OK- I talk to Maddy now” I think the girls decided to eat slower, so that they could have a turn discussing their food with her. When she decides upon the noodles (I had a hunch) I put them in front of her high chair and she ravished me with hugs and kisses and “thank-you’s” and proceeded to eat with her sisters while I took a shower.
It’s only 9am. I can’t really record her entire day’s worth of activities, but here are a few other things she’s probably got on the agenda:
Changing her clothes after she’s done eating. She changes her clothes several times a day because whenever she spills the slightest thing on them, it bothers her. Who am I to thwart a child’s preference for being clean? I just make sure that her laundry is always done because she usually knows EXACTLY what she wants to wear. The funny thing is, she calls it all “jammies.”
Coloring- she likes to draw pictures. She prefers a fresh sheet of computer paper and a variety of crayons, colored pencils and pens. She makes several scribbly shapes and then rolls it up & folds it in half. Then, she comes to me to tell me what’s in her picture. It usually takes her longer to interpret her artwork then it takes to actually draw it. When she’s done telling me about it, I ask her if she’s done coloring. The answer is usually no and she runs away to color the back of the page. (lather, rinse, repeat)
Going on a hunt- this is what they call it when Grace (4) draws a map and they wander around the house on an imaginary search for something (usually saving a Princess)- this map apparently leads them through every room in the house and makes them collect things from one room and bring them to the next. later when we clean up, I will hear the details from both of them, in case I missed them the first time.
“Helping” me in the yard. When we moved into this house, part of the deal was that it was filled with shit- for lack of a better term. Room after room the carpet was covered in 30 years of cat and dog pee. the previous resident left all kinds of crap behind- furniture, broken appliances, and garbage. We were in a hurry to move in & the guys that were helping us hauled it all to a back corner of the yard and every week I spend a few hours filling up our dumpster to get rid of it all. When I work in the yard, I’m either getting rid of the crap or I’m maintaining our vegetable garden. She likes to “help,” either way. while we’re outside, we discuss the plants and animals we see. it probably lasts about an hour a day.
A bath, after she’s played outside in the afternoon. She enjoys looking at worms and bugs, she’ll pick up a rock to LOOK at the roly-poly bugs underneath, but she doesn’t like touching them. Every time she comes in in the afternoon, she wants to wash her hands and then her feet. When she discovers that she’s mostly wet and cold, she decides to take a bath.
SUGAR- she tends to want a sweet snack after her bath. Usually fruit will do, but if we happen to have other sugars in the house she likes those, too She went through about a week where all she wanted was a spoonful of plain white sugar. that was hard for me, but it passed quickly, thank goodness. Today she’ll probably eat grapes and a spoonful of strawberry jelly.
Unload the dishwasher- She really thinks this is her job. I try to load it while she’s in the tub. It’s not because I want to rob her of hot water, it’s just because she likes to climb inside of it and I kind of enjoy loading it, I listen to my iPod and rock out, trying to invoke a feeling of bliss to be mentally associated with providing my family clean dishes. It’s a lot more fun than grumbling about it. When she helps me unload, I grab all the sharp knives & put them away while she’s walking back & forth with cups & bowls. She likes to do the silverware, pushing a chair up to the counter and placing each piece in its spot. I prefer that she does it, because I tend to just dump it in the drawer)
Caillou or Kipper the Dog- these are her two favorite shows. Sometimes she’ll watch Dora the Explorer, but I think she’s mostly grown out of that now. She watches for about an hour. Sometimes she falls asleep, sometimes she stays awake. I call it her “nap” because she’s restful. Wherever I am, she climbs up to the computer (because that’s where she watches, on Netflix) and yells “MOM, I WA WATCH CAILLOU NOW” and wherever I am in the house, I put it on for her. If there’s an older sister around who can do it, she sometimes tolerates their help. other times, she insists that “Only mommy do” which is fine
After her show is over, it’s usually near dinner time. She’s always “starving, mommy” when I’m cooking, so we sneak little bites of dinner. She pushes a chair over to the counter and “helps” while I try to set aside jobs that she can do. She rarely asks for specific jobs, but when she does, I let her do it. When dinner is served, she always tells the girls “I made dinner for you.”
After dinner, she sometimes goes in for a second bath, sometimes with sisters. If I have the energy, I load the dishwasher again.
When the final bath is over, it’s time for real jammies. She loves bedtime stories, and usually has one picked out before her hair has dried. She tends to fall asleep during stories.
I really honestly have never experienced a terrible 2 yr old. It can’t possibly be genetic, or a coincidence. It HAS to be environmental. Our lifestyle allows them to live at their own pace, 2 yr olds are on a mission. The way she explores her world matters, and having the freedom to do what she wants when she wants, to forge honest relationships with her siblings and live life on her terms really makes her rather agreeable and fun to be around.
This week we had a round of some sort of vomiting bug hit our house. So far actually only 3 of us have been affected, but one was me, so I feel very much attached to this affliction. I really don’t like vomiting, I never did it much while pregnant and I also never really went through any kind of drinking rebellion, so I can’t say I’ve vomited much ever- for any reason- YUCK.
2 year old Evelyn, very tired
I was hunched down, losing my lunch when she runs past, playing. She sees me & says “Awww, you pooking, mommy?” “Yes,” I moan and she replies “Awww, pooking no fun, huh mommy.” “Nope,” I tell her, “it’s no fun at all.”
Each day, she reminds me to be grateful for our freedom, to not get worked up about the stupid things, to embrace whatever may come and to explore the world as if I’ve never seen it before. How can that be terrible?
People always think their dog is the best in the world, but mine really was. He had the most gentle, loving soul. He always let the kids play with him. They’d dress him up and put wigs on his hair. They once gave him rainbow colored streaks with sharpie markers. He was the very best dog a kid could ever have. When someone was sad he’d lay his head on their lap. He was so snuggly.
Today we were headed out the door, like every day, to dance class. My oldest had some follow-up labwork to prove officially that she does not have thyroid issues. Everyone else was just happy to be wearing their St Patrick’s day stuff. Evelyn wasn’t feeling too hot. After she vomited all over me, I ended up wearing a raggedy old sweatshirt. Still, we were off. Except the dog wouldn’t come into the house. I started the car and he hobbled over toward the house. He wasn’t walking straight. Something was wrong. I went over to him, to get him into the house so we could leave and he wouldn’t get up. I tried to lift him & I noticed he wasn’t breathing well. He was filthy. He had mud caked on the side of his face. His mouth was foamy and every labored breath he took was making his lip puff out. He wasn’t responding. He was breathing but in a lot of pain.
I carried him straight to the trunk of the car. He couldn’t stand at all. He whined the entire time. Every time he exhaled it was with extreme pain. It was whiny-bark noise, it was horrible.
We drove straight to the nearest vet. I don’t even know what I said to them, I was so confused. She had a million questions. She wanted to know how old he was and he was born the same week my Madelyn was born, so I said he was 6 but she wrote down 2004 and I was confused. Maddy was born in 2003. It seems like such a stupid thing to correct her for, but I had her change it. I planned to carry him inside, but I was afraid of hurting him even more. The vet’s assistant carried him in and knew instantly that something was terribly wrong. She said there was air under his skin, coming from his lungs. His chest wall had been pierced and his body was filling up with air. Additionally, he’d suffered spinal trauma and he had no feeling in either of his back feet.
His only visible sign of injury was a hole in his cheek. I was thinking maybe he’d been bitten by a rattlesnake or another dog.
He kept looking me in the eyes and I just wanted to tell him to GET THE FUCK UP DAMMIT IT LOVE YOU. And the doctor was basically telling me he’s not going to make it and I didnt’ want to hear it and he kept talking and talking and all I could do was sit there and stare at him in pain, he was in so much pain.
I had to call my husband, I couldn’t do this alone, He’s on location in Alabama right now, filming a movie and I needed him. I felt like I was outside my body telling him “He has a lot of injuries” and “it could cost thousands of dollars” repeating whatever the doctor said.
My husband’s response was to tel the Dr we’ll paywhatever it takes to make him OK. I told the Dr to do the Xray and then we’ll discuss the exact injuries.
It didn’t occur to me that they’d have to sedate him in order to give him an Xray. Did they? I could have guessed that he wouldn’t survive sedation. He was working so hard to breathe, every breath was hard for him. Couldn’t they start treating him without sedation? Without an Xray? I don’t know. I brought the kids into the room, I wanted them to know that this might be the last time they see Charlie alive. I knew they’d be unhappy, but I didn’t want them sitting in the car, wishing they could see him again. I just wanted them to be able to say goodbye. But they didn’t say goodbye.
I said goodbye. He was in so much pain. He was the best dog. I’ve had him longer than I’ve had half my kids.
When they gave him the sedative, we headed home. My intention was to get the kids ice cream, but we didn’t make it all the way when the vet called back to tell us Charlie was dead. Bla bla bla the vet was explaining things to me about bla bla bla, my dog was broken in so many places. My heart was just plain hollow. My kids were moaning with sadness. I had to call my husband and tell him.
We got home & went upstairs to mourn in the middle kids’ bedroom. After some sobbing, I hear a honk out front.
We live on a country road. There’s only 2 houses past ours, so I knew that if he’d been hit it was one of our neighbors.
Sure enough, there’s a neighbor in the driveway. It was the nice family, not the cranky old man. They wanted to know if the dog was OK. I said “No, he’s dead.” and there really wasn’t much else to say. I wasn’t angry with the neighbor for hitting the dog, I’m sure it was an accident. I just want my dog back. I just want my dog back.
And part of me feels so stupid for being so sad about it. I have friends who have lost babies, husbands, parents and siblings. I should be glad, right? I should be glad that all I’ve lost is my dog. Well, I’m not. I want my dog back. I just want to hug him and hold him and snuggle with him some more. I just want my kids to be able to play with him again. I just want him back. Video of Charlie, playing with Meagan. This must have been taken at our old house, after the remodel & before the foreclosure. Happy days.
Watching kids learn naturally is one of the most amazing things in the world. Today Gabriella asked how much a plane ticket was. I said about $400. Within minutes she had found several ways to calculate what it would cost for our family to fly somewhere.
We were in the car, so she pointed to each seat and said 4, 8, 12, 16, 20, 24, 28, 32 hundreds, so three thousand two hundred.
There are three seats in the back row and three seats in the middle row and two seats up front, so in our car there’s a seat for each family member. So she added up 1200 in the back row, 1200 in the middle row and 800 in the front row. the two 12’s make 24 and 6 more would be 30 with 2 leftover from the 8 so that’s 3200
Since there are 8 of us, she decided to add eight 400 times, but that would be way too complicated, so she just added 800 four times and got 3200.
In the end, she said “figuring things out like that is like addictive. No matter how many ways I think of it it comes out the same. Try it, mom. So we experimented with a few more ways to figure out $400×8.
And this was all within a fifteen minute time period. She also calculated how much we’d pay for ice cream for our whole carload, at 50 cents each. When the total came and it was different than she expected, she figured out the tax percentage based upon the new total.
It was $2.50 for the ice cream and 21 cents for the tax, so each dollar must have a little more than 8 cents tax because we have two and a half dollars so that’s like five halves and each halfdollar would take up four cents so there would be 8 cents for every dollar which is 8 percent, but there’s still that penny leftover. Is there something smaller than a penny? “Only in taxes,” I tell her.
Discovery Health recently aired a special called “Radical Parenting” where they profiled three “extreme” families. One was an Attachment parenting mom, who spoke about extended nursing, co-sleeping and elimination communication. Another was a feminist mom who took care not to expose her sons to the idea that toys, clothes and colors had sexual connotations. The other was a radical unschooler, who (you should know this if you’re reading me regularly…) allows their children to create their own lives, giving them the tools they need to explore their world and not placing arbitrary rules and consequences upon them.
The general consensus is that the first two families are OK, but those unschoolers are just plain crazy. Oh what I wouldn’t have given 16 years ago to hear a “general consensus” that Attachment Parenting wasn’t too extreme.
There’s a dangerous misconception among parents that “people who make decisions different than mine don’t care about their kids.”
It’s really a harmful way to look at other families.
EVERY parent, even the most abusive and negligent ones, care about their kids. I remember once seeing a documentary where a couple who’d been in prison for child abuse, was being interviewed about their case.
The children had been starved and locked in a closet for days, as punishment. After several years of imprisonment, they still cared. On either side of a split screen, the woman said “I just didn’t know any other way, I know it sounds crazy.” and the man, in another prison across the state said “I just hope they’re OK now, wherever they are. I hope they’re healthy and I hope one day they forgive us.”
The reporter said that the children were in foster care and that the couple would never legally be allowed to see them again, even after serving their 50 year sentence. There were 3 kids in the family and the youngest one, just 3, had died at the hands of his parent’s abuse.
Their pain was obvious. They cared.
When I watched the show, I was crying. “How could they do such a thing?” I wanted to believe they were monsters. I wanted to believe in a satan, surely this meek sad woman couldn’t really have done this.
Pictures of the family were shown in negative colors, with an eerie sound effect; an editing choice that I’m sure was designed to hide the fact that they looked like a normal family at the river, playing in the water. or maybe it was designed to emphasize their normal-look.
Disgusted with myself for even wondering, I tried to imagine how I’d feel if I didn’t see my kids for 50 years. I decided that without a doubt, I’d think about them every day. For several years, it haunted me that the last words of the woman’s interview were “I think about them each day” and her sobbing faded into the same eerie music.
Yet, acknowledging that even the most horrible parents still love their children, or still care about them after killing them, is socially unacceptable. We must call them names and look scornfully upon them. It isn’t bad enough that they learned abusive patterns from their parents, grew up to become addicted to prescription drugs as well as meth and ended up destroying their own family and losing everything they love in the process.
In a culture where people toss around cliches like “We aways hurt the ones we love” it’s not surprising to see a general parenting philosophy that says it’s OK to hurt little kids. What is surprising is when people don’t connect that the abusive parent is simply a extension of the same philosophy that says kids’ feelings are irrelevant; raised to believe that they’re worthless, they grow up to treat children as if they have no value.
If only this couple could have remembered who they were before their strange lives had hardened them. If only they hadn’t been “trained up” in the way that they went. If only they’d been allowed to develop into the selves that they were the day they were born, helpless, dependent, grateful and free.
The woman in Texas who drowned her children when her prescription for anti-depressants wasn’t renewed, she cared about her kids. Andrea something. In court, once her meds were stabilized, she sobbed with remorse. Her pain was undeniable. She didn’t care about her sentence, everything she cared about was gone.
As a mother, I expect that if I ever lose a child, the world will huddle around me to give me strength and love, and make sure I’m OK. She didn’t get that. Some say she doesn’t deserve it. I say she’s human, and failing to show her compassion only furthers the negativity and insensitivity that breeds baby killers.
So when I see parents accusing other parents of “not caring about” their kids, it pisses me off.
They care. With every fiber of their being, these parents who drop their infants off at daycare STILL care. Those parents who decide not to breastfeed before their child is even born, they still care. Those parents who carry their 5 yr olds, kicking and screaming to the school bus STILL care. Those parents who force their kids to memorize the state capitols and finish their math before they play outside, STILL care. Those parents who do things differently than we do STILL care.
Every parent cares.
Creating walls between acceptable and unacceptable behavior makes it impossible to understand where unacceptable behavior comes from. Behavior doesn’t just “happen.” People don’t do things for no reason. No behavior is “just a decision,” it’s ALL shaping our children’s lives and the collective consciousness of the next few generations.
And as much as we like to think that we make parenting decisions “based upon what we think is best” for our families, the truth is that we make our decisions based upon what we believe about the world and human nature.
When parents discuss their differing decisions, a common way to end the conversation is by saying “Well, this is what works best for our family” but that doesn’t change the fact that there’s a good chance that both parties walk away thinking the other one “just doesn’t care.” Of course they care, they just don’t CARE to live in the same reality as you.
Parents who feel that children are lowly and inferior will make different decisions than parents who believe humans are born with inner wisdom, and are equals.
Parents who believe that the world is a scary and dangerous place will make different parenting decisions than parents who believe that the world is amazing.
ALL of these parents, though, care about their kids
Our culture’s current practice of targeting social outreach programs at the impoverished puts the blame for social ills on people’s income. But that’s not the whole story. People aren’t “who they are” because their income is lower or higher than anyone else’s. People are “who they are” because of what they believe about themselves and the world. Denying that our culture and its acceptable parenting practices influence a child’s beliefs about themselves does a huge disservice to an entire generation. Especially when we allow governments and corporations to create programs that change the way impoverished parents and children interact.
Imagine growing up to believe that you’re screwed. No matter what you do, you’re going to end up with cancer because everyone on your mom’s side has it. And you’ll probably be an alcoholic because everyone on your dad’s side was one. And there’s diabetes all throughout your family history. You probably won’t finish college because you had premarital sex and go ahead and enjoy all that hair on your head because you’ll be bald by the time you’re 30.
These are the things we tell kids nowadays. Nevermind that cancer, alcoholism and diabetes can be prevented and that sex is a normal thing for humans to do. As far as baldness goes, some people think it’s sexy.
What does this have to do with abuse and parenting and education and peace? Everything and nothing.
Everything because our culture retrains human instinct by telling kids that their desire to run and play and be with their mommies is irrelevant. Parenting practices which our culture readily accepts, allow for different variations of this harmful philosophy. Whether it’s forcing a newborn to cry it out, forcing a toddler into a corner for time-out, forcing teens to deny their sexual desire or forcing new mothers to sleep in a room away from their infants.
Parents care. But mixed cultural messages, combined with early experiences that teach us to ignore our natural instincts, screw it all up.
And it has NOTHING to do with abuse, because humans are flexible. Even someone who has been raised in an abusive situation can DECIDE to retrain themselves as parents. We have a choice. The same decision-making skills that allow generations of families to hurt the children they love can be harnessed to CHANGE the way they react under stress.
This is why manipulating little children is so dangerous. it trains kids to stop believing they have a choice. Look at your friends, the ones who suffer the most. I have a friend on Facebook whose daily status updates reflect the most pathetic and miserable of diatribes. Every Monday she’s upset about going to work and every morning she hates waking up and she’s always in conflict about her relationships with family and friends and every few days there’s something to indicate that she “has no choice.” Sometimes I want to scream at her “SHUT UP- CHOOSE ANOTHER WAY.” but other friends are more tolerant, offering advice and ideas for her, which she shrugs away, content to be the victim, always.
As a mom, I mostly don’t ever want my kids to think they have “no choice but to suffer.” So I try to always make sure they know that their life and happiness are in their hands. It’s not my job to “make them happy” but since I love them, I want them to be happy. I try not to deliberately do things that I know are bothersome. I wouldn’t like it if someone were so indifferent to my happiness. When they are unhappy, they know they can come to me for ideas and a discussion about “different ways to look at the situation.” If there’s something specific that I can do, I’m eager to do it. Ultimately, I want them to know that their happiness is in their hands, not in the future. Happiness doesn’t need to be earned. Happiness in the future needn’t come from misery today.
My husband and I were definitely not raised the way we are raising our kids. We’ve made a conscious decision to use a different, less restrictive approach. On a daily basis we discuss the events in our family and compare our initial reactions and our retrospective analysis of the situation. We try to guide ourselves by memories of how we felt as kids, the input we get from the children about their feelings and perceptions, and a sense of freedom that we enjoy determining our own lives and want them to do the same. We’ve come to encourage one another’s parental growth. I have things I’m working on and he has things he’s working on.
Some other parent may look upon us and say “Their daughter isn’t wearing shoes, they must not care.” but that’s not the case at all. We choose to not battle over shoes. Chances are, the shoes are in my purse in case she changes her mind, but don’t say I don’t care. And when you’re fighting with your child about tying their shoes, I won’t say that you don’t care either. Because judgments like that harden us, making us immune to the suffering of another and unwilling or unable to lend a hand, creating dividing lines that don’t need to exist. We’re all humans.
I leave you with a quote from Suzanne Arms
“If we hope to create a non-violent world where respect and kindess replace fear and hatred, we must begin with how we treat each other at the beginning of life. For that is where our deepest patterns are set. From these roots grow fear and alienation or love and trust.”
and another quote from grown-up-and-unschooled Emily Williams
The real world puts the power in your hands, whether you like it or not! If you’ve been TOLD what to do your whole life, how do you make a decision for yourself? Do you have the ability to follow you heart? Or has it been programmed out of you because fear of failure?”
The kids got some money from their Grandma recently and Grace (4) spent her money in the store of Emilee (16) & Meagan (13). Emilee & Meagan tend to set aside some trinkets and things they know the little kids will like and when the little kids get any money, the older girls will sell things to them.
I used to get so annoyed that they were taking advantage of the little ones. I recently came to my senses, though. If they’re happy with their purchase, what business is it of mine? As they get older they will understand the value of their money without my mistrust, and they will demand better “deals” and make smarter purchasing decisions. Or not. Either way, what business is it of mine to interfere?
Today Grace bought a little wooden box from Emilee. She wants to get a pet mouse to live in it. One of the first things she had to do , though, was to paint the box. She asked me if she could paint it and I really didn’t give it much thought,except to say “please clean up the paint when you’re done.” When she was done, it took me less than 5 minutes to wipe up the paint and make sure the lids were on tight.
She’s also what some might call a picky eater. Her eating schedule is just a little bit different than everyone else in our house. So she never seems to be hungry when we’re eating- she uses that time to make all kinds of art. Because of this, I save her a plate for when she’s hungry, otherwise she’d eat nothing but jelly sandwiches all day.
Grace is 4 and she loves Microsoft paint on the computer. She creates these little drawings and each has a name and a story. Sometimes it takes her a while to think of a name and when she does, they’re very very cute. Files we saved today were called “Sparkling love for Maddy,” “Colored mommy surprise,” and “Pancake man with a big happy smile.”
Today when I was cutting the crust from Grace’s sandwich, I realized that I’ve come a long way. I never cut off crusts for my older kids. I used to shy away from the idea that kids’ preferences mattered. It’s accepted, in our culture, to dismiss the wishes of children by placing ourselves upon a pedestal.
I grew up so often hearing things like “Yeah right, like I’m going to cut the crust off your sandwich? Do I look like a slave? When I was your age, we had to eat the crust or we’d starve. Cut off your own crust. Or better yet, learn to like the crust, otherwise I’m not making you sandwiches anymore.” Imagine how that would feel, though. Imagine if you were in a restaurant and the cook came out of the kitchen to tel you that. You’d be a bit offended. You certainly wouldn’t choose to dine there again, at least I wouldn’t.
I have to give a product recommendation here. We go through jelly because we have 6 kids, y’know. Plus, I like jelly, too. But we gave up on Smuckers and even generic brands because they all had high fructose corn syrup in them. I could find teeny jars of sugar-only or no-sweetener-added or (God forbid) artificially sweetened (which I never once did buy) but this Danish Farms makes the most delicious strawberry preserves. Basically, it’s nothing but the chunks. It comes in a little blue bucket.
With this stuff, you don’t make a sandwich, bite several bites and every now & then say “mmm, I just got a strawberry.” These guys put ginormous whole berries in every bite. So you know that they’re not physically over-processed, they’re intact, recognizable. It’s the absolute most delicious thing. And it’s only $1 or $2 more than the big jars with hfcs in it. I think this summer we’ll try mashing fresh strawberries for sandwiches
So anyway, I’m downstairs in the kitchen with Evelyn. We’re cleaning up the dinner mess and she wants a little more rice. I’m putting the leftovers in a divided plate for a midnight snack or Grace’s dinner. She hadn’t eaten yet. I got everything cleaned up and Grace came in. She was hungry, so she sat up at the table with Evelyn eating a late-night dinner. The two shared a plate and had a very sweet conversation. “You getting dat bite?” “Its yummy?” “You want my chicken?” “You yike yours rice?” I kept the dishwater running really low so I could hear their sweet little voices.
When I put away the hot sauce, I noticed the awesome jelly in the fridge and was so excited about how delicious it looked that I pointed it out to both girls and offered them a jelly sandwich. I wanted a pb& j but they prefer their peanut butter by the spoon, not on bread with jelly. It’s one of their favorite meals. A few years ago, I would have said “No way. You’re not eating a jelly sandwich. That’s not a meal.”
They each wanted half a sandwich. Grace, I noticed, used to insist upon two breads. She saw me making two-bread sandwiches for the older girls and felt ripped-off for a while. I think she’s noticed though, that she can’t ever really eat a two-bread sandwich. I’m glad I never told her “No, you can’t eat that much.” When she first asked for two-bread sandwiches, she got annoyed with me for offering her a choice. So I stopped offering her a choice. I made absolutely no issue about the size sandwich she was asking for, it was a completely struggle-less transition. I learned to wait until she was done and add some peanut butter to the leftover half for myself. Or just get over it and throw it away. Often, she’d want it wrapped up for later, until she discovered that jelly sandwiches aren’t that yummy leftover.
She was experimenting with a different sandwich size and learned that it was too much for her. I never once said “Are you sure you can eat two” The only time I’d do that was if we were just about out of bread. She hates the crust, so I couldn’t even turn around the butt-end of the bread.
The girls enjoyed sharing a sandwich together, especially the tasty jelly chunks. I brought them milk in their favorite cups and Evelyn was the first to say “gankgoo mommy”
After they ate, Grace went upstairs to paint again while Evelyn wanted to drink some water. It took her a while to get the water bottle out of the case, it was the last one. I could almost see the wheels turning in her head as she stuck her arm in and out of it, pick it up & shook it, tried turning it over. She didn’t want help and I was cleaning anyway.
After she got the water bottle out, she danced a little dance of joy while I opened the lid and she took a few sips. She wanted me to put the lid on and take it off in between each sip. I only groaned a little bit. The sound of her voice and her happy little face when we’re communicating with each other is so very sweet and addictive. Dishes can wait.
After she takes her last sip (apparently she needed 4 of them) she sang and danced. She made up a little song on the spot about a ducky shhleepling (which means sleeping) I can’t even say it had a tune, but her voice was raised at a very high pitch and she stretched out certain random syllables of a few words. Every now and then she’d catch me looking at her and smiling and she’d blush a little and then sing louder.
After a while she stopped and said “Joo hear my song mommy? Joo hear me sing dat song mommy? I singed dddduuuuuucckkkkyyyyy song mommy. I singed ducky schleeeeepling, OK” Yes- I tell her. “I heard your little song about the ducky sleeping, that was cute. Did you have fun?”
It’s really cute when she says her name. “I Evie” or “I Evelyn” So today Meagan asked her “Who are you?” She got a sly look on her face and said “I Effalint” (which is actually elephant) I was surprised. “You don’t look like an elephant, you look like a little girl.” “No I just lying.” I was amused that she knew the word lying, we don’t use it much around here. I asked “You’re a lion?” “No, I lying. I sayed me EFFALINT.” She sure set me straight.
We’re interrupted. Gabriella comes in to tel us that Grace is so cute painting her little box upstairs.
A few years ago, when Grace (now 4) was a baby I drove all 5 kids down to California. I was a bit nervous about being 1200 miles from home and not having another adult to share road-trip responsibilities. Think about it; every potty break for 1200 miles involved unbuckling 3 kids in car seats and bringing 6 people into a public bathroom. We had a blast, though. We had a cooler filled with car snacks, we made a CD of the kids’ favorite music and we stayed overnight at a hotel with a swimming pool. I wasn’t even gone one night, though when I started missing my husband.
Valentine's Chocolate for Kids
He was building our second restaurant and spent over 12 hours a day, 7 days a week on construction. My mission in California was to pick up a uhaul trailer, a pizza prep fridge, empty our storage unit (collecting dust for 8 years), spend a week at a beach house in San Diego with my Dad and attend my sister’s wedding.
The trip was a big deal for me, being alone and fully responsible for all 5 kids, missing my husband and visiting family alone was strange. Checking into a hotel as the only adult with 5 kids was strange, renting a uHaul trailer was strange. These were grown-up things that I just had never done before, alone.
The time we spent at the beach was wonderful. My Dad and step mom are amazing, two of my favorite people in the world. When they married, He had two teenage daughters (me & my sister) and she had two teenage sons and a 7 yr old daughter. We’re all grown now, that week at the beach was so much fun, I’d never even met my brothers’ wives before and since then they’ve each had babies.
At my sister’s wedding I was in an odd mood. I was missing my husband and a little annoyed with my sister’s obsessive attention to detail. She wasn’t a bridezilla, but I still wasn’t very tolerant of her that weekend. Somehow dressing and grooming myself plus 5 children seemed a little more worthy-of-whining than whatever she was complaining about. I think I held it together, I kept telling myself “That’s just how she is” and “Her intentions are pure.” She wasn’t trying to stress anyone out, she just wanted things perfect. She’s changed so much since she’s become a mother. I hope now that she rolls with the punches a little better.
Valentines for my Kids
It was wonderful being there with my sister & mother. Before that point, it had been years since I’d seen her and many more years since I’d seen the two of them together. The late nights we spent at my sister’s house that weekend will never be forgotten, we played games, chatted (was there wine?- so much for remembering) and my kids entertained us. Still- the mood was weird; away from home, alone with all the kids, seeing people I hadn’t seen in forever. It was just a weird mood.
At the reception (which was lovely) my dad made a speech that’s echoed back to me so many times. Perhaps my weird mood made it stick in my mind. Either way, my Dad is a really good speaker. I I wish I’d inherited that trait. He knows how to keep a crowd’s attention, how to tell a story and how to stay on topic. He starts off entertaining and ends with applause, every time. He’s always done well in sales and never had trouble with the ladies.
Dad & Vicki went through 3 different spouses (collectively) until they found one another. His speech (or was it a toast?) mainly said that it’s important to show people how much you love them.
“Every day I try to out-love her and every day she beats me at it. One day I get up to make her breakfast and she’s got my breakfast & coffee on a tray, my computer fired up for work and my favorite towel hanging in the bathroom.” (And my quote may totally be remembered wrong, but that’s close enough)
I knew they were very loving, several years ago I remember her staring into his eyes and saying “I’d eat bees for you, babe” and it was the sweetest thing.
Anyway, that speech and the idea of competitive love-showing has brought me so much joy over the past few years.
I used to think divorce was a sign of failure. I used to think it was awful, giving up like that. In spite of that belief, whenever our marriage was in trouble I’d always be the one who wanted to run away. I think Dad’s speech, and the echo of it playing in my head for 4 years, has made a big difference.
It was such a profound idea, the idea of constantly showing love, that it took him 3 marriages to figure it out. Everything happens for a reason and I think, today, that every spouse and ex-spouse in my parental background is better off, shaped by the people they’ve chosen to love. I’m no longer feeling critical of their “failed” marriages because the things they learned about themselves, about love and about life are successes, by any measure.
I’m also no longer compelled to feel “unloved” by my husband whenever we disagree. It took a lot of fighting for us to come to a place of constant communication, but we’re here. Fighting isn’t failing, it’s just an aggressive attempt to learn how to get along. In every fight, isn’t there a seed of wanting peace?
Our kids have taught us the value of constantly showing our love, too. Love letters are always being exchanged in our house. A couple months ago I bought a few heart-shaped platters. They were a hit; whenever I serve food on them the kids think it’s special. My mom gifted the children with their own teeny little mailboxes and they’re always sending each other love notes.
This year for Valentine’s day I picked up a sake set covered in hearts for the kids. We’re going to have a tea party (because they love tea parties) I doubt these dishes will ever see real sake, but the kids will love that the cups are teeny and the hearts will remind them that they are loved.
Maybe some day my husband and I will go out for a romantic Valentine’s Day Dinner. There’s plenty of time for that when the kids are grown. Until then, we’re surrounded by love, and the little picture of my sister’s wedding serves as a reminder each time I see it that maybe, if I get up early enough and don’t get caught, I can sneak in more love-showing than anyone in the family. Because that’s how I want to roll.
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Here are a few sample love letters I’m using for my kids. I’ve tried to steer clear of labeling “you’re so ____” and make them expressions of love, rather than pride. Enjoy…
Dear_________,
I love you. I’m having a lot of fun being your mommy. I like the stories you tell me and I’m glad you enjoy your new haircut. I’m looking forward to many more years as your mommy.
Dear________,
Happy Valentine’s Day. I wanted to tell you that I’m glad to be your mommy. I noticed that you enjoy chocolate, so I hope you like this gift. Thank you for being my kid.
Dear _________,
Hello, this is mom. I have a message for you. You are special to me. Every day I am happy to have you in our family. I hope you are happy to be here, too.
Dear________,
I’ve had so much fun watching you grow up. You might think you have a lot to learn, but I am learning so much from you. We can never know what lies ahead, only what lies within and I’ve noticed that within you, you have so many gifts and talents. Watching you use them and share them with the world is truly one of the best things about being a mother.
Dear_______,
Thank you for being you. I know it sounds lame, but sometimes you are exactly who I need to be around. I’m so glad that you share so much of your life and your thoughts with me. I might tease you about talking so much, but to be honest, no day would be complete without your narrative. I love listening to the way you think and your perceptions about the world. Every day, you amaze me with your insights, I’m very lucky to be learning from you.
Valentines for Teens
So what are you doing to show your kids love this Valentine’s Day? I used to be annoyed with Hallmark and retailers for commercializing Valentine’s Day. I used to feel that they “took the meaning away” by including loves other than romantic love. I feel so differently today, though. Love knows no limits, the show of love should also be limitless. Romantic love grows into big family love, if you’re lucky.
My 2 yr old is reaching for a basket. She’s in my arms and it’s just out of her reach. She grunts and says “Help me reach it mommy” (but not like that, it’s more like 2 words “hewlpme reachitmommy”) and I lean over so she can reach.
I discover she was really reaching for the crochet hook inside. It’s hooked around one of the basket’s bottom pieces of straw, so the basket comes, too. She laughs “gottit bakstick mommy” and I turn to see why she’s laughing. She’s fumbling to get the basket off the hook.
I’d rather her play with the basket than the hook. It looks like she’s caught a fish. I tell her so and she thinks it’s funny.
She frees the crochet hook and looks in the basket. (which seems way more fun than the hook now, luckily) There’s nothing in there, obviously. She gives me a funny look. “Got fish in there?” She asks me. I said “You do?” and she decides that this is fun and plays along.
“Yeah, I got jellyfish in there, hold it.” I had a traumatic jellyfish issue in Hawaii when I was 9. Portugese man-o-wars, to be exact. I strung them all over my arms and stomped around the beach like a sea monster. A few hours later I was soaking in the tub with herbs and potions under the supervision of the local witch doctor, waiting for the swelling to go down and for signs of emergency, which would involve an air lift to the hospital. It wasn’t much fun. Nor was it fun that my Grandma stood over in the doorway, alerting everyone in the neighborhood that my breasts had begun to develop. To this day, I think she scared them. I’m not messing with jellyfish, I tell my daughter.
“No way, jellyfish sting, I don’t want to hold jellyfish.” “Oh” she looks down, a little dismayed, so I suggest she catches another kind of fish. She dumps the jellyfish back into the imaginary sea and catches “nahwahn fish” (another one fish) to show me. We admire the fish. it’s wet and floppy. She says that it “yooks yummy” but I’m not so easily convinced. She wants to go upstairs and show the girls. But first, she dumps out the new fish in order to catch more jellyfish.
So I go upstairs with her because it’s time for the nightly bedtime ritual anyway. I’ve mentioned before that we don’t have bedtimes, instead we just hang out and the kids still fall asleep.
Just because we don’t have a bedtime, it doesn’t mean we don’t go to bed, and it doesn’t mean we don’t have similar bedtime rituals. Ours are just more fun
Generally, We snuggle in on the 9 yr old’s bed, I go through a nightly checklist “did you brush your teeth?” and when the answer isn’t “yes of course” I sometimes ask “are you going to?” (only one sometimes doesn’t want to. A piggyback ride down the stairs usually solves it, she doesn’t like to be downstairs alone) Then we make sure feet are clean, especially in the summer. We make sure jammies are on, I collect the dirty clothes basket, helping make sure their toy are put away and sometimes we watch a movie.
The other day we had a great time making friendship bracelets. Sometimes we just tell stories or play word games or board games. Usually we read books, They each pick one (because I can guarantee I won’t fall asleep through 1 book each. If I’m still conscious when those are done, I’ll read more. The limit of 1 book is imposed because I tend to fall asleep reading and jumble the words, which the find amusing until they discover I can’t read anymore.
Tonight, I went in to escort Evelyn & her jellyfish, then read to them (not knowing exactly what was in store, I never do).
When we reached the top of the stairs, she goes in to my 16 yr old’s room first. “Embahlee, yookit, i got jellyfish. see jellyfish. yookit me bakstick (basket)” and she proceeds to show Emilee her basket and Emilee is notably impressed. Then we head out (cordial goodbyes and goodnights included) While I’m busy giving Emilee a goofy look, Evelyn is yelling to me from the hall “gum on mommy yets go” We arrive into the younger girl’s room and Evelyn goes from girl to girl, telling them about her jellyfish. They’re almost completely ignoring her and she’s annoyed, so I announce out loud. “Evelyn has caught some jellyfish in her basket and came all the way upstairs to show you girls.”
Within 5 minutes, we’re all sitting on the bed, pretending to catch fish in the ocean from our boat (the bed).
So yes, it’s true. We don’t have bedtimes.
But we do have bedtime rituals, which consist of enjoying each moment together until our bodies would rather sleep.
We sing songs, we make art projects, we watch documentaries, web videos, broadway shows and silent movies and old musicals or music videos, we draw or write or work out puzzles in schoolbooks or coloring books. Our bedtime stories, when we read them (sometimes 20 minutes a day, sometimes 90 minutes, sometimes zero minutes a day, even a week at times) may be fiction or nonfiction, color or black and white, classic or new or used, bought with allowance or given as a gift. They may be bestsellers, and sometimes they suck. Sometimes they’re not even in English, or a language we understand. It’s not about the books, it’s about the time we spend together. And falling asleep should be a pleasant part of one’s day.
So no, we don’t have a bedtime and we don’t fight about going to sleep. I’m not concerned about their sleeping habits because I don’t make a habit of scheduling things that will interfere with their natural sleepy times.
I’m not afraid that they won’t “learn to sleep” because they already know how to sleep. I don’t feel the need to manipulate their sleep times. It’s exhausting enough keeping up with their awake times.
After the deep-sea fishing expedition, we settled down. When the girls agreed upon tonight’s bedtime plan, we were to watch Dora the Explorer, then the 2nd half of Hannah Montana (they fell asleep last time, so we agreed that we’d have to watch the rest tonight)
The kids laughed at me when I mistakenly referred to “The Hoedown Throw Down” as “The Barnyard Stomp.” I was impressed that they knew the entire dance. That’s Gabriella’s favorite song. Because Gabriella got to play her favorite song for me, we needed to play Madelyn’s, too. She’s 6 and teeny, shrimpy, petite and squeaky. But she knows all the words to “The Climb” and I really had to fight back the tears. Who knew Hannah Montana had such a positive message? I sure hope she maintains her good-girl image.
Anyway, I asked the girls where they wanted the dolls (because the bed was covered with barbies, all of whom were arranged in rows, with swimsuits and beach blankets (made of socks and washcloths)
Grace swooshed them all off the bed into a pile in one motion. I started picking them up & said “Which toybox do these belong in?’ and Gabriella (not at all offended by Grace’s swooshing, by the way) said “They don’t go in a toybox, mom. They have a life, you know. They each go to their own houses, and she proceeded to place them all over the room, carefully into lifelike positions. The other girls seemed to know where each doll’s house is and what position they should be in. Most of the dolls were in beds, but some were sitting and reading, others were on their computer, one had to get in the car & drive all night to get to the airport and some were on the phone (presumably with each other)
The putting Barbies “away” took about ten minutes and when it was complete, I asked that the light be turned off so we could watch the movie. Someone pushed play & we watched the rest of the film, snuggled in together. By the time it ended, only I was awake.
I headed downstairs feeling like the luckiest mom in the world. When I hear other moms say “I know you don’t have a bedtime but I need to put my kids to bed at 7:30 or I will go crazy” I just shake my head. I’m not sure what they picture, but nothing is more fun or relaxing than allowing sleep to come, giving in to what the children want and just being present with them, approaching the end of the day with love and patience, allowing things to be put in order and letting love define the time, rather than the clock.
So what if it was almost 10:30 when I left their room. Instead of going in at 6am to wake them up (before the sun rises) for school, I get to sip my coffee (relishing one of the rare silent moments in my day) tiptoe in and kiss their foreheads. I get to make pancakes in peace and quiet, wondering which child will wake up to the smell & greet me with stinky kisses first. I’m not a morning person. Peacefulness and love, to begin and end each day, that’s what I need for my sanity.
I really love it when I realize I’m failing at something because it gives me a clear and present opportunity to improve. Seriously.
So a friend of mine, who is enrolled in a political science class, emails me to send me a quote from a Supreme court judge who is dealing with a case where a high school student was suing for a 1st amendment violation. The quote is:
when States developed public education systems in the early 1800’s, no one doubted the government’s ability to educate and discipline children as private schools did. Like their private counterparts, early public schools were not places for freewheeling debates or exploration of competing ideas. Rather, teachers instilled “a core of common values” in students and taught them self-control. Reese 23; A. Potter & G. Emerson, The School and the Schoolmaster: A Man-ual 125 (1843) (“By its discipline it contributes, insensibly, to generate a spirit of subordination to lawful authority, a power of self-control, and a habit of postponing present indulgence to a greater future good . . .”
By that measure, apparently, schools really are succeeding. They’re reaching their initial goal, as planned, to raise generations of Americans who don’t debate or ask questions, blindly trusting their leadership. So there it is.
Me being me, however, I kept replaying the words in my mind throughout the day, emphasizing each syllable differently, to see if the meaning could possibly be anything else, more innocent, more sinister, ANYTHING.
I’m moving through my “tasks-I-do-when-the-kids-are-very-involved-in-something” like hanging the laundry and doing the dishes. The kids were making miniature books upstairs, measuring, cutting, planning, designing… I overhear a fight between the girls and I listen long enough to get the gist of it and then I head upstairs to “say something.”
I swear, I should just keep my mouth shut. Why am I homeschooling when words of wisdom like this can extinguish any debate and communication that my kids DESERVE to engage in. Here’s what I said:
“I am sure that when she called it her room she wasn’t trying to minimize the fact that it’s your room, too. Stop picking apart every word that she says and trying to make it into a fight. So she said it was her room. Big deal. it’s your room, too. And just because she says “my room” that doesn’t make it any less “your room”
Then I went downstairs. Surely in my wake they were filed with peacefulness at having the situation resolved, right? Fat chance.
So in one bossy-mom-sick-of-hearing-the-arguing-incident, I managed to squash one of my favorite personal traits, and that is the picking-apart-of-language-to-get-the-deeper-meaning and also, standing up for oneself, defending property and debating semantics…. all of it, out the window, just because my sensitive ears were bothered.
Debate is so very important for civilized society. I hate conflict, my sister and I fought a lot as kids. Is there a link? We always got in trouble for fighting. Does that matter? As a mom I am always wanting to protect my kids (even from one another), but when I look back at my childhood, I don’t remember very much fighting. I don’t think I was as much influenced by the fights as I was by the feeling that “fighting is bad.”
I am so sick, today, of examining every thought I have in order to determine whether or not it’s worth keeping or tossing. The inclination to squash their fights and sort things out for them definitely needs to go. Sibling rivalry is totally a healthy way to learn about communication. Animal siblings do it and humans should, too.
Had their fight continued, they both might have come away with a deeper understanding of the need to communicate precisely. They might have physically hurt one another. They might have come away bitter about the distinction between mine and yours. they might have revisited the argument months later when the other sister made the dire mistake of saying “my room” instead of “our room” or perhaps the room-claimer would have been able to explain her way out of it, or apologize. Either way. I shouldn’t have stepped in. Kids have the right to communicate their feelings with one another honestly and openly. The best thing I can probably do for them is to model communication skills. Eventually, they’ll copy. I see this every day, they copy my good and my bad “behavior.”
This is their journey, not mine. If they feel the need to say hurtful things to one another, they deserve to see the honest result of that decision, not ME standing there, passing judgment upon their character, criticizing their instinctive communication, evaluating their worth, or predicting a life of misery.
I reserve the right, though, to call it like I see it. Instead of “seeing” a fight that needs resolved, I could have chosen to see “kids that could use some apple juice” and shouted upstairs to see who wants some.
While I probably won’t be marching upstairs to force peace upon them anymore (especially if I get an ipod for Xmas) I can totally discuss conflict resolution methods with them during peaceful times. In fact, we do that all the time.
This is where media comes in. Books, television and movies are filled with conflict and almost always, the viewers can think of different ways that the main character could have handled the situation.
The Thomas Jefferson method of homeschooling, which, along with the trivium, is the backbone for all classical education curricula, is highly dependent upon discussion. That’s right, talking. Our house sounds like a hen house sometimes with all of the girls involved in lengthy debates over the books they’re reading or the movies they’ve seen.
(Hey- another reason I need an ipod, my older girls & I can listen to audio books)
Anyway- the literature and books you read, discuss and debate become part of you. Some families use this as an excuse for limiting the books they allow their children to readfall in love with learn from. A lady in our local homeschool group wouldn’t let her son read Harry Potter because of this. I’m so NOT into censorship, and I believe that there’s good to be found in everything. We loved Harry Potter, and saw every movie the minute it opened, waited in line at midnight for the books to be released (in costume, no less) Our debates and discussions about the HP series were fantastic, and none of us came away with thoughts of malice. How could we?
So if anyone can name a book or movie where the characters debate everything based upon the meanings of the words, something that my 9 and 6-yr-olds would appreciate, then please let me know. Because this is the depth of how far I feel comfortable intervening. I can’t wait to look back & say “remember when you girls used to fight about every single word.” Hopefully the end result will be a deep and full understanding of the workings of language and increased, tried-and-tested communication skills.
And the pointless after-words: (because I don’t “do” short stories very well) is that on November 19th he went in and once January rolls around we can be quite sure and positive that every last one of them will be gone and we can MOVE ON from this phase in life (as much as we love it, of course)
Trying to explain to the kids was funny, though. They like to wrestle with him and jump on him. Madelyn (6) was worried to pieces when she heard he had surgery, she thought for sure there was something wrong. I mean, people don’t just GET surgery for no reason, right?
And Grace (4) was concerned that we “didn’t want any more kids.” She thought we were saying that we “don’t want kids anymore” and she was crying, she said “But we still want you” and it was the most adorable, pathetic thing, she just about broke my heart.
I spent some time reassuring her and explaining it a little more, I am sure that she understands better now. It’s just a reminder to take the time to communicate with kids (to their understanding) and to stay “connected” to be sure that they’re feeling secure and safe.
So anyway- that’s the biggest thing I am thankful for. Here are a few others:
1- I’m grateful for the luxury to work from home, control my own income and set my own hours, I wish I could share that with more moms.
2- I’m grateful that even though our families are all so far away, we’re able to keep in touch over Facebook and the kids can have relationships with our families, too even though we rarely see them in real life.
3- I’m grateful for my kids who are so fun to be around. Nothing is more fun than watching them grow up and embrace this amazing world that we live in. I love their righteous indignation at the world’s injustices. I love their questioning nature, grilling me for details so they can come to their own conclusions. I love to see their passions develop, to watch them learn about the world simply by doing what they enjoy. I love how quickly they notice the beauty in everything around them.
I see a rock, they see a million colorful spots all coming together into one mass that looks gray from just a few inches away. I see a ladybug and they see a small life, crawling along for a reason. They wonder where he’s going and why. They wonder what he’s feeling- is he scared of them? I wonder if I should step on it.
4- I’m grateful for blogging because of the wonderful friends I’ve made online and the women who inspire me, encourage me and make me a better mom
5- I’m grateful for my real-life friends, nothing can quite compare to girlfriends, can it? I hope that you are all enjoying this day with your families, and looking forward to dinner at the Indian restaurant in December, the roller-skating party, the Mom’s Xmas party, and exchanging cheer this holiday season.
6- I am grateful to live in a world where everything we want is within reach. Knowledge is free, a diverse field of perspectives and views enable us to see our own more clearly, and humans are ready to share their experiences, interest and knowledge with one-another, for the good of all.
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A word about our Thanksgiving “Dinner.”
The way that cooking has developed in our home over the past few months, we’re taking a very nontraditional approach to Thanksgiving this year.
I slow-roasted the turkey overnight (yep, it was completely frozen when I stuck it in the oven at 5 p.m. and I just took it out at 5 a.m. When the kids get up we’ll have banana pancakes and as they’re ready they’ll pop into the kitchen to make their side-dish with me. I haven’t done Thanksgiving in such a small kitchen before, so we plan to just cook and eat all day, without a specific meal time, probably. It’s not like we all fit at the table anyway.
We generally go see a movie on Thanksgiving but we’ve decided to save up money to attend the Unschooler’s Adventure cruise to Jamaica, Haiti and Cozumel in April.
It’s a very lofty goal, but our travel come-documentary that we’ve been working on for the past 6 years is coming into fruition as we speak. We have assembled an awesome team of producers who are passionate about the product and have worked their butts off making it something better than even we imagined. (and we’re quite imaginative)
I wish I could announce more about that, give me a week or so and you’ll hear all about it. Let’s just say that we have quite an adventure planned over the next year.
About that Cruise- Jamaican beaches, The warm waters of the Gulf of Mexico, Ancient Mayan Ruins, can I even express how much my heart swells to think that my family could be present in the same space as something so fascinating and ancient.
And also to share a great blog I found from a family who lives in their RV. It’s called Where the Fuhkaui. I love their blog’s tagline:
“Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely. Broad, wholesome, charitable views can not be acquired by vegetating in one’s little corner of Earth.” – Mark Twain
Sometimes when homeschoolers or unschoolers are trying to explain how life and learning are naturally integrated, they use the example of cooking. I tried to intellectualize it in the article Cooking with Kids, but last night’s dinner hour was particularly good example of this “in action.”
All my girls love to cook. In fact, I was telling a friend the other day that sometimes we don’t have official “meals” because there’s someone cooking something all day long. A plate full of crackers with melted cheese, a blender full of fruit smoothies, a recipe someone saw on TV or invented from scratch. With so many people who like to cook, dividing our meals into specific menus really made it more work than is necessary.
Maddy (6) & Gabriella (8) like cook and serve food. When I am in my room working and the older girls are upstairs doing whatever t is older girls do (gossip, watch TV, write stories and song, dance or listen to music…) Maddy & Gabriella like to come around and offer everyone food.
Last night I was making dinner and Maddy came in, saying “I need a pan… the noodle-y kind”
In the past, I may have said “what for?” or otherwise grilled her, and come to the conclusion that since I’m making Dinner, she doesn’t need to cook. Instead, though, I just accepted that she needed a pan and decided to work on dinner alongside her, as equals.
So I opened the dishwasher (they rarely get a chance to cool off and get put away until we need them again) and I showed her all the clean noodle pans, she rejoiced with so much enthusiasm, saying “You are a master.” I thought that was pretty cute, but the conversation just kept getting better.
So we’re cooking together, she told Emilee that she’d make her a Top Ramen (blech) She knew how to prepare it all by herself. I wanted to carry the pan full of water for her, but we settled on having me bring it down from the sink. (me, being a control freak)
So she carried it to the stove, not missing a single drop. (physics)
Afterward, I said “Wow Maddy, I underestimated you. You really kept that balanced well” and she said “thank you. I know how to cook things because you showed me. I can just see you doing things and it makes me see that I can do them, too.” (self awareness, love of learning, gratitude, communication)
I was unloading the dishwasher when she said that and it was so relaxed and easy just being together. She was so proud, so articulate. (LIFE- kids are wiser than we give them credit for)
We made jello together, too. It was her first time making it. She was surprised that it was made with hot water because when she eats it, it’s cold. We discussed how the hot water melts the crystals and makes them swell up and the refrigeration glues them back together. (chemistry, physics) We measured water (doubling the recipe for math)
Both Maddy and Grace wanted to pour the crystals into the bowl. It takes 2 boxes for our family, so Grace (4) poured the first one and Maddy poured the second one. I pointed out that the pink Jello mix was the same color as their jammies. When we poured water into it, the girls pointed out that the red liquid was the same color as my shirt. We discussed the idea that everything pink turns red when wet and decided that it depends what it is. Pink toys won’t turn red. pink paint won’t turn red and their jammies would just look darker. (science, math, communication)
When the noodles she was making her sister were ready, I brought them out with a fork and asked “does she like the noodles with a lot of broth or a little? Maddy said a little and we both agreed that she preferred more firm noodles rather than mushy ones. Although Maddy likes them better mushy and I don’t like them at very much all. Maddy said “Everybody likes different things mommy, and that’s OK” (scientific observation, communication, Psychology)
Then she said “nobody would like cabbage and radish and (list of yucky things) in their noodles” so I said “there are some things everyone agrees upon, huh” I reminded her that perhaps in some country, some people eat that every day and it’s their favorite thing. (social studies)
She carried the soup upstairs to her sister, brought down the dirty dishes and said “Mom, I love cooking with you.”
These are the times that I wish more people understood. There’s no need to “make learning fun” because it already is. All we need to do is relax, and share our lives with our children. imagine- trying to pack all of that into a lesson plan for a first grader. Look at the insanity of standardized education. Look at what we would NOT have learned if I had said “I’m making dinner, sweetie. get out of the kitchen.”
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Upstairs, while we were cooking Dinner and the three oldest were watching a movie, Emilee asked Gabriella (8) what she should put as her facebook status.
Gabriella’s response:
” follow your heart, your heart will lead you to where you want to go.”
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