Why Does My Son Shine?

The short history is that I have always found parenting my son to be, let's say, less-than-straightforward.
Would I use words like challenging, difficult, overwhelming, synonyms-of-all-the-of-the-above?

Why yes.  Yes I would.  I already have.

I remember vividly a friend of mine turning to me one day - about five or six years ago - and asking me why I am always so negative about my son.  Maybe it's not so vivid exactly what she said, but it's very vivid how it made me feel.

I was surprised and I immediately became defensive.  She just didn't understand.  (No one did.*)  Of course I love my son.  Of course.  At that point, though, I had spent the last few years well beyond the end of my wits; over my head - deep - in doubt-infested waters, never once feeling confident that I knew what the hell was going on.

Sure, doubt is a normal part of parenting.  I believe it's a 2-disc set you get, isn't it?: Doubt and Guilt, Greatest Hits.

That's the short history. (There is plenty more in the archives.  Trust.)

Obviously, as he has gotten older things have changed.  Parent him has become less challenging, less difficult, less overwhelming, less synonyms-of-all-of-the-above.  Only slightly so, but definitely definitely less.  A good 10 to 12% less, I'd say.

I kid.

More like 14%.

This person is like no other person I have ever met before.  You know, with my daughter, though she is an individual and unique and all that, she definitely has a familiar persona: The Artist Type.  This serves as a kind of catch all container for her quirkiness, her compulsive collecting of random objects, her disorganized-ness.

This son of mine though.  He is new.  And different.  He is like me in so many ways.  And, of course, unlike me in so many more.

He is blunt- but sensitive as all hell.
He is crazy witty -but misses most of the big picture.
He is wicked sharp -but doesn't get the simple things.
He is all kinds of personality -but he doesn't understand social constructs.
He gets things in a snap -but digs his heels in if he has to work for it.
He cannot keep still (literally) -but has the coordination of a drunk sloth (bless his heart).
He is 100% technical.  No buts.
I would wonder if he had Asperger's, but he's so social.

I am told by my good friend with reliable first hand knowledge that his is a valid, though uncommon, personality type.

I don't know anyone like him.  I haven't had any science-y friends before.

Knowing this; that how he is - is.  It's really a relief to know that He Is Not Alone (echo echo echo).

Knowing this this changes the way that I navigate with him and even the way I understand my self as his mother.  Knowing this adds another dimension to the awe and wonder I have as I watch him grow.

Different different - same same.


* They really didn't.  People often explained it away as a boy thing.  They had no idea.

There Is A Boy

There is a boy
A funny boy
who loves
to play with the world.

In in this boy
there is a heart.
The softest heart
that holds the starts and sky.

You can tell
about the stars
because they sparkle
in his eyes.

You can see
about the sky
because he fills it up
with his wide open
wonder.

There is a boy
a sharp boy
who loves
to know some more.

He can tell you
about the stars
because they shine
so brightly in his eyes.

He can see
so much to see
He is bent
(I tell you)
on discovery.

There is a boy
a funny boy
who is
all the universe
to me.

Stepping Stones

We've been home schooling for just over a month now.  Things are going pretty well.

To state the obvious, it's been a learning process.  To state the less obvious: for me.  I haven't home schooled them since they were five and seven years old.  And up until that point, we were just playing.  And cooking.  And doing science demonstrations (not experiments, per se).  And reading lots of stories.  Oh, and watching lots of youtube videos (as resources, mostly).

I hadn't done any formal schooling with them.  There were the odd moments of panic (what if I'm completely and utterly WRONG?! what if I should be teaching them to write?!) that lasted about one or two hours and - thankfully - passed without much interference in the real business of playing.

Things are quite different now.

They have now spent two full school years and one half in school.
They are now 8 and 10.
They have become a bit jaded about learning.
I am not actually home with them in the mornings.
What if something happens to me and they have to get put back into school like before?

Things like that.  So as a result of things being different, things are a bit different.

It's not ideal.  It's not what I want.  And it's still a helluva lot better than before.  I am super happy they are not in school.  They are now free from the constraints of the series of little boxes of standards we like to call curriculum.  They are also free from the tethers of half hour blocks of time for learning different things.  They are free from tests and homework.  They are free to learn more about what matters to them.  They are free to spend more or less time on concepts they are exploring and skills they are building.

I am thinking about Brother in particular.  He was grasping concepts faster then he "should have" and had a lot of lag time in which to express his boredom kinesthetically, vocally -or both, disrupting the other learners and invariably getting into trouble.  Now he can go as fast as he wants on those things - and take time to revisit some of the content and building blocks he missed because of the mid-year skip up to grade three.

Sister, too, can linger or jump ahead.  In that regard, it's ideal.

In the other way(s), it's not ideal.  I am making them do math and language every day so they can keep strengthening and growing those skills.  Because what if?  I just can't take that chance again.  If there were a school that would meet them where they were if they needed admission, I'd feel less inclined to take this insurance policy route.  But there isn't.  I am trying to protect them.

We are certainly learning things together, with and about each other.  We've spent that last month or so figuring out what works best for us.  And, to be honest, we are still figuring it out.

I went from a loose list of things they might consider doing to adding time frames to Brother's daily plan to help give him more direction.  (Otherwise, he was often bored and ended up disturbing Daddy who is working from home in order to facilitate them being at home.) I then saw that sister was also having some difficulty flowing.  So I started doing custom notes every night before I went to sleep.  I added specific tasks and links to potentially interesting videos.  We did that for a while.  Then I noticed they were having some difficulty flowing with the white board General List and the laptop text file Specific Tasks.  They were confused.  Daddy was confused, too.  They were also ignoring much of the specifics in the text file.  Okay.  Nix that.  Back to the writing board!

Did that for a while.  Then I noticed that when I got home at 1:15 or so, they'd still be on 11 o' clock on their whiteboard time line.  This was happening consistently.  Why?  Because they'd get caught up in something they were doing (usually reading) and lose track of time.  Solution?  Get rid of the times.

We are now on a system of a numbered list - with a few things that happen every day without fail - namely, as I mentioned before, Math and Language.  (Math is a minimum of 1hr a day - critical for Brother because of his interest in Chemistry.)   I also pull books from the shelf for them and put them out as suggested reading.  This has been well received.  They like having jumping off points.  And this way, everybody wins.  Brother has a list of things to do, but isn't bound to a time limit, and has suggestions to help him when he reaches a block.  Sister is happy to have more literature.  They both enjoy watching science videos on Youtube or BrainPop.  Most recently, in an effort to help them master their multiplication tables, I downloaded an app called Sushi Monster and that is working well too.  It's really a series of stepping stones that I lay out for them each day.  They step when they are ready and have more ownership in the process.

The most important thing we are working on is balance.  We want to fit more activities into our week - like cooking and science demonstrations/experiments.  This means not planning anything on Tuesdays when I do not go to work at all, and spending the day at home with them and doing stuff together instead.  They really love it when I am home with them.  I do too.  (Do I even need to say here that if I could possibly stay home with them and do this without working, I totally would - before the heart even knew it needed another beat?)

Overall, things are going well because Brother gets waaay more science time and sister gets waaay more creativity time.

Now to get them doing some physical activities they enjoy.  It appears they'd prefer me to pull their teeth.

Without anesthetic.

Get. Out.

With the moon in full swing (my lunar phase, that is) I met the day with grim resolution.  Ugh.

You know those days, right?  The "Ugh. Mumble. Coffee." days?  Only I had a side of "Just shut up, already." served up hot and fresh!

I did my best to ignore my children peacefully and kindly.  And they insisted on talking and arguing and being loud and childish much too close to my Ignore Bubble, so they kept popping it.  By mid-morning, I was the Grumpy Old Troll personified.  And not that nice loser "troll" from Dora, either.   I'm talking full on Lord of the Rings Cave Troll.

Enter- Afternoon Plans!  An Outing!  With friends!  To the Library!

People, I am here to tell you that when the walls are pressing and the sounds of good old siblings being siblings sting you - GTFO! - Get. Out.  Get out!  Leave, vamoose, shoe!  Go on!  Get out of your house.  Out is magic.  Well, fun out is.

There was, as it turns out, some mild appetizer pre-fun at the library.  We became members and checked out books!

Then it was on to the salad fun.  Hanging and playing with our friends at their house.  Fun!

But what's this?  Plans to ride our bikes to the park?!  And meet MORE new friends?  Why, this is beginning to sound Very Promising.

I saw my sweet girl's confidence-o-meter slowly and steadily climb as she wobbled, then rode on her new GIANT bicycle.  I saw my son's face become positively radiant with joy as he pedaled alongside us.  I saw us three having this wonderful new experience of cycling together, thanks to our new neighbourhood with its not-so-new park.

Then it was the main course, baby.  FUN FUN FUN, wiz a littel bit of creme fun and a hint of exciting drizzled over top, served on a bed of discovery.

Thanks to our new acquaintances, my kids found and held tiny snakes and worms.  They also saw and observed the catching of a TARANTULA!!!!  That's right.  A big hairy spi-ider!  The big, bursting excitement on my baby boy's face!   From well over a hundred yards away, his joy exploded across the field "MOOOMMMMMMMMM!!!  WE FOUND A TARANTULAAAAA!!!"

He marched over with his band of new friends, triumphantly, gleefully, proudly escorting the spider and carrying a tiny "Blind Snake".

This after an epic water gun battle in which every last one of them got soaked to the bone.

There they all were, dripping wet and dirty - the Unflappable, Intrepid Explorers of The Park, beaming with all they had discovered under a rock on the far side of the field.

I know what you're saying as you read this - "Get. Out!"

We did!

It was the worst of times, it was the best of times.

Shocking news:  I'm not a perfect parent.  

I know, right?  Who'da thought?!  I'll give you a moment to collect your jaw and it's contents.

Ready for another one? Steady now.

I'm not a perfect anything.

Phew.  I'm glad I got that off my- you know the story.

It so happens that I'm not a huge fan of the set-up of your average creativity sucking machine school.  Too much sit here do this and not enough of - well, anything else, really.

Not really news to anyone, but I felt a teensy bit of back story was in order to help bring the next bit into sharper focus.

I've observed that during their time at school, my kids had no time for much else.  Whenever we had holidays, after a few days they would decompress and start finding things they enjoyed all over again.  It was with this in mind that I decided to just let it all hang out when we finished the last school year; just let them do whatever they wanted.

What they wanted was screens.  iPod games, iPad games, Wii games and Netflix watching (there are eleven - count 'em - ELEVEN different Power Rangers series that Brother was gorging on).  It was a brain numbing technology overdose.  I watched and secretly wanted them to choose something else but kept saying that they needed the down time so they could do a major un-school decompression.  I believe(d) it was good for them.  I mean, surely, they'd get to a point of having had enough.

I'm here to tell you: Unsurely.  That point of too much screen time - "Mom, I'm tired of this, let's do something else," said none of my kids ever.

Meanwhile back at the ranch, they were totally uncooperative with me, with our household, with each other.  There was Major bitching and moaning when they were asked to help out around the house.  They did not cooperate with the simplest requirements (pick up your dirty clothes off the floor of the bathroom, turn of the lights, bring your plate the three oppressively long uphill-both-ways-in-wintertime feet to the kitchen - things like that).

It got to the point where everything felt like it was a fight.  And I was really losing my tolerance for their faces constantly being reflected back at them in a screen.

In an effort provide a consequence for their thoughtless ignoring of our requests, I began deducting one hour of screen privilege for the things I had reminded them of some googol times.  Clothes on the bathroom floor?  One hour off for BOTH of them.

Bathroom light left on (a-@#$@^king-gain)? One hour off for BOTH of them (I'm not dealing with the whole "It was him/It was her" scenario.  And they would have to help each other remember.  At least, that was my theory.

Some days they'd have lost three hours of time.  But it didn't matter because we were now going out and doing stuff (I was working for the month of July).

It did help a little, but not that much.  And then.

I had had enough.

(I need to tell you that this story reads like it was just a few squabbles and me being a total overlord and that's because I'm not a perfect story teller either - so I want to clarify that I - WE, the mister and I - had been trying to foster and encourage some more responsible behaviours for a while.  We spoke to them about living in a community and doing their part; about doing things that are not always fun, but that are important.

To no avail.

I had had enough.

Enter, three days ago which I will call the IHHE point in time.  Because - say it with me - I had...

had...

ENOUGH.

"That's IT!" I declared.  "Screen privileges are suspended until further notice!"  Or something like that. Faces slid to the floor.  Protests were staged.  Lectures were thrown - aggressively.

You're not babies, you're big kids, I said.
Eight and TEN! I may have said a little loudly.
You can be more responsible people, I said.
I'd be happy to keep picking up after you, I sang with Nutrasweetness.
And treat you like toddlers, I smiled.
Would you like that?, I cooed.

No?

Then when you can act like more responsible people, 
I squinty-eyed, scary-quiet-voiced at the two deer in my headlights
you can have the same privileges as responsible people.  Heavy and angry declarations from a tired and had-it-up-to-here, frustrated me.

Not my best moment, no.  (Why do you ask?)

And guess what?  It kind of was.

Secondary to any behavior modification I was looking to achieve, the real benefit is .... dun-dun-dunnnnnnn - they have been PLAYING!  With toys! And each other!  Happily!

Out came the legos, the animals, the Imagination.  I mean, we had "celebrity guests" - Bear and Other Bear who had a made up non-actual-celebrity name I can't remember now- at breakfast the other day.

I shared my shower with a giant lego boat, a turtle, a spiderman, a zebra, a crab and an elephant today.

Sister has constructed a house, complete with solar panels!  (Lego, people, lego house with lego "solar panels".)

And yes folks, even a little cooperation.  Is it carrot and stick?  Yes.  Yes it is.
Apparently, I'm not afraid to use it.

We've watched a few documentaries and some Doctor Who together, and will carry on with that for now.  iWhatevers will make a return when the time is right.

Perfect!

Side Kicks Have Special Powers

During a game of pictionary, the word "magician" came up and was successfully drawn.  I took the opportunity to mention that the word magician has its roots in the word "magi" which is how the visitors of young Jesus are described.

I mentioned that magi were believed to have special powers.

"Like a side kick?" asks almost 10 yr old Sister.
Before I could answer she adds "What is a side kick, anyway?"
"The friend of the main guy," I reply.
"But what about the other meaning of side kick?"
"Other meaning?  There isn't any other meaning," I say.  (Thinking to myself about other possible meanings of side kick that I am not remembering.  No, that's all there is.)

...
And then it hits me.

"Ohhhhhhh... PSYCHIC."

Is it okay to feel like punching your kid?

Please:
- turn off the (bathroom) light
- wash your hands!
- and flush the toilet!
  (but in the exact opposite order)

- chew with your mouth closed

- take your dirty clothes off the floor relocate them 18" away to the basket (like, literally bend down and pick them up and keeping your feet planted in the same spot, twist your upper body and release the clothes into the basket).

- take your wet towel off the floor and relocate it 24" the wall hook (okay, this one involves an actual step)

- help your plate to the kitchen

- unpack your lunchbox

 (where is your water bottle?!)

- put your toothbrush into the cup

These are things I say MINIMUM once a day.  And mostly to the boy.  Actually everything but the lunchbox and bathroom light are all things I say only to my son.  Every.  Single.  Day.  

I have been asking him to close his mouth when he chews every night for the past, oh, three years or so.  No kidding.  Otherwise it's SMACK SMACK SMACK.  I calmly ask, "Please chew with your mouth closed."  Often times, three times over the course of a single meal.  

In real raw gritty life, people. 

As for the toothbrush?  Quite honestly, it doesn't even belong on the stupid list because I've given up on his toothbrush ever actually making it to the little cup.  This toothbrush holder, I might add, is conveniently located on the right side of the sink for the right-handed members of our family.  (Hint: all of us.)  This child of mine always always always puts his toothbrush on the perimeter on the LEFT side of the sink.  (Which means that the boy has to physically take the toothbrush out of his right hand - or at the very least reach across the sink to put it there.)  

After several nights of requests to put his toothbrush in the cup I began having him 'practice' the motion of putting in the cup.  Put it in the cup, take it out of the cup, put it in the cup, take it out of the cup.... and it totally worked!  Pffffft-haaaaaaaa!  Nope.  No it didn't.  It takes the toothbrush and it puts the toothbrush on the tiny counter space directly beside the toilet.  It does not understand the meaning of these words "in" and "cup".

And yes, it's a small thing.  I know that.  

So is the plate and the light and the dirty clothes and the lunch box and the &^%damned water bottle being left at school every day.  (EVERY.  DAY.  For realsies?)

But add them all up and some days - like today - I feel like I am going to lose my mind (or flip out and go Real Ultimate Power ninja on him).  I mean, my GOD.  How long does it take for him to learn to just close his mouth when he chews?  SERIOUSLY.  Is it a boy thing?  Is it a him thing?  Is it a seven year ol- never mind.  I know it's not that.  

Having spent the better part of the last month trying to use a normal tone of voice (i.e. not yell), I find myself considering other verbal cues such as growling.  Six to seven (who am trying to kid? more like) Three to four times out of ten I can find a humorous approach.  The other three to four I am serious but not upset.  The remaining times, my teeth are clenched and I may or may not have steam coming out of my ears as I say for the millionth time "Please. pick. your.  shi- CLOTHES.  up.  off.  the.  floor. and. put. them.  in.  the.  basketttttt."

Walk into his room right now.  And you will find - I guaran-damn-tee it - underwear, pants and shirts on the floor BESIDE the (!@#$% ^&**(-ing laundry basket.  

WHY?!?!   WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY????? 

I don't even have a witty wrap up for this one.  Usually when I blog, by the time I get down toward the end a new perspective has emerged and shed light on the parts I was missing.

....

Yeah.  I got nothin'.  

Hi, World!

I've witnessed some really major changes in my daughter over the last couple of months.  She is definitely making the transition from little girl to bigger girl (which is my way of saying the thing I do NOT want to say - which is pre-preteen (yikes!)).  Also, I kind of hate those terms - to be honest.

Due to a series of complicated events that were happening with Brother, we thought it would be best for him to move up a grade from two to three - in the middle of the school year.  To further complicate things, he would have been moved into the same class as Sister.  All involved - Sister included - knew this was NOT a good idea.  It was suggested by the school admin that perhaps we could move Sister up to grade four.  She is the "right age" for that grade level and she is doing very well - meeting and exceeding expectations - in grade three... So let's give it a go.  Of course, we consulted with Sister and Brother about all of it as well and they both agreed.  Sister was quite reluctant because her confidence level was a little low.

For example, when she recently discovered that she was being graded and given report cards (I'd never told her about it for obvious reasons* - what's that?  not obvious? Okay, I'll add a notation at the bottom.) - right: report cards.  When she learned about the letter grades, she automatically concluded that she would be getting a C in math.  Which was ridiculous because she's never gotten less than an A.  When we got home and I showed her the report card for the previous term and she saw all the As including the math grade, she was genuinely surprised.

Like I said, low confidence.

We all agreed to allow for a one week trial period with total take-backsies if they wanted out.  Daddy and I held our collective breaths as they each started in their new classes - in the middle of the freakin' year.

Within the first few hours Brother knew he was happy and wanted to stay.  Sister was not as eager, but she wasn't unhappy either.  By day two, she conducted a poll in the class asking if they wanted her to stay.  Meanwhile, before she even got there, there was some kerfuffle about who would get to sit beside her (as she already had friends in the group).  So, of course, it was a no-brainer and everyone (except that one PIA kid, bless his heart) voted for her to stay.  This seemed to act like a Super Mario Brothers mushroom causing her to grow twice her size almost overnight.

No kidding.  By the end of that first week, my daughter was A Different Person.

Her confidence level shot up.  My previously shy, quiet, demure little girl became vocal, chatty, sassy and overall more participatory in her classroom than she had ever been in her time in school.  Her new teacher was blown away by the change, as were the principal and director of our school.

She came out of her shell and said "Hi, World!"

And she hasn't looked back.

And it scares me.  Even though I really want this for her:  I want her to be confident, outspoken, sticking up for herself and what she believes, not taking shit from anyone, to know her own mind (which she already did), to be willing to walk her own path - I'm not sure how to handle a person who does those things against my better judgement.

Which is the crux and the irony.  You know?  I don't know how to balance "know-your-own-mind & do it your way" with "follow-our-lead-because-we're-here-to-guide-you".

I'm going to cop to the fact that it was easier to foresee parenting the shy, demure, cooperative girl through her teenage years.  Actually, forget easier, it was just plain easy in my mind.

It's true that she's always been the kind of person who once she'd made up her mind about something that was it, she didn't really do it that much and she was still almost always willing to cooperate.  Now? Not so much.

Of course I know that my children will both choose things that are different from what I want for them, the won't always idealize the same things as me.  Which is a good thing.  I am already working on learning to co-exist with and even support things they like/choose that I would not.  I'm working on that in small ways to get ready for the big ways that are probably coming down the tube.

You know, I'm not even sure what I'm scared of.  That's a lie.  I'm scared of being alienated from them and being irrelevant in their lives.

There.  I said it.

It's not sex, drinking or drugs.  No.  I'm terrified of the shut door.  Not the sometimes shut door, the always shut door that would relegate me to the sidelines as sympathetic bystander.

I wish someone could tell me how to parent so that they will always feel safe with me and always trust me and tell me the Big, Important Things.  For now, I'm being there and being there and then being there some more.

I'm being genuine and honest.  I am listening and trying not to talk too much.  I am living my journey too; modeling that following my dreams is important.  Being me and hoping that's good enough, really.

* Not a fan of conventional schooling.  I abhor testing (standardized or not), homework and grades; they have no place in the arena of discovery and learning.   I reject the artificial standards by which all children are measured and judged and see it as institutionalized neglect of the each of the learners' individuality and personal learning needs.  Due to circumstances that have been beyond my reasonable control, my children who were unschooled all their early lives, have been in conventional school since January 2011.  

Coming Clean

It's no secret that I am an unwavering advocate of alternative schooling.  If you have had more than one conversation with me, you will be well aware of my position on education.

It would shock you, then, to know that my children are both attending a traditional school, one where I happen to be a teacher.  As far as traditional schools go, this one is quite idyllic.  The ethos of the school is learning (even if by rote) can be fun.  The administrators and teachers care deeply about the children and it shows.  It is a great school!

And yet.  Here I am.  I have spent years and thousands of hours researching and teaching myself on  forward thinking methods of education.  One doesn't have to look very far to learn that the current "traditional" method is based largely on the industrial revolution's needs for workers.  One then has to simply look just a tiny bit beyond the nose to note that we are no longer in the industrial era and therefore no longer in need of factory workers on an all encompassing scale.

For this and other social (and, let's face it, political) reasons, I unschooled my children until they were 7 and 5.  Things (read: "I") fell apart and could not carry on so to school they went.  That was two years ago.  I have since regained solid ground and started working - full time!!! - again.

History lesson over.

Here I am.  I have lived a dual life.  Unwavering in my own deeply held convictions while doing almost the exact opposite of them.   Looking up from the grind stone, even being grateful for all that has been afforded to me because of this position I have had, I am struck in the face by the question: "WHAT IN THE HOLY HELL AM I STILL DOING HERE?"  (Ouch, by the way.)
Yes, there was the question of need of income.  Yes I am trying very hard to finish my bachelor's degree to the tune of $24,000.  Yes, yes, yes.

But frankly? Fucking NO.

Hours of homework, extending an already long and stifling school day into our home life? NO.
Hours of sitting at a desk all day doing work pages?  NO.
Science - the beauty, marvel, wonder of the world around us - being reduced to a text book? Absolutely  NOT.
Our whole life revolving around school?  (Sleep schedule, eating schedule, bloody living schedule based on school and homework times.) Gawd no.
Letter grade assessments of their abilities? Nope.
Rote? No no no.

It works - is even ideal for some people - and I am not at all one of them.

Compromise and tolerance acceptance can be noble. Can be.  Whatever virtue there was in my doing this for my children to be able to travel, to have lessons/mentorship in things that are meaningful or important to them (art, tennis, swimming etc.), to have quality foods - these wonderful benefits of me working - whatever there was in it is now expired.  Those benefits no longer outweigh what I desire to give to my children most of all: the freedom to explore their world and themselves.

Their mom is ME, and that is what I want to give to them.

What's so wrong with that?

Autumnal Equinox Birth Day

What an auspicious day to be celebrating one's birth:  The Autumnal Equinox! 

Today I celebrate a birth that has changed me, has changed my life - and continues to change my life - more than I could ever dream or imagine. 

Seven years ago today, I gave birth to my 10lb wonder.  A person who, from the very beginning, made it abundantly clear that he is so much bigger than the body that contains him.  There is so much that is BIG about Ryan.  "Ryan":  when it came down to it, I didn't even really want that name - even tried to change it.  It appears, however, that the name really rather wanted him.  They were meant to be together, the boy and the name.  The best meaning that can be surmised is "little king".  And it fits him to a T.  He is King-ish.  As an infant, he was high need; demanding - nursing every 30 minutes or so for his first few months of life, nor did he ever really need much sleep.  Peering squinty-eyed back into the past, I see now that he (has always) had a general air of impatience; of being About Something.  Can't sleep, have to hurry up and grow, need to get things done!

He really was and still is so big.  He takes up a lot more space than most people.  His movements, his sounds, his way of playing and being is high energy, intense - BIG.  His way of speaking is big.  (Seriously.  His choice of words, his intonation - beyond his years.) Case in point: his teacher has told me that he becomes frustrated when other people in his class have questions after a concept has been taught.  He impatiently yells "Oh, COME on!" when someone asks a question.  Obviously, I've spoken to him about the inappropriateness of this response and also about everyone having a different kind of smart.  (A never ending theme in our home culture.)  This is the perfect example of how impatient he can be.

After having a quiet and ethereal person like Lauryn live with us for two years, his sudden burst of energy did indeed come as a staggering shock to me.  I teetered, wobbled, grabbed for the sturdy.  Figured him out as he careened ahead, leaving me in the dust.

As I said, "Little King" has changed me.  Quite a bit more, I am positive, than I can possibly know right now and will only clearly see in that crystal clear rear view mirror of hindsight in about 20 years or so.  Has it been hard as hell?  You bet your bottom penny.  And it has been good.

Witnessing this being; beholding the unfolding of this person is like nothing else.  Ever.  He is so full and overflowing with zest and zeal; with tenderness and caring; with curiosity and wonder.  He is so many things, my Ryan.  He is unforgettable.  He is warm.  He is obnoxious.  He is tactical.  He is a scientist.  He is so very good with words.  He is the whole bed of roses, velvety sweet softness complete with thorns and dirt... and rocks!*

Even though the stages seemed, themselves, to have lasted eternities, the years have quietly tiptoed by, never really attracting as much attention as some of those raucous hours and days.  Now that they've gone, I miss them.  I treasure those that are left.  I love him a little more fiercely today than yesterday.

Perhaps the equinox is a good omen.  Perhaps there is more balance coming our way; both to me and to him and to us together.  Perhaps as I gently widen my embrace to accommodate more and more of my son and the hours, minutes, days with him - well...  all the parts can fit and be held and be safe.

The Sun's "path" aligns perfectly with the equator today.  After this, the days will be gradually shorter; the nights longer.  I am experiencing a similar alignment with my own son's path today; his days, his nights, his seasons.

I am filled with gratitude for him.  I am filled with delight and hope and joy for all the wonder and potential he his inside him.

Happy birth day, dear Ryan Michael.  You have certainly changed the world as I know it; you expand the boundaries of possible.

I love you all ways.

*Disclaimer:  I've always said and I still maintain that unless you've had a child like Ryan, the journey of parenting him is hard to get.  I know my son; I've met other children like him; tagged with words like spirited, intense, high-need - but never 'angry' or 'malicious'.  Just variations of 'big'.

Nuthin' Doin'

Our family have just spent the better part of a month just hanging out together.

For the first week, it was just me and the people, getting used to our new, temporary life in Jamaica.  Then The Mister came along for the last three weeks.  And it was - every last minute of it - 100% perfection.

Know why?  Because we were just sharing time and space together mostly just having simple fun.  The importance of which cannot be overstated.

In this moment of reflection upon our time there in Jamaica, I am becoming keenly aware of what a luxury it is that we were afforded.  I mean - one whole month of just chilling in Jamaica?  We did that - together.  (Do I need the disclaimer about it being our choice of work that is a major factor?)

Of course we did "things", stuff, adventures.  We visited with family and long time friends.  I hung out with old high school friends in the new lives as parents and grownups (!).  We got to watch a THE Olympic event (as far as Jamaicans are concerned) surrounded by a room full of energized Jamaicans - the kids seeing the vibrant and colorful way that sporting achievement is celebrated.  We went zip-lining in the mountains, we went driving through my favorite part of the island and visited one of my very favorite childhood spots: Frenchman's Cove.  The we were swimming and playing in the very same spot where my father first started teaching me to swim almost 30 years ago.    How amazing was it to share all that with my own children?!
It's kind of the most amazing thing ever.  A little.

Exploring at Frenchman's Cove

And still, some of the most magical moments were when we were just being together.  Down by The River.   Playing with and parallel to each other.  And being.  Doing nothing.

The meaningfulness, the profound worth and value of the time we had together can never be overstated.  There are ways that is creating something in our lives that even I don't understand.

In the doing of a tremendous amount of 'nothing' together, I believe we created at least as much 'something' - together.  Something that will outlast jobs, houses, photos; and that will echo into generations to come.  I can't name it, but I know it's real and happening.

Not so much nothing after all.

Successful Mistakes

Where we are staying, there is a 10 foot jump off into the river.  It looks pretty mild and easy from the water level, but when one ascends the staircase, walks out onto the edge of the platform and looks down, it's a whole other ballgame.  It now feels bone-threatening.

I have watched many a tourist walk up, out, look down and turn around and walk back down the stairs.  I, myself have to psyche myself up every.  single.  time.  I go to jump.  Even when it's immediately after the one I've just a spent Jeopardy! timer song working myself up to.

Enter my thrill-seeking, sensory-input enthusiast of a son.  On his first available opportunity (which was early yesterday morning), he climbed the stairs, walked to the edge and without so much as a second thought, leapt from the platform.

I was happily applauding his bravery as he splashed down only to have that short-lived when he came up crying.  Darling.  What happened?

The dreaded belly flop.  Ironically, he is as sensitive as he is adventurous and has a somewhat unbelievably low pain tolerance threshold.  We hugged, consoled, encouraged, reassured.

But he was done.

No more.  That hurt too much.

As it happened, I was hanging out up on the jumping platform, having coffee, feeding the fish and he was up and down intermittently after the bad jump.  We had some conversation about what happened and both his dad and I explained what caused him to get hurt and how he could jump more safely.  He agreed that it had been fun right up until the flop.  As the morning meandered, he ascended and descended, in and out of conversation.  He asked why it hurt and I explained the physics and we got  into some analogies until he was re-explaining it back to me.  I knew he'd gotten it.

A little later we wrapped it up with me encouraging him to jump again so that the bad one wouldn't be his last impression.  That he could learn from the mistake he made on the first go.

No more jumping, he said.  That really hurt too much.

I accepted this.  Didn't want to push too hard.

A few hours later a group of tourists were there milling about around the jump off and Ryan came down from the house having changed out of, and then back into his swim clothes.  He made a beeline to the platform, cutting right through all the people there and stood at the edge.  "Are you going to jump?!" I yelled up to him.

He shot me with his so-very-Ryan sparkle, said "Sure!" and in the next second was airborne and splashing down.

The assembled group and myself on the periphery were all sort of taken aback by his fast, easy matter-of-factness.  We seemed to be holding our breaths together waiting to see his little head pop up.  Only, I knew what kind of stakes were riding on his facial expression.

It was a huge, proud grin!

He did it!  And even though everyone was proud with him, I was the absolute proudest because he pushed past his fear and did it again and he gained the tremendous reward of knowing that about himself.

He came out and we high fived and high tenned (is it one N or two?) and I told him how proud I was for him.  He marched right back up those stairs and jumped again.  And again.  And again.  It was something like six times in a row.

And several more times throughout the remainder of the day.  Even when, in his words, he was starting to lose his confidence.

Even after another unfortunate belly-flop, from which he surfaced crying in pain.

This was the spark of another hours long, ebbing-flowing conversation about how we can learn from our mistakes.  The conclusion of which was late in the day - when the sun was that thick, rich golden yellow - and Ryan was on his tummy on the swing over the river, sparkling right alongside the water around us and saying to me:

"You know, mom? I think mistakes are probably better than success, because you learn so much more from them."

You know what, Ryan?  I think you're right.  

Where did I come from?

When I was about nine, my father presented me with The Facts Of Life in the form of a book with the same title as this blog post.  I don't remember details, but I can tell you it's a story told by a sperm on it's way to fertilize an egg.  I think it may have even been wearing a bow tie, you know, to be gentleman-like and all that... I guess. (Here's the book on Amazon.)   I was left to conclude that a bow tie wearing sperm was exchanged between my parents (illustrated as two chubby-ish light skinned people making hearts escape from under the covers) and nine months later - voila! - here I was...

What's funny is that a few days ago in the middle of social time with my parents, temporarily living together in the same house* (as me!!!) - a true rarity (and I'm talking endangered species rare) - I found myself asking The Mister "Where did I come from?"  Me with my everything-opposite-to-everything-they're-about self.   There I was really looking at my parents, thinking about how different I feel from them, and their hopes and expectations of me.  It just doesn't add up.

You see, my mother is decidedly conservative and will likely vote as such - ;as90kP:znvae3[3asuf=m excuse me, I just had a shiver - in the upcoming election. Nothing against my mom.  It's Rrrr.... Rrrr... you know who I mean - that gives me the heebies.  Still, she was pretty non-conservative in her younger days: a party animal, a little bit of a thrill seeker, and pre-marriage conceiver of me.  So there's that.  It would ultimately be the Straight And Narrow road for her though.

My father?  He's what many in a previous generation would call "a real character".  He's the limelight guy:  life of the party, joke teller, friends with everyone everywhere and all that.  My father is the good times maker.

My love of adventure, jokes and laughing, parties and a good time: it's easy to see where I got those traits.  And, of course, the requisite looking "exactly" like whichever parent the observer happens to know very well.   The rest of it?  The challenge EVERYthingness?  The piercing, hair dyeing, feminist, humanist, animal rights advocate, pro-choice, left wing, everybody has a right to the opportunity for a good life, partially atheistic, would-be hippie me?  I tried the Straight and Narrow, but it didn't stick.  A bit like water off a duck's back, that was.  

Where in the holy gene pool did this whole me come from, exactly? 

I have a theory.  But it sounds pretty kooky so it's hard to say.  And I don't really care if you think I'm kooky so here it is.

My great grandmother, when she was about 15 years old, announced to her sisters one night that when they awoke the next morning, she'd be gone.  They didn't believe her.  But it didn't matter or change the fact that the next day, she was indeed gone - all the way to CUBA to elope with a man she was not supposed to love and definitely not marry - a black (non-Indian) man.  (The scandal!)  She lived there for a number of years, giving birth to my grandfather and grand uncle there and, a little later returning to Jamaica - all of her family fluent in Spanish.  

I believe that Estriana - maker of her own damn path thank you very much, passed her thatness on to me.  It makes me wish I could have really known her when she was young and rejecting the status quo.  It makes me feel like she lives on in me.  

It goes without saying that I love my parents very much.  It's kind of nice to get a sense, too, of how even their parents and grand parents have had an influence on who I am.

In this way, immortality comes alive.

* My parents were in the same house because my mom came for a visit to Jamaica at the same time as me and she also stayed at my dad's house.

Ism parenting great?

Like any self respecting over-thinker, I spend waay too much time trying to imagine how my children will think of me once they have realized how completely they are their own people, or in fewer words - when they are adults.  Is this me projecting what is turning out to be a never ending case of navelitis (aka navel gazing) onto their future selves?  Maybe.

But, come on.  What cognizant adult doesn't at some point evaluate what kind of job their parents did raising them?  Amiright? 

As it happens, I tend to go a little whole hog (a terrifically horrible metaphor considering the subject at hand) with my philosophical and ethical standpoints.  My friendly therapist has told me that I can be a little bit 'all or nothing'.  She's totally wrong, of course. 

So, Ive been thinking lately about the ways my future adult children will characterize my parenting. Specifically, with regard to my personal passions that are currently affecting their lives in very real ways.

I am a feminist - That means that I feel obligated to point out the ways that women are considered less than.  Or the ways that women are - different, yes and - equal to men.

I am agnostic - But I used to be a committed believer.  So once there was church.  And now there isn't.  Questions about the world around us are met with scientific responses.  And still lots of awe and wonder.

I am a recovering germophobe - Holy wow, have I fought the good fight with this one!  I think I've done pretty well, but they still aren't allowed under my sheets unless they have JUST had a shower.  (Hey, I can't let EVERYthing go.)

I am an advocate of vegetarian and/or vegan lifestyles (though I am not myself a strict adherent...yet) - though I've been flirting with vegetarianism for years, it's been very recently (after reading Eating Animals) that I we made the switch in our home.  It's been a giant adjustment for all of us, but I think more so for the kids.  The Mister and I do not eat land animals at all.  We still eat fish occasionally when we are out; the kids are free to eat meat wherever it is available to them (parties, other people's homes etc.) because I don't want to force it on them.  And eating is a Very personal choice.  (More on this later.*)

I am a firm believer in self-directed learning and therefore, educational reform - Go ahead, roll your eyes.  Done?  Okay.  You know the drill.  "School is a waste of time, it kills creativity, kids don't get to know themselves, they are led to believe that learning is about grades, they don't really get a lot out of it, blah blah blah."  This is my spiel.  If you don't know it yet - you can have your eye full at my other blog.

I have very strong opinions about equality and social justice.  I will not tolerate any of the prevailing phobias that seem to have (largely) the right wing types in a chokehold.  An ideology best summed up by this marvelous sign I recently saw on this (very awesome, by the way) tumblr blog.

Things like that. 

Each of those are probably blog posts in and of themselves.  How does my feminism affect my daughter?  My son?

I don't think I'm preachy.  I often interject things as a "did you know...?", for example, just the other day we were driving downtown and we passed these big beautiful posters of the women who spearheaded the Suffragette Movement in our country.  Of course, I pointed out to my daughter and her friend who was with us at the time, who those women were and why they and what they did are very important and worth celebrating and honoring.  They were shocked to learn that there was a time when women were not able to vote.  Mostly though, they were befuddled about WHY.

*With the no meat thing, there has been some friction, to be sure.  I've been very open and honest with them about WHY we have made that choice for our family.  I talked to them about factory farms and what it means for our environment and the welfare of the animals.  I have shown them a few images of the suffering the animals are subjected to, but no movies.  I am trying to stay away from scare tactics (poorly clad duress, really) while still presenting the facts.

But then...

This is so much about THEM and THEIR future too.  SO.  MUCH.

I am caught between my very strong, core belief that they need to be left to come to this on their own, and the philosophical/ethical dilemma of what it really means when they DO eat meat.  Would anyone knowingly feed their children an animal they KNOW was too sick to stand when it was slaughtered?  An animal that has so many antibiotics in it's system it's bound to affect their own health?  An animal that was tortured leading up to and while being killed?

I am having a really hard time with that.  This is both about them and much bigger than them.  I know they can't grasp that.

But isn't that we as parents are here for?   We gather information and make the best possible choice that is available to us.  Wherever possible, this family includes all of it's members in the process.  And sometimes we don't.    Will they be jumping for joy at all of our decisions?  Do I even need to answer that?

Ultimately, I am still just a regular Jane on a journey to continue to better my self and the world around me.  It would be inauthentic and stupid of me to try to keep that from my children.

Even if it may take them decades to get it.

P.S. I do not adhere to any absolute concepts.  Reality is fluid.  As is truth.  Even love can look like harm.

Mirror Mirror... at the beach?!

One of the best worst things about having children is the way they so perfectly reflect - 10,000 mega watt light-up, pores-the-size-of-texas, vanity-style mirror reflect - all your  my horrible no good bad ways back at yo- err... me.
 
Earlier today, right before the last few inches of me joined the rest on the floor in a miserable bitching moaning puddle, I decided it might be a good idea to go to the beach and cool off.  The kids decided that too.  Yay!

I did not, however, feel like walking the 1/2 marathon distance over the sand dune to the over the bridge and awesome! beach.  I therefore elected to drive only a little further to the 30-steps-away-from-the-parking-space beach.  The non-awesome (used to be gross but got some TLC and is now a sniff above tolerable) beach.  Which is to say, the water is not crystal clear at 70 or even 7 feet deep.  And there's SEA GRASS.  Yuck.

Okay, you get my drift.  That beach isn't my BFF ... or BBF.

Snap, crackle, pop we get there and park.  It's not too crowded, but still I chose the spot that was furthest away from everyone else.  For the quiet.

But then, later on, some people showed up and set up right beside us.  With pizza, noise and, apparently, a whole K-12 in tow.  Ugh.  (She said so totally silently inside her head that even her ears didn't hear it.) 

Of course it wasn't long before I saw, from my shady vantage point, some fleeting social contact between my kids and the other kids happening in the water.  It is here and now that I will reveal to you the mirror image with which my daughter (and son! Separately!) presented to me.

First, she comes up to ask if I noticed the "confused look" on her face as one of the younger boys was speaking to her.  Not really, no.  She then explained that it was as a result of his ... (are you ready for this?)... POOR GRAMMAR!

I die.

But not so fast, mommy dearest.

Here comes my boy to tell me that one of the other boys was asking to borrow his goggles but he couldn't understand him because - get this - "he wasn't speaking English."

I re-die.  

WELL, I said.  How did you know what he was asking, if it wasn't in English? (I ask, confident that I had caught him in his hyperbole.)

"No.  His friend had to translate for him.  Because HE speaks ENGLISH."  And the kicker - "I think he's Jamaican."  I tell him, not without a trace of indignance, that no, he is NOT Jamaican.  I am wondering now, what does it even matter?  Anyway-

I dig myself up, die once more.

Oh for shame.  My grammar snobbery has come back like a rabid dog and bitten my upon my prissy little arse.  I swear on the dictionary that I've tried to broadcast that culturally modified English is still a valid, effective and important language.  Rather, languages - plural.

Clearly though, as I myself have only just begun to really appreciate this completely important and bona fide truth, it will take me some time to mix this - like bacos - into conversations about language and culture as they come up.

People do not have to speak standard english to be smart.  (Duh.)  English as a first language individuals - such as myself and that cliché American tourist yelling at the "foreign peoples" - don't really seem to get that.  We may have been a tad misled by our colonizers.  (That's not an understatement and I mean no offense.  Nor am I being in the least bit sarcastic. Yes I am.)

Thanks for showing me that glaring spot there kiddos.  It wasn't pretty, but at least I can work towards fixing that. 


Starting with Me.  And I don't have to worry.

The mirror will catch up.

Double Vision

I have a working theory that supposes that (intentional*) parents are all working to give their children, not only a good life, but a better life than they had as children themselves. A kind of, "There.  I fixed it." parenting. 

This theory is based on me.

(Okay, and a few friends I've polled about it, but yeah.  Mostly me... and The Mister.)

Here are some more thoughts I have been thinking about that.

Since the glorious running-through-meadows-in-slow-mo freedom of the Summer, we've pretty much let bed time go.  Instead, at 9pm, we invite the people to have some quiet time in their own spaces.  The premise is that they are free to play until they are ready to go to sleep. 

My chronically social son who cannot bare to spend a moment alone always chooses to go to sleep instead.  (To be fair to him, 9 0'clock is usually when his battery runs out anyway.)

My chronically self sufficient daughter, on the other hand.  She seems to really enjoy that time and stays up till about 10 or 10:30.

There we were in the middle of Breaking Bad, The Mister and I, and we heard The Call - "I'm ready to go to slee-eep!"  We immediately popped up and trooped in to give her goodnight kisses and cuddles.   As I was walking in, I thought to myself how lucky she is to have This.  After all, I don't recall being tucked in by anyone, let alone BOTH parents every night.  Neither did I have the scandalous luxury of staying up and playing till I was ready to go to sleep.

She sure has a cushy happy childhood to look back on, I thought.

But then.

I realized that's probably what my parents were thinking about me.  And rightly so, given some of the experiences they've related to me about their own upbringing.   My life was pretty damn cushy.  And my father, now ass-less, worked it off to provide me with said life.  My mother made it a point to share some really meaningful experiences with me and to build strong relational bonds with me.  While I cannot speak for them with absolutely certainty, I know for a fact that at least one of them was working to give me the kind of life(style) that they never had.

It's a kind of double vision that seems inevitable for parents.  There is the life the parent had as a child, and that which they (hope to) create for their own children. 

I suppose we don't have any choice but to start with our defining memories, the history that was given to us in first, second and third persons, and to some how 'retrofix' it through our actions now.

Which led me to the conclusion that my own children may someday - if they become parents (or even if they don't) - look back at their childhood and see missing pieces; things they would do differently.  Which then led to me finally conclude that no matter what I do, it will one day be seen as lacking. 

And hopefully, reconciled.  Seen for what it really is, which is me doing the very damned best that I can with all the resources that are available to me.  Double vision and all.



*  I say "intentional" because I think some parents don't give even one single iota about what kind of job they are doing or care about what kind of life their children have.  Obviously, those are not the parents I'm talking about here. 

Home Run

After two years of semi-involuntary absence, I have come back to the place where happiness and dreaming live. A parched prodigal falling into a grateful heap in the cool, the shade, the cool water luxury of Home.

This is the place where I belong. 

Here. With my children on the extraordinary and adventurous journey that is life-and-learning.

After a mere week and a half of Free Time, and with the comforting knowledge of another six ahead of us, we - my children and I - are settling into ourselves; into Life Uninterrupted. Just like old times. We are playing and not playing. We are exploring and resting. We are hitting the road and we are vegging out. We eat when we want, we sleep when we want, we stop and start exactly when we want to.

The joy I feel at this, this... at this actualization can only be articulated with an ascent into the Alps and me belting out an a capella melody under sunshine and aerial shots. Honestly.

All this kerfuffle and grabbing for words is about how utterly happy I have been to be home with my children again.

We are back to kitchen counter adventures, internet learning, social time with special friends, quiet time at home, reading as many stories we want - just everything!

We are back to being free. 

Is it always soft edges idyllic? Is the pope episcopalian? Is it kind of pretty awesome and perfect? You know it is. 

We have it our way and we are loving it!

Spelling Being

[Insert obligatory apology for eternal absence here.  Then the explanation steeped in reticence:  life, busy, murmur-murmur, noncommittal sounds, fade to black.]

Aaand we're back.

No, seriously.  I really have been unable to write anything for longer than, like ever.  I struggle now to find my click-click, tap-tap voice.  It's important that I do find it, however, because what I have to say is kind of a big deal to me, and I want you to know about it.  So here goes.

A couple of months ago, a very reluctant participant in the school spelling bee - my daughter Lauryn - went on stage and spelled for 26 rounds.  After about eight rounds, it was between her and one other person.  Every time she stepped up to the microphone and the word was given to her - despite my original nonchalance - I became a little bit more shaky, my heart beat a tiny bit faster, and my breath was held a bit more deeply.

As words that weren't anywhere near the grade two or grade three list began to enter into the arena I would tell myself that this was it.  That it was all good.  And it didn't matter one bit that she was never going to be able to spell 'dreadful' or 'easily' (which it truly did not).

They spelled cautiously, confidently, valiantly back and forth, and back and forth until he mis-spelled his word (which made me feel sad) and she correctly spelled two words in a row for the win.  Even typing that makes me wince a little because, faced with the prospect of my children being entered into the mandatory grade level spelling bee, I had a quiet unease about the whole thing.  I couldn't pin point why I was uncomfortable with the spelling bee, but I knew that something wasn't quite right.

My son had a laiz et fair attitude about his grade one Bee and though he looked at his list briefly, he was not at all invested in the event.  (Which was fine by me!)  I went to show my support but neither of us were put out when he was eliminated.  Meh.  It was both our fist spelling bee experience and it was interesting, but not all that remarkable.

Lauryn, though.  That was a different story.  She was totally unwilling to do it.  She did not wish to be up on stage in front of a bunch of people spelling into a microphone.  NO thanks!  (Which was fine by me.)  I made arrangements with my husband for him to stay home with her that Wednesday because that was the only way she could opt out.  Then Tuesday came and she quietly declared that, yes, in fact she would like to do the spelling bee.  (Err!?)  Asked why, she responded with impossible to translate vagaries. My husband and I exchanged a look with questioning brows, but we accepted her decision.

That evening, at her behest, I ran through most of the grade two list (of words) with her, then she 'tested' me on some of the grade three words, then she got bored and we stopped.  On the way to school the following morning, I asked her to spell a few words she'd found decidedly un-phonetic ("Apron is with an O?!") and that was that.

In the middle of all this, was that quiet but steady insistent feeling that something was not in line with my ideology.  And what does a mom do when she needs answers?  Why, she hits the google search, of course.  I searched for "effects" of "spelling bee" or any variation of that theme.  One of the top hits was an article by Alfie Kohn about competition.

I already had some of those thoughts and feelings resident within.  It was this same place where the unease originated.  And so, let me tell you now, why my daughter winning the grade two spelling bee was a big deal for me.


You see, we were an unschooling family for seven years.

What that means is that there were no formal lessons on anything.  We learned trailerloads, boatloads, tons - all that.  But nothing was scripted, forced, or coerced.  My children both were gifted with a dream like childhood in which they played and played, then played some more.  In a house, with a mouse, with a fox on a box, in the rain, on a train, in they day, in the night, over here and over there - we played and played EVERYwhere!  (But if you've ever read this blog, you know that already!)

Then (due to a Big Reason that cannot be broached here), they both enrolled in a super small school in January last year.  They completed grade 1 and Kindergarten in a class of four people (including them) and had the luxury of a teacher that could move as fast or as slowly as they needed.  

THEN.  They started "Big School" last fall.  Tests every week.  Homework.  End of term exams.  The whole 10 yards. 

And THEN.  Having had zero formal learning that our society touts with the veracity of a marketplace hawkers, my daughter spelled her way to win the school spelling bee. 

I beg your forgiveness if you have found this circuitous and hard to follow.  The story itself is hard for me to really get and really tell.  It's so much more complex than paragraphs.  So much more rich than sentences.  So much more meaningful than this blog post will ever be. 

Her spelling bee win was bigger than spelling.  It was a win for being a kid and having fun.  It was a solid victory for living as learning and learning as living.  It was validation for the uncommon irreverent ideas - Truths! - that this mother holds so dear. 

The Queen of Conflictedness

This is how it goes for me:  a thought, an idea catches in my brain - the way some loose fabric does and ends up with a hole in it as one unwittingly carries on walking away - only I can't get loose.  I fiddle and fiddle with it.  Pull it this way and that.  Lose sleep over it, miss conversations and the taste of my meals because of it.  Live in a trance-like state of ponderance because if it.   This single thought gets bumped and tossed and pulled and finagled without ceasing on the crisscross lines of my thought tracks.  Until finally, I see my way around it and I make a decision.

Phew.  That feels better...

For a while... then the reality of my decision begins to take shape, moving from abstraction to tangibility, and I find myself curling my lips and recoiling from what it is becoming.  What have I done?  What, I ask myself, am I doing?

I reach for my crown and scepter and I sit gracelessly on the Throne of Ambivalence - the newly (re-) crowned Queen of Conflictedness.  I reign supreme, knowing that I am never sure or confident about the decision which is now made half-heartedly.

That is how it goes for me.  And now I give you the Case In Point.

I recently wrote a blog post about deciding to go back to my roots and homeschool my daughter, Lauryn.  Not too long after, comes this post.  This post about how I have since accepted a job as a facilitator for a nursery group at a school where my children will both be attending me feeling sad about no longer homeschooling (any of) my children.  So.  Very.  Sad.

How could this happen?  What am I doing?  I know I'm a home-schooler at heart.  Rather, I have just realized that - having finally identified what those pangs and aches I've been getting when I read homeschoolers' blogs are.

No matter how many times I explain it to myself that it's not forever, it's not going to hurt my children, we desperately need the money, think of all the bills you can pay, the kids will be fine, you're really lucky to get them into that school, you needed to change things, you need the money...  No matter how many ways or how often I tell these things to myself, it can't make this feel right.  (Okay folks, you might wanna step back a bit, The Idealist is coming...)

I swear on everything that is valuable to me, if there were any other way for me to make the income I'll be making at this job, and still homeschool my children I'd do it without a nano-second thought.  Our lives are so simple and happy that way.  Learning is so rich and real-lifey when we homeschool.  There is such a strong sense of togetherness and joy in homeschooling.  They are safer when we homeschool.  Everything is easier, more fun, better for all of us.  Life is soft focus frolicking in meadows when we homeschool.

But a woman's gotta do what a mamma's gotta do.  I know and continue to remind myself that I'm doing this for my children now, so I can do so much more for my children now and later.   This way they get to finally do some of the things we couldn't afford before, like martial arts for Ry and art mentorship for Lauryn.  And - just, so much more!

I can (and will) weigh the pros and cons unstoppably until I am too weary to keep them moving in my brain.  There is no chance that I won't.  Hopefully though, I can eventually find peace and acceptance about having to put my ideals into Self Storage until I can take them out and put them back on again.  I have to.

Life After Children.

Lately I have been thinking a lot about how very different my life is and has been, as a result of choosing to become a mother.  (<--- Thesis Statement.)

Ask any parenting parent and they'll tell you, there was life before kids and then there is life after kids.  Somehow, someday fertilization happens and a zygote turns into a blastocyst turns into an embryo turns into a fetus turns into a baby turns into a real live person and there is work to do!  Suddenly everything looks different.  Not just about you, but to you.

One Tuesday it hits you that eating out is a Really Big Deal.  As is sleeping in.  Sleeping at all, for that matter!  By Friday, you find the need to acquaint yourself with words like "developmentally appropriate" and "thimersol".

And by "you", I mean Me.

There isn't a single decision that I make that isn't cast into the mold of What is Best for My Children.  Where before I was casually coasting along taking things as they come, I am now living an outcome-driven way of life.

If there were a physical measure, a scale to weigh how much everything I am putting into my children's lives and how much hey-maybe-I-should-save-some-for-me I'm putting into my own it would never fall heavy on my side.  That's just a fact.  I know I need to look after myself too, but honestly, who has the time?!

At least I've had enough sense knocked into me to know now that I have a right to my own happiness outside of that which makes my children happy.  Until recently, I didn't know how deeply I had engrained in myself that putting my children waaaaaaaa...aaaaaaaa...aay ahead of me was the defining characteristic of A Good Mother.

And still, I have only realized my need to take care of me because it affects my ability to take care of them.  (Can I get a witness?!)  

I am fully aware (in fact I am working toward ensuring) that the minute, the second, the moment will come when they will have outgrown me - as they should; and that if I make my whole existence about them now it will mean that when The Time does come and they Go, I'll have nothing left of my self but shadows and an empty mirror.

I sway with the pendulum and the tides reaching desperately to find the point any place in the general vicinity of the middle.  A place where I am giving them my "best of" and giving me (my relationship with The Mister, with my friends with myself) my "greatest hits".

Perhaps my life after (having) children will continue this way until I find myself with a newly defined life after (raising) children.   Hopefully when I am there and looking back with through the irony we call 20/20 hindsight I will know at last that in the very act of aiming for it, I was always somewhere in the middle because it is wider than I thought.

Whatever happens to me, I am placing all my bets that it will have a lot to do with what happens to them.    (And not the other way around.)