Finding the RIght Thing

I often am at a loss on how best to meet Sylvie's unstated wants and needs, those things I often can just sense with the other two. But, I suggested she give this a try the other day, and it was just the thing for my little monkey. Though probably not so good for my nerves.

Let's Make this Homeschool Email a blog post

I spent an hour writing it, and it's a nice summary of the things that wake me in the night about homeschooling.

Homeschooling is not easy, and I think it's even trickier once you get past the elementary years. Once these guys hit puberty, they have a much stronger urge to be with their peers, and we see their very best (and their very worst) when they are actively engaged with a group. Any parent really looking at their child will know that we actually cannot inspire the same thought and work that a group of motivated peers can.

I know as a homeschooler I am not supposed to say things like that, but I also know that I've struggled with it since Ezra turned seven. I realized I could teach the children pretty much anything but I could never play with them like another seven-year-old. Though I struggled against being a "soccer mom", driving my over-scheduled children from one enrichment to the next, I have not really found another way to balance this genuine desire for peers against my genuine mistrust and dislike of the institutional school system.

My understanding is that the public school available to you completely will not meet (anon 1) academic needs and interests. That the school will not be at all like the program she went to this summer. While you also cannot offer what she experienced this summer, there are many resources available throughout the school year where you could give her spells of that sort intermingled with the best you have to offer. (Check MIT SPARK and SPLASH as well as Brown's programs and the RISD summer programs) I know (anon 2)  is doing a variety of online courses that seem to work well for her and their family situation.

To be completely blunt, I really think the institutional school system is completely dysfunctional, and if education and joy in learning were the only things we wanted for our children, it would be the worst place in the world. But there is other stuff going on, stuff not really covered in a standardized test that has to do with peer relationships and problem solving and coping and engaging with adults besides parents. I also think that a homeschooler CAN offset some of the deficiencies once the parents recognize that it's not some Sophoclean idyll.

These are things I've pondered for 14 or 15 years, because I've known since I taught school that I would be a homeschooler. If I have it right, you have only been in this territory for just over a year. If you are at all the sort of person to reflect, you know you are probably failing (anon 1) in myriad ways, and it mostly sucks to not be able to set our darlings on the bus and check education off our list of things to do. (Sentences like that can sound so condescending in an email, so please read this with a generous heart and know I feel sympathy for your situation, not superiority or disregard.)

So, what are we to do? First, a "good" curriculum is pretty unsatisfying if you and (anon 1) don't like it. I use http://www.amblesideonline.org/curriculum.shtml . There are problems; I am not Christian and the people who provide this curriculum are decidedly so. I actually like the arc that the Waldorf curriculum follows, and this one follows a different philosophy. There is no math, and the science is a little thin. The writing areas are a bit vague for me. However, I really like how heavy the reading component is and I like the variety that it offers. I like that it emphasizes a style of learning that has been long gone in the institutional system. I like that it was developed for people educating children in a home.

It means I spend a fair bit of effort sculpting it into what I want to teach, but this takes less time than completely writing my own curriculum. I did write my own the first 4 years, with a Waldorf flair, and the children and I spent too much of our time arguing about what HAD to be done. Now, I substitute Waldorf type books for some of the Christian books. I've figured out that some books I would have skipped entirely have some important historic significance in our culture. I supplement with this math curriculum: http://www.cimt.plymouth.ac.uk/ . I have decided that science history combined with a strong focus on natural history was fine until last year, Ezra's 7th grade year; now, I find a science curriculum or text that I feel good about. Last year, I used three different cell biology texts, but this year, I want more follow up. I am looking for a writing course I feel good about that looks interesting. And so on....

My point is that I feel like I have brilliant children who need college prep experiences, but I don't feel they're like (anon 2) and able to do college type courses online yet. I have to have done at least some of the reading I'm asking them to do, so that we can have good discussions about them. I feel like my effort means they have more intellectual engagement with the subject matter. I listen to them when they really hate a particular book (Robinson Crusoe), and sometimes we soldier on and sometimes we completely drop it (Pilgrim's Progress).

I also feel there are many valid paths to an "education", and as the children get older, we have to become partners in what that means. I use that curriculum because it seems inherently flexible and it's free, but I know there are hundreds or thousands of choices out there that are all pretty good in one way or another. Unfortunately (or maybe the opposite), for a homeschooler to have lots of intellectual engagement, the parent has to take up lots of slack and try to find chances for the children to engage with peers both socially and intellectually.

That was long-winded but maybe not more help than just knowing that most homeschoolers who care are facing the same issues you are.

The Chauffeur Years

That's what a childless friend called our current era of parenting. This past couple of weeks we have been very busy shuffling children from one place to another, cramming in an hour or two of gardening and animal management when we could. This past weekend, everyone had recitals, and now we're officially into summer.

The cows are doing well. The calves are nursing twice a day, and Violet is on pasture for the most part. A couple of times, we've left the calves with Violet overnight so that we didn't have to milk in the morning. This is a luxury of unweaned calves, but it does make Violet grumpy the next morning when we do milk.

All three of them look better, though Violet's patties have been very loose. I've tried giving her only hay at night, but she just doesn't really eat until she gets back on pasture. And boy- our pasture looks like another world relative to what it looked like even last year. The grass is boot high in places, and even the weeds look healthy.

Now She's Eight

 Born ready to engage.
Always happy and on the move.

Sewing for a "Tween"

I actually despise the term tween and see it only as a marketing word. However, I've had to use it the past couple of days in order to sort through sewing patterns online for Phaedra. It's been extremely frustrating.

First, she still really likes the patterns that go to a child's size 8, but Oliver and S and Izzy and Ivy and many other really neat patterns stop too small. I'm sure there's a way to do alterations, but this is beyond my skill level. Even McCall,s and Kwiksew have precious little in her size range, and much of that is a style I won't bother with.

Second, she's very far from fitting the proportions of a lady's pattern. This isn't surprising, but I did explore the option when I realized how few girls' patterns go beyond size 8 or 10.

I have spent over two hours trolling through sewing sites, looking for patterns that appeal and will fit. I finally found a few, and the way I found them was the search term "tween". And since I feel credit should be given when deserved, the site that had the most options in her size is Sew Mama Sew.

Age Appropriate

Way back, when I was pregnant the first time, I looked at the list of toys we needed in order to have a superior child, or at least to avoid being sub-par parents. The list varied in length depending on which book or magazine I read, but I came away with just a few things that were MUSTS. One was blocks.

Well, let's fast forward to wee little Ezra sitting propped up in a high chair, offered a block or two to occupy him. At this point, blocks looked like a good choice, but if we gave him a napkin or spoon or bagel or cup, he was much more interested. The blocks were fine for him to manipulate, but in no way a formative experience for a 4- to 9-month-old.

By twelve months, the well-informed parent hopes Baby is stacking at least two blocks on one another. That makes blocks again seem very important; they help us know that Baby is growing well. But any parent who spends time with Baby can see whether he is beginning to put things together; there is not actually anything magical about blocks. And by twelve months, Ezra had figured out a much better thing to do with blocks- throw them. This became a discipline moment, and I worked on it and worked on it. We worked on it until he was about four when he suddenly did the thing with blocks that I figured he would start doing a year or two earlier, building.

The girls followed a similar trajectory with blocks, but this post is not all about blocks. What I really mean to say is we are sold toys repeatedly for younger children that these same children would enjoy more at a later age, especially if they were novel at that point. Legos are another fine example. Yes, most three-year-olds of my acquaintance can and will assemble Lego pieces, but six-year-olds can follow the instruction books for the smaller sets, they can then disassemble pieces by themselves. If you wait even longer, like until they're nine, for the more complicated sets, they can do the figuring for themselves, which will lead to them venturing into new constructions all their own.

I saw the same thing with dolls, doll houses, kitchen play, Play Mobil, etc. They make many things with extra bells and whistles for smaller children to try to get them to play with the toys the parents think they OUGHT to enjoy. It is good to remind ourselves that these people are trying to separate us from our money; they are not really all that interested in our children's development. The time we spend with our children is our most valuable tool is determining what they are actually ready for; no table of expected milestones or far removed expert can beat that.

Happy Halloween

On Sunday the children carved their pumpkins. Phaedra's as the biggest, but it had mold inside. Sylvie scooped it out for her, then Phaedra decided Sylvie could just have it. Ezra's definitely reflected his age; it was more creative and had big enough openings to shed a fair bit of light. Phaedra's also had pretty big openings. Sylvie's had six faces that let out hardly any light at all; she was delighted!

 

 

 

 

 Tonight, they each put together their costumes with only minimal input. I'm not really the helpful sort in this department, and no one liked my idea of going as a laundry hamper.

 

So, Ezra went as an IRS agent; Jason got him some faux tax forms to hand out that taxed people candy. He made the briefcase out of a canning jar box and gorilla tape.

Phaedra went as a librarian. The glasses are some of Jason's. She felt that with the glasses way down on her nose she looked like her Grammy. That's "Little Women" under her arm.

Sylvie went as a witch. She likes anything that requires odious amounts of face paint. She wanted very much to look scary.

Jason took them trick or treating; they like for him to take them. Sylvie explained to Librarian Rose this morning that if I take them, they only get to go to two houses. Jason said there were not very many people out, and that not that many houses had a light on. I wonder if the weather scared people.

Peace Points

My beloved third child needs the world to respond to her; she needs to know if you like what she's doing, whether she does it better than anyone else. She will ask for, insist on, and demand attention from most anyone she feels comfortable with. If she really loves and trusts you, when all else fails, she will pinch, yell, jump, poke, do ANYTHING to get you to notice her. For the record, we are not a cold, distracted family; she just entered the world needing more attention than the other four of us can steadily give.

Her yearning for attention has resulted in some pretty negative interactions with her siblings, particularly Ezra. I have watched and tried to stay out of the way, believing pretty firmly that they will come to a workable solution for both of them. Seven-and-a-half years in, I've decided that there are too many negative patterns between the two of them, and I can see similar patterns extending into more of her interactions with all of us. It seems high time to do something.

Two weeks ago, I introduced the idea of "peace points"; these are tied to behaviors that either create or undermine peace. Being overly sensitive does not calm our environment, breathing into your sister's ear is disruptive to everyone, unobtrusively helping with another's chore makes life better for the entire family.

Each child starts the week with ten points. At the end of the week, if all three children have eight or more, they may each spend $1 on candy. If any child has 10 points, that person may have $2. (Candy is a hot commodity in our house; it's one of the upsides to deprivation in childhood.) Points may be regained, as well as lost. The trick here is that each child is dependent on the others to reap the reward, and they all actually like it when all of them have the same treat. They will each advocate for the others as the week comes to a close to make sure everyone has as many points as possible.

And finally, I see Sylvie trying to measure her responses to annoyances, like someone quietly enjoying a book or wanting her to put her shoes away. I see her trying to frame her wants and needs in a friendlier way. I see Ezra trying to be tolerant instead of provoked. I see Phaedra tempering some of her passive pettiness. The whole system is kind of a bother, because I am the banker of points, but two weeks in, it seems worth the effort.

Popular Shorthand

My siblings and I share a repertoire of cartoon references that serve as conversational shortcuts. Ours is extensive due to the inordinate hours we spent in front of the television, but it even helped with my peer group in college. You know, we COULD sit at Quackenbush's discussing whether Tom or Jerry was the 'bad" guy; we were of course far too cerebral for that conversation.

I am realizing that this is something I am denying my children. They will be a little odd the same way I am when someone talks about football or more recent tv. I mention this because I feel a ridiculous pride in not having a television, but I also see that there is a social cost. I think of this girl in college who was just a bit off, and at the time, people attributed it to her not having a television when she was growing up.

The good news is that they do have peers in the same situation, and maybe, depending on where they choose to live, they'll have some sort of television-clueless cohort.

We also have started bringing a few things into their lives. Ezra, in particular, sees recent movies, and as the girls get older, they will, too. Jason keeps us in touch with newer music, although still not top 40 stuff. (How I remember listening to Casey Casem on a weekend mornings so I would know what band to like now!) As we get farther along this path, we'll have to continue to pick and choose. I know I'm supposed to say that all this popular stuff should not matter; it's their characters I should care most about. But I remember how much more I enjoyed life when I began to understand what it was my peers were interested in and wanted to talk about. Belonging, or being able to choose to belong, is an awesome tool. We are herd animals; even if we do not want to move with the herd, we should at least teach our children how to recognize a few landmarks.

Playing Dolls

Ezra had no interest in dolls until Phaedra was big enough to play with them. For those of you who are tutting at all our culture does to deny boys this beautiful expression of caring for ourselves and learning to nurture, trust that Ezra had plenty of opportunities and gentle encouragement to play dolls. Sure, there were occasional forays; I have a sweet picture of him when he was almost three nursing a baby doll in a sling fashioned from a play silk. I think this had more to do with imitation than with playing at nurturing, because it never seemed to develop into the same sort of play that his backyard engineering feats did.

Phaedra chose to sleep with a doll around the time she turned two, and this doll still resides in her bed, with a threadbare face and mittened hands. But sleeping with a dolls and playing dolls are not really the same. I had hoped she would play dolls, and Ezra would join her, and they could both try their hands at nurturing. There was some doll play, but it never seemed to grab either of them. They spent more time telling stories and swinging and building with blocks. Phaedra definitely likes dolls, but she does less pretending with them, and more maintenance, like making clothes and smoothing hair.

Now, Sylvie really plays dolls. She dresses them and carries them places and worries sporadically about their feelings. She always hopes someone will be fooled that she's carrying a real baby.  She cajoles Ezra and Phaedra to play with her, and she always wants them to play dolls. Sylvie is the one that keeps a storyline going, so that everyone will just stick to dolls.

The problem is that Ezra is the most likely to say yes, and his babies are always so poorly behaved. To me, it looks like doll rebellion. His dolls always wake the others from their naps; they refuse to be potty trained or dressed nicely. They pinch the other babies to make them cry. Sylvie announced that Ezra is banished from doll play until his dolls can act right. (I love this stuff!)

So, the other day, Ezra is quietly and pointedly crying behind me as I'm washing dishes, and I ask the question he's silently begging me to ask, "What's the matter?"

His tears fall faster as he explains that Sylvie is excluding him. I look out the window and see the girls playing peacefully; I reflect on all I know about my plastic grandchildren; I ask Ezra if he knows why he's being excluded.

There's a powwow and then,

This lasted a solid hour. I always wonder when this moment will be the last like this I'll see.

A Flexible Schedule

I homeschool the children in a way that means I rarely get a week day off during the school year, so I'm pretty tied up with them until after lunch Monday through Friday. Then, five afternoons a week, we have enrichment activities. This works for us, except for one thing.

I still have a million things to do outdoors. I actually plan the work load to be heavier between now and March, so that I can have more time to begin gardening. Fall sneaked up on us this year; Jason has been so busy with one thing and another, that he has not taken up the slack the way I have come to count on. Some things were outright errors, like I planted green beans so late that they were only barely coming on when we started school.

Fortunately, I have learned a bit of flexibility through the years, and the newest contortion is that Monday is not a "real" school day until probably snowfall.

The children handled it pretty well yesterday. Ezra is quite independent in his studies, relying on me primarily to follow up on readings or edit writing. Phaedra likes to have me in the neighborhood when she does math, but she managed with only a little nudging from Ezra. Sylvie did only a few things, as she still relies heavily on me to provide structure to her school day; still, she can have a few four-day-weeks in second grade.

I delighted in pulling up the eight-foot tall pole beans that hung dead and slimy from frost. I raked leaves and raked leaves and raked leaves. Do you have any idea how many leaves it takes to fill a 50' by 3' path? I only filled one of them, but I did hit some trouble spots around the ends of rows with cardboard and leaves. I layered hay onto three green bean beds, as well as the cucumber and chard beds. It doesn't sound like much, I know, but it took 6 hours. And I haven't even started on the new garden.

Teaching Manners

Jason and I enjoy new ideas. We like experiments; we're not too afraid of failing. The notion that making mistakes quickly is a good way to a workable solution appeals to us. The upside is we almost always have something to talk about; the downside is we make lots of mistakes. Parenting has offered many avenues for making humbling mistakes.

Before we had children, before I started teaching, I read many books on child development. The theories I happened onto that made a lot of sense to me were more of the "adults must stay out of the way of the natural goodness of children" or "children will do all the things they need to do naturally if we give them the space". Two months into teaching, I was already doubting these theories. Given complete freedom, most of the children in the school where I taught preferred playing and socializing to academic pursuits. Non-violent communication did not beget non-violence among the students who liked to express themselves physically. For the ones who liked talking more than math, the "peace corner" was a perfect place to spend the morning. There seemed no natural leanings toward watching out for less able, younger, or confused peers.

The thing with theories is they sound so good on paper, and you can always find someone who has the experience to back up one theory or another. So, if you're already biased, you're pretty likely to believe the supporting arguments. There is nothing like personal encounters to blow theories out of the water.

Ezra did not sleep when he needed to; it seems his little baby and child self benefited from an adult facilitating sleep- even when he was three and four and twelve. The girls definitely followed a similar pattern. Letting a small Ezra or Phaedra or Sylvie experience the cold due to their inadequate clothing choices proved to be another asinine theory. Each of them might have blue lips and chittering teeth as they claimed they were not cold and, "No, I don't want a jacket, shoes, shirt...."

Admittedly, some things worked. I do not cajole the children to eat; I've never begged them. I have occasionally insisted on one bite. I think I have pretty good eaters with very few table tantrums on the books. Their table manners still need work.

And manners is what this post is supposed to be about.

Along with the idea that they would sleep when they needed to and ask for a coat if they got cold, was the idea that if we modeled good manners they would copy us. I cannot even count how many times I read on the Mothering boards some scathing comment about a mother who made her three-year-old say please, thank you, I'm sorry, excuse me. Why! If that mother only knew how she was scarring her child into hating manners and how much more gently she could do it by simply providing a good example. If everyone would do this there would be peace in the Middle East!

Here I sit with three children who have heard me say please and thank you, hello and good bye, excuse me, welcome!, and so on and not a one of them has developed the habit. I'm surrounded by just those sort of haters who MADE their dear little toddlers mouth these meaningless words and phrases until it became habit- and the fact is their children are much nicer to be around.

All these little habits are more easily impressed on little ones, and for them, they are most likely meaningless. But I'm one person who feels delighted when a visiting child says, "Thank you for having me over." I wish I had seen the foolishness of omitting this bit of direct teaching.

So now, I'm having to teach and explain that these little words are just to make people feel better and they are the oil in the social bearings. I'm having to whisper cues in the ears of children old enough to be embarrassed by promptings. We have to review social niceties before we go into a store or a lesson- things like "make eye contact, say thank you, always yield right of way to pregnant women and elderly people". Maybe these are not the same rules you would enforce; maybe my children will talk to their therapists about the year their mother got manners; maybe no one else actually cares afterall. And still, all I can think is that it's about time.

Music for the Third Child- Part Two

Sylvie still had Pete as a mainstay for the first couple of years. She probably even had more of my soul through singing, because I had learned so many of the folk songs that were on endless repeat at our house.

But, when she was four and Ezra was nine-and-a-half, things began to slip. Partly, it happened because we were working in such a focused way, that my soul energy was less available to filter all the music Jason and I had as our first picks. Ezra was getting to a point where he was really interested in music beyond the folk stuff we had been hearing, and that seemed pretty reasonable.

Also, we all REALLY like the White Stripes, and, for those of you too foolish to know, their songs really are pretty kid friendly. The lyrics are pretty inscrutable, there are no curse words, and no dark clouds of hate and anger. The subject matter, rockin' music, amd clever lyrics mean that they are still 100% adult music. It was a happy thing...

and a gateway drug.

With a dash of Pandora and Slacker and a heavy dose of Ezra's interest in minutia, combined with his liking Cocteau Twins the best of all, you might see where this is leading. You know, about 45 seconds into any Cocteau Twins song, I fall asleep. Jason's similar opinion meant that he began suggesting other bands Ezra might enjoy.

And the ball rolled ever wider and farther until a couple of months back when Sylvie seemed to know all the words to "Kiss with a Fist" and most of the words to "Girl with One Eye".  It was completely charming to me that Ezra knew all the words to various propaganda songs at the age of seven, but these two did not make my maternal heart flutter warmly. I knew I had let things stray too far.

Now, I've made various edicts to the older family members about what we can play with Sylvie around. I explained that I do not listen to the Violent Femmes or Hole when any of them are around, and we need to extend this courtesy to her, but with still another couple of notches down on the content and subject matter ladder.

I still have trouble with this. I'm ready to listen to some of my own stuff more often, so I keep making playlists that I think will work. Today, L.A County came on while we were driving home; Sylvie says, "I love this song!" I guess I need to clean up that play list, too.

And the quote this morning that made this whole post come about was Ezra chastising Jason- "Daddy, don't you think it's wrong to listen to Jamie T. with your children around?"

Music for the Third Child- Part One

 Oh no! The dreaded multi-part blog post! How pretentious can you get!

When Ezra was little, I discovered how much I really loathe most anything labeled kids music. None of the funky, artsy performers praised in Mothering did anything but wrinkle my nose. The Putamayo music was tolerable, but who can stand listening to the same "tolerable" music day in and day out; it would be like spending your life in an elevator. The Waldorf approved tunes had the advantage of wanting you to skip recorded stuff entirely and sing to and with your children from your soul. While that sounds at least vaguely hokey, I was completely willing to learn a bajillion songs, and I did.

Part of the problem was that Ezra was definitely learning from what he was hearing. I'd had to give up public radio when he toddled into the room where I was nursing Phaedra and chirped in his sweet two year voice, "I am Diane Rehm." He could also do funny parlor tricks, like tell you the names of various dictators whose names were oft spouted in the top of the news hour. I had thought music would give me a bit of companionship and would bring less ugliness into my little children's heads. I went on the search for more music.

One night when Jason and I were on one of our first dates after Phaedra was born, we happened into the cd section of a bookstore chain- it was Texas; there were no local book or music stores that I knew of. I thought I'd check the kids' music section. And there was the artist who changed my parenting life- Pete Seeger. This was music with funny lyrics, older melodies, no stupid children as back up singers, no electronic flim flam, and a singer just begging you to sing along- not alone.

After that cd, many more Pete Seeger albums found their way into our house. There's a picture of three-year-old Ezra with his ear pressed to the speaker as he tried to learn all the lyrics to "Union Maid". Pete Seeger was followed by a little Woody Guthrie and a little Burl Ives, but neither of these replaced Pete in our familial affections.

And so, Ezra and Phaedra had a pretty good selection of music that I felt pretty comfortable with for the first few years of their lives.

Over Their Heads

I just recently realized that now that Ezra’s head comes up to past my chin, it is much more difficult to talk over his head. It is practically impossible to say anything without him tuning in and asking questions. He spells quite well, he has figured out pig Latin, his German improves almost daily, and his ability to decode the eyebrow waggling system we were working on outstrips our inventing pace.

While it’s hard to keep secrets, it’s also really nice that he is suddenly old enough to be included in more of our discussions. Whether we’re discussing music, dinner, or poverty, he has a word to add. I like the person I see emerging into our air space.

It makes me excited to see what the girls bring.

Clean Your Room

I have a new insight into this parental struggle. What if we're just wrong about a child's ability to clean a space? I know some children are quite capable of cleaning a space from quite a young age, but I think most of us do not live with such children. And probably most of us were not those sort either.

I have cleaned my children's rooms with them since they were able to crawl, and prior to that, they each rode in a carrier while I cleaned our space. I will admit to my occasional temper tantrums in the face of a recalcitrant child, but mostly, I have modeled just the behavior I wish them to learn. We work as a team, I assigned tasks very specifically according to age and ability, I have made a valiant effort to keep their things to a manageable amount, I have tried to provide a structure that they can use to help them clean, I've played music and games and we've had stories while we tidied. And still, not a one of them can clean a room.

I think even my 10-year-old is unable to apply some internal structure to his space. He does not see the paper on the floor or the heap of stuff on his desk or the sheet wadded up under the blanket on his bed. He will very willingly pick up his laundry or legos; he can arrange books on his shelf. But he still needs a guiding hand to do all the steps to tidy his room, and he just doesn't understand the necessity of dusting (that could be genetic).

My tidiest child thinks that if everything is on a shelf or if the things on the floor are not hers, it is tidy. She does not understand why I want to sweep her floor even when her socks are covered with dirt and wood debris from walking across her floor.

And the littlest is just not sure why I would disturb her play to tidy a space that she can only barely pass through.

I can see they are all learning, but I know I was expected to clean my room by the time I was as old as my littlest. I know many mothers wonder when their children will be able to achieve this task. And I know some will just disagree, but maybe "Clean your room" is not an age appropriate sentence before some time after the age of ten.

While Raking Leaves

I was thinking about all the music I like and humming a few tunes, too. A visitor once said we were the "singingest" family, and he wasn't exactly complimenting us. I think he found the incessant humming and bursts of song fragments annoying. I thought it was funny, because I have been deliberately cultivating these music making habits since Ezra was small. I've learned multiple verses of many, many folk songs; I've memorized a slew of Mother Goose rhymes and children's poems and chore songs; I've learned lots and lots of dear Pete Seeger's propaganda songs; and finally, I've learned to whistle. If one of the children starts a song, I join in or listen and express pleasure. Jason is probably the least likely to burst into song, but even he uses quotes from songs on a regular basis.

So, as I was raking, I was humming a couple of Burl Ives tunes that tickle my fancy and then I switched to White Stripes and then Pink Floyd and then the Beatles and Lyle Lovett and so on. And I was thinking how lucky I am to be able to entertain myself in the middle of this pleasant, but mindless and monotonous task.

I thought about how we avoided the children's music drivel that might make one flee from music altogether. I like that Ezra enjoys REM and Cocteau Twins and doesn't like Carolina Chocolate Drops, while Phaedra is particularly fond of Sinead O'Connor and Sylvie likes Woody Guthrie. Everyone likes dear Pete Seeger and the lively (though dead) Burl Ives. I have yet to win anyone over to Dave Brubeck or Miles Davis, but Handel and Fred Astaire are more than tolerated.

It's funny what you might think of while raking leaves.

Death Versus Mortality

I remember when I was quite young laying awake for what seemed hours and hours rehearsing what I would do if my mother died. I think this is a pretty common thing for children to fixate on, but my mother's seeming frailty added to my anxiety. I know that even in college I would devote the occasional evening to this little rehearsal. My plans were not dramatic in any way; I was not thinking about other people much. It was more that I practiced how I would feel when my mother died.

Then, when I was 26, she died. And it was awful. And I cried alot. And I was sad. And then I got back to the business of living.

It's not that I quit being sad; I'm still regularly bowled over with grief. It's not that time heals all wounds; my grandmother said time just heightened the ache and I think she was right. It's just that I'm pretty practical and I'm not afraid of death and I had other things to do besides miss my mother.

Someone recently told me that it was probably her death that made me as casual as I am about death, but I have not been afraid of dying for as long as I can remember. I just figure there is only so much room in this world and if we all cling too tenaciously to life, we don't make room for the new life ever burbling forth. I also figure there comes a point when our work is done, and why should I hang around making other people take care of me when I'm finished anyway.

So that's the death part.

The mortality part hit me hard today and it's tied back into my feelings about my mother's death. My mother never saw me pregnant nor told me terror birth stories. She never held my baby or mocked me for attachment parenting. She did not tell me what to do for diaper rash nor did she chastise me for using cloth diapers. I couldn't call her when each child started to walk or when they lost their first teeth. When Ezra had cancer or when Phaedra had tantrums or when Sylvie made me crazy with chatter, I couldn't call her or ask for backup or anything. And those things make me sad sometimes and sometimes- I'm glad she's not around to fight with me.

Today, though, today...

The children were sitting with their other grandmother, the one who can visit and does, the one who listens to endless stories and watches the endless circus show, the one who is everything one might hope for in a grandmother. She brought them metal tea cans to make into time capsules, and they were each very excited by the work of filling them up and they were each debating how long they would wait to peek inside. And I suddenly realized I might not be there when they opened them. I mean, probably I will be, but it's POSSIBLE that I won't. And I asked them if I might tuck a note inside. And I told them each how much I loved them and how special they each are. And I asked their grandmother if she might not also like to put a note in. And I printed some pictures for each of them.

And how I wished that my mother had left something like that for me.

Sylvie Starts Kindergarten

 I am definitely in the better-late-than-early camp of education. The time, however brief, I spent as a Montessori teacher telling parents their six-year-old OUGHT to be able to read left an extra wrinkle between my eyebrows. It wasn’t hard to find the writings of dear John Holt and Rebecca Rupp and Charlotte Mason and Rudolph Steiner and David Elkind who all, to one degree or another, thought it best that children have a bit longer to play and grow and pretend  before being set to learn the alphabet.

When Ezra was kindergarten age, there was a new baby in the house, and it was easy to recite nursery rhymes and sing songs and tend house very purposefully to support his further unfolding. When Phaedra got to be kindergarten age, she wanted nothing to do with our “school” time and went off to play with her toddler sister in the simple land of early childhood. So, I deliberately did “kindergarten” things with Sylvie, like singing seasonal songs and doing simple crafts and taking walks, which Phaedra and Ezra also enjoyed.

Now, Sylvie is five, and she just wants to do whatever we’re doing. She has more friends than her brother and sister did at this age and she’s more socially aware than they were. She wants to do what she knows some of her friends and almost all of her cousins (there were 5 born in 5 months that year) are doing. And the cousins and friends are starting kindergarten and her siblings are back in their school routine. Sylvie wants to do that, too.

The problem is that Sylvie is a bit of a butterfly. It feels wrong to encourage her to sit quietly when I would even prefer she go off to play. Fortunately, I could see all this coming and I’ve devised a plan. We’re only one-and-a-half weeks into this plan, but it’s working so far.

I keep a lesson plan book, because it makes me feel good about myself, and in that book I’ve devoted a line on each page to Sylvie’s school work. If the book says we’re supposed to sing a song and recite a couple of poems and read a chapter out of Peter and Polly, then that’s what we do. Then I say, “You’ve finished your schoolwork! Would you like to dry dishes for me?” And she happily gets on with her day. Some days, like today, she ends up doing a page or two out of a workbook I got last year when I was at sixes and sevens with occupying her during school time. And that’s okay, too.

So, she can count past 100 and identify all her capital letters and copy words to send a brief letter, but she is satisfied with that. She has a day every now and then when she wants to learn to read or add or use the big chef’s knife. I make room in our school time to give her a lesson on these things, but if she wanders away, I let her. Five is really little, and this five-year-old is really airy. I think she and I will both enjoy more focused academics when her feet are a little closer to the ground. I like watching her fly for now.

All I Don’t Know

Part of this life we now lead is the almost daily confrontation of all we do not know. We both grew up in the suburbs, so there are things like cow and chicken care that neither of us learned as children. Those sorts of things do not much bother me. (It does bother me that things like this seem to be slipping from common knowledge.)

What embarrasses me is my complete ignorance when it comes to knots or plant identification or simple plumbing skills. We are learning, and I have gotten very good at admitting when I do not know how to do something that I really ought to know. Still- I ponder why we don’t know.

For my part, many of these skills were not valued. I guess no one in my immediate family ever needed to tie down lumber or tighten a clothesline. One of my grandfathers was handy, and he stepped in when there were small repairs that could not be ignored. I think repair people were called in otherwise. 

In my childhood, the intellect was definitely favored over these skills. From where I am now, looking back, I wonder if too much got neglected.

Don’t get me wrong- I love it when Ezra tells me in a dreamy way about the nature of time or black holes or when Phaedra is completely captivated by the travails of a period in history. There are just some other things I want for them.

I want to help them feel confident they can at least approach any problem whether it’s a flooding basement, a trigonometric equation, or a thin larder. I want them to know how to get the information they need when an electrical outlet quits working or there is too much milkweed or they’ve missed their flight. It’s good to walk into a kitchen and know how to set it to rights and then use it to warm bellies and hearts. I hope they all learn how to get a window to open or a door to close, because then they’ll never get stuck.