unschoolhome

[unschoolhome]

Control

This weekend we went camping and I did not force Z to put on pants as the sun set when she did not want to. I gave her time to get used to the idea and by the time she had come around she had a bug bite. For the next week, neither one of us is going to be sleeping well because of this bite (she reacts severely). She is not going to be able to play how she wants to because the pain will require she sits frequently with an ice pack on the bite.

We coordinated with some families to do a potluck dinner. Once at the campsite, I realized there may not be enough food and that the other families eat much later than we do and my kids started acting like starving little beggars.

I didn't pack enough wet wipes or other little odds and comfort ends.

Discussion around future vacations has led to think, for the first time, how important it is for me to be making my own money. I look forward to the time the kids are launched sufficiently for me to take on paid work once again.

All these situations make me go, See?! This is why I am the way I am.

When we got home from camping, my husband put on an episode of The Waltons for the hot, exhausted, allergy-riddled kids. They watched TV for an hour total - not during the usual time. Inside, I was raging with fury (this is how we deal with boredom?? They are running away from their feelings instead of processing them! If we start watching now, the whole day will slip by!). My husband sweetly sat with them and watched the whole episode and they all discussed it. Then the TV went off and no one mentioned it again for the rest of the afternoon.

Y and X have been sleeping in later and later. Recently, Y announced that he prefers to get up earlier (7:30am) and start the day, else he feels harried. He misses that morning quiet. X said that 8:30 is a better start for his day. He absolutely loves lounging in bed if there is no where to go. I had been kind of panicking about the slippery slope of delayed wake times and destroyed circadian rhythms, but I'm glad I didn't say anything. They figured it out on their own.

My husband shared that some big dreaming I have been doing has been putting a lot of pressure on him. He wants to give me the world and it's not possible.

Moments like these make me think, I have to trust people. I have to step back and not lead all the time.

Preparing for this camping trip, I got cranky and resentful. When I dug deeply into why: I was worried my needs would not be met.

Each day is a delicate balance between meeting my own needs and extending myself to the duty of motherhood where I meet both the routine and emergent needs of my children.

I walk that line, that knife's edge, of being too controlling, such that we engage in power struggles at best and the kids do not learn crucial life skills at worst; and being too lackadaisical, such that important things slip through the cracks and we all have to live with unpleasant consequences, including the drain of already-limited resources.

One of the things I fear the most is my kids' disappointment.

Key take-away: Help kids live a life where they feel empowered to meet their needs.

Modeling is part of that.

In a podcast episode of We Can Do Hard Things, Glennon Doyle asks how we can avoid being in a co-dependent relationship with our children (under 18). Expert answer: you can't! They're literally dependent on you.

[unschoolhome]

If the Next Right Thing is Not More Stuff

We cleaned out our shed (again) this weekend. Stuff we discarded:

Old projects

Toys

Clothes

The sheer amount of paper was overwhelming.

As I dumped painted clay models of our state and notebooks full of analog videos games the kids made up one rainy day, I felt nothing but relief. I have pictures of most of those things (and more importantly, of the kids having fun doing them). And most importantly, those materials provided an experience that left an impression on the children themselves. They had no trouble letting go of "old masks," to use an Apollonian term, because they are concerned mainly with the shape that faces the world right now.

If everything is saved, nothing is special.

If nothing is saved, nothing is special.

The process of selecting, discarding, and lovingly storing - choosing this thing over that one - gives the item meaning. And if it holds meaning for our future as it did in the past, even if that meaning has changed, then it is worth preserving.

Y recently cleaned out his bedroom closet (it's been a month of this work). He and X are so different - X easily discards anything that is not relevant to him in his current incarnation. This includes a handful of items he's had for years, if not most of his life, that he loves and uses every day. Y, by contrast, is a natural born historian. I loved watching him choose broken items he wanted to fix, simple toys he loves but can never find in the riffraff, and special memory items whose main category is special memory items. "I like making myself little time capsules to find," he told us. It's a cool idea and I'm glad he has the chance to practice curating his mini-museums many times as he grows.

Z has an eye only for the future. She rarely saves anything, isn't much of a collector, and her main tools in daily life are books, markers, paper, and tape. Even old artwork is unsentimentally tossed.

My Montessori tendencies clash a bit with this Marie Kondo process of culling items that no longer serve (on the surface, at least). Isn't having all the things part of the prepared environment? I live in a constant state of nervousness that my child will come to me with a point of wonder and I will not have the ideal material to present for further discovery. Yet how many times has this happened? How many times have I used a white board or a scrap of paper or whatever random thing was lying to hand to offer an engaging, effective experience that met the learner exactly where they were? Moreover, how often have the children done that for themselves?

I'm hanging onto some 3-part cards about snails that I purchased in a flurry after my daughter got interested in watching snails and slugs after a storm. I got this big idea about an in-depth study and spent hours finding, having printed, cutting, and presenting these cards. She was not interested one bit. It was a total waste of time and money. Watching the snails and wondering about them was enough for my 4-year-old.

Recently she announced that she was going to do a big study about outer space and make a lap book all about it. Like a flag being waved at the beginning of a race, I read those words as "Go, go, go!" Lapbook researched and printed, check. Montessori materials for space study, check. Books, check. Lesson schedule, check.

I needed probably half of it. And within a couple of weeks, the fervor had waned and we were playing Indiana Jones every afternoon instead. Would that have happened if I wasn't so gung-ho? Or is her rhythm in motion regardless of what I do?

It brings me back to my own expectations, for myself and for the kids. No materials is not caring, but too many materials is not caring either. It steamrolls over the kids' curiosity and ability to construct their own knowledge.

This summer, I want to have more confidence in my ability to meet the kids where they are without making purchases or hunting down that "perfect" printable. I also want to go through all our materials and pare down to what I think we will engage with in the future, not what was useful only in the past (or might have been).

I also want to learn more about how Z learns. What does she really need from me? I've often thought she learns more out of the corner of her eye than any direct lesson could give her. As a baby, she looked at me, then put all the puzzle pieces in the wrong places on purpose to show me a) this is too easy, and b) play is more fun. Then she went upside down and laughed. I sometimes despair of how little she lets me "be the teacher," but she learned to read at age 2 (and now reads 4-7 grade levels above), is functionally bilingual, and can do math at least a year above grade level. Z likes games, new experiences, watching others, and doing whatever the hell she wants. It seems to be working pretty well for her so far.

[unschoolhome]

This is How I Play

I recently got around $1,000 worth of Montessori materials (using outside funds). Aside from feeling like I robbed a bank, I am puppy-tail excited to present and use these materials.

So far, the kids have enjoyed one lesson and using grammar cards to form sentences. They really like these activities.

And also. They are not first choice activities. They are not what the kids are wondering, playing, laughing, drawing, creating about. The topics are interesting but not a priority.

Two tensions exist:

I want to teach this way more than the kids want to learn it. This eagerness is not helpful.

While I know they benefit from

[unschoolhome]

Doing Well, Doing Better, and Measuring How Far We've Come

I've made a lot positive changes recently that have rippled out to my family. I want to acknowledge these successes.

I'm not working after 9pm. I put the big kids to bed and take of myself right away. Then I read and watch TV.

We dropped Quiet Rest Time. It feels very good to do so; it was time. Now we have this long lovely afternoon without rushing and chopping up time and sequestering Z away while the bigs watch TV mid-day and I fret. It worked for us for a long, long time, but all the kids are over 5 now and it was time for a change.

The kids are playing together more often now as a result. They are more in each other's orbits, in a good way. Z has a lot to learn, but she is doing so quickly. Just putting the kids into a shared context has been positive overall.

X is weaning off the early afternoon screen time. It's tough for him, but important, and he's doing great.

The schedule rearrangement has opened up our schedule so much that the house is clean and calm throughout the day, and certainly by 4:30pm when Dad gets home. I can prep dinner, have a few moments to myself. In the evening during the witching hour, the kids are all watching TV together and Dad - and extreme introvert - gets some much needed mental space after work while he finishes making dinner. Not to mention, I am way nicer about bedtime routine and the kids are getting to bed on time without a rush and irritation.

Our home feels calmer, more centered, more peaceful.

Everyday, I've been setting up 2 areas: language and math. Each one has 3-4 options. The kids stay engaged with each area for 20 minutes. It's the right balance of choice and accountability right now.

And I see areas we can still improve.

Z needs another thing. I see her being loud, clingy, copying, doing what she can to fit in. This is a gifted, energetic, highly tuned in little person and if she isn't fed, she consumes everything around her. I feel her sucking me dry with demands for attention and I see her irritating her friends.

I need to be more clear and honest and follow through. With Z, that means a) providing activities that are meaningful for her, and b) saying no to playing with her. She needs to know that she won't disappear if someone isn't paying attention to her, and that she can in fact play by herself. I need to assert myself and not make "later" promises that I don't plan to fulfill. Instead, I can create lots of ways for us to engage together that are mutually enjoyable. One lately is math. We can build on this and do others.

I feel intense guilt when Z has no one to play with - all the family is otherwise engaged and she is lonesome in a house full of people. It breaks my heart in a way that is so visceral. Ultimately, I'm guilty she is not a twin, and that I have brought her into a family where no one wanted her as much as I did. There was a time my husband adamantly did not want another child and the stress and exhaustion of having three overwhelmed him to the point of disconnection. I never want my child to feel unwanted or abandoned.

"I feel like he/she doesn't love me," Z will wail when she is out of sync with a family member.

But the fact is that she is not unwanted or abandoned. The fact is that we do love her. And when she has any other playmate - Daddy, brothers, a friend, even a friend's parent - she prefers them to me.

By constantly giving in to her demands for pretend play, I am showing her that she does need me as a crutch. That being alone (in your own house, surrounded by loving people) is scary and must be avoided.

I want to be more honest and tell her no when I really don't feel like it. Then I can be free to say yes when I do.

Managing X's screen time. He's got some new things going on, but wants to keep the old ones too, and today that meant more than 2 hours of screen time. Which I'm realizing is not a lot...except that it feels like it is.

Math and language are clicking along well; I want to get the other content areas up and running too. Science is my next focus. History is pretty organically integrated throughout the day.

I want to offer more opportunities for the kids to engage outside of the house. Museums, clubs, classes. It feels like the right time to expand and venture outward.

[unschoolhome]

New Definitions

Not work or play but meaningful activities.

Is it meaningful?

What do I know.

I want more choice. I want to be more present. I do not want to drag or coerce my children through the day. I want them to take on challenges and step out of their comfort zones. I want them to have certain skills. I want them to occasionally finish things.

I do not know what to offer Z. She is so smart and quick and beyond her age group, there is nothing I can think of to leave out for her.

[unschoolhome]

Aggressive Researcher

A boundary-seeking child is a safety-seeking child.

[unschoolhome]

My Daughter is a Leader

Today I watched Z play with two friends slightly younger than her. She was the clear leader, buzzing about, effervescent, confident, noticing everything. My daughter has this commanding presence to herself. Yet she also is aware. She notices how others react and can quickly adjust. She loves solving problems. She flexes her social skills for inclusivity and meeting group challenges. Her voice is strong and assertive; her body is nimble and powerful. My daughter takes up space. And others happily follow her.

I love watching her in her element like this. She is kind and positive, eager and responsive. She is loud and vibrating with joy. She walks up to adults and talks to them with the same confidence as she does with children.

I love my daughter. I love her whole person. I love seeing her in this group of kids, where her light can shine.

Our playgroup has 8 children, 5 of whom are girls. Not a one is passive, self-effacing, or indirect. All may wear ruffle socks or frilly dresses or carry purses. All run and climb and shout with excitement. Some wrestle, fiercely. Some stand on the highest step and command the group. Some are quiet until they are ready to speak and then they speak with authority and conviction. All are problem-solvers and game-suggesters. All take charge and step back to listen. All take off their shoes and splash in the muddy river, laughing as their braids get wet.

I feel like I get to see girlhood without the cloak.

I'm so glad my children get to see it too.

[unschoolhome]

Strengths

I got two compliments from friends recently.

One friend is grateful to have someone to talk education and parenting with that is not his wife. He is an academic and an intellectual and I respect him so much - he is my favorite person to disagree with. It feels great that he appreciates our discourse as much as I do.

The other (and I have heard this before) was about my wisdom. Sometimes I say something that seems like a simple way to distill a situation (if fairly obvious) - usually I am keen on reflecting the person's perspective/words/situation back to them - and days later the person says that it took a while for those words to sink in, but they have become a life raft that is moving them toward change, and bringing comfort in the process.

This makes me feel so great about myself. First that I have been so honest with people that they are seeing my real self and I am letting my light shine. Secondly that my little light is a spot of warmth and glow for others on the earthside journey.

I can't do everything well. Time management, getting my hair done everyday, memorizing driving directions - hit or miss. But I can do some things very very well, and it makes me like myself overall, the whole shape.

Recently I was walking and chatting with Y, a new tradition we are starting. As he was talking, I was getting that clarity, seeing through the huffs and grunts of preadolescence to what he was really trying to communicate (probably unbeknownst even to himself):

"Do you see me?"

Even as he is changing and becoming new to himself, he wants to be known. To work out the unique shape of himself, he needs a loving reflection.

I do know you, I was thinking. I know you intimately and thoroughly and I can catalog all your history and data points. But you are also a stranger - to me, to yourself. I must greet you like the dawn; with wonder, not assumptions.

And so I talked to him like someone I was getting to know, again, like an old friend I hadn't seen in years maybe.

Then I was thinking: As you transform, a thread will persist, pulled through shedding layers, formed through choices and honed by experience. The little heart of you. This will not be the last time (nor the first).

Let me be a mother who does not stand there, mourning discarded sweaters. Let me be a mother who meets the raw, uncertain creature and says, "I already love you." And waits and watches with hope, patience, and excitement.

[unschoolhome]

For What?

Y is at a stage of asking what the point of everything is. Why are we doing this? Who is it for? The combination of pre-teen vitriol and genuine curiosity throws me for a loop sometimes. It helps to remember that he is at the age of rudeness (Montessori), and fairness (Kohlberg), and that taking different perspectives is a skill that is juuuuust hatching.

In a sense, I agree with him. Doing work or projects for someone else? Why? He wants to work for himself, on projects he cares about, on his own timeline. So do we all.

However:

Executive function is a developmental issue. Doing WHAT you want is very different from doing WHATEVER you want. My first lessons for Y this year were on time management (a 24 hour pie chart was helpful) and how to use a planner. He also has his own calendar for the first time.

You only know about what you know about. My role as a guide is to expose the kids to new ideas, concepts, places, people, experiences, challenges. And that requires some trust - I'm going to choose requirements that I believe will be useful, enjoyable, or important. My goal is not to waste anyone's time.

The comfort zone is a dangerous place, especially for anxiety-prone people. The longer we stay inside, the more it shrinks, and the thicker the barrier to pass out of it. If we are not challenged by reasonable discomfort, we can't grow, feel competent and strong, learn what we are capable of and even what we might enjoy or dislike. We also won't know real red flags when we feel them. Anxiety distorts intuition. If we are always choosing the comfortable, known quantity, we can't grow or be our full selves.

What does this have to do with unschooling?

This summer, I have backed off and left the kids largely to their own devices, choosing instead to observe and recalibrate my inner self. These observations yielded even stronger beliefs that while children need plenty of freedom, it must be balanced by responsibility and outside-the-comfort-zone challenges.

Sure, my kids seek out and take on hard things. But they do so in one direction, preferring a known path to a less trodden one. We all have strengths and areas for growth. Let this be out in the open, let us be transparent with our inner topography. Not so we can be sure we measure up to some external ideal. Not so we can judge and shame and control. Not with a goal of all ending up the same. But so that we can be honest with ourselves and authentic with others. So that we can publicly celebrate all the ways we are growing out of our own unique shapes and angles. So that we don't neglect the things we naturally resist, but know where to look for support when we engage with them.

Y has been having trouble sleeping lately. "My body is so tired," he says, "but my mind is not."

New challenges, new experiences are necessary for this one. That means all the art projects he is taking on and new math workbooks too.

[unschoolhome]

Upper Elementary (2nd Year) Outline

The year will be divided into six 5-7 week sessions, after each of which will follow a 1 week break (approximately 6 weeks on, 1 week off).

During each session, four or five days per week, the children will complete a Short Stack of assignments in cursive, grammar, foreign language, spelling, morphology, and math (20-30 minutes). Most of this will be independent work.

Weekly, the children will spend 15 minutes writing a Response Journal. There will be a few different prompts from which to choose. Examples might include: Should graffiti be illegal? Which character in your current novel is most interesting and why? Respond to a song or picture (history, math).

Each session, four projects will be due: one each in math, language, science, and history. Each project must use a different modality (powerpoint, essay, diorama, stop motion video, interview, etc). The topic is entirely up to the child, but it should either demonstrate age-appropriate knowledge or seek to answer a question. The children may not choose the same modality in the same week. (Each project will take more or less a week.)

Additionally, a Jobs Board will be posted in our home. It will list all available money-making opportunities, the amount offered, and a place for each person to write their name and the date completed. A parent will check for thoroughness. Payouts come twice per month. Children will be required to record their income and expenditures on a ledger in their binders. Children are free to choose whether or not to work and earn money.

Goals for the 1st session:

Use your binder and planner effectively.

Manage your time.

Take creative control.

Practice good communication skills - meetings, presentations, research, writing, etc.

[unschoolhome]

Lead Like an Alpha

Today my kids complained about starting school again in a month.

Then X wanted to narrate the novel he is reading to me, give me some literary analysis, and read some together.

Y asked why wars begin and read almost all of a book called Power. He wants more books about government.

Z read Eloise for the first time and thought “bawth” was so funny; best way I’ve ever done diphthongs.

The excitement about planning, structuring, and “starting” academics is mine alone. I must marshal all my self-discipline not to include my kids in my joy at all.

They are not starting anything. They are continuing a long line of inquiry they’ve been involved in since birth (or before).

They want Oz. They need a wizard. In all my enthusiasm and transparency, I must must must not pull back that curtain. And then I get to keep being the wizard.

As I choose curriculum (because I can make it all up myself, but mama needs to outsource, I’m tired), make schedule plans, and do time studies, I am reflecting on how these are tools, not the craft itself. The art of teaching is nothing you can buy - or learn on the internet. And I have that gift.

So as much as I remember that the most important person in my homeschool is me - and make choices to support my own wellness - I must also remember that my leadership is a job. A big, serious, difficult, real job. The first rule of which is to never let on that you are doing the job.

Alphas lead from behind. They listen to your inquiries and slip the right book into your hand. They lay out the extension activity at the right moment, with no expectations. They never say, “We’re gonna...” because the pack doesn’t care about your plans. They live now, now, now.

The way I know if I am successful is if they think they did it on their own. If they think it was all their idea. If they never see the bridge they are walking on.

So this year, when I bring the magic, it’s going to be alpha magic. Reading the tea leaves, eavesdropping at the bar, scenting change on the wind. Researching and stockpiling in quiet. Setting up the infrastructure for them to fill in. Offering plenty of enticing opportunities that stretch their skills, and just enough help (not too much). This is real skill. 

I know myself well enough to know I can’t do it alone and quiet. I need a teacher buddy - and I don’t know anyone skilled or stealthy or aligned enough tot be that person...but I know a lot of people who can be sometimes. Keep my excitement and thoughts and plans in the right place.

One stumbling block is teacher meetings. I have to do them in private. Totally separate from their interactions with the person.

And I can’t lose sight of the magic also. I’m Santa everyday. Then when I take a week off, I will be truly curious. How much can I really make it about them and the shortest line connection to what they want, without getting trapped up in outside expectations or designations?

A worthy challenge.

A challenge for an alpha.

[unschoolhome]

New Parenting Plan: Honor My Body

No food after 7:30pm

Stretch/massage nightly while watching TV

Move for 15-20 minutes in the morning before breakfast

Invite my children, but do not require

Restless? Move.

Sleep. Go to bed at 10, 10:30pm nightly.

[unschoolhome]

Summer Days of the Week

Wednesday is library day. First we do sports class and play with friends, then we burrow down deep in books and fresh reads.

Thursday is the day for one-off things. Sometimes we stay home and get one-on-one time and bicker and make stuff and get the biggest ideas right before bed.

Friday is playgroup and we’ll probably get wet.

Saturday is Daderday and hobby time. Homemade pizza for dinner.

Sunday is Gramma time. Maybe make cookies together too.

Mondays are for playgroup and appointments.

Tuesdays, we rest. Stay at home day. Do projects and clean and make something day. And pack up the return library books.

[unschoolhome]

Dear Z

Our whole relationship has been a study in imperfection.

I wanted you. With every fiber of my being, I wanted you; I knew you were there; I had to get to you. The determination with which I pursued your conception was surely inherited by you; you show us daily.

Yours was a quiet pregnancy, very little morning sickness. I dealt with acute anxiety. I thought everyday I would lose you. I was grieving the child I had lost. I was afraid to celebrate, to share your existence. In the car, my tongue felt stoppered. I didn’t talk to you, I sometimes forgot you were there while I cared for your brothers. You were stoic, quiet. I thought often, this child is strong.

No one took pictures of me. I took a few of myself.

When you were born, I promised to show you all the beautiful things, that the dark part was over now and the joy would begin. You came forward in a rush of fluid and tears and time racing up to the present moment. 

While I was a recovering mess, you slept. You ate like a fierce champion. Nursing never lasted longer than 20 minutes. You grew. I cried and wore you close to my heart, kissed your face and tried to learn your face. You liked for me to palm your face but hated to hold hands (that remains true).

When it was us together, it was lovely. Quiet and nice. We learned to sign together, our own little language, our own world. I took you to Pilates. We had long chats at lunchtime. Our communication was constant. I was lonely and bored sometimes. It was hard juggling three kids in the evenings and mornings, when I couldn’t quite get the two rhythms to match up together. I was content and joyful and in awe of you most times. We took a dance class together. At 19 months, you were the most advanced child, even among older kids. You started gymnastics and didn’t want to go upside down, but you followed directions and did the skills better than all the other kids, again even the ones older than you.

You asked me things like “Let's play a kitty cat game.”

There was this time at the bank. We had to wait a long time. You had leaked through your diaper and I had no spare clothes, so we stopped at Ross and picked up a new outfit. So we had this long wait, but we had just gone shopping and were both happy to be out of the car and together and we just cuddled and played in the waiting area. This woman sat near us. I was grateful for adult company; I was so friendly then, Z. Anyone who made eye contact could be a pleasant person to pass a little time with. She herself was a mother of seven, all grown now. We chatted and she watched us and she said, “That is a very loved little baby.” Oh yes. Very loved.

I tried to start a play group for you many times. It never worked. We were in the car for 2 hours or more everyday, driving your brothers to school. We loved going to the zoo in the mornings, each pushing our strollers, but to get there took more time than we spent there. You went to all your brothers’ baseball practices, eating dinner on the bleachers, wearing your cap and learning to bat. You were very happy; I felt like it wasn’t enough. I wanted less car time and more friend time for us both.

I loved your voice. Your hands, telling me things. Your smile. The clothes you picked out. Your independence and your strength. I was so proud of you, my daughter.

When the pandemic hit, I was already low. I didn’t have a social support network, I didn’t have a handle on this parent-of-three thing, and I didn’t have my body in the way that I needed it - I was not yet two years postpartum and had not been able to dance or go back to Pilates consistently or even leave the house for more than a few minutes by myself.

We thought it would be for two weeks. I stayed up late into the night, making Montessori 3-part cards by hand. We had no computer, no printer. I was suddenly responsible for X and Y’s education, we were cut off from everyone, and dad was in full panic.

I set you to the side.

It was impossible to balance everything I wanted to balance. I could not parent or teach or move or breathe the way I wanted to. I was surviving, Z. I didn’t know how to do any of it. I was trying to hold up all these things, and gain the knowledge and skills I needed to move forward, while I was in such pain.

Every time I sat down, you sat in my lap. Your place. When I think of the number of times I gently removed you (to cook, clean, help Daddy, escape my own panic, focus on X and Y), it breaks my heart. 

It will always break my heart.

You started hitting. And crying. You were confused. I couldn’t help you regulate the way you needed. (I couldn’t help myself.) I am a task-oriented griever; I had to keep moving; stillness was intolerable; you wanted me to be your furniture. I had to feed people and clean everything and assimilate into a new life. 

I’m sorry, Z. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you were kicked out of my lap by a pandemic. I’m sorry I didn’t handle it better. If I knew then what I know now, I would make different choices.

But I did the best I could at the time. Please believe me that I did my best.

You were up at 6am sometimes and we went for a bike ride as the sun came up, when everyone else was sleeping. You learned to read. You got interested in things and we explored them. We read books and progressed in ASL and did math. Your relationships with your brothers and dad changed and grew. You celebrated birthdays and went to stuffed animal parties and did online music classes.

We started going to parks and the beach. You loved it. We tried Tinkergarten and I was nervous about covid the whole time but you made your first friend. After years of chasing after your brothers, someone chased after you and said, “Want to play?” I will never forget that moment, Z.

You told me (at all of 4 years and 1 month old) that you were ready for kindergarten. We played kindergarten all summer. I was Mrs Bear and you were a bear and we brought teddy bears to school and learned about bears and did the calendar and circle time and all the kindergarten things. After 3 months, you were done with that. You tagged along to playgroup and hated it; you hadn’t clicked with anyone and being around so many new people was exhausting.

Tinkergarten had gotten boring; you started a new sports class and loved it. Sports are your thing. In the summer, you made your second and third friends in our playgroup. You are still friends a year later; they are your best friends.

You are a really good friend.

You are five now. You play with lots of friends in playgroup and sports class, all different ages. I see you working out the rules of the older kids’ games and struggling to fit in at times. It’s not always easy being the little sister. I see you nurturing younger ones and guiding anyone who needs help. You are fierce and tough and strong, and I wonder if you are because you have to be or if nothing could have kept you from becoming this person that you are. You love sports and animals, detective mysteries and problem-solving, reading and bike riding, pretend play and anything that Daddy is up to. You love being in charge and helping others. You hate to be controlled or left out. You talk a lot. 

You’re not easy. I don’t want you to be. I love you exactly as you are.

I’m still healing, Z. I’m still finding my balance. I’m trying to tell myself that I don’t need to be perfect to be there for you, but it is hard to believe that. I want to do my best for you. 

Here are some ways I can do my best:

1. Go to bed at 10, 10:30 so I can wake up before you. I can have my time and then be ready to play when you get up.

2. Hold boundaries with you. My inconsistency leads to a lot of unnecessary struggles between us.

3. Be ready to play with you at the end of Quiet Rest Time. Like #1, this is about me resting when I am supposed to so I can be present for you.

4. Rest, dance, write, think, etc when I am supposed to so that I can be present for you.

5. Throw out the “shoulds” and “supposed tos” - you never fit them anyway. If I’m present with you, I will know the next right thing.

6. Prioritize you. Let our conflicts improve me - what do I need? How and when do I get it?

7. Let go of the idea that you are or ever were perfect. You’re just you, and circumstances will not change that. You can’t be ruined because you were never perfect.

8. Let go of past mistakes. I did do my best, and I could have done a lot worse. If I’m present, I can heal past mistakes. 

9. Release a perfection requirement for myself. My behavior and choices will not eliminate all suffering. Not possible. I am a real person with real needs that are unique and undeniable. The better I see those needs, the better I enjoy my life and relationships. 

10. Start again each day. Each hour. It is a privilege to have this time. Do not squander it with regrets or expectations. Be here now for the unfolding of this mystery. Follow the tao instead of attempting to control and judge everything.

It’s not too late.

I’m not perfect, Z. But I love you. And I love myself. I’m seeing that those two things are inextricably linked. When I do the work for myself, I do it for both of us. I want to know you and love you for our whole lives. The struggle and the softness.

[unschoolhome]

I’m Too Busy

The clock is chasing me. It’s 7:30am and I’m behind.

I’m a homeschooling mom and this is a day with no scheduled commitments.

My kids and I are full of big, BIG dreams and plans. We don’t have much on the calendar, but we always seem to be in motion. 

I want to clear more space for spontaneity - but I feel unwilling to accept the wasted time and boredom that large open spaces can inspire when we have a wish list a mile long of things we want to spend that time on.

How do we spend our time wisely?

Ideas:

1. Schedule less. A simpler schedule gives just enough structure to focus the imaginative power, yet leaves time to follow the rabbit trails and try the big ideas.

2. Realize this is how it is and life is not perfect. Some day are filled with friends and outdoor fun and we barely get any academics done. Other days are super productive and at the end we’re all cranky because we didn’t get enough exercise. Some days I’m slowly shutting the bedroom door while my child is letting out a long stream of ideas and questions that would take weeks to fully manifest. It’s not about me making everything happen. It’s about realizing we actually can’t do everything we think of, so we have to pick and choose how we spend time. This is a skill learned over time.

3. Schedule time with each child, not on agenda items. I like this in theory, but in practice I find it very difficult to a) end time with one kid, b) occupy the others (especially Z) while I am focused on one kid, and c) give my full attention and participation in someone else’s world for that long of a stretch of time.

I suppose it’s not about fairness. If one kid gets a half hour on Monday, someone else might get time on Tuesday. Not going to look the same for everyone every day.

Today was more successful than last week. We all did math together and the kids were so engaged and enjoyed using the materials past the lesson time. X and Y did all their independent work without prompting; Y even did extra solo work. X and I got time to do a science experiment together - while I set Z up with a special series of stations (including snack!) so she would be meaningfully occupied during the experiment. I think the cat even got played with during this time! Z had special time planning for and shopping for her birthday party. All schoolwork was done and cleaned up by 12:30. Later Z did some great writing independently and X and Y practiced responsible use of computer time.

X complained about having to do chores. Z complained about not having enough time with me. There was a particularly sad moment in the afternoon when Dad came home and was putting away his things/showering, I was prepping dinner, X and Y were deeply engaged in play, and Z wanted so badly to work on a project for her birthday party, but no one was available. This happens often and it absolutely breaks my heart. I wonder if afternoon quiet rest time is cruel and if I should have had a fourth child so she could have an age mate to play with. All three kids were deeply engaged in sibling rivalry and general restless all afternoon because they didn’t get outside/exercise time (maybe? probably?). X and Y started their litany of complaints about how Z gets more of everything and Y especially treated her with such derision. Z’s birthday is coming up and this always kicks off a truly horrible cascade of jealousy and petty contemptuousness; it is infuriating and sad.

More dance parties. More unplanned time. More appreciating all the good things I’m doing. Less expecting it to be better.

I do want to understand how to respond to that jealousy though.

[unschoolhome]

Success This Week

Good things that happened this week:

1. Writing time every day for 45 min. Everyone enjoyed it and I saw engaged, thoughtful, high-level work.

2. Y read two novels, X read one, and Z was very pleased because she chose them for her brothers.

3. Z is working hard on using capitals and lowercase letters correctly.

4. Our new clock time schedule is working well. 

5. The rain cancelled everything and I was glad. I took naps and rested and took walks and learned to tap and cried and did less.

6. Family helping jobs were done well and without fuss.

7. X and Y mastered long division.

8. Z got a new bed.

9. X and Y played a new catching game together on their own that isn’t violent or destructive.

10. I made no lists and everything got done.

[unschoolhome]

Teaching From Rest

I have been on a journey that started, perhaps, with unschooling, but is morphing into a balanced sense of sustainable living with children - three high energy children at that.

Did I want to unschool so I could step back and observe; so that I could rest? Perhaps.

Whatever the motivation, I am glad for it. 

Two things have happened recently.

One: we got a pet cat. Among all the other ways this cat is bringing joy to our lives, I get to see the kids loving the cat all the time - when she is sleeping, resting, playing, stretching. They dote on her constantly, but never more so than when she is stretching and dozing. The way they love her when she is doing absolutely nothing but being herself is astonishing to me (I don’t know why, cats are objectively adorable).

Maybe I am also lovable when I am doing nothing.

Of course my kids want me to do things for and with them (and they want things done that they don’t even know I do). But maybe that is not my only value. Maybe justing BEING is enough.

Two: I’ve started therapy and been reflecting on the pattern I have of creating an amazing community and then painting myself out of it. I make it perfect for other people, work tirelessly to manifest the vision, and then, when it is complete, not only am I completely burnt out, I also do not have an authentic place in the whole. Only a part of me fits in there, or I have not been honest about what I can promise, or I have constructed it so I can quietly slip away and the whole mechanism will continue running without me.

In business, this is a great model; in relationships, and for my personal fulfillment, not so much.

I want my relationship with my family, and by extension, homeschooling, to go a different way.

Adrenal fatigue and burn out is very very real, and as we come up on the 3-year anniversary of pandemic living, I find myself crying out for change. 

There is a tiny, screaming part of me, deep inside, that is wailing for rest, succor, care.

I have been visualizing wrapping that tiny part in a blanket and rocking it soothingly, like I did my own babies. I tell it: “I believe you.”

I have been spending time alone during the day. A couple of hours. It is hard just being by myself. Painfully hard. But the work is good. I am worthwhile. This is the path to healing.

I look at my children and they are growing rapidly. I want to meet them where they are and provide all the opportunities I can for them. But I have to let go of this perfectionist, sacrificial love, every-day-is-a-parade kind of living. It will kill me, and it will kill any enjoyment I get from being around my family.

As I plan the next week (and weeks after that), how can I maintain a steady path to healing AND do those big ideas I love to manifest? Moderation is key. Tomorrow I plan to use some time, by myself, to work on those ideas.