Time and Again

Time. Really, basically, it is just an idea, not something tangible… Yet how powerful it is! Like the wind or fire, it can be soothing,  destructive, beneficial, distressing… It has a definition known to all and is yet an enigma. Maybe all this is why time is so fundamental, so significant in our society. Maybe our very mortality is the cause for the constant discussion and perusal, vilifying and worshiping of time. 

I think most of us move along our path of life looking forward. Likely, this is why milestones stir up feelings of nostalgia; they are a huge mile marker that has us pause to consider, which so often includes at the least, a glance back to see how far we’ve come. When your path has been joyful and interesting, it is more likely than not that the traveler will be quite surprised at the distance, the time that has become “the past” imperceptibly.

I didn’t start out this blog with the intention of so many of my words referring to that passage, those benchmarks, the looking back… and yet, it seems that has more impact in my psyche than I’d expected – and I knew how sentimental I was long before there was such a thing as “blog”.

Our youngest, Storm, is nearing 7½. Dave and I have recently begun starting quite a few sentences with, “I remember when… “ :~) Today was another bittersweet look back in surprise of where the time has gone; far, far more sweet with just a taste of sadness at what will never be again (though as I write this, more and more of those “never again” moments pop into my brain… ).

Storm has had quite a variety of sleeping arrangements. Far more than Wyl, though Wyl’s were much more like “leaps” than small adjustments. Wyl slept *hard* through the night from birth. I was a new mama and still feeling my way and when the well-meaning doctor told me that he needed to eat every 4 hours (me, being the people-pleaser/Good Patient I was), set my alarm and attempted to schedule breastfeeding. We tried *everything* we could think of: putting the nipple in his mouth while he slept, trying a bottle, making silly voices, taking off his onesie in a cool room and making him cold, jiggling him upright, talking with him loudly, tipping him upside down, sticking his hand in lukewarm water; in cold water, wiping his face with a wet washcloth… We’d spend an hour, sometimes, trying to wake that boy – never worked *once*. We still had some old-fashioned ideas that we were trying to meld with our new ones we were picking up with attachment parenting ideals we were reading & hearing about. Dave and I are both big people – both frame-size and weight – and though we were willing to accept co-sleeping, the possibility of the 2 of us or one of us smashing our baby in the night was too scary to attempt. So, he slept in his crib in his room during the night and we co-napped in the afternoon. At 2, he was climbing over the rail of his crib and falling on the hardwood floor below. He wasn’t getting hurt, but I was worried he would. Again, I still had in-the-box thinking and though I scolded him, the only solution I could think of was to put him in his own bed, since the distance was closer to the floor and had a pieced-together rug under it. Around 4 years old, he began to fear the dark and kept turning on the light after I’d tucked him into bed. I again scolded, taped the lightswitch down, and finally removed the lightbulb from the overhead light. Why I couldn’t think of the dozens of alternatives I can *now*, I don’t know, but it wasn’t a happy solution.

About that time, I started learning about unschooling and partnership-parenting and hearing “wild”, out-of-the-box ideas and my thinking started shifting. For quite a while, Wyl slept downstairs on the couch. Or, on the floor in a nest next to the couch. Sometimes, we’d take him up when one of us went to bed, but for the most part, he slept downstairs where parents & light were. The next sleeping spot was in a bed next to ours. That kept on for several years, working fairly well (though sometimes problematic, with Wyl having trouble keeping calm and quiet enough to keep from waking other family members up) with a few guidelines coming up as they were needed to keep it a win-win situation.

Around 11-12 years old, he began moving toward puberty and somewhere in his 12^th year, he decided he wanted to sleep in his own room, again. I left space for  him in our room, should he feel a need (briefly for a night here & there or for several nights, a week, whatever he needed) to come back or need reassurance. Though, once his decision was made, it seems he knew he was ready for it, because he hasn’t slept there, since – and he’s just a few weeks from 14, now.
Storm, on the other hand… I smile warmly at the thoughts… First, he slept on my chest under my hospital gown in the NICU. I was ever so thankful that the nurses either “allowed” me to hang out in the nursing room off the NICU nursery or that they “forgot” that I was there with a baby out of the crib. Sometimes, I’d get a couple hours in, dozing lightly while he slept peacefully right under my chin on my bare skin, all curled up in a tight little ball. They’d come in and take him and say they needed to get stats and I’d go lie in my room and nap for a bit until I could pump again or visit again. (Maybe some day, they’ll bring the NICU to the mama’s room, so the baby and mama can actually be together all the time… I hope…! )

When we finally got to bring him home, 5½ years of learning after the first baby, we’d come much further in our understanding of co-sleeping, but we still opted for a bassinette right beside me, pushed up against the bed. He seemed *so* frail! Wyl was a big, robust baby, but Storm, being a preemie, was so thin and different than Wyl had been at that age. He curled up in there in his “signature pose”, a tight little ball on his belly, just as he had on my chest.

The bassinette worked for about 2 weeks. Then, I could lower him into it all the way to the mattress, awake or asleep, but the moment my hands started to move away from him or he touched or sensed that mattress in there, he burst out crying! A few times I attempted to make it work, thinking it was an isolated incident, but it was quickly clear that the bassinette would not do, so into our bed he came – curled up in that tight little tummy-ball. The crib was in our room, too, along with our queen-sized bed and Wyl’s double bed (plus 3 dressers!), but I don’t remember if we tried to move him from the bassinette to the crib before he came to our bed, or if that was just a standby. (There was a lot of missing sleep and my memory isn’t the best, anyway… :~)  ) Many nights, we’d move him to the crib after he fell asleep in our bed, and on the rare occasion he couldn’t be calmed in the night, we’d bring him back.

I’ll digress at this point to mention that I don’t really know what the definition of “sleeping through the night” *really* means. Clearly, Wyl did that, by any definition of the phrase, never waking – even now, he’s probably only woken in the middle of the night less than 10 times in his life. Getting him to sleep was sometimes rough, but once he was asleep, he was down for the count. Storm, however, would fuss a bit and/or cry out, though not usually coming full awake and could be back-rubbed or cuddled (or moved to the bed) back to sleep, usually in moments. I could probably count the times my sleep was actually disturbed by his night “adjustments” on both hands. I never really counted that as being outside “sleeping through the night”, though recently, sometimes I wonder what it truly means.

When Storm was somewhere around a year old, he preferred the crib. He was happy to snuggle in the bed with someone until he got sleepy, but then he’d fuss and toss and grouch until he was in the crib and then he’d sigh, turn over and go right to sleep. After a while, he figured out to gesture & point to the crib when he was ready to fall asleep! I was so astounded at first – from all I’d read, babies didn’t *ask* to be put in a crib alone!! But, that’s what he wanted.

It didn’t last *too* long, though I’m not sure how long it was. He started coming & crawling into the bed when he stirred in the night, then he decided he wanted to sleep with us again. Occasionally, he’d want to sleep in the crib again, but most of the time it was in “the big bed”.

At one point, we got a loft bed, trying to make a separate space for everybody, since Storm was always tall for his age and *I* felt the crib was too small for him. Yet, even after the loft was there, after Wyl moved into his own room leaving even more empty space, Storm wanted his crib. It was draped with dark blankets in a tent-style (top & sides) to keep out the cats & block the light, so maybe it was the “coziness” of it, I don’t know.

Eventually, he left the crib behind (he was quite a ways into his 6^th year), unsure, yet firmly deciding to put it away – he enjoyed helping me take it down! :~) He moved into the double bed & we draped it all over like the crib had been, put in a string of dark purple lights, used the sheets he wanted… basically made it *his* space to his specifications. Yet, every once in a while, he will mention wistfully that he misses his crib…

A couple months ago, he decided he wanted to try to sleep in his (single) bed in his room. Dave hung out in there with him, but after a short while, he decided it was too noisy (our room is in the back of the house, Storm’s is right in the front, just feet from the street), with all the cars going by.

A week/week and a half ago, he decided to try sleeping in his own bed in his own room again. He hasn’t said anything specifically, but I get the feeling he has the idea that he is getting “too big” to sleep in our room. Plus, he’s really wanting to have friends sleep over, and I pointed out recently that he probably didn’t want to leave a friend alone in his room while he, Storm, came & slept with me. :~)

We made things all cozy to his delight, me giving him ideas to help make him comfortable in there (like having a small fan running to help block the noise) and when my back started hurting from hunching over there, I reminded him he could stay all night or come sleep with me whenever he needed, then went to wait in bed. I only waited a few minutes. :~) He was back and disappointed and complaining the fan was too loud. I reassured him and was happy to snuggle him a while.

Tonight, he wanted to try again. I needed a nap & went up early, so Dave stayed with him while I was sleeping. I fully expected to wake with him in the next bed, but when I did wake, I was alone.

I thought about parents I’d seen on t.v. shows, struggling to get their kids to stay in their own beds or their own rooms through the night and how they’d likely cheer, but I was a little sad. Just a tiny little bit, for the time passing too quickly for my liking. I am too comforted by the ideas that this is how it is supposed to be: children growing up smoothly, making transitions from stage to stage seamlessly, happily without struggle. This is what is *supposed* to happen – they grow up with our guidance with as little stress as possible; that is my job as their mama: to make it a journey that is tackled with me, as their partner and guide.

And yet…

As Storm snuggled with me, a bit sadly (he feels these milestones, too – all too much his mother’s child in that department! :~)  ), it cheered him as I talked about all the ways he’d slept over the years. I smiled softly as I told him how much I’ve enjoyed snuggling with him and we discussed all the different ways we could *still* snuggle, even if he slept in his own bed.

And, 6 hours after he was asleep in his own bed, he’s still there. Another milestone I wasn’t ready for. It *may* not be completely past, yet, but we’re there. I am awfully pleased with the people my children are growing to be… I am ever so grateful to have them in my life and to have a good relationship with both of them… Yet, I sure would love to nurse that baby again… bathe a wiggling little chubby boy again… discover a soap bubble blown from a wand with him for the first time again… hold a tiny little newborn baby and feel the weight of importance of responsibility and the awesomeness of new life in my arms again…

Time.

As my time as a closely nurturing mama coming to a close (and new times open), benchmarks like these, replete with the inevitable wanderings through the past, spurs me to grab the moment, do my best, to make the most of *this* moment… It will be gone in a flash, with nary a chance to “do it right” again.

Now is the time. 

Who knew?

I wanted to be a mommy from early on. There were many loves and desires wrapped up in that goal, but I always knew I'd be one. I spend more time planning my parenting skills and daydreaming about how I'd handle certain situations and what I'd name my kids and how many were enough than I spent planning careers - and there were *many* different hats I tried on in the career department!

It is so funny... I was *sure* I knew pretty much how parenting would go, how it would be... Almost all I imagined was so far from the truth as to be almost inconceivable. Then there are the things that never occurred to me...

I would have been the first to tell you, 13 or 14 years ago, that you were crazy, if you'd have told me what kind of parenting I'd be practicing today! I had my ideals and they were nowhere near then what they are today. I had planned out how I'd handle the "tough" stuff... never even dreaming that those things might never come up, and was totally blindsided by other things that I'd never considered: like my 5 year old being terrified of death and dying and his parents dying and not really being able to wave a magic wand to make that fear disappear in a motherly wave of compassion and gentleness.

I fully believed that a parent should not be a friend to their child, and today I am thrilled to count my kids as my friends; they are awesome people and I'm glad they consider me to be their friend, too.

I had no idea that my kids and I would enjoy the same kinds of music - even having the same favorite songs! It never entered my imagination that we would regularly ride along in the vehicle, singing happily together... Nor could I have imagined the peace, joy and contentment that would bring me. Tears-in-my-eyes happiness. Granted, they're often telling me to, "Turn it down, Mama!" - gee... who'd've thought?!

I couldn't have dreamed up a first-born kid that could catch me off guard with his quirky, smart humor - to the point that I spew laughter unexpectedly. :~D

I'd never have conceived that my almost-teen son would not only still want to hug me, but snuggle with me, want his head kissed, want me to tuck him in - prefer that I lay down with him for a while.

I still find it almost incomprehensible that I have a youngest kid who routinely, *daily*, runs around sing-songing, "This is the best day ever. This is the bestest day ever. This is the best day ever." It seems to be his mantra. How incredibly awesome that each subsequent day is the *best* day! And when I think about it, he's right! It really is!

I've been thinking about how I started learning about partnership parenting, lately. I know I've told the story so many times, but I still am kind of awed by it. Reading about unschooling on the radical unschooling boards elicited strong reactions from me. Things like,

"They're CRAZY!"
"Oh, that's just stupid."
"Well, that would never work *here*!"
Very strong, adamant responses - almost to the point of being shocking. But, the other things I read with those "crazy" ways of doing things was about results. About kids and parents who wanted to be together. Who shared with each other. Who *listened* to each other. Most amazingly, though, were the teens - teens who *wanted* to hang out with their parents, who were kind and thoughtful and open and *talked* with their parents openly, who came to their parents first and right away when there was a problem. Families who *trusted* each other. I knew teens. I'd been a teen. This concept was totally foreign to me. I wanted this - and the more I read about it, the more I wanted it. I was not easily convinced that being a partner to my child would end up with those results, but I grudgingly, slowly accepted that the alternative rarely got those results (and never the trust spoken of, that I knew of), and so I dove in.

At one point in my early struggles to grasp the concept, I "threw in the towel", thinking that it wasn't "working", and decided I was going back to traditional parenting! Within a day, I knew I could never be that parent, again - if I ever had totally been that parent. I found that once you learned how to respect someone, you couldn't ignore that and treat them with less value, with less honor just because you decided so. For a day or so, that had me desperate and flailing. Eventually, I found it strengthening - it backed up the ideas I so loved and wanted for my family.

When you find something that makes your heart sing with joy and makes you radiate sunshine and happiness, you want to share it. You wish everyone could be as happy as you are. As I look back on conversations that happened online this week, I see the enthusiasm with which people share these ideas of partnership... I can sometimes get a infintessimal glimpse at how some others might perceive the rush to share as intolerance for other ideas that don't mesh with partnership and respect. I still don't see the threat, though. Even though I experienced a little tiny bit of that when my ingrained ideas were challenged, I had no sort of "fight back" kind of reaction. Maybe I'm just tired, but even after all these years, I still am a bit baffled by the vehement reactions to unusual ideas - to ideas that challenge one's assumptions and ingrained societal "norms"... Is it because it is parenting? Is it because it is personal, rather than a difference in the workplace? When does something change from being two differing viewpoints to an "attack"?

I thought writing it out might help me process it, but at this point, it hasn't. I'll let it stew in my brain for a while.

Today has been music, games, movies, good food, hugs, laughter, learning, idea-bouncing, helping each other - the best day *ever*!

Milestones

I started discussing this on Facebook, then realized my kids both have accounts and could possibly run across what I was writing... ! If they know about my blog, they don't know how to get to it. I think.

Storm's tooth has been loose for a few weeks, now. We've been keeping an eye on it. Not very loose, but last week, it got a bit wigglier. Tuesday night, after his teeth were brushed, we noticed a big difference in the movement - it was really loose! Wednesday afternoon, he'd come to me occasionally with how wiggly it was, testing it, chatting casually about it and really just touching base with me about his tooth. Toward late afternoon, he was wiggling it a lot and I jokingly said something about him pulling it out. He immediately grabbed it with his index finger and thumb and... well, anyone who's ever tugged on a slippery, smooth tooth knows how well that works. I offered the information that he could use his shirt tail for better grip, if his fingers were slipping, if he wanted to. He had a hard time getting his shirt in his mouth and something caught his attention and he was off.

Now, mind you, in all these weeks - heck, all his life - we've not mentioned the Tooth Fairy. I had issues with TF (as I've been calling the Tooth Fairy this week) when Wyl was little, but overcame those with good advice and wonderful stories from other folks. Since we've come to a more balanced, trust-based relationship with our kids, I've also quit telling them all about things - especially legendary things like Santa, TF, Harry Potter and Hogwarts, Thor, etc. I like to answer questions they have with "What do you think?" And wait for more specific questions for which they don't have an answer or opinion before I give information. Even then, I like to give general information and include lots of different things I've heard, so they can decide what to think, what to believe.

Wednesday night, right before heading up to prep for bed and snuggle together for sleeping, Storm was coming in from the little pool we put up in the back yard, shivering, and talking about his tooth. He said something about wanting to pull it and I suggested his towel. I think the towel was too big. He couldn't seem to get a grip on it. He turned away and a moment later he was quietly saying with wonder, "My tooth is out!" (Again, SO different from Wyl - my oldest would have been shouting and yelling and giddy. :~D ) He had been wiggling it back and forth and it just popped loose! He inspected it. He gave it to me to inspect while he felt the hole in his mouth. He showed his brother his hole and his tooth. He showed Daddy his tooth. He brought it to me and said, "We need to put this under my pillow tonight for the tooth fairy!"

Uh... Okay... ! So, I'm scrambling to figure out how (since it has been a few years since I last had a tooth under a pillow to deal with) much the going rate is (posted to Facebook), trying to find the half dollars and silver dollars I had stashed for Wyl, while Wyl is kindly helping Storm get ready for bed. I'm thinking I *have* to do this right after he falls asleep, or I'll forget! Which means, I need to find the stuff and take it up with me, in moments...
In the middle of my scramble, Storm comes down and says he doesn't want to put the tooth under his pillow tonight, because he wants to keep it for a while more. While I'm relieved I have some extra time to work it out, I'm also intrigued. I don't think I would have thought of that, as a kid. Things were done by a certain structure and with specific rules and I learned to know those rules and follow them without question, so I didn't miss out on anything.

We talked today (thanks, Meredith!) about where he learned about the tooth fairy, what he knew (he thinks the tooth fairy "... brings random amounts like $20.58 or $50.10" I'm not sure if he thinks it is actually that *high* of an amount, or if he was just using nice, round numbers to clarify the change... We talked about what she wore, if she had a wand, if she had wings, if she glittered... I loved hearing his take on the TF! He told me he wanted to write a note to TF, telling her he wanted to keep the tooth for a while, and at first, I thought the note was a "substitute tooth", where he'd put that in place of the tooth and get his money. As I talked with him, though, I got this urgency feeling - like he felt he needed to let her know before it was "too late"... like there was a deadline. He also wanted to leave the tooth *in* the envelope with the note as "proof" that he'd lost it, and wasn't just writing a note to get money. I *really* don't know where he got that idea... I told him that he was an honest person and I'm sure the TF would believe him, but he could put the tooth in there, too, if he wanted.

So, tonight, when it came time to write the note, he told me he decided he wanted to keep it another day. (He loves that tooth! He loves the hole in it and the bloody stump and everything! He is amazed by it and really thinks it is cool... ) So, we wrote a note (he dictated, I just moved the pen):

"I lost a tooth but I have decided to keep it a day longer and I hope you trade it in for cash like you're supposed to , if you are real.

And I hope you get this.

FROM STORM

TO Toothfairy"

(The all caps are his writing) Then, he put "FS" on the envelope and told me, "That means 'from Storm'" and zipped upstairs to put it under his pillow.

I brought the note down with me, after he fell asleep, because my memory is pretty bad, and I wanted to answer it, but I left the envelope under his pillow, just in case he woke and felt for it. :~D I put together 2 brief rough drafts, trying to disguise my handwriting, then the one that was supposed to be the *actual* note, I wrote too big on and ran out of space, and then reverted to cursive on the last word, so I had to do it over. :~D I settled for plain, white paper with purple marker writing... but I REALLY wanted to go all out, with purple paper and glitter and stickers and beautifully printed font... Ahh, alas... the disappointments of a procrastinator.

Anyhow, I replied (in beautiful purple marker and handwriting from my teen years - minus the circle-dotted "i"s... ):

"Dear Storm,
Thank you *so* much for your note! I am happy you'd like to keep your tooth for a while longer. I like teeth, too!

If you ever decide you don't want your tooth any more, you can give it to your mama and she can figure out what to do with it.
From ToothFairy"

Then, on a different envelope (why don't I have purple envelopes?!), I put FTF. :~D We decided on one Susan B. Anthony silver dollar and one presidential gold dollar. Still coins, yet more than a quarter.

I really love doing little things like this for my kids. I don't really know if they enjoy it or not... I don't know if it will ever be one of those "keepsake memories" for them, as they get older... But, I enjoy it. Even if they don't enjoy these little things individually, specifically, they are all small ingredients in a happy childhood, a happy life. I like butter in my chocolate chip cookies and a bit of salt. I like to add coconut, chopped nuts and bourbon vanilla. I like to make sure there's a *wee* bit more chocolate chips than the recipe on the bag calls for. Some people notice, some don't. I do it because I like to, and because I like them that way. :~) You could probably leave that teaspoon of salt out of the chocolate chip cookies or use vanilla flavoring instead of extract or use shortening instead of butter and they'd still be good to eat. But, little snippets of this and that can make what would be a regular cookie into a wonderful, delicious experience that makes someone say, "Wow! I had a wonderful cookie! I don't know what was in it, but *man*, it was great!" My kids will know they had a great childhood. They may not be able to pick out the specific little tidbits or ingredients that made it so or they may; it doesn't matter. The "what" is vastly more important than the "why", for me.

A Reading Storm

"The master in the art of living makes little distinction between his work and his play, his labor and his leisure, his mind and his body, his information and his recreation, his love and his religion. He hardly knows which is which. He simply pursues his vision of excellence at whatever he does, leaving others to decide whether he is working or playing. To him he's always doing both." — James A. Michener

I never got to see the process of learning to read with Wyl. I know I tell this story all the time, but it is *so* important to our unschooling... I had grand plans of homeschooling Wyl's beginning reading... From the time we were considering homeschooling when he was 2-ish, I had visions of bright colored crayons, that manila paper with the red and blue dotted lines for beginning writers, letter charts, sitting with him at the kitchen table (yeah, I hear some of you laughing out there! It's all *true*!), working patiently, *teaching* him his letters, how to write, and eventually how to read. I had thoughts of Dick and Jane books, hours spent benevolently sharing my knowledge with my dear, firstborn son... just he and I... Well, of course, with my own schooling ideas having never been challenged, I figured those things would start in our homeschool Kindergarten year, which wouldn't start until September the year he turned 6, according to our state laws. Wyl wasn't having any of *that*.

I had loved (still do) reading to him... Dave started reading a little book to him every night when we found out I was pregnant. Every night, Dave would lie his head on my belly and read a little Dr. Seuss or some other children's book. Then, after the upheaval of new person in the house, we started reading again when he was several weeks old. Dave or I, every night, reading a little something. I think Dave felt it was more of an obligation, something that needed to be done like changing diapers. :~D So, as the books got longer and with less pictures, Dave read less and less. When Wyl was 5, I had been the only one reading for some time. We were still reading every night, and about the time he turned 5, we were on the Laura Ingalls series. I had always loved reading books about kids my age, and Little House in the Big Woods saw Laura at 4 & I think she had her 5th birthday in it as well. It's been a while. I forget. :~) So, one night, we're lying there in bed, reading and Wyl says, "Let me see that a minute", gesturing for the book. I hand it over to him and he proceeds to read several paragraphs, without stammering or struggling except on an extremely big word or two, then hands it back and says, "Okay, that's all I want to do. You read, now." Wow. I mean, I know he'd been reading "dairy" and "cheese" and things like that at the grocery store, and "stop" on the stopsigns and such, but it never happened how I had pictured: small, simple sentences at first, sounding out words, slowly getting longer and longer sentences, more complex and multi-syllable words... no. Wyl got a basic grasp, then he did some sort of processing in his head, and *boom*, he was *reading*. Fumbling blindly with my concepts and ideas for a bit after that, I bought him a Dick and Jane compilation book, which he enjoyed (I think he found it kind of weird and comic), but really, he pretty much went from 0 to 1st grade readers instantly. At least externally. I have no idea what went on *inside* his head. :~)

Which is why Storm's process is kind of a retro-thrill for me: I get to SEE it happening! Wyl knew his alphabet entirely (from the song and recitation) by the time he was 2. With Storm, I've gotten to see, "Hey! That's an 'H'!" and other letter recognition. Questions, too - Wyl
never asked much questions, but with Storm, the process has been a sharing of knowledge. Storm very clearly uses phonics. We never used any phonics books or games with him, though Sesame Street does use a bit of phonics, but Wyl watched *far* more Sesame Street than Storm ever did. It just is how he processes the information.

Storm went through a little disappointment period a while back: he was upset because he "couldn't read". He lives in a house with readers: 2 adults and a brother 5 1/2 years older who's reading at or near adult level. No wonder he felt "left out". I tried to assure him that he would read when his brain was ready, but that clearly wasn't what he needed to hear... he was still upset. He had already recognized word-symbols like Wal*Mart and Lego and Sesame Street, so I sat down and wrote some words I knew that he recognized and some I thought he did: Mama, Wyl, storm, WalMart, cat, etc. He did recognize one or two and I helped him figure out what the others were and that seemed to satisfy him. *I* believe(d) that his beginning reading process was already started, and that he was "reading" in a beginning fashion, so maybe that helped: because I believed.

I ran across that page in the notebook recently, and he knew more of those words, and the others he surprised me by sounding out! We'd not done any of the "S sounds like ssssss" kind of thing, so I thought it was really cool that he'd picked that up.

(Storm "reading" - sorry it's so dark!)Storm's not as fond of reading *every* night, and Wyl and I are kind of on a summer hiatus with reading: we have other things to do in the warm weather besides curling up with a good book, and we can't really decide what we want to read next. SkippyJohn Jones got Storm more interested in reading at night more often, but he's far from an "every night" kinda person. Bummer. Sometime in the last few weeks, I'd *finally* gotten him to okay me reading Dr. Seuss' ABCs: a book Wyl adored when he was younger; so much so, I have it memorized. :~D I'd been asking and asking Storm if I could read it to him and he kept saying no. So, one night I said I wanted to read it very bad, that I hadn't read it in a long time and I liked it: would he mind if I read it out loud to *myself*? Well, he was okay with that, and let me read it all the way through. I'm really glad, because now *he* likes it, and has requested it very often, since!

Tonight, Wyl was snuggling with Storm before we really got down to the sleeping part, and Wyl requested a book. There was some debate, because Wyl wanted to hear SkippyJohn Jones, but Storm was resisting. Dr. Seuss' ABCs was suggested by one of them and they were *both* happy to have that as the choice (just as I was about to offer to read 2! :~) ) and that *really* made me smile: my 11 year old still wants to hear me read Dr. Seuss. :~) So, somehow, in the last few readings, we've started naming our *own* things we think of that start with the letter we're on. Storm likes "apple" for A... not surprising, as he loves apple slices. He is amazing me with his grasp of "beginning letters"... last night, when we finished "ear, egg, elephant", he thought for a moment and said, eight. "Wow!" I said, "That's right! That's really good, because 'eight' sounds more like it starts with an 'A'!" I was really stunned that he knew that! I know, I shouldn't be, but like I said, this external process is new to me. :~) He really picked out some good ones in the last couple nights, amazing me with his grasp of "C" vs. "K" and "H" sounds, too. I even goofed on "N" and said "knee" and then realizing my mistake, switched to "knuckle". LOL

I'm so glad I was able to reassure Storm when he had concerns and he was able to go through his process in his time and his way. It still amazes me to see it: kind of like taking the back off of a winding-watch and seeing it move and work while you're watching. So fascinating and cool! Storm's always been a cautious, feeling-his-way kind of person, until he's comfortable with the parameters and knowing, from his own exploration, what can happen and how it works. So, I guess it really shouldn't surprise me that he tends in a phonics, sounding-out kind of direction. Seeing it all unfold sure is wonderful, though... It makes me excited to see what's coming next!

Unschooling Math!

To be nobody but myself -- in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you everybody else -- means to fight the hardest battle which any human being can fight, and never stop fighting. -E.E. Cummings, poet (1904-1962).

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Have I mentioned I love Unschooling? Some days just are such an example, I kind of wish I had someone I needed to convince, since I now have "proof".
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The boys and I were at my parents' house today, having eaten then run about the yard then played with the giant frisbees with Grandaddy, they settled down a bit to more detailed activity. We were gathered on their back porch, my mother working on finishing details of the shorts she had sewn the boys, my dad and I were talking. Wyl found some small and medium boxes Grandma had sitting around for disposal and immediately set about gathering scissors, cellophane & duct tape, marker and other odds and ends from Grandma, and set about making some furniture

(disclaimer: I am obligated to tell you that this is not finished, yet!)
.................................... ........................ (vv television on side wall vv and...

and dwelling areas for his Snorlax Pokemon. Gee... I wish I'd have gotten a

picture in the afternoon sun! After the handle broke off the big pair of scissors Wyl was using, Grandma got out her small knife (Exacto knife? Stanley knife? not sure what is "common" vernacular...)

and Snorlax at fireplace following-note tiny

bit of chimney at top of picture, please vv)

(vv Displaying stairs, here vv ............ and ^^ here ^^)

and took direction from him, cutting out parts from a giant oatmeal cardboard "canister" and various boxes.

It took Storm a bit more "energy expenditure" to settle down to something more finite. With my kids, they seem to have HUGE amounts of almost-volatile energy that cannot be contained. They have an almost endless supply of this energy. It takes a *lot* of large body movement (running, jumping, climbing, trampoline), loud voices and big body gesturing (kicking, punching, arm-waving) as well as creative thinking All At The Same Time to seemingly "convert" that energy into a more channeled, finer-dexterity, precise-creative-thinking mode. And it doesn't last for long. Apparently, it builds up while they're in a "smaller movement" mode and soon they're up and off again. Even after 10 years, it is still *amazing* to me how *much* energy there is contained in such a small-ish person. I can't even imagine that much energy in an Andre the Giant-sized person!!! It seems to be many people's worth of energy. It makes me think of the big bang theory, with the big release of pent-up energy before things whirled down to a more "organized energy" kind of existence.

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At any rate, Storm is still very much a "large energy" kind of person. He may always be... So, it took him a little while longer and a lack of another "big energy" person along side to refocus in a more finite way. As he slowed, he saw a 30' tape measure Grandad had left lying near the back porch. He started to pull the tape out to play with it when I reminded him that he should probably ask the owner of something that didn't belong to him. My dad is very particular about his tools, so I was concerned Storm would need distracted into another interesting item, and I watched as he took it over to my dad and asked if he could play with it.

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My dad asked him what he wanted to do with it. I figured he's 4, he didn't really have a plan, but he thinks quickly and he decided he wanted to measure himself. Grandad cajoled him out of the tape measure, telling him he "couldn't" measure himself, as the tape was above his eyes and he couldn't *see* it. It almost turned into an argument, but Storm seemed to decide that he'd rather have what time he could wrangle with the tape measure rather than risk Grandaddy taking it and putting it away because Storm wouldn't "cooperate".

Grandad measured him and told him he was 46". Storm wanted to see. Grandad held out the tape and showed him where the 46 was and Storm seemed pleased with that. He suddenly decided he wanted to count it. I've heard him count to 10 and heard him try to count through the teens. Those darn "11" "12" and "13" are just out of place! They don't sound like anything else (okay, maybe thirteen... but still... three = thirt-?") and they've given both my boys trouble. But, we've not pushed or quizzed on counting and so that was the scope of my knowledge.

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He started out at the end and began, "One. Two. Three...." all the way through ten and as usual, skipped over 11, 12, 13. So, my schooled-logical mind has assumed that because he "can't" or isn't counting 1-20 by each number in its place, that he isn't yet able to count higher than 20. Durn school-thought.

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As I said, he skips from 10 to 14 and goes on through to 20, where I didn't think he'd go beyond. What do you know? He didn't even *pause*, "Twenty-One. Twenty-Two. Twenty-Three..." my focus sharpened. What would happen when he got to 29? Well, duh, Mama. Next is, "Thirty." I had no idea. He kept going. He got a bit stuck on 50, not knowing how to pronounce it, but seeming to know that "Five - tee" was not right. I asked if he needed a little help. "Yes, Mama, please." I told him "Fifty" and he was off for some more. He needed a bit of help on 80, then I held my breath as he got to the end of the 90's. No pause, "Ninety-nine. One hundred. One hundred One. One hundred Two...."

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I'm astounded and holding my breath!! He got up to 109 and needed help. Grandaddy held his finger over the first one and asked what he saw and he said, "Ten" and then Grandad took his finger away and he seemed to be puzzled and Grandad started to quiz him some more, but I just said, "One hundred ten." He half-heartedly tried to go up into the mid 120's, but I could see his concentration wasn't as intense and he was pretty much done. He moved on to pulling the tape and trotting off into the yard while Grandaddy held the base and then Storm would run the tape back up to the porch while it slid inside. (That never gets old, does it? :~) )

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We hadn't found Unschooling when Wyl learned to count to 20 at 2, so there was a bit of prompting, and encouraging and some quizzing with number puzzles and magnets. Not a lot and not to the point of frustration (at least that I could tell or can remember), but it was not the Trust and Unschooling Storm has had. I didn't know he could count beyond 20 and it didn't even occur to me to wonder if he could or couldn't or if he "should" be able to. It just *Is*.

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My kids surprise me a lot with stuff they know that I didn't know they know. It's fun and astounding to find out. "Wow, I didn't know you knew that! Where did you find that out?" Sometimes, Wyl even knows stuff I don't. When I first considered homeschooling, that concept horrified me-how could I teach someone stuff I don't know?? But now I think it is so cool! I can learn *more*! My kids, or at least *Wyl*, doesn't think it's weird or shocking that he knows something I don't-he just gives me information he has, just like Dave or I give him information we have. He doesn't have a second thought of asking questions of someone he thinks *might* have the information he seeks. I was often embarrassed or felt "little" to ask a parent and most certainly to ask a teacher in front of the whole class, something that *might* get me labeled "ignorant" for not knowing. Being laughed at for not knowing, for *having* to ask is pretty close to the (if not *the*) ultimate shame. I'm *so* glad my kids don't know what that feels like!!! They get to use *that* energy on creating Snorlax houses or counting the inches on a tape measure or bouncing on a trampoline or spinning in circles with their arms flung wide... Or saying for the 40th time that day, "I love you, Mama!" or "Unschooling is the BEST!" :~)

Growing...

One does not advance the swimming abilities of ducks by throwing the eggs in the water. -Multatuli (pen name of Eduard Douwes Dekker), novelist (1820-1887)

It never fails to amaze me how much my children have grown. Here I am, beside them each day, all day long most days and yet, when I take a moment and look back... Wow.

Wyl stood up for a friend a few days ago. Neighbor boys from a couple houses away were over along with the gal next door. The neighbor boys were being rather rough with our stuff and throwing bricks around. Wyl told me and I had them stop throwing the bricks. A while later, he came in and said it was getting too cold outside, and I asked if everyone got home okay. He said only the gal next door had been playing and that the neighbor boys had gone earlier. I asked why. He got very animated and told me with no little amount of disgust that the boys were being mean to the girl and threatening her. He warned them to stop or they had to go home. They didn't stop. So my 9 year old son made them leave our yard and go home! I would never have done such a thing at his age... meanness made me afraid. Of course, I had lots of meanness around me, so not only was it "the norm", but it was done by stronger people to weaker ones, and I felt weak. I am indescribably happy that my kid(s) are so strong and certain of themselves and unswerving in their judgement of what is right that they *can* do the right thing! He didn't have to do it on his own-he knew he could come to me and I would do it, but he took it upon himself. Hmmm... it is only now that I am wondering why. Not a big deal, just curious.

Wyl is recently helping in little ways. Surprising ways. He loves to make the beds. Granted, they're not "hospitality ready", but it is more than I do! Well, for my own bed. I know he prefers his to be made, so when I think of it, I'll make his for him. He's been washing a few dishes, occasionally. He scrubbed the toilet the other day. Storm, of course, loves to clean. He has quite a fixation on cleaning the bathroom sink! :~) He's been asking to clean the toilet, too, but since he's only 4, I asked him if he could wait a few days-that way I could pre-clean it and get the germs under control (at least in *my* mind, they'd be under control...) Wyl does little things here and there... organizing the cereal boxes, lining up the coffee mugs, straightening the medicine cabinet. All are so surprising that it is like a little gift every time I see one-I should tell him that!

Both my boys have been snugglier than "usual" this year... Is it because they feel like they need more of me or just because they're happy and want to express it? Should I delve into that or am I just trying to make trouble for myself? :~) Putting in little troubles where there are none?

I got to visit my great aunt last week, who is my last connection to her sister, my grandma. She lost her husband at the beginning of December and is quite sad and lost without him-they'd been married for 60 years... She was a shell of her former self, gray and fragile when I got there. Once the boys warmed up to her and she felt they were comfortable enough, she played with them and laughed with them and her color started coming back and she seemed more her old self. It was lovely to see. She talked about going back to teaching little kids like she used to, years ago, and I can't help but think it would be so good for her. I hope she finds reason to keep going, because she still has so much to share and I'm not ready to let her go!

It has been a week of surprises, reflections and interesting things and people. Life is pretty darn good.

Contentment

"You really shouldn't say 'I love you' unless you mean it. But if you mean it, you should say it a lot. People forget. When someone loves you, the way they say your name is different. You just know that your name is safe in their mouth." ~Megan Jo Eberhart, 5 years old.

My life is *so* rich... I've been sitting here, today, just so satisfied and content with life As It Is. I have good friends, a good life, family (both blood related and not) whom I love and who love me, a roof over my head, learning & happy kids, choices... Sure, I could pull out the short paycheck, the lack of this one thing or another, having one car when two would really help our unschooling, challenges here and there, lack of funds for one thing or another, bills that are very far behind and make an uptight, nervous wreck of myself. I could use it to make myself and the people around me miserable, but what fun is that? Not that satisfaction and contentment are really "fun", but certainly more pleasant.

I could kick myself for being scattered and not "finishing" my Live and Learn Conference entries like I wanted to. I could gripe at myself and people around me for things that aren't "like they should be". I've done those things before-why not now? I don't know... unschooling? Age? Tiredness? Does it even matter *why*? The thing is, I'm starting to "get" that concept that other folks have posted about being the "rock in the storm" and just letting the chaos wash around and beyond me without soaking it up like I used to. My sponge has petrified. :~D Who would have thought petrification was a good thing?

Ah, distractions. My family's gravity is drawing me towards them-will I get back to this entry? Who knows? So, I'll post it as is and if I get back to it, I do, if not, it wasn't meant to be. I hope *you* are feeling as content and satisfied with your life, too!

The beauty of hugs and flowers

We should be careful to get out of an experience only the wisdom that is in it -- and stop there -- lest we be like the cat that sits down on a hot stove-lid. She will never sit down on a hot stove-lid again, and that is well; but also she will never sit down on a cold one any more. -Mark Twain, author and humorist (1835-1910)

Ain't it great when your kid grabs your arms and wraps them around himself? Ahh... heart-swelling contentment. ...why?...

Previously, I made the analogy that looking into the "why" and "how" of a beautiful thing was like tearing apart a flower-you found out why and/or how it was, but destroyed the beauty, the experience of it. Man, I hate it when I take a stand on things... I so often have to eat my words... And so began the poking and prodding of my "why stick" into this beautiful flower....

Why did such a simple act leave me feeling so peacefully content, I began to wonder, spooned with my youngest, arms wrapped around his middle, his head nestled on the pillow of the arm against the bed... Was it because we had a relationship where he felt comfortable telling me what he needed? That he was comfortable telling me what he needed from *me*? Okay, sounds logical. What else... there's something else there... something deeper...

Is it trust? Trust so unthinking that he knows he can get what he needs? No hesitation. No wondering. No concept that I might refuse. I don't know... I've worked through so much in my brain to get to that trust, yet I'm not sure I'd know it if I saw it. Maybe I should *trust* that's what it is. :~D I damaged the trust between Wyl and I before we came to this lifestyle, and though I'm working on that with him, we're not at that point, yet. I got to start from scratch with Storm. Maybe Wyl and I won't ever get to that point, I don't know - I *do* know I haven't the experience with my older kid to go by to compare and see if that's what this deeper feeling is. I've never had that kind of trust before. With anyone - or if I did, it wasn't for long... or maybe it was imagined... or one-sided, which in its very nature would make it *not* like this kind of trust I'm thinking about. And so I keep examining the poked-apart flower... I can't seem to get deep enough into it to find out the "what/why/how" of it... maybe it's there and I just don't know how to see it... maybe I need a magnifying glass or a microscope... And I ponder on.

Something I didn't think about when I first made that analogy: plants just don't flower once. They continue to flower, whether on the same plant or offspring, and so poking apart one flower may destroy that one beauty, that one experience, but when the next flower comes along, the knowledge gained from the tearing apart the first flower helps make the wonder of the following flowers *more*... wondrous. More beautiful. More amazing in its glory. Love is like that. It never gets old, blase, old hat. It doesn't wear out. Maybe I can hope that trust is like that... maybe it can get lost and tarnished, but with love and elbow grease it can blossom again...

Reflections

Funny, since starting my journey to respectful parenting, I'm far less horified to hear my mother's voice coming from my mouth (rarely even hear it anymore) than to hear MY voice coming from my *children's* mouths. Those moments that stop me short as I incredulously ask myself, "Did I SAY that?" or "Do I sound that awful??". Apparently, I'm not noticing the early signs before I hear those things coming from my kids, but it is definitely a 4-alarm warning when I do.

Then, too, its nice to see those positive reflections-afirmations that we *are* on the right path and we are definitely making progress. Today, as I rushed upstairs to get to Storm's side as he awoke crying for me, I hurried too fast and slipped on the stairs, banging my shin pretty good. I made it up to the bedroom and as I leaned on the bed dealing with the pain, Wyl asked me what was wrong and since I explained to him what happened in a strained voice, I guess Storm didn't hear me, because he asked me several times after I told Wyl. I finally got the point across to him that "I hurt my leg" and he *jumped* out of the crib and dashed out the door before I realized he was out of the crib. I asked him where he was going-he was by now out of the bedroom, and he came back to open the door and tell me, "I going to get a bandaid". I heard him dig around in the drawer, shut the drawer, shut the bathroom door and after he shut the bedroom door, he stood there by my side, his little 3-year-old fingers struggling patiently with the tricky, tiny pull-apart wrapper, carefully handing me each side of the paper wrapper, struggling mightily with the coverings of the sticky part-trying ever so hard not to touch the pad that covers the wound (did he learn that just from watching me??) and handing me those parts to throw away... and handing me the bandage to put on myself. I was struggling to hold back tears at this gently, thoughtful gesture. Bandaids make his boo-boos feel better - he had just told me that the night before as he put one on a scratch himself. Here, I had not been expecting my respectfulness to be repaid (at least in care-taking ways) until I was nursing-home age or otherwise incapacitated, unable to care for myself... and yet, here it was; proof (however small) that respect isn't just something you give out to your kids, it comes back to you full force in unexpected ways.

I love these little moments.

Giving what we didn't have

Funny how some of these feelings/thoughts just kind of sneak up on you and then you're smiling and fighting back tears...

Storm was puttering around the bedroom today near the box fan that is always in the room when he suddenly turned it on. Now, he's done this before in there and other areas of the house, but when he first started I was really concerned about him putting his fingers in it. And, he hasn't done it for a while. A lazy thought crept into my mind that I should have him shut it off (gee, when did that instant, knee-jerk, "NO!" fade away??) and while it was wondering around my mind, I heard him start talking into the fan. Boy, that sure makes an interesting sound! I smiled, thinking of how he must be enjoying it (I couldn't actually see him from my vantage point) and my mind wandered like it does...

I thought of how *my* mother, first off, would never *allow* us kids to *waste* electricity like that (it costs *money*, you know!), nor were we allowed to actually turn a fan on by our own decision-if a parent told us to turn it on, we should do so and as quickly as possible-but we were just *children* and couldn't possibly know when it was hot enough to turn the fan on. Then, I felt sad for that child (who really didn't know what she was missing out on) who was so restricted and controlled-yet at the same time, I felt a swelling of happiness and joy that my kids COULD turn on a fan and "ya ya ya ya" into it, squirt bottles of tempura paint all over the porch in swirly, splotchy, bright colors, could borrow one of mama's pots and mix a concoction of ingredients in that mama and that kid went to the store together to specifically buy for that purpose, could get muddy, could share their opinions and true feelings... well, could be free to be who they are. Such an odd mix of feelings and yet... it was *good*.

Speaking of that trip to the store... Funny, how shopping with both boys is an experience to *avoid* at all costs, but with each of them individually... such a great time together! I just love Wyl's sense of humor-he can sure make me laugh!! :~D He's clever and quick and I never know (unless I remember hearing it before-which is rare) if he's made it up or gotten it from a book, magazine, show, etc. We were at Mustard Seed today in the aisle with the free coffee dispensers and went to get himself a cup. There was a couple there (late 40s? early 50s??) and, as usual, Wyl went right up and struck up a conversation about the coffee, which containers were cream and soy milk, the flavors, etc. I was so pleasantly surprised to see and hear the couple treat him as a person!! They didn't talk down to him, look at me in askance, brush him off, etc.! They just chatted with him and when Wyl talked about the flavors Mustard Seed carries, the man thanked him for the information. Not only that, but apparently he went to look for some Hazelnut (which Wyl also likes) and couldn't find it, and came back to our aisle and said something like, "I'm sorry, I guess I didn't go to the right place, because I couldn't find the flavors" to Wyl!! I had no idea where they were, not being a coffee drinker, myself, but Wyl said that they were right in the next aisle, so I suggested he go show him where they were. As Wyl was coming back into our aisle, I heard the man thank him and Wyl sing-songed "you're welcome". Either the guy didn't hear him or didn't understand because he made a point of coming back into our aisle and making *sure* he thanked Wyl face-to-face!!! I just wanted to thank HIM! Maybe I should have... I didn't want to make a big deal out of it in front of Wyl, though... So nice, tho', since our experience with how folks treat younger people hasn't been very positive, lately... I think as he gets older (closer to teen years), people get distrustful... :~( That stinks.

I just can't explain how much fun Wyl and I have driving to-and-from shopping, and to a somewhat lesser degree, shopping. It actually struck me today, that some of the silly things I do in the car (cranking up the radio, finding empty parking lots or backroads and swerving the car back-and-forth, "dancing" the car by tapping the breaks to the music, helping Wyl safely hang out the window on slower, back roads or parking lots, etc.) are things MANY teenagers do. But, teenagers are doing them partly because a parent would be horrified or demand they not do it, plus, if its a car full of teens, the driver isn't very experienced-certainly not 20+ years of lots of driving kind of experience! I don't know how that will affect his driving/riding in 8-10 years or so... It just really struck me today. Its so GREAT to be friends with your kids!!!!! ...and I don't think it ever struck me until just now that I AM friends with my kids.......