The last couple of weeks have been filled with Summery Goodness. We've had lots of time with friends - had dinners, and fireworks, barbecues, and lots of sunshine.
Dates have been made to start the homeschool groups (mostly with our unschooling friends) back up again - Mom's Night, the unschooler's meet-up, Art and Craft Circle, and Project Wild. We even have begun the steps to begin a Scout circle - I'm awaiting the paperwork for a SpiralScouts charter. Very excited about that.
School supplies are lined up shiny and so tidy in the stores. Offering so much goodness and freshness in the name of organization and new beginnings.
Friends send notes saying "I'm putting in an order for art supplies.... do you want anything?..." so we'll all get free shipping.
Which leads to online shopping for art supplies.
And then books.
And then science supplies.
So today I'm expecting a medium sized box of inspiration in the post.
We've ordered (well, I've ordered) petrie dishes and agar. And an owl pellet kit with extra pellets in case friends want to come over and explore with us. And a physics kit. And slide covers as well as bluing and eosin y for studying our own cells.
We are also expecting books - Aquatic Habitats, a math/building book about geometric concepts and experiments called Build It! Festival, a book on Chemical Reactions, Identifying Animal Tracks, and three little books about studying our (local) environment - One Small Square: Pond, One Small Square: Woods, and One Small Square: Backyard.
The babes' rooms are organized.
The zoobs are with the zoobs. The morphs are with the morphs. The cuisenaire rods are with the cuisenaire rods. The tangrams, the legos, the lincoln logs, and the gears are in the shoe boxes, coffee cans, or wicker boxes where they belong.
I am eager to go downstairs and reorganize and rearrange our shelves - making room for the new, and making sure everything that should be is accessible.
I'm anticipating excitedly going through toys (getting the children's permission) that have been outgrown or broken.
I'm thrilled about new books, new clay, new experiments, clean shelves and organized microscope slides.
I'm inspired.
Life is good.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
checking in with Reality
Sometimes I wonder (vaguely) if I am missing something.
Something important.
I watch my children, and their busy-ness, and their discoveries and explorations and imaginings and Ways, and I hardly ever worry.
I don't usually judge it - except in an amused, enchanted sort of way.
I don't usually quiz them - except when one fear or another creeps in - and then I evaluate, or question (them or me), and muddle through it the best way I can. Always eager to get to the other side.
Unschooling comes so easy to us.
And I spose this is where I get hung up.
People that know nothing of unschooling might say, "Of course it's easy! You're not doing anything!!"
But that isn't true. At least, it doesn't seem that way to me. And I guess that's where I sometimes question if I'm missing something.
We read. We explore the local historic farm. We visit the Planetarium, and watch its films. We visit museums probably at least a dozen times a year. We bake and cook. We look at the globe and and ask questions of "Where's ____?" and "How far is ____?" and "Show me ____..." at least once a week (including Maddie). We play Carmen Sandiego on the computer. We play Clifford on pbs. We play Math 1-2. And JumpStart World. We build, we swim, we play with friends, and we go to the library. We learn about the constellations, and wonder which planet that is in the night sky. We experiment with magnets. We learn about the life cycle of the frog. We clean, we interact, we solve problems, and we communicate. We help each other, and sometimes we hinder.
We discuss evolution often. We count, we name colors, and we imitate animals.
We make Pinwheels for Peace every year, and we watch Animal Planet. We watch Wishbone, Arthur, Nova and the History Channel. We paint, we sculpt with clay, we play with tangrams, and we do science experiments. We flex our imaginative muscles daily with pretend play.
It's all so natural, and free flowing.
Experiencing life this way, I feel so satisfied and confident. (Most of the time.)
But then once in a while someone says something, and I have to ask myself.... am I missing something? Is living this way not enough? How can someone doubt it?
It is so apparent and obvious to me that it's working so beautifully....
And so I try to see things from a different perspective, and surround us with circumstances when it would not Be Enough.
Such as if we doubted our ability to learn anything. (I don't mean anything-at-all, I mean we know that we can learn anything. That nothing is outside the realm of possibility.)
Or if we felt we had to play by someone else's rules.
Or if we believed that instead of people needing more room to grow and love and expand out of them selves they needed more limitations.
None of those apply to us.
I cannot think of one thing right now in our experiences and growth and living that is lacking.
And the beauty of living this way, is that as soon as you discover that there is something new that excites you -- you're free to pursue it, and claim the magic for yourself.
It's enough for me.
Something important.
I watch my children, and their busy-ness, and their discoveries and explorations and imaginings and Ways, and I hardly ever worry.
I don't usually judge it - except in an amused, enchanted sort of way.
I don't usually quiz them - except when one fear or another creeps in - and then I evaluate, or question (them or me), and muddle through it the best way I can. Always eager to get to the other side.
Unschooling comes so easy to us.
And I spose this is where I get hung up.
People that know nothing of unschooling might say, "Of course it's easy! You're not doing anything!!"
But that isn't true. At least, it doesn't seem that way to me. And I guess that's where I sometimes question if I'm missing something.
We read. We explore the local historic farm. We visit the Planetarium, and watch its films. We visit museums probably at least a dozen times a year. We bake and cook. We look at the globe and and ask questions of "Where's ____?" and "How far is ____?" and "Show me ____..." at least once a week (including Maddie). We play Carmen Sandiego on the computer. We play Clifford on pbs. We play Math 1-2. And JumpStart World. We build, we swim, we play with friends, and we go to the library. We learn about the constellations, and wonder which planet that is in the night sky. We experiment with magnets. We learn about the life cycle of the frog. We clean, we interact, we solve problems, and we communicate. We help each other, and sometimes we hinder.
We discuss evolution often. We count, we name colors, and we imitate animals.
We make Pinwheels for Peace every year, and we watch Animal Planet. We watch Wishbone, Arthur, Nova and the History Channel. We paint, we sculpt with clay, we play with tangrams, and we do science experiments. We flex our imaginative muscles daily with pretend play.
It's all so natural, and free flowing.
Experiencing life this way, I feel so satisfied and confident. (Most of the time.)
But then once in a while someone says something, and I have to ask myself.... am I missing something? Is living this way not enough? How can someone doubt it?
It is so apparent and obvious to me that it's working so beautifully....
And so I try to see things from a different perspective, and surround us with circumstances when it would not Be Enough.
Such as if we doubted our ability to learn anything. (I don't mean anything-at-all, I mean we know that we can learn anything. That nothing is outside the realm of possibility.)
Or if we felt we had to play by someone else's rules.
Or if we believed that instead of people needing more room to grow and love and expand out of them selves they needed more limitations.
None of those apply to us.
I cannot think of one thing right now in our experiences and growth and living that is lacking.
And the beauty of living this way, is that as soon as you discover that there is something new that excites you -- you're free to pursue it, and claim the magic for yourself.
It's enough for me.
checking in
Yesterday I felt the need to check in with Trev.
Last night I got out Games for Reading - Just to see if there was anything that jumped out at me that might be fun for us.
The author was talking about how a first grade student wrote her name terribly, and had trouble with visual perception.
Trev doesn't write. Doesn't draw, either. Has barely any interest in it at all. The only time really that he writes is when he writes a few letters in short-hand - a love note to me.
"Could there be a problem?" I ask myself.
Not out of any nervous, must keep up with the Joneses, pressured/frantic/doubting unschooling sort of way.
Just in a "hmmm, is this something that I'm not aware of?" sort of way.
"Hey, Trev. Do you have a few minutes?"
I don't ordinarily quiz my children. And if I do, I am totally up front with them - giving them the reason for it - that I'm feeling nervous about something, or am curious about something, and could they help me for a minute?
I got out Maddie's Magna-Doodle. (is that what it's called?) I drew a big "x", with a small 0 in the top part, and a small o in the bottom.
"Will you copy this?"
Not a problem. The o's were exactly where they were s'posed to go.
Our constellation book was on the table.
"Hey - wanna draw constellations? Which should we do?" I drew the stars for him to link together. He actually decided to draw the constellation patterns without my stars.
Then we played a dot-to-dot game (our short quiz time was now over, and we were just having fun between ourselves) where Trev would draw a bunch of dots on the board, then link them all together (quite ably, I might add), and we would tell each other what we saw in the random drawings. That went on for several minutes.
Then we played (laughingly) several games of tic tac toe.
Of course the conclusion that I came to is that there is nothing wrong. He's just a boy that is interested in what he's interested in, and doesn't feel the need to do work that he deems as drudgery to appease someone else, or to a system that might call him misfit. He knows nothing, and probably cares less, about this System.
Last night I got out Games for Reading - Just to see if there was anything that jumped out at me that might be fun for us.
The author was talking about how a first grade student wrote her name terribly, and had trouble with visual perception.
Trev doesn't write. Doesn't draw, either. Has barely any interest in it at all. The only time really that he writes is when he writes a few letters in short-hand - a love note to me.
"Could there be a problem?" I ask myself.
Not out of any nervous, must keep up with the Joneses, pressured/frantic/doubting unschooling sort of way.
Just in a "hmmm, is this something that I'm not aware of?" sort of way.
"Hey, Trev. Do you have a few minutes?"
I don't ordinarily quiz my children. And if I do, I am totally up front with them - giving them the reason for it - that I'm feeling nervous about something, or am curious about something, and could they help me for a minute?
I got out Maddie's Magna-Doodle. (is that what it's called?) I drew a big "x", with a small 0 in the top part, and a small o in the bottom.
"Will you copy this?"
Not a problem. The o's were exactly where they were s'posed to go.
Our constellation book was on the table.
"Hey - wanna draw constellations? Which should we do?" I drew the stars for him to link together. He actually decided to draw the constellation patterns without my stars.
Then we played a dot-to-dot game (our short quiz time was now over, and we were just having fun between ourselves) where Trev would draw a bunch of dots on the board, then link them all together (quite ably, I might add), and we would tell each other what we saw in the random drawings. That went on for several minutes.
Then we played (laughingly) several games of tic tac toe.
Of course the conclusion that I came to is that there is nothing wrong. He's just a boy that is interested in what he's interested in, and doesn't feel the need to do work that he deems as drudgery to appease someone else, or to a system that might call him misfit. He knows nothing, and probably cares less, about this System.
Monday, July 21, 2008
pond part ii
note: read at your own risk, post is quite scattered and illiterate!....
oh how i wish i had a camera, friends.
can you believe that i dropped it yesterday at the waterpark?
oh yes i did!
dunked it full under for a whole second - three quarters?- or so.
we'll see what comes of it.... it's drying out under a lamp....
dig pond?
done.
carpets down (for padding against any missed rocks or tree roots?)
done!
edging?
no.
to dh...."are you ready to take us on an adventure?" (as digging out a pond requires a cold beer to my mind, and i have taken that liberty, and will not drive....)
"what sort of adventure?"
"to look for rocks, and to home depot for that $10 giant palm tree...."
which will be housed inside in winter, to help cleanse our air during the inversion, of course. seriously - i get mega headaches from pollution during wintertime.....
Mama Spot? (read: humble meditation throne)
Under Construction, still.
let's see....
claw and scrape and dirt-up-to-my-shoulders-quite-literally, covered in it (as is little laptop),
aaaaah!
so satisfied.
there is something quite marvelous and magical to be said for quit literally carving your place out of damp and soft, friendly soil.....
Spot, then?
done!
now we just need the bordering stones.....
"Ready, Babe? It's gonna be dark, soon....."
oh how i wish i had a camera, friends.
can you believe that i dropped it yesterday at the waterpark?
oh yes i did!
dunked it full under for a whole second - three quarters?- or so.
we'll see what comes of it.... it's drying out under a lamp....
dig pond?
done.
carpets down (for padding against any missed rocks or tree roots?)
done!
edging?
no.
to dh...."are you ready to take us on an adventure?" (as digging out a pond requires a cold beer to my mind, and i have taken that liberty, and will not drive....)
"what sort of adventure?"
"to look for rocks, and to home depot for that $10 giant palm tree...."
which will be housed inside in winter, to help cleanse our air during the inversion, of course. seriously - i get mega headaches from pollution during wintertime.....
Mama Spot? (read: humble meditation throne)
Under Construction, still.
let's see....
claw and scrape and dirt-up-to-my-shoulders-quite-literally, covered in it (as is little laptop),
aaaaah!
so satisfied.
there is something quite marvelous and magical to be said for quit literally carving your place out of damp and soft, friendly soil.....
Spot, then?
done!
now we just need the bordering stones.....
"Ready, Babe? It's gonna be dark, soon....."
whadda ya do...
... when you've been thinking Pond at the western (for water) border (of your property) for four years
or
chickens (last year and part of this one, 'til dh says "No." (The Feminist in me demands that I tell you that of course He is not the final word, but that he also has An Equal Voice in this household...)
or
when you find yourself trying to outrun your babes first thing in the morning insisting "I'm in a time-out, really!!!" looking frantically for a meditation spot among herbs and earthiness....
for two hours.
And the bills are paid.
And there's a few extra bucks in the checking account?
Dig a pond, of course.
Think...
Zen.
Think ethereal OM-ness.
Think drowns out the noise of the cooler, and quite possible the shouts of the babes playing in the pool.
I write this as Maddie spots my face and arm with blue raspberry scented magic marker.
You get my point, don't you?
I don't need to justify "Peaceful Water Garden", to you!
or
chickens (last year and part of this one, 'til dh says "No." (The Feminist in me demands that I tell you that of course He is not the final word, but that he also has An Equal Voice in this household...)
or
when you find yourself trying to outrun your babes first thing in the morning insisting "I'm in a time-out, really!!!" looking frantically for a meditation spot among herbs and earthiness....
for two hours.
And the bills are paid.
And there's a few extra bucks in the checking account?
Dig a pond, of course.
Think...
Zen.
Think ethereal OM-ness.
Think drowns out the noise of the cooler, and quite possible the shouts of the babes playing in the pool.
I write this as Maddie spots my face and arm with blue raspberry scented magic marker.
You get my point, don't you?
I don't need to justify "Peaceful Water Garden", to you!
Monday, July 14, 2008
a romantic life!
the vision looks something like hollyhocks towering over a four foot tree stump (dedicated to the eastern horizon, and new beginnings).
in gorgeous colors of melon,
bright fuschia-like pinks,
whitest whites, 
and pale pinks.
you know.
something like - romance struggles thru the dry soil to bring charm and beauty and romanticism into this (my own) world.
the reality looks more like....
hollyhocks, of course.
but between the sighing viewer and the various bounteous and romantic spots-of-earth lie -
a plastic swimming pool.
and a few stray legos.
hiding remnants of the water balloon fight from two weeks ago.
a few tiny bits of things the dog has destroyed.
oh - and an art studio, and a water gun resting on a wicker table meant for teas and beautiful books.
maybe a few pairs of long-abandoned Dora , my-little-pony, and spiderman -now muddy and stained- underoos.
sigh.
such is this life, friends.
you've found me out.
in gorgeous colors of melon,
bright fuschia-like pinks,
whitest whites, 
and pale pinks.
you know.
something like - romance struggles thru the dry soil to bring charm and beauty and romanticism into this (my own) world.
the reality looks more like....
hollyhocks, of course.
but between the sighing viewer and the various bounteous and romantic spots-of-earth lie -
a plastic swimming pool.
and a few stray legos.
hiding remnants of the water balloon fight from two weeks ago.
a few tiny bits of things the dog has destroyed.
oh - and an art studio, and a water gun resting on a wicker table meant for teas and beautiful books.
maybe a few pairs of long-abandoned Dora , my-little-pony, and spiderman -now muddy and stained- underoos.sigh.
such is this life, friends.
you've found me out.
balm for the soul
today i've dug and snipped and hung and cut back and even transplanted.
soon i'll replenish and soothe and feed and coax with sweet talk and love.
i smell of catnip, peppermint, lavender, lemon balm and sage.
sigh.
life is so good.
soon i'll replenish and soothe and feed and coax with sweet talk and love.
i smell of catnip, peppermint, lavender, lemon balm and sage.
sigh.
life is so good.
Monday, July 07, 2008
Rule #6
I heard a story a few days ago. It' s a story written by Benjamin (the conductor of the Boston Philharmonic) and Rosamund Zander, from the book The Art of Possibilities.
Two prime ministers are sitting in a room discussing affairs of state. Suddenly a man bursts in, apoplectic with fury, shouting and stamping and banging his fist on the desk. The resident prime minister admonishes him: "Peter," he says, "Kindly remember Rule Number 6," whereupon Peter is instantly restored to complete calm, apologizes, and withdraws. The politicians return to their conversation, only to be interrupted yet again twenty minutes later by an hysterical woman gesticulating wildly, her hair flying. Again the intruder is greeted with the words: "Marie, please remember Rule Number 6." Complete calm descends once more, and she too withdraws with a bow and an apology. When the scene is repeated for a third time, the visiting prime minister addresses his colleague: "My dear friend, I've seen many things in my life, but never anything as remarkable as this. Would you be willing to share with me the secret of Rule Number 6?" "Very simple," replies the resident prime minister. "Rule Number 6 is 'Don't take yourself so goddamn seriously.' " "Ah," says his visitor, "that is a fine rule." After a moment of pondering, he inquires, "And what, may I ask, are the other rules?"
"There aren't any."
tada!
a bit of magic for you today.
Two prime ministers are sitting in a room discussing affairs of state. Suddenly a man bursts in, apoplectic with fury, shouting and stamping and banging his fist on the desk. The resident prime minister admonishes him: "Peter," he says, "Kindly remember Rule Number 6," whereupon Peter is instantly restored to complete calm, apologizes, and withdraws. The politicians return to their conversation, only to be interrupted yet again twenty minutes later by an hysterical woman gesticulating wildly, her hair flying. Again the intruder is greeted with the words: "Marie, please remember Rule Number 6." Complete calm descends once more, and she too withdraws with a bow and an apology. When the scene is repeated for a third time, the visiting prime minister addresses his colleague: "My dear friend, I've seen many things in my life, but never anything as remarkable as this. Would you be willing to share with me the secret of Rule Number 6?" "Very simple," replies the resident prime minister. "Rule Number 6 is 'Don't take yourself so goddamn seriously.' " "Ah," says his visitor, "that is a fine rule." After a moment of pondering, he inquires, "And what, may I ask, are the other rules?"
"There aren't any."
tada!
a bit of magic for you today.
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