Conversations with a 7 year old

 Everett

I just had the following conversation:

Everett: Mommy. Do you think I should go get the towel?

Me: What towel?

Everett: The towel I dried my butt on.

Me: You dried your butt on a towel?

Everett: Well I was taking a shower.

Me: Okay...

Everett: And I had to go to the bathroom. I didn't want to get the toilet seat all wet, so I got out and dried my butt on the towel.

Me: The hand towel?

Everett: No, a regular towel. Should I go get it? You know, since my butt was on it?

Me: Well, where did you leave it?

Everett: I put it back in the hall closet. (Pause) I should probably go get it and put it in the laundry.

Me: That'd be a good idea.

Everett ::::runs off to get the towel:::::

The end.



Like the Path Less Taken on Facebook

To Everett, who's still brave and strong

Everett turns seven today. In honor of his birthday, I decided to write him a letter, just as I did for Tegan when she turned three, and will hopefully continue to do for all four going forward. 

To my sweet Everett,

Today's your birthday, which means I'm thinking of your birth story again.  It's always hard for me to re-visit that day, because it was one of the most truly frightening things I've ever experienced as a mother.  No mother ever dreams about her baby being born blue, not breathing, and not making any sounds.  No mother wants to watch, desperately praying, while doctors work to resuscitate her newest son.  It's still hard for me to look at those early early pictures, even after you were breathing well...  you looked so pale, so fragile.  I like the pictures that were taken a little later, after you'd finally been placed in my arms.  So alert, and so, so beautiful. 

I do think about that day though, and I do talk about it.  Mainly because you like to hear it so much. You love to hear, over and over, about your entry into the world.  You love to tell me how brave you were, and how strong, and how you started breathing because you couldn't wait to meet me. 

And I couldn't wait to meet you either.   How did I get so lucky to be blessed with a third son?

Everett, you inspire me.  In so many ways.  I love how excited you get to try something - anything - new.  I love how quick you are with a smile, and how you're even quicker with a hug.  I love how affectionate you are.  I love your sense of humor, and I love hearing you laugh.  I love your enthusiasm, how much you just love life.  I love that no matter what you're feeling... whether it's happiness, sadness, fear, or elation... that you let yourself feel it, and express it, fully.  I love how authentic you are.  I love how you're flat-out wrestling with your best friend one moment, and painting your fingernails the next.  I love your gap-toothed grin, and I love the way you lisp when you talk.

But mostly, I just love YOU.   I am forever grateful, and proud, to be able to call you my son.

Another Great Room Swap, Part Two

She doesn't actually sleep in it yet, but she enjoys pretending. :)

This is the little kids' room, bringing our latest room swap project to a close.  There's still work to be done (including, but not limited to:  painting, decorating, and culling through the 4638 toys, puzzles, and games they've accumulated over the years) but the "big stuff" is done, for which I am thankful.  Everett and Tegan are both thrilled with his new slide bed, and I am thrilled with the fact that there is not just a clear path to the bed, but an actual floor! 

It has inspired me to do more long-awaited projects around the house, which - if the past is any indication - will be completed just in time for us to sell.

Come on mom, get tough.

I have very, very few pictures of my children crying. Mainly because 1)I don't really want to dwell on their - or anyone's - moments of sadness, and 2) I know I wouldn't like it if someone was taking pictures of me when I was crying. It just doesn't seem nice to me.

The picture above was captured by accident, not too long ago, when I was testing out the camera. She was over-tired and rapidly vacillating in between moments of frustration, and total glee. About five seconds later, she was laughing:

Today though, she was crying. Imagine the top picture, but with sound.

I had a bad day today. Tegan had a bad day today. Neither of us had as bad a day as Everett though, who is suffering through another - very painful - UTI (something he's been dealing with his entire life) We were all exhausted from a busy weekend and not enough sleep, and I'd thought that today was going to give us some much-needed down time. Instead the three of us were at the doctor's first thing this morning, at the grocery store buying cranberry juice, and at CVS filling Everett's prescription.

Tegan spotted the gum near the register on the way out of CVS. She asked if we could get some, and I had to tell her, "not this time." She asked why as she started to cry, and I could tell from the way that she'd rooted herself to the floor that we were not going to be making a graceful exit. I knelt down so I could talk to her, and I told her the truth.

"Because I only have a little bit of cash right now, and we need it for the field trip tomorrow."

"But I want gum." She cried harder.

That's about the time that I started to feel everyone staring at us. I think most moms know that feeling... that feeling of being watched, and judged, by all the other shoppers. That feeling of frustration, and even embarrassment... not because of your child, but just because everyone is looking at you. Waiting to see what you're going to do. Waiting to see how you'll handle it.

I handled it the only way I knew how, as calmly and quietly as I could. And when I picked her up - still crying - and made my way out to the car, I was followed by an older gentleman who offered,

"Come on mom, you need to get tough with her!"

I did not respond with the first thought that came to mind (for which I am proud) but instead gave him a wordless smile while I got the kids into the car.... one disappointed and unhappy, the other sick and in pain. I just wanted to get home, and get home soon.

Get tough with her? Even now, 7 hours later, I'm still thinking about it and shaking my head. Aside from the obvious irritation of the unsolicited advice, what does it even mean?

Get tough with her. For what? For being human? For being disappointed? For being tired? For acting like any other three year old who's allowed to express her emotions?

I can't say that I always respond to my crying children as patiently as I'd like. I can't say that I'm always as compassionate as I'd like. But I can say, with absolute certainty, that being more "tough" is the LAST thing I am going to do when one of my children is upset, when one of my children is sad, when one of my children is in pain in some way... Whether it's a pack of gum, or a canceled play date. Their feelings are real, just as real as yours and mine. They deserve to be treated kindly and gently all the time, but especially when they are unhappy.

Isn't that just common sense?

So, dear stranger in the CVS parking lot: I sincerely thank you for your nosy intrusion concern today, but I've got this one covered. And the next time my girl cries (which she will one day, because she's human) I will think of your words, and I will do the opposite.

Rainbows & Breakthroughs

Behind my sister's house

Several months ago, the kids and I got caught in a horrific hail storm.  We were at the playground, and even though it was starting to look like rain, we weren't in too much of a hurry.   People were rushing around, gathering up their things, but we kept playing.  I tend to be of the nonchalant, "so if it rains, we'll just get a little wet," ilk, and the kids love playing in the rain anyway.

Suddenly, it was like someone flipped a switch:  the sky turned from grey to black,  and the wind.... I can't even begin to describe the wind, except to say that if I hadn't picked up both Everett and Tegan (6 and 2.5 respectively) I don't think they would have been physically able to even stand in it.  We quickly ran around retrieving shoes and water bottles from where they'd been left under slides and swing sets, and headed - running - to the car.  That's when the hail started hitting us.   Huge, hard, and painful, they beat on our bodies as we flew across the grass.

And that wind!!  I'd never been in wind that bad in my life.

Everett and Tegan were both crying, and Spencer was starting to do a gasping, hyperventilating thing that was frightening me even more than the weather.   I tried to reassure them - and myself - as we ran, but it was so loud I doubt anyone even heard my words.  We finally made it to the car and just sat inside it for awhile.... drenched, cold and breathing heavily... but otherwise no worse for the wear.

By the time we got home, ten minutes later, it was over.  We were greeted with these all over our front yard:

The biggest hail I've ever seen

Ever since that day, Everett has been extremely fearful and anxious about wind.  (Can you blame him?)   He hasn't wanted to go to playgrounds, hasn't wanted to go outside, has declined play dates, and has cried at even the smallest amount of breeze when do have to be out.  On his worst days, he wouldn't even have to be outside to be afraid.  He would hysterically cry at just the sound, just the thought, of the wind outside.  He's been genuinely, and inconsolably, terrified about the possibility of getting caught in another storm.

As a parent, it is both heartbreaking and frustrating to see your child so strongly clutched by a fear, and feel powerless to stop it.  I tried my hardest to respect it, and to honor his feelings.  I held him, I talked to him, I comforted him, I reassured him... oh how I tried to reassure him!... but still the fear remained.    It was a paralyzing fear, one that kept him under the porch's cover as I would push Tegan on the swing, wanting to join us but not able to make himself do it.   I hated seeing what it was doing to him, and as much as I hated it for him, I know he hated it more.   My sweet, happy boy wasn't always happy any more, and I didn't know how to make it better.

I thought it was starting to get better, but a few weeks ago we went off-roading.  It was a gorgeous, sunny day, and we'd stopped for a picnic lunch at a really beautiful spot up in Sedona.   And again I held him as he cried, petrified, when some wind started to pick up. 

I shared my own stories of fears with him.  I shared other people's stories.  I told him I didn't blame him for being scared, but that he was safe.  "I know all of that!" he'd tell me through his tears.  "I tell myself not to be scared, but I just don't know how to stop it."  And I didn't know either.  So I held him, and we waited.

And slowly, slowly it has started to get better. 

Today, we took the two youngest kids out to the library, and to go grocery shopping.  It had been raining in the morning, but it was relatively clear when we left the house.  They chose some books from the library, and we made quick work of our shopping list.  It was windy when we left the first store, but Everett was too busy eating his Clif bar and chatting about his upcoming birthday to pay much attention.  It was very windy by the time we got to the second store, enough that I was watching him - waiting - as we exited the car.  Still he was calm and happy as we went in the store and grabbed our last few things.  When we came back out to the parking lot, the air was thick with the heaviness that comes before the rain.  The storm clouds had all gathered together into one massive sheet of charcoal, and the wind was whistling in our ears.  And Everett grabbed my hand, laughed, and wondered aloud if we'd make it to the car before it started raining. 

He laughed.  I didn't say anything at the time, but the fact that we were hurrying through the wind and darkness once again wasn't lost on me.  But he wasn't crying.  He was happy.  And this time, he was still smiling as he buckled himself into his seat.  It started raining just as we pulled away.

Breakthrough.

When we got home, I gathered him up in a big hug, and asked him if he'd realized that we'd been out in the wind.

"Oh yeah!"  he told me.  "I didn't really think about it until just now.  It was pretty windy, wasn't it?"  He was still hugging me.

"Yes, it was.  And we were fine.  You were fine, weren't you?"

"Yeah, I was!"  He sounded happy.  Proud.  And then he ran off to watch T.V.

I don't know what made the difference.  Maybe it was just time.  And I don't know that we won't have to deal with scary wind moments again in the future (in my experience,  a lot of these things tend to take the path of a one step forward, two steps back resolution) But I do know that today was a huge leap forward as far as I - and Everett - are concerned.    I am thankful, and I am relieved.

Just after we got home, when I was still celebrating his victory, my sister sent the above picture of the rainbow.  I couldn't have gotten a more perfect picture at a more perfect time. 

It's a new day, and it's beautiful.

Best Friends

When I was six years old, my best friend was Heather Weant. I haven't seen Heather for about 29 years, but if I close my eyes I can still see her face, and I can still hear her laugh, and I can still remember what her house looked like. I moved away the summer before second grade, and while we exchanged a couple of letters in the beginning, I have absolutely no idea what ended up happening to her. Still, it's with fondness that I remember this childhood friend. Almost like a first love (who I also remember with fondness), I think there's always a special place for that first real best friend.

This picture - quickly shot in a dark restaurant on a cell phone - is Everett and his own Heather Weant. I don't know where their lives are going to take them, and though I'd sincerely hope they'll always be friends, I know that there could come a time that they'll go their separate ways.

I also know that those early friendships are special, and precious, and something to be treasured. I thank God for both the times that they are sharing now, and for the future memories that they will become.

Everett, anxieties, and midnight math

Everett is 6 1/2 at the time of this writing.  He is energetic, passionate, and affectionate.  He is also one of the happiest kids I know.... except when he isn't.  The past few months have been difficult for him, in a few different ways, and we are slowly and carefully navigating our way through to what we hope will be a calmer year for him. 

One of the areas that has given him trouble lately has been sleeping (an area in which, as most of you know, I can well relate!)  We've had an odd dynamic to our nighttime routine the past several weeks, but I think we are finally settling into a temporary solution that is working for everyone.  I say 'temporary' because if there's one thing I can count on with our young kids and sleeping arrangements, it is their fluidity.  As they grow and change, their needs change too.  We just try to stay flexible enough to keep up with them.

Prior to recently, Everett - along with his brothers - would go to bed as soon as he was tired, and would have no trouble going to sleep.  Lately though, he's really been having issues going to sleep, and doesn't want to be in his bedroom alone (which was creating a problem, given the fact that his 10 year old roommate generally stays up quite a bit later)  I couldn't stay with him, because nine times out of ten I'm laying down with the girl in our bed at the same time.  Mike couldn't stay with him either, because nine times out of ten he's in bed too, being the only one to have to rise at 5 in the morning.  And so..... now our nights look like this:

I usually go to bed with the girl whenever she is ready, and Mike joins us shortly thereafter.  Everett comes into our bed too,  and lays with us (king sized bed = best piece of "children's" furniture we ever invested in).  Spencer generally goes to bed next, and stops in to say goodnight when he's near our room to brush his teeth.  Paxton, an introvert  like his mom who really relishes his nightly time alone, is the last to turn in.  He stops in our room to collect Everett - who is sleeping by then - and the two of them head to their room together.

It works. 

And the bonus is that after Tegan's sleeping, and the room is dark and quiet, it's just another chance for a one-on-one late night connection with me and Everett as he quiets his mind enough to go to sleep.  Last night, just as I was about to drift off myself, we had a conversation that went something like this:

E:  Mommy?
Me:  Yes honey
E:  You know what I just realized?
Me:  What?
E:  Ten plus ten equals twenty.
Me:  You're right.

Pause.

E: Mommy?
Me: Yes
E:  You know how I know?
Me:  How?
E:  I was counting by fives.  Two fives is ten, and four fives is twenty.  You can make twenty with four groups of fives, or with two groups of ten.
Me:  You're right.  That's multiplication.
E:  It is?
Me:  Yep.
E:  Cool.  Goodnight Mommy.

Thirty seconds later, he was out.  And he was happy.

Everett, Reading, and Cheerios

I had a slow start to the day today. I was puttering around, cleaning the bathrooms, and making the bed. When I first heard Tegan and Everett fighting, I thought they'd work it out, but it quickly escalated.

Everett: Tegan, STOP!

Tegan: Nooooooooo!!!!

Everett: TEEEE-GAN!!

Tegan: Stop grabbing me!!

At that point, I intervened. I was finishing up in my bedroom, so I called Everett and asked him to come talk to me. I could tell he was on the verge of tears when he called back, "I can't! She'll wreck my cheerios!"

I went out to investigate, thinking he was eating breakfast. Instead I found him on a chair in the living room, trying desperately to defend the integrity of his name, carefully constructed in Cheerios, from Tegan, who wanted nothing more than to scatter them all over the floor. I picked up Tegan (while trying to corral the dog - also pretty bent on destroying, ie: eating -his creation), asked him if he wanted to take a picture of it, and went off to get my phone when he answered in the affirmative.

I snapped the picture and made sure he was satisfied with it. After I got his go-ahead, I let the girl and dog do their thing, and everyone was happy once again.

Everett is 6 1/2 at the time of this writing, and he will tell you that he's not reading yet. He is reading though, as recognizing letters is reading. Putting letters together into a word that has meaning to you is reading. He spells his name (with pen and paper too, not just Cheerios), he picks simple words and names out of signs, he's able to find all his shows on the DirecTv queue. He's playing with, and appreciating, and learning about letters and words, and I love watching it.

Just like his brothers before him, he is taking his own unique path to learning how to read and write. He has his own time table, his own method, and his own motivation. And because he's not having to perform according to anyone's specifications but his own, he is loving every minute of it. No one instructed him to make his name out of cereal. He did it because he had a big box of Cheerios and he thought it'd be a fun thing to do. He did it because he's a kid. He did it because that's what kids do.

One of the most basic and early questions that people have about unschooling (second only to those about the "S" word) is "But how will he learn to read??"

And the answer is no more complicated than this:

He'll learn to read like he learned to walk. He'll learn to read because the people around him read... beside him, and TO him. He'll learn to read because we live in an environment surrounded with the written word. He'll learn to read because we are there to involve him in our own experiences, to show him when he's curious, and to answer his questions when he asks them.

Learning to read is in board games. On TV. On street signs. It's on cereal boxes, and letter magnets, and computer programs. It's in sidewalk chalk and hopscotch games. It's on the emblem on Daddy's t-shirt, and on the bumper sticker in front of us on the highway. Learning to read is everywhere.

Even, sometimes, in Cheerios.

Happy Birthday Everett

May 2nd, 2004:



2005:


2006:


Last month:


Last night:





Happy, happy birthday Everett. You're still the sweet, beautiful, pure soul you were when you were born six years ago, and we're so blessed and thankful that you're ours.

Baseball and Barbeques

Yesterday was Everett's opening day. It was also produce basket day, which meant that we got two lovely containers of fresh blueberries, which meant that I was compelled to make muffins for breakfast... which meant that we dawdled, were late, and had to rush to get Everett there in time to line up with his team. Despite the self-imposed craziness, we made it in time, and Everett got to join his coaches and teammates for the introductions on the field.


After the opening ceremonies, there was a carnival, complete with a bouncy house, little carnival games and food. Tegan was tired and unhappy:

So we took her and the big boys home to snack and rest, while Everett stayed to enjoy the carnival with friends. When we returned for his game a little while later, she was rejuvenated and happy to play on the playground next to his field, and Everett was thrilled to play his first official game of the season. He hit two live pitches, made a couple of great plays out on the field, and kept his little Everett grin all the while.




After the game, we headed right back out to meet up with friends at Hogs N Heat, an outdoor barbeque at a great little cafe (known for its insanely delicious pies). There was music, dancing, karaoke, and campy little Western shows... complete with sheriffs, gun fights, and "ladies of the night." Fun. It was great to just sit, relax, and laugh for the evening. The kids ran around - and around and around - and just generally enjoyed the night. Of course after they chowed down on some pulled meat, and got their faces painted...





The night ended with us watching the kids laughing as they threw and played keep-away with someone's football, wrestled (playfully) on the ground, and eventually beaned each other with a plastic water bottle.

They were sufficiently worn out by the time we made our way back out to the car, and were happy, tired, and thankful for a lazy and rainy - oh so very rainy - last day of the weekend.

Let there be Light

A few days ago Everett asked me how electricity worked. We were in the car at the time, so I gave him my own - limited - explanation, and told him that we could look it up when we got home (and that he could talk to his Pop, an electrician!)

Yesterday I was putting some things away in a closet, and right in front of me was this:


If I was aware that we had it, I'd completely forgotten about it. I brought it out for him yesterday, and we worked through the first few projects in the book, learning about the loop of electricity, and powering a light, a buzzer, and a little engine. He can't wait for Tegan to take her nap today so we can do some more.



Love it.

Seasons Change

2010 has brought with it a shift. Things are changing, and I'm thankful that our fluid homeschooling lifestyle allows us to not only ride with the tide, but to embrace it.

While the latter part of 2009 was spent largely and voluntarily on our own, at home, we are now enjoying the call to come out of hibernation. We're signing up for field trips, making more playdates, and meeting new people.

After 3 seasons, Paxton has decided not to play baseball on a team this spring, instead just continuing to enjoy the sport on his own. He's happy with his choice, and seems to look forward to just being Paxton for awhile, instead of Paxton-the-ball-player.

Everett is currently taking an opposite track, and wanting to do, see, and try more more MORE. He's about to start his second season of baseball, and in one week will be taking gymnastics as well. At home he's been immersing himself into one project after another, from origami to sculpting to baking to studying the human body. He's the happiest when no two days are alike, when each day brings something new. It's a feeling I can fully understand at the moment, as I've been on my own similar quest.

Last week I enrolled in school, for the first time since Paxton was a baby, and will - God willing - finally finish my certificate in Holistic Nutrition, before moving on to Natural Health. My vocabulary is not large enough to explain how excited I am, both to start the new program, and to see what else the next 11 months are going to bring.

Up

Day 5 - Have a movie and popcorn night.

Last night, Tegan and I picked up the movie, Up, in anticipation of tonight's movie night. The plan was to pop popcorn to eat while we watched - and we did - but we came home from grocery shopping so tired and hungry that we also included chips, crackers, and hummus. We pulled out our trusty (and dusty!) air popcorn popper, which Everett and Tegan have never seen before, and they were thrilled to watch it in action.

Tegan had just pushed him away in this picture, because she didn't want him to be in her shot:

Reluctantly sharing her space, but ready to push him away again at a moment's notice. He was happy to be in the picture, but had his defenses up just in case...


All was forgiven as the popper turned on, and they watched it do its work, together:




After the snacks were ready, we watched the movie. It was wonderful!


I'm the first person to admit that at times I'm not very personally excited about some of the TV shows or movies I watch with the kids. I enjoy them because THEY enjoy them, and it makes me happy to share in their happiness. But that was not the case this time, as I was watching just as intently as the rest of them. I even confess to shedding a tear or two at the end. Yes, I've turned into my mother.

Great, great movie, enjoyed by all. Two enthusiastic thumbs up.