The Hole in the Rock

This hill (Mountain? Pile of rocks?) is right next the Phoenix Zoo. Every time we've gone to the zoo for the past five years, I've looked up at that hole, seen people milling around up there, and wanted to join the fun. We finally made our way up there after a geocaching event in the area this weekend. Turns out it's just a quick little hike, a neat spot to drink some water and let the kids play, and a cool view of the city. One more thing to cross of my list.

My Childhood, My Kids

I never want to be that parent who pushes her own childhood likes, hobbies, dreams, and pasttimes onto her children. I would never force any of them to play an instrument just because I enjoyed it. I would never make Tegan take gymnastics lessons against her will to make up for my own failure to realize my Olympic dreams. Some of the beauty of unschooling is recognizing that your children are their own people, with their own interests, their own passions, and their own dreams. I introduce them to as many opportunities as I can, but in the end it's their decision: whether they want to dabble, to try it once and never again, to explore it every day for the rest of their lives, or to never explore it at all. They may share some of my loves.... and they may share none of them. They may introduce me to things I never knew I'd love as well. Either way, I will be their facilitator, their cheerleader, and their biggest supporter.

One of the great things about being their parent though is that I do get to introduce them to things I once enjoyed myself. What they do with it is up to them, but if they enjoy it too.... well, any time you can share joy with your child is a good thing indeed. Yesterday I had an opportunity to share with them one of my greatest childhood joys:

Spencer loves horses and was happy to go, but didn't want to ride. Paxton decided to join us on the trail ride, and was really looking forward to it.

At six, Everett just made the age cut-off for the trail ride, but chose to start off with something a little less intimidating than an hour long trek through the desert.

And Tegan was thrilled with the chance to ride a horse, and didn't even have an objection to the required helmet (she'd really been hoping to wear a cowboy hat)

Horseback riding played such a huge role in my childhood, and re-living it caused such a heady rush of emotions that I could have wept right there in the middle of the desert. The smell of the leather, the creak of the saddle, the little grunty noises the horse made when it went up hills. The swish of the tail, the clop-clop-clop of the feet picking their way around the rocks. Bliss.

Paxton's horse was two ahead of mine, and I couldn't really tell by the back of his head if he was enjoying himself or not. So I was glad when my sister relayed his first comment to me: "The only way today could get any better was if we got to take the horse home with us at the end."

:)

All four truly enjoyed themselves, and it made my heart happy to see it. I'm glad I got to share such a wonderful memory with them, even if just for a day. Will any of them become future full-time equestrians because of it? Probably not. And that's ok.

Discipline

There was a "likey" going around Facebook not too long ago that said "I'd rather go to jail for spanking my kids, than have them end up in jail because I didn't." I very nearly blogged about it at the time, but ultimately decided that it wasn't worth my attention. Its logic (or non-logic as the case may be) was so flawed that if it weren't so sad it would be laughable.

There are many such things on Facebook that make me a little bit crazy, but I can usually just shake my head, chuckle, and move back to my happy place.  I'm having a harder time ignoring the newest one though, as it continues to show up in my news feed as friend after friend likes it.  It says, "Those who love their children care enough to discipline them." 

I admittedly don't like the word discipline, because too many people use it interchangeably with "punishment."  When they say discipline, they mean spanking (or time-outs or counting or reprimanding).  Whether or not that was its original intent, it is surely what it's become.  A quick Google of "discipline" brings up words like train, punish, correct, control, and chastise..... none of which align in my mind with mindful, gentle parenting.  But the word discipline doesn't bother me nearly as much as the first phrase, "Those who love their children."  Meaning... what, exactly?  That those who don't "discipline" don't love their children?  That punishment equals love?  I can't decide if they're trying to guilt others into following suit, or if they're the grownup equivalents of the childhood bullies;  the ones who put others down to raise themselves up. 

A lot of time, energy, thought and research has gone into the way that I parent.  Parenting is a huge responsibility, one that no one should take lightly.  I could sit here and site studies and research and anecdotal evidence about why authoritarian parenting is not the answer, but I'd just as soon let my four happy (and ::gasp!:: well-behaved) children be evidence enough.  And everything that I do, every decision that I make when it comes to their care and upbringing, is because I love them.

 I was not surprised to see that the site that published the "those who love their children" quote was a Christian site.   Traditionally, Christian parenting advice is filled with many of these admonitions.  You must train your children, you must teach them to submit, you must show them who's boss.   It frustrates me beyond description.   Not only have I never found anything, biblical or otherwise, that leads me to believe that this is in fact a requirement (for lack of a better word) for a believer, but I find it to be the opposite of what Jesus would espouse.   Jesus loved children.  He wanted us to become like children.  He didn't punish or coerce.  He didn't use force;  didn't shame or belittle.  He led children by example in kindness, compassion, and respect.  Wouldn't it follow that we should do the same?

Regardless of your spiritual beliefs, when you love someone - truly love them - you care about how they're treated.  You want them treated with dignity and respect, with caring and kindness.  I think even the most well-meaning parents can get so caught up in their "discipline" that they lose sight of the person that's on the receiving end...  A small person with fragile feelings and a pure heart.  A person who can carry, for LIFE, the scars and humiliation that come from said discipline.

I was walking into an ice cream place last week, with all four of my kids, along with a friend and her two children.  A woman was leaving the store with her little girl, around 4 or 5 years old.  The mom was yelling, and the girl was wailing unhappily.  They were both yelling so much I couldn't make out what was going on.  From what I could tell, the girl didn't want to go until she told her mother whatever it was that was on her mind, and the more she resisted, the harder the mom yanked on her arm.  "But Mom!!"  "Let's GO!"  When they got out to the sidewalk, and the crying had really escalated, the mom knelt down.  I thought very briefly that she was taking a breather, giving herself a time-out, getting down at her daughter's level so she could talk with her.  But the new position, I soon found out, was so she'd have a better angle to rapidly spank her, three times in succession before resuming their march to the car.  The girl cried harder - understandably - and was still screaming when they left my line of sight. 

I have had bad days as a parent.  I have had frustrating days as a parent.  I don't know what kind of day that mom was having.  I don't know what caused the outburst, by either of them.  I don't know what the little girl did that made the mother so angry.  But I am very certain that it whatever it was, it did not deserve the pain and humiliation of a public spanking outside a restaurant.  I'm also certain that the discipline did NOT help the situation;  that neither the mom nor the daughter was better for it;  and that their relationship was harmed, and not strengthened.  My heart broke a little when I saw it, as it does every time I see a parent and child take another step further away from a loving, connected relationship. 

I love my children.  Because I love them, I try with all my heart to treat them in a way that's fitting for someone I love.  I wouldn't discipline my sister or my best friend or my husband for making a mistake, and I extend my kids the same courtesy. 

 I say we stop with all the spanking and discipline Facebook groups, and start a new one:

"Those who love their children care enough to treat them the way they themselves would want to be treated."

My friend is one... who take me for what I am

"Be their parent, not their friend."

This admonition has been appearing everywhere lately, from parenting columns to TV shows to Facebook walls. Always with the same moral authority, the same dire warnings of children who'll grow up to be miscreants and criminals if said advice isn't heeded.  Be their PARENT.  Whatever you do, do not be their friend!

It should come as no surprise that I gladly ignore most conventional parenting tenants, but few cause quite the same relentless pull at my heart at this one.  It just feels wrong.  I actually think the opposite is true... I think we should not only be their friends, but be their best friends.  Like the rest of us, they need that connection, that peace that comes from a relationship in which you can truly be YOU.  That person you can talk to without fear of judgement.  That person you can fully trust with your dreams, with your good, with your bad, with your so-crazy-you-don't-even-understand-it-yourself.  They need that connection.  And while we'd all like to think of our kids as having no shortage of friendships with others, that may not always be the case.  As parents, we're in a position to be that constant in their lives, that unwavering friend who doesn't back away because they're no longer "cool" (or because they're too different, or because they made a mistake, or because they said the wrong thing, or carry the wrong kind of cell phone)

Kids don't get into trouble because their parents are their friends.  They get into trouble because they're looking for something that they lack, looking for something to make them feel whole, looking for a connection.

"Be their parent, not their friend."

The two are not mutually exclusive.  I am my children's parent.  It is my job to love them, to protect them, to keep them safe, to guide them, to help them, to show them, to take care of them.  Of course, as a parent those things come first.  I wouldn't be a very good parent if I didn't get my two year old a drink because I was too busy discussing the merits of a new PS3 game with the teenager.

I am a parent.  I never claim to be a perfect parent, and God knows I make mistakes, but I'm a good parent.  Still, that's just one piece of the equation.  I have a genuine, voluntary, relationship with my children.  Yes, I'm their friend. 

"Be their parent, not their friend."

Now, maybe the people who say that never had very good friends of their own.  Or maybe their definition of friendship is different from mine.  I don't know how Webster defines friendship (am I dating myself by referencing Webster??)  Wikipedia.  I don't know how Wikipedia defines friendship, but by my definition there is nothing that conflicts with parenting, and everything that enhances it.

A friend is someone you have fun with, to be sure.  Someone you can laugh with, play with, joke with. 

More than that though, a friend is someone who keeps you real.  Someone who accepts you with all your flaws and inconsistencies, and someone who knows the fine line that exists between being understanding and calling you out on your bullsh@t.

A friend is someone you can trust with your true feelings, someone you can go to for advice, and someone who recognizes those times when advice is the last thing you want, those times when you just need to talk.  A friend is someone who understands, who sympathizes, who cares. 

A friend is someone who accepts your sincere apology when you've wronged them, and someone who apologizes when they've done the same.

A friend is someone who, just by their presence, makes you want to be a better person.

A friend is someone who wants the best for you, and who'd do whatever they could to help make it happen.  A friend is supportive of your dreams, believes in your potential, and encourages you in your efforts.

A friend is someone who lets you be YOU, who wouldn't want you to be anyone else.  Someone who doesn't love you despite all your little quirks and idiosyncrasies but because of them.  Someone who has seen you at your best AND your worst.

Someone who recognizes that you wouldn't be human if you didn't have bad days. 

Perhaps above all else, a friend is someone who, when those bad days come... when your chips are down and you're feeling like all of humanity is conspiring against you... will stand by your side and say,

"Don't worry. I've got your back."

Yes, I am, by all accounts, their friend.  No matter what your relationship with your kids is, shouldn't it at least begin with friendship?

Snapshots

Sleep has been eluding me again, which makes me 1) way too introspective, and 2) a little bit... well, crazy. I can't be held responsible for anything I say (or blog) while in that state, so just to be safe, behold some highlights from the past few weeks in PICTURES:

Everett's homemade duct tape wallet:

 Paxton's 10th birthday party:

Dusting for fingerprints:

A visitor:

Making homemade root beer:

Camping in another beautiful corner of the world:

My new hobby:

September is just a few days away, and we're all looking forward to a new month, new ventures, and cooler temperatures.

And sleep.

It's that time of year again, folks

Nothing reminds me how different our lives are from most of the world than back to school season.  August comes and people who were previously enjoying trips and camping and playing with their kids suddenly turn their attention to school.  Lives are taken over by shopping and school supplies and teachers and schedules and school buses.  Even among my friends who homeschool, I'm often the odd man out as talk begins to take a rapid turn to curriculum and lesson plans and co-ops. 

Summer's over, time to start learning!

The whole wave of back-to-school mania that is engulfing most of the country  makes me feel a lot of different emotions, not the least of which is gratitude.

Gratitude that we have the freedom to opt out
Gratitude that we chose something else
Gratitude that the kids are happy and learning and loving the life they lead

Along with that gratitude though comes.... confusion.  I'm perplexed.  Maybe it's because we've been living without school for so long,  or maybe it's just the way I'm wired, but I honestly have a hard time understanding the concept of learning as something that is done at a certain time in a certain place.  Just as John Holt says, "It's a nutty notion that we can have a place where nothing but learning happens, cut off from the rest of life."

This is what I remember about going back to school every fall:  I remember being excited about getting new clothes.  I remember the painstaking process of picking out the right Trapper Keeper (note to self:  see if they still sell Trapper Keepers).  I remember the anxious curiosity that came with checking out how much kids had changed - or not - over the summer.  I remember stressing out over which teachers I would get, who I'd end up sitting next to in home room, and whether or not I'd have friends to eat with at lunch.  I remember being bummed that I'd have less time to read, to write stories, to draw pictures, to daydream. 

Not once, in all my years of going back to school, do I remember ever thinking, "I wonder what cool things I'm going to learn this year." **

**I did, in all fairness, have a few excellent teachers who taught outside the box, helped me to learn some interesting things, and to whom I'll forever be grateful.  But what does it say about my schooling experience that I can count on one hand the number of teachers - in TWELVE years - that made a difference in my life? And, what does it say about the way school is structured that in the vast majority of cases, the real lessons I learned from those particular teachers were not generally lessons that pertained to the subjects they were teaching?**

In our family, fall means baseball starts up again.  Fall means it starts to cool off and we can venture outside more often.  Fall means most of the world is back in school so we have our playgrounds, libraries and museums back to ourselves again.  Fall does not mean it's time to start learning, because we never stopped.  

I remember several years ago an extended family member asked me if we followed the school year or if we schooled year round.  I tried to explain to her that we don't separate learning from living.  I tried to tell her that we answer questions and provide support and materials and interesting things to do and places to go and people to meet, but that the learning is up to the kids.  I told her that we believe in honoring them as individuals, and trusting that they are the best ones to know what they need to learn when.  And how. And why.  I thought I was so eloquent.  Feeling proud of myself and quite certain that I'd gotten my point across, I paused.  She just looked at me and said, "But do you do it year round?"

She truly did not understand.  As bizarre as the notion of school is to me, so was the notion of life learning to her.  And that just makes me sad.  Sad because it's the way most people think:  school is for learning; summer vacation is a break from learning.  And the truth is, forced "learning" isn't really learning at all.   Memorizing facts long enough to repeat them back for a test is not learning.  Albert Einstein once said, "Education is what remains after one has forgotten everything he learned in school."

So many people talk about school as something that prepares kids for "real life."  But guess what?  Real life is not separated into subjects.  Real life does not require that you spend 7 hours a day in a classroom segregated by age or ability, and real life does not dictate what you can and cannot learn, study, or explore in your own time. 

We live our lives.  And we learn.  And yes, we do it year-round.

"True learning-learning that is permanent and useful,that leads to intelligent action and further learning, can arise only out of the experience, interest, and concerns of the learner" ~John Holt

Changes in the Night

We bought this bed about 10 years ago. It was the first bed we purchased for ourselves (one of our first new pieces of furniture period, as most everything else up till that point had been hand-me-downs) Tegan has slept with us in this bed for nearly two and a half years now, and Paxton and Everett both happily slept in it from infancy to toddlerhood as well. 

One of the great things about co-sleeping, from a practical standpoint, is that it eliminates the nightly bedtime struggles, the difficult transitions, and the self-imposed stresses of "s/he should be in his own bed by now!"  When you open up your room and your bed to your child, at any age, for any reason, one season blends seamlessly into the next, and independence happens so organically that you're not even aware of it.  You can be flexible and open to new sleeping arrangements, and changes and trials are no big deal.

It was over a year ago that we first started doing some room switching, which I blogged about here and here.  But because life is what it is, things evolved (see my above statement about being flexible), and we went with the current.   In December, the project turned into something else, which I mentioned at the end of this post.  Now, eight months later, it has come full-circle, and we completed - sort of - what we originally started.  Spencer decided he wanted his own room, and Paxton is content to continue to share with Everett for now.  Tegan's little bed was moved right next to ours, for whenever she decides she's ready for it. 

 Everett now has Spencer's old bed:

And Spencer has his own room, shared only with the dog:

And everyone's happy.