Get Ready

...for a whole lotta pictures, because I got a new camera! We decided to go the Canon route this time, and after a somewhat strange and definitely interesting Craigslist encounter, bought a like-new Rebel XS, and an 18-200 lens. I LOVE this camera. I can't wait to sit down with the manual and really figure out everything it can do, but in the meantime, enjoy these random point-and-shoot shots I snapped this afternoon:

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.

Appreciating History

I had one teacher in junior high and high school who made studying history interesting. He was what you'd consider a "tough" teacher - you definitely couldn't get away with anything under his watch - but he was good, and he was the only teacher I ever had that shared history in such a way that I actually enjoyed it.  Other than the classes I had with that one particular teacher, there are not words enough to describe just how bored I was with history.  It was truly not my "thing."  All those dates and names and wars and treaties and memorization...... 

Yes, I struggled with history.  As an adult, I appreciate its significance on the world and the country we live in today (though I still couldn't recount 90% of the details that I had to memorize for my tests in school), but it's surely taken me awhile to get here.

The kind of history that I do love, and have always loved, is the kind that I can touch.  The kind that isn't in a book but is right in front of me.  The kind that I can see, and feel, and close my eyes and imagine that I was there, as a participant and not just an observer.  I've taken some neat field trips with the kids, to places like the Pioneer Living History Museum, and Sahuaro Ranch, but they still weren't as meaningful to me personally as a piece of history that has not been restored or re-created, turned into something that's specifically meant to be educational, or designed to be a must-see attraction.  It's still not the same as something that just is.

Last weekend, we joined a few other vehicles on a way-too-fun off-roading trip.  We crossed rivers,

Drove down cliffs,

enjoyed the desert scenery,

stopped to appreciate an old foundation,

and met Miner Bob.

Miner Bob lives in a cabin that's been standing since the late 1800's.  He graciously talked to us, showed us around, and let us wander in and out of his cabin.  I loved how sturdy it still was, how simply but beautifully made.  I loved knowing that it's been there, out in the middle of the desert, for over a hundred years.  I loved imagining the people who once stayed there, using the fireplace, walking the land, and just living their lives.  It made me think of Thoreau, and Walden, and "living deep and sucking the marrow out of life."

Now that's history.  And as a side note, I loved our old home in New Hampshire for all the same reasons.  Unfortunately, two of the boys missed the little impromptu visit to the past because they were off playing in this:

And getting an education of an entirely different sort :)

We caught up with everyone when we reached our destination - the teeny little old town of Cleator - where we stopped for a bite, and a beer, at the bar.  

A bar that no doubt had a lot of interesting history of its own.

I've Turned Into My Mother

I remember watching movies with my mom when I was little, even as a teenager, and looking at her like she was crazy when she would - inevitably - start to well up with tears. She cried when she was happy, she cried when she was sad, she cried when she was touched. I didn't get it.

And now, years later, it's happened. I don't know if it's getting older, or becoming a mother or what, but somewhere along the way someone flipped a switch. I cry when I'm happy, I cry when I'm sad, I cry when I'm touched. I can't seem to stop getting all misty-eyed. Case in point: someone posted this video, from a couple of years ago, of a little girl on America's Got Talent. It's just a four year old girl singing. Okay, she's arguably one of the cutest four year old singers ever, but still. Tegan wanted to watch it again and again and again and again, and by the time she ran offstage to hug her parents, my eyes were leaking. Every time. Every single time.

I'm my mom. But I guess if I have to be someone else, my mom's not a bad person to be....

Adventures at Target

So, I got an email tonight - just a run-of-the-mill, informational type email - and the sender seemed to have an attitude.  I was complaining to my husband that she didn't have to be so snotty about it, and he looked at me and said, "What is the matter with you?  Why do you want to get into it with everyone lately?"

Um.

I guess I have been extra .... passionate ... lately.    Really, can I blame some of it on lack of sleep?  To show that I'm really not out to "get into it with everyone" I decided to post a more lighthearted blog, the kind that I started with when I first started blogging:  a slice-of-life story of me and the kids.

I had a $50 Target gift card that I've been wanting to spend.  We didn't get to go this past weekend, for various reasons.  I was going to go with the kids yesterday on my birthday, but.... well, we didn't.  Also for various reasons.  Today I was determined to go, and the kids all wanted to go too.  It took until 4:00 in the afternoon, but finally we went.  I helped Everett count out his change, the older boys also grabbed some cash, and off we went.

Our first hurdle was getting the proper cart.  Tegan is currently very, very particular about riding in carts.  We needed to find the kind that has the two big seats in the front, the kind that is big and heavy and almost impossible to push, but one that would fit both her and Everett.    A nice older lady was looking at us (people often look at us when we go out, I guess because most people don't have four kids), overheard our conversation, and told us that she saw the cart we were looking for near the other entrance.  We thanked her, and headed to get our cart.

Paxton climbed onto one of the big concrete balls, because a trip to Target isn't complete without climbing onto the big concrete balls.  He sat on one and thoughtfully said, "These balls seemed so much bigger when I was little."  Spencer laughed, because Spencer always laughs when someone says "balls."

We got our cart, and the next twenty minutes was spent playing musical seats.  Tegan in, Everett in.  Everett out, Tegan in.  Tegan out.  Everett in but standing.  Tegan in, but dragging her feet on the floor.  Everett out.

We looked at office supplies first, because I get really, really excited about things like dry erase markers.  A new package of colored, magnetic markers into the cart.  Then we walked through the women's clothes where we (and my apologies to any of you who like them) laughed at all the jean leggings.  I wanted to try something on, then wondered aloud how I'd manage it alone with the kids.  Paxton and Spencer promised they'd be in charge of the littler ones, and told me to try on whatever I wanted.  So I did.  And I was a little irritated that the girl working at the fitting room was in the middle of a personal phone call both when I entered and exited.

Hmh.  Maybe I *do* want to get into it with everyone.

It was about that time that I realized that I couldn't really shop for myself.   It was just too difficult.  Not because anyone was doing anything wrong... just because 5 people + end of the day + tired mom = not very conducive for browsing.  I was already kind of sensed out, the kids were wanting to go in different directions, and we were all getting hungry.

I put my markers back on the shelf, then waited while they browsed through the toys.   An hour and a half after we got there, we left, without a dime of my $50 spent.  The boys all bought themselves a soda, I bought Tegan her requested pack of Cheetos at the register, then we all got back in line after Everett counted his change again and saw that he had enough to buy a package of gum too.  It was busy by then, and we'd gotten behind a women with about 72 items in the 10 item or less line, so I left the big boys in charge of Everett while Tegan and I went to the little in-store Starbucks near the registers.  Bummed that I never did buy anything, I treated myself to a caramel frappucino, the kids climbed on the balls again, and we finally headed out to the car.

I struggled opening Tegan's Cheetos, the bottom of the bag exploded, and it rained Cheetos all over the floor of my Sequoia.

And we all lived happily ever after (And I will bring my husband the next time I go to Target)

Guilt

From Dictionary.com:

Guilt
1. the fact or state of having committed an offense, crime, violation, or wrong, esp. against moral or penal law; culpability.
2. a feeling of responsibility or remorse for some offense, crime, wrong, etc., whether real or imagined.

My Protecting Natalie post, which turned out to be the second most-viewed blog I've ever written*, elicited this response from one of the moms who read it.

"...it heaps on the mommy guilt by the shovel full..."

She went on to say that perhaps instead of feeling sorry for the child, that I should have shown more compassion and understanding for the mom, and that my message would have been more well-received if I'd illustrated with my own short-comings as a mother.

She was not alone in her thinking, as the lengthy and exhausting exchange - much of which took place all over my Facebook wall - with another mother ultimately proved. Apparently I came across as harsh and judgmental, reprimanding instead of caring.

I'm going to have to be okay with that.

Protecting Natalie was about the children. If I'd wanted to write a commentary about my thoughts on that particular woman, I would have called it "Natalie's Mother." If I'd wanted to confess my own many sins and make everyone feel better, I would have called it "My Own Failures as a Parent." Simply put, I didn't write that particular post to soothe and validate and pat on the back every mother who's ever had a bad day - which, of course, is every mother - but to speak out for a child. Does that make me uncaring? I don't think so. But if I have to choose between seeming uncaring towards adults and making a valid case for children?

I will choose the children. Every. Single. Time. And without apologies.

My intent was absolutely not to heap guilt on anyone, but in a way, hearing that reinforces the truth of what I was saying.  Truth sometimes hurts.  When I go to church and I hear a message or lesson or scripture that hurts, that steps on my toes and makes me uncomfortable, I know that it's one I needed to hear.  And chances are, the more uncomfortable it makes me, the more I needed to hear it.  The same is true for essays and articles on parenting and kids and unschooling.  While validating, group-hugging, Kumbaya-singing pieces are nice sometimes, the growing comes from the hard stuff... the stuff that makes me want to wince with its honesty and truth.

And here's the thing:

I do myself, and my children, no favors by giving into guilt:  mommy guilt or otherwise.  Why are we so hard on ourselves, especially when it comes to parenting?  What good can possibly come from wasting time and energy dwelling on bad past decisions?  Isn't it just yet another self-serving excuse as to why we can't move past it, can't do better, can't be the parent that we really know, deep deep down, that we want to be... that we know we should be?

I'm not going to feel guilty for my past mistakes (or future mistakes for that matter), and I'm not going to make excuses for why I can't do better, right now, today.  If I have feelings of guilt, or inadequacy, or regret, I need to GET THE HECK OVER IT and do better the next time.  It's not about me, it's about them.

It's not about me,

It's

About

Them

*Number one is still Offensive, Defined, and I'm proud of it, so check it out if you haven't. :)

I've Learned

I turn 37 today.  I like the sound of that.  Just as I enjoyed the latter part of my 20's, I am enjoying inching toward 40 as well... in fact, even more.  The grey hairs, the furrow lines, the extra 5 pounds and all.  Here are a few things I've learned in the past year:

1. I shouldn't drink wine while I'm on my laptop.  Or water or coffee or tea or any other sort of beverage.  This one is so important, I got to learn it over and over again.

2.  Sometimes I need to give people more credit.  And sometimes less.

3.  People really do come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime.  If it's for a reason, sometimes the reason is quickly apparent, and sometimes it takes a long time to figure it out.  But it's there.

4.  Going on roller coasters is ten times as fun when you get to enjoy it with your kids, especially when it's their first time.

5.  Thinking is good.  Too much thinking is not good.  Thinking at 2:00 in the morning when I can't sleep may or may not be good.

6.  If there's a trailer parked in the street, I will back into it.

7. There are people in my life that I will never understand, and I need to be okay with that.  Another one I get to learn over and over and over.

8.  For years I thought I needed to develop a "thicker skin."  I do not.  I need to learn to learn to be comfortable with the skin I was given.  I am sensitive for a reason.

9.  Sometimes it's best to remain silent. Sometimes it's not.

10.  Life is messy.  Beauty can be found in the chaos, in the calm, and in everything in between.

Happy Birthday Eve to Me

An odd day today, for the last day of my 36th year.  Lots of reasons to be frustrated and stressed, and four reasons to be sublimely happy.  Tonight I choose happiness.

Protecting Natalie

Natalie is a beautiful little girl with long dark hair and huge brown eyes. She is three years old, is an only child, and doesn't go to preschool. Natalie, her mother and I were sharing a waiting room with Paula, whose favorite thing is reading; Diane, who is a special ed teacher; and Scott, who mostly kept to himself but was very friendly when spoken to. The reason I know more details than normal about my fellow strangers-in-waiting is that little Natalie was serving as the social director, introducing herself to everyone, asking questions, and just generally being a friendly and vivacious three year old.

Natalie's mom was tired; I could see that just by looking at her. Tired and most likely stressed, and possibly feeling beat down by life in general. I say that with sincere empathy, because I don't know what kind of hand she's been dealt. I don't know her life story, and I don't know where she's coming from.

All I know is that she was treating her daughter very unkindly, and her daughter didn't deserve it (not that any child ever does)

She was short and impatient as she spoke to her, and the first time she actually yelled - when Natalie stood up on her chair - she yelled so sharply and abruptly that everyone in the room looked up from what they were doing.

"Sit DOWN! And leave that poor lady alone!!"

Undeterred, Natalie sat down, and picked up a book.

"Can I read this to you?" she asked her mother.

"You don't know how to read," her mother snapped. "Just sit there. And sit there quietly."

That was when my heart truly broke for her, for this innocent little girl who I'd never seen before and would never see again.

I was called to see the dentist then, but she didn't leave my mind. Later, when I was at the checkout desk scheduling my next appointment, I felt a tiny presence beside me. A little hand suddenly appeared on the desk next to me, holding a pink ball covered in suction cups. I turned to see Natalie looking up at me. I said hello and told her what a cool ball she had. She smiled at me, stuck her ball on the desk, and plucked it off again.

As I was finishing up with the receptionist, one of the dentists came by and showed her how to throw it against the wall in the hallway. They were playing, and laughing, when her mother came around the corner.

There you are!
Stop throwing that!
I don't care what he said!
Give me that ball!

The last image I had of little Natalie was of her crying because her mother had taken her ball, and was demanding that she say "please" and ask nicely before she would consider giving it back.

I don't remember getting reprimanded a lot as a child, but I do remember how it made me feel. Some incidents, as many as 30 years ago, are as fresh in my memory as if they happened yesterday. I still remember when once as a kid I really needed to tell my mother something when she was on the phone. I knew she was talking on the phone, but I also knew that I just. couldn't. wait. So I "Mom. Mom. Mom"'d her until she put her hand over the phone, looked me in the eye, and yelled, "Shut UP!" I still remember how ashamed I felt, how devastated. I still remember that sick, sick feeling in the pit of my stomach.

My husband tells of a time when he was helping his mother change the sheets on the bed. He was holding the edge of the mattress up, and slipped and dropped it on his mother. She yelled at him for the mistake, called him a "little sh*t," and he was so crushed he ran off to cry. He'd learned not to cry in front of her, because that would lead to his being called a crybaby.

If we can remember these isolated incidents with such clarity, what must a girl like Natalie grow up feeling? How indelibly those negative words must be marked on her soul.

I can't do anything about Natalie. And I can't do anything to change my past mistakes with my own kids. What I can do - what we all can do - is to remember that feeling we had as kids, to remember that with each time we yell or belittle or cut them down in any way, we take away a piece of not just their happiness, but of their soul. That each time we're less than kind to our kids that we risk damaging not only who they are right now, but who they're going to be. That just because we're the ADULTS, we have the responsibility to love, nurture, and protect not just our own children, but all children. If we as adults can't treat them with kindness and respect, how will they treat each other? How will they treat their own kids? When does the cycle stop?

As I was finishing up this blog, I received a comment on Facebook telling me that I needed to stop judging Natalie's mother. And I'm not. This really has nothing to do with her, and everything to do with an innocent and defenseless baby who did not deserve to be treated that way. We need to stop letting political correctness stop us from saying the things that need to be said.

We need to be adults. We need to start treating our kids better.

Yes, even when we're sleep-deprived.  Even when we're sick, when we're fighting with our spouses, or when we're stressed about finances.  Even when we're having a really crappy day, and the last thing we want to do is be patient and kind to anyone.  Because we are the grownups.  Because if we don't do it, no one else will.  Because somewhere along the way, someone decided that it was okay to treat kids with less respect than we'd treat fellow adults.

It's not okay.  

Think of the last time someone hurt your feelings.  The last time someone said something truly unkind, or unnecessary, or mean.  The last time someone really insulted you, or belittled you, or was even just less than supportive.  Think of the last time someone said something to you in anger, something that was so cutting that even if you knew they regretted it and they instantly apologized, you will carry the scar the rest of your life.  Have the feeling?  Now imagine that you've gotten that hurtful treatment and you're 3 years old.  Or 5.  Or 12.  You're still figuring out the way the world works.  You're still figuring out who you can really trust.   You're still figuring out how to treat people.  You're still figuring out emotions, and self-worth, and social nuances.  You're still figuring out where you fit in.  You're still figuring out your own sense of YOU.   How do you feel now?

Let's break the cycle today.  For ourselves, for our kids, and for Natalie.

Sleep Deprivation and Science Centers

I haven't fallen asleep before 2:00 AM for several nights now.  And last night, all three boys spent the night with friends, where they too stayed up past 2:00.  First thing this morning, they went to a science class about electricity at the Science Center, while I got to go to the dentist to get my tooth drilled for an hour and a half.  (I wonder who had more fun?)

It was a tired group that reunited at the Science Center this afternoon for playing, building, exploring, and Gift Shop browsing. While I was dragging my feet - which were feeling a little like lead I might add - as we later walked out to the parking garage, the kids all got a second wind, and nearly took flight as they ran across the grass.  Oh to have that energy.

They're not immune to sleep deprivation's effects though, as one has presently retreated to his quiet little space, and another has cried no less than four times since we've been home.

:(

My tooth is now aching, there was just very nearly a brawl over popcorn, and bedtime (my bedtime) can't come soon enough.  I've got several blogs in the works though (thank you not-very-nice mom at the dentist for the inspiration) and I'm looking forward to posting them when I've had a couple more hours of sleep.

In the meantime, another batch of cell-phone pictures....