Big Changes at the Phantom Rickshaw

Big change is afoot at the Phantom Rickshaw house. It's been the nest of this family unit for over twenty two years now, and the space where I figured out attachment parenting, then unschooling, and made explorative learning theory my main occupation. As of next week it will be officially an "empty nest". Both kids are moving to the city, which brings up so much for me around parenting, personal growth, my relationship with my partner, Markus, and also life-choices in general. 

For the curious: The not-so-kids have rented a sweet little basement suite in an ideal spot, right between beaches and dog-parks, and Rhiannon's various city jobs. They and Rhiannon's dog Clara are sharing a two-bedroom, which they were extremely lucky to find in these housing crisis times. Taliesin is a digital artist, and though he's been contracting from home during the pandemic, is looking forward to finding an office job where he can get out of the house more, now that he's in the city. Rhiannon works as a nanny and dog trainer, while also still studying with the Karen Pryor Academy. It's amazing to me that my kids are such good friends that they look forward to starting their adult life together. And it's hugely reassuring, of course, to know that for the first year, at least, they'll have each other to come home to. That sibling connection is partly due to attachment parenting and unschooling, I think, since it's not too uncommon amongst the unschooling families we know.

I hadn't anticipated what a huge deal this move would be until I gave my glowing reference to my kids' new landlord. Then it hit me: This is it! Every triumph and mistake I've made over the course of the past couple of decades is going to play out now, and I can't fix the mistakes. Markus and I put together a first aid kit for the kids, and we're in the process of writing down all the recipes we anticipate they might want, in boxes that Markus made. He also took them to Value Village for some home essentials, and we bought them mattresses from IKEA. But that's all just stuff. How do we give them the courage and resilience they'll need in the wide open world? As an unschooling family, we tried to expose them to a variety of experiences all along, encouraging and leading them to explore. All we can do now is hope the seeds we've tried to plant in them will grow as they continue to experience life (mostly) without us.

I recently watched this poignant short documentary on APTN, where Harry Schooner says "the elders blessed me to be a thunder mask carver. They did a ceremony for me when I was about seven years old." I've heard so many times of such hereditary blessings, but today, as my kids are both packing for their exit from the family nest, I find myself reaching back to the lives we've built, trying to cobble some idea of how we might have given them any such thing: What are our kids carrying with their hearts into their new lives? If I look at my kids I can see their strengths and passions, all nurtured through our unschooling lifestyle. Is unschooling (the freedom and experience of choosing their own paths) the blessing we gave them? I don't know. It doesn't seem the same. I've wondered if perhaps their knowledge of the land, the local ecology, and animal husbandry is a kind of blessing that they will carry with them. I certainly carried that on from my childhood. We have chicks hatching tomorrow, and my kids know the sound of the hen singing them into the world. I hope these memories will stay with them.

So in my somewhat despaired wondering, I read this to my kids, and I'm happy to report that they feel respected for the roles they've built for themselves in their family and community--even if they're eager to leave for the bustle and friendships of the city. Rhiannon tells me she was recently asked to work again for the daycare program she worked with when she was younger. Taliesin is frequently called upon for cooking fabulous meals, taking photos, or helping solve problems. I'm feeling a little more positive about this, now we've talked about it.

It's been hard for me to face the loss of my kids in my space. All the things we've shared that we'll do mostly separately, now. Like toothbrushing, even! I like that we talk to each other through our toothpaste before running off to spit! I like all the unique-to-us things that we do and say, and I wonder how these things will carry over into our new lives. We have traditions of celebrating the food we grew, of going to see and relish natural phenomena like phosphorescence in the late summer (we laugh and call them 'flossers'), the frozen lake in the winter, and the young nettles in spring. Will my kids look for spring greens in the city? Or maybe come home for the harvest? Will they phone me while brushing their teeth?

Most of the time I feel like all I have is questions, and I guess that's a huge part of this transition. Anticipation and a wide-open future is a pretty great thing. I feel that way about my relationship with Markus, too. We sure aren't the people we were before we had kids, and we're starting to put out little experimental tendrils to the future we're going to share. For the first time, the kids declined to make Christmas decorations this year, and Markus and I ended up making them together in the night, just the two of us. It was strange and strangely beautiful. I discovered he likes sparkly blue ribbons.

After the question of how my kids will fare and grow, 'out there', the personal growth bit is probably the biggest deal and mystery for me. I lived parenting with every cell of my body, and now what?? People tell me I'm still a parent--well yes, obviously--but it's not going to be my every day, anymore. I built a life out of volunteering, teaching, and more recently explorative learning consulting with other parents and educators, and this blog was in many ways the face of that life. Parenting and teaching was the inspiration for what I wrote here, and all the progress I made in explorative learning theory. Now that long covid has made most teaching impossible for me, and my kids are increasingly less connected to my daily life, I find I have very little to write. People have also stopped contacting me for consulting. It's like the universe is preparing me for the shift but I don't know where I'm shifting to! I guess I'll drift into the art career I've always kept percolating on the back burner. Even my art has been largely parenting-focused, though. More questions. 

I guess I probably feel like most parents of kids moving out: Like I'm standing on the edge of a very tall cliff, in a cool, fresh, unpredictable wind, arms spread with little kites attached, and no idea where or how I'll land. It's terrifying, thrilling, and deeply strange.