tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51006928017394093172024-03-27T13:17:20.777-07:00Rickshaw UnschoolingEmily van Lidth de Jeude writes about her experiences as an unschooling parent, wilderness educator, and explorative learning consultant.Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03100384225999745858noreply@blogger.comBlogger599125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100692801739409317.post-1385457682836991442024-03-20T10:06:00.000-07:002024-03-23T21:48:50.288-07:00Adult Unschoolers: An update on our kids' lives! (And the Careers Situation)<p></p> <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrHPcJvKs45kHyd1Emm5ujKswkVEQr-EnaVR8wy_WVPAffR7IGK37ON4IhFDq-asey7p04vfQlRF23jFoxr_r6kqtOPq4f26oO-j3jeOxhAN9GRWxDWLzfsWpA874geAJE38IaSnhZ-gWQIYjPR5U6auTepzhGiWOljG1jgsmlcypfJ8_dx0ZpMyr98Bw/s3072/IMG_20230819_202956710.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2449" data-original-width="3072" height="510" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrHPcJvKs45kHyd1Emm5ujKswkVEQr-EnaVR8wy_WVPAffR7IGK37ON4IhFDq-asey7p04vfQlRF23jFoxr_r6kqtOPq4f26oO-j3jeOxhAN9GRWxDWLzfsWpA874geAJE38IaSnhZ-gWQIYjPR5U6auTepzhGiWOljG1jgsmlcypfJ8_dx0ZpMyr98Bw/w640-h510/IMG_20230819_202956710.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>This morning my daughter sent me a photo of her dog, Clara, sulking on the couch. She's not a morning-dog, apparently, and I guess sometimes she just doesn't feel like going for a walk, even if it is to review a new dog park for Rhiannon's work. Whatever "work" is. Clara gets treats no matter what, so should it matter whether she's helping with a reel, going on a doggy field trip with her hiking buddies, or just sitting at home waiting for Rhiannon while she's at her other work? Clara has adapted well to city-living, since leaving her island home with my two unschooled kids, just over a year ago. I'm told she likes to walk up to automatic doors to make them open, and she knows where her favourite treat-dispensing doggy store is, and will pull Annie towards it from many blocks away. Thankfully, my kids have adapted to city-living, too.</p><p>About eighteen months ago, my 17 and 20 year-old children started planning to move out, as soon as they could get jobs and a place to rent on the mainland. I encouraged them but carried on as if nothing was happening, because I wasn't prepared to live without my kids. At all. They, however, were absolutely prepared to live without their parents, quickly arranged jobs and a rental for themselves, and moved out on January 2, 2023. </p><p>In the month between them finding a rental and actually moving into it, my heart was crushed. I was terrified for their safety in the city (they'd spent most of their childhood on a small rural island), but mostly I was just bereft. What does a mother do when the greatest joys of her life just up and go elsewhere? Well she uses a phone, that's what. And it turns out I'm OK after all. In large part because the bond that began with pregnancy and was nurtured through attachment parenting and unschooling is secure, so no matter where my children are, we know our hearts are connected, and by whatever means necessary, we're there for each other. Whether that means sending photos of their sulking dog, phoning for advice on banking or tenancy rights, or gleefully texting us photos of the steam clock at midnight on New Year's Eve. It's been an amazing year of growth and discovery for each and all of us, and my heart is just fine!<br /><br />So last year I wrote something about unschoolers building careers, and people have asked for an update! Here it is. ☺ I won't pretend it's been completely smooth for them, but I do feel that both kids' struggles have been needed challenges that led them to important personal discovery.</p><p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlmTjcb5zawmTocBdFpvtOnATrFTagBjA-512GsjjbiV2hlCFCmjkKrUjq-2qmu_z_0En85ONxr5kiM8Z06lnxp6LjDbI82p_lN9rBH6UaS-oeizUXR6jO5aTcsgfRzhX7TVoBcWbntvRxdqm6b36FXjGeRfG8K2siMqimiSqNUmbsIuZl7uBWhmaNhl4/s1000/I%20asked%20the%20kids%20for%20a%20photo%20of%20them%20and%20the%20dog%20for%20the%20article%20and%20this%20is%20what%20I%20got.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="750" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlmTjcb5zawmTocBdFpvtOnATrFTagBjA-512GsjjbiV2hlCFCmjkKrUjq-2qmu_z_0En85ONxr5kiM8Z06lnxp6LjDbI82p_lN9rBH6UaS-oeizUXR6jO5aTcsgfRzhX7TVoBcWbntvRxdqm6b36FXjGeRfG8K2siMqimiSqNUmbsIuZl7uBWhmaNhl4/w480-h640/I%20asked%20the%20kids%20for%20a%20photo%20of%20them%20and%20the%20dog%20for%20the%20article%20and%20this%20is%20what%20I%20got.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span class="x4k7w5x x1h91t0o x1h9r5lt x1jfb8zj xv2umb2 x1beo9mf xaigb6o x12ejxvf x3igimt xarpa2k xedcshv x1lytzrv x1t2pt76 x7ja8zs x1qrby5j"><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs x1xmvt09 x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u" dir="auto">“Photo of Rhiannon and Taliesin (not photoshopped)” <br />... </span></span>I asked the kids for a photo of them and the dog<br />for the article and this is what I got. I love that our relationship is silly.<br /></i></td></tr></tbody></table><b><span style="font-size: large;">Rhiannon</span></b><br /><br />At the outset, Rhiannon's plan seemed to be the most sound: Following her passions for childcare and dog training, she had arranged a 4-day/week nanny-share job that would cover her cost of living for the first year, while she planned to attain her dog-trainer certificate, work evenings and weekends as a trainer, and build a base of private training clients that would enable her, eventually, to only nanny sometimes. She still held some interest in pursuing her Early Childhood Education certificate, but maybe later. She's a remarkable organizer, and things went pretty close to her plan.<br /></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlgWc8RNNX5mo_7tk-YJGmpDWcN1h80lSIchyphenhyphenQHDUhlzEBXKYTLAuo0Te3U_54utB-814ADeZrESp1l1G8cyidU364dq81jm5H8NrzNKGngmWlXGlqho3jQUa6ScbbgqVj_lj_ComUpPK21lYGXqKK-_I0qZdFcSlyUbqP-Mlz28aguOmJ6Oq8f2ZR0UI/s999/IMG-20231011-WA0004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="634" data-original-width="999" height="406" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlgWc8RNNX5mo_7tk-YJGmpDWcN1h80lSIchyphenhyphenQHDUhlzEBXKYTLAuo0Te3U_54utB-814ADeZrESp1l1G8cyidU364dq81jm5H8NrzNKGngmWlXGlqho3jQUa6ScbbgqVj_lj_ComUpPK21lYGXqKK-_I0qZdFcSlyUbqP-Mlz28aguOmJ6Oq8f2ZR0UI/w640-h406/IMG-20231011-WA0004.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Rhiannon (or Rhi, as she is known) at Raintown Dog Training</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Rhiannon lucked out massively (or perhaps she's just very socially astute) with her employers. The owner and staff of <a href="https://www.raintowndogtraining.com/" target="_blank">Raintown Dog Training</a> not only took her under their wings as a very young new trainer, but continue to treat her as an equal, respect her decisions and values, help her to advance her skills, and to employ her as much as possible, even in slower seasons. Her nanny-share families paid her as promised, including sick-days and paid vacation, provided whatever was necessary for her to care for their children, and shared her values of inclusiveness and diversity exposure for their children. It was, in fact, important to them that she uphold these values, which made her feel she really had something to give. </p><p>What I think she didn't expect was how physically and mentally draining and isolating it is to care for other people's children every day, and the barrage of viruses she'd fall victim to. When we raise our own children we make choices that suit our needs, our routines, and the simple practicality of living. But when we hand our children over to a caregiver, those same choices may not be as convenient, and when that caregiver has two children from different families with different choices, things can get a bit complicated. Rhiannon took this all in stride, and never complained, but quite frequently she and the children were sick, and in those (many) weeks, the complexity became exhausting. Then throughout the autumn, as she transitioned to working full-time as a dog trainer, she was frequently working six or seven days a week--common for young adults now--and she was absolutely drained. </p><p>I think by the end of the year she was grateful to be moving on to a career that would involve more engagement with the public, and really just looking forward to a little free time. She now has a deeper appreciation for the physical challenges faced by early childhood educators, and no longer wants to work in that field. That's not to say she's lost interest in working with children! She's still taking on a few shifts with the kids she's cared for in the past, and is glad to be able to maintain those connections. </p><p>Because my Annie seems intent on filling every spare second of her
time, she also now volunteers at the SPCA. I get the best deal, here, as
she sends me photos and updates of all the adorable dogs she works
with, how they're recovering from their various issues, and the great
news when one of them finds a home. I'm amazed she finds the energy for
this, and am also extremely proud. Not just because she's such a
values-driven, generous person, but because she is somehow managing to
continue seeing the positives, even when working in a place that often
sees so much tragedy. That is a gift I'm constantly impressed by.</p><p>And then there are the books... BOOKS!!! If you've followed my kids' story for some time, you will know how important books are to Rhiannon. Maybe you already follow <a href="https://www.rhiannonsreadingcorner.com/" target="_blank">Rhiannon's Reading Corner</a>, where she reviews books with an eye for authenticity, inclusiveness and diversity. So this year, finding herself in the glorious land of thrift stores (the city), she began thrifting children's books, and putting them into the hands of grateful young readers through her <a href="https://www.rhiannonsreadingcorner.com/product-page/loved-books-boxes" target="_blank">Loved Books</a> program. She is intensely morally-guided, so when she feels that she won't have a use for the books she's thrifted, she donates them to free libraries around the city. Financially, this program is still costing her money, but she feels great about it, and that's the important part. She has also recently arranged to read to children at a local kids' and parents' café. You can take the ECE career out of the mind, but you can't take the mind out of ECE...</p><p><b><span style="font-size: large;">Taliesin</span></b> <br /></p><p>OK, Let's talk about Taliesin. He saved up quite a bit of money while working from home on various contracts as a digital artist, so when he moved out the plan was to fund the first few weeks out of his savings, until he could find a 9-5 job at a Vancouver office. Well... that didn't go exactly as planned!</p><p>Tali wanted to work in games or film, so continued developing his modelling and art skills from home, while diligently applying to every company he could find. As the weeks became months, and a few people told him that nobody in the industry was hiring, he began applying to remote jobs, even as the situation of building his portfolio at home, alone while his sister was out working, became more and more isolating. The last thing he wanted was to be stuck behind his computer, working from home. But he persisted. As the months dragged on, despite fears of his savings running out (and the worst-case-scenario of having to return home loomed) he kept himself sane by going out daily for walks and photography inspiration. He got to know his city, and began experimenting with all the great food and entertainment options he now has around him. If I caught him at home while applying for jobs, he sounded unhappy, but if I happened to call while he was out jaunting around his city, he sounded the happiest I've heard him in years. He sent us photos of sunsets from the bridges, and kilometer-counts from his increasingly frequent runs. He bought himself a new tripod and proper running shoes. He made new friends and in a very non-career way, I think he found a piece of himself that had been missing during his recent isolated years at home on the island.</p><p>And then he got a writing job. Yes, this once-upon-a-time kid who used to abhor writing assignments (but who has a wonderful grasp of communication and language), got a job writing Blender tutorials! I think he was more surprised than we were, but there he was, financially limping along through last summer, employed as a writer! It didn't surprise me at all that this was so easy for him, but it was completely delightful to watch him gain confidence in an activity that I had, unfortunately, accidentally turned into a childhood misery for him with the likes of the "Painless Junior: Writing" workbook (yeah... that was never going to go over well with my wildly creative son, despite and because of the book's front cover declaring "Don't be a chicken, it's fun to learn!" 🙄) Well, he overcame that particular learning-injury, and became a paid writer! ROCK ON, Taliesin!!</p><p>But writing is what he uses to communicate, and his heart is in science and art. So all this time he continued applying for modelling and other digital art jobs, exploring his city with a camera, and making unabashedly science-related art for <a href="https://taliesinriver.com/" target="_blank">his portfolio</a>. </p><p>And then... He got <i>my</i> dream job!!! You know how sometimes you look at a kid and you think: "Wow--I can see his career written all over him!!" And for my son the career I saw was science educator... but then that little person grew up and did other things, and lost his passion for science, and I thought... wait... what? Where did that little boy go who I was convinced would be an interpreter at the planetarium?! I thought he would become one of those tall gawky long-haired science geeks doing explosion shows!!</p><p>And then last fall my son video-called me to practice his interview performance for the Space Centre, where he demonstrated Newton's laws and how they apply to space travel, using a little flashlight with some "fire" taped onto the end... And my heart exploded because that kernel of inspired joy that I remembered so well was growing right out of my son into the world around him!!</p><p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigRl1c0Q3iFa6DpFtqwxtFNUxywoLDCBJF-Q-L9S4G3_QxX4meLth7p7Tn4LAERasfdENUmtao5od7BYwJ4DYvYylZom6_85h1K4cWSEPRgXZY-8TYy8sdvGqtGJy-dgCuH2HI02CuKIhW_R0SApY_5Y5x9vMjKFa1vOM48ONFHun7tK9eY5M8NRkNXks/s3088/20231016_talis%20first%20day%20at%20work.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2320" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigRl1c0Q3iFa6DpFtqwxtFNUxywoLDCBJF-Q-L9S4G3_QxX4meLth7p7Tn4LAERasfdENUmtao5od7BYwJ4DYvYylZom6_85h1K4cWSEPRgXZY-8TYy8sdvGqtGJy-dgCuH2HI02CuKIhW_R0SApY_5Y5x9vMjKFa1vOM48ONFHun7tK9eY5M8NRkNXks/w300-h400/20231016_talis%20first%20day%20at%20work.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Tali's first-day selfie at the Space Centre.</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>Of COURSE he got the job, even though his confidence has taken a big hit through his teen years, and last December I found myself sitting in the audience watching him demonstrate explosions and rocket propulsion on the stage at the planetarium, and tears were running down my cheeks. I watched my son up on that stage and I saw that he shares the gift of every gawky science geek I looked up to as a kid. He has the spark of childish excitement of my first science teacher, Mr. McAllister. He has the gentleness of his beautifully geeky father in the way he acknowledges and responds to kids in the audience. And he has back his own confidence in the astounding base of knowledge he holds about physics. It was a joy to watch him.</p><p><br />So, what many of us don't realize (I certainly didn't) is that our non-profit agencies are always in financial crisis. Those inspired science interpreters can't earn enough to live on, and despite their vast knowledge and serious dedication to educating our children, they can't afford to do their jobs. After my son leaves a day of running physics and astronomy workshops for school-groups, shows in the Star Theatre or Ground-Station, telescope nights, or long sleepless overnights with a hundred Girl Guides, he comes home and has to make money. So, like most of the interpreters, Taliesin will shortly only be able to work one day a week at the Space Centre, as he's finally landed a full-time job as a digital artist. He's creating car accessory advertising for a company called Protex. It's maybe not the most inspiring job, but it allows him to use his art skills, and he'll finally stop using up the dregs of his savings! What a relief!</p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>How did unschooling play into all this?</b></span> <br />I asked Tali and Annie about this. </p><p>Taliesin says, "[I have] a wide variety
of interests that keeps me learning things even if I’m not in
university or at work, and I’m used to
having to figure things out myself so I’m able to adapt to new
situations." He also credits unschooling with enabling him to maintain a "great relationship" with his sister, but feels that it also made it very challenging for him to find friends. <br /></p><p> </p><p>Annie says, "I like what I’m doing right now and what ended up happening in my life, so if I had the chance to go back and change stuff, I wouldn’t. But I don’t know what specifically causes the things I’m doing right now to happen; it could have been benefited by unschooling or not... I don’t know. I feel like sometimes it’s harder for me to relate to other people, or to feel like I know what to do in different situations because I just haven’t been in them before, but I wouldn’t want to change anything, because I like my life right now!"</p><p>I think it's totally fair to say that unschooling as we did in a small community without other unschoolers set my kids up for some social hurdles. In their teen years they missed out on a lot of social events and rites-of-passage that their peers enjoyed, from school to birthday parties, to sharing the drudgery with a cohort of same-aged kids. We tell ourselves they also missed out on all the things we don't like about school (bullying, competitive education, coerced learning, lack of time to follow passions, etc.) and we don't regret our choice to unschool them at all. In fact, I believe their success in living independently at 18 and 20 is largely due to the lifelong-learning, agile thinking, and self-motivation that unschooling instilled in them. But the fact remains that they're quite unique in this. Most of their peers are off at universities now, or still living with their parents. It can be hard to relate, and my kids are among the youngest of the young professionals, so they don't easily fit into any of the major groups in our society. Still, unschooling also provided them resilience, and they are finding their way: managing not only to make new friends, but also to continue developing their very solid sibling relationship, now living as room-mates. They're finding themselves in the city and within the context of their society, and they meet challenges with courage and a solution-seeking mindset. I can't hope for anything more.</p><p>I always said that the only important thing I wished for my children was that they would be happy. I now know that happiness is not a goal but a mindset. My kids are learning to find satisfaction in the diverse activities they've occupied themselves with while simultaneously holding multiple jobs to afford Vancouver's increasingly unaffordable rent. They're unschooling adulthood. They're becoming emotionally and financially resilient, and when things are just too hard, they have each other, their parents on the phone, and a big fluffy dog who will snuggle the love back into them. Even when she's lazy in the morning.<br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoEaO59wauz932Prhv3e7Gx70xBrwEdE5r5hRAR7uXVDWaU5WRlic1MK35bdt-NonUR-_tkS2OxZDMnTEQI3_4t4laWLX7kbCfUfqNZYIveC9algQQbwPuxcRTtgd5DrEIWVAL28unXQmaZhdLmcGdtJNtfN8C_DdlSxTAOioNhKnU98w4BJxydvcO1qc/s3043/IMG_20240216_201030726_HDR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1511" data-original-width="3043" height="318" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoEaO59wauz932Prhv3e7Gx70xBrwEdE5r5hRAR7uXVDWaU5WRlic1MK35bdt-NonUR-_tkS2OxZDMnTEQI3_4t4laWLX7kbCfUfqNZYIveC9algQQbwPuxcRTtgd5DrEIWVAL28unXQmaZhdLmcGdtJNtfN8C_DdlSxTAOioNhKnU98w4BJxydvcO1qc/w640-h318/IMG_20240216_201030726_HDR.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Clara hogging the blankets.</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><br /></p>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03100384225999745858noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100692801739409317.post-62796360001763563282024-03-12T21:50:00.000-07:002024-03-12T21:50:23.337-07:00Playgrounds, Gaza, and a Forest: How Competition Impedes Prosperity<p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCakVDIM53ctKRynV05yAklyCIXcZxQjAlpULSjlocHwp9k02Xa4n_9cr6ISdzqPAQnRD4_tRL_oCJgG3NyLaijTQX3NRZdAhgdL27F3AF-qLPzDkSnfqtBjLVv0R98ML_nMtA-hZUidxgY2AvGrI_LGn8lJM06coOYEk-Jk_PxgswvPW-hmNIAI0CB0U/s3180/20130908_tali%20rhiannon%20ceperley%20playground_15c.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2461" data-original-width="3180" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCakVDIM53ctKRynV05yAklyCIXcZxQjAlpULSjlocHwp9k02Xa4n_9cr6ISdzqPAQnRD4_tRL_oCJgG3NyLaijTQX3NRZdAhgdL27F3AF-qLPzDkSnfqtBjLVv0R98ML_nMtA-hZUidxgY2AvGrI_LGn8lJM06coOYEk-Jk_PxgswvPW-hmNIAI0CB0U/w400-h310/20130908_tali%20rhiannon%20ceperley%20playground_15c.JPG" width="400" /></a></span></div><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">One damp autumn day, I crossed the dirt and wood-chip playground to the swings, where I saw a girl a couple of years younger than I was, and also the bottom of her grade's social heap, swinging on the best swing. You know the <i>best</i> swing? It's the one that is for some reason not spun up out of reach by the older kids, and the most visible to the playground supervisor, so other kids don't bother trying to haul you out of it. During those years, I spent all recesses and lunch hours either hiding on the bluffs, up in a tree, or firmly glued to that swing and swinging fiercely back-and-forth, back-and-forth, daring people to come near me with a glare they never noticed. But this day, this younger girl's thick brown hair flew back-and-forth, back-and-forth over her raincoated shoulders. I stood at the pole of the swing-set and ground my boots into the dirt. When nobody was looking, I told her passing face that I was magic and would turn her into a rock if she didn't get off and give me the swing.</span><p></p><p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">When I was a kid I was near the bottom of the social heap. The kids who hurt me the most were also hurt the most by their parents, or by other kids at the school. It's normalized, in our culture, to turn and dish out to someone else a cruelty that was served to us. School, career-building, politics, capitalism--they're all just games of getting ahead of others, and put us in a position where we feel that "getting ahead" is the same as "prosperity". It's an illusion, but our longstanding capitalist social structure leads us to believe in it at the cost of vision and community. </span></p><p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Israel is flexing its playground seniority in Gaza. It feels heartless to compare genocide to playground bullying, but I want to point out that in accepting what we see as insignificant cruelty in our privileged day-to-day as a necessary cost of getting ahead, we also pave the way to accept greater and greater atrocities. I understand from my playground experience how easy it feels to commit some lesser act of cruelty against another person when I've been hurt. So by extrapolation, I get that maybe if your people has been persecuted for thousands of years, and even in living memory was the pointed victim of horrific acts of genocide, it might seem less than horrible for (some members) of that people to commit genocide against the next victim down the chain. I mean, aren't we all just making gains by stepping up upon the backs of those just below us in rank, privilege, or esteem? </span><br /><br /><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Well no--not everybody is doing that. Some of us from every race, religion, and social ranking in the world are in fact trying very hard not to be that kind of monster. Some of those in my circles who are most vocally supporting freedom for Palestinians are my Jewish friends. Because fighting to get or stay on top of a social pyramid does <i>not</i> equal prosperity! Because some of us learned this important lesson in childhood. </span><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p><p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Back in my elementary school playground... I have never forgotten the look of horror on that girl's face, and my triumph at seeing her run away, so I could get to safety on that swing. My triumph was the worst. I remember the sick feeling in my stomach, after she left. I didn't know where she had run to, or who might be kicking her, feeding her dirt, or holding her down and whispering the most vile threats in her ears. I remember thinking we looked rather similar and maybe she could have been my friend if I hadn't been so desperate to get that swing. I felt that getting the swing gave me safety, but it also took away hers. I remember that my triumph came with a horrible cost to my feeling of righteousness, and that year I became one of those people who knows better than to pass the bullying on to the next rung down the ladder. Sometime after that I bravely spoke a few words to my bullied-mate in the classroom. We had a breath-holding competition. So for a couple of minutes we found common ground in an environment of terror and ladder-climbing, and I think in some small way we both learned to transcend the hierarchy of our class.</span></p><p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">We can ALL learn from our mistakes. We can all look at our leaders and our cultural and personal privileges and refuse to make progress at the cost of others. Sure, we're trying to survive in what is, at its root, a culture of competition, and to some degree we have to participate in the status quo to survive. But we can also work to change it. Those of us with more privilege have more ability to effect change. We can change the ways we look at others; we can choose to befriend the people who make less money than we do, the people whose lashes lower when we speak to them; the people who seem least likely to improve our social status. We can look critically at our privilege and resources and belongings and ask ourselves what we actually need, and how we can change our lives and share the excess to achieve a social balance in our community. We can remind ourselves that a balanced community means prosperity for all. </span></p><p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Does prosperity mean a lack of suffering? Of course not. We're all going to die. We're all going to hurt. We're all going to lose loved ones, and health, and hope. But a balanced community is exactly the only thing that will sustain us through these challenges. And we can look to the ecology just outside our city limits for inspiration in achieving prosperity through social balance. </span></p><p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">A tree in a forest. If a maple drops ten thousand seeds on the forest floor, all but a few hundred of those are likely to be eaten by insects, rodents and birds before they ever sprout, and of those that do sprout, most will be eaten as spring greens by the likes of deer, and others. And maybe five will grow to be saplings, and maybe zero will live to become trees, most years. Until one day the mother tree has crumbled under the weight of some winter snow and in the mess of her fallen limbs, one of last year's saplings will grow sheltered and become a tree, itself. But you know what? In all those years where not a single one of those seeds grew to maturity, that original tree fed the ecosystem around her, and reached her roots through the landscape to share nutrients with the neighbouring trees. All the other plants and animals' droppings and dead bodies fed the soil, and now that soil is rich with microbial life and nutrients, and that new maple tree will grow strong--not on the backs of all those it conquered, but in an ecology of giving and dying and growing. The maple tree has no fear of falling behind. She is a sanctuary for mosses, ferns and all kinds of insect, microbial and animal life--she is <i>part of</i> that life. She's just growing and giving and crumbling and feeding her ecology. And that is why she prospers. I want to learn some of that wisdom.</span></p><p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">What if there was no fear of falling behind in human society? Would we carry, feed, and connect with each other; with our ecology? Would we relish those connections instead of conquering others? I feel like I've experienced this when I sing in community. When my own voice drowns away among the voices of others, but together we're a beautiful sound. I experience it when I play with children in the wilderness. We're each so insignificant in the big forest, but our play changes the landscape and we see the impact of our being there; we learn to play carefully. We learn that if we destroy the stream-bank, then the water downstream will be muddy, and then we'll have no clean water for drinking, anywhere. We learn that affecting anything (anybody) will have impacts on ourselves.</span></p><p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">If my life depends on privilege gained through competition, and supported by people who aren't being supported by me, then when those people's lives falter, so do I. We can't build a pyramid to stand on, then rip out the stability of the base, and expect to keep standing on the top.</span></p><p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">And from another perspective, when we've prospered exponentially at the cost of the ecosystem that supports us without honouring it, giving back to it, and living in harmony with it, the ecology we depend on is faltering underneath our ridiculous pyramid, and we're all beginning to discover what happens, then.</span></p><p><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Our system of pyramid-climbing is not a strong one. A strong system is lateral. Like a forest, or a group of people singing. A strong system loses a limb and regrows to heal the wound. A strong system has no leaders, but many trusted and equal members, all giving instead of taking. Giving is not sacrifice, it's prosperity.</span></p><p>It's
scary to think of not having enough (food, money, land, power,
achievement, influence, etc.) In a hierarchical culture, "not enough"
equals failure,
threat; fear. For those near the bottom of the cultural pyramid in my
community it means no shelter; no food. For those on the bottom in Gaza
it means abject trauma every day. It means death. Is this an acceptable
cost for my "getting ahead"? I don't want this kind of unstable throne. I
don't want to support a global society that prospers on hierarchical
oppression,
because in that kind of culture, everybody is a potential pawn, or
enemy. Everybody is unstable. </p><p>I want to transcend capitalism and
find joy in uplifting others
instead of uplifting myself at a cost to others. I want to stop
prospering as an individual, and when I fall, I want to fall down in
community, knowing that others will grow into my wounds. I want to be
worth more than what I own or who bends under my feet. In a lateral
community I will be worth the whole of us. I want the
mirage of hierarchy to disappear and I want us all to be free.</p>
<p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">Free Palestine.</p>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03100384225999745858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100692801739409317.post-12572153069569670352023-10-31T11:43:00.000-07:002023-10-31T11:43:17.857-07:00Death and Grace<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQWEXvuWUVTDlGBUjU-bOvIiIbMdvvsTKHVDqNzoy2tIjDxghG1ksmuWozLOijlCQdsc8YJ497CeeAd1IEiBL2b7uoI0epHG0wRC-dcFpcavrsPSAxjEGA776wuGMoxuWHixnou03St9Uhz3zLws4LS-vz-BTcFvJsKiRxDunLReO4czMXGTMGYrxHL1E/s5796/20180505_04_oom%20wout%20took%20us%20to%20grootmoeders%20grave%20in%20geldermalsen_012c.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2686" data-original-width="5796" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQWEXvuWUVTDlGBUjU-bOvIiIbMdvvsTKHVDqNzoy2tIjDxghG1ksmuWozLOijlCQdsc8YJ497CeeAd1IEiBL2b7uoI0epHG0wRC-dcFpcavrsPSAxjEGA776wuGMoxuWHixnou03St9Uhz3zLws4LS-vz-BTcFvJsKiRxDunLReO4czMXGTMGYrxHL1E/w640-h296/20180505_04_oom%20wout%20took%20us%20to%20grootmoeders%20grave%20in%20geldermalsen_012c.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">My reflection in the vase of flowers I had just set on my grandmother's grave, Geldermalsen, the Netherlands.</span></i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />I think the first death of my memory was my cat Katykins, who arrived dead in the trunk of our green VW beetle. My friend and I looked at his little stiff body and I wondered at how similar and still utterly different it was from the rabbits my family routinely slaughtered for food. He was soft and black on the outside, but not like food or rabbitskins, and also not at all like the weak, leukemia-ravaged friend who had left for the vet that morning. More like a stuffy, not that we called them that, at the time. And my mother was inexplicably upset, and I'm sorry now that I didn't understand why. </p><p>Then there were relatives like Uncle Joe. All I knew of his death was that I had to have a TB test. And my aunts who I was supposed to visit in France and South Dakota, but both died just before I was to leave. When people we rarely see disappear, it's like a traffic-light in the distance that turns yellow, then red, and then green again before we ever even arrive. And we're young and life just keeps keeping on.</p><p>When my dog was shot, more compassionately than the pigs, I ran away and hid. I never saw her buried, and today I remember my father's agony more than my own. I still look for her in the brown-eyebrowed faces of living dogs, and the softness of their ears and paws that gently pad my legs and say "save me from the thunder", and the eyes that recall the innocence of that time before all the most confusing deaths began.</p><p>Then there were the car-crashes. The friend crushed on his motorcycle under a semi. Cancers. Children left motherless and the one who drank himself away before the cancer could get him. And those whose lives turned out to be more painful than death, so they left us lost and bewildered and guilty and frantically watching for signs, like maybe next time we could save someone. Be the net or the soil or the held hand at the last moment, or preferably the whole life long, so that life might have been preferable, after all.<br /></p><p>Those deaths left me knowing I was powerless. </p><p>In the days before my grandmother died, I said "Grandma I'm scared", and she looked at me through half-open eyes said "me too, honey, but it'll be all right" and I struggled to believe her, as I held her unbelievably soft hand and nursed my tiny son, and then walked away from her for the last time. <br /></p><p>I was terrified of death all my life, until the day I watched my grandfather die, on a hospital gurney in a supply closet. He said, "well how 'bout that!" and the pinkness slowly slid off his face, and neck, and hands, and he was gone. In that stunned moment our whole family was graced by his positive outlook and gentleness. I miss him, but in his final act, he transcended fear by giving us a window to gratitude.</p><p>I've lost so many people since then. My Dutch grandmother was the first. She drowned so suddenly and so far away that it took me years to accept she was gone. I lost my father like a great explosion that impacted every aspect of my body, being, and life. I lost people violently and sometimes gently and even gratefully. I've taught myself to kill for food and for mercy; I've become accustomed to recognising that sudden but graceful draining of life my grandfather introduced me to in a chicken's head in my hand, in a deer who hit the fence, or in my dog on my lap. I know how quickly the flies come. I know the suddenly-odd vacant smell of dead animals and dead people and the pain and the relief and the sheer terror of things not being as we expected. And I've taught myself to imagine that feeling onto the people lost from afar.</p><p>The horrors of war and climate change and all the other capitalism-induced crises are not horrible because of death, but because that death is founded on greed. I am teaching myself to accept death as a part of life, but never as a symptom of greed.<br /></p><p>Nearly nine years after my father died, I still long to phone him--like he's just a short distance across the water and I haven't been to visit in too long. But I've stopped reaching for the phone, and instead I caress the memory of his voice asking for news. I hear some aspect of his voice when my nephew speaks, and his cultivated patience in my daughter. Like in my garden the dead plants become feed for the compost, and resurrect from seeds and water and sunlight, next year, to bloom, and die. I now see the continuity of love and life that transcends the deaths of our bodies. I see my father's toes on my own feet; his funny little wry smile between my son's cheeks, and I see his own and his father's quiet gentleness in my partner's manner. Sometimes we choose people who carry forward the things we need to hang on to from those we've lost. </p><p>Death is not just a part of life, but an opportunity to savour it. It's an opportunity to question how we live in and of the world; how we create the world, and how we build futures for ourselves and our children. It's an opportunity to hold our loved ones dear, and to let them go. To hold the hearts of those who are grieving, and hold our own grief with respect and compassion. <br /></p><p></p><p>Tonight, as so many cultures celebrate the thinning of the veil between the worlds of living and dead, I'll stand with my partner in the darkness and think of those people we've lost and loved and of how we might carry their goodness forward with grace.<br /></p>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03100384225999745858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100692801739409317.post-34603302330920058062023-09-14T16:46:00.004-07:002023-09-14T16:47:24.488-07:0010 Ways to Save Humanity, Even If You Can't March on Sept 15th<p>As the death-toll from Libya’s storm floods surpasses eleven thousand, and various hurricanes march their ways across the oceans, people all over the world are gearing up to March to End Fossil Fuels, tomorrow. (Find your city’s event <a class="markup--anchor markup--p-anchor" data-href="https://fossilfueltreaty.good.do/global-march/map/" href="https://fossilfueltreaty.good.do/global-march/map/" rel="noopener" target="_blank">on this map</a>.)</p><div style="text-align: center;"><figure class="graf graf--figure" name="3d83"><img alt="painting of person standing on a log in a lake with apocalyptic fire in the distance" class="graf-image" data-height="768" data-image-id="1*A_MbshgR8CZyIhGuE79wOg.jpeg" data-width="1230" height="398" src="https://cdn-images-1.medium.com/max/1200/1*A_MbshgR8CZyIhGuE79wOg.jpeg" width="640" /><figcaption class="imageCaption" style="text-align: left;"><i>Not a Thing Between Me and You (detail) … Recent painting by Emily van Lidth de Jeude, in response to Neil Young’s song, “Overhead”. This painting deals with our compulsion to just keep going into an unknown future, together, even when we don’t know we’re not alone. It’s about courage.</i></figcaption></figure></div><p class="graf graf--p" name="aa21">But what if we can’t march? And even if we can, how are we going to propel this impetus into action? How are we going to actually save our future on this planet? (Let’s face it, we’re not going to another planet, and instead of talking about “our children’s future” now, we’re talking about our own.) We’ve got months or a couple of years to turn this around, and even if we do, storms like this are now here to stay. So what can we do about it?</p><ol class="postList"><li class="graf graf--li" name="c1d4">Become resilient.<br />We can stop following the status quo, and learn to live differently than our youths and the media told us to. Learn to cook our own food. Learn to pivot our careers and plans and housing situations as needed, and without being traumatized. Adaptable creatures survive.</li><li class="graf graf--li" name="1201">Make our kids resilient. <br />So you might know I usually write about unschooling. That was (and still is) my effort to raise resilient, independent, capable adults. And it worked! At 18 and 21, my kids are now living independently (together), paying their own way, and making changes for a better world. <br />Unschooling isn’t the only way to make our kids resilient. Any kind of freedom to explore and develop their own skills will help. As will encouraging schools to opt for explorative learning, wilderness education, and all the things that will help our kids be connected, creative, courageous, and resourceful. Those are the skills our kids will need to survive our new world.</li><li class="graf graf--li" name="7b3e">Grow food.<br />Whatever we can do, whether it’s growing sprouts on our kitchen counters to save $10/week in veggies, or escaping the rat race to go whole-hog on a homestead — just do it. We can all (and yes I mean <i class="markup--em markup--li-em">all</i>) grow at least some of our food. This not only saves money (if we learn from someone else who’s doing it effectively and don’t fall for sales tactics for all the gadgets we don’t need), it also brings us closer to our food, giving us a deeper understanding of life, our bodies, our connection to the ecology we live in, and nutrition. It’s healthier for us (fresher food), and it’s also healthier for the environment, since everything we grow (sustainably) ourselves is something we don’t buy from the unsustainable agricultural industry.</li><li class="graf graf--li" name="b502">Buy local.<br />For all those foods and other things we can’t grow or make, ourselves, we can buy local! I guarantee you there is somebody out there trying to get rid of a bunch of homegrown zucchinis or apples right about now. What if we paid them instead of a big supermarket chain? What if we bought from local farmers, builders, and creators instead of from the capitalist industries that are the root of climate change? This is a shift we can make.</li><li class="graf graf--li" name="b4ee">Don’t buy! Boycott capitalism.<br />Buying local is one way of sidestepping the corporations who are doing the most damage, but buying less is an even better way. A big part of our problem is overpopulation, and then there’s overconsumption. We really don’t need all the stuff. We don’t need big houses. We don’t need big cars, we don’t need lots of clothing or school supplies or travel or household items. We don’t even need as much food as we currently consume, and we <i class="markup--em markup--li-em">especially</i> don’t need to be wasting as much food as we do through restaurant and supermarket refuse, and simple neglect at home. How many times do people go on a fabulous vacation and then declare they need a vacation from their vacation? What if we just took a local vacation in the first place — one that doesn’t displace people from rental accommodation, and that connects us with our homes in ways we hadn’t experienced, before? In the space that’s left without the things that we don’t *actually* need, we will learn to find convenience, fulfillment and joy. We will have space to keep building that resilience and resourcefulness I mentioned earlier.</li><li class="graf graf--li" name="c592">Be happy with less.<br />Along with resilience and resourcefulness comes happiness. It is just plain <i class="markup--em markup--li-em">so</i> rewarding to grow my own food! I go out every day now and tend my chickens, weed a bit of veggie garden, eat some food right off the plants, and just generally revel in a lifestyle that I once found daunting. I feel empowered by my mended clothing in a way I don’t feel empowered by something brand new. I now have some serious disabilities, and learning to be resilient and resourceful has made me happy, similarly to how my job working with kids used to make me feel.</li><li class="graf graf--li" name="4ffb">Love our local ecology.<br />Partly the joy I get is from being active in my local ecology (also similarly to when I worked with kids on wilderness exploration)! I have learned so much about how connected we are; am currently fascinated with the many types of wild bees and other insects that frequent my small yard, and with their life’s work and activities that all contribute to the diversity we depend on. How does this love save our world? By connecting us with it. If we love our ecology, we’ll know it better, and the more we know and love, the greater ability we’ll have to protect it. We <i class="markup--em markup--li-em">need</i> our ecology. If only for the simple reason that it feeds us and protects us from storms. That in its diversity it will recover when we finally do turn the trend of climate change around.</li><li class="graf graf--li" name="867f">Love our neighbours.<br />We’ve got a couple of new neighbours recently. We’re making an effort to connect with them. You know why? Because when the power goes out, when a tree falls across the road, when someone’s pipes freeze or someone needs any kind of help at all — or just a hug, we will be there for each other. When the storms come, we’ll need each other.</li><li class="graf graf--li" name="9b98">Love our children.<br />Obviously. Because the hell that we’re going to experience pales deeply against the hell that our kids will know. If we love them, we need to save them.</li><li class="graf graf--li" name="4e47">Just love.<br />And when it’s all too much, when we’re succumbing to doubt and fear and a feeling that nothing we do could possibly be enough, we can love. If I’m going to die, I want to do it in the arms of someone who loves me. And more importantly, I’m far less likely to die early if I share a deep love. Our future and neighbours and children and the whole global population is more likely to thrive if we live a life of love instead of material acquisition. </li></ol><p class="graf graf--p" name="b1bf">Love is actually a hard thing to do. So I’ll tumble out of my list now, just to write a little about love. Love is a challenge. It’s like a great wave piling up behind us, saying …RUN! And can we do it? Can we keep going even when the wave is catching our ankles? Can we slog through the wash around our waists, grasping at the ungraspable wind, to haul ourselves out when the wave peters out, and get up and run again before the next wave comes? That’s love. It’s work. Neverending, challenging, heartbreaking impossible work. But it’s also the only thing that’s worth working for. Love is, in many ways, survival. When love (of a person, planet, dream, or future) compels us, we can access the resilience, courage, creativity, and resourcefulness needed to meet all the challenges. Climate change included. </p><p class="graf graf--p" name="b27a">So whether or not you can join a climate march tomorrow, do <i class="markup--em markup--p-em">something</i>. Something that will make you feel empowered and resilient. Something that will save us, tomorrow. And tomorrow? Do something again!</p><p class="graf graf--p" name="42ff">With love,<br />Emily</p>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03100384225999745858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100692801739409317.post-9391611665534361552023-05-28T17:23:00.001-07:002023-05-28T17:23:33.390-07:00Unschooling Myths Debunked! (Sort Of)<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSpykvfOClRNw6fayB09Qif2HbWvbT1aj_LO5q1WqtT2LlggcNe2j-Kql9NXUcnDlUaOR49l4k0CJwvpsRRM0EkxSJnYTlFrsfEnZdSQTNhncIwd1YYkK2mid_o7jAtvpYyANnKVPmbyHPwP9Sb-XUuplHSmH1oo5ivHfHw9PHyVnKz_QDpclsJ4dJ/s3999/20110604_schoolhouse-creek_008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2301" data-original-width="3999" height="368" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSpykvfOClRNw6fayB09Qif2HbWvbT1aj_LO5q1WqtT2LlggcNe2j-Kql9NXUcnDlUaOR49l4k0CJwvpsRRM0EkxSJnYTlFrsfEnZdSQTNhncIwd1YYkK2mid_o7jAtvpYyANnKVPmbyHPwP9Sb-XUuplHSmH1oo5ivHfHw9PHyVnKz_QDpclsJ4dJ/w640-h368/20110604_schoolhouse-creek_008.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />If you're a new parent just now hearing about the term "unschooling", or a long-time unschooler just wanting some validation; if you're a parent whose kids' friends are unschoolers, or a teacher who has just quit working to unschool their kids (surprisingly common!), or a teacher who just welcomed former unschoolers to a classroom, this is for you. If you're an educator, a parent, a grandparent or a friend with concerns about some unschooled kids you know, this is for you, too.<p>This list includes many misconceptions that I held, myself, before unschooling and in the first few years of it. Unschooling is a learning curve for the whole family (and community!), and there is no shame in discovering that some beliefs we held were wrong. I'm proud of my growth in understanding, and know I still have plenty to learn. <br /></p><p>And to be perfectly clear, I KNOW that if you're reading this with concerns for kids, those concerns are rooted in love. You adore those kids and you feel they deserve the best. Unschooling isn't always the best, but for many, it is. And I hope this article will not only set your mind at ease, but also inspire some further research, because the foundational concepts of unschooling are valuable for everyone, in every community, in every educational philosophy. </p><p>First, a brief primer: </p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>What is Unschooling?</b></span></p><blockquote><p style="text-align: left;"><i>"Unschooling is an informal learning method that prioritizes learner-chosen activities as a primary means for learning. Unschoolers learn through their natural life experiences including play, household responsibilities, personal interests and curiosity, internships and work experience, travel, books, elective classes, family, mentors, and social interaction. Often considered a lesson- and curriculum-free implementation of homeschooling, unschooling encourages exploration of activities initiated by the children themselves, under the belief that the more personal learning is, the more meaningful, well-understood, and therefore useful it is to the child. While unschooled students may occasionally take courses, unschooling questions the usefulness of standard curricula, fixed times at which learning should take place, conventional grading methods in standardized tests, forced contact with children in their own age group, the compulsion to do homework regardless of whether it helps the learner in their individual situation, the effectiveness of listening to and obeying the orders of one authority figure for several hours each day, and other features of traditional schooling.<br /><br />"The term unschooling was coined in the 1970s and used by educator John Holt, who is widely regarded as the father of unschooling. Unschooling is often seen as a subset of homeschooling, but while homeschooling has been the subject of broad public debate, unschooling received relatively little media attention and has only become popular in recent[may be outdated as of April 2023] years." </i><i><br /></i></p><p style="text-align: right;"><i><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Unschooling" target="_blank">Wikipedia</a></i>, May 26, 2023<br /></p></blockquote><p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjfrtX-xA8MnkXKWdSlNfwIEDzzHXhGhTSYcQnGHxzWmO7-oDNqlyIkZSzWRJyd0vQxuu2y26wCtK7F33-bN4cw5ODOff0jxYabEss0N_rmJn1VAq-QQh-EAvx47IDJoA0Nk5quhZFj9L3GnmV6waPtlkA0KVOhJNcK96-c8v-hLOrtH2EFMirF3zk/s1600/diagram%20of%20rhubarb.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjfrtX-xA8MnkXKWdSlNfwIEDzzHXhGhTSYcQnGHxzWmO7-oDNqlyIkZSzWRJyd0vQxuu2y26wCtK7F33-bN4cw5ODOff0jxYabEss0N_rmJn1VAq-QQh-EAvx47IDJoA0Nk5quhZFj9L3GnmV6waPtlkA0KVOhJNcK96-c8v-hLOrtH2EFMirF3zk/w320-h240/diagram%20of%20rhubarb.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>diagram of rhubarb, by Rhiannon, age 10</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>If you haven't read about unschooling before, and find this perplexing or fascinating, you may want to click through to Wikipedia and read the whole article. It's great! Or read books and articles by John Holt. And consider how each of those many ideas applies to our lives and upbringing as humans on this earth. Or as animals. Or as plants. My daughter, at age ten, wrote <a href="https://economyofjoy.blogspot.com/2014/07/economy-of-joy-in-plants.html" target="_blank">a blog about gift economies</a>, which was her passion at the time, and she noticed that rhubarb plants were funnelling rain water for themselves, while also redirecting a certain percentage to the ground (and other plants) around them--they were sharing! Because it was good for their shared ecology and future! I am still amazed by the connection she made, and by the extrapolation from humans to plants. The basic concepts of unschooling are like this, too: we can extrapolate these ideas to every aspect of our lives, communities, and ecologies and benefit.<p></p><p>So what are the myths?</p><p>Oh, there are plenty... here's my non-exhaustive list of top myths and misconceptions. Some are harmful to our kids' growth and lives in community, some prevent our kids from participating in activities with their friends, and some prevent non-unschooled kids from accessing the same benefits as unschooled kids do. Let's debunk these things so we all can thrive! 💚</p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Unschooled Kids Are Disadvantaged, Can't Compete in the Real World, or Won't Thrive as Adults</b></span></p><p>In the last decade, academic research has finally begun to take stock of this issue, thanks hugely to Gina Riley and Peter Gray, and here's a list of papers for you: <a href="https://link.springer.com/chapter/10.1007/978-3-030-49292-2_9">https://link.springer.com/chapter/10.1007/978-3-030-49292-2_9</a> And especially, this: <br /></p><p><i></i></p><blockquote><div><i>"A sample of 75 adults, who had been unschooled for at least the
years that would have been their last two years of high school, answered
questions about their subsequent pursuits of higher education and
careers. Eighty-three percent of them had gone on to some form of formal
higher education and 44 percent had either completed or were currently
in a bachelor's degree program. Overall, they reported little difficulty
getting into colleges and universities of their choice and adapting to
the academic requirements there, despite not having the usual admissions
credentials. Those who had been unschooled throughout what would have
been their K-12 years were more likely to go on to a bachelor's program
than were those who had some schooling or curriculum-based homeschooling
during those years. Concerning careers, despite their young median age,
most were gainfully employed and financially independent. A high
proportion of them-especially of those in the always-unschooled group-</i><i>had
chosen careers in the creative arts; a high proportion were
self-employed entrepreneurs; and a relatively high proportion,
especially of the men, were in STEM careers. Most felt that their
unschooling benefited them for higher education and careers by promoting
their sense of personal responsibility, self-motivation, and desire to
learn."<span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: right;"><i>~G. Riley; P. Gray: <a href="https://www.othereducation.org/index.php/OE/article/view/105" target="_blank">Grown Unschoolers' Experiences with Higher Education and Employment: Report II on a Survey of 75 Unschooled Adults</a> (2015)</i></div></blockquote><p>For perspective, the tertiary education enrollment percentage in 2020 was 80% for Canada in 88% for the USA. (<a href="https://data.worldbank.org/indicator/SE.TER.ENRR?type=points&view=map" target="_blank">Worldbank data</a>) So unschoolers fare about the same as conventionally-schooled kids as far as higher-education enrolment goes--possibly better, in fact, since this data came from 2015, and the World Bank data (from five years later), shows that enrolment has been increasing. It's also becoming <a href="https://www.nbcnews.com/feature/college-game-plan/colleges-welcome-growing-number-homeschooled-students-n520126" target="_blank">much easier</a> for unschoolers to be accepted to colleges and universities without the usual prerequisites, like highschool diplomas. What would the data tell us if it was all current? </p><p>But is tertiary education even necessary for success in adulthood? <a href="https://rickshawunschooling.blogspot.com/2021/02/ive-changed-my-thinking-on-university.html" target="_blank">Unschoolers are questioning this</a>, too. In his article, <a href="https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/freedom-to-learn/201406/survey-of-grown-unschoolers-iii-pursuing-careers" target="_blank">Survey of Grown Unschoolers III: Pursuing Careers</a>, Peter Gray states that his study "found that most [surveyed unschooled adults] have gone on to careers that are extensions of interests and passions they developed in childhood
play; most have chosen careers that are meaningful, exciting, and
joyful to them over careers that are potentially more lucrative; a high
percentage have pursued careers in the creative arts; and quite a few
(including 50% of the men) have pursued STEM careers." </p><p>Of course Gray's article considers both those who attained tertiary education and those who did not, but nearly twenty years of unschooling has shown me that unschooling makes kids particularly skilled at creating meaningful careers via non-traditional avenues, as well as resourceful, in living within their means, finding growth, discovery, and income in unexpected places. The mechanism that promotes this resourcefulness is exploration. Kids who grow up with not only freedom but also the necessity of finding their own paths learn experientially how to make the best of all situations. Most situations aren't managed or directed for them, so they learn to do these things for themselves, often at an earlier age than schooled kids, for whom the path was determined by someone else, and groomed by the thousands or millions of students who walked it, before. </p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Kids Need to Learn That Not Everything Is Going to Be Easy</b></span></p><p>There's an idea that school struggles (failure, bullying, unkind teachers, exhaustion, having to learn things when we don't want to) are helpful for growth. Yes, kids do grow from these experiences, but they're not real-world, and when we leave school we usually find ourselves in very different circumstances. Let's look at a couple of these things individually:</p><p>Social issues like unkind teachers and schoolyard (or in-class) bullying can be opportunities for learning to manage difficult situations--especially if there's support to do so. But in larger schools there is rarely support--if adults are even aware of the situation. Part of the reason my partner and I avoided sending our kids to school was that we were both relentlessly bullied throughout school, even sometimes while teachers were watching, and we were never helped. We didn't learn positive social skills from our many years of this experience. We learned not to trust figures of authority, or our peers. My partner learned to hide, and I learned to hate myself. This is not growth. We wanted something different for our kids, and we felt that giving them smaller groups with thoughtful adult oversight (as appropriate) gave them more opportunity to experience varied social situations and grow, without being permanently harmed. For the record, I'm not saying schools can't provide the support needed, but currently, by and large, schools are strapped for human and other resources, and not able to do so.</p><p>Having to learn when we don't want to might seem like a normal part of life, but after a couple of decades discovering explorative learning, I've seen that it's not helpful. Sometimes the obscure facts we had to learn in school become cemented later on, when the information becomes relevant, but if kids learn the things to begin with when it's relevant, it's cemented then. So there's nothing lost in not teaching things earlier. Sometimes, in fact, teaching things before children are developmentally ready to learn them, or when it's not yet relevant to their experience, we waste valuable time and energy that might have been used in more directly meaningful activities.<br /></p><p>Also, unschooling is not easy. Unschooled kids encounter most of the same challenges that schooled kids do, but are encouraged to work out solutions for themselves, in their own ways, at their own pace. Life is still life, we still live, develop and learn to thrive in the same society, and learning is still learning. It's never easy.<br /></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Unschooling Is Only for People Who Can Afford to Stay Home with Their Kids</b></span></p><p>It breaks my heart to say this, but yes--it's partly true. Definitely in the early years, unschooling can be financially out-of-reach for single and/or low income parents. Also for parents without community support. School (and after-school programs) are a daycare system for many parents. In fact, </p><blockquote><p>"John Foster (2011, p. 3) asserts that schooling ...tends to evolve in the direction of capitalist-class imperatives, which subordinate it to the needs of production and accumulation. He goes on to claim that public schools are more concerned with compliance and adherence to rules – skills needed for unskilled factory labor – and that a high quality education that focuses on leadership skills is reserved for children of America’s ‘governing class’ in private schools like Phillips Andover Academy (Bush’s alma mater) or Punahou School (Obama’s alma mater)."<br /></p><p style="text-align: right;">~Schneller, <a href="https://files.eric.ed.gov/fulltext/ED574217.pdf" target="_blank">Capitalism and Public Education in the United States</a></p></blockquote><p>I don't have a handy quotation or data source for this, but am acutely aware that for our capitalist economy to function, most adults need to be working outside the home, consuming goods and paying, for most of their lives. The corporations (and elite) who own most of the wealth depend on the majority of the population to be working, in order to continue amassing that wealth. And from an individual middle- or lower-class perspective, the more this continues, the more we'll have to have two incomes just to afford food and shelter, so... schools that function as childcare are a necessity for survival. And survival is increasingly difficult for single parents.</p><p>If you're struggling just for food and shelter, you don't have time for stay-at-home-parenting, which is generally required for unschooling in the early years. There are, of course, quite a few families, who out of determination, desperation or luck, manage to work (and unschool) from home. Or who live in community or family situations that enable them to have free, exploration-friendly childcare, while they work. So it's not impossible, but you will never hear me say it's easy.</p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Unschoolers Are Privileged</b></span> <br /></p><p>Yes, my family is very privileged, not only financially, because my partner makes enough money to support us on his income alone, but also because we have the support of my parents, and because we're resourceful and happy to live with less than many. We did make sacrifices of time, experiences, and money in order to unschool. I also sacrificed what might have been the best years of my career. But I chose to have kids, and raising them to the absolute best of my ability was part of that, so these sacrifices are nothing in comparison to what we've gained. In fact, I don't think of them as sacrifices at all. That--the ability to see and value my privilege--is the greatest privilege I have.</p><p>But are we blind to our privilege? Are we greedy? I don't think so. Like many unschoolers, we work to help make unschooling an option for others, to bring the values of it into the community and into the public school systems, as much as possible. We work to promote the idea that freedom in learning and development can create wonderful communities and a prosperous future for humanity (<i>especially</i> in this time where many former careers are being handed over to machines, but that's another story). I think the greatest gift of having privilege is spreading it about. Like those rhubarb plants in my daughter's diagram: You take what you need, and share the rest around, because it's better for everyone in the end.</p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Unschooled Kids Are Smart. Most Couldn't Teach Themselves.</b></span></p><p>My kids are no smarter than other kids. They've just been given opportunities (freedom in life and education; time to explore) that many kids don't have, so they do things that seem impressive. They don't do these things because they're smart; they do these things because they had time and energy, while other kids were too busy. </p><p>I've often been told my kids have success because they learned things easily or "so early". No they didn't. They're about average. There's a lot that schooled kids will have been taught that mine never chose to learn. Like how to play football, or the plot synopses of hundred-year-old novels. Like calculus (my daughter) or mental math (my son, though despite this he studied calculus in college). Actually that's a great representation of the way unschooling looks, on paper: scattered. But in truth, while schooled kids often go through the expected routes to complete each step before moving on to the next, they also forget many of the things they were taught on those steps, and still end up in college calculus without being able to easily calculate thirteen minus five in their heads. That's why we have calculators. We access and use and forget and regain the tools we need as we need them. Unschooled kids are no different. Maybe they still learned about plot synopses, but it was because they were going through book reviews online, trying to find their next great read. Actually that might be how schooled kids ended up learning the same thing.<br /></p><p>Also, all kids teach themselves. Or they "end up learning". Because learning is about discovery, and discovery comes from exploration, and it's in our nature to explore. From the moment babies discovered their first sensations in the womb, to the first time they discovered they could put their tiny premature thumbs in their mouths, to the moment they took their first steps and later made their first independent purchases, or partnerships... our kids have been exploring and learning all the time. The only difference with unschoolers is that they're encouraged to do so. (And in schools, the best teachers are facilitators of exploration.) The more opportunity kids have to explore and discover, the more they learn. <br /></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Unschooled Kids are Weird. And Antisocial.</b></span></p><p>I've heard this one so many times. Even from my kids' friends' parents. Maybe sometimes unschoolers are weird, but only because we're still in the minority. I'm the first person to admit that unschooling comes at a social cost. Not only because there are very few kids (especially in small communities like mine) who are available for social interaction on school days, but because we're often not welcomed by community programs, or other parents who are worried about exposing their own kids to unschoolers. Want to help? Welcome our kids! You'll get to know us and we'll all get more social interaction (and learning experiences!) It's that easy. 🙂</p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Unschoolers Are Radical Leftists, Communists, Conspiracy Theorists, Right-Wingers, Etc.</b></span></p><p>Nope. Well not more than in any community, anyway. We're just people trying to do the best we can for our kids. Unschooling is a radical choice in this stage of our culture's development, but that doesn't mean we're radical in other ways. Well actually... my regenerative garden is seen as radical, too, but I digress. And I suggest there are a lot of radical parents at every public school, as well, including unschoolers. </p><p><b><span style="font-size: large;">Unschoolers Don't Go to School!</span></b></p><p>Most unschoolers I know went to school at some point for a myriad of reasons. Mostly in lower grades because parents found it necessary for social or childcare reasons, and often in higher grades because the kids wanted to challenge themselves, to hang out with school-going friends, or to obtain some kind of diploma or degree. And unsurprisingly, there is a lot of crossover between education professionals (teachers, aides, tutors, mentors, advisors, and curriculum developers) and unschooling parents. What happens is that when you really learn a lot about how the education system works (and doesn't), and you're really committed to creating a better future for our society's children, you often end up looking into unschooling. If not for your own children, then for how you can implement its benefits in your classroom. As an unschooling parent and explorative learning educator, I've mentored various teachers on how to bring aspects of explorative learning (unschooling) into classrooms (and how to bring classes out of rooms--ha!) Unschoolers most definitely do go to school.</p><p><b><span style="font-size: large;">Unschoolers Miss Out on All the Classic Childhood Experiences</span></b></p><p>This one breaks my heart because in one very important way, it's true. Of course unschoolers usually miss out on classic childhood experiences, like high school grad (and elementary school grad, and kindergarten grad...), and that mean teacher that everybody loved to complain about, and the amazing school trips, and the sports they learned in gym class that most unschoolers don't ever learn. </p><p>I told myself that's OK because lots of kids miss out on expected traditions. As a parent wanting to have made the right choices for my kids, I reminded myself that millions of high-schoolers missed their grads because of COVID restrictions. Kids miss birthday parties because they're bullied and never invited. Kids miss out on sports because they were more interested in arts. Kids miss out on arts because schools aren't funded well enough to offer them... The list of things kids miss out on is endless. But that doesn't make the things unschoolers miss out on any easier on them.</p><p>The main thing unschoolers miss out on is a solid peer group. Especially in small communities like mine. No, it doesn't really matter that they missed out on the mean teacher or certain events. What does matter is that they weren't a part of the peer groups that experienced those. They lack the lexicon of all the mainstream kids; the inside jokes, the shared experience. In a big unschooling community this may not be an issue, but for my kids it was.<br /></p><p></p><p>Of course, despite this, my kids chose to continue unschooling, for the benefits it afforded them. They did soften the social impact some by attending a democratic school for a few years, but it was in the big city, and we lived on an island, so on the whole their unschooled life still came at the cost of peers. I don't regret giving them the option of unschooling, but this is the only cost that has made me question my choices. The only solution I can see is time. Hopefully the increasing trends of explorative learning in schools as well as of unschooling in general will mean that in another twenty years unschoolers will have a big cohort with whom to share experiences and memories. That will be the way we heal this.<br /></p>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<p>I think that's enough of my list. I hope this was enlightening, or comforting, or challenging, or whatever it is you need in your personal journey. I hope if you want to unschool your kids, this set some of your fears to rest. And I hope, like all of us, you keep exploring, discovering, learning, and enjoying the ride.<br /></p><i></i><p></p>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03100384225999745858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100692801739409317.post-13872870413400467362023-01-26T15:38:00.001-08:002023-01-26T15:38:51.124-08:00How Unschoolers (and all of us) Build Careers<p><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs x1xmvt09 x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u" dir="auto" lang="en"></span></p><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglmp7wJpx2sTpOOR0NMamu8fPyc71GB0TdWdqFfhcAT0yLp6c1R4_R0hUUXfGMdK-jnKewSQQODXP7SwFMxMWTSgzNoYvO2acVHXgdn_Qnn6mMAbFWZAxQe1d6rokRh47QzbentU6aGy6yEmX8wVupZQEZ2pgDFxFPMn5hX6KRw8RBkdrxtok5Mx5M/s359/20230103_tali%20annie%20lunch%20in%20their%20new%20home%20(2).jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="359" data-original-width="270" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglmp7wJpx2sTpOOR0NMamu8fPyc71GB0TdWdqFfhcAT0yLp6c1R4_R0hUUXfGMdK-jnKewSQQODXP7SwFMxMWTSgzNoYvO2acVHXgdn_Qnn6mMAbFWZAxQe1d6rokRh47QzbentU6aGy6yEmX8wVupZQEZ2pgDFxFPMn5hX6KRw8RBkdrxtok5Mx5M/w482-h640/20230103_tali%20annie%20lunch%20in%20their%20new%20home%20(2).jpg" width="482" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">High priority interest for my kids right now: experimental cooking!<br /></td></tr></tbody></table>My unschooled kids moved out recently, and now I'm processing all the choices we made! It's not so much the unschooling; there is no doubt in my mind that it served us all well. But the smaller choices we made on our twenty-one-year (so far) parenting journey have had huge impacts on our kids' career options; their confidence and courage, and even the way their interests have filtered into their careers. How DO people follow their interests into satisfying lives and careers, and what if they don't? I'm watching my kids' changing lives with fascination, remembering my own early adulthood, and discovering so much about how we grow and build our lives. So I thought I'd write a bit about this, from what is now my contemplation couch in my newly-empty, way-too-quiet nest.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><h3 style="text-align: left;">Unschooling in the First Place: Why It Serves Us Well</h3></div><div style="text-align: left;">The root premise of unschooling is freedom to grow along one's own path, following ones own interests. It means not being confined by the needs of classrooms, social expectations, or parents' expectations. Of course, unschooling parents raised in a schooled society (which is most of us) struggle very hard not to reproduce those constraints, so our kids rarely have pure freedom, but with our eyes on the unschooling prize we're supposedly holding that freedom of mind and growth in our hearts, and working towards it. I titled this section in the present tense and with 'us' very intentionally: It doesn't just serve our children well, and it didn't just do so while they lived at home. The freedom and responsibility of making and following all of our own expectations has served each of us well, and it continues to do so, now that the kids have moved out.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Unschooling isn't easy for anybody. That's because it's all about taking life at face value and being responsible for our own actions. It's actually what everyone everywhere is doing every day, but unschoolers do it intentionally--and life is just not ever easy. But it's good. It's good to have to make hard decisions. It's good to be disappointed or hurt and have to become resilient. It's good to learn to honour one's own needs; to put them before conformity, while always keeping the needs of others in mind as well. It's good to learn balance and responsibility and independence. All of these things are values that my various schools attempted to teach me, but I didn't learn them there. I learned them after I left, lived on my own, and began (slowly) taking responsibility for my own life. This is what unschooling does for children (and the caregivers who raise them): It gives them the responsibility as soon as they want it, so they can learn to handle and navigate life as it comes to them, instead of after they get out of school. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The schooled mindset relies on following a plan laid out by staff and administrators--or by parents and curriculum writers, in the case of homeschooling. The point of unschooling is to step out of that mindset, set our own paths, and fumble along until we meet our own expectations. Or not, as the case may be.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><h3>Confidence and Courage</h3><div style="text-align: left;">Fumbling and failing is a huge part of unschooling--and life, of course. My partner went to all the schools his parents chose for him, took some courses he liked and some he didn't, had lots of great experiences, and then went to university to study engineering. The first thing he did when he got there was to leave his religion behind. He was called to the university chapel after they got news of his arrival from his parents' church, and he gently told them he wasn't interested. I believe this, and a permanent change from short to long hair were some of the first steps he took towards making his own life-choices. Then he meandered over to a focus on physics and astronomy. It was around this time that I became Wiccan, and started dating conventionally-unacceptable people. Lots of them. I had to find my path! By the time I met my partner, I was no longer Wiccan, having re-embraced my atheist roots, and he was working in a Chinese convenience store and studying computer science. He was deeply interested in philosophy, which he processed muchly through conversations with the people who sat drinking concealed bottles-of-something at his corner-store-coffee-bar during his night-shifts. None of this was where we thought we'd end up when we left high school. It's just the fumbling that adults do, once we are handed the reins to our life and have no actual idea where we're going!</div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;">Back to my own (adult) kids: Right now they're experimenting a lot with food. Having moved out of our rural home and into the city, they've discovered all kinds of options for foods that didn't exist when I was doing the shopping. They've already had Door-Dash deliveries, signed up for a local Too-Good-to-Go discount grocery program (through which they've had some successes and some --ew-- failures), and explored all kinds of local grocery stores for the best deals on new and interesting and familiar foods. They sometimes tell us about the meals they invent, or send photos. The biggest deal of the photo up above, for me, is those beautiful smiles. My kids are quite obviously proud of themselves, and what more could I possibly want, as a parent? That pride will buoy them over all the fumbles and tumbles of life. <br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">This fumbling--and the chunks of pride that carry our resilience--is how we build confidence. We experiment and meet failure after disappointment after unexpected adventure, and at every turn in the path we find a little more resilience; a little more determination and courage to make the next decision. To experiment more and learn more. Unschooling is all about facilitating that growth throughout childhood instead of afterwards. (Not that the growth ends with adulthood, as we and my kids are demonstrating!)<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><h3>How We Follow Interests</h3></div><div style="text-align: left;">As parents, caregivers and educators, we're often focused on identifying our kids' interests so we can support them. <i>Oh--you like circus? Let's find a circus program!</i> and <i>Oh, you're interested in science? Here's a microscope.</i> Sometimes these 'supports' are just the ticket our kids needed to the railroad of their dreams. Sometimes they couldn't care less, and even worse, sometimes our enthusiasm tethers them to fleeting interests that weren't empowered by or even embodied in the supports we offered. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">As a parent I've often felt disappointed when my kids didn't use the fancy tools we got for their supposed interests. I know I passed that disappointment onto them, and it turned into self-doubt, shame, and confusion about the paths they were on. How could my music-loving daughter <i>possibly</i> not want to play the Appalachian dulcimer that my mother bought for her? It's a tradition among the women of our family, for goodness sake, and she already plays guitar! It took me quite a while to leave my disappointment behind and accept that her journey might not include dulcimer. Or even music. She's now nannying and working as an assistant dog-trainer, while studying to become a certified positive reinforcement trainer. None of this was what I expected when she was ten and dressing up as Melanie Martinez. But she's happy. Likely happier, in fact, than she might have been trying to climb the ladder to pop stardom. And in the end, isn't that all we actually wanted for our children? </div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>Oh, and the dulcimer? She took it with her to the city, where it's hanging on her wall, and enjoys being played there by her and her friends. What looks like rejection to us parents is sometimes actually just reinvention.<br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Having an interest-driven career isn't even necessarily important. Or a single career. I often think my partner may have gotten more personal growth out of his needs-based night-shift convenience store job than he's ever gotten since out of his programming career. Now he follows his personal interests on YouTube, raising his children, building his home, and down at the docks talking to some boat guys. He likes his job as a software developer because it's stable, the people he works with are generally friendly, and he doesn't have to take it home with him. I guess for some people that's what matters in a career!</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I'm not like that. I can only concentrate on an absolute passion. Too bad for math class and social studies in high school. I became an artist and then an art teacher, and then as I passionately unschooled my kids I drifted on to become a wilderness and explorative learning educator. Now they've moved out and I'm taking my art career more seriously. And it doesn't seem odd at all to me that all my installations are about social change. I guess what didn't interest me in high school does now. (<i>What looks like rejection might just be reinvention...</i>) Because I found out through fumbling how social science matters in my world. But most of my time is spent gardening or raising chickens. And I like that too.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><h3>What About Skill-Building?</h3></div><div style="text-align: left;">What if my kid actually wants to become a concert violinist, and I allowed him to skip out on lessons just because his heart felt like <a href="https://rickshawunschooling.blogspot.com/2011/03/talis-mining-shovel.html" target="_blank">digging a "mine"</a> beside our driveway?? Sure. It could happen. (<i>That was my son.</i>) And what if we destroyed their passion for violin by pushing lessons when they just weren't into that? (<i>Speaking from experience, here...</i>) What if we destroyed their confidence in making choices for themselves by telling them we knew better, and that one day they would WANT to have learned to play violin? (<i>Also us...</i>) So my son never did pick up his violin again. He taught himself piano, instead, and digital music, and now sometimes he uses his music in videos. His career focus at the moment is <a href="https://taliesinriver.com" target="_blank">digital art</a>, but self-taught music makes him happy. We can't know what skills our kids will need, and we certainly can't know when or why they'll need them.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The amazing thing is, they WILL build them when they need them, if we can keep our fears and convictions out of their way. Once I finally stepped out of my kids' way, they taught themselves all kinds of skills they really needed: Math, piano, cooking, social skills, and even job-seeking and career-building. Once in a while they came to me for help, like when they wanted me to read over their resumes, and it felt like all the sparkles of joy got dumped on my head!!! Sometimes our kids do need us, but they need to be on their own for both skill-building AND deciding what skills to build. No matter how painful the process is for us parents to watch.<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><h3>Building Careers</h3></div>What career? What goal? What if "having an interest" is
not the goal? What if instead we spend our kids' lives encouraging
flexible navigation of any and all interests? We don't all have a single
interest, and in fact most of us are always navigating a few. And they change. Maybe our kids were going to be concert pianists yesterday and today they're going to be magicians or farmers. Tomorrow they just want to bake cookies. Not for a career. Just because YUM. Maybe we
work at our dream job, and focus all life around it. Or maybe we
volunteer at what we're passionate about, and work to make ends meet. Or
maybe we just work at a place where our friends work because it makes
us happy; maybe friends are the current passion. Or cooking new foods
each night, or reading, or parenting...</div><span class="x193iq5w xeuugli x13faqbe x1vvkbs x1xmvt09 x1lliihq x1s928wv xhkezso x1gmr53x x1cpjm7i x1fgarty x1943h6x xudqn12 x3x7a5m x6prxxf xvq8zen xo1l8bm xzsf02u" dir="auto" lang="en"><div class="x11i5rnm xat24cr x1mh8g0r x1vvkbs xtlvy1s"><div style="text-align: left;"> </div><div dir="auto" style="text-align: start;">I have no clue who my children will be in another ten or twenty years. I have no clue who I'll be! But we keep on unschooling through life--reminding ourselves of the importance of recognising and following our hearts' needs--and we trust that we'll build the courage and resilience we need to stay upright around the unexpected turns. Or to right ourselves after we fall. We don't know where we're going, and we're learning to love the journey.<br /></div></div></span><p></p>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03100384225999745858noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100692801739409317.post-18287209175618863632022-12-28T17:56:00.000-08:002022-12-28T17:56:20.294-08:00Big Changes at the Phantom Rickshaw<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_75epiuxzWFen4L7f-bvV3x-oq3dEgB-LZ4GxGMQn4UBeqxmjkLv12PMal91O21OcFf_UOu2o4biDQZpF1lRj80DlU6PQRe3bJp2u_fuyQB-D3dpFbgmHiywpEWjA_TqZQCJJf36rqg6RLc67DkzsbYCOWFVqrfTkcMU_7F9qTaYgQALlAF75OJhd/s5788/_DSF1084.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5788" data-original-width="3859" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_75epiuxzWFen4L7f-bvV3x-oq3dEgB-LZ4GxGMQn4UBeqxmjkLv12PMal91O21OcFf_UOu2o4biDQZpF1lRj80DlU6PQRe3bJp2u_fuyQB-D3dpFbgmHiywpEWjA_TqZQCJJf36rqg6RLc67DkzsbYCOWFVqrfTkcMU_7F9qTaYgQALlAF75OJhd/w426-h640/_DSF1084.jpg" width="426" /></a></div>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. <p></p><p>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. <a href="https://taliesinriver.com/">Taliesin is a digital artist</a>, 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.<br /></p><p>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.<br /></p><p>I recently watched <a href="https://www.aptnnews.ca/investigates/nuxalk-carve-totem-poles-to-resist-potential-gold-mines/" target="_blank">this poignant short documentary</a> 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.</p><p>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. <br /></p><p>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?<br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtBc7YUYWIyufvLDM8Z7goTS1BWWZ1A7a8ad5HhkolQ7F1pBw2SUkvYRdC8yKsxOMdFnUaMgyP0oc5JjtAjlMdExUwyNA1zbdSkC2pVfSQRB-BRiD9he6CYQqGDX7G3lGOz_SnuBg7dbTrXYE-_Sl4WClHhCVKhGIirxswTP0nJD5mdB7BGWU5a-Kr/s583/20221223_emily%20helping%20markus%20make%20the%20wreath_001%20(Small).JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="583" height="329" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtBc7YUYWIyufvLDM8Z7goTS1BWWZ1A7a8ad5HhkolQ7F1pBw2SUkvYRdC8yKsxOMdFnUaMgyP0oc5JjtAjlMdExUwyNA1zbdSkC2pVfSQRB-BRiD9he6CYQqGDX7G3lGOz_SnuBg7dbTrXYE-_Sl4WClHhCVKhGIirxswTP0nJD5mdB7BGWU5a-Kr/w400-h329/20221223_emily%20helping%20markus%20make%20the%20wreath_001%20(Small).JPG" width="400" /></a></div>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.<p></p><p>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 <a href="http://emilyartist.ca/">art career</a> I've always kept percolating on the back burner. Even my art has been largely parenting-focused, though. More questions. </p><p>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.<br /></p>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03100384225999745858noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100692801739409317.post-26437327764934645912022-10-21T11:19:00.001-07:002022-10-21T11:19:20.054-07:00More than Just Food: Why I Love My Veggie Garden<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi35TxG3WkEZGDPcUKZo_ZnD3g23kyPMWxboZ-XVOgkr1PW_4meQVst_0i7f2xPvh09xb3pM21HmhazTSoeP1CkzAImdbbsE69j55P5_8T_R3_98vnPiXPS1sIpv7IZxRy8QlK4LBkB1M8RFgv5ZFmQ9xhYSyWlW7cVuYgNACbQV3giHtld_q5hXc79/s8000/20221021_processing%20kale_001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4500" data-original-width="8000" height="360" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi35TxG3WkEZGDPcUKZo_ZnD3g23kyPMWxboZ-XVOgkr1PW_4meQVst_0i7f2xPvh09xb3pM21HmhazTSoeP1CkzAImdbbsE69j55P5_8T_R3_98vnPiXPS1sIpv7IZxRy8QlK4LBkB1M8RFgv5ZFmQ9xhYSyWlW7cVuYgNACbQV3giHtld_q5hXc79/w640-h360/20221021_processing%20kale_001.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>Last night my partner, daughter and I sat around pulling freshly-washed kale leaves off their stems, inspecting each one for aphids, and giving the odd stem to our kale-loving dog, Clara. My partner arranged them in the dehydrator, and this morning I took them out and poked them carefully through a funnel into a jar, using a wooden spoon that's entirely the wrong shape for the job, but manages. I thought to myself how much more efficient the job would be if I had a giant funnel! I could dump the whole bowl of leaves on and just press it in with a perfectly-sized dowel--or something. And immediately I knew that was wrong. Hastening the job would mean taking the love out of it. I'd lose all the time for happy thoughts about warm winter potatoes and casseroles full of our homegrown kale, and all the culinary experiments to come. In these somewhat inefficient chores, I find time for creative thinking, and, more importantly, appreciation of my life and the choices I've made.</p><p></p><p>We started growing vegetables in earnest at the beginning of the pandemic, imagining that it might be a good idea, in case supply chains were disrupted. Well they sure were disrupted, although more by climate and political disasters than by covid, in the end. And then the inflation. Now, as we slowly learn what we can grow in our yard, and how to make the most of our climate and opportunities, we save probably over a thousand dollars a year growing our own veggies, and on top of that we have a kind of food security that was unavailable to us, before. This benefit grows every year as we improve our skills and methods. If we really just *can't* buy food anymore, we're reasonably confident that we can grow enough to survive, as long as we find a space to plant more grains and potatoes. We've developed an understanding of feeding ourselves that we sorely lacked, before.</p><p></p><p>But what kind of life would ours be if the job of feeding ourselves was a burden? I don't want to live through hard times in misery and desperation! I want to find the positives in whatever our capitalist decline throws at us. And gardening is a huge positive, if I choose for it!! Do I like the endless weeding? No! Do I like watering again and again, watching things die fruitless after I nurtured them for months, and running the well dry just trying to save it all? NO! The stress and the worry? NO! But ... I'm saving myself a different stress and worry, and I'm learning to live with these ups and downs that are and have always been a part of farming... just rather more extreme now with climate change. I'm learning to make use of the monotonous tasks of farming as space for creativity and mindfulness.<br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVrymIjiywaotzHXj4hpnh1DlQLFHYqyYxyK8AAFqp0Q2aJnd9w75cWsZT3FMx8cr1ArvupIZ2u5gmwvdYK8ovKzVnLpN6ceQrA5-L-AP596xIYZcrnTWNrVfs-4_NChSNvg6vqCbcljzm9hsFuvCFFjjU-qMfmI1rLZV0pwuMbDsIX7sHJrNMkiVu/s7313/20221020_emily%20with%20broccoli%20and%20cauliflower%20harvest_001c%20(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="7313" data-original-width="3997" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVrymIjiywaotzHXj4hpnh1DlQLFHYqyYxyK8AAFqp0Q2aJnd9w75cWsZT3FMx8cr1ArvupIZ2u5gmwvdYK8ovKzVnLpN6ceQrA5-L-AP596xIYZcrnTWNrVfs-4_NChSNvg6vqCbcljzm9hsFuvCFFjjU-qMfmI1rLZV0pwuMbDsIX7sHJrNMkiVu/w350-h640/20221020_emily%20with%20broccoli%20and%20cauliflower%20harvest_001c%20(2).jpg" width="350" /></a></div>So this year we had an extremely late and cold spring. There was a bitter cold snap just as the apples flowered, and very few were pollinated, since the bees were in hiding. When summer finally arrived in late July, the bees hid again during a heat-wave just as the beans flowered, so we had very few beans in the end, too. Heat waves also killed off the summer lettuces and two of our hens, and scorched our peppers so they rotted before they ripened. The very late summer burned on into mid-October, with a deepening drought that threatens to kill all kinds of things, across our province. This sounds like a disaster movie. Or the Grapes of Wrath. But some things, like the brassicas, did thrive, and yesterday--the last sunny day before the much-prayed-for-rains--we harvested what needs to stay dry, and were reminded of the goodness in this life we chose.<p></p><p>Apples, quinces, kale, tomatoes, herbs, celery, cauliflower, broccoli, and seeds for planting next year all were gathered and carried in to our kitchen table. Even three last zucchinis! As I mentioned, we spent the evening processing kale, and we'll likely process the apples and quinces this weekend, while revelling in the glorious, glorious rain. We're planning to just sit under our covered porch and watch the rain fall, this afternoon. There is SO MUCH to be grateful for. I'm so incredibly glad we chose to grow our food together, to learn what we need to know in order to do so, and to develop an appreciation for all the things that make life possible: the seasons, the rain and sun, the persistence of life and good spirits, and loved ones with whom to relish it all. <br /></p>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03100384225999745858noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100692801739409317.post-34997483839989587092022-08-20T21:43:00.002-07:002022-08-20T22:39:49.688-07:00Raising Disciplined Adults without Punishment<p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG-T0z-cAkmtuhHK6r7v8ye_epna0ItDchNYAPxuWez7rDULjCbyXStW4iqcI6zeojXcs4t3qxaLAExeYdp8tC12MO4bbluFgHJ3q7RtKCcnAKKgpdIk74ODdpxAbkmqCJ2stJRRclZnZQ9iGozN13-u0qXCWgiebymRj1_B0tl7QbFgnAYvX_PbMSmA/s1490/20220309_tali%20with%20a%20picture%20of%20tali_01%20(2).jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1490" data-original-width="1395" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG-T0z-cAkmtuhHK6r7v8ye_epna0ItDchNYAPxuWez7rDULjCbyXStW4iqcI6zeojXcs4t3qxaLAExeYdp8tC12MO4bbluFgHJ3q7RtKCcnAKKgpdIk74ODdpxAbkmqCJ2stJRRclZnZQ9iGozN13-u0qXCWgiebymRj1_B0tl7QbFgnAYvX_PbMSmA/w375-h400/20220309_tali%20with%20a%20picture%20of%20tali_01%20(2).jpg" width="375" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>my 20-year-old son with one of his current devices</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></div>I
was hauling on my son's laptop so hard I wrenched my shoulder. I heard
myself blaming him for the injury over the grunting of his determined
self, gripping and salvaging the one device he owned from my attempted
theft. I have no idea what reprehensible act he'd committed. It may not
have been related to the laptop, even. I just remember that I thought
his behaviour was absolutely inexcusable, and the only power I had to
change him was the threat of taking away something important to him. So
when the threat didn't work, I felt obliged to act on it. And obviously
he felt obliged to save his laptop. And that's how I ended up having a
physical altercation with my beloved son. I didn't recognize the harm
I'd done until I had the laptop, and looked back into his anguished face
to realize that the important thing I'd taken from him wasn't the
laptop--it was his faith in me. The look was betrayal. It took us a long
time to repair our bond, and a lot of personal growth for me to forgive
myself for that. And in that time I really cemented my belief that the
only way to raise responsible adults with a sense of self-esteem and
self-discipline is to do so without imposed discipline.<br /><p></p><p>I feel like it's important to tease apart our culture's complex understanding of the word "discipline".<br /></p><p><a href="https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/discipline" target="_blank">Merriam Webster says that</a> discipline is: <br /></p><div class="sb has-num has-let">
<span class="sb-0">
<div class="sense has-sn">
<span class="sn sense-1 a"><span class="num">1<span> </span></span><span class="letter">a</span></span>
<span class="dt">
<span class="dtText"><b class="mw_t_bc">: </b>control gained by enforcing obedience or order</span>
</span>
</div> </span>
<span class="sb-1">
<div class="sense has-sn">
<span class="sn sense-b"><span class="letter"><span> </span><span> </span>b</span></span>
<span class="dt">
<span class="dtText"><b class="mw_t_bc">: </b>orderly or prescribed conduct or pattern of behavior</span>
</span>
</div> </span>
<span class="sb-2">
<div class="sense has-sn">
<span class="sn sense-c"><span class="letter"><span> </span> c</span></span>
<span class="dt">
<span class="dtText"><b class="mw_t_bc">: </b><span class="text-uppercase">self-control</span></span>
</span>
</div> </span>
</div>
<div class="sb has-num">
<span class="sb-0">
<div class="sense has-num-only">
<span class="sn sense-2"><span class="num">2</span></span>
<span class="dt">
<span class="dtText"><b class="mw_t_bc">: </b><span class="text-uppercase">punishment</span></span>
</span>
</div> </span>
</div>
<div class="sb has-num">
<span class="sb-0">
<div class="sense has-num-only">
<span class="sn sense-3"><span class="num">3</span></span>
<span class="dt">
<span class="dtText"><b class="mw_t_bc">: </b>training that corrects, molds, or perfects the mental faculties or moral character</span>
</span>
</div> </span>
</div>
<div class="sb has-num"><span class="sb-0"></span><span class="sb-0"><div class="sense has-num-only">
<span class="sn sense-4"><span class="num">4</span></span>
<span class="dt">
<span class="dtText"><b class="mw_t_bc">: </b>a field of study</span></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText"> </span></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText">Some
of those are straightforward, but there's an impossible contradiction
in there, too: The opposing natures of self-control vs. control gained
by external enforcement. They're not just different; they're mutually
destructive. We all want our kids to develop self-control, but our
conviction that they can develop it by being forced, coerced, bribed,
and threatened is simply wrong. And we're busy raising consecutive
generations of people who have to tumble through adult life on a
constant painful roller-coaster of building, breaking, fighting, and
rebuilding self-control. </span></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText"> </span></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText">Really? Am I out to lunch? No, I'm not. <a href="https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4791480/" target="_blank">Study</a> after <a href="https://www.gse.harvard.edu/news/uk/19/09/school-discipline-linked-later-consequences" target="_blank">study</a> (after <a href="https://www.apa.org/monitor/2019/05/physical-discipline" target="_blank">study</a> after <a href="https://pubmed.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/25961815/" target="_blank">study</a>)
shows that punishment (call it "imposed negative consequences" if you
like) leads not to better behaviour in the long term, and often to a
lack of responsibility for one's actions. "</span></span><span class="dt"><span class="dtText">We showed that acting under coercion deeply modifies the sense of being
responsible for outcomes of one’s actions. It also attenuates the neural
processing of outcomes. Both results can be interpreted as a cognitive
operation of “distancing,” or reducing the linkage between one’s own
decision-making, action, and outcome." (*<a href="https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4791480/">Caspar, Christensen, Cleeremans, Haggard</a>.)<br /></span></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText"> </span></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText">To
put that in tangible terms for us parents and educators of kids, teens,
and young adults, the more we make the rules and enforce them, the more
our kids learn to follow blindly, without taking real, thought-out
responsibility for their choices and actions. Obviously, that's not what
we want. But in the moment it's so hard to change the behaviour our
whole culture has lived with for so long, that we were generally raised
with ourselves, and that produces the behavioural results we want,
instantly. If I really need my kid to get the chores done, I can just
bribe him with extra TV time, and he does the job! If I really need him
to get his homework done; to obey my rules, etc. etc. I can threaten to
take away his devices or even just hint at the threat of my pending
anger and he'll obey, right? </span></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText"><br /></span></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText">Yeah.
I've been down that road--as a kid and as a parent. And I did not like
the place it led to, which in the short term was generally discord or
all-out rebellion, and in the long term was apathy. </span></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText"> </span></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText">I
could write another few thousand words about the harm done to our
psyches and our culture at large by imposed "discipline" getting in the
way of self-discipline. But none of us has to look further than our own
memories and parenting experiences (or just school, policing, or public
space experiences) to find examples of times we or our kids surrendered
agency to just follow blindly, and might have done better if we'd
retained our agency. I want this article to be about solutions, so here
goes. This is pretty much a list of things I keep in mind, regarding how
my children will develop self-discipline. I'm not a psychologist; not
any kind of "expert", but I'm a parent and educator who was once a
child, and has put a great deal of thought, research, and practice into
this topic. These are the things I think about, especially in my own
family, and I encourage anyone to explore these ideas for themselves and
their families.<br /></span></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText"><br /></span></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText"><b><span style="font-size: medium;">Respect</span></b><br />I
think one of the deepest, most foundational concepts that leads to
self-regulation, self-discipline, independent thinking, and a sense of
self-worth is respect. As parents, we often demand respect, but respect
is mutual. It's built into the word: re:spect. Looking back at. It goes
two ways. So how are we respecting our children? How are we seeing them
looking at us, and looking back at them with open hearts and minds?<br /></span></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText"> </span></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText">Respect
is so basic that the exchange of it begins when our kids are infants.
Instead of respecting their needs for sleep, food and connection, we
often try to coerce their needs into our schedule. I mean, it's
obviously better for our own physical and emotional health, and that of
the rest of the family, but is it better for them? It means that in the
first days of their lives, they have already lost determination of
meeting their most basic needs. And it continues from there: We want to
talk to them when <i>we</i> have time; we want them to learn the things
that we think they should learn at the times we think they should learn
them, and we often don't see the value of their play. In fact, we use
the word "play" to devalue the work they are doing to grow.<br /></span></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText"><br /></span></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText">How
can we change this? Obviously, in a world that still expects children
to conform and be unobtrusive, it's nearly impossible. But our homes are
(hopefully) <i>our</i> domains, so that's where we can start. It begins
with attachment parenting practices: listening and learning from our
children, and reminding ourselves every single day that their needs are
genuine, and should be respected. Even when we don't see the value in
what our children are doing (or we don't understand why they're hungry <i>again</i>, or why they need more time than we have to give), this concept is paramount. </span></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText"><br /></span></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText">When
we respect our kids' needs, even if we don't understand them, we give
our kids the idea that their needs matter, and that they are responsible
for communicating them (and later, for meeting them). If my little one
says he needs to pee, and I take him a dozen times but he never pees, it
doesn't mean he didn't need to pee--it may just be that he's learning
how to perceive his bodily needs; how to determine the proper time to go
to the toilet, and how to regulate his body and needs. It may take him
months of false-attempts to get it right, and the more we interfere, the
longer he'll take to truly know his body and his need to use the
toilet. Similarly, if we hold back dessert, or use it as a bribe to get
our kids to eat vegetables, we've set up an artificial consequence that
interferes with our kids' own bodily determination and regulation.
Sometimes we fail to recognize that children are making choices because
of experiences we aren't aware of. A University of Granada study
suggests "</span></span>that the bitter taste of calcium, present in vegetables such as
spinach, collard greens, cabbage, onions, chard or broccoli, can be a
factor negatively influencing children's consumption of vegetables." <span class="sb-0"> (**<a href="https://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2011/06/110602084232.htm" target="_blank">Dominguez, University of Grenada</a>.) </span>So all that time we called them "picky eaters", our kids were just tasting something we had learned to ignore.<br /></div><div class="sense has-num-only"> </div><div class="sense has-num-only">Part
of respect is consent. Of course we all want to normalize asking for
and giving consent, but I personally have sometimes forgotten that this
normalization begins with me. So I've created psychological reminders
for myself to, for example, ask my kids' permission before posting
anecdotes or photos of them. They don't always give it, and that's mine
to deal with, not theirs. Another challenge for me is accepting their
non-consent and not nagging or trying to convince them. I'm working on
it. This article is published with my son's consent. <br /></div><div class="sense has-num-only"> </div><div class="sense has-num-only">How
is respect (or, as I've described, re:seeing our children's needs)
related to discipline? Much of the disciplinary action taken against
children is in an effort to force them to conform. Maybe, instead of
expecting them to conform to our needs, we need to conform to theirs.
Or, at least, recognize and provide for them.<br /></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span class="sb-0"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText"> </span></span></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><span class="sb-0"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText">Honesty/Trust</span></span></span></b></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span class="sb-0"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText">How
can our children safely state their needs to us if they risk punishment
for doing so? Most of us probably lost our kids' trust a very long time
before we even considered trusting them. And how are we earning their
trust? Obviously, an absence of punitive actions in their lives would
provide that safe place for them, as would a community of adults who are
open and honest, engendering trust and trustworthy behaviour in the
whole family. Like respect, trust is mutual.<br /></span></span></span><blockquote><i><span class="sb-0"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText">"</span></span></span><span class="sb-0"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText">Our goals, aspirations and outcomes are dependent on the collaborative
effort of those around us. In environments with higher trust levels
people are more willing to take the risks necessary for truly
significant advances." ~<a href="https://www.trustunlimited.com/about/" target="_blank">Trust Unlimited</a></span></span></span></i></blockquote><span class="sb-0"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText">Kids
know when we're dishonest; when we're uncomfortable sharing, and they
learn to mediate their own behaviour both to avoid danger, and to mimic
ours. They learn to stop asking questions when they can't trust the
answers they're receiving. They learn to lie when honesty is met with
disapproval or even anger. They learn not to trust themselves, when we
don't trust them. I envision a future (and I know plenty of families who
are living this reality already) where children are heard, respected,
and trusted automatically, from the moment they're born. The children of
these families are honest and take great responsibility for their own
actions. Because when we gave them our trust, they understood that we
trusted them to be responsible, and they rose to the challenge.<br /></span></span></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span class="sb-0"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText"> </span></span></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><span class="dt"><span class="dtText">Agency and Empowerment</span></span></b></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText">Humans
of every age are really good at rising to challenges. It makes us feel
fabulous to succeed, so we work for it with abandon, when given the
opportunity. The unschooling movement has shown that children who are
given agency with their own education become empowered, determined, and
responsible young adults. Universities are welcoming them with open
arms--even without highschool displomas--because self-motivated people
like that are a benefit to them. What happens when we empower our kids
emotionally, in the same way?</span></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText"><br /></span></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText">My
son is twenty, now, and I asked him to talk a bit about
self-discipline--for this article, but also because I'm curious how my
attempts at parenting towards agency and empowerment have worked out for
him, in this regard. His response was, "</span></span>In some ways I have good self-discipline, and I think I'm getting better
at figuring out what methods work. I often struggle with keeping good
habits and getting rid of bad ones, and over time I've found that
willpower alone doesn't usually work, and leaves me feeling defeated
when nothing changes. Instead I now prefer to find ways to make the
goals I want to achieve easier." (Taliesin)<br /></div><div class="sense has-num-only"> </div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span class="dt">Life
is never easy. Self-discipline, empowerment, lifestyle, personal
values, and questions of identity are always going to be a complex
journey for each of us, but I'm happy my son is able to feel in charge
of his journey, as well as able to articulate and share it.</span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><div class="sense has-num-only"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText"></span></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText"><br /></span></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><span class="dt"><span class="dtText">Attachment</span></span></b></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only">The
reason my son is willing to share his thoughts here is that our
relationship is built on attachment. Yes, it goes without saying that
there's also his hard-won confidence, our mutual trust and respect, and
his maturity. But it's our attachment that laid the foundation for all
of this, and my admittedly frequent efforts to salvage our attachment
when my parenting choices and personal mistakes broke it. </div><div class="sense has-num-only"> </div><div class="sense has-num-only">I
broke our attachment often. In times of weakness I criticized, yelled
at, and generally set a terrible example for my kids. I even purposely
tried to Ferberize him as a baby, when I hadn't yet understood his
nightly agony for what it was and just wanted to get some sleep (I
sobbed at his bedroom door until I gave up, thankfully before he did). I
bribed him to learn to use the toilet as a toddler, and when he was
older I took away his computer. None of it served my purposes, and every
single time I had to rebuild our attachment. Any
punitive measure breaks the trust and attachment between adult and
child, and further impedes the child's ability to grow and
self-regulate. Here's a description of how that happens, specifically
with time-outs:<br /></div><div class="sense has-num-only"></div><blockquote><div class="sense has-num-only"><i>"In most cases, the primary experience a time-out offers a child is
isolation. Even when presented in a patient and loving manner, time-outs
teach them that when they make a mistake, or when they are having a
hard time, they will be forced to be by themselves—a lesson that is
often experienced, particularly by young children, as rejection.
Further, it communicates to kids, “I’m only interested in being with you
and being there for you when you’ve got it all together.” The
problem is, children have a profound need for connection. Decades of
research in attachment demonstrate that particularly in times of
distress, we need to be near and be soothed by the people who care for
us." </i></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><i> </i></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><i>"When children concentrate on their horrible luck to have such a mean,
unfair mom or dad, they miss out on an opportunity to build insight,
empathy, and problem-solving skills. Putting them in time-out deprives
them of an opportunity to build skills that other types of discipline
could focus on." (***</i><a href="https://time.com/3404701/discipline-time-out-is-not-good/" target="_blank">Siegel and Payne Bryson</a>)</div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText"></span></span></div></blockquote><div class="sense has-num-only"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText">We
know it's essential for our kids to experience attachment, compassion,
and opportunities for growth. It's essential that we don't isolate or
otherwise punish them. So how can we lead? How can we ensure they don't
make harmful choices? It's terrifying to just let go of the reins and
have faith in a child who is only just beginning life's journey! It's
terrifying to imagine that just my undying love will be enough. But it
has to be. And some consideration of the following...<br /></span></span></div><span class="dt"></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText"><br /></span></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Modelling</b></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText">I
haven't been a great model for my kids in many ways, but it has not
escaped me how important this is. My first boyfriend's mother once told
me, as she butted out her cigarette at the dining room table, "I always
tell my kids to do what I say, not what I do". I was sixteen at the
time, and remember thinking that was a great thing to say, for a mother
who couldn't stop smoking herself, but hoped her kids wouldn't follow
suit. </span></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText"> </span></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText">A
few decades later I still hold a special place in my heart for that
woman who welcomed me into her home and heart and life so generously.
And it occurs to me that I, at least, did learn quite a bit from her
modelling. I have never smoked, but she was one of the adults who spoke
to me with respect and honesty, and I not only admired that, but have
emulated it without even thinking. In that moment of saying something
that utterly goes against conventional wisdom (there are plenty of
studies showing that kids are in fact very likely to carry the same
traits, habits, and viewpoints as their parents, regardless of attempted
countermeasures). My boyfriend's mother was just being herself: open,
honest, caring, hopeful, and determined. And I followed. It isn't always
the things we think we're modelling that we pass on. Thank you,
Sherrie. <br /></span></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText"> </span></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><span class="dt"><span class="dtText">Patience/Acceptance</span></span></b></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText">But
sometimes we do see ourselves passing on undesired habits to our
children. Then, I think, it's time for patience and compassion with <i>ourselves</i>;
acceptance that we can't climb every mountain at once. Neither can our
kids. Sometimes we make change so easily; sometimes it takes us
generations, and sometimes we take many steps backwards along the way.
We really don't get further by beating ourselves up over our failures,
so what's the point? Just like imposed punishment (call it external
discipline), guilt over our failures is more likely to be a stumbling
point than an inspiration to grow. We can be gentle with ourselves,
remind ourselves that this is where we are in our journey, and empower
ourselves to carry on forward.</span></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText"><br /></span></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText">Similarly,
we can empower our children, not only by having patience with them and
accepting that their journey may not be what we expected, but by
modelling patience with ourselves. I'm really terrible at this. I
learned in school that failure is not acceptable, and I learned from many adults' modelling to feel sorry. But as a parent I
discovered how harmful my guilt and shame is to my children, and the
last thing I want is for them to live under the burden of shame that I
bear. So this is something I'm adamantly trying to change. It's probably
the hardest change I've made in all my life. Sometimes it looks like me
creeping out of my room after running away, and forcing my mouth to say
"I shouldn't have run away". Sometimes it's simply a matter of gently
stating my needs, before denying them becomes a problem. This is how I'm
trying to develop self-acceptance, but it's deeply rooted in the kind
of honesty that is essential for my kids' empowerment.</span></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText"><br /></span></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span style="font-size: medium;"><b><span class="dt"><span class="dtText">Communication</span></span></b></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText">Lastly,
in my quest to raise empowered kids (they're really adults, now), I try
to remind myself to check in on our communication. I've done a lot of
thinking on this subject, since it comes up a lot as a stumbling point
in our family. (I suspect we're not unusual in this regard!) And
recently I've had a real enlightenment from getting to know our dog.
Yep! </span></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText"> </span></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText">So our daughter adopted Clara a couple of years ago, and soon began telling us about <a href="https://fluent.pet/pages/getting-started-with-talking-buttons" target="_blank">dog communication buttons</a>.
Soon enough, she had some buttons, and was training the dog to use them
to speak to us. After about six months, Clara can now tell us about her
bodily needs (pee, poo, outside, etc.), can ask specific people for
cuddles, toys, or outside time, and has even put together a few complex
communications. After panicking when thunder struck and she was in the
yard, Clara ran in, and looked around frantically, before pressing
"Blackberry" (our cat's name) and "Something Outside" (her button for an
unknown worrisome thing outside). Sure enough, Blackberry was sitting
outside the door, and after I let her in to safety from the storm, Clara
settled. Her compassionate need to protect her friend had been met,
thanks to her ability to tell me about it.</span></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText"> </span></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText">This
experience with Clara has of course led me to thinking about all the
previous pets in my life, and how much I probably misunderstood them;
how often their needs likely went unmet, and ultimately to the
power-imbalance that exists between owners and pets. And children. I
remember thinking something like this as our kids learned baby sign
language, and I wondered how many kids can't communicate their needs at
that early age. Indeed, how many humans in general live our whole lives
without clear and open, honest communication? And how many times are our
basic needs unmet because we aren't communicating? </span></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText"> </span></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText">Our
kids need to be heard. They need to know they're heard, by having their
communications reflected back to them (respected). And they need
freedom to develop, learn, and change on their own terms, so that they
can be empowered to keep on growing. In fact, those of us raised without
this empowerment can learn and gain so much by just letting them lead.</span></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText"><br /></span></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText">~~~<br /></span></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span class="dt"><span class="dtText"><br /></span></span></div></span><span class="sb-0"><div class="sense has-num-only"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><span class="dt"><span class="dtText">*</span></span>Caspar EA, Christensen JF, Cleeremans A,
Haggard P. "Coercion Changes the Sense of Agency in the Human Brain." Curr
Biol. 2016 Mar 7;26(5):585-92. doi: 10.1016/j.cub.2015.12.067. Epub
2016 Feb 18. PMID: 26898470; PMCID: PMC4791480.<span class="dt"><span class="dtText"> </span></span></i></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><span class="dt"><span class="dtText"> </span></span></i></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><span class="dt"><span class="dtText">**Dominguez PR. University of Granada. "Children eat more vegetables when allowed to
choose, Spanish study finds." ScienceDaily. ScienceDaily, 2 June 2011. <br /></span></span></i></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><span class="dt"><span class="dtText"> </span></span></i></span></div><div class="sense has-num-only"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><span class="dt"><span class="dtText">***Siegel DJ, Payne Bryson T.</span></span>
"No-Drama Discipline: The Whole-Brain Way to Calm the Chaos and Nurture
Your Child's Developing Mind." Courtesy Random House 2014, September
23</i></span><span class="dt">
</span>
</div></span><span class="sb-0"> </span>
</div>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03100384225999745858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100692801739409317.post-86657562251706752422022-07-30T20:00:00.000-07:002022-07-30T20:00:06.698-07:00First It Was Reusable Pads and Period Panties; Now the Reusable Pee Wipes!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNaTLqe3uNuT2WGvMvRIQpPZEGwMTnX9jOFeFgY2WkiwSmA2AKJ0-9u4MEukbC51yZVaL0eBQ6dQ_LI_Pb5OEbbwEPM-m4Lm_TCNKcNllBtesMF7isHnCPdJtDhwUFtBDrSndKPVGS4uxc5ramJwafnKj8TMS7AvGF7lmjC4eSqgi0DbUTsVPvR_IE/s1391/20220730_wipes%20drying%20in%20the%20sun_02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1391" data-original-width="1000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNaTLqe3uNuT2WGvMvRIQpPZEGwMTnX9jOFeFgY2WkiwSmA2AKJ0-9u4MEukbC51yZVaL0eBQ6dQ_LI_Pb5OEbbwEPM-m4Lm_TCNKcNllBtesMF7isHnCPdJtDhwUFtBDrSndKPVGS4uxc5ramJwafnKj8TMS7AvGF7lmjC4eSqgi0DbUTsVPvR_IE/w288-h400/20220730_wipes%20drying%20in%20the%20sun_02.jpg" width="288" /></a></div><p>A few years ago I wrote <a href="https://rickshawunschooling.blogspot.com/2018/08/talking-about-periods-with-daughters.html">Talking about Periods with Daughters and Sons</a>. A good part of that was dedicated to my daughter's and my choice to find sustainable menstruation solutions. But I never imagined we'd one day arrive at...<br /></p><span style="font-size: medium;"><i><b>PEE WIPES!!!</b></i></span><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKai7VU2DWlmatQW91Zk7AtLGtp5evaSMnTUbj40p0IXQ2eipBqJkVxcLQ-k7vRBRtu5Ydq3sUBYGox6jsV5-vpJ68-rLa0vybCm9mdiA4tktwqG3SVX5lHuRWYZ91N7XouJjN6DjmrWSRYU176zmxhKYBLH7bRSikGuChe5hzUQ9Cs_G3762IXkF2/s1497/20220730_wipes%20in%20basket_01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1497" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKai7VU2DWlmatQW91Zk7AtLGtp5evaSMnTUbj40p0IXQ2eipBqJkVxcLQ-k7vRBRtu5Ydq3sUBYGox6jsV5-vpJ68-rLa0vybCm9mdiA4tktwqG3SVX5lHuRWYZ91N7XouJjN6DjmrWSRYU176zmxhKYBLH7bRSikGuChe5hzUQ9Cs_G3762IXkF2/w321-h400/20220730_wipes%20in%20basket_01.jpg" width="321" /></a></div>Yeah. Those are also our pee wipes hanging on that laundry rack. Here's a prettier photo of them folded and ready for use. I'll spare you a photo of them after being used...<p></p><p>OK so here's what happened: Quite a few years ago I visited a home where my sister was house-sitting, and discovered a box of little tiny washcloths beside the toilet, and a bucket underneath. Huh? There was also toilet paper, so I used it, and asked my sister about this oddity. "They're for wiping your pee", she said. Like it was nothing. Heh?? Gross?? "No. No poo. Just pee. I think. You can just use the toilet paper." </p><p>I took that experience with me and thought about it for a few years.<br /></p><p>Well, in these few years, our world has started burning, people. Our forests and oceans are our greatest hope for saving ourselves from climate change, and the forests are burning away before our eyes, taking a little town, a few hundred cattle, or a bit of a city here and there along with them. And like we're just hacking blindly at our own feet, we're cutting them down to make paper to wipe our butts. <i>Insult to injury?!?!</i> Being one of the blind and selfish masses, myself, I mulled on this thought for a few years, until the wastefulness hit my finances. It was time to have the septic tank pumped.</p><p>I mean, it's not <i>that </i>expensive, but anyone who lives rurally, as we do, likely has some kind of septic tank that needs pumping, periodically. The liquid runs off the tank into the septic field, feeding the environment like any good pee and poop should do. The solids stay behind in the tank and get pumped out every year or two or three and hauled off to a sewage treatment plant where they are no better than your average city waste. Except they required a gas-powered poop truck to take them there. </p><p>Think about it, though: "solids". That means poop and toilet paper (nobody with a septic tank would dare flush anything else). And although it's a noticeable bit of money to be spending to have ours taken away, I'm more troubled by the environmental ramifications.</p><p>So, we decided to try pee wipes. To be more precise, <i>I</i> decided to try pee wipes, and a couple of my family members thought it was a good idea. My son, however, doesn't want them washed with his laundry. That's OK. We all have our boundaries, and a few years ago I might have said the same.</p><p>So, like we did with the period panties, we've tried out a few different types of wipes, now, and figured out a few tips and pitfalls, and now we can share them! </p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>What type?</b></span><br />We all have different preferences. Some of us like those big colourful two-layer cushy 8x8-inch organic cotton cloths that make sure no pee will touch my hand (oops--OK fine I confess it's me). Some are happy with the smaller wipes, and use those little baby washcloths. We have some mixed fibre/polyester ones, and some organic bamboo that frankly are no more absorbent than the cheap ones. Some of us just think it's really disturbing to wipe with teddy-bear prints.</p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Washing</b></span><br />You need to wash the wipes every few days, and we're using washing soda with a bit of dry laundry soap. It's not a big deal. I just throw them in for a pre-wash small load, and then after the first cycle I add some more laundry. They're so small they dry easily on the line, too--especially those cheapo little teddy bear wipes...<br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFEK4lZq15q3V5kAoWm-j9h4XUl5zVi8_Y9poVLmSm2ZAjSndRqwVX_h67eNUYtDV-eidCT-8SA7vNr163jMH3gBbJP-aQKTFDTcbDcGZpBIyDBwT1ITrTUY-OdhxvvFh6pJveQHqtndhO7OhdtqPWLuj8cDy4wd7uE_qGy2xFlqWlDhvRo21z-GXR/s1855/20220730_wipes%20holder%20jar_01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1855" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFEK4lZq15q3V5kAoWm-j9h4XUl5zVi8_Y9poVLmSm2ZAjSndRqwVX_h67eNUYtDV-eidCT-8SA7vNr163jMH3gBbJP-aQKTFDTcbDcGZpBIyDBwT1ITrTUY-OdhxvvFh6pJveQHqtndhO7OhdtqPWLuj8cDy4wd7uE_qGy2xFlqWlDhvRo21z-GXR/w259-h400/20220730_wipes%20holder%20jar_01.jpg" width="259" /></a></div><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>The Bucket</b></span><br />I am really not a big fan of grossness. It was essential to me that our pee-wipe-bucket not only looks good in the bathroom, but hides the used wipes in it, keeps them from smelling, and is easily washable. So I opted for this lidded glass jar, and painted it with glass paint to hide what's inside it. I glued a felt pad on the bottom, and it lives on the floor beside the toilet. Putting a used wipe in is very easy: fold the wipe so the pee is inside it, open the lid with the other hand, and put the wipe in. Close the lid. When I take the wipes out to wash, I get a clean wipe, dampen it in the sink, and give the jar a quick wipe before throwing that wipe in the washing machine with the others. The jar never holds any smell, but every week or two I give it a proper wash, anyway. <p></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Poop!</b></span><br />And periods. We just use toilet paper instead. Nobody wants stained and awful-looking pee wipes.<br /></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>The Pitfalls</b></span><br />Well... there's the literal pitfall, where at some point most or all of us forgot we were using washable wipes and dropped or nearly dropped the wipe into the toilet. But we learned quickly. There was the trial-and-error phase, where we weren't sure which fabrics would work best. And honestly that's all I can think of. Even the one of us who doesn't use the wipes seems to have grown accustomed to having them around, and we're happy with the change we've made!</p><p>Try the pee wipes, people, if your life and circumstances allow. It's one more small change we can make to save our future.<br /></p>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03100384225999745858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100692801739409317.post-74226567402209751052022-06-19T09:43:00.006-07:002022-06-19T09:43:56.321-07:00Watching You Father Our Children<p><span class="d2edcug0 hpfvmrgz qv66sw1b c1et5uql lr9zc1uh a8c37x1j fe6kdd0r mau55g9w c8b282yb keod5gw0 nxhoafnm aigsh9s9 d3f4x2em iv3no6db jq4qci2q a3bd9o3v b1v8xokw oo9gr5id hzawbc8m" dir="auto">I
am ever so grateful to live with this man who exemplifies gentle,
heart-full parenting. I stuck today's One Solar Year poem into this post
as well, since it was mainly about him. I'm grateful for all the
fathers I've had in my life: my own two fathers, and others'. </span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span class="d2edcug0 hpfvmrgz qv66sw1b c1et5uql lr9zc1uh a8c37x1j fe6kdd0r mau55g9w c8b282yb keod5gw0 nxhoafnm aigsh9s9 d3f4x2em iv3no6db jq4qci2q a3bd9o3v b1v8xokw oo9gr5id hzawbc8m" dir="auto"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5wuOP8_ILxrSu-RjImnv3bzBZy_7zaJSFf2KFsB1D5ofXS_HgEeEZj55mpsUko5TyyN_YImbTBhHdJZG2mYBFWYSdrtaxcguxy7dUuzoLZKZ1Yt_txWHFRzlN-AZ-_kvShRyPrnp0-WYkO0jYp18I7k_IBeba2Lwsha74vJ6bQbJbBJKjMXTGa3Rg/s1200/20220616_sea%20to%20sky%20gondola_3_spirit%20trail%20walk%20and%20silly%20fathers%20day%20photos%20that%20mama%20insisted%20on_020s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1200" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5wuOP8_ILxrSu-RjImnv3bzBZy_7zaJSFf2KFsB1D5ofXS_HgEeEZj55mpsUko5TyyN_YImbTBhHdJZG2mYBFWYSdrtaxcguxy7dUuzoLZKZ1Yt_txWHFRzlN-AZ-_kvShRyPrnp0-WYkO0jYp18I7k_IBeba2Lwsha74vJ6bQbJbBJKjMXTGa3Rg/w640-h426/20220616_sea%20to%20sky%20gondola_3_spirit%20trail%20walk%20and%20silly%20fathers%20day%20photos%20that%20mama%20insisted%20on_020s.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Markus was once the tallest member of our household!</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqVVB6mwahaP5uE354YoKQgZ4RwAYRrXEwf2KvFNv0voBO0aff2PDkKA1b65K-Af9aHnA2Wv-YMS86jRQiGBtY8dxY8VN5KQNIfJP4CaHvFwTooszpkgkBHahKH5im9NT0x_CfHs353N2oqttXkQW6AouVVUi5wwNuSLuRxqUJo3NZnn9KU4jIlBYs/s1200/20220616_sea%20to%20sky%20gondola_3_spirit%20trail%20walk%20and%20silly%20fathers%20day%20photos%20that%20mama%20insisted%20on_028s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1200" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqVVB6mwahaP5uE354YoKQgZ4RwAYRrXEwf2KvFNv0voBO0aff2PDkKA1b65K-Af9aHnA2Wv-YMS86jRQiGBtY8dxY8VN5KQNIfJP4CaHvFwTooszpkgkBHahKH5im9NT0x_CfHs353N2oqttXkQW6AouVVUi5wwNuSLuRxqUJo3NZnn9KU4jIlBYs/w640-h426/20220616_sea%20to%20sky%20gondola_3_spirit%20trail%20walk%20and%20silly%20fathers%20day%20photos%20that%20mama%20insisted%20on_028s.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span class="d2edcug0 hpfvmrgz qv66sw1b c1et5uql lr9zc1uh a8c37x1j fe6kdd0r mau55g9w c8b282yb keod5gw0 nxhoafnm aigsh9s9 d3f4x2em iv3no6db jq4qci2q a3bd9o3v b1v8xokw oo9gr5id hzawbc8m" dir="auto"><i>no longer dwarfed by his children, Markus reminisces about the taller old days</i></span></td></tr></tbody></table></span><br /><span class="d2edcug0 hpfvmrgz qv66sw1b c1et5uql lr9zc1uh a8c37x1j fe6kdd0r mau55g9w c8b282yb keod5gw0 nxhoafnm aigsh9s9 d3f4x2em iv3no6db jq4qci2q a3bd9o3v b1v8xokw oo9gr5id hzawbc8m" dir="auto"></span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span class="d2edcug0 hpfvmrgz qv66sw1b c1et5uql lr9zc1uh a8c37x1j fe6kdd0r mau55g9w c8b282yb keod5gw0 nxhoafnm aigsh9s9 d3f4x2em iv3no6db jq4qci2q a3bd9o3v b1v8xokw oo9gr5id hzawbc8m" dir="auto"> Here is the poem I wrote for today, in two parts. They're intended to be seen on a large screen. :-)</span></p><p><span class="d2edcug0 hpfvmrgz qv66sw1b c1et5uql lr9zc1uh a8c37x1j fe6kdd0r mau55g9w c8b282yb keod5gw0 nxhoafnm aigsh9s9 d3f4x2em iv3no6db jq4qci2q a3bd9o3v b1v8xokw oo9gr5id hzawbc8m" dir="auto"></span></p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje2wtQRO92oVQeg2upQ77o81RmNtg_CfXZDitt4iPlgM1tiVB2CXdLmvH9gGzVvuWfsTniPslS8vJjqQn8zrqAtSZQunUWZ4P5zkWE_yleJhkPFyDj-d6sTLey4__j1xQiAvRJDwGab--MfofbLBNyKYfsFqkaQ3PwW1-6hi858xJCZpLP9mERPi-H/s3000/20220619_father%20chickadee%20bringing%20a%20snack%20for%20mother%20in%20the%20nesting%20box--text%201.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="3000" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje2wtQRO92oVQeg2upQ77o81RmNtg_CfXZDitt4iPlgM1tiVB2CXdLmvH9gGzVvuWfsTniPslS8vJjqQn8zrqAtSZQunUWZ4P5zkWE_yleJhkPFyDj-d6sTLey4__j1xQiAvRJDwGab--MfofbLBNyKYfsFqkaQ3PwW1-6hi858xJCZpLP9mERPi-H/w640-h640/20220619_father%20chickadee%20bringing%20a%20snack%20for%20mother%20in%20the%20nesting%20box--text%201.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqDyhRQ9dbuh1kfM7-mihMnyRvsnFebAoaj-YfqV_QbgzJUb2SYXm0u9fAXaB6g5UervlKfHgD_RqRd7SNUgiggR6geg33KX7p51BDkb1EkbbpXG8lvrCA1k3Cf_COyvA15B_xVAFVCfVXnPHTCi-MzrzbQMrlXhGx1Ff5ZB8YpftPq6XdfiTHRM8U/s3000/20220619_father%20chickadee%20bringing%20a%20snack%20for%20mother%20in%20the%20nesting%20box--text%202a.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="3000" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqDyhRQ9dbuh1kfM7-mihMnyRvsnFebAoaj-YfqV_QbgzJUb2SYXm0u9fAXaB6g5UervlKfHgD_RqRd7SNUgiggR6geg33KX7p51BDkb1EkbbpXG8lvrCA1k3Cf_COyvA15B_xVAFVCfVXnPHTCi-MzrzbQMrlXhGx1Ff5ZB8YpftPq6XdfiTHRM8U/w640-h640/20220619_father%20chickadee%20bringing%20a%20snack%20for%20mother%20in%20the%20nesting%20box--text%202a.jpg" width="640" /></a></p><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"> Happy father's day!<br /></p>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03100384225999745858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100692801739409317.post-61851113912996417662022-05-23T14:26:00.002-07:002022-05-23T16:06:41.720-07:00Do You Really Want Your Kid to Be an Artist? <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="#" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBau2oDijjDJWf4MwV7cZ3Zhu9bzbJxY21uZxCfkob6cOhdP-5-RI1VFOs4HHRwh1j0RluTn7lCHR3q0COabYIzaV_YFVp-hVATEyNxPcSw34_wd6GR1v6Zzpd-HBxoYZsnn_N5qILzvsndoe2ZITF0sKqUAWQE35mbv9wd0S2weuuV_IOW-3iAfy7/w288-h640/img20220503_14455483.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Me at 7, trying to be an artist.</i></td></tr></tbody></table>When I was a kid, I wanted to be an artist. Or a botanist, or a hair-dresser. My parents and grandparents gave me wonderful art supplies, and my father even made me a palette with a hole in it for my thumb, and positioned the kitchen stool in front of the wall of our trailer for me to use as a painting stool. That’s me in the photo, in the early nineteen-eighties, feeling wonderful and accomplished, but with absolutely no idea of what it meant to “be an artist”. <br /><br /><h2 style="text-align: left;">So What, Exactly, <i>Is</i> an Artist?</h2> I'm an artist, now. Twenty-five years and two kids after I got my degree in visual arts, my career is built on helping people reach beyond societal expectations to un-silence themselves, and connect genuinely with the world we inhabit. I do paint, and I do have gallery exhibitions, but I also tromp in the forests, use materials I never imagined would one day be called “materials”, and make art I never imagined would be called “art.” The focus of my work is to connect people with our own deeply-held stories; as an explorative learning consultant I also encourage parents and teachers to do the same with their children. It turns out art was just a vehicle for something more important to me. And I’m still an artist. <br /><br />The stereotype of the famous artist making masterpieces in his (he's almost always male, white and powerful) studio has almost nothing to do with a successful art career. I wish somebody had explained this to me when I was a kid. Picasso was an abusive, deceitful creep, and we don't have to appreciate his work to be artists. There’s SO much more wonderfulness in being an artist than I had imagined! So much more diversity! <br /><br /> Artists are responsible for not only the beauty we see in our human-made world, but also for the connection we make with neighbours, for the realizations we make about our own lives and feelings when we watch movies, listen to music, or read books. Artists determine how easy it is to use the devices we buy. Through media, artists determine which devices and foods and colours will be more popular. They understand the influence of shapes, colours, sound, movement and texture on our emotions, and... like it or not, our emotions govern much of what we do. Artists are powerful. A “career in the arts” is a massively open-ended term, but also, having a grounding in artistic practice and theory means a deeper foundation or influence in any career we choose. Moreover, having the ability to express ourselves is an important foundation of meaningful connection. <br /><br />I like to imagine a world full of people who were encouraged in this way. How happy, satisfied, and valuable could we all be? How would our chosen paths be enhanced by a facility with self-expression and material, sound, or movement exploration? Do you really want your kid to be an artist? And if so, how can you support them?<br /><br /><h2 style="text-align: left;"> What NOT to do: Unsolicited "Help" </h2>It's incredibly easy to break kids' confidence in art (or anything) and less easy to build it. As with so much in life, the first thing we can do to "help" our kids succeed is to get out of their way. It's not easy, especially when we're watching them struggle with something we know there's an easy solution for. But we zip our mouths, find something else to occupy our attention, and trust that they'll get where they need to go. And never, ever critique. <br /><br />Criticism is more likely to break our confidence than to teach us something, and a shattered confidence is a massive barrier to success. My daughter is a writer, and was recently working on her second novel. I edited her first novel for her, judiciously reporting back on only glaring typos and missing punctuation. It was an amazing realistic fiction coming-of-age story, written from the bold heart of a young girl whose grandfather had recently died. I love it so much I heartily recommend it to readers of all ages. Her next novel, though, was a departure from the world she knew and understood so well, and required a steep learning curve. It was an epic fantasy, full of people from different cultures and a massively complex magical world... all of which she dutifully researched and developed before writing. But then she was challenged by trying to fit this enormous complexity into a single story. And when it came time for me to edit her book, I didn't hold back with the criticisms and suggestions. Some chapters were confusing, some events seemed out of place, and mostly I was confused by the timeline. Sure, she was only fourteen, but I just <i>knew</i> she was capable, so I critiqued! Despite my attempts at being gentle with my criticism, it all seemed insurmountable to her, and after a few attempts at editing, she abandoned the book. To her credit, she's keeping an open mind about the possibility of writing it in the future, but unfortunately I feel I threw a hammer at a beautiful glass sculpture she was creating, that actually she just needed more time with, alone. Without my critiquing. <br /><br />So that's how <i>not</i> to build confidence. Just think of all the ways we're doing that, in every part of our kids' lives, and even our own. So many of us have an overachieving inner critic. And a culturally-supported fear that that critic is what's keeping us on the straight-and-narrow. But you know what? It's not. What would happen if we just didn't correct our kids? Well I have some experience with that, now, both in teaching and parenting. It's ridiculously hard to shut up my inner critic sometimes, but when I do, the kids thrive. <br /><br />My daughter is truly an excellent writer--so much so, that in her frantic enthusiasm she charges ahead, forgetting to put periods at the ends of sentences, capitals on names, or sometimes misspelling words. She edits herself, and (as we all are prone to doing) sees right through her mistakes to read what she intended to write. What if she asks me to edit and I just ignore those mistakes? I've experimented with that. Sometimes she looks over her work later and discovers her mistakes. Sometimes she puts it aside for a few months, grows and learns, and comes back to it to realize she would now write it differently. Sometimes, even, she submits or publishes something with mistakes. And you know what? That's just fine! I frequently go back to my own work from years earlier, and see how much I've learned and grown since my thirties--and yet my work was appreciated then, as well. Have you any idea how many typos I still find in my writing? Tons. I'm especially accomplished at missing words and totally redundant examples. Sometimes I don't even bother to correct them. Because they're part of my humanity. Our kids deserve that space to be human, too.<br /><br /><h2 style="text-align: left;"> Honouring Growth </h2><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwLUA3O9mUsiypRyTdWNN2Ug2-Uj6NNQ_xxVuJNEGCy_IqpKUOVtwTr2l7Z6bb6jpBwwKZoqVK12rxZ-FLNh0sGguwurNGyqjalCeJ75kmT4xFteYU51LPhSV5cLVXLS1zn_ZTSEcfwcuesnsR9GPSoZL-g85gynzdmqU0Bn2GqsxMHte7UB0KcUAa/s2816/20090228_rhiannon-painting_05.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2112" data-original-width="2816" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwLUA3O9mUsiypRyTdWNN2Ug2-Uj6NNQ_xxVuJNEGCy_IqpKUOVtwTr2l7Z6bb6jpBwwKZoqVK12rxZ-FLNh0sGguwurNGyqjalCeJ75kmT4xFteYU51LPhSV5cLVXLS1zn_ZTSEcfwcuesnsR9GPSoZL-g85gynzdmqU0Bn2GqsxMHte7UB0KcUAa/w400-h300/20090228_rhiannon-painting_05.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Rhiannon, age 5, experimenting with paints.</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table>As a visual artist, I love to look back and see all my mistakes. I look at portraits I painted years ago, and wonder why I did them the way I did; sometimes I also notice things I thought were problems at the time, that now inform new directions in my work. Growth is where it's <i>at</i>, people! Otherwise what are we living for? In some deep place, children know this, as from the moment they're born they challenge themselves to grow by exploring different tastes, movements, and expressions. <br /><br /> Children, like my daughter in the photo, above, want to represent their world. But it isn't always as we might expect! As parents, we have a choice about whether to show our children how to draw things the way we think it should be done, or to allow them to discover their own ways, through experimentation. My son was once drawing a whole page full of lines, and I asked him what he was drawing (something I've since learned not to do), and he told me it was a drum. I was totally perplexed, and asked him where the parts of the drum were. This was a boy who had no problem drawing a circle--why would he choose to represent a drum with a whole lot of unconnected lines? "It's the sound of the drum." He said. <i>Boom.</i> <br /><br /> He didn't need my assumptions. He needed my appreciation, and the freedom to keep exploring. As long as we respond to our kids' experiments with curiosity and loving encouragement, they'll continue to know that where they are on their journey of growth is perfect. And that will be the impetus they need to keep growing with enthusiasm. I have no idea how my son's drawings of sound influenced his life, but considering he now is employed as a visual artist and makes music to accompany his personal visual projects, I'm relieved I didn't get in the way of that particular growth pattern by showing him "how to draw a drum."<br /><br /><h2 style="text-align: left;"> Asking Helpful Questions </h2>I realized during my children's earliest years that questions like "what are you drawing?" are extremely limiting. In that question I have determined that my child must be trying to represent a specific thing, and the assumption is usually that it's a visual representation of something we know. But what if it's not? What if it's our children's experimentation with colours, shapes or lines? Or sound, as in the drum example? That kind of experimentation--without intent to satisfy outside demands--is essential for learning to use materials. Professional artists actually bill for material experimentation; it's called "research". We even sometimes mount gallery exhibitions composed entirely of experimental output--often to great acclaim. So why would I limit the possibilities of my own child's artistic output? <br /><br /> But we want to ask questions! We know it's important to engage and encourage! So how can we ask questions that promote growth-dialogue about art (or anything), without limiting our children's growth or expression?<br /><br />Think about the words in the question "What are you drawing?" The word 'what' carries the assumption they're trying to represent an object. The word 'drawing' means we assume they're focused on the output of the material in their hands, as opposed to the feeling, taste, smell, or movement of it. How are these assumptions limiting the range of acceptable answers? <br /><br /><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="#" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_FldREklqNeoE0QkpB2LxFGKSfF0UqeHJvgyWJNlWzEp6iymNNESTsIA8Na-h9GSL39LFyEqLIn46BtC0n077iJ0_YfLPSmZWdqT0jl7Xf9w4AtEL7ZXrM1HcUVuR6AgGNdYLAyPzDpE1jii4JReI4mOHyw__S0fQC6thEF2XAeH7fpvVrb0AzHl1/w640-h464/img20220515_21294898.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i> Drawing by Taliesin, age 3.</i></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Maybe we have a kid who is happy to contradict us, and says, "I'm not drawing anything. I'm dancing the pen," or, as in my son’s drawing, above, “Nothing. I didn’t tell you.” (<i>I learned a lot about parenting from that bold rejection.</i>) But more likely, our kid wants to please us; to learn from our example, and will find a suitable answer, like, "some lines," or as my daughter used to do, look at a bunch of lines she was experimenting with and come up with a wild explanation like, "it's a dog on a house with the family having dinner." It's tragically very common that kids learn to minimize themselves to match what they perceive coming from adults. I've seen plenty of kids who were making successful attempts at depicting what might have been people or animals declare that they were “just scribbling.” Why? Because maybe they feared hearing our criticisms, or maybe we've previously defined their drawings of animals as 'scribbling', or maybe, because their own inner critic is already developed enough to silence their voice. <br /><br /> Adults are notoriously bad at asking kids questions, and kids generally have rote answers ready to respond to each of them: How old are you? How is school? What are you making? What is your favourite colour/subject/sport/etc.? How are we so uninspired?! These questions aren't about engaging with kids or developing rapport; they're <i>expected</i>. What if, instead of asking what they're drawing, we invite them to tell about what they're doing? This is an open invitation to consider what they're doing and talk about it. It's up to us to be open to hearing their response, no matter how long, unexpected, or confusing it may be. Not all questions will be helpful for all kids in all situations, but through practice we can become better at asking good questions. Here's a list of interesting open-ended questions to use in engaging kids to talk about their art:<br /><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Interesting! Can you tell me about this?</li><li>Does this have a story or feeling?</li><li>How do you feel about what you're doing?</li><li>Show me how you like to use [material]...</li><li>What do you think about the materials you're using?</li><li>Are there any other materials you'd like to use? </li></ul><br /><h2> Materials </h2>Ah how I love shopping for materials!! And hoarding them!! Don't we all?! How much of our parenting waste is comprised of once-used adorable kits that were soon replaced by something newer and more exciting? I won't go on at length about this, because I've previously written a whole article about <a href="https://rickshawunschooling.blogspot.com/2018/08/supplies-and-practice-of-open-ended-art.html">Materials for Open-Ended Art Exploration</a>. But suffice it to say that well-chosen art materials are the foundation of good artistic experience. And I don't mean the expensive stuff. I mean well-chosen. Materials can be anything from kitchen supplies to mud and sticks outside, to a mish-mash of mark-making, gluing, cutting and melting tools. The important feature of all of these things is that they do not come with instructions or intended uses. How we present and use materials is much more important than what they are. <br /><br /><h2 style="text-align: left;"> Modelling </h2>From the moment they were born, and possibly earlier, our kids have looked to us to lead them. The important thing to remember about modelling to our children is that it's happening all the time; not just when we do it intentionally. Our kids see our hesitation and fear with art as much as they see our enthusiasm. They see us avoid trying new things, and they see us when we courageously do them, and when we have small successes and failures. They emulate not only our actions but also the way we emotionally deal with these things. <br /><br /> With this in mind, the absolute best thing we can do for our children is to use any and all materials available to us to explore creatively, <i>for our own happiness</i>. That last bit is important. Kids can smell a fraud from a mile away, so we have to be creative in the way that we want to be. Otherwise we're just teaching our kids to put on a show for someone else's benefit, and that's nothing about authenticity. <br /><br /> And we should stretch ourselves. If we're accustomed to buying craft kits and following the instructions, we should absolutely try to break that habit (more on why in the materials article, above) and try experimenting with new materials. We can also stretch our definition of art-making. Try experimental baking! Try sewing or crocheting! Try putting on your favourite music, getting dressed up in fancy dress or costumes and dancing your heart out! Try painting your whole self and rolling around on an old sheet, outside. In the rain! It doesn't matter what or how you engage in art, just as long as you do it. And if your output isn't what you expect? Even better. Keep experimenting. You're modelling growth to your children. <br /><br /> Living a life full of joyful exploration and learning, ourselves, is the best way we can teach our children. <br /> <br /><h2 style="text-align: left;">Nurturing Important Skills</h2><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5G91sFeQFQbzvSJu9cIMC0TZQ3IcxZsBllCgvU4uokRPZ4cuB4c8DRXVgt541Vr3JYktus4RNUSe192fKZuaoAZHffVB35YuwU_7Bl9fHEKCN1Hmr1z1XQygldhRvZFMk3r4zydofzMO1tm8hz6nEwHS-xZYEUIM82d478SoNrB6T4df-q0_Q5rOC/s1406/img20220503_21071399.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1406" data-original-width="969" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5G91sFeQFQbzvSJu9cIMC0TZQ3IcxZsBllCgvU4uokRPZ4cuB4c8DRXVgt541Vr3JYktus4RNUSe192fKZuaoAZHffVB35YuwU_7Bl9fHEKCN1Hmr1z1XQygldhRvZFMk3r4zydofzMO1tm8hz6nEwHS-xZYEUIM82d478SoNrB6T4df-q0_Q5rOC/w276-h400/img20220503_21071399.jpg" width="276" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Me at 4, being an artist.</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p style="text-align: left;">We’re culturally trained to associate specific skills and attributes with art: dancers should be thin and flexible, visual artists should be able to draw realistic depictions with technical skills like shading, perspective, and colour theory; musicians should first learn to read music and do scales. Unless we’re born talented, of course.<br /> <br /> Oh <i>hell</i>, I hate the word ‘talent’! It's such a harmful concept. I wasn't born talented; I <i>developed</i> some skills in accurate rendering of my observations by having a keen interest in observing how things are put together; how the light plays on them, and being given room to experiment with materials throughout my life. It was easy for me because I loved it, just like my daughter loves telling stories, so writing is easy for her to learn. We develop the skills we need when we realize we need them, and as long as we're not discouraged from exploring them. <br /><br /> As parents and teachers, we need to help build foundational skills for life, and trust that those material skills will come when needed. As an artist, I owe a huge amount of my career satisfaction to some less-concrete skills and passions: <br /></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>seeing the big picture in life, art, etc.</li><li>a keen interest in social phenomena</li><li>a passion for exploration and discovery </li></ul><p style="text-align: left;"><br />We really can't know what skills will be foundational for each of the unique kids we work with. Neither can we know the cultural landscape our kids will grow into, nor what careers will be common, when they’re grown. Who knew, when I was in art school twenty-five years ago that people would be making virtual and even invisible art to sell online, one day? Who knew I’d raise a son who gets paid to make thousands of geographically plausible planet renderings by using procedural generation techniques? His art process looks like a bunch of visual programming. I could never have predicted this, never mind taught him these skills. So when trying to support kids I parent and teach, I try to encourage growth of all sorts of skills. Life is not divided by subject. Careers are not determined by skill-acquisition. It's all interconnected. The more we learn, the more we can learn. <br /><br /></p><h2 style="text-align: left;">So Do You? <i>Really</i>? </h2>Yes. I guess I really do want my kids to be artists--however that looks for them, and however it looks in the future we can only dream of. I want them to explore all the materials and develop all the skills I can’t even fathom right now. I want them to change the definition of the word “artist” to mean new and wonderful things, and I want them to keep on growing as the world grows, around them. <br /> <br />Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03100384225999745858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100692801739409317.post-79321528081210182892022-05-09T18:59:00.000-07:002022-05-09T18:59:01.401-07:00Parenting and Gardening with Climate Change: The Aesthetic of Allowing Diversity<p>This morning we put the tomato and pepper seedlings out on the porch again. They've been waiting for the ground to warm up enough to be transplanted, for weeks. It was nearly freezing last night, just above ground, in early May. And now weather forecasters are predicting that La Niña might stick around all summer. Bad news for the Atlantic hurricane season, great news for our Pacific fire season, and... sad prospects for my warmer-weather food crops. Climate change is one thing for sure: unpredictable. And along with the weather, our food, finances, and children's futures are all unpredictable, too.</p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Diversity in the Garden</b></span><br />Our strategy for dealing with this unpredictability has been to become more independent. I guess psychologically it's about keeping control of our own actions, when so much else is now reeling out of control. But practically speaking, it's also very helpful: The more we learn about the way we and our needs work, the more capable we are of supporting ourselves, of creatively solving problems that arise, and of adapting to our rapidly-changing world. So we're growing many of our own foods now, unschooling our kids, and diversifying our own skillsets. Put simply, we're diversifying how we live, just like financial investors diversify assets. <a href="https://www.thrivent.com/insights/investing/why-is-diversification-of-investments-important" target="_blank">Thrivent</a> says "the idea is to avoid putting all of your eggs in one basket—because something bad could happen to that basket." We don't have any financial investments, but the same strategy applies to living, eating, educating ourselves, and planning our future, in general. So we grow warm weather crops, cool weather crops, fruit trees of various types, summer crops and winter crops, and root, leaf, flower and fruit crops. It looks like this year we'll have a lot of potatoes, celery, spinach, kale, broccoli and cauliflower... and apples, if the bees do well, which is still in question.<br /></p><p>There are a lot of questions, these days. Among them, how to save seeds. I received a newsletter from our <a href="https://www.saltspringseeds.com" target="_blank">local seed supplier</a> recently, in which he explained the importance of diversity in seed-saving: </p><blockquote><div style="margin-bottom: 24px; margin-left: 20px; margin-right: 20px;">
<div style="mso-line-height-rule: exactly; mso-text-raise: 11px; vertical-align: middle;">
<p style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 20px; text-align: left;"><i><span> </span><span> </span>"We’ve all experienced
accelerated climate change and it’s important to prepare for more of
the same if we are to have successful harvests. The best strategy can be
summed up in one word: Diversify!<br /><span> </span><span> "</span>We
can be hit by extreme cold, heat, wind or rain at anytime during the
growing season. If we can, we should not trust all our seeds to one
sowing. We should stagger and expand our plantings as well as planting
our crops in both shade and sun. We can also think about working with
friends and neighbours to mutually maximize our locations."<br /><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>~ Dan Jason, Saltspring Seeds</i><br /></p></div></div></blockquote><p>See that? This is a seed supplier encouraging his customers to grow and save our own seeds, to share with neighbours, and basically to evolve away from supporting his seed-growing business. Why? Because obviously, he and his business will do better if we all do. He's diversifying his own network of seed-growers and customers, as well as his output. He also wrote a small book about seed saving, and frequently writes blogs, articles, newsletters and other things about how to grow plants and seeds in these changeable times. A greedier businessperson might not encourage seed-saving, when they can make more money upfront if their customers remain ignorant about this practice. Dan Jason is looking at our mutual future, and diversifying all of our prospects, in community. There will always be a place for that. <br /></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Diversity in Life and Education</b></span><br />Which brings me to the human side of this picture: How do we diversify our own human community; our own skill-sets, to ensure our adaptability as the world changes around us? I threw out the word unschooling back there, like it was nothing, and for our family it really is nothing these days, but I know it's rather out-of-left-field for some people. Here's what I'm going on about: Unschooling is the practice of allowing our kids (and ourselves) to explore any and all of their interests, on their own time, in their own ways, and just seeing what comes out of it all! Without going too far into our own experiences (read more about our unschooled young adult children <a href="https://rickshawunschooling.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">at our blog</a>, if you like), our family is now reassured that unschooling was an excellent choice for our kids' future. After many years of determining and following their own interests, they have become agile thinkers, able to check in with their own needs, fulfill those needs successfully, and change course when the need arises. What more can one ask for, in a future where no career choice is guaranteed, nor even the ground we stand upon?</p><p>But that's our kids--what about us? We're a couple of middle-aged adults, one dependent on a satisfactory job that doesn't meet our evolving ethical standards, and the other now disabled by long-covid. Can we still unschool? The answer is yes, and we've been doing it with our kids these past many years. Our skill-sets have grown as our needs changed, and we find ourselves becoming reasonably adept at growing food, raising and processing chickens, building needed devices, implements and home-improvements, and also learning to live together, twenty-four-seven, peacefully. We're also becoming very good at living more simply, and finding joy in a life far less cluttered by activities and must-haves than it once was. Life is always about unending personal growth--it's just that climate change and related social change have caused us to appreciate that more.</p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>The Aesthetic of Natural Diversity</b></span><br />What I sometimes struggle to appreciate is the absolute chaos of natural diversity. I mean when you just let things grow however they're going to. It's a mess. Truly. My garden, my kids' educational careers, my own career and even my living room is just truly an absolute mess. But I've learned to see its beauty.</p><p>See this lovely mess of a garden bed? We had an open garden here a week ago, and I heard a few people comment on the number of "weeds" we have. And they're not wrong! But the tone of their comments was. Now that I am coming to understand the importance of diversity in my regenerative garden, this picture is pure joy, to me! </p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKWt912oxDo9QdKLw9UKXXcOfGSkIvSrAoSrTWhZ4f3v7ujBrrTQry-7u5HKcNEtEaBpOpNu1QPIvoLz7MK-yMngvHPqQBLL-bs-W_ieGDqqQ2cW_3EcLjlG11D5l0kgEQ5zOp0bRsBZ-GT4MndZ1a9OFyS31nN8kLcCWxJv2RBVFe4XYcPyiMPMQD/s1200/20220509_our%20messy%20lettuce%20and%20kale%20bed_002s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="767" data-original-width="1200" height="410" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKWt912oxDo9QdKLw9UKXXcOfGSkIvSrAoSrTWhZ4f3v7ujBrrTQry-7u5HKcNEtEaBpOpNu1QPIvoLz7MK-yMngvHPqQBLL-bs-W_ieGDqqQ2cW_3EcLjlG11D5l0kgEQ5zOp0bRsBZ-GT4MndZ1a9OFyS31nN8kLcCWxJv2RBVFe4XYcPyiMPMQD/w640-h410/20220509_our%20messy%20lettuce%20and%20kale%20bed_002s.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>one of the diverse salad-green beds in our garden</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />What you're looking at here is a few indoor-started heads of lettuce, now ravaged by our salad-needs, along with some dark green kale on the right, flowering out as it does every spring and fall. On the left there's a tiny pink flower--that's a Robert Geranium, considered a weed by most people, but it's antiviral and edible, so I put it in salads and smoothies. Along with this there is a whole plethora of edible asters: dandelions, wild lettuces (and some seeded from our previous years' crops), lambs' quarters, and others. There are teeny tiny bittercress plants everywhere, their leaves and tiny white flowers delicious in salads and sandwiches. There's some chickweed coming up, which will brighten my summer smoothies and delight our chickens, and in the woodchip-covered pathway at my feet, there's a lively mat of winecap mycelium, that pushes up big tasty mushrooms at totally unpredictable times. This garden feeds us. And when I see the diversity of flavours and promise, it's absolutely gorgeous to me.</p><p>Parenting can be like that, too. When my kids were young, I used to feel irritated by the drifts of toys, costumes, and craft materials that seemed to cover everything. But I also saw how it mirrored the creative mess of my own art studio, and how my kids dug in their mess, explored and improvised, and eventually also desired to tidy it themselves. Now they're older, their social lives are also somewhat of a primordial stew. I look at my own young-adult memories and how different my social life is now than what I thought I was building, at twenty. I have a few of the same friends, but our interests and priorities have changed many times. My children, of course, are no different, even though right now it's hard for them to imagine how life will change them. Their activities are an eclectic chaos of experimental successes and left-behinds. At twenty, our son is paid as a 3D modeller, but also practices music, concept design, drawing, and is a life-long physics and engineering enthusiast. Our seventeen-year-old daughter runs programs for kids, organizes an alternative education festival, publishes a magazine by and for kids, and has recently also begun a side-career as a dog-trainer. Three or four years ago I could not have predicted many of these directions, but our kids found them and followed them with enthusiasm, and that has set them up for success in our unpredictable world. They're accustomed to wrangling interests and commitments in multiple different directions. They're accustomed to changing course when needs demand it. Our kids' comfort and ease with this chaotic, changeable lifestyle is the gift that unschooling gave them. As our social climate becomes more chaotic, they will fit right in.</p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>The Struggle of Allowing </b></span><br />Then there's the concept of <i>allowing</i>. I'm not really as comfortable with all this as I make it sound. Excited by the prospects; reassured by preliminary observations--yes! But I fight change like the devil, and I am not good at just going with the flow. I'm a child of the eighties. I thought I would pick a career and stick to it forever; have kids who went to school, grew up through birthday parties and grocery shopping and family holidays, and I'd always live a typical low-to-middle-class family life. I also thought Caesar salad would always be easy to buy. Now lettuce is too expensive, eggs for the dressing are even more expensive, chickens are dying by the hundreds of thousands in their barns from flooding and bird flu, and I'm allergic to croutons. Damn. I had to allow my palate to change with the times. </p><p>Sometimes allowing my kids to make choices I don't understand or necessarily agree with feels like gluing my back to the wall; peeling my eyes from the view and willing my voice to fall back into my throat. I pound down my own fears to let my kids thrive or fall flat on their faces. It's like letting the weeds and lettuce seedlings stay under the dominating squash leaves, knowing they'll just die there, but that their failed lives will feed the squash. And then discovering that one of them grew and fed my family, anyway. Allowing is when I know for sure I could make things better in the short term if I just take control, but I also know that I can't see all the variables, so any control I think I have is just a sham, anyway. As our world becomes ever less predictable, I can't predict how my controlling actions will play out in my garden, my life, my kids' education, or even this article. So I force myself to quit trying.<br /><br />Luckily I've diversified my needs and the seeds I plant, and am learning to cooperate with the changing climate.<br /></p>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03100384225999745858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100692801739409317.post-63961522903200456162022-02-22T09:11:00.003-08:002022-02-23T09:50:30.317-08:00A Letter to the Boy Who Was Bullied with Me<p>This is a hard topic for me, and one that I rarely bring up, because, even after forty years, it's too raw to talk about. I was one of four kids on the bottom rung of my grade, throughout elementary school. I don't have to tell you what that means. The story is ubiquitous all over the world. And Pink Shirt Day seemed kind of like a slap in the face to me, sometimes, because the isolation caused by being bullied means that I never feel welcome in cultural events like that. Especially that.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjMxKOe77WP0c85rjr9WNIkZmrVbp_Xi9FyRulOpPJ_y3zLM24piR9GJAd2xmQvz_xXfvBTZcZysZ8czqCx9ADu8BaIvIDSOEivP8V5AyFcC13dn6Fhm6c7-JKmttYlFZ15bO7QkPLFVY8vKt9EqDWOMS7MgGqi1618fRDaKhjuLJrLluWSOIpyu1qH=s3000" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="3000" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjMxKOe77WP0c85rjr9WNIkZmrVbp_Xi9FyRulOpPJ_y3zLM24piR9GJAd2xmQvz_xXfvBTZcZysZ8czqCx9ADu8BaIvIDSOEivP8V5AyFcC13dn6Fhm6c7-JKmttYlFZ15bO7QkPLFVY8vKt9EqDWOMS7MgGqi1618fRDaKhjuLJrLluWSOIpyu1qH=w640-h640" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p></p>This year is different. I connected with one of the kids who was my bullying-mate. I say mate because the other kids used us against each other. We were never friends--precisely because of that. Now we are, I guess, and I have his permission to publish this poem that came out of our conversation, and my recent walk to the overgrown forest site where the cottage he grew up in once stood. This is where the photos come from.<br /><br />I'm publishing the poem and images as part of my current project, One Solar Year (<a href="https://www.instagram.com/onesolaryear/">@onesolaryear on Instagram</a>, and then possibly a book, at a later date). This project lies at the intersection of ecology and humanity, with thoughts and observations on changing human experience through one of our planet's cycles, trailing behind our sun... and during our interesting journey through climate change and social change. I'll add an in-line text version of the poem at the bottom, for those reading on phones. <p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiKSuJGLi8EK07r5uicikm4vvDQ4MqiM1hMKPYtGkikiqvY5qTQ-XafVSlnLqzL90kBBmfhmmaTcrCL3_y313Hf7XH1Ai8xmeEK7hgT800AH6haJfhr8khsrhKC05ItplaACbGuq3axuGDzwoZnvUuXzVMbrrwXLmhQsf9TV38x_H9Wlt5mQBBO0K_x=s3001" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3001" data-original-width="3000" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiKSuJGLi8EK07r5uicikm4vvDQ4MqiM1hMKPYtGkikiqvY5qTQ-XafVSlnLqzL90kBBmfhmmaTcrCL3_y313Hf7XH1Ai8xmeEK7hgT800AH6haJfhr8khsrhKC05ItplaACbGuq3axuGDzwoZnvUuXzVMbrrwXLmhQsf9TV38x_H9Wlt5mQBBO0K_x=w640-h640" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgpzzBkzhSF8cPgIw9CQgl0dkx23HNfpLSL4Lbn4qfCoAKY0DiO4R4oKApXkWRCur9hl-fi-Hp-2I9AFtGAqF8VNNlcrwwoaDjTVIQXGxi1uFbSJKnAjoyJTcZ0ieFb0TwAXw_1wM_l2XOrmQz3FPAxFHkJpydO9B1AFXoWeTDIANObsLeJajKh2S8u=s3000" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="3000" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgpzzBkzhSF8cPgIw9CQgl0dkx23HNfpLSL4Lbn4qfCoAKY0DiO4R4oKApXkWRCur9hl-fi-Hp-2I9AFtGAqF8VNNlcrwwoaDjTVIQXGxi1uFbSJKnAjoyJTcZ0ieFb0TwAXw_1wM_l2XOrmQz3FPAxFHkJpydO9B1AFXoWeTDIANObsLeJajKh2S8u=w640-h640" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiqkT3N44rLoNlT1CJa8W621wInqhrgxpLYAPl2Oswt_7vNQ4yAzNnby2lMRITLndocOSRE-1fzR9duiyvEJG0ig8N6s5kj3wKslteR1N2lTdyBaFWjGmQT5R82ZSO7wTZEg8-cRrjuu7S7NPhedUhP1oSbornTVio6tPm5wWxjVKkNMRFHyzEqRfGY=s3000" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="3000" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiqkT3N44rLoNlT1CJa8W621wInqhrgxpLYAPl2Oswt_7vNQ4yAzNnby2lMRITLndocOSRE-1fzR9duiyvEJG0ig8N6s5kj3wKslteR1N2lTdyBaFWjGmQT5R82ZSO7wTZEg8-cRrjuu7S7NPhedUhP1oSbornTVio6tPm5wWxjVKkNMRFHyzEqRfGY=w640-h640" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEisUPvRa9KbYeLk9frNFENdviCp7eOwzQ1ruW2lnPK69qUVBKZupubZMVmemrgY0JrgxkcbryZqCLjnAR7gB4ztxdvnKV4ZO9kZTHHx01kqOy4HhbE3d6lpRfYNeKjeIIN-wejMgENbrNRb5WTxOE_iFC9-pw_93_qLp5VmGgI4VOc-5oZTTaxdZh8B=s3000" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="3000" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEisUPvRa9KbYeLk9frNFENdviCp7eOwzQ1ruW2lnPK69qUVBKZupubZMVmemrgY0JrgxkcbryZqCLjnAR7gB4ztxdvnKV4ZO9kZTHHx01kqOy4HhbE3d6lpRfYNeKjeIIN-wejMgENbrNRb5WTxOE_iFC9-pw_93_qLp5VmGgI4VOc-5oZTTaxdZh8B=w640-h640" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEicWOIJUEtMnOgEx2eRsTNzlRxzpiw7EK7_z1Fr0uhcb57zBIGg9KeGkudJFlxIL--oMdRhV6wkJyx7_uRMw2XBioCMUg-fFhVEeapvlnSQaR7pOBSQf6_57KAv2cERy_FrL2oMjOe-VRhDi_0LaTayglIHNfmf3KC19IBuuGKpqQTk5zIP_E11STWY=s3001" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3001" data-original-width="3000" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEicWOIJUEtMnOgEx2eRsTNzlRxzpiw7EK7_z1Fr0uhcb57zBIGg9KeGkudJFlxIL--oMdRhV6wkJyx7_uRMw2XBioCMUg-fFhVEeapvlnSQaR7pOBSQf6_57KAv2cERy_FrL2oMjOe-VRhDi_0LaTayglIHNfmf3KC19IBuuGKpqQTk5zIP_E11STWY=w640-h640" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj3H-aktmf9JzMdIcjq7s-r00ELZD1Fx1X6W029tabZwlrrPT5hkEh_32_AfLCAsJdo9yjAOMhnCBOF6xqak_re7f1th53c2NEeXcNDcYTpiKTqi7JP91ygyqQV8uumSBFFOJ5X1R6Hxv_IhVIIXVx4VkLb2fhj6rVDO6evNr9_UCubt8nrvilandrn=s3002" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3000" data-original-width="3002" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj3H-aktmf9JzMdIcjq7s-r00ELZD1Fx1X6W029tabZwlrrPT5hkEh_32_AfLCAsJdo9yjAOMhnCBOF6xqak_re7f1th53c2NEeXcNDcYTpiKTqi7JP91ygyqQV8uumSBFFOJ5X1R6Hxv_IhVIIXVx4VkLb2fhj6rVDO6evNr9_UCubt8nrvilandrn=w640-h640" width="640" /></a></div><br /><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;">I still walk the trail that led to your house<br />often, where the ivy is taking over<br />the woods that took over<br /> your home <br />I remember the day you came to school and said you’d dropped your homework<br /> in the mud<br />lame excuse, like the dog ate it<br />they laughed <br />but I knew you slogged that muddy<br />trail to school every morning<br />shoulders bent to confront<br />the wind and rain<br />mind washed empty to confront<br /> our classmates<br />now I walk the trail without you<br />and remember us<br /><br /> they laughed<br />because they couldn’t kick you<br />while the teacher was standing<br />they kicked us when she looked away<br />shoving my face into spilled little sausages <br />on the floor, splotched with mud from the trails we came in on<br />Keds in my ribs, gravel-studded<br />gumboots caught in my hair<br /><br />he pushed my head down again, when I pulled to standing<br />I couldn’t look at you<br /><br />we lived parallel lives, we knew the same <br /> knuckles<br />the same jeers<br />we knew the pain of watching teachers<br />watching us<br />and not helping<br /> us<br />telling us we could do better; we could stand <br /> up<br />move out of the way of the dodgeballs<br />the basketballs that found our heads<br />before the hoops<br /><br />but our shoulders bent to our teachers’ <br /> demands<br />just stand tall, they said<br />what did they know?<br /><br />we already stood <br />like pale beaten trunks on a <br /> muddy trail<br />yeah, we were bent!<br />backs folded against the wind of our classmates’<br />words, we knew <br /><br />we couldn’t even<br />speak to each other<br />though we lived the same torment; we knew<br /><br />how impossible it is<br />to stand up <br />when every part of us is <br />frozen<br />with rejection<br /><br />already standing<br /> invisible<br /><br />in our isolation<br /><br />forty years later, you<br />asked me whether they <br /> intended<br /> to isolate <br />us<br /> or was it just<br /> a byproduct?<br />I said they’re just climbing <br /> the social ladder<br /> like ivy<br /><br />you and I were the trees,<br /> my friend<br />pale-barked trees<br />growing skyward<br /> free-ward<br />get the hell out of<br /> there-ward<br /> words can sure<br />hurt us, to the bone<br />so we learned<br />not to hear<br />to forget<br />to stand cold<br />and alone, self-<br />isolate<br /><br />you said<br />you wished you could say<br />you came away with<br />your heart fully intact<br />but that too, was<br />not offered to us so we drank<br />the shards of our hearts into oblivion<br />raised kids and tried to protect them<br />from our own childhoods; you left this town<br />and the mud and the ivy and the <br />rain falling down on our paths I stayed here<br />and beat the memories into words rejected the school<br /> where shit happened<br />where you and I were never friends and I said we<br /> all climbed our ladders to wherever we went<br />to drink in the sunshine of life that was denied to us<br />by the soles and rubberized toes of runners<br /><br />and with our branches we tell the sky<br />we plan to be whole, again<br />I tell you you’re my friend<br />now<br />in the mud of our adulthood<br />and memories and forgets<br /><br />it’s my commitment<br />my friend<br />to grow despite the ivy<br />to the sky<br /></p><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p><p style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><br /></p>
Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03100384225999745858noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100692801739409317.post-62846638984619180962022-02-13T18:56:00.003-08:002022-02-14T11:24:13.180-08:00Our New Valentines Tradition<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><p></p><div data-contents="true"><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="4n9l2" data-offset-key="fs210-0-0"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="fs210-0-0"><span data-offset-key="fs210-0-0"><span data-text="true">I was recently reminded that my son, when he was about three, suddenly asked me, "Mama, what is Valen"? We were walking along the road, as I remember, his sister bundled in against my chest in the damp winter. And he looked so sincere. This was a question of great importance, but I was clueless. </span></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="4n9l2" data-offset-key="dsoah-0-0"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="dsoah-0-0"><span data-offset-key="dsoah-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="4n9l2" data-offset-key="4qjc0-0-0"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="4qjc0-0-0"><span data-offset-key="4qjc0-0-0"><span data-text="true">"I don't know," I answered. "What do you mean?"</span></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="4n9l2" data-offset-key="cgoc8-0-0"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="cgoc8-0-0"><span data-offset-key="cgoc8-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="4n9l2" data-offset-key="2mtd5-0-0"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="2mtd5-0-0"><span data-offset-key="2mtd5-0-0"><span data-text="true">"It's time for Valen," he said with wide eyes and a face full of open fascination. </span></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="4n9l2" data-offset-key="akaru-0-0"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="akaru-0-0"><span data-offset-key="akaru-0-0"><br data-text="true" /></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="4n9l2" data-offset-key="adt2c-0-0"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="adt2c-0-0"><span data-offset-key="adt2c-0-0"><span data-text="true">Oohhh. Yes. Valentimes. I think I tried to explain that it's a day for showing how much we love each other. But he was born tenderly expressing his love, and he never needed a special day for that. Still. It was something he could understand, even if the name (and a saint from somebody else's religion) meant nothing to him. My kids have grown so much since those early days, and so have we, as a family.</span></span><br /></div></div></div><p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjdXYW0IqfZq3jOQbm-wiephTkc_VoLAxF0nEdvQDgmHHFMc9uxDw5M8PJCtQf8EKeAWE-YRB00SSL_dvX7i1_cVzYuXciDGsFuW4RFZTjTeBOu72ndk-80CbDv9yzx0xdYVO-ISjND848SReXz7_h2HEp5jPccyCXWa396_NiT8cDYi6cjiO-6ODh-=s6000" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1986" data-original-width="6000" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjdXYW0IqfZq3jOQbm-wiephTkc_VoLAxF0nEdvQDgmHHFMc9uxDw5M8PJCtQf8EKeAWE-YRB00SSL_dvX7i1_cVzYuXciDGsFuW4RFZTjTeBOu72ndk-80CbDv9yzx0xdYVO-ISjND848SReXz7_h2HEp5jPccyCXWa396_NiT8cDYi6cjiO-6ODh-=w640-h212" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>That gorgeous spread is our slightly new Valentine's tradition. I suppose it came out of the pandemic, though I honestly can't remember where the idea came from. We first did this in 2021, but we loved it so much we've decided to make it a tradition: Homemade High Tea! </p><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhEtYCT3eT7QkKT3jkDOP88K9hIvFbmhqAA1le9dNt1LuqndjKu5GXMEjWFYyIdtqyzNy2E-B84l7GUp037BOucimEIj5L9HD8tpBzz2qPHLLF78eo4bLYC1wv6v-GEiusfjcSPF_Ny4pxlJp_6PbRYpkf6o1fzvKfEx3BJJ0KrvTZJqfEOQbxQarcL=s6000" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4000" data-original-width="6000" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhEtYCT3eT7QkKT3jkDOP88K9hIvFbmhqAA1le9dNt1LuqndjKu5GXMEjWFYyIdtqyzNy2E-B84l7GUp037BOucimEIj5L9HD8tpBzz2qPHLLF78eo4bLYC1wv6v-GEiusfjcSPF_Ny4pxlJp_6PbRYpkf6o1fzvKfEx3BJJ0KrvTZJqfEOQbxQarcL=w640-h426" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>The idea is so simple: each person in the house creates some kind of treat, and we serve it all with tea! Thank goodness both my kids are great cooks--we really feasted! This year we had sausage rolls, sandwiches, scones, pear clafoutis, and cookies! It's pretty extravagant, and all home-made from scratch, gluten-free and pseudo-keto, because those are our requirements. I guess for me it's a beautiful thing to see that my kids are so capable, but also it feels like a culmination of everything we've worked for, in raising them: a family that can all contribute to a communal happiness. And we actually enjoy each other's company. Honestly, what more could we have hoped for?</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhc7Cy1xSTJ5WKu1uxUJqWnY-qAl1I5Ohid3YRu8nZveGYzkQ0Sa7fU8pUb2t4gHXvFZwHlTv-EHbfo78LXmEy9pnE7jl7MC0KhzNtpVLHamCtmOtZ6XsnakQQO1Bxd1wdaHKjIiJ90ryyPmkJPAarbHOmzgP9esNc7RAvPaCl6vUw3Bkv2EfyTv91r=s5362" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3575" data-original-width="5362" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhc7Cy1xSTJ5WKu1uxUJqWnY-qAl1I5Ohid3YRu8nZveGYzkQ0Sa7fU8pUb2t4gHXvFZwHlTv-EHbfo78LXmEy9pnE7jl7MC0KhzNtpVLHamCtmOtZ6XsnakQQO1Bxd1wdaHKjIiJ90ryyPmkJPAarbHOmzgP9esNc7RAvPaCl6vUw3Bkv2EfyTv91r=w640-h426" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p>My mother sent us the snowdrops from her garden, and we ate off my grandmother's fancy rose dishes. Maybe one day when we're free from pandemic fears we can expand our Valentines High Tea to include more of our beloved family. <br /></p><p>Happy Valentines day!<br /></p>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03100384225999745858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100692801739409317.post-35788621827512895552022-02-10T17:15:00.000-08:002022-02-11T09:48:00.356-08:00I've Changed my Thinking on University Entrance and Attendance<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVoSwkYKolGbv3Z6EjR2L7ckK9cyq34I74_OZhGpstPZa2WeTduLQDEIgpK09xn1S0Vb6b-RCEBUr2tDvXITGDmt2bFB9xy2E9xpNz9tk_fMEr3WhQ25b8W-F7tI3H5zFjAyyYgb1VP5Y/s1800/20130825_tali+bike+wings_18s.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1800" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVoSwkYKolGbv3Z6EjR2L7ckK9cyq34I74_OZhGpstPZa2WeTduLQDEIgpK09xn1S0Vb6b-RCEBUr2tDvXITGDmt2bFB9xy2E9xpNz9tk_fMEr3WhQ25b8W-F7tI3H5zFjAyyYgb1VP5Y/w640-h426/20130825_tali+bike+wings_18s.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Taliesin in his early years, trying to get some lift. Photo: Emily van Lidth de Jeude</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />I thought about calling this article 'Getting into University as an Unschooler', because that's what people ask me about, knowing that I parent two young adults who are currently in this stage of life. But by the time I finished writing it, I realized that I can't even recommend university anymore. Not the way it's traditionally done, anyway. University is a beautiful little corner of a much bigger, beautiful picture, and I mean to let my kids have the whole picture.<p></p><p>I have two different kids who have traveled through life in the same community, sharing the same upbringing, home and family, and often the same activities, but with vastly different journeys towards what our culture calls "adulthood". They're both now on the precipice of finding meaningful employment in fields that inspire them, still living at home during the pandemic, but eagerly researching the rental market since, one day soon, they plan to move out and build their independent lives. Here are their stories, followed by my current thoughts on university.</p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Taliesin</b></span><br />He's my firstborn. He was passionate about science since he opened his eyes, though it took me a few years to see it. He observed the whole world around him, figuring out how everything worked. He was passionate about making art, too, but since he was mostly drawing machines (albeit very imaginative machines), I figured science was his thing. By the time he was nine he was begging to go to university and study physics. He was fully unschooled, so we went out to our local university (UBC) and their particle accelerator for tours and to listen to lectures whenever we were able. It was wonderful to see him so engaged, but other than attending lectures, there was little to interest him, scientifically. All the kids' programs were too condescending and boring, having little to do with the science he craved so much, and the teen programs that graciously let him in before he was of age were too few and far between. And as his friends became busier with school activities, he was becoming lonely. We tried gifted homelearner social groups, but both he and I feel an aversion to the 'gifted' classification, and we weren't interested in defining ourselves that way. </p><p>So he went to school. Taliesin did two years at our local private middle school where his uncle teaches, followed by three years at the democratic school in the city. We always approached school from an unschooling perspective, with no concern at all for grades or attendance, and always the option to take a different view of the projects than what was expected. Mostly this served him well, and he managed the shift from unschooling to school quite well. He found science classes boring, because the material is presented in such a slow, methodical manner that there was little room for him to explore his interests. He aced most of the tests because he knew the material, but he stopped pursuing science, on his own.<br /></p><p>He still wanted to attend UBC for physics, but now understood he had to wait, and decided to go through the usual route for entrance, by graduating and applying like most others. He <a href="https://rickshawunschooling.blogspot.com/2019/06/how-to-unschool-graduation.html" target="_blank">graduated with honours</a> at the end of his grade eleven year, and then spent a year taking additional grade twelve and first-year science courses at college, while volunteering in his community and applying to UBC. He only applied to UBC, because that was all he had ever wanted. And at the end of this long haul that started when he was nine, and in the middle of a pandemic, he was denied entrance to what had been for many years his constant life's goal. It wasn't a big deal to me, but I think it was to him. I think it felt like failure, simply because of the competitive nature of our school system and the application. However, he tells me that by the time he received his application rejection, he was already losing interest in the program. <br /></p><p>Taliesin moved on. He began teaching himself <a href="https://soundcloud.com/taliesin-river" target="_blank">digital music composition</a> and <a href="https://taliesinriver.artstation.com/" target="_blank">3D rendering</a>. He says he's just not that interested in science anymore--and it's true he's been creating art and music all his life--but what I saw as his high school career ended was a young man whose interest in science faded away as he dragged himself through the system that was meant to teach it to him. What I saw was my son's enthusiasm dwindled, his confidence shattered, and his life's goals just thrown out the window. But, because he had little else to do, he continued drawing, rendering, and composing. Within months of self-teaching from his bedroom, he had mastered rendering to such an extent that he found a volunteer job rendering a space station for a show being produced by the <a href="https://www.csn.edu/planetarium" target="_blank">College of Southern Nevada's planetarium</a>. </p><p>And now, eighteen months after he dropped out of college and failed to be admitted to university, I am finally seeing a resurgence of his enthusiasm for learning. He has developed the beginnings of a successful career as a digital artist. He still works entirely from his bedroom, but with a fancy convertible desk and insane computer setup that he created and funded through his work. He did rather over-commit with his many contracts (he's still mostly employed designing planets and space vehicles), so is now consciously working on his health, making sure he gets free time, outside time, and family time. He's also now talking about using some of the money he's earned to pay for a mentorship to help him establish a good careeer. The great thing about all of this, to me, is to see that all of these decisions were his. He identified the needs in his life, and is finding and actualizing solutions according to his means. I never could have imagined his career developing this way, but honestly could not be more proud.<br /></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Rhiannon</b></span><br />She was born communicating. She smiled her first gigantic toothless grin at only two weeks old, as she watched her big brother walk by and followed him with her whole upper body. Stories, music, and social interactions are her lifeblood. As young children, she and her brother sat for hours looking at books together every day, but while he was tracing the mechanisms of the machines, the families, the buildings, or whatever else he could find, she was telling the stories. She was looking in the little faces of the characters and feeling their feelings. By the time she was six or so, she frequently stopped her brother from telling about science, declaring, "science boils my brain!" </p><p>Like her brother, she was unschooled for many years, until social interactions became too infrequent, and she went to school. She attended a part-time Distributed Learning program, and then the same democratic school as Taliesin, but focused more on writing and musical theatre than anything else. Over the years she enjoyed many personal projects, including publishing magazines online, working and volunteering for local childcare centres, reviewing books for middle grade readers, and babysitting every chance she got. By the time the pandemic hit, she was nearly finished preparing <a href="https://www.blurb.ca/b/10390239-bertrice" target="_blank">her first novel</a> for publication, and finally self-published it at the end of 2020.</p><p>It's funny how people often struggle with the things they excel at. Despite being a highly social person, or maybe because of it, Rhiannon's struggles have mostly been social, and the pandemic isolation has been the worst of it. Her decision to <a href="http://rickshawunschooling.blogspot.com/2020/08/celebrating-my-daughter-quitting-school.html" target="_blank">quit school entirely</a> and register as a homeschooler, returning to a fully self-directed unschooling life was difficult for a girl who thrives on social connection. So after cutting herself off from all the social interactions she relied upon, she began livestreaming, teaching online, and writing like her life depended on it! She's still reviewing novels on <a href="https://rhiannonraven.wixsite.com/readingcorner">the website</a> she built herself. She's expanding that website to include relevant articles about writing for children and teens, and she now <a href="https://rhiannonraven.wixsite.com/youthvoicemagazine" target="_blank">publishes a successful magazine</a> for middle-grade readers. She's not going to graduate from high school. She's just living.</p><p>But what about university? Well, Rhiannon still hopes to study Early Childhood Education at Capilano University, so before she quit school she made sure that would still be an option. I helped her find a contact, but other than that, this process is hers. She had a conversation with someone in the ECE department and discussed how she might apply without a high school diploma. Capilano University doesn't really have much of a homeschooler admission policy, but they were delighted to hear that at fifteen she was already enthusiastically pursuing her goals, that she already knew enough about those goals to know exactly what her own educational values are, and that she intended to apply. They will, eventually, look over her activities and projects from the last few years and admit her according to whatever those have been. </p><p>There's no guarantee, just like her brother wasn't guaranteed a spot at UBC despite an honours-standing graduation, a scholarship for his biology-related community work, and significant long-standing attendance at UBC lectures. But then, there's really never a guarantee about life, is there? Amazing grades in all the relevant subjects don't create success. The only thing we can do to prepare our children for the reality that there are no guarantees is to equip them with resilience, resourcefulness, independence and confidence. That's where unschooling shines.<br /></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>University</b></span><br />That brings me to what I've learned. I've learned that not only is there no guarantee of admission to university, but there's no need to worry about it, either. I've learned that university, like school or a job or a friendship, offers a lovely and important opportunity for learning, but it's not everything. </p><p>When I was a kid, we were expected to go through the gamut of school until high school graduation, and then either get a job or access further education if our career goals required it. College or university has now been tacked onto that expectation as a part of the gamut. But why? What's the point? Not only do most kids not have firm career goals by the time they finish high school, but increasingly, people are having a multitude of different careers over the course of a lifetime, and accessing further education only as needed. There's little point in spending four years in training for a job that may not even exist when we finish. There's equally little point in spending all that time in school, when we can be learning and growing on the job, or while working on other pursuits.</p><p>So what's university for? A friend of mine pre-read this article and asked me to explore this a little more. Her comments made me realize that many of the skills and experiences I gained from university are now unneeded in our society in general, like outdated job-search skills, now-antiquated writing conventions, and working in a pre-social-media world. Other skills I gained, such as time-management, a sense of self and community engagement, mature social skills, real-world career-building skills, and, most importantly, independence have already been mostly acquired by my unschooled kids, simply because they spent their teen years exploring rather than schooling. During one of the many parent meetings at the democratic school both of my kids attended, the principal explained that at a democratic school kids are encouraged to do whatever they like, even when that means spending every day playing video games or sitting out on the grass chatting with their friends. She then said something to the effect that "we let them do this in their teens, instead of during their first year of university, when they're paying high tuition fees just to sit out on the lawn chatting with their friends." Right. At the time, with a couple of unschooled teens I could already see had more "adulting skills" than I did at twenty, her words hit home. Resilience, resourcefulness, independence and confidence are often what we gain through attending university, but we can also gain them through unschooling, at any age.<br /></p><p>This current expectation that everyone should attend college or university just to have a diploma or degree that allows us to apply for the
next degree, or for a particular job, is not a long-standing tradition.
Universities used to be simply a hub for research and discovery. They
still are, and in addition to that, they offer kids who haven't already had a chance to gain independence a space to do so. More excitingly, they offer a place for people to gather in pursuit of common interests, and because of this (and their ancient position as research hubs) they still hold more resources for the exploration and pursuit of those interests than other parts of the city. The only particle accelerator in this little part of the earth is at our university, for example. And much of the pertinent medical research happens at universities. It's good to have a place to gather in community and pursuit of knowledge and understanding! We need that! Universities still offer this, and the greatest professors are those who show up not to impart knowledge, but to gather people together in pursuit of it, sharing their enthusiasm as they do. The best classes are not rungs on the ladder towards a degree, but those that welcome in the public and people of all experience levels to just get excited and share ideas. I hope and imagine that as humans and education continue to evolve, universities cease to be an expected part of "growing up", and continue to be, as they have been for many centuries, a hub for growth. <br /></p><p>I love how my kids are making their way into adulthood without following the prescribed route. My son felt he needed some education in rendering, so he found and accessed an online course. Now he needs help developing his business, so he's looking for a mentor. All his own initiatives, and both through universities, but only on an as-needed basis. Both my kids are on the precipice of their adult lives, and finally free to jump. Maybe one day university will be a bigger part of my kids' lives, but I imagine it will be just one strand in a great weaving--definitely not something to spend their teen years fretting about. It turns out they can spend their teen years doing what they love and each of those other activities will be equally valuable strands in the same big weaving of their lives.<br /></p>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03100384225999745858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100692801739409317.post-85587389181924333872022-01-30T18:22:00.001-08:002022-02-23T09:45:23.872-08:00The Youth Voice Magazine Marks One Year of Publication!<p></p><p></p><p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhFeFRgitghtGoApxSIkf3ArBaPWzA0Yld0cbdMIDw09DK3xBkmRVGrImntabiCANQpTN1rZ5HymPNSGeTXh9tpOP88Xm3K0lHcGLx_LP-cs759ugI2zom2fBtI3ecAj5BHsUAKgvERbk_B87uqDfu1tXtE9PaduiKS-U4e6cUQ7Ql_HiJifPK0dg3z=s1200" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1200" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhFeFRgitghtGoApxSIkf3ArBaPWzA0Yld0cbdMIDw09DK3xBkmRVGrImntabiCANQpTN1rZ5HymPNSGeTXh9tpOP88Xm3K0lHcGLx_LP-cs759ugI2zom2fBtI3ecAj5BHsUAKgvERbk_B87uqDfu1tXtE9PaduiKS-U4e6cUQ7Ql_HiJifPK0dg3z=w640-h426" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>This fabulous human and the magazine she publishes! </i></td></tr></tbody></table> </p><p>The Youth Voice Magazine is the third publication my daughter Rhiannon has put out in her young life, and after a year, it seems to be going quite well. Every season she gathers votes on a particular theme, and then she and the other teen editor, Vera, accept submissions by nine to fourteen-year-olds from all over the world. Anyone eighteen or younger is also invited to contribute to the community page. Then Rhiannon lays out and publishes each issue in digital format, and on paper. Subscribers to the paper magazine get a shiny mag delivered by mail.<br /></p><p>To me, the beautiful thing about this magazine is how adamantly the editors insist on submissions being wholly the work of the kids who submit them. They request that no parents submit work for their kids (although exceptions can be made), and no child is coerced to submit to the magazine; each submission comes directly from a kid who was moved to contribute to the theme. It might be art, poetry, puzzles, fiction or journalism, but it's wholly from the mind and pen (or keyboard) of a young person. I was moved to tears by a couple of stories about racism and love, and, well... I keep looking forward to Mollie's hilarious stories about Addie, which seem to be becoming a fixture of this publication! </p><p style="margin-left: 80px; text-align: left;"><i>"...now bend and touch your toes," said the yoga teacher.</i></p><p style="margin-left: 80px; text-align: left;"><i>"PWWWTTTT," was the noise that came from Addie's mum's bum.</i></p><p style="margin-left: 80px; text-align: left;"><i>"Oh MUM, you are sooooooo embarrassing," said Timmy trying not to be heard. Mum carried on stretching as if nothing had happened.</i></p><p style="margin-left: 80px; text-align: right;"><i>~Mollie Wilcox, September 2021, the Youth Voice Magazine </i><br /></p><p>Every time Rhiannon brings home a copy for us to read, I'm amazed and thrilled that this thing is envisioned and created entirely by youth. It really does represent "the youth voice". </p><p style="text-align: center;"><i>Now it is time to rebuild,<br />even though some hope is unfulfilled.<br />If we support each other along the way,<br />We will have a future with sunny days.<br />But after all we must carry on,<br />even though loved ones are gone.</i></p><p style="text-align: right;"><i> </i><i>~Daniyal Hamid, March 2021, the Youth Voice Magazine</i><br /></p><p>Over the first year, themes have ranged from pandemic to pets, and I'm particularly excited about the upcoming issue: weather and climate change! The contributors have blown my mind with their astute observations on humanity and culture, and I imagine this issue will be no different. Our kids see the world without the coloured lenses we adults have plastered to our eyes. I learn something and feel emboldened by hearing the voices of these kids.<br /></p><p>If you know someone who might like to contribute, do send them this information. Then step back and see what our kids will make of the world!</p><p><a href="https://rhiannonraven.wixsite.com/youthvoicemagazine" target="_blank">https://rhiannonraven.wixsite.com/youthvoicemagazine <br /></a>Instagram: <a href="https://www.instagram.com/youth_voice_mag/" target="_blank">@youth_voice_mag</a></p><p><br /></p><p></p><br /><br />Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03100384225999745858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100692801739409317.post-58139282667803775622022-01-26T14:20:00.000-08:002022-01-26T14:20:51.077-08:00We Like Field Mice in January: Returning to a Healthy Seasonal Rhythm<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhWqKsv60dYWQ334-FLG2qfM0ZsTUiZ3uVbYXuDMnVopxfPhjEwWXnKMvEvHr1e7JHgMu7P1wIW_8-gS2rpgKSv8SogmZTbI8hvFHMHeVWN5PPn16XdalnRkMKsc4z7IjGY8O4QT_6j5rK9FtZgkB01WUaNvdQWI4EfxCj1MSj1TZhbXjI0O9jmxzDS=s1461" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="837" data-original-width="1461" height="366" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhWqKsv60dYWQ334-FLG2qfM0ZsTUiZ3uVbYXuDMnVopxfPhjEwWXnKMvEvHr1e7JHgMu7P1wIW_8-gS2rpgKSv8SogmZTbI8hvFHMHeVWN5PPn16XdalnRkMKsc4z7IjGY8O4QT_6j5rK9FtZgkB01WUaNvdQWI4EfxCj1MSj1TZhbXjI0O9jmxzDS=w640-h366" width="640" /></a></div><br />If you watch a meadow for a year, at least in places with our temperate climate, there are two down-times: When it's too cold, and when it's too hot. Those are vital down-times that we use to prepare and rest up for the up-times of spring and autumn.<br /><p></p><p>Spring is, of course, vibrantly busy with new growth. Everything seems alive; everything is green, or flowered or bustling! It's like a great shout! for the sun and the great moving sky! Summer begins with the busy growth of berries, and the setting of seeds. Mammals, insects, birds and fish all rejoice in the excitement, fill their bellies with plants and each other, raise their babies, and build their homes and communities. But by the end of summer, the grasses have bent under the scorching sun; many of the animals shelter under them from the overbearing heat. Seeds dry and cure in the hot, persistent drought. Everything waits. Even the wind. It's just way too hot. What a huge relief when autumn comes to the meadow! The wind picks up, leaves and nuts and seeds fall to the ground and everybody gets busy packing in for winter; lining burrows and fattening up. Leaves of evergreens that folded up to protect themselves in the summer heat are now open again, washing and renewing themselves in the autumn rain. The rain and wind goes on for so long that by winter, grasses have died back, their old stalks brown and limp
under the flood or snow. Rodents and insects still live, making and tending their pathways under the flattened grass of the meadow, and hungry prey birds sit still, hoping to catch one out of its shelter. Hungry. Everything is hungry. Trees and shrubs around the edges of the meadow stand naked
without their leaves, just bending in the wind, cracking as their bodies
swell with ice, and waiting. For spring. </p><p>When my kids were young, our life was like the meadow. We, like field mice under grasses, nested in our house, in winter. We traipsed out in the meadow, sure, hungry like those field mice for a little adventure, but then we left our wet clothes at the door, and cocooned. Inside, we built cardboard box forts, did drawing and crafts by the fire, baked and sang and nestled in blankets with books. They call this hygge, now. Somehow in the post-Christmas lull, and without the demands of school and work (I was an <a href="https://rickshawunschooling.blogspot.com/2022/01/stay-at-home-feminist-mom-why-i-traded.html">intentionally stay-at-home-mom</a> and unschooling my kids all year), we had freedom to just be. But it wasn't a pointless existence. In that quiet winter, like grasses, we were putting our roots down, deep, and by early spring we were ready to thrive.</p><p>Spring is when the whole world wakes up. And HOLY we partied!!! Everybody, like cherry blossoms, is out celebrating right through spring and into early summer. Everything has exclamation marks!!! For kids there are field-trips aplenty. There are festivals and conferences. Everybody is dancing their life out in the sunshine and flaunting the choices we made. This is when we were proudest to live our chosen lives.</p><p>As summer dragged on, though, the heat became oppressive, and we hid indoors, or in the cool shelter of our beloved forest. Drought meant even our well was close to dry, and we had to be careful about how much we used. No sprinklers; no water balloons. It was even too hot to go to the beach during the day, so we went there in the dark evenings, singing at campfires by the ocean with friends, watching the sun set again and again on the season of growth, as the grasses dried and we waited, again. We prepared our bodies for the autumn.</p><p>And there it was. Just like leaves fell in the meadow, summer friends went off to school, and we, like field mice, made our burrows under the grass. We prepared for winter by going over our goals, enrolling kids in programs, taking stock of our finances and plans for the coming year, and busying ourselves with all the considerations of raising children. My mother used to buy me a new outfit along with my school supplies, each year, and it felt SO GOOD. As an unschooling parent, how could I resist the displays of just-so school supplies, happy little felt pen packs and blank books just waiting for the glorious productions of the year ahead?! My kids got them too! More exclamation marks, because the giddy anticipation of this time of year is just infectious!!! Field mice are running with abandon along their grass paths, shoving their burrows full of treats for the coming winter!!!</p><p>Winter, again. December is a great distraction of bright-lights and colourful wildness, but then it's over and, again, here we are in the January lull. My family spent a few of our kids' teen years in schools of various forms. We abandoned much of our winter downtime for the routine of classes and general graduation preparedness. But when covid hit in 2020, we took it as an opportunity to drop all that, and returned to unschooling. It's very different, now that my kids are almost grown, one graduated and the other with no intention of graduating; both working their way to careers. But because of the increasing uncertainty in the world, we decided to grow our own food. Or at least, as much as we can, given the small bit of land that we rent. </p><p>In the past year and a half we have begun keeping chickens for eggs, meat, and garden-maintenance (they eat bugs and till some of the soil), and we're growing about half the vegetables we consume each year (and none of the grain), through regenerative farming practices. It's certainly not full-fledged farming, but it has brought us closer to feeding ourselves, and also to the healthy seasonal rhythm we used to know, when the kids were young. Right now, in January, last year's veggie stalks are poking half-rotten from the melting snow. Seeds fallen last autumn are lying in wait--some in my seed box, and some in the ground. Chickens keep a low-key routine of scratching for bugs under the rotting leaves, and are beginning to discover (and eat) the first spring shoots. Spring is just around the corner and, like all the plants in the meadow, we've been putting down our roots for a strong spring start. Like field mice, we're watching for new shoots.<br /></p><p>Regenerative farming (that is, growing food in harmony with the ecology of the land it's growing on) has brought us much closer to that easy seasonal flow we had when the kids were little. It's a satisfying way to live, in our climate: rooting in winter, blossoming in spring, resting in the hottest part of summer, and nesting in the fall. There's something to be said for living in tune with our bodies and the ecology of the world around us. </p><p>And there's something deeply harmful about fighting it. In our urban culture, even our daily rhythms are governed more by the needs of the economy (whether personal or societal) than by our physiological needs. How many of us get up before dawn and trudge to work in the dark, dependent on a host of chemical and physical methods of preparing an un-rested and un-ready body for the work day? This lifestyle came close to eliminating my husband, before <a href="https://rickshawunschooling.blogspot.com/2020/04/how-covid-saved-my-husband.html" target="_blank">the pandemic saved him</a>. How many kids do the same, for school? How many of us carry on our routines despite failing health, when the winters are too dark and cold; when the summers are beating the life out of us? We need to change.<br /></p><p>I'm not saying we should be a solely agrarian society, but perhaps we can take the natural cycles of the year into consideration, in how we work, play, and parent our children. Some agrarian populations shift industry and school schedules to accommodate the needs of planting and harvesting. Maybe we could shift ours, similarly, or even determine some of the specific activities done at certain times of year to correspond with our natural energy levels and physiological needs. Maybe, like field mice, we can run in the pathways of our communities to spend this winter tidying, eating our stored grains, and watching excitedly for the sprouts of spring.<br /></p>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03100384225999745858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100692801739409317.post-74876207007555884572022-01-24T11:13:00.007-08:002022-01-24T11:24:41.278-08:00Stay-At-Home-Feminist-Mom: Why I Traded my Career for the Privilege of Parenting My Children<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj1JyI7IFcxInjUlKw2rkeoaAwEU6WawuwbpbrJd1xUWmuqe38cvaZZVUqTVNbakVNsb1FSjPXLxrgn_xIMkD2tsnxMOJB97kVcusekiaOIwVBCQYitpwwamGsjq0kLV6ND5Qy2sLeGA3GhP0ntIbjl2aITYfXbSSclQgMbE5x2jF9PkRYGOPQo0IrQ=s2816" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2112" data-original-width="2816" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj1JyI7IFcxInjUlKw2rkeoaAwEU6WawuwbpbrJd1xUWmuqe38cvaZZVUqTVNbakVNsb1FSjPXLxrgn_xIMkD2tsnxMOJB97kVcusekiaOIwVBCQYitpwwamGsjq0kLV6ND5Qy2sLeGA3GhP0ntIbjl2aITYfXbSSclQgMbE5x2jF9PkRYGOPQo0IrQ=w640-h480" width="640" /></a> <br /></div><p>As a teen, I never really thought about becoming a mother. Finding the elusive “true love” — yes! But not kids. I was going to find a man who was supportive of my political views (and would understand there is nothing actually “political” about equal rights), and spend my life busting up the patriarchy with gusto! Through the amazing art career I had planned, I was going to save us from climate change AND our degrading societal norms, by showing the world what absolute tools for the patriarchy we’ve been, and getting us out from under the shoe of the Man. Yeah.</p><p class="graf graf--p" name="27bd">So… that didn’t go quite as planned. My man was not <em class="markup--em markup--p-em">un</em>supportive, he was just mild-mannered and uninterested in the big angry mission I was on. But he loved me. And also: hormones. Somehow my hormones side-swiped my passionate goals, so that suddenly, and for a few years, there was nothing more important to me than having babies. (My teenaged self gets whiplash here: HUH?!) So I had my baby, and determined when he was nearly two that it was time to go back to my career… or have another baby. I chose that latter. The timing of this choice coincided with our first child’s registration for preschool.</p><p class="graf graf--p" name="d291">Preschool is such a wonderful thing! These devoted people take our kids so we can go back to the work of tearing down the patriarchy! My mother in law tells of the glorious day she left both children at preschool, and walked away with her body upright for the first time in years! It’s the place you go to drop off your beloveds for a beautiful day of mind-building play and learning, and you — the newly freed mother — go back to your world-changing career!! YES!! (I was SO naive.)</p><p class="graf graf--p" name="efed">In my case, the first two years of preschool were spent back and forth between nursing my youngest and tending to the eldest while he very slowly acclimated to a system that never worked for him: school. I said he acclimated. He never thrived. By the time my youngest entered preschool (where she absolutely did thrive), my job became accompanying my eldest to his Kindergarten, where he continued not to thrive.</p><p class="graf graf--p" name="1808">It wasn’t a heartfelt thinking-through that led me to leave my career behind. It was just circumstance. I could never have left my son in that world that wasn’t serving him, and homeschool (unschooling, in our case), seemed like the best option. Nobody picks the second best option for their kids if they can help it. My husband and I rarely even talked about our life as a choice, and when we did, it was only that I apologized for not making any money, and that he reassured me my work with the children was equally important. I had found the equality I’d been fighting for: not in equal pay, but in being equally valued — at least by my partner.</p><p class="graf graf--p" name="379e">Financially, staying home with my kids was certainly a sacrifice. On one income for the foreseeable future, we abandoned our dreams of owning our own home. We are incredibly lucky in being able to rent from my parents, which has meant we have a kind of home security unavailable to most renters, today. But it was a mouldy and rotten home, and has necessitated over a decade of my husband’s free weekends and vacation time spent rebuilding (he’s still not finished, actually). So we sacrificed free family time, as well. Of course all this meant that unlike many of our kids’ friends’ families, we rarely had money for vacations, new clothes, or sports and arts programs.</p><p class="graf graf--p" name="0fa0">What we do have is an amazing attachment. That alone, and the benefits I knew it would have for my children’s lives, was enough to keep me home. It was enough to make every sacrifice of money, freedom, and career worthwhile. And I was so passionate about my work as a mother that it really became my life. I volunteered at various family-related organizations, served on and chaired various boards in my community, and founded and ran a few programs, all geared towards supporting healthy families in our community. I somehow never even saw the irony of becoming a stay-at-home-mom, after my passionately feminist youth, until people began pointing it out to me, as my kids grew older, and I continued staying home. It seems it’s reasonable for a feminist to have kids and attachment parent them, but then apparently one should put them in school and get back to work on smashing the patriarchy.</p><p class="graf graf--p" name="6f2a">Well hold on! What if my work as a mother IS smashing the patriarchy?! Is feminism now relegated to single, childless women, or those who leave their kids in the care of others? What does that say about our respect for other women? Day-care workers and teachers are some of the forgotten sacrifices in this equation, disrespected in wages, benefits AND the mainstream feminist viewpoint. Like stay-at-home-mothers, they’re the people feminism blindly relies on to raise the next generation of feminists, while feminists are out doing “more important” things.</p><p class="graf graf--p" name="7e94">In the process of changing the world, there is NOTHING more powerful than raising children.</p><p class="graf graf--p" name="3826">The way we raise our children determines how successful each generation of women will be at improving our lot. When caregivers aren’t valued as much as our economy values shareholders and industry-builders, we all lose. That goes for daycare staff, teachers, AND stay-at-home-mothers and homeschooling parents. Many stay-at-home-mothers are the volunteers in our communities who make the programs that support women and children. </p><p class="graf graf--p" name="01d9">And all that is not to ignore the unbelievable power of setting an example. As parents, we are the greatest teachers our children will ever have. When they’re sixty they’ll find themselves blindly doing what they saw us doing. There is no such thing as “do what I say, not what I do”… our children will <em class="markup--em markup--p-em">always</em> do what we do. So when they see us living powerful lives, when they see our partners respect us; when they see us respect ourselves, they will follow suit. And if we take in other children to care for, we’re influencing those children, too, and their children’s children. In everything from the choices we make in life, to the ways we speak to our children to the ways we glance at ourselves in the mirror, in passing, caregivers are POWERFUL. We’re the grease in the wheels of feminism. I argue, actually, that women who put down other women for choosing to stay home with children are just part of the blind patriarchy. </p><p class="graf graf--p" name="e846">Without regular vacations, without owning a home, without being socially acceptable, I am privileged. I’m privileged to have watched my kids grow up; to have shared my own life with them, and to have grown alongside them. I’m privileged to have had opportunity to make a difference in my community, and to model that for my children, so that, as young adults, they’re now busy doing the same. I’m privileged to have developed a very close relationship with my kids.</p><p class="graf graf--p" name="2274">The experience I’ve had in staying home with my kids and unschooling them is not available to all women: especially not to single mothers, or those with partners who are not supportive of the idea. Even as I now struggle to develop a career as a middle-aged woman with disability and not much documented work experience, I know how lucky I am to have lived the life I chose. My career has shifted from some-kind-of-subversive-artist to an artist that is deeply rooted in my own experience as a stay-at-home-feminist-mom. The first big installation I created was about giving voice to other mothers. Being a parent has given me a perspective on humanity that was deeply needed for my art-making, but not available to me until I’d had the experiences I have.</p><p class="graf graf--p" name="9b7b">I didn’t trade my values and career for having children; I traded my early career for the extremely powerful, feminist privilege of parenting my children, full-on. Or, to shift the focus a little, I am using my chosen experience as a stay-at-home-feminist-mom to build a stronger foundation for my career, and thus hopefully to smash the patriarchy, even harder.</p>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03100384225999745858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100692801739409317.post-86116451332781214452022-01-15T11:47:00.001-08:002022-01-15T12:57:19.970-08:00Why and How to Unschool Teens<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEghHFjaDw_gs4P3qGDUpqqByV_QovTMUq78Lm7DwZVMocTYvfMbuNpcDcbBDGTCqYzOEM7KK3xmmzHAg5TYDrY9NxXsHh-384WZYeYYTUHeM7nAxiF8JOIi6cAhmVcjtSOJuwzuSWDbkfrJQfX-5zLaYEEhRo2VCnMe9oeyqYtGG-VLGI3zVb5YJjO9=s1989" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1989" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEghHFjaDw_gs4P3qGDUpqqByV_QovTMUq78Lm7DwZVMocTYvfMbuNpcDcbBDGTCqYzOEM7KK3xmmzHAg5TYDrY9NxXsHh-384WZYeYYTUHeM7nAxiF8JOIi6cAhmVcjtSOJuwzuSWDbkfrJQfX-5zLaYEEhRo2VCnMe9oeyqYtGG-VLGI3zVb5YJjO9=w241-h400" width="241" /></a></div><p>They're basically adults with jobs and dreams and full-grown bodies, but they still climb the walls. Or posts, in my house. In many ways, they're capable of conventionally adult activities and often hold much wisdom, but their prefrontal cortex, responsible for rational thought, <a href="https://www.urmc.rochester.edu/encyclopedia/content.aspx?ContentTypeID=1&ContentID=3051" target="_blank">won't finish developing until about age twenty-five</a>. You know what part is guiding many of their decisions? The amygdala. That's right. The emotional centre of the brain. The one that makes us fall to pieces for seemingly small reasons, make decisions without regard for the future, and quite possibly is also responsible for their open minds, and daring escapades of emotional wisdom. That doesn't mean that we should shield them from hazards, of course. It means this is the time for them to experiment--to learn exploratively how life works for them, and thus to support that big development of their brains. Just like we learn to walk by taking steps, falling, getting up and trying again, we develop our thinking capacity in the same way. As our kids' prefrontal cortex continues developing, they will make mistakes and learn from them. They will be hurt and heal. They will grow. It's our job, as parents, to support our kids while they do that.</p><p>So, let's throw a massive social non-compliance on top of that whole mess of amygdala-guided growth: Unschooling! Maybe you started unschooling because of the pandemic; maybe because you found the school system or even homeschooling to be problematic for your teen. Maybe you, like me, have been unschooling all the way along, but just carry a lot of anxiety about what might go wrong, and how to do right. Maybe you're just considering starting.<br /></p><p>Really, the answer to "How to Unschool Teens" is the same as the answer to "How to Parent Teens", but for unschoolers the challenges and solutions can be somewhat unique. Without school, and especially during a pandemic, supporting our kids through loneliness and associated mental health issues is a huge challenge. Supporting their confidence in a world that equates graduation and competition with success can be difficult, too. Luckily, unschooling also offers benefits: greater connection with our kids, more time and growth, together, and more opportunity for consciously supporting our kids through this time. <br /></p><h2 style="text-align: left;">Social Challenges</h2><p>Unschooling is all about exploration, experimentation, trial, error, and growth. But as parents, we're so worried that our kids will experiment themselves into harm's way! Most of us have held our raw-with-feeling teens as they've bawled their eyes out over social situations that neither they nor we (nor sometimes the others involved) had any control over at all. We're not different from school families, that way. We hold onto them helplessly, just willing our love to be enough to heal the wounds. Or worse, we've sat outside their bedroom doors, knowing they suffered alone, and didn't feel able to come to us for support. </p><p>The feeling of impotence for parents of teens can be pervasive. When they were little we thought we knew and understood their experiences and feelings. We were often wrong, but they didn't make it so damn obvious as they do, now they stand at eye-level. Now we just step back in blurred astonishment, delighting and flailing and trudging through the tidbits of feeling they cast our way. </p><p>I have two very different children; one talks to me openly about their feelings, all very rationally considered, while the other says "everything's fine" until they explode with little-to-no warning and sometimes no association with known events. All I can do in both cases is accept the flow. And it's hard!! Because I'm an emotional human being too, and my feelings matter! I'm scared for them, I'm thrilled for them, I'm excited about their social interactions and terrified of anything going wrong. But they don't need that. I imagine my poking in their emotional lives feels to them like trying to learn to walk while a hovering parent pushes and prods them from every angle. Maybe that's actually a pretty accurate comparison. My meddling makes them fall, and makes it harder for them to find their footing. </p><p>Unschooling is about giving kids freedom to find their footing--academically, socially, and emotionally. It's that freedom that allows them to make the mistakes they will learn from, and it's the hardest thing in the world, as a parent, to stand back and watch them fall. Sometimes the fallout is a cake with too much baking soda; sometimes it's a catastrophically broken heart, or deep, deep depression. It's a constant assessment of risk and being honest with ourselves: most risks are not such a big deal. And even the big ones, we have to learn to deal with. And so do our children, through trial, error, and growth. We want to raise kids who are resilient, courageous, and unafraid. We can't always be there to pick them up, but we can be the foundation that helped them develop the skills to pick themselves up.</p><h2 style="text-align: left;">Academic Challenges</h2><p>Again, there isn't actually a whole lot of difference between schooled kids and unschooled kids, here. It's entirely possible for unschooled kids to set up and jump through the hoops of high school graduation, college, and university, as it is possible for them (or anybody) to build a career without any of those things. The difference is, schooled kids are often led to believe that without the diplomas they <i>cannot</i> succeed, and unschooled kids (hopefully) have been raised without that fear. I say 'hopefully', because fear of academic failure is probably one of the greatest shackles we parents have carried forward from our own lives within the system, and most probably, we've passed it on to our kids. I certainly have.</p><p>If you follow my blog, Rickshaw Unschooling, you may know that my first-born was uninterested in high school graduation, until struck by a crushing belief that his interest in science could only be served by entering university with a high school diploma. (I know a high school diploma isn't actually necessary for university entrance, but... we unschoolers let our kids make their decisions and hold them when they fall, right?!) So he suddenly worked his butt off and <a href="https://rickshawunschooling.blogspot.com/2019/06/how-to-unschool-graduation.html" target="_blank">graduated high school with honours</a>. However, the process of taking so many high school science courses led him to <a href="https://rickshawunschooling.blogspot.com/2021/06/why-my-son-quit-science-and-how-to.html" target="_blank">lose his lifelong ambition for studying science</a>. Graduation is not always the highway to our dreams. My son changed course and developed a career for himself as a digital artist. Maybe unschooling failed him, or maybe the school system he tried to compete in did. Definitely my own often-spoken ideas that university would be the path for someone interested in physics did. Maybe, though, unschooling gave him the resilience needed to bravely change course, without sacrificing his interests or values. In his work as a digital artist, he is becoming known for his skill in rendering physically plausible spaceships and planets.<br /></p><p>Just like kids who attend high school, unschooled kids can fail to meet expectations, too, but for radically unschooled kids, those expectations are only their own. My son knew I didn't care whether he graduated or not. He knows he faces no disappointment from his parents when he changes course, fails to reach a goal, or spends all night watching movies. Because his parents' disappointment doesn't come into play, he has more time to consider his own personal values. And actually, facing disappointment with oneself can be extremely challenging, and we'll all do it sooner or later, if we live a full and independent life. Luckily, my kids have been expected to make and meet their own personal expectations since they were very young, so they're accustomed to it. They both frequently come to talk to me about goals not met, or when they're considering changing course; when they're afraid of failure. That--the fact that they come to me at all, is our enormous privilege, as parents.<br /></p><h2 style="text-align: left;">Unschooling Takes Sacrifice, but Also Affords Privilege<br /></h2><p>Of course the choice to fully unschool our kids comes with some sacrifice. During early years, especially, it generally requires one parent to stay at home, or both parents, tag-teaming to share the burden of earning income and parenting. That almost always means financial sacrifice, and therefore necessitates less-than adequate housing for many, and refraining from many of the activities and purchases that families in this culture expect: travel, vehicle ownership, new clothes, eating out, and participating in sports or other expensive activities. Single parents, shift-workers, parents with low-paying jobs, and those with disabilities have an even steeper hill to climb. It's not impossible, especially within a supportive community or family, but requires quite a lot of flexibility, and flexible thinking, in terms of what sacrifices (time with kids, ability to do more affordable adventures like camping, hiking, swimming and visiting free festivals) we're willing to accept in our lives. We also often sacrifice our belonging in community, as we're shunned from local social events and sometimes even our families. And our teens--our teens are going to tell us, surely, that we sacrificed all the opportunities every other teen has, like prom, and sports and climbing the social and academic ladders, just to blindly follow our hippie ideals!! Or... they might. Just remember: That's their amygdala speaking. Just like we hope they will follow their own hearts, we followed ours in raising them the absolute best we could. And the privileges our sacrifices afforded us were probably worth it: A <a href="https://www.researchgate.net/publication/305720522_The_Challenges_and_Benefits_of_Unschooling_According_to_232_Families_Who_Have_Chosen_that_Route" target="_blank">2013 survey</a> by Peter Gray and Gina Riley documents "improved learning, better attitudes about learning, and improved
psychological and social wellbeing for the children; and increased
closeness, harmony, and freedom for the whole family."</p><p>Unschooling our kids meant that we spent much more time together than we could have if they had attended school. It meant we were thrown together as a family, day in and day out, through thick and thin, when we wanted to be and when we didn't--and we had to work through our differences, because there was no escape. Now we know each other more than we could have if they had attended school.</p><p>Unschooling meant that we parents had to question our preconceptions and fears, again and again and again, and we not only became less fearful (and passed less fear on to our kids), but also demonstrated to our kids how to question their preconceptions and fears. Now we're a family who easily engages in serious conversation about Life, the Universe, and EVERYTHING. My kids know I got pregnant when I was sixteen. They know my fears and challenges, and they share their own with me, when they want to. We have a kind of connection that is not unavailable to school-attending kids, but is more difficult to develop, without sharing so very much of our lives.<br /></p><p>Unschooling teens is in some ways similar to spousal or close-friend relationships: Ideally, we're equals. We all have friends who make a lot of decisions with their amygdalas, too (in my life, I'm that friend...) If we can survive road-trip arguments with our spouses or best friends, we can get through them with our fourteen or nineteen-year-olds, too. It's really no different when your partner thinks he knows where to turn off the highway (and he's wrong) than when your kid thinks he knows what's the best camping spot (and he's wrong). In either case, we're going to have to question our own convictions, and find ways to peacefully navigate a solution so that everybody feels heard. And in both cases someone is going to be wrong, and we all learn. And our prefrontal cortexes develop a little more.<br /></p><p>One thing I ask myself, when faced with conflict with my teens, is whether the topic in question is mine to consider. If it's the place we're stopping to camp for the night, then yes! It sure is! And we're going to have to debate it, and grow, relationship-wise. If it's my kid's choice to spend hundreds of her own hard-earned dollars on a video game? Nope. Even though I cringe when she plays it. None of my business. Do I have to "just try the game--it's fun!!" No I don't. That's <i>my</i> business. I didn't play dolls, either. </p><p>Unschooling means learning <i>with</i> our kids to know and hold our own values with confidence. Sometimes, like with a decision not to graduate, we feel at odds with the whole rest of our culture. But in the circle of our parent-child relationships (or our greater unschooling community, if we're lucky), we are held all the way into adulthood. Both parents and children can develop an innate self-knowledge and self-worth, as well as an independence made stronger by a secure foundation. And that is <i>why</i> to unschool teens: it's the privilege of a healthy, secure adulthood that makes unschooling worth all the sacrifice.</p><h2 style="text-align: left;">So You're Committed (or Recommitted) to Unschooling Your Teen--But <i>How</i>?</h2><p>This is something I've been asked often, even before my kids were teens, and long before I began consulting for unschooling parents. The answer is so simple, yet so enigmatic. </p><p style="text-align: center;">The answer is to just quit school, and the whole school mentality.<br />Hand the kids the reins.<br /></p><p>If they've been in school, recently or anytime, <a href="https://rickshawunschooling.blogspot.com/2020/04/meltdowns-your-kids-are-de-schooling.html" target="_blank">let them deschool</a>. For months or years--as long as it takes. And deschool yourself. Learn <i>from them</i>, and don't expect them to learn anything at all. They have enough of their own expectations to deconstruct without adding yours to the heap. During this deschooling time, question all your motivations and never question theirs. Become your best self, as a parent, and independently. They are watching you and learning how to <i>be</i> from every breath, word and action they see.<br /></p><p>Let them make their own decisions; let them make wrong choices and scary choices, and totally unimaginable choices. Let them do all the research and development for all their choices. Don't help them research--<i>especially</i> if they're prone to asking for help. You've got your own stuff to do. Let them handle the consequences of their choices. I didn't mention academics or careers here, because that's not your concern. Ignore it.<br /></p><p>Love them. Be there to commiserate, to celebrate, to listen to their stories and to share your own. Be their best friend and also the person who will fight the hard fights with them and for them and with your own fears and prejudices, when they arise. </p><p>Be the one your kids can come home to, anytime, for the rest of their lives, and also be the one they're not afraid to leave behind. Be strong enough in your own values and goals and confidence that they know you'll be OK without them. This will give them permission to grow. </p><p>Be their equal. Rise to meet their amazingness, and when they fall, sit down in the pits with them. If you're lucky, they'll be so confident in your love and support that they'll love and support themselves. </p><p>That's how to unschool your teen, yourself, and also your adult children. It's not easy, but it's life. I'm still working on it, every day.</p><p> </p><p><i>*Regarding that photo of my son, Taliesin, climbing a post: He declares that climbing has nothing to do with his amygdala. He will not stop climbing things when he's twenty-five, and I suspect that's correct, since when I met his father (then, aged twenty-six), he had a tagline on his treehouse webpage that read, "some people still have a bit of monkey in them". Maybe the wall-climbing is a perfectly natural part of life, and unschooling can support it. :-)</i><br /></p>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03100384225999745858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100692801739409317.post-39674537445869525842021-12-22T12:24:00.000-08:002021-12-22T12:24:36.315-08:00Unschooling: Am I failing my kids?<p class="hcukyx3x oygrvhab cxmmr5t8 kvgmc6g5 bstw73uy" dir="ltr"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEji8MLOfI1FJ-mR4YDbnk-tiSFwS3GIpmlfyFuf8GAN0qEpY2mFfuun9r9kZr-BbsqNta4zn3-yzdV587uEqdnxi5XefBlsqyUvbhecFEOs7uMe62VQ5pjhm0pwF53KMQ35SLaB3LOxxigRWDmCvg0xIiEaPCCVxu1uPCvtrz6SzIiKiNC2Lh3T6sEX=s1536" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1435" data-original-width="1536" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEji8MLOfI1FJ-mR4YDbnk-tiSFwS3GIpmlfyFuf8GAN0qEpY2mFfuun9r9kZr-BbsqNta4zn3-yzdV587uEqdnxi5XefBlsqyUvbhecFEOs7uMe62VQ5pjhm0pwF53KMQ35SLaB3LOxxigRWDmCvg0xIiEaPCCVxu1uPCvtrz6SzIiKiNC2Lh3T6sEX=w320-h299" width="320" /></a></div><span data-outline-text="true">My nine-year-old son sat staring at his comic book, lengthily, before raising his eyes to meet mine in the glassy glare that has always alerted me to my failings. He told me his friend, who was a year younger, was already doing grade five math. </span><br /><p></p><p class="hcukyx3x oygrvhab cxmmr5t8 kvgmc6g5 bstw73uy" dir="ltr"><span data-outline-text="true">"So?" I said, wanting to reassure him, but already knowing that the river of his disappointment would overcome my small boat of hope before it launched. "You're unschooled. We don't even know what level of math you do. Who cares."</span></p><p class="hcukyx3x oygrvhab cxmmr5t8 kvgmc6g5 bstw73uy" dir="ltr"><span data-outline-text="true">His eyes pierced me, and he muttered, "I can't even do math."</span></p><p class="hcukyx3x oygrvhab cxmmr5t8 kvgmc6g5 bstw73uy" dir="ltr"><span data-outline-text="true">I knew it wasn't true. Sure, he would probably test 'below grade level' if we tested him, but I disagreed with testing, and besides, though he was ignorant of long division at the time, he was able to Google a useful formula and calculate the speed at which his theoretical space-station would need to spin in order to simulate earth-gravity for those on-board. I didn't really have any concerns about his ability to 'do math'. But his eyes told me that I had, indeed, failed him. If not academically, then socially. Or maybe in supporting his sensitive heart and competitive nature. There's always something. My boat was sunk.<br /></span></p><p class="hcukyx3x oygrvhab cxmmr5t8 kvgmc6g5 bstw73uy" dir="ltr"><span data-outline-text="true">I've been consulting for unschooling families since the beginning of the pandemic, and by far the biggest and most common reason people call me is because they're afraid of failing their children. I struggled with that so much, myself, in the earlier years (and off and on even now that my kids are grown!) I struggle with it as a teacher, too, and I'm pretty sure it's actually most parents' niggling deep fear. </span></p><p class="hcukyx3x oygrvhab cxmmr5t8 kvgmc6g5 bstw73uy" dir="ltr"><span data-outline-text="true">I think we always want to do the absolute best we can for our kids, but the truth is we can't ever know what the best <i>is</i> for each individual kid, and for our family as a whole. We won't even know when our kids are grown if we've done what might have been best for them. All we can do is to keep an open heart, an agile mind, and work through every challenge as it arrives. But picking through our human insecurities and finding ways to re-imagine them is kind of my life's work, so I've decided to dig into this one a bit. Every one of my thoughts won't apply to every one who reads this, because we're all unique, and in that uniqueness is an infinity of different possibilities and outcomes. So don't take this essay as advice, please--just some thoughts on our mutual journey and a jumping-off place for your own thoughts and conversations. And be reassured, although this list may bring up many deep-seated fears, I'm going to talk about how to overcome them later on.<br /></span></p><p class="hcukyx3x oygrvhab cxmmr5t8 kvgmc6g5 bstw73uy" dir="ltr"></p><h2 class="hcukyx3x oygrvhab cxmmr5t8 kvgmc6g5 bstw73uy" style="text-align: left;">Have I set my kids up for failure if they want to go to school (or quit school) later on?</h2><p class="hcukyx3x oygrvhab cxmmr5t8 kvgmc6g5 bstw73uy" dir="ltr">Luckily, in most places, if you have the legal right to homeschool your kids, then you also have the legal right to send them to school, later on. Some systems make you jump through hoops in order to determine appropriate placements for new students, but some also make coming and going from school quite easy. And regardless, we can rest assured that many kids leave school for a variety of reasons (travel, illness, poverty, or exploring different education options) and manage to return when the time is right. The system is always willing to take kids back. </p><p class="hcukyx3x oygrvhab cxmmr5t8 kvgmc6g5 bstw73uy" dir="ltr">Then there's the fear that kids will be 'behind' if they join school later than their peers. From the experiences I've had as a parent and also witnessed in other eclectic homeschooling families, I can say this is actually rarely the case. Sure, there will be differences between our home/unschooled kids' experiences and the schooled kids' experiences, but every school year begins with quite a bit of review, and home/unschooled kids are often quite skilled at harnessing learning opportunities. They 'catch up' quite quickly. </p><p class="hcukyx3x oygrvhab cxmmr5t8 kvgmc6g5 bstw73uy" dir="ltr">The bigger issue I see here is the possibility of failing our kids' learning and self-esteem in general by succumbing to our own fears about 'grade levels' or 'keeping up' or 'being behind'. These competitive thoughts often lead to our kids feeling insecure about their learning. My son's insecurities about math were absolutely rooted in my own 'encouraging' him to practice math. I thought I was being mostly positive, but my actions made him aware that there was a bar he needed to reach, and he always felt in danger of failing. That's really no different than the very visible bar that school-going kids are expected to reach, so I'm not going to kick myself too much for bringing it into his world. Still, since my conviction that competition and coercion is detrimental to learning was a big part of the reason we chose to unschool, I really did fail myself, in this case. And my son's ongoing insecurity about his own intelligence is the result. <br /></p><h2 class="hcukyx3x oygrvhab cxmmr5t8 kvgmc6g5 bstw73uy" style="text-align: left;"><span data-outline-text="true">I don't know if [insert educational philosophy here] was the best choice for my child!</span></h2><p class="hcukyx3x oygrvhab cxmmr5t8 kvgmc6g5 bstw73uy" dir="ltr"><span data-outline-text="true">It might not be. Maybe you chose unschooling and now your kid is passionately yearning for the excitement and rigidity of the school her friend attends. Maybe you and your child researched the hell out of all the school options, then maxed all your credit on 'the best school', and now you're all miserable. Both of these situations have happened to me. Things change. Things <i>can</i> change. And the way we navigate these needs and unexpected changes with agility will be the greatest lesson to our kids. And after it all? Our kids will almost certainly blame us for choices we made that didn't serve them. That, too, is an opportunity for growth. How we work through our feelings of regret and uncertainty as a family is another of life's greatest learning opportunities.<br /></span></p><h2 style="text-align: left;">I'm antisocial. How can I socialize my kids?</h2><p>This one is hard for me. I have really deep social insecurities, and I passed them on to my children long before we even considered educational options. Unschooling, and being a part of an incredibly small homeschool cohort, was in some ways easier for me, because of the possibility of forging closer relationships with fewer people. But it was also devastating to all of us when friends moved on to school, or other communities, or just other friendships. My kids have witnessed my depression upon realizing that close friends had moved on, and this didn't help their social confidence at all. My experience with this led me to see, yet again, that the way I navigate this challenge is hugely important to how my kids will grow. Yes, unschooling in a small community amplified this problem for us, but that just gave us a chance to meet it, head on. </p><p>My kids and I talk a <i>lot</i> about our social lives; our thoughts and feelings about why we or others behave the way we do. They know I don't have many answers, and frequently I have learned more from them than they have from me. As a whole, these conversations are one of the most important things we do. We all know that our house is the place we can safely air all our thoughts and feelings, that we'll love each other no matter what, and that we'll always have our hearts held, here. Dr. Gabor Maté "believes that most mental health conditions originate from unresolved childhood trauma" (<a href="https://humanwindow.com/dr-gabor-mate-interview-childhood-trauma-anxiety-culture/" target="_blank">Human Window, 2020</a>). We can't avoid emotional trauma, but we can work to resolve it. So, rather than hold back about topics that challenge or frighten us, we talk about them. I'm not a psychologist and I'm not confident in my understanding of humanity, but I <i>am</i> my children's confidante, and that means it's my job to support them and to take their social and emotional journeys with them. Wherever we go, we go together. At least there will be someone there at the end of the road, holding their hand.<br /></p><h2 style="text-align: left;">I'm no good at [insert subject here]. What if my kids want to learn things I know nothing about? <br /></h2><p>In my consulting work as well as on homeschool and unschooling discussion groups, this question comes up often, and in many different forms: <i>'My daughter is interested in sewing clothes, but I have no idea where to begin!' 'My child is asking to learn to read, and I don't know how to teach them.' 'I failed math in high school, how can I teach my kid at home?'</i> In fact, the reason my son was so worried about his math level was likely because he sensed my own and his father's lack of confidence in math. I really don't understand much about math, but his father studied engineering and physics in university. His actual skill may have passed on to his son, but so did his lack of confidence. The confidence we lack as parents is normal, but it's also a detriment to learning, both for ourselves and for our children. </p><p>This issue is complex, but relatively simple to solve. First of all, we need to dismantle our thinking that learning is a top-town dissemination of knowledge. Many of us were raised in the school system and/or at home to believe that that's how learning works, but this system no longer serves our population, and even school boards across the world are beginning to change. While it's entirely possible to seek out a more experienced person as a guide or mentor in a specific subject area, that person is still growing, too, and there is always more to learn; more to share, and more ways to grow than just by collecting knowledge. The best mentors are just sharing their enthusiasm for learning with others. As parents, we can be those best mentors simply by finding some kind of enthusiasm as we go on the learning journey with our kids.</p><p>The learning can be direct, where we (or our kids) seek out information and learn it through whatever means suit us best (my own kids have variously accessed local experts, online courses, YouTube tutorials, in-school classes, and library resources). But it can also happen through undirected exploration and play, which happens to be how most of my kids' lifelong passions and skills have developed. The point is that my own skills were not needed for any of this. Maybe, especially when they were younger, I helped them access the resources they needed, but I didn't have to actually understand the subject matter to do so. My enthusiasm was for supporting their learning--whatever that was. I was the excited buyer-of-microscopes. I was the diligent driver-to-the-library. I was the supervisor of Googling, and the provider of the computer. I was the lady who made the muffins and insisted we were going to eat them in the woods, <i>because I like the woods, damnit</i>! That's our role, as parents: to be unflinchingly passionate, supportive, and true to ourselves. This is how our children learn to do the same, and how they learn to learn.<br /></p><h2 style="text-align: left;">How to Support Our Kids:<br /></h2><p></p><p>Our kids are watching us, and they're learning 'how to <i>human</i>' from every nuance of our lives and behaviour. Working through our own insecurities is always the best work we can do, as parents. We will most definitely fail our children. All we can hope is that we've done our best to model resilience, agility, and a kind, supportive heart, so that when our failings rear their heads in our children's lives, our children are prepared to meet them with confidence, and grow.<br /></p>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03100384225999745858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100692801739409317.post-74429377350547185172021-12-06T13:01:00.001-08:002021-12-06T13:01:40.295-08:00How We’re Trying to Celebrate Sustainably While Holding on to What Matters Most<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiBA3ktBPZK6_tswQiIC9vXh3-t8kXDmsISh5mzYxjyb7ZaaBoUgkyvy0zeWGQXpV0QNm2yAeMHWujF7DZjxuvldv39zTrckqVyTBQQeOfWwq0MrMDMOQ2yTxRdI8zs6OwGxpDc2KjTWbPJ-TMRrKAIEHu4B_b_UbVNAhOn352uWNLEBcNo5ducD1OZ=s1200" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="593" data-original-width="1200" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiBA3ktBPZK6_tswQiIC9vXh3-t8kXDmsISh5mzYxjyb7ZaaBoUgkyvy0zeWGQXpV0QNm2yAeMHWujF7DZjxuvldv39zTrckqVyTBQQeOfWwq0MrMDMOQ2yTxRdI8zs6OwGxpDc2KjTWbPJ-TMRrKAIEHu4B_b_UbVNAhOn352uWNLEBcNo5ducD1OZ=w640-h316" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><p><br /></p><p>I had my annual Christmas tantrum, yesterday. It happens every year, as the list of stuff on my plate grows, and the time shrinks, and I--the mother around here--am nagging everybody, everywhere, every day, then finally reach my breaking point, and cancel Christmas. And then everybody has a big family talk, and they all agree that they'll help more, and I begrudgingly uncancel Christmas. The tension points are pretty much the same as during the rest of the year: too much to do, too much stress, and some members of our household are better at living in the moment than looking ahead and preparing for coming events (preparing food for dinner, preparing the yard for snowfall, cleaning gutters before rain, etc.) And at Christmas it's SO much more. There are the cards and the gifts to prepare, the house to clean and decorate, the various foods to prepare ahead of time, and all that time the necessary positivity-building; the encouragement and ensuring that these activities are happy. The days when I just got it all done myself are behind me now. So I am mostly the whip-cracker, and that role makes me miserable, as well as everybody else.</p><p>So every year on Mama's Tantrum Day (no, there's no actual date for this, but there's some guarantee it will happen in early December), some little thing pushes me over the edge, I yell at somebody or break down in tears, storm away, and then eventually come out to apologize, and calmly explain that if people want Christmas, we need to get some things done, and I can't do it all myself. Then they all make a truly good effort at not only preparing for Christmas, but also developing some real joy for the rest of the season. The resentful mutterings are quieter, and I slink off to my little corner of guilt and shame. This is not ever how I envisioned what in my heart is the happiest time of year. But it's the price of creating that illusion. As the years go by the tantrums are milder and the celebrations are easier, but that isn't the end of it.<br /></p><p>Lately we're facing another foe to Christmas joy: the veil of innocent shopping sprees has been lifted from our eyes by the recent parade of floods, fires, storms, droughts, and disasters. Now we really just can't deny the fact that Christmas is unsustainable! We've known for decades that consumerism (including buying gifts) was destroying our future, but have been unable to break out of that tradition for various reasons (AKA various people's hearts being broken at the thought of not buying gifts). Add to that the gas spent on extra travel and shipping, the money we don't have that we borrow from the future to fulfill expectations, the imported foods that are a part of every December in our household, the new decorations, new candles, and total abandoning of our efforts at non-consumerism in order to over-fill stockings just so they look "right". <br /></p><p>So this year I decided to see if we can dig down to the heart of what's important to us, and focus our time, effort, expense and expectation onto just those things that matter most. We wrote down the truly gigantic list of things we normally do at Christmas time, and sorted them into categories: what we would be happier without, what we don't care about either way, what we enjoy but could live without, and what we feel our hearts absolutely need to enjoy the season. The results were interesting.</p><p>My daughter had to make a special list item for "dogs everywhere", which I had never realized was an important part of Christmas at all, but now that I think about it, those fluffy smiling faces enjoying the gathering of family is really a traditional part of our celebration. I personally realized that I like making paper stars, but not hanging them in most of the windows, and it turns out nobody else likes them either. This was a part of both my partner and my childhood traditions, so we never questioned it. Now we know! Every single person had the same things at the top of the list: the wild tree we annually collect from our neighbours' driveway (we consider it sustainable because it's doomed, there, already), along with decorating and music and family gatherings. </p><p>And gifts? They didn't register on three out of the four top lists! In fact, my son had them on the "rather not have" list, although opening his stocking was still enjoyable, and then followed by a feeling of guilt. My daughter, however, had gifts near the top of her list. This major discrepancy led to a lot of conversation in our home. It turns out we all carry so much ecologically-rooted guilt associated with consumerism that gift-giving has become stressful. We imagine it would be just fine if people gave gifts that were truly needed, like boot repairs, or the mixer my partner refurbished for his mother after she broke her arm. He gave her the gift of still being able to bake. Or time. Time together is the gift everybody in my household loves. It was consistently in the "can't be happy without this" category of our experiment. Singing with the family, gathering for anything and everything--those were also at the top of the list. Heartbreakingly so, during this time of pandemic restrictions, but knowing this means we have to find more ways to be together, safely.</p><p>This list activity has given us some great conversation and helped us to focus our hearts on what matters. We are boldly acknowledging that overspending on time, money or our future is absolutely not OK, and now we have a way forward out of this mess: Togetherness. A wild tree. Singing and playing music. Those things at the top of the lists are what we'll focus on, knowing now that our hearts will be filled without those things at the bottom.<br /></p>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03100384225999745858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100692801739409317.post-10370172290737882902021-12-02T08:58:00.000-08:002021-12-02T08:58:56.840-08:00How to Prepare for Scarcity and the Great Inflation<p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggG5vIjr8xDRA2KmuwqsaWeWK3Z3dg6Cgg6BtS15-KdiCsph8c3Fz9vmz39Mfxn9jiiVOurTTlr4yfqnxDBJyMuun466ES3rh2OvmdQir2nNifttiCLW9FKjryllIr3K_OQystxlsIT3k/s2525/earth+with+high+clouds+rendered+by+Taliesin+River+2021--earthrise.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1245" data-original-width="2525" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggG5vIjr8xDRA2KmuwqsaWeWK3Z3dg6Cgg6BtS15-KdiCsph8c3Fz9vmz39Mfxn9jiiVOurTTlr4yfqnxDBJyMuun466ES3rh2OvmdQir2nNifttiCLW9FKjryllIr3K_OQystxlsIT3k/w640-h316/earth+with+high+clouds+rendered+by+Taliesin+River+2021--earthrise.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Illustration by <a href="https://taliesinriver.artstation.com/" target="_blank">Taliesin River</a></i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />"You’d better prepare for the greatest inflationary wave in human history." That's the line that stuck out to me, near the end of umair haque's REALLY good article, "<a href="https://eand.co/why-everything-is-suddenly-getting-more-expensive-and-why-it-wont-stop-cbf5a091f403" target="_blank">Why Everything is Suddenly Getting More Expensive -- And Why It Won't Stop</a>". If you haven't read this article yet, or aren't already familiar with the idea of the Great Inflation, and how we're now paying for the affordability of past generations, I recommend reading that article before reading this one. </p><p>umair's article was very helpful to my understanding of why our groceries are getting so expensive or why, for example, I looked into second hand electric cars a few years ago and could find plentiful good options under 9K, and now there are none. So we know the Great Inflation is happening. My question is, how are we preparing?<br /><br />Emergency kits and Go-bags are not going to cut it. Home preparedness is totally underway at my house. After this year's excruciatingly horrible wildfire season, we made plans to back up our family photos and prepared a little waterproof box for our phones, wallets and hard-drive, for when we'll inevitably have to jump in the ocean and swim. After this year's heat-wave, we bought an air conditioner that doubles as a dehumidifier for the now annual warm-and-foggy (read: in-house-moldy) season. After the deep freeze we insulated our chicken-coop. After the current flood-caused highway (and whole-town) washouts, we put emergency supplies in our car. After gas prices jumped and the flood-caused supply chain disruptions made gas rationing necessary, we looked into electric cars. I already told you how that went. </p><p>But what's next?? We all know that none of this is enough. We can hardly predict the next climate-change-related disaster. Who knows how we should prepare? The one thing we all have to do is learn to live differently. And the change needed is so drastic we can hardly fathom it. Personally, I need lists to help me fathom. So I'm making one. In my mind it breaks down to three broad sections: things we need "much less", "none" and "more". My list is not complete or well-organised, but it helps me sort out my mind, so here goes:<br /><br /><span style="font-size: large;"><b>We need much less of this:</b></span> <br />Most things in this first section should actually be on the "none" list, but at the moment our culture is such that we're going to need a transitional phase. I guess that's what this is. This gives us time to learn and share some skills we've abandoned and get prepared for the time when, whether we like it or not, all these things move to the "none" section.<br /></p><p><b>Travel:</b> As fuel and steel prices rise, it's going to become impossible for most people to travel, anyway, and the many industries that depend on travel tourism will die, regardless. But on top of that, it's already becoming impossible to commute for work, to send our children to non-local schools or programs; to visit our parents. We're going to have to use our great ingenuity, as we have already proven capable of during the pandemic, to work around this.<br /></p><p><b>Dependence on government:</b> I'm not sure what makes us think that the government will just keep creating resources to fix and replace those destroyed by climate change, but I'm going to go out on a limb and suggest that right now our government and military are pretty taxed just dealing with the constant march of disasters. At some point that's going to break. There won't always be soldiers available to build dikes and put out fires. We might as well get used to that, and expect to do the work, ourselves. Yes we can.<br /></p><p><b>Clothing:</b> I have such a clothing addiction! I think I buy very few things--just a garment or four a year for each person in my household. And recently I try to buy sustainably. But I also still own, alter and wear many clothes from my teens, and every decade between then and now. I probably have about ten times as many clothes as I actually need, and it's not like giving them away would be any more sustainable. Some parts of the world are <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bB3kuuBPVys" target="_blank">drowning in our "donations"</a> (take time to watch that if you, like me, still thought donating clothes was helpful). The only actual solution to this is to stop buying, entirely. I know I have enough clothing to last the rest of my life, if I do more mending. And I could clothe the rest of my family, too.<br /></p><p><b>Non-local food and industrial agriculture:</b> We know that industrial agriculture, along with fossil-fuel driven production and transportation, is a disaster for our future. Thousands of chickens and cows just drowned in my province when the artificially-drained land they lived on flooded, because of climate change. Our flimsy, human-made systems are going to crash so hard they can't recover. We might as well accept that now, and start something new so we're ready when they're gone. There are many viable solutions for this problem, and they begin with all of us eating more simply. </p><p><b>Imported food:</b> We can do this now. My family is
Dutch, and we LOVE our imported cheese. My family is also Mexican, and
we--wait! We already figured out how to make our own tortillas from
local corn! This isn't going to be as hard as I thought. This isn't as
big a deal, perhaps, as how our food is produced, but it's one way we
can make a difference to our impact, and become more engaged in local
food production.</p><p></p><p><b>Fossil fuels. Resource Extraction. ALL. THE. WASTE:</b> We're already making some progress with this. As we limit our needless use of office buildings for computer terminal work than can be done online, we will need less concrete and steel. As we commute and travel less, we'll need fewer highways and less fuel. As we drive less, fewer cars. And on it goes. The stuff that supported our wasteful consumerist existence will no longer be needed, and we can stop pillaging and burning our earth's resources.<br /></p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>We need none of this:</b></span> <br />We already know these things are destroying us, and we can eliminate them, now. Yes, there will be devastating job losses, and huge shifts needed in our culture and thought patterns. We'll have to get very creative. But you know how when a close family member dies we're devastated and we don't know how we'll ever recover? But then we do, and we grow. And we end up somewhere new we never could have imagined before the loss. This will be the same.<br /></p><p></p><p><b>Tourism:</b> Yep. That's probably the end of the travel industry. Airlines. Cruising. Little
plastic souvenirs and the trusted income source of <i>so many</i> communities, including mine. We'll find other ways to enjoy our world, along with other ways of supporting our communities.<br /></p><p><b>Careers that depend on global travel:</b> So much of our current air-travel is related to needless work-travel. It's the end of my career as an artist who exhibits
in Amsterdam. A few years ago I might have said, "at least I got to do
it once..." Now I'm kind of embarrassed I didn't make this realization
before that. Lucky for us, technology has brought the world to our handheld devices. We can make the most of this.</p><p><b>Needless consumption, supporting mega corporations, escapism:</b> I, like most of us, grew up in an age where Christmas was actually about presents; about light shows in shopping districts and buying stuff to feel happy. I learned to satisfy my soul by shopping, by travelling; by escaping my real-world life into screens, food, shopping, and travel. Now that that world is falling apart, it's no longer satisfying to fulfill those consumption needs. For Christmas I want to be released from the "age of stuff", as my friend recently called it on Facebook. Oh yeah. Facebook. That has to go too. I'm going to have to actually go to out and talk to my community members in person. I hope I find some walking around without their phones.<br /><br />So now what? Now that we've dispensed of most of the biggest industries
in the world, most of the jobs, and everything we actually loved about
life... how on earth are we going to survive? Well, maybe not on earth.
The billionaires are already playing with spaceflight. Let them move to
Mars. The rest of us will dig deeply into that "More" category, and
thrive. </p><p><span style="font-size: large;"><b>We need more of this: </b></span><br />This is the beauty section. This is where we take all the grief and fear from the previous two sections of my list, turn it on its head, and marvel at all the joy we've found.<br /></p><p><b>Local food (and other resources):</b> The more of us go find sustainable, local producers to satisfy our needs, the more such producers there will be. It's not cheap to do this, so a huge part of it is valuing the food for what it's really worth. My partner and I decided to eat very little meat, a few years ago, and what we do eat should be sustainably produced. So in order to afford this (both ecologically and financially) we went from eating meat three or four times per week to a maximum of once a week. And we eat cheese about twice a month. I'm still looking for a really good local cheesemaker. When I find one, that cheese is
going to be as expensive as it should be, but deeply, deeply
appreciated. When you don't get something very often, it becomes so much more valuable. It's the scarcity principle, but this time it's working <i>for</i> us.<br /></p><p><b>Sharing:</b> My family has chickens, now. Sometimes we don't have enough eggs even to bake bread. Sometimes, we have enough to bake, make quiches, <i>and</i> share with our family. Those are happy times, when we feel rewarded by our ability to contribute. Like when my neighbour grew so many apples she asked us to come pick some. We ate so many apples that year. Sharing isn't always about food, or even objects. We make a point of learning and sharing knowledge with our neighbours, as well. Sharing isn't just necessary for the equitable use of community resources--it's necessary for our survival.<br /></p><p><b>Finding sustainable ways to contribute locally:</b> This is the joyful
counterpart to the misery of losing jobs and entire industries;
economical collapse that will be a natural fallout from rampant
inflation. This is where we find ourselves working instead of for money,
for survival. And I can tell you from my experiences supporting
unschooling parents, teaching and writing for free, and raising plants
and animals for food, it's the most rewarding work I've ever done.</p><p><b>Connecting with community and local ecology:</b> We protect what we know and love. Those who know and love us are our resources, and will protect us. This is the foundation of a wholistic society, but it's also the root of love and joy, so... what more can I say?<br /></p><p><b>Pointedly appreciating what we do have:</b> This comes back to the scarcity principle. My family has been regularly cutting back our consumption for a few years, now. We're eating mostly rice, corn, beans and lentils, along with what we grow, ourselves, and locally-grown veggies in the winter. We <i>really</i> enjoy our mushrooms, now that we only get them when they decide to pop up in the garden, or when we find them growing in the wild. It's the same for our homegrown chicken, eggs and veggies. It's the same for clothes we've mended or repurposed. Now that we rarely get to see our family (because: travel), we appreciate phone calls so much more. I make a big deal in my heart of what we took for granted, before. And that leaves me feeling deep joy.</p><p style="text-align: center;">~~~<br /></p><p></p><p>Maybe it's weird to be talking about deep joy in relation to climate change disasters and our current basic needs becoming unaffordable. But maybe we're just not seeing straight. The <i>cost</i> (as opposed the price) of our lifestyle has been astronomical since our parents and grandparents were children. Now we're finally paying for it, in climate change disasters and rampant inflation. That's going to hurt a lot, no matter how we slice it. But maybe some mental preparation can make the hurt more tolerable. </p><p>Maybe, instead of dreading the fires or floods or the housing crisis, we can prepare by living more simply, by forming strong communities of people who support each other; by building and living within our means. Maybe instead of rushing to the stores to stock up when we hear there's a shortage of microchips, maple syrup, or gas, we can embrace scarcity. Those last few spoonfuls of maple syrup are extra special now; I can feel resilient by making do with older devices, and I can walk instead of driving. I can even stay home. I can change careers, if I need to. And most of us will. Maybe, instead of working ourselves to death and spending more than we earn on big homes; spending time and money we don't have on travel and products that cost us our future, we can work less, spend less, love more, and look at everything we <i>do</i> have as if it is a gift. Because it really is. And we're finally learning to cherish it. That cherishing--that appreciation and finding of deep joy--is how we prepare our minds for the inevitable.<br /></p>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03100384225999745858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100692801739409317.post-12137256049599500042021-11-18T11:52:00.002-08:002021-11-18T11:52:31.204-08:00Survival: Agility of Mind and Heart<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEinUt_VLcRVbf3f2sVsq1dAyegn4fCAMERhANmblDE47uiIJw5RsWv8gZZASoLcg0uPKbCzXSdahIVF-9UsTEw2zgnjDG3jDgXIRt64pmMtlzUEswY2IZc8xx9SA0M7mj-mRXgTdO7rczbyEOKuNTMQHz127kA17I_izk4mqS7up85U5jxWsqms2pZ7=s1980" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1320" data-original-width="1980" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEinUt_VLcRVbf3f2sVsq1dAyegn4fCAMERhANmblDE47uiIJw5RsWv8gZZASoLcg0uPKbCzXSdahIVF-9UsTEw2zgnjDG3jDgXIRt64pmMtlzUEswY2IZc8xx9SA0M7mj-mRXgTdO7rczbyEOKuNTMQHz127kA17I_izk4mqS7up85U5jxWsqms2pZ7=w640-h426" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>One of the various road-collapses on the Coquihalla Highway in British Columbia. <br />Photo used with permission from Douglas Noblet, of <a href="https://wildairphoto.com/" target="_blank">Wild Air Photography</a>. <br />Douglas has shared a series of these photos <a href="https://www.facebook.com/wildairphoto/posts/4633940783316025" target="_blank">here, on Facebook</a>.</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>I
was looking at these photos by Douglas Noblet, this morning, which seem
to be mainly of the Fraser Valley, and highway collapses of the
Coquihalla and the Hope-Princeton, and I found myself wondering how long
it will take to restore our infrastructure. Months? Maybe years for the
Coquihalla? (More on what's broken, here: <a href="https://www.nsnews.com/highlights/bc-storm-highway-3-best-bet-to-reopen-travel-between-lower-mainland-interior-4764091" target="_blank">North Shore News</a>) </p><p>Then
I realized that we're in climate free-fall, now. Any restoration is
going to be hampered by increasing floods, blizzards, storms, fires,
deep-freezes and heat-waves, not to mention the human issues like
pandemics, supply-disruption, economic strife, labour and food
shortages. Maybe the answer isn't how to get back to old-normal, but how
we move forward <i>instead</i> of backward, and build <i>new normal</i>. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjFBYtV4mEX8YQN8Vk2ZpTMDDmnSqU1qMtuySryCIaToEln-8ie6WjpIP-dCuOjsNCrLnygAMkEM3yYAfJBplpbspNXI10S0JlLd_6Dz34OvtYKxv5FpcXWcNB7D_DjfO1YGBFMFJgxah6kQ5zG8JWVlqDq-JC-SwlMdRpFq7o7m2JvErXHMfSp5TP1=s1863" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1114" data-original-width="1863" height="382" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjFBYtV4mEX8YQN8Vk2ZpTMDDmnSqU1qMtuySryCIaToEln-8ie6WjpIP-dCuOjsNCrLnygAMkEM3yYAfJBplpbspNXI10S0JlLd_6Dz34OvtYKxv5FpcXWcNB7D_DjfO1YGBFMFJgxah6kQ5zG8JWVlqDq-JC-SwlMdRpFq7o7m2JvErXHMfSp5TP1=w640-h382" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The flooded Sumas Prairie in
British Columbia.<br />Photo used with permission from Douglas Noblet, of <a href="https://wildairphoto.com/" target="_blank">Wild Air Photography</a>. <br />Douglas has shared a series of these photos <a href="https://www.facebook.com/wildairphoto/posts/4633940783316025" target="_blank">here, on Facebook</a>.</i></td></tr></tbody></table><p>Upon
hearing that thousands of dairy cows (half our province's dairy
production) have drowned in their barns, I am ashamed to say that along
with immense grief, I felt an urge to go buy "the last milk". My cousin
reports that stores are bursting with panic-shoppers. What was I
thinking?! Milk?! Really?! Milk is not a "need". Thankfully we didn't
buy any. </p><p>But you know what <i>is</i> a need? Love. Community.
Right now we have some of our extended family here, who out of sheer
luck got briefly lost on their way home to Princeton, and managed to
just barely miss being caught in the Agassiz slide. So they're stuck
here on the coast while their town is flooded. The silver lining to this
situation is that, while we haven't seen them in over two years, due to
the pandemic, last night I got to feel their arms around me, again. It
was a huge relief. </p><p>I know these photos are terrifying. It's awful
to wonder if or how our kids will manage if schools remain closed, as
they are now throughout the flooded valley and other towns. It's awful
to wonder how our supplies and jobs and communities will survive if
these highways and industries don't get repaired soon. It's awful just
to wonder what we'll feed our kids if they can't have cereal with milk
and they refuse to eat anything else! I know--it's a fear borne of
privilege. But it's fear. We feel so easily lost at sea with no answers;
no clear vision of where we're going. This fear leads to panic
shopping, competition, greed, and more reckless consumption. It's
exactly how we got to this place in human evolution, and the only way
out is to let go of the fear. </p><p>Now I'm thinking about how we can
change, instead of rebuilding. It isn't the cows' milk we depend on, nor
the farmland it came from. The Sumas Prairie was created a century ago
by <a href="https://dailyhive.com/vancouver/sumas-lake-sumas-prairie-barrowtown-pump-station-abbotsford-flooding" target="_blank">draining an enormous wetland</a>.
It was never our land, to begin with, and the question of buying milk
seems so meaningless, now. It isn't the infrastructure that creates land
for industrial farming, or brings our groceries from afar, nor the
schools that hold our children while we work to buy the milk. It's love.
Love is what makes us resilient. Love is what has brought citizens and
business owners in the town of Hope to feed and shelter travellers
trapped by mudslides. Love is what gives us the strength to grow food in
the first place, to share with our neighbours even when we barely have
enough, ourselves, to hold up our communities and hold on to hope.
Love is what supports us while our minds are doing the amazing task of
being agile; of finding solutions to problems we never fathomed just a
few years ago. Love is what creates agility of mind and heart, and gives
us the power to survive. </p><p>The new normal we need to be building
will become evident as the old normal is no longer available. For me, it
is found in the arms of my loved ones. If I never drink milk again, and
if my whole "normal" becomes something I can't even fathom, right now,
it will be built on love.</p>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03100384225999745858noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5100692801739409317.post-20704131299893575682021-10-18T10:22:00.000-07:002022-07-09T10:23:32.698-07:00Climate Catastrophe: Why an Unschooling Mindset in School or at Home Is Essential Now<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaLQ-L4jo_ThrDyEOneVhmm_wm1Uz_UFXrIr18FvtosL52JOiernE2plHj7AA2jQfDh5QpijfAzUAqNRVCvH6jG9aGI7uMS_8wdk5hGhExYqhnXK7eABzM1gRgO8gADu0p0pdK_N1H0N8/s960/20210802_Adrian+Paddling+in+Wildfire+Smoke+at+Tum+Tum+Lake%252C+British+Columbia%252C+Canada--photo+by+Kristina+Calli.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="327" data-original-width="960" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaLQ-L4jo_ThrDyEOneVhmm_wm1Uz_UFXrIr18FvtosL52JOiernE2plHj7AA2jQfDh5QpijfAzUAqNRVCvH6jG9aGI7uMS_8wdk5hGhExYqhnXK7eABzM1gRgO8gADu0p0pdK_N1H0N8/w640-h218/20210802_Adrian+Paddling+in+Wildfire+Smoke+at+Tum+Tum+Lake%252C+British+Columbia%252C+Canada--photo+by+Kristina+Calli.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Paddling in Wildfire Smoke on Tum Tum Lake, August 2021, photo by Kristina Calli</i><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br />Yesterday I listened to <a href="https://www.cbc.ca/player/play/1931336771718" target="_blank">a news report</a> about the UN "code red" climate change report, which is likely to be the last such report written before we go beyond the 1.5° of warming that will put an end to life as we know it, if we don't take drastic action, NOW. At the end of the report, CBC played a clip of <a href="https://globalnews.ca/video/rd/870e7ce4-f931-11eb-a3ae-0242ac110007/?jwsource=cl" target="_blank">Greta Thunberg saying</a>, "Today, it will probably be quite popular to talk about the climate crisis; tomorrow it will not be popular anymore." I knew she was right, and I can't let that happen. Today is tomorrow, and I had to do a text search just to find the reports I heard, yesterday. They've been eclipsed by reports of covid, bitcoin, defamation lawsuits, and the health status of movie stars.<p></p><p>And why not? It's easier to care about individuals than our vague and vast communal future. Easier to care that one local person lost their dog in a fire than the millions of animals currently burning just inland from us; people losing their homes and farms and futures. Unless we know them personally, their stories are just part of the mesh of disaster that we look away from. Because we're overwhelmed. </p><p>Overwhelm is reasonable. It's acceptable to look away; to protect our mental health. But it's not acceptable to ignore the crisis. So what can we do? I've been asking myself. The answers are also so vast and vague. We know we need to consume less. We know we need to divest from supporting fossil fuel industries, or for those of us who can't afford investments, to simply question the ways we support those industries in our daily lives. Can we live more locally? Can we consume more locally? Can we eliminate foods and products and activities that depend on fossil fuels or other ecologically devastating industries? Those things are easy, compared to the big things--big things like the medical system and school system; our centralized cities and global industries; all the huge systems that are interdependent with not only the fossil fuel industry, but our rampant <a href="https://www.huffpost.com/entry/climate-change-capitalism-economy_n_5b87bf0ce4b0cf7b00326edc" target="_blank">capitalism that feeds it</a>. We have to move towards a post-capitalist, decentralized society, and that is not at all easy. Just the thought makes me feel overwhelmed and powerless. I'm only one lady with a crippling disability, one hard-working partner, and two kids, and I care most about my own little household. How am I going to save the world?<br /></p><p>Then I realized that as parents we DO have power in how we educate our children. In places like where I live, we have legal options to home-school--with an unschooling philosophy if we choose, which helps move us away from the centralized society we currently have that supports the status quo. That moving away from the status quo is exactly what we need to do, and not only does home- or unschooling physically remove us from it, but it prepares our minds for a new paradigm. In fact, many of the concepts integral to unschooling will help us move in sustainable directions, even when used in schools. It's the mindset that we gain through this kind of living that will help us build and thrive in the new, post-capitalist society. Let me explain:</p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>What Is an Unschooling Mindset?</b></span><br />Unschooling is the practice of allowing our children (or ourselves) to move, grow and <a href="http://explorativelearning.ca/" target="_blank">learn exploratively</a>, independently from the capitalist notion of "school". Sometimes this looks like bucking the school system altogether, and living a free-range life, engaged in whatever interests us; developing similar skills and understanding as school-going people, but organically. Sometimes, unschooling involves various parts of the school system, as they benefit the learner or the wider community. My unschooled children both attended school programs for a few years, when those programs (or social situations) served their needs. But we accessed them with an unschooling mindset: to use what works for us, in whatever way best serves us, and to skip the rest. </p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><b>What Does An Unschooling Mindset Have to Do With Post-Capitalism? </b></span><br />Moving to a new way of living, societally, will require us to have flexible minds. It will require us to be agile in our thinking; to creatively solve problems we never expected, and to move forward courageously in situations we're unprepared for. All of those things are habit to the unschooled mind.</p><p>Unschooling, whether at home or at school, means taking each experience as it comes, with a deep awareness of personal and community needs. At home, we look at the options the day has presented to us, and follow our instincts and current assessment of needs to determine what will best feed us on this day. We learn organically, in a needs-based prioritization, and hence develop the skills that will best serve us. Maybe we don't learn to read when we're five, but when the need to read arises, maybe at nine or ten or twelve, it's easier to pick up the skill, because our needs and prior experiences have prepared us. In school, the teacher hands out an activity--the one they feel will best serve the majority of students--and the students who are unschooling through school will assess the activity and determine independently whether the activity merits their participation or whether they might better benefit from working independently on something else. That can be difficult to do as an individual unschool-minded student in a school that doesn't allow for such independent thinking, but there are democratic schools all over the world that function very well in a scenario just like this. Students in these schools are empowered to work towards their own best purposes, and in doing so, empower each other to do the same. Students in unschooling groups, democratic schools and other similar programs are accustomed to assessing and providing for their own needs, as well as to determining their own engagement in the greater community. Hence they're also accustomed to keeping cognizant of the community's needs. Fast forward to a post-capitalist society, and these same students will find it easier to assess their own needs and meaningfully engage with their communities. When we are no longer told how to engage by schools, corporations, and capitalist-funded media, we're going to need to figure those things out for ourselves. </p><p>That takes courage now, and as climate disasters become an increasingly large part of our lives, our need for courage and ingenuity will only grow. I think about the man I heard interviewed on the radio after he watched his parents burned alive, while they hid in a ditch and a wildfire burned through the town of Lytton. Now he has to pick up and carry on; to find meaning and drive in a world that will never, ever be status quo again for him. I think about the principal of the Stein Valley Nlakapamux school who fled her home at the onset of that same fire. She and dozens of other evacuees ran for the school, and her first thought was to make sandwiches for incoming people, because it was dinner time. Before she could finish preparing the food, the fire had jumped the river and they all fled north again, to settle in Lilloet. The people of Lilloet, themselves on evacuation alert due to a different massive wildfire, took the Lytton evacuees and housed and fed them. With courage and agile-thinking, everybody in this horrible situation stepped up as needed, in the moment. Interestingly, the Stein Valley Nlakapamux school is one of those forward-thinking schools, working to equip students with courage, community values, and self-reliance. It didn't surprise me that the first thing their principal did when arriving at the school as an evacuee--her home burning down just miles away--was to make sandwiches. Thankfully, the school was one of the few buildings spared in that horrible fire, and it also doesn't surprise me that now, with the town still under a state of emergency, they have delayed their school year and <a href="http://www.svns.ca/" target="_blank">offered up their building as a relief and gathering centre</a> for those working to rebuild. That is agility, courage, and creativity in action. </p><p>We don't have a choice about becoming a post-capitalist society. Either we change voluntarily right now, or the now-commonplace storms, floods, fires and pandemics will drive our capitalist society into the ground. You know what will be left after that? People. Maybe with no landscape or resources to speak of; maybe with not much hope, but there will be people. And if those people are prepared with an unschooling midset, we will persevere.<br /></p>Emilyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03100384225999745858noreply@blogger.com2