Happy Mothers' Day!

I'm re-posting this from my earlier post at the MAMA Project website:

Thoughts

In my work creating and touring the MAMA Project, I’ve had the opportunity to interview, paint, and speak with hundreds of mothers about the significance of our role, and the importance of our awareness of that significance. I have spoken with mothers, grandmothers and great-grandmothers of many varied descriptions. I have recorded countless hours of their memories, fears, and dreams; have held them while they cried and have laughed with them until our jaws ached. I’ve had my own mothering validated in the knowledge that the wisdom and regrets we share as mothers are somehow beyond words, but also in the absolute certainty that our knowledge must be shared.

So in reaching for that sharing space; in attempting to support each other and - even more difficult - to be supported, ourselves, we talk about EVERYTHING. Yes of course I mean EVERYTHING: pee, poop, menstrual woes and accidents, the intricate details of rash pustules, infestations, and abnormalities on our children’s (and husbands’!) bodies, the things we think are hilarious and the things that bring us unfathomable horror. We share these things because it’s in the sharing of these things that we learn to mother. And because these conversations are like study groups for working through the memories from our own first mothering courses: our being mothered, ourselves. And grand-mothered. And somewhere in the sharing we usually are reminded that we are the grandmothers, ourselves; that our children’s, our grandchildren’s, our great-grandchildren’s futures are being written in the things we carry down from our own ancestry.

We joke about how so-and-so’s son swears just like his Mama, and how our neighbour’s 3-year-old has the same nervous hand-gestures her aunt does. But these things are no joke. They can teach our kids all they want in school; at Brownies and Scouts; in University, even, but the lessons our kids learned when they were 18 months old and spitting food in our faces - those are the lessons that will determine the outcomes of all the others. Did we smile with compassion at those orange blobs flying towards us and tenderly wipe them off our faces and back into baby’s mouth? Did we shout? Did we roll our eyes in disgust? Did we hit our child or congratulate her? The answer probably depends greatly on what we experienced, ourselves, when we were 18 months old and spitting food at our mothers’ faces. And it determines how our children will respond to their own children, too. And when our children go out in the world to learn from others, how will they then make use of those learning experiences? Well that, of course, depends on how they‘ve watched us learn, in our lives. These are the mechanics of inheritance and legacy. The way we argue with our husbands in front of the children, or hide away (they children will know, regardless), whether we resolve things or sweep them under the carpet, and the way we help the kids figure out their issues? Yeah. Those are the mechanics of peace for the next generations.

And when we’re aware of this - just how deeply important our every action is to our children’s future, and to the culture they will inherit and build upon - then it becomes essential that we assess and reassess our every decision and action. And we do that by sharing.

~~~~~~~


you told me you lost her before you were old enough to know the meaning of mother

you told me you lost her before she was old
enough to be born

you said she abandoned you
said you abandoned her
hated her
you told me your love knew no boundaries but she couldn’t hear
you

you broke her trust and you
still cling to her


you wanted him to grow up strong and brave
gentle
you wanted to protect him but now you’re eighty six
and you still cook his meals
drive him to work
you wanted him to know he was wanted
you wanted to be wanted, yourself
you wanted him to let go
and you wanted never to let him go

you wanted her to grow up strong
independent
kind
you wanted to help her
raise her babies, but
she doesn’t know herself
a mother
she carries you
in her pocket
like a pill
you wanted her to know she was wanted
you wanted to be wanted, yourself
you wanted her to let go
and you wanted never to let her go


to mothers
I’ve listened to
comforted
cried to

to you who have given up
given up hope
your children, even
and given up your dreams
yourselves
your fears
for all you have given up was not in vain

to mothers who have lost something
someone
everything
hope
your children, even
yourselves
for all you have lost was not unfound

to you
for giving
forgiving
giving
everything
you have
and are
and know

to you
to us
to knowing
our work is rewarded in knowing
that we have the blessed occupation

~~~~~~~
There is nothing particularly special about me. I am like billions of other people in the world: I am a mother.

And yet,

I am a mother.

I hold the lives of my children in my hands, on my breath I validate their dreams, and my intentions and mistakes determine their futures and their children’s futures. Retail, investment and service industries market to me; my interest is a hot commodity. And yet I have very few real resources, because those industries don’t benefit from my triumphs; they benefit from my needs.

You know who benefits from my triumphs? My children. Your children. Our children’s children. Every single generation to come benefits from every single time I get it right. And that makes it imperative that I take my job seriously and get it right.

We need to take responsibility for our children! As our children soak up every word we say; every hand-gesture, every movement of eyes and facial expression, are we living the life we want them to emulate? How many of us just sit back and allow our kids to play games (online and otherwise) without engaging them in conversation about what they are playing, and the ramifications of it? When my children asked me what rape was, I told them. We talk about wars, and politics, and sex and drugs and mental illness. We pause movies and games when things need to be explained, and my kids soak up the explanations (and questions) sometimes with more enthusiasm than the media itself. I can't stop them from participating in what is now popular culture, and if I did, they'd only want it more. But I can lead by example, and so can you. We all can. We have to. It's our responsibility. We didn't bear our children out of necessity; we chose this path because we love children. And children grow to be adults, to inherit our world, and to have more children, themselves. So it's our responsibility to raise them with integrity and awareness, that they go into the world full of questions and willing to look around, but also with a conviction to find their own truths and their own right paths.

There is no time to waste. And the smallest things make a difference; the random comments from my children remind me of this. My daughter once said, "I can't wait until I grow up so I can have pimples and wear cover-up, too!" My son said "I hope my wife doesn't think I want her to shave herself. That wouldn't be nice of me." Once my daughter reprimanded her father for some grammatical mistake and then turned to me with pride in her eyes. Oh no - did I teach her that? Of course I did! And it will take a lifetime to undo. Not everything we pass on is what we hope for. It matters very much not only that we lead by example, but also that we teach our children - from birth - that their own opinions and questions matter; that any question is valid, but that we also don‘t have all the answers. It's important that we reach for the best possible version of ourselves, because that will be the standard our children measure themselves against, and it will effect every single generation to come.

It is not OK for us to condemn violent video games but to watch violent movies, ourselves, or to wish death on politicians, talk trash and laugh about the emotional trauma of celebrities. It's not OK for us to practice attachment parenting but escape our children for a night at the bar. When they find us in the morning and discover that sour old booze smell on our breath they will learn that that is the smell of being with friends, and all the threats in the world won't take that lesson away from them when they're 14 and their friends are offering them cheap vodka under a bridge. It's not OK for us to tell them to be nice to each other, but to put our own community members down, to gossip, and to blame. Our children will learn more from our acknowledgement of our mistakes, and the lessons they’ve watched us learn than they will from the threats and consequences we’ve doled out to them.

We are mothers, and our demonstrated values and behaviour are the greatest teachers our children will ever have. We are mothers! We must take the importance of this incredible occupation very seriously, because there is nobody who can make a bigger change than we can, in choosing how we raise each new generation.

Spring

time for wishing

babies (these have come to our pond for refuge with their two remaining goslings, this year)

the quince gods have blessed Rhiannon's tree with bountiful fortune

insects have returned

and flowers

and islanders who spend their winters in Mexico but return home to hang out in their shacks in the warm season

and our 'special' local fauna, of course

ground pine

herb robert by the docks

happy barefoot children by the docks

millipedes

salal

wild strawberries

appropriate sunny day attire

appropriate sunny day hang-out spot

maybe inappropriate but definitely wonderful hang-out spot

sunny days are still intermittent

and the ocean brings us all sorts of bounty

Play

This post is inspired by recent conversations with various people, but especially this beautiful comment from Chris Corrigan. I've posted an article on play, before - one written by my wonderful child-development-expert mother - but this post is written more from my perspective as an unschooling adult and parent.

To preface, here's one of the educationally playful things my family does, lately. We watch Kid Snippets! And I find this one quite suitable, today:


Work sucks. Play is fun. 
We all know this. So why work?

"Waiting in line at the supermarket feels wasteful unless you play with the other people in line."
- Sydney Gurewitz Clemens
...from the article Time in Community Playthings' booklet The Wisdom of Play.1

We know we have to perform certain tasks, acquire certain skills, etc. that we don't feel inspired about. So how do we strike a balance that doesn't involve a whole lot of drudgery? Taking "play times" in between "work times" is, in my opinion, like feeding an addiction2. We begin rewarding ourselves with play times, and the play times become a sort of binge of happiness, before we return to the work. If we play too long, we feel ashamed, and probably more miserable about the work. Then we need more play times. We need comfort foods and relaxation therapies. We call ourselves by the name of the "work" we do (nurse, doctor, programmer, teacher, etc.) and after work seek to soothe ourselves from the drudgery that defines our lives. But why?

I would like to define my life by what I love. To redefine both "work" and "play" so that they are the same thing! I would like to love my work so much that it feels like play, and to watch my children learn and grow by playing.

To a certain extent this requires making careful choices about the activities I do, but some activities are unavoidable, and some unpleasant activities come packaged with the things I love to do. In these cases I need re-envision my activities and myself. If I have to clean this bathroom, I am going to enjoy it! I'm going to use a cleaner that makes me happy; and delight in the clean space when I'm finished. I'm going to experiment with new cleaning methods and different systems -- because experimenting is fun. I'm a housewife; I don't particularly love cooking 3-4 meals/day, but in experimenting with inventing dishes and recipes I manage to find enough "play" to make the act of cooking rewarding.

Lifestyle Choices

Play: Working out communication & relationships.

There's a lot of talk these days about helping kids and parents to handle stress - because our lives have become overloaded with it, and many of us are imploding from the pressure. But why should we learn to handle it; why not just reject the lifestyle that causes it; reject it entirely? It's in moments of stress that adrenaline takes over and we act without thinking. I've seen my children become unable to answer the simplest questions because of fear or confusion. It is through play that we find happiness - endorphins. It is through play that we discover and find understanding, even of situations that might otherwise have been stressful.

So it may be obvious why my husband and I have chosen to unschool our family, but it's also obvious to me that the cycle of play-and-shame-and-work is nevertheless being passed on to our children. We're accustomed to thinking of activities in terms of learning value, and this learning value usually has a high (subconscious) correlation with drudgery. I once heard one parent describing the difference between our local Reggio Emilia preschool and the local Montessori preschool to another parent: "Well... at the other preschool they just let the kids play all day; at the Montessori they actually teach them to read and do math."3 Keep in mind that the "other" preschool being described here was the preschool my mother (who wrote the article I referred to at the beginning of this post) taught at. Obviously, there was a great deal of misunderstanding in this comment, but unfortunately I think it relates a commonly-held misconception both about the methods and values of the different educational philosophies concerned, as well as about the value of play. And it doesn't come from sheer ignorance on the part of those who don't understand; it comes from many generations of a culture that values rote repetition and mimicry over inspired explorative learning. And yet, if we were to make a list of our culture's heroes - our "great thinkers", it would read like a list of the who's who of unschooling:

On the contrary, look into the biography of nearly every great thinker and innovator and you'll find a lack of formal schooling or a hatred of same. If you're an American, start with our own.  Mark Twain, one of our greatest wits and writers quit school after 6th grade.  Thomas Edison was expelled from school after a few weeks of second grade and was home schooled—he became the greatest inventor in American history.  Ben Franklin: one year of grammar school, one year of tutoring, no formal education after age 10.  George Washington attended school irregularly.  In England, Michael Faraday practically created modern electromagnetics.  He performed all the seminal experiments that Edison later repeated.  He never attended any school.  I could go on and on.  Einstein stated that schooling almost destroyed his interest in knowledge...    

                                                --Henry Lindner

Playing with blocks imaginatively doesn't seem to hold as much value as following a prescribed pattern with the blocks, and achieving satisfying results. A child's enthusiasm for simply looking at books doesn't seem to hold as much value as that child's ability to quickly and fluently read the words in the books. And yet, it is the playing and the imagination that lead us down the paths to discovery, and we often are more enthusiastic about what we discover ourselves than what we are taught by others. It's enthusiasm that leads us down the paths to our passions, and it is our passions that define our futures.

I'll leave the last words to Chris (from the comment I mentioned at the beginning):
"There is no such thing as practice...
"There is only playing."



Resources:
1 Community Playthings' Excellent Articles on Play: http://www.communityplaythings.com/resources/topics/role-of-play-in-learning
2 Shame and its relationship with addiction relapses: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/wray-herbert/the-shame-of-the-alcoholic_b_2166182.html
3 Why play is important in preschools: http://mobile.slate.com/articles/double_x/doublex/2011/03/why_preschool_shouldnt_be_like_school.html

Tali's telescope!

Due to the generosity of some local residents, our astrophysicist-hopeful now has his own telescope.

Unschooling Ourselves: Enjoying the Journey

It all begins with and returns to the family.
It's no news that maternal blood and tissue carries the DNA of the mother's child for up to decades after the child's birth. Pregnancy is just the beginning of the long relationship we have with our children; a relationship that is give-and-take-and-give. We grow so much from our gained understanding of love and humanity, when we have children, and as we parent them. All of us are on a journey of growth, trying to find better ways of parenting our children and our spouses and ourselves.

When we love, we teach our children to love.
When we trust, we teach our children to trust.
When we love ourselves, we teach our children to love themselves. 
When we unschool ourselves, we unschool our children.

So why unschool ourselves?
Because many of us were raised in a school system, where we learned to follow the pack, to attempt at all costs to fit in, to make the grade, and to measure up to what was expected of us by others, without questioning, in our early years, what we expected of ourselves. Now, as parents, we are the people being looked to for help, but we've become very good at passing the buck. Or we've become very timid at taking responsibility. It's much too easy to go ask somebody else, or, increasingly, look for answers on the Internet, without reminding ourselves that every single opinion we are given is just that: an opinion. It may be an extremely educated opinion, but in this globalized society, it is one of many different educated opinions, and we're often unequipped to navigate these varying opinions, without also educating ourselves about the issue (and the people) involved. So this navigation is our empowerment; it's part of unschooling ourselves.

I'm not saying we shouldn't trust. Of course a certain amount of trust is necessary to live in peace. But putting too much trust in the opinions of one person or entity just leads to blindness. Unschooling is about learning to navigate a massive web of information and truths - life - many conflicting truths - and learning to follow gut instinct on this journey. Unschooling is about the journey. It's about all the beauty that unfolds from the pathways we find ourselves on; not the places they lead us to. It's about the surprises. After all, each new place is just the beginning of another adventure.

Big Adventures: YES
When I was 17, within a single week's time I graduated from highschool, traumatically broke up with my first serious boyfriend, and moved with my family out of my lifelong home and community and into a big farmhouse in a completely new-to-me part of our province. To say I was in shock would be putting it mildly, and I remember feeling unbelievably alone and terrified. So I asked my parents to send me to Holland. And I happened to ask them in front of my pseudo-uncle, Jon. Jon triumphantly exclaimed "Yes!" And I knew my parents' doubts and fears would be moot.

I went to Holland. I hung around with my beloved family, there, argued with my grandmother about how often was reasonable to wash my hair, got lost in Amsterdam with my cousin, and learned to ride on the back of a bike. I also took my portfolio to the Royal Academy of art, got accepted on the spot into second year, learned to get around a foreign city alone, watched my cousin perform the lead in an opera, and fell in love, to boot. These things were so distracting that I didn't realize until later that it was during this time I cemented my truly wonderful relationship with my grandmother. And none of these things were what I expected. I never saw any tulips. I didn't learn to speak Dutch (despite my young cousins' desperate attempts). But my life changed.

The next year I returned to Holland again (for that second year art academy entrance). I thought I would return three years later with an art degree and a fiance. Instead I returned two years later -- kicked out of art school, feeling like a failure, broken-hearted beyond belief... and with a rather unexpected fiance -- who is now my husband. Nothing was as I had planned. My parents were disappointed, to say the least. And that particular adventure was an unbelievable success!

Telling children facts or giving advice is like showing them a picture of a destination, with a nice little description beside it. That advice is not going to be what they remember, and it may not even be valuable to them. They have to make their own journeys, and while they're young, we have the privilege of tagging along for the ride.

So we learn to navigate. We learn to enjoy the journey. And we learn that we cannot teach our children by giving them advice. We can only take them on big adventures.

Oh... and didn't I say...

Our best predictions have nothing to do with the journey.

It all begins with and returns to the family.
Well here I am. My family has moved back to the property we left when I was 17. First I came with my husband and had children here. Then my parents returned, and my brother with his wife. Nothing is quite the way we expected it to be. But here we all are, three generations of humans living out our various divergent and convergent journeys, and glad to have each other to share them with.

May Cakes Recipe!

Rhiannon mixing petals and flours.

One of our many varied May Day traditions is to bake with dandelion petals. This year we made dandelion buns and dandelion pancakes. Both of them were experimental, so I have no recipes for them. I do, however, have this recipe for Dandelion May Cakes, which is usually our maypole-dancing treat.

Dandelion May Cakes (gluten/dairy/nut/corn-free)
Emily van Lidth de Jeude

Harvest a basket of fully-opened large dandelion blossoms. Before they begin to close up (as soon as they are picked), carefully pull the petals from the blossoms, making sure to remove the bottom of the petals, where the flavour is. Discard the greens and continue collecting the petals until you have enough for your needs.

Preheat oven to 400°F. Put butter or baking paper a baking sheet, and set aside.

Combine in a bowl:

• 1 cup sweet white sorghum flour
• ½ cup tapioca flour
• 1 cup (slightly packed) dandelion petals
• 1 ½ tsp cream of tartar
• ¾ tsp baking soda
• 1 tsp xanthan gum
• ¼ tsp sea salt
• 4tbsp unrefined sugar

This work this mixture with your hands until petals are fully coated in the flours, and no more large clumps remain.

Cut into the flour mixture until it resembles course meal:

• 4tbsp non-dairy butter or cream from the top of separated coconut milk

Mix up in measuring cup or small bowl:

• ½ cup rice milk or the watery part of the coconut milk
• 1 large egg

... and then pour over the flour mixture, mixing until dough forms large curds

Mix in:

• 1/3 cup currants

On baking sheet pat dough to a circle, 3/4” thick. Cut into 8 wedges, to represent the 8 solar festivals (and by extensions, the seasons, and the turning of the year). Brush top with

• 1 egg-white

Bake until just barely browned, and done, inside.

Our May Cakes Tradition:

Using a burnt stick from the Beltane fire, the children also scratch a charcoal X (rune: gyfu) into the bottom of one of the cakes, and the person who draws this lucky cake becomes the May King/Queen for the following year, is crowned with flowers. When the newly-crowned king/queen jumps over the fire, s/he symbolizes the turning of the year, and bountiful crops.

This year things were a little different; Tal was away, and I wasn't inspired to make May Day happen. So, being the resourceful person that she is, Rhiannon created May Day when he was home again! We had wild salad as usual, at a campfire dinner, followed by a very dark little maypole dance on a 1x2 with plastic wrapping ribbons tied onto it! Fabulous! Even without the traditional cakes, the colourful ribbons, etc. the real celebration is in love shared, and of course there was plenty of that!!

May 5th: Freeing Ourselves

Today -- May 5th -- is also known as Cinco de Mayo, in North America, and Bevrijdingsdag in the Netherlands. Both are celebrations of freedom from tyranny; from oppression; from war. So I find myself thinking about these things, and the ways we perpetuate states of oppression, war and violence in ourselves and our families, and the ways we can free ourselves.

Anger/Love, Fear/Trust

How do we get trapped in violent or angry situations? Why are we angry? What are we afraid of? Questions like these - questions of love and trust and fear - we carry through our lives, and I think that as we find our personal answers to these, we find freedom.

A dear old friend (Bob Bates, for those who know him) asked me a few years ago why I was once such an angry child. I was shocked that he'd noticed! I blandly said I guess maybe I was born that way, but I've been thinking about that question, ever since. I've been fighting my instinct to yell at the people I'm afraid of; to hurt back when I feel hurt, and to shame when I feel ashamed. These are common instincts, but also things I do not wish to pass on to my children. So I hope that, as my children see me take this journey, they manage to escape some of the emotional traps I am trying to free myself from.

These are some of the things I've learned:

• I can't escape pain. Pain is a natural part of life, and a reminder of my humanity. Pain is OK. I can acknowledge the pain I experience and move on.
• Because fear causes anger, resentment, and violence, I have to let go of my fears, especially my fear of pain. 
• Violence (including physical, emotional, sexual, verbal, etc.) ALWAYS comes from a place of vulnerability and fear. Always. That is, when it's perpetrated by me, or when I'm the recipient of it. If I'm the recipient, I ask myself how I am causing a feeling of vulnerability in the other person. Instead of returning fire, I ask myself how I can empower the other person, while not disempowering myself.
• Having power is not a bad thing. When I am most empowered I feel full of love and generosity.
• If I want to stop the cycle of violence, I have to stop it in myself. When violence meets true compassion and concern, it is invalidated and usually stops. Example: protesters who, in the face of police brutality, hand out flowers or shout "I love you". I've done this in a protest. It works because it reminds the police that they are human and deserving of love. So then they're empowered to give love. Of course it's not always this simple. Sometimes the angry person is not ready to let go of the anger... then I can walk away and remember that although I can free myself from anger/fear, I cannot free others. It's a personal choice. I can only stop it in myself.
• Love comes from a place of strength. Violence/anger comes from a place of vulnerability. If I feel my vulnerability and accept it before turning it into anger, I can remember my strengths and more easily redirect my feelings to love.
  
• It's incredibly hard to look through the face of violence (somebody yelling/hitting/putting me down, etc.) and truly feel compassion and love for the other person! But it's also the only way to stop the cycle.

Parenting is how we open the book of potential

and delight in its surprises!

I'm pretty slow about finding my answers. I'm not a raging success by any means. But I learn a lot from my children, especially about peace and freedom. And these, after all, are what I've always been searching for. Watching my children grow is like multiplying my own opportunities for growth and learning. All the challenges I face in parenting them; in trying to answer their questions or fulfill our family's dreams help me to grow. I experiment with new ideas and push myself beyond my personal limits because of my children. When their own plights bring me to tears of frustration or sorrow; when their own anger pushes me towards the cliff of my own fears -- I am learning.

Wild Greens Season!

Nettle-picking at Bowen's biggest nettle area.

Of course there isn't really a "wild food season", because there are wild foods available all year round. But this is definitely the season to be out picking wild greens, and scoping out the health and whereabouts of those plants we'd like to use, later in the year.

I've been running Wild Food Walks this spring, as usual. They seem to get more popular every year. Recently we also went harvesting with my brother, Adrian... hence some photos.

There are many many wild spring greens we can eat, but I would have to say the top 10 -- those plants I take time to pick by the basketful -- are the following:

• nettles
• maple blossoms
• cattail shoots
• salmonberry shoots
• siberian miner's lettuce
• sheep sorrel
• bitter cress (mustard)
• dandelion petals
• flowering currant blossoms
• narrow-leaved plantain

Then of course there are also the wild teas available right now: douglas fir tip, pine needles, sequoia, and licorice root. Also a good time to harvest these en masse, dry them, and save them for teas throughout the year. (Burdock root, while excellent for tea/coffee, should have been harvested a month or so ago.)
 

Fresh plump maple blossoms -- chop them up and eat them as a salad with a sweet vinaigrette (or plain!)

Stinging nettles -- picked with gloved hands, nettles are wonderful dried for tea, or made into pesto, lasagna, or any other delight you can imagine with a spinach-like vegetable. We freeze as many as we can for later use.

The Unschooling Father

...in this case, the fully-employed, commuting, but committed above all to his children's welfare... unschooling father. I want to recognise him and the choices he's made; the contribution he brings to the little community that is our family. These are some of the gifts he gives:

Commuting:
A few years ago, the company Markus worked for was pulled out from under him, in one of those shocking, call-everyone-into-an-office-dissolve-the-company-and-send-them-all-home experiences. He literally arrived home an hour early with a cardboard box full of his belongings and a bewildered look on his face. "[The company] is no more." They gave him a small severance, but he was in a hurry to find new employment. So he began sending out applications... and at the top of each one he wrote something to the effect that, in order to be closer to his family, he would work a maximum of 3 days per week in the city, and telecommute the rest from home. He would leave every day at 4, to get home by dinner time. He began with "My family is my priority."

Of course, potential employers and recruiters mocked him for this, advised him to take it off the applications, etc. But he held his ground. He found local contracts to keep us afloat in the 6 weeks or so that it took to find new permanent employment, but then moved to a company that respected and supported his values... and happened to be creating software that is close to his heart (resource-mapping). I can't say he wasn't lucky, but the choice he made to prioritize his family was and still is a sign of the great integrity of this man.

Markus sets his priorities in order. He spends the necessary time at work (up to about 44h/week, plus commuting time), and no more. He gives so much of himself to work, but to come home predictably and to choose to switch it off when he's not there is how he prioritizes his children. I've often asked him to find some employment that inspires him more, but he likes the security of the job he has, and it's certainly not up to me to make those choices for him. The fact that he carries our family's financial needs on his shoulders is a great responsibility -- one that I have never borne -- and I respect very much that he's able to do it without sacrificing his relationship with us.

Leading by Example:
I think I talk about this all the time on this blog; how important it is to remember that our children learn by example; that they will emulate our strengths and our weaknesses, without ever knowing they do. Our achievements and foibles and grand disasters -- even those things we try to hide, or to undo -- become a part of our children's authentic internal workings, whether they want them to or not. So of course it's important that we live the life we can feel proud of -- authentically.

Markus often looks at his life to determine whether he's living a life he wants to pass on to his children. When he brought home his old playmobil for the kids, he picked through it to remove the guns. He tells them he used to be interested in weapons as a boy, but explains, too, what he thinks about them, now. He is open to the children's questions and to their differing opinions and interests, while still remaining true to himself.

He doesn't give them all of his time. He makes a huge effort to get what needs to be done done, but also to take time for his personal interests, and to involve the children in those things they want to be involved with. Building; boat-restoration; archery. But above all, he's a good man, full of love and acceptance; everything we would want our children to emulate.

Following by example:
As the at-home parent, I am involved with almost everything the children do. With only two non-working days per week, Markus has to make an effort to achieve even a minimal involvement. So he does! Markus takes time to attend our activities when he can -- not just performances and community events, but also sometimes the classes we take, and the groups we lead. He sometimes leaves work early and makes up the time in the evening, if it means he can watch a performance the kids are putting on. He uses holiday time for working on our home and yard. He also pays attention to our family calendar and inputs our activities into his work calendar, so that, even in the office, he knows what we're doing. This allows him to stay connected to us.

And, like most unschooling parents I know, he has become good at allowing the children's interests to inspire him. He loves to join in their research and explorations; to let their fancies and fascinations pull him along. Life is a wonderful adventure, when our eyes can be opened by others' passions!

Trusting me:
It's so simple. Markus trusts me, as his partner and the mother of our children. I am the one who guides the children, counsels them, helps them make their decisions; I am the one who handles the money Markus makes; who defines our family's diet and activities and schedule. And with very few exceptions, he trusts me to do this well. As a partner in this relationship, having his confidence gives me the confidence I need to do my best. This is not to say he doesn't participate in decisions, or stand his ground when he disagrees, but the disagreements -- especially with regard to the children and their unschooled lifestyle -- are very very few. And I think that this also gives our children a kind of confidence in their choices, and in their choice to trust people, as they see that trust is a gift to both sides of the equation.

Remembering that we are all unschooling, together:
Growth and parenting is really not just about the kids. It`s about having a family of humans who are growing, supporting, and evolving, together. We are parenting ourselves and each other. Trust and confidence are things I have struggled with all my life, and having a partner who is patient with me, and generous, who has confidence in me and who puts confidence in me, who demonstrates compassion and understanding, as he also learns it from his own children -- is one part of this intricately balanced equation that holds us together.

Unschooling and Adaptability

Or...

Why We're Not Preppers: The Apocalypse is Already Here!

Organisms adapt. The world is an organism. It's changing right now. It has already changed. And by the time you finish reading this post there will be colossal changes again, some physical, some philisophical, and many of them changes in thought-patterns that will evoke their own colossal social changes, before too long. And we're adapting all the time. That's why we're not preppers. We're not waiting and planning for some apocalypse; we're finding ways to adapt to the changes that are already happening. Some of our family's choices to live more closely with the land seem to some like survivalist prepping, but really they are permanent lifestyle choices. I'm not storing food to get my family by until life as I know it returns; I'm learning to live in a way that I feel will be sustainable in the future. Because life as I know it has already changed past the point of no return. And... I like this change!! I find the challenge compelling, and the new ideas adventurous!

Yes, I store food, but that isn't survivalist preparedness, either! I have a pantry, I freeze or otherwise store any surplus produce in the summer, and I buy in bulk and keep buckets of grains and lentils, etc. -- not because I think it's all going to disappear anytime soon, but because it's MUCH more affordable, this way, and healthier: I like to eat whole grains, knowing that much of the nutrient quality is lost when they're rolled, ground, or otherwise broken and stored in shops, so I buy them whole and roll them myself, with the exception of some of my flours, which I keep frozen. That's a health choice, not a survivalist choice. Making choices for financial and health reasons is the definition of adapting to our changing world.

Big Changes: When I was in elementary school, the school got computers. One single family I knew had both a microwave and a computer. They were amazing. Now most people I know carry at least one much more powerful device everywhere they go, are connected to the Internet at all times, and have probably more such devices at home. This change has made us all aware of ourselves and our world in a very different way than was possible, before. But it's also caused (in my opinion) a whole lot of navel-gazing, and dependence on corporations and products we don't understand. Our global social structures are changing drastically, but we are losing connection to the physical world, too. Some people tell me that we're sentient beings, naturally evolving to a more sentient existence, where physical bodies and manifestations are no longer important. Well that sounds just lovely, but we're still living in physical bodies, our thoughts are still transmitted by neurons (which, the last time I checked, are living cells), even the thoughts themselves are waves; electrical impulses which affect everything around them... and quite frankly it's just much more rewarding to acknowledge this and live as part of our ecosystem instead of despite it.

What We're Doing to Adapt: 

Wild Food: I seek out, encourage, harvest and consume wild food. I also take people on wild food tours, introducing them to delicious things and vile things, poisonous plants and medicinals, ferns, vascular plants and trees and blossoms and fruits and roots... things that we can put in our mouths and taste, and others just to know about! Some of the things I show them are definitely starvation foods. But we are privileged suburbanites, pretending for a while that we could get by if we had to, while in fact none of these foods would sustain us. I bitterly suggest that if the shit really hit the fan, apocalyptically-speaking, we might kill each other over the need to fill our bellies with nutrition-poor foods, because that is what our bodies have now evolved to require. These wild foods - these handfuls of nutrient-rich greens and browns and yellows - are too much for our bodies to handle... and too little. But in getting to know the foods that surround us; in tasting the plants we might otherwise jog past, trample on, or mistake for "another prickly shrub", we integrate ourselves with our own ecosystem. We acknowledge the importance of our footsteps, and of the things we consume. We learn to appreciate and respect the soul of the earth that feeds us. And this connection is invaluable because it enriches and connects every other aspect of our lives.


Energy Efficiencies: We'd love to go off-grid, but can't afford it at this time, so we're skimping as much as possible on energy. We heat with wood. I haven't used my dryer in a year, now. It will benefit us financially, but also I'm not pouring cash into a corporation I don't align with, morally, and most importantly, I'm learning to value my resources. People think we're "living green", but in fact I think by urban/suburban standards, we're a green failure. Our carbon footprint, if you take into account our ancient Pathfinder vehicle, our wood heating, our barely-insulated home, the fact that my husband commutes to work, etc. etc. etc. is not compensated for by our garden, LED lightbulbs, and buying in bulk. Still... we keep on trying, and I do long for the day when energy-efficient living is not just a reality for the most financially-endowed.

Unschooling: Ah! Here it is! The reason this post belongs on this blog. Unschooling truly IS the big deal around here. Politically, it's a statement that WE CAN. We are raising happy, healthy, sociable and educated individuals, without the trappings (and yes I mean TRAPpings) of our government's chosen life-plan-system. The world is changing! And where education is concerned, it's headed back out of the doldrums! There was a time when putting children into big institutions was a new thing; when men looked at communist theories of working-class-creation and brought them into reality for North Americans. But that time is ending, now. People are waking up, and oh my goodness are we happy to be among the early ones! Unschooling is like wild food: you have to be partly into it for the adventure, because forging a new path is never without its challenges. But the rewards are enormous.

Unschooling is a redefinition of learning. It's life-learning. Learning about life, and learning throughout life. It's the open door to adaptability. We don't need an impending apocalypse to recognise the need to adapt. Evolution is all about adaptability, and humans have been evolving crazy-fast, lately. Unschooling gives us the tools and flexibility to move with the big changes, and adapt.

Project Shellback

Our unschooling friends are currently exploring the Pacific Ocean in their sailboat... and are just about to make their first big crossing. Sometime during the next 24-48 hours they'll leave the port at Cabo, and sail across to the Marquesas Islands! This is terrifying for us, as non-cruising friends who worry about them, but also totally thrilling, of course!

And on the way, they'll cross the equator, becoming "Shellbacks", as they do, according to maritime tradition.

In an effort to promote awareness of the oceans' importance and plight, they are offering to take people with them - virtually, and name these people "Honorary Shellbacks". All you have to do to join up is send them your name using the form on their website (very easy: type name, click send, and watch it appear on the list), and they will hand-print your name onto a tiny piece of biodegradable cotton and take it with them. As they cross the equator, they'll send all of these names into the wind and waves, and your name and intention will be forever tied to the ocean. You'll become an honorary Shellback.

Perhaps most importantly, our friends will be blogging their entire experience as they go, with reports of whatever they do, learn, and discover, along the way. They won't have capability of uploading photos until they make it into port in the Marquesas islands, but when they do they'll embellish their past updates with the photos they took, along the way.

Join them on their journey!
I present: Project Shellback

Easter Morning

The Easter Rabbit still visits our house. The wonderful people at Cocoa West (who sell soy-free chocolate) tell us that they supply the Easter Rabbit with his wonderful eggs every year. We approve!!

And to add to our celebrations of the springtime, we have beautiful sprouting oats, too!!

Unschooling Music

So, over a year ago, I arranged for Tal to take cello lessons with Corbin. It had nothing to do with cello, although I do love the cello. Tal had never tried one, and had no desire to. It was about Corbin's personality, and how I knew that Tal just needed somebody he could really connect with.

Corbin happens to be "The Wild Cellist" (and also teaches guitar), but if he were a flute-player, Tal would be learning flute, now. If castanets, castanets. You get the picture. Tal did not, and refused. "No cello." So I ambushed him with the idea. I brought him to a house where I was mural-painting, when I knew Corbin would be there, painting the ceilings. And voila! Corbin met us at the door. The conversation went something like this:

"So Tal - this is Corbin. You remember Corbin, right? What do you think about trying out some cello, now?"

"...uh..."

Corbin expertly interjects: "So you like to play violin, hey?"

"...uh. Yes."

"How do you like to play it?"

(Tal mimics holding his tiny violin like a cello.) "Or upside down."

"Oh yeah! Have you ever tried playing it with your hair? Like your own hair?"

Tal's eyes just about popped out of his head. It was like Corbin was reading his mind, and he looked away, then back, as if checking to see if Corbin was still there. Then he took on a very cool posture: "Yes?"

"Well you know, if you rosin your hair - you know, like you rosin the bow - then it'll work way better."

Tal filled with joy. And within seconds they were comparing mouth-percussion sounds and other remarkable things. Tal went to Corbin's studio to try out his cello, Corbin bought a 3/4-size cello for us to rent for Tal, and for a year now, Tal has been playing cello. Not because he particularly loves cello, but because he loves Corbin.



And he never practices. Well, never without coercion, and I admit to falling down the coercion hole once in a while, probably to the detriment of his future. He is not a virtuoso, and has repeated loudly that he will never play in public, nor will he sing with his playing. He just goes to spend time with Corbin, making up songs (which Corbin inputs to his midi program on the computer), learning to follow sheet-music together, picking out tunes Tal enjoys (but will not practice), and experimenting with awesomely odd cello-playing techniques.

So after about a year, his sister decided to play guitar, and joined Tal, for back-to-back lessons, once a week. She's much more goal-oriented, but Corbin has inspired her enough that after only a few months of lessons, she now sits around experimenting on her uncle's lovely Larrivée Parlour guitar. She's become a huge fan of Melanie Martinez (who recently rose to stardom on the reality TV show, the Voice), and tries to learn the songs she's heard Melanie sing. Corbin, knowing nothing about Melanie, sees the glowing cheeks on Rhiannon and follows along, nurturing her passion for emulating a pop star as he does Tal's passion for never doing anything the same way twice.

Now back to that practicing. I've tried all sorts of convincing arguments: "Imagine how awesome it would be to walk into Corbin's studio and say 'hey listen to what I can play!'" "Wouldn't it be nice if you could just pick up your cello/guitar and play that song without even thinking about it?" Etc. No luck. And when they do practice, because they feel obliged "Come on - I pay for these lessons! Can you please try to get as much out of it as you can?!" (I hang my head in shame...), then they run into each other for time, and someone invariably gets off the hook because the other is busy playing.

Then it hit me: Communal music!! They were both sitting around singing Hit the Road, Jack, beautifully on key and full of joy (yet another song they learned from Melanie Martinez), when I said "hey - see if you can play that together on your guitar and cello". For some reason, neither objected. They just got out their instruments and within a couple of minutes were picking their way through it! Amazing! Who knew!? In fact they've now done this two days in a row. I don't care that it isn't one of the songs Corbin has been working on with them; they got the spark and the confidence to do this from their time with him, and for that I am extremely grateful!!



I love how even when I forget, let the coercion and my own childhood experiences undercut the unschooling we try to achieve, unschooling itself is there to catch the tumbling falls. Oh isn't life beautiful!!

More Birthday Sweetness

Oh my growing-up boy. He's eleven, now.

But he's only eleven.

His mind is still open (and may it stay that way!).

 

His dreams are still guiding him. And so is his blossoming heart.

First one side...

...then the other...

...leaving one for his love. ;-)

Bonus photo, because I like it so: One lovely Pappa presenting a cake.

eleven

Today a being who once curled tiny and wriggling in my womb celebrates his eleventh birthday.

It was a wild ride, that weekend 11 years ago, and the universe is playing it back for us this weekend, to remember, so we are reading his birth-story, in parts, over the course of the weekend, and I am prone to repeating some bits:

Friday
4am: My first contraction, and a light snow falling
11am: crocuses opening in the spring sunshine, robins and woodpeckers returned; our water broke
And a long long day of labour, held close by my husband, mother, and brother, as my Pappa drove through a snowstorm to join us, in the night. I should have been pushing for hours, already, but he wasn't dropping down, and I was singing my fears and pains and exhaustion away.

All babies are born, saying God's name
Over and over all born, singing God's name
All babies are flown from the Universe
From there they're lifted by the hands of angels
God gives them the stars to use as ladders
She hears their calls
She is mother and father

All babies are born out of great pain
Over and over all born, into great pain
All babies are crying
For no one remembers God's name
There's only love; there's only love; 
there's only love in this world!

                                         ~Sinead O'Connor

Saturday:
1?am: his heart stopping, we made the decision to have an emergency c-section, and my own Pappa arrived.
1:44am: he was pulled from my open womb, the cord untangled from his strong neck, "It's a boy!", his little bum quickly held over my blue screen for proof, and (after an agonizing time of waiting, while they assessed him) placed in my arms.

That day the rest of my family came to visit, including little Hannah, her face smeared with her own 5-year birthday cake. Yes, the first two cousins in the family, and they had the same birthday!

It was a late waning moon, and a long exhausting haul over those few days in the hospital, me waiting for permission to sit up, and eventually to walk; Markus tending to our every need through 40 hours with 0 sleep, until he was wavering like a swordfern in the breeze and I was afraid he'd fall over with the baby. My Mum came to relieve him, and spent the night looking after us; loving us, reassuring me that a c-section is not a failure, and helping us all move into the present beautiful moment. And after a night on Bowen Markus returned, and spent the last of the hospital nights with me, there. That was the night the nurse stole my baby.

She wanted to give him formula, and I had refused. So had my midwife. She and the midwife had argued about it in the hallway, that afternoon. So she came back at 3am when I was crying, trying to feed him pumped milk from a cup (?!) as instructed, and told me I was too tired to be a good mother. She dumped formula down his screaming little throat, put him in a little plastic bassinet and wheeled him away. "I'll keep him for 4 hours, and if he wakes up I'll feed him more formula."

In all my life, before or since, I have never felt so angry, so terrified, and so desperate. I think I was on the verge of nervous breakdown, and I stood there in that suddenly-empty hospital room, sobbing uncontrollably: "My baby! She stole my baby! She can't take him! He doesn't even have a name!!!" Until, within a minute or two of failing to calm me, Markus left to go find our baby.

10 minutes later, Markus returned with our son, and collapsed ontop of me, sobbing, himself. I said how could I even scream for him if he didn't have a name? And Markus caught his breath up: "Taliesin". And so he was. Markus told me that by the time he got out there, they had already given him more formula, and wouldn't let him take the baby back. So he said he would just sit there with his son and protect him, until they let him take him away. And he did. And eventually the nurse got tired and let them go.

Tuesday:
We took our little Taliesin home, to a warm and cozy house, dinner cooking for us in the oven, and welcomed him to his grandparents, his dog, his cats, and his own, safe home, where no nasty nurses come in the night to take us away! It was a dark moon, and a quiet night, and our little family was born.

Things are different, now.

Tal is getting long and lanky. His shoulders are broadening. He has his first serious crush (yes he says it's OK for me to type this, as long as I don't tell who it is). He wants to go to university to study theoretical physics, and to "do research". He has greasy hair. But he's still my baby, too.

elven eleven

On Friday we replayed parts of my labour story: "Oh Tal! Curl your big self up tiny!" And I packed him into a ball on my lap and told him again about my labour. I sang the songs I sang while he was being squeezed, all those years ago. He loved it. Then we tidied the house and went to see the Tempest at our own local (temporary) Globe Theatre...

And today my growing boy woke up, got dressed, and picked up a hairbrush. I think he decided that 11 might be a good age to start some personal grooming. He's very serious about these things. Both the lack of necessity and the necessity, when the mood strikes him! He had a bowl of muesli and a smoothie made with the end of last year's frozen strawberries and apples. Food from our own garden never fails to delight us!! He called his uncle Keith and his cousin Hannah, who both share his birthday, and had (with his cousin) what I think must be a typically awkward 11-year-old boy conversation: "Uh. So happy birthday. Yeah. Thanks. Um. What did you do today? Oh. Um. Um. Oh I had breakfast, and, um. Went to the beach with friends. Yeah. So what are you going to do later? Oh. Oh. Yeah." My now-16-year-old niece was patient and gracious, and it was lovely they could share a few moments, together. Tal is now out watching his friends perform their musical, and then he'll come home to a little surprise birthday cake.

Rhiannon watering her beloved bulbs.

But lets not forget our 8-year-old daughter. It may not be her birthday, but she revels in birthdays like nobody else I know. She loves every opportunity to make people happy, but especially Tal. At two weeks old she caught his gaze and gave him her first toothless grin. She thinks about him all the time, and she has been planning his birthday gift for weeks. I can't tell you what it is, yet, because it's experiential, and some is yet to come. But she woke delighted, today. At 6:30 she had already gone out to pick flowers for his place at the table, which, of course, she had set, already, too. She had draped pillows and fancy blankets around his chair to comfort him like royalty. She had wrapped up the Kids magazine she'd just received in the mail and placed it on his plate. And she came to ask us whether we intended to get up yet.

And I will leave the last words to her: