natural parenting center

Un-teaching

I'm not sure if I've told you this, or if you remember, but back in the day (early 90's to be exact...how could that sound so ancient?) I was a teacher. A classroom teacher of small children, no less. It was the most exhausting job I've ever had, and probably the best (until becoming a parent, that is, which tops out on both...exhausting and best). 

I'm still undecided about whether this puts me at an advantage or disadvantage in the raising children without school department. It did reflect my innate love of children and desire to spend time with them every day which is clearly on the plus side. And one might think that all those teacherish sayings and clever little ways of attempting to impose learning on someone else would come in handy, but I actually think not. What I have noticed, both as a teacher and as a mama, is this: children don't like it when you "teach" them.

So, someone who went through years of formal training in cutesy grammatical rule rhymes and clever praise manipulations is most certainly going to struggle because they will have more personal de-schooling to do than a mama who was, let's say, a graphic designer. Fortunately for me, my teacher training was highly unconventional. I have no idea what magical forces landed me in a program which emphasized critical thinking (for teacher and student), open-minded observation, mining for our deeper personal beliefs about what learning is really about, and which promoted the work of John Holt and Sylvia Ashton-Warner, but magic it was. 

Maybe I'm not at such a disadvantage after all, then. What I do believe from those years spent with a room full of small, shining humans and these current times in a home spent with small, shining humans is this: do not "teach" unless asked to. Even then, answer the question that was asked, period. 

I must avoid with all my might, the following:

::all longer than asked for explanations (unless they ask for more information)

::asking more questions to try to "further" their learning when they've given me an "opening" 

::asking leading questions to which I already know the answer as a way of "testing" them (unless they like pretending to be tested and want you to ask them these types of questions)

::making corrections 

::inserting my own bias/opinion into the answer I am giving them 

::pushing them to learn something based on my own fears and insecurities about what they should know by now

So as Elliott messes around with letters (he is just beginning to be interested in them), I will not correct him (see top photo which is his attempt at ordering the alphabet). If he asks me what a word says, I will do my best to say it based on the letters he has written. I will not say...that's not a word because when I try to say it, he will figure it out for himself. Tonite in bed he asked, what does p-y-n-o-g-l spell? I told him and we giggled together. He kept repeating that and would sometimes add more letters onto the end. I did my best to say what the word would be. We laughed a lot. He is figuring out all sorts of things in that brain of his and he does not need me to interfere with that. He does need me to be there with him, witnessing, answering, and sometimes offering ideas, if he is interested. If I try to do more, he will either think that I am dumb or, much worse, that he is.

Maybe a better word for unschooling is un-teaching. (And this certainly applies equally if your kids are in school.) Have you noticed how they are born with everything they need to learn, learn, learn? That wonder is their natural state? For me, un-teaching helps keep that wonder alive as I keep myself cloaked in trust and watch in awe as they do their thing. 

 

canceling my subscriptions

I am canceling all my subscriptions to prescriptive titles and labels.

vegetarian

radical unschooling

Weston A Price diet

natural living

environmentalist

Waldorf 

Buddhist

I want access to all of it, without being limited by any of it. I want to keep my mind open enough to sense what is best for us in each moment. Annie's macaroni and cheese/homemade sourdough bread. Nourishing Traditions/Moosewood cookbook. Child-led learning/movies only once a week. plastic Playmobil/wooden kitchen. Soy milk/raw cow milk. 

It feels a bit like kissing my security blanket good-bye. Labels are a safety net because when making decisions based solely on what works for us (inner authority) especially when those decisions are different what others are doing, I feel kinda naked. Scarier to forge my own path (risking being judged or wrong or actually being wrong) than to look up the formula whenever I sense doubt lurking (like a thousand decisions each day). 

It also seems to me that this is the only way out of guilt. Guilt takes root in right/wrong, good/bad thinking. If we aren't doing it "right", whatever that is, then we tell ourselves bad, bad, bad. If there is no one right way , then I have half a chance of listening to what jives in this moment and going with it. 

A few things spawned this idea recently. I like the term "radical unschooling" and yet, when we experimented with total child-led decision making, it was disastrous in certain realms, namely sweets and tv. While we never went back to that full-on binge episode, after being sick this last round, we did start watching one or two shows every night. When we get into this routine, I start to depend on it thinking that I need movies to get things done. Yet I feel that icky feeling creeping in. We are now back to family movie night once a week and it feels SO GOOD. I don't think this good feeling comes from the idea that 'tv is bad', but more from the ACTUAL feeling I get when we don't watch. I love hearing their play, I can handle making dinner when they are still moving about busily, they are happier and more imaginative and creative. Ah. Inner right versus outer right.

Then, I opened up a book by Thich Nhat Han which said, "knowledge is the biggest obstacle to awakening". This has knocked me off my feet. I now get that I use knowledge as a way of hiding from my own self. I might say "bleach is toxic" to someone who want to clean the toilets in this house with bleach, instead of saying "I don't like that smell, please use this instead". It's like any know-it-all statement is one step removed from direct experience. It's a kind of numbing agent. Anyway, the older I get the less I know.  Whenever I cling to any "this is the way it is ", I'm struck by a thousand exceptions, begging for me to stand out in the open air of not knowing and uncertainty.

I want to know myself and then be comfortable saying so. I want this for my kids, too. I'm still figuring out ways to shift my language to deepen their inner knowing and authority instead of stating facts which direct them outside of themselves for the authority. 

One example might be to stop saying "healthy" or "not healthy". I mean I have some ideas about healthy foods, maybe,  but actually I'm ridiculously confused about it all  because I've read way too much on the subject, tuning outwardly instead of inwardly. I'd like to stop thinking in terms of "good/bad" when it comes to food because with all those "facts" (which vary completely depending on what you are reading) making such a racket in my head, I can't hear my own body. 

The same is true for any formula or prescription: parenting, food, communication, career, spirituality etc. All this pressure we put on ourselves (like apologizing for giving a gift that isn't handmade, buying something that's plastic, or not knitting a sweater every week). Sheesh.

So, what are some ways that you help yourself tune into your inner authority and what are ways you help your children do that? I'd love to know.

while they try on masks, i peek out from the ones i've been hiding behind. isn't every label a sort of mask we wear?

this moment

A moment from our week to savor and remember thanks to Soulemama.

restraint

In this moment, I said yes to playing. Jumping off the bed into the deep ocean below to fish for giant sea creatures holding our breath, it took considerable self restraint to not pick their noses and scour the grit out of the corner of their eyes.  A true test of mothering stamina and courage, don't you think?

life as it is happening

I've been collecting some pics to share with you all. (Now that you've introduced yourself and stepped into this space even more, I feel less like I'm sending some ridiculous heart-oozing missile into outer space and more like you have arrived here. We are sitting around on the living room carpet,  sipping tea after the kids are in bed, snuggled in jammies, eager for this juicy sleepover, whispering about our dreams and loves and giggling about this wild, best ride ever. Thank you for sharing yourself here.)  

Sunday morning gluten-free huckleberry pancakes. Oh my...so worth freezing that gallon of Montana's pride and joy last fall to lighten up our taste buds and souls with purple sunshine. If you like gluten-free, then I want you to know that every single recipe that I've tried from this book has been eye-rolling good.

Our first visit to the theatre in, oh, could it be five years, for the Big Sky Film Festival. We came as a family to see Nenette. Pretty fun eating popcorn at 10 in the morning. I spent all but the opening credits with this girl, checking out the bathroom. It is a pretty cool bathroom. Pretty cool girl, too.

We rarely visit our backyard in the winter. Don't know why. It's kind of strange, as though the whole space which we revel in six months of the year turns invisible with the first snowfall. This was the first time out there in months, and I ended up in the junk pile dragging out every piece of summer-time play equipment (including the pool), for a short-lived baseball throwing, pool-stomping, chef adorning adventure.

With the last of our holiday gift money, we replenished our paint supplies. Now, almost daily trips to the colorful array in large bottles is happening. Often without artist aprons. O dear...creativity is more important than mess, creativity is more important than mess, creativity is more important than mess, so I tell myself.

Making dog treats for our dear Isis. Saschy likes them too (gulp). Since she is a girl that I really cannot ever tell straight up what to do, (spirited, is it called?) I've decided that the homemade variety is much easier for mama to stomach, as she gnaws away on them reassuring me, it's dood mama, i wike it and it's helfee for me too.

Heading out the door for one of our colder runs. I'm learning to soften towards myself and accept that I really do want(need?) to move my body often. Somewhere along the way, in my quest to become spiritual/awakened/enlightened, I made up that it requires me to forsake my actual interests in favor of peace-om-bliss-no-matter-what. I've held it over myself like an eternal final exam: ooh? not feeling happy with the mess? the chaos? the lack of exercise? lack of sleep? days without girlfriends? FAIL.  When I let myself heave all that bullshit and press my nose up against what my actual feelings are, I see things differently. When I run, I feel better. Huh. The earth didn't open up and swallow me whole for my sin. Fancy that.

Better photos of the cinnamon bun process. By the way, if you actually ever call them "krissy buns" to my face, I will turn as red as the first strawberries of summer and giggle foolishly. That term embarrasses me because as it reminds me of Chrissy from Three's Company (ditzy one-in character only)  and then, to add the term "buns" to it sends me back to the time (my whole life pre-children) when I was teased about the roundness of my booty.And to think what I'd now do to have that booty back. Ah. 

Our twilight flatland sledding adventure which included spotting a raccoon and the making of angels. When I look at these photos, I'm so glad that I overcame my reluctance in that moment when they suggested it because of the hassle of getting us all bundled in a million layers. As soon as I stepped into that sparkling night air with these two loves, my smile (and a gratitude that melts all resentments) found me.

O Great Creator of All Magic everywhere, please please PLEASE help me to listen to the whisper of joy, to open myself to Life as it is unfolding preciously right before me, and to be tender and loving with myself, these small glorious humans gifted to me, and every other sacred creature. Amen.

 PS. On the nursing front, we are much better. Belladonna, if you can believe it, as prescribe by our homeopath. All it's done is take the edge of her lunatic rage (that was the imbalance) and that has made quite a difference. She is still sad at least once a night and a couple of times a day and she is letting me talk to her, hold her, light a candle, offer food, whatever. She's letting me help her and that is helping. Her will is powerful and she makes her interests known. No remedy will change that (nor would I want it to) because that is who she is. Also, she truly loves nursing and I'm letting that be. Frankly, I'm relieved that she didn't quit cold turkey. Those moments of quiet stillness, with her looking at me with beluga whale eyes and stroking my chest with the back of her chubby fist, they are golden. All your suggestions have been appreciated and have soothed me. I'm leaning on them as needed, gladly.

 

Pigeon Holes Are For Pigeons

No, that's not a pigeon. That's our Henry-dog, smack-dab in the middle of play group, having given up on the idea of a dog walk and allowing himself to be adorned accidentally as six children play about his body.

via talkfeeleez.typepad.com

A little glimpse into our day yesterday, reminding me how blessed my children and I are.

real

 

In their book Stories of the Spirit, Jack Kornfield and Christina Feldman tell this story: A family went out to a restaurant for dinner. When the waitress arrived, the parents gave their orders. Immediately, their five year old daughter piped up with her own: "I'll have a hot dog, french fries and a Coke." "Oh no you won't", interjected the dad, and turning to the waitress he said, "She'll have meat loaf, mashed potatoes, and milk." Looking at the child with a smile, the waitress said, "So,  hon, what do you want on that hot dog?" When she left, the family sat stunned and silent. A few moments later the little girl, eyes shining, said, "She thinks I'm real."

From Radical Acceptance by Tara Brach, PhD

cinnamon buns

Forgive my chest thumping for just a moment here to whisper....I've made some pretty fine batches of cinny buns. Some members of my family have dubbed them krissy buns and might say they are my specialty, though I'm not sure I'd go that far. Especially considering that with our on-going adventures with slow food (and sometimes grain-free), I haven't been making them much lately. But there is a time for everything and last week was the time for these. 

Who wouldn't want something warm and buttery from the oven with weather like this...

and daily longing for spring to arrive.

Today Elliott was in full baseball regalia (most of which was fashioned out of sub-standard bits and pieces which he willingly made work, like tucking his police pants into his ski socks to make them look like those shorty pants which "real" players wear). He agonizingly asks every day...when is summer going to BE HERE? Saschy's the same, which is really no surprise if you remember this.

Baking treats is the next best thing, I say. So here is a kind-of recipe which I hope you can follow. (Thanks for asking, Hannah and so nice to hear from you!)

I used a sourdough starter but you don't have to. I'll give the non-sourdough version.

1 cup warm water

1 tbsp yeast

3 tbsp honey

1 tsp sea salt

Mix these together and be sure the yeast is alive (bubbling).

Add enough organic whole wheat flour (or any combination of your favorite grains-I'm sure you can adapt for gluten-free as well) to make a thick soup type consistency. Stir and let sit for an hour or so.

Add more flour until dough forms into ball and knead until your triceps burn (20 min or so for me). Clean out bowl you were using and dribble olive oil in there. Add ball of dough, turn over so coated lightly in oil and cover for a few hours. Mine didn't double in size but it did rise some (sourdough doesn't seem to want to rise as easily, especially with the heavier whole wheat flour). If you want lighter dough, mix in some white flour as well. 

Roll out dough into wide oval shape, almost a rectangle. Heat up butter (maybe 3/4 cup) and I used organic coconut sugar which is fantastic, and several healthy dashes of cinnamon. Stir and heat until this thickens a little or at least until sugar is melted. Pour this over dough and spread to within 1/2inch or so of edges, saving some to pour over top of buns. Sprinkle raisins and/or nuts, as you wish. 

Then, roll the long edge of the dough, lifting a little so that the yummy syrupy goodness doesn't get all mushed out. Pinch the far edge of dough to the main roll of dough when it's all wrapped up to hold it together a little. With serrated knife, cut the roll into 2 inch rounds and place them on their sides in buttered baking pan (seen above). 

Bake at 350degrees for about 20 min then check. You'll know they are done when the kitchen smells like heaven and if you wiggle the center of the largest bun and it doesn't feel gummy (kind of wiggles easily and with a little stiffness). 

Cool and devour.

I hope all this makes sense. Let me know how it goes if you try it!

 

this moment

I want to remember...

and this one too...

the beast inside me

 

We just went on a snowy afternoon walk. This is what they did. Perhaps because the whole family was up from 3-4am because of Saschy's crying and yelling to nurse. Yep. We are still here in the land of torturous transitions. 

I thought it would be over by now, that she would be accepting of no longer nursing at night. She talks about it during the day as though she is, but then sometime in the middle of each night, 'cept maybe two, she is up: turning on lights, shrieking, hitting me, furious and desperately sad. 

I wanna nurse!

I wanna nurse!

I wanna nurse!

One night out of all those nights I was the gentle and loving mama I long to be. The other nights, the beast inside me has taken over and I have completely lost my way, tumbling downward into the abyss of NOT non-violent communication.  In my concern over Elliott's sleep, I haul her out of bed and into the living room and she hits and screams and hates me for it. It is an aggressive act. I hate myself for it. I feel stuck and sad.

We have had  tender lapses in all of it, her saying "I'm so sorry for waking you up, mom" and "How's your shoulder, mom?" (The one that she gouged a few minutes prior.)

I want to know WHY this is happening, why it is taking so much longer for us to settle into sleeping at night, why she is so adamantly resisting this change. Possible answers go on forever with no end to the analyzing. Blaming myself is the most well-worn groove. Sometimes I feel so completely ill-equipped and unworthy of the honor of mothering. 

While empathy is my most MOST adored way (both giving and receiving) of being with/moving through hard things, I am now at the point of asking specifically for advice and ideas from others. It's been helpful. It shows me how when I am deep in the muck of things with my own children, I lose sight of the less familiar, not yet habitual, yet definitely preferred ways of communicating: namely with  compassion, neutrality, and clarity.

What I've said:

Saschy. I don't want you to hit me. It hurts. I feel sad when you are hurting me. I want you to stop hurting me. I don't want to hold you if you are going to keep hurting me. Here, you can sit here by yourself because I don't want to be hurt anymore. 

Can you hear how this is punishing her?

My sweet, wise friend suggested:

Saschy, I need to feel safe. I want to protect myself from being hurt. You can feel mad and I love you. I want to hold you and I also want to keep my body safe.  I'm going to take some space and sit over here on this couch to protect myself.

(Insert smack on the forehead and loud DUH!) Can you hear how clear this is, without blaming her in any way? I thought I knew this stuff.  I have read it and I love it and I want it, but at 3 am, instead I am choking on my own old habits of blame and punishment and payback. Ugh. It's painful to see this and so very crucial that I do. I want her to feel loved, always, not shamed or guilty or wrong in any way. 

Another friend asked me: Have you explained why you don't want to nurse at night? 

I sat dumbstruck. Good grief, did I actually go into this in a way that was more like launching a rule without giving her ALL of the information about WHY?  Shit. Again, DUH! I know this, but I don't know this. 

So I told her that I want us all to have more sleep, that she is able to eat food to nourish herself and she needs that food and my body cannot give her all the energy and nutrition she needs and that it is uncomfortable for me to nurse that much....

She listened intently and watched me closely. (Internal dialogue: Oh why can't I be more like Natalie and have all this come more naturally and easily? Then, darn that comparing.) 

Other suggestions: sippy cups with milk, sleeping alone with her so Elliott gets to stay asleep and I can feel more relaxed about Saschy making noise and turning on the lights, stop nursing altogether, more food before bed, different homeopathic remedy. 

I don't know the answer. I'm glad for ideas and even more grateful for the warm glow I have inside after talking to people I love about this. It's that sense of being more in tune with my deeper self, more accepting of what's happening, less resistant. I soften and open and then I have access to the golden nectar of trust and allowing. I remember that no matter what I do or don't do, this will change. They are getting big so fast and they will never be little again and I will never have babies again and all this will be over. Feeling into that truth, and the sparkling sadness which pours out of that tender spot, I lean back into this moment with such sweet thankfulness for being alive.