Helicopter Parents

Heard the term Helicopter Parents? I only recently heard the term from author/blogger Lenore Skenazy on her blog Free Range Kids, but apparently the phrase was coined in 1990 by Jim Fay and Foster Cline in their book Parenting with Love and Logic, which has a zingy title, but after a review of their website and the book, I concluded that book is not on my recommended list.

A helicopter parent is one who hovers closely around all their child -- never out of reach -- whether or not the child needs them or not.  This parent will  pay close attention to the child's experiences and problems with the purported reason of preventing negative experiences from occurring in their child's life.

This past Saturday I had the misfortune of witnessing a hovering helicopter father cause anxiety and irritation to his two sons during our morning Tae Kwon Do class.  I'd observed this dad a few times in the past several months. When I was working with either of his sons he'd slither over and feign interest all the while casting stern-looking glances at me as I took the students through their forms. He'd make no eye contact with me at any other time during the 2-hour classes. The fact of the matter is that his kids seemed uninterested in Karate.  They have noodle arms, can't keep still -- even for 1 second, look around at everyone when they should be looking straight ahead, continue talking even when others' have asked them to listen, refuse to try being strong or accurate, and in short probably hate Tae Kwon Do.  In that respect, I feel sorry for them.  I doubt they have a choice.

The father, however, really irked my ire this past weekend. We were working out in a small room with no seating. He hung in the doorway like rotten mistletoe and took notes.  I figured he wasn't working on his Thanksgiving shopping list, which was confirmed during our first break when he came into the Do Chang and proceeded to ask his boys what they did wrong during Basics -- the opening part of the class.  "I'm taking notes, this time," he said with smirk that made me want to take his head clean off.  Both the boys grew alarmed almost immediately and the younger tried snatching the tablet from his dad's hands.  I couldn't believe that this dad was taking notes on a style of martial arts that he didn't even do himself ( and can't possibly understand) in an effort to what....teach his boys what they were doing wrong?  Did he even have any hopes of trying to help them improve?  And how was he to do this?  Extra workouts between homework and whatever other extra-curricular activity these kids do? A surefire way to cement their hatred for the style.

At each two minute break he came into the room, and proceeded to taunt his boys with this list of wrong and then would snark at them to keep quiet, not snatch it from his hands, and to hush up and get back to work. At one point he looked at me, and I realized that my chin was scraping the floor. I just couldn't believe the way he was interacting with his sons. He looked away quickly, and almost looked embarrassed.  Of course, I was asked to work with the yellow belts again, and I ended up with his oldest son. I'm pretty sure the kid must be on some ADHD drug.  He was entirely unable to stop moving and he seemed to hear what I said but could not incorporate it into his form.  Despite the small quarters, the dad moved closer in an effort to watch more closely.

I refrained myself the entire class from taking the dad into the hall and stating in no uncertain terms that he should leave the instruction to the instructors and let us do our job rather than hovering around his boys and causing them more stress.  But if he does it again next week, I'm going to. 

Cerebral Celebration

Living this life requires a certain amount of celebration. 

 

Living on this planet requires skill, work, and a positive attitude. It is often joyous and full of adventure. Sometimes it is mundane. Sometimes life is rocky and rough and the celebration of something as small as a job well done, or as marvelous as a birthday can smooth out the edges, and add sweetness to an otherwise tastes-like-dirt kind of day.

As a summer birthday girl, birthday celebrations have always meant swimming pool parties and up-till-late slumber parties. Memories of my own birthdays can be invoked with just the right hint of Copper Tone and the damp smell of chlorine laden towels.

When my oldest daughter was born two days after my birthday, I was giddy with the knowledge that the summer birthday tradition would carry on...and on and on it has!  My sweet July girl loves her swimming pool birthdays, and her friends always rave that they are the best ones of the year.  We make no fuss and do no fancy games or themes or treats.  Just cake and pizza at the pool... and the kids just swim, swim, swim.

Remarkably, here it is just days before my youngest turns 5.  A Halloween-y baby is she.  Thanks to indoor swimming pools, she's decided she wants a pool party too, and so we'll head down to the pretty cool Genoveva Chavez Center in Santa Fe, and maybe my little one will try her new found dunking skills on the big slide.

 

Birthdays are important.  They create big anticipation and are almost always filled with laughter, joy, and smiles. But I never would have realized how important they are to Moms if I had never become one. Before I had children, birthdays were a selfish fiesta of  a day that was "all about me," or a more generous, "what can I do for you," when it came to my dear friends and my partner. 

But now that I'm a mother, and I've experienced the intensity of pregnancy and birth, and all the wonder and amazement, exhaustion and excitement, confusion and cuddling that accompanies growing with my children...I can honestly say that I have a new-found respect for birthdays. As my soft spot for my children's birthdays grows deeper, I have a better understanding of my own Mother, and why she always helped to make my birthday special. She still does, in fact. She, too, must have that same sweet collection of memories of my actual birth day...her own pregnancy, labor, and delivery of a little baby that turned into me. 

 

Birthdays are a festival of the very best cake, a wonderful dinner, and presents.  Nowadays, I tend to splurge on a nice thing or two for myself, but I tend to get a little crazy when I shop for my kids...they deserve it all, you know...whatever it is they want. And if I am unable to get everything on the list, I hope that others can fill in the holes.  So far, it seems that most everything on Signe's wish list has been acquired, with a little help from family!

This desire to fulfill my kids' wishes was discovered when Nena was still a tiny baby and probably wasn't wishing for anything yet.  Only 5 months old for her 1st Christmas, I went a little crazy with gifts in anticipation of all the joys she'd have as she grew older. It was made worse by the fact that her grandparents and we were burgeoning with extra money, and a baby seemed like the perfect person to shower the gifts upon. Late night Christmas eves have been the norm around my house...with last minute Santa placements, and sometimes a few mechanical struggles to make the hours grow later and later.

Lately, I've been wishing for a different Christmas tradition. The excess consumption and waste of paper and plastic does sometimes make me cringe inside. I wish to be more creative so that I can still fulfill my sweethearts' dreams for Christmas joy, but feel like I'm being gentler on the planet. 

Time with family, friends, baking, and creating...these are all the best parts of any celebration.  I would like to focus on those aspects more--to fill up the hearts of my loved ones with love and attention.

Someday, I would like to find a new location to celebrate the holiday season...a place completely different from our mountain location. 

My dream involves a bungalow on the beach, swimming in the ocean all day, and lounging peacefully in the tropical air in the evening.  Someday...

Photo Copyright Sandra Aamodt

Cycles

Many of us know that life travels in cycles...sometimes big and obvious ones like the seasonal cycles...but there is also the very non-linear circuitous way that life ebbs and flows. Last year at this time, my youngest daughter would fall asleep around 9 or 9:30 at night, and sleep until 9 or 10 in the morning. Lately, everyone has been falling asleep between 8:30 and 10 pm, and waking early--like around 6 or 6:30, despite the fact that the mornings are darker and darker each day. I like watching and observing these more subtle cycles, and I'm so grateful that my kids are able to live within their own. Not being pushed or rushed or limited to a time-constrained day surely helps them to live a life that is less hindered and more free, even if we still have schedules to abide by in general.

Sig has been hopping over milestones lately. After an entire summer spent at the pool, which has now been closed for nearly a month, she suddenly discovered that she can go entirely underwater. Because this is her new-found fun, she wants to go out into the hot tub every day. It's pretty fun to watch her go under over and over and over. This will bring a whole new level of fun into our pool days...the slides, diving boards, and all the other fun can be more thoroughly explored. I'm sure that it took my little one so long to feel comfortable with her head under the water because of the one snafu I pulled while staying at the Flamingo Hotel in Las Vegas. They have an awesome pool with some really amazing, established landscaping. The palms are huge, and the whole pool area is a tropical funzone. They have some pretty cool slides too. When Sig was 2, I had her in my lap while we zoomed down a slide, and my foot slipped on the pool bottom when we came off and we both went under. That was the last day she ever put her head under water intentionally until last week.

She also learned how to do the monkey bars on her own. And then she discovered that she could crawl on top of them. In absolute adorable terms, she said to me while crawling along the top, "Now that I'm nearly five, I am learning how to do so many things! Look at me! Who knew I would go underwater and crawl on top of the monkey bars all in one week?"

Really, who would've thunk?

Of course, who would've ever guessed that she's be a wig afficionado, as well?

Inspiration and Change

On Monday morning of this week, I woke up inspired. I’d had some vivid, strange dreams and woke up compelled to get my own act together. It has been 10 months since I took the doula training workshop, and I’ve done nothing towards working on the certification process. I’m employed, and actually enjoy most aspects of my position, but it’s not, nor has my job ever been, what I want to do when I grow up. I’m busy parenting, and living, and working, and working out, but I haven’t been focusing on steering my career down a different path.

As if compelled through the same cosmic vibe, another doula contacted me on Monday about getting together all the doulas in town for a meet-and-greet networking session. I perused some graduate school options, and looked into other formal training to set me firmly on this new road. I’m looking. I know that I will be able to pull this all together into a tightly knit grouping of skills that I will be able to use for my next career. Doula, childbirth educator, herbalist, and then what? Prenatal psychologist? Deep ecologist? Massage therapist? Somatic experience counselor? I'm not yet certain, but I am looking.

And speaking of inspiration, Nena has taken a great interest in cleaning. This can be readily summed up as being inspired by a movie that she currently loves, Another Cinderella Story with Selena Gomez. Nearly every day she tidies up, cleans off the table, the kitchen island, and the coffee table. She cleans the windows she can reach, and the refrigerator. She mops the floor.

Tuesday when I came home from work, she’d begun the process of rearranging the living room. I was surprised, and not necessarily motivated to help her complete the task, but once we got going, we REALLY got going. We scrubbed, and cleaned, and pulled apart all the electronics, we debated which way to arrange the couches and tables and where the TV should go. We drew our ideas on paper, and then discussed them with Daddy and Signe. All the while, we watched HGTV, and Nena kept getting inspired by more ideas along the way. In the end, we did a complete 180-degree rotation of the furniture, and it looks lovely. What I saw as limiting at first, given the constraints of our wood stove and the back door, turned into an excellent opportunity to clean, renovate, and redesign our living space.

I have never forced my girls to clean anything. I’ve asked for assistance on occasion, and probably ranted that I wished they would help me on more than a few, but I’ve never forced or required them to do chores. Seeing Nena’s inspiration to clean and her motivation to design the layout of a room has been so much fun. She has amazing neat and tidy characteristics, which play out in the meticulous care she takes to arrange her bed, and her dresser top, and they way she places blankets, pillows, and stuffed animals on her bed. It is truly fascinating to watch this develop.

Signe has random moments of cleaning inspiration too. Sometimes she’ll head up to their room, shut the door, and I can hear the sounds of bumps and footsteps and singing. After a while she’ll call out, “Mom! Come see my room!” And I’ll head up and everything will be picked up from the main part of the floor, and stuff will be bulging out from beneath the dresser, and shoved into the toy bins, and overflowing from the closet cubbies, and she will be beaming with pride. So cute.

As the summer wanes towards fall, I feel the changing of the season. The leaves are starting to turn yellow and orange. The late summer flowers are starting to die back. The mornings have been a touch chilly, and there is that indescribable feeling of change. It is happening.

Today was our Official Not-Back-to-School Day

Thankfully, today we did not go to the first day back at school. I woke, and as usual took Nuptse out before 7am. The scenery this morning was amazing because of the remnants of the overnight rain storm. Pink, brush-stroked clouds hung low to the East, and rich, dark, almost daunting clouds hung thickly over the east-facing flank of the mountains. The air was damp, and smelled of moist dirt, wildflowers, and sodden vegetation. Once back, Nena greeted me at the door, her hair still mussed-up from a night of sleep. I took a shower and she took a bath, and we hung out while I made an iced coffee and gathered my lunch. She dressed in a new fashion top that she picked out yesterday, and wanted to go to Grandma’s house early, before her sister woke up. I commented that I was glad I didn’t have to fork over cash to the class, in addition to all the other school supplies, school clothes, and other “necessities” that I would have had Nena actually been going to school today. In thinking about that, I realized that the bargain spending we’d been up to all summer on new toys and clothes was still pretty meager in comparison. I gave hugs and kisses all around, and set off to the Farmers Market before going to work.

The traffic was horrid thanks to the many scattered road construction messes in town. I managed to avoid the school zone near my house and went on my way to the Farmers Market, which was burgeoning with fresh vegetables.  After the market I sauntered into work, and got busy researching hazardous waste sites that resulted from the Manhattan Project. I went to Tae Kwon Do for lunch, ate a salad for lunch, and checked in with my beautiful daughters early this afternoon.  They were playing cars and were about to head off on a walk with their Dad.

The relief and lack of stress of not worrying about another first day at school is profound. Last year I felt as though I was walking on eggshells for nearly two weeks, and Kindergarten was orders of magnitude worse--to say nothing about the first go at it! Last year Nena started the first day out okay, but in watching her play-out the day that evening, I could hear the sound of my heart breaking. She pretended to be her teacher while her sister was a student, and she described the discipline, punishment, and laws of the land. The sense of demoralization was overwhelming and I felt like pulling her out right then and there.  But the previous year had gone so well, I reminded myself, no reason to jump the gun.

Day 2 and Nena did not want to go, but somehow she mustered up enough courage to give it a try. The weekend came, and I knew that Monday was going to be tough. But this time I’d done my research. I was prepared for her to say she didn’t want to go. And she didn’t. Fine, I said, stay home and play. So she did.  On Day 3, and Day 4, and Day 5. On Day 6, I said, this is crazy, you do not need to go to where you are feeling so much pain. So I formally pulled her out. She went to first grade for 2 days.

For 6 weeks prior to the first day of first grade I saw a continual build-up of anxiety and fear. Panic attacks started happening, which I thought were extreme “tantrums” or “fits” and yet I hadn’t made the connection between the pending first day of school and this upswing of severe emotion.  Finally, after school had started, and these panic attacks occurred multiple times throughout the day, I realized that these could not be simple extreme tantrums.  These were so much more than that. The doctor confirmed my concerns, and that only made my decision to remove her from school so much easier. Ironically, all the psychological banter surrounding separation anxiety involves working towards getting a child back in school. Everything I read about it made my stomach turn, yet deep down provoked a fear that I might be doing the wrong thing.

But as the weeks went by, the panic began to subside. The bright, sparkley-eyed  girl started shining through.

As the first day back to school came nearer, I asked if Nena wanted to give it another go, and she said no, although when all the catalogs with the shiny and colorful new backpacks arrived, she gave it some further thought, but then said no again.

We went and checked out the class lists out of curiosity, and wondered why her nemesis wasn’t on any of them...had she moved and changed districts? We’d seen her a few days prior, so we knew she was still in town.  Had the school messed up and forgotten to put her name down? Nena worried about this as this girl was a major factor in her discomfort with school. Try not to worry, I said, it’s really unimportant to our own situation.

No eggshells today.  Just another normal day.  For that, we are all glad.

Random Thoughts and Other Rantings

Happy Birthday Mom!!  It's my Mother's 66th Birthday today, and we all hope it's a beautiful day!

Family is one of the epitomal aspects of being human. Family relationships often become all-encompassing--whether for better or worse. Our children rely on us, their parents, for nearly everything--love, guidance, food, clothing, fun, toys, hope, explanations, encouragement, answers, clean laundry, excitement, new crayons, blank paper, ice water...the list goes on and on.

But as parents, how often do we meet our childrens' requests with a happy and joyful heart?

How often do we react out of exhaustion, or with a cranky and "not again" attitude?

As a working Mother, who works because I'm the breadwinner of the family, this is my biggest, current challenge--being able to meet the requests (as well as needs) of my kids with a heart that is open, full of joy, and unconditional love. I strive for this constantly. But it doesn't always come easy. Sometimes I am exhausted. A night of poor sleep combined with brain fatigue after a full day of work, and domestic obligations greeting me at the door can sometimes make for a grumpy mama. I struggle with this dilemma because I am particularly sensitive to desiring the absolute best for my kids.  I want them to know what unconditional love, true respect, and be able to pursue their on interests in a safe, and encouraging environment.

For my Mother's birthday we went to my grandmother's house, which is nestled among the cottonwoods along the Pojoaque River.  I was fortunate to grow up a few hundred yards away, as the Raven flies, and explored every inch of their wondrous property when I was kid. Horses, chickens, kitties, and aging cats and dogs abide there, along with my Aunt and Uncle. We don't get down there often enough, and as such, my kids are still cautious about exploring on their own, and request that I accompany them to visit the variety of animals. And that I walk them to the bathroom, and help them fix their plates, and get their ice water, and...

As we were leaving, my Grandmother said she hoped I got a break every now and then, and that caused me to ponder time and family and what it truly is that I hope for and actually do when it comes to my own (family and time).

It seems to me that when my Grandmother was raising her children, time must have traveled a little bit slower. Life, lately, has seemed frantic.  Rushed, frantic, hurried, overwhelming. Not just for me, but for many people that I speak with. Everyone seems to have schedules that are jam-packed and catalogued into every compartment of the day...whether they are homeschoolers or not. So much of me wonders whether my hurried days are a result of working and parenting, but even the moms I know that don't work complain of the same thing. I so wish I did not have to work outside the home 32 hours a week, but I am so thankful that I can work part-time and support my family, and still have quality time with my kids.

And this, too, may someday change.

Unschooling: Doughnuts and Peanut Sauce | Life Learning with Wendy Priesnitz

Unschooling: Doughnuts and Peanut Sauce | Life Learning with Wendy Priesnitz

Thanks Wendy for taking the time to do what I don't have the time to do at the moment.

Beautiful Kids

I'll admit, I'm one of those Mom's that thinks her kids are some of the most beautiful out there.  I'm not usually one to brag, but while browsing through some photographs, I couldn't contain my enthusiasm for my kids.  And I couldn't believe how much they've grown, yet still look the same.

 Once upon a time, Nena was 3 and she didn't yet have a baby sister named Signe. She liked to wear fancy dresses and go swimming with Mama at the pool.  One evening she danced for us on our back deck.  She has always had beautiful, curly hair, but it was really, really blond when she was little.

Soon Nena poured her devotion upon her new sibling.





Signe was a very serious baby and rarely smiled.  On those occasions that she did, we all oohhed, and ahhhed at her. From how she was as a baby, one would never guess she'd be the comedian she is now, who is constantly cracking jokes and is a profound giggle-monster. 

 Our American Bulldog, Boghee, loved the kids and tolerated all their love and hugs. His unfortunate love for socks and underpants, however, was not good for him in the long run.


 In July 2006, we took a family picnic up in the Jemez. Monsoons left some awesome puddles for a 4-year old Nena to play in.

When I look at Signe as a baby, it's evident that she was who she is.  My Mother-in-law, Jan said, they are are who they are from the second they're born.  I think she's right.

She still looks just like that when she sleeps, and when she's smiling in the hot tub during a blizzard. Four weeks and 4 years...still the same Sig.

It's camping season already...and here's a picture of Nena looking camp comfy on one her many climbing trips--this one to the Enchanted Tower near Datil, NM.

And another looking happy to be at the water in the evening.  Turquoise Lake in Leadville, CO.

Time in the Desert

Last Wednesday evening we made an impromptu decision to get the heck out of Dodge. During a play date with our friends Hailey and Saso, their Mama, Petra, told us they were headed to Indian Creek for the weekend. Indian Creek is an amazingly beautiful part of the southern Utah desert, and is situated along the road that serves as the southern entrance to Canyonlands. Indian Creek has become an international climbing destination, and Spring and Fall are the seasons to be there.  After deciding we were going to go, we had lots of schedule shuffling to do, and we quickly packed up, tried repeatedly to fit everything into the Subaru Outback, decided it simply would not fit, threw everything into the truck, and forgot lots of things.  Despite the hasty retreat, once we arrived at the Bridger Jack camping area, we were able to pretty much chill out.  For a few hours anyway.

We spent our REI dividend and used the 20% coupon to buy a palace of a family tent--a 6-person, 6-foot tall monstrosity with a full vestibule. It was awesome!  Scott figured out how to set it up while I worked to get the girls and the puppy fed before it was completely dark. The girls played with Hailey for the few hours of daylight, and the parents tended to kid requests, gear needs, and getting settled into camp. Finally, I was able to enjoy a beer in the starlight.  The magic of Indian Creek finally started to seep into my being.

The next morning we woke and quickly packed up our gear, food, and water so we could head off to Donnelly Canyon to climb.  We arrived to a very packed parking lot, which wasn't surprising since it was a Saturday and Spring.  We all hiked up to the crags, and Nena started worrying about the safety of the puppy.  Nuptse had a near-death encounter as we were trying to leave when she got out of the house and was nearly flattened by a speeding car. Thankfully that didn't happen, but the fear of that plus the exposed boulders that Nuptse was scaling started a bit of panic for Nena.  Finally, we decided that it would be more fun to descend and play in the river than to hang out at the crag while the grown-ups climbed. In the end, the river was pumping a bit too much, so I took all the girls back to camp and Petra and Saso stayed with the guys to climb.

The girls had a grand time playing with their Hotwheels cars, stuffed animals, two tents, the back of the truck, and the vast vistas of Bridger Jack mesa. There was nary a conflict, and I was able to enjoy a book and the warmth of the sun, in between hunting down snacks, escorting them to our homemade pooper, retrieving cars that fell down into boulder cracks, calling for Nuptse who discovered that there are still a few nincompoops people out there who are uninformed about Indian Creek's poop policy (scroll down a bit) and who left their poop in easy puppy access (Gag!!), digging holes to bury said poop, and preventing the puppy from digging up said buried poop, among other things. (Whew...reading all that makes me tired.)

Finally the rest of the crew arrived, along with our dear Uncle Teague, and dinner and more fun ensued.

Sunday we hiked into Canyonlands and Nena bombed it up a small  Via Ferrata just when I thought she'd want to turn around. I'll post pictures as I get a chance.  I (of course) forgot my camera while in Canyonlands, but took a couple shots on my phone.

Monday we scrambled around on the awesome sandstone boulders, found some really cool small skulls, took a hike down to the actual Indian Creek, discovered a gorgeous collared lizard (I'll post our photo, too), hiked back to camp, dismantled camp, played cars, bouldered some more, waited for Daddy to get back from climbing, and generally just enjoyed the day.  That evening we drove up to Moab, and settled into the Bighorn Lodge, one of our faves thanks to their dog-friendly policy and their proximity to the delicious food and microbrews at the Moab Brewery.

Tuesday we hiked the beginner loop on the Slickrock Trail, watched a bunch of new mountain bikers cut their teeth on the awesomeness of the Moab slickrock, went to the musical instrument park and listened to Daddy perform for us, and then I hiked the Portal Trail with Nuptse in an effort to thoroughly wear her out. We ate at Eddie McStiffs, shopped on the town, tried to swim at night but the water was just too dang cold, and ended up watching a cool show on the History Channel about ancient cultures documenting visitors from space hundreds and thousands of years ago.

Overall, it was a lovely get-away and enough time to actually feel a bit rested and recharged.

Time and Conversation Snippets

My dear friend Gwen keeps a blog about her son, which I love to read because of her amazing humor and honesty. I have to be careful to not read her writing at work because I often end up laughing out loud and shooting whatever liquid substance I'm drinking (tea, coffee, water) straight out my nose in my attempts to squelch my laughter.  In one of her recent posts, she turns her readers on to another very funny Mama Blogger, who instantly hooked me.

Their humor and composition made me realize I've been way to freakin' serious lately. Good God, no wonder my daughter keeps asking me why my eyebrows are all scrunched up.

I've been having a lot of fun taking walks with Sig lately.  She's 4 and the world is still full of wonder. Hopefully that will last a long time.  Last night we walked up Mitchell Trail a little ways to get the puppy on walk # 2 of the day.  (We've discovered that if Nuptse doesn't take 2 walks during the day she is like a wild Tasmanian devil swirling around our house in the evening.) We went as far as where two little ephemeral streams come together and a whole bunch of burnt trees have fallen and they make bridges over the stream bed.  Right now there is water since the snow has been melting and the girls love it.

We get to the water and Signe pipes up with her new way of introducing her sentences, "It's too bad..." which is said with serious drama, so she says, "It's too bad we can't stay here." I say, "We can stay here as long as you want." And she suddenly she turns from a mood of presumptive disdain to one of extreme excitement.  You wouldn't know that we'd been there 5 times in the past 6 days. She starts splashing around in the water while the pup climbs over logs and creates general mayhem.

Sig - Mom, are there fish in here?
Me - No.
Sig - Why not?
Me - This water only flows for a few weeks in the spring and a few weeks in the summer--probably there's not enough time for the fishies to grow.
Sig - Oh.  Mom, are there sharks in here?
Me - No.
Sig - Why?
Me - Sharks mostly live in the ocean, except for those ones that are small enough to live in fishtanks, or the ones who live in the aquarium.
Sig - Oh. Mom, are there Fish in here?
Me - No.
Sig - Why?
Me - I think the water dries up before they can be born.
Sig - Oh. Mom, are there Sharks in here?
Me - No.
Sig - Why?

You get the idea of where the conversation went.  It was pretty cute. She also says really funny stuff while we are walking.  Nuptse was sniffing poop near a tree.  Sig says, "Nuptse must really like that tree, she's giving it sniff kisses." Good thing she didn't see the poop.

We've been entering the trail by crossing the street, trespassing walking across our neighbor's empty lot, and climbing up a steep and unconsolidated hill that crests at the old water tank. Last night when we got to the top Sig said, "Wow!  Where is this place?!"  I said, this is the place we've been using to get to the trail.  Sig says, "I know. God  I hate this trail."  I asked why and she said, "because I just don't like water tanks."  "Really," I ask, "what don't you like about water tanks?" "They are just so big and make me feel like a Polly Pocket."  Makes sense, I muse.

I should probably bring a portable tape player just to record her stuff.  It's pretty fun.

Weekday Fun

Some photos of a recent weekday outing.  We were fortunate to meet our dear friends at the Santa Fe Children's Museum before heading out to eat and watching the 4-Corner's Pipes and Drums group play.

Too bad I didn't pay attention to the fact that I caught the Moms too! It could have been an even cooler pic. Neen has a cold, you can tell by her eyes.

The house of mirrors and a wannabe Avatar.

Sig said she wants to marry Miko. He doesn't look too disappointed.

They have very glamorous face-painting stations equipped with lights, mirrors, and cool face-paint crayons.

A New Puppy

I’ve had quite a number of puppies in my life. When I was born, my brother had a new puppy, Tanya. She was a Golden Retriever that came from a good stock of genes. Tanya gave birth to a litter of puppies that could have been Golden Doodles before they were a breed, but a hearty male Golden got to her first. Then we got Kerry, an Irish Setter that was healthy and huge. She was, however, terrified of thunder and spent many a day in the basement on sedatives with music and a fan on. Then came Shane, MY first puppy—that is, the first puppy I could call my own. He was Kerry’s son, and a beautiful, healthy, and even larger Irish Setter than his mother. He was my buddy and I spent the years from age 10 until I left for college with this sweet boy. He died when he was 12 after a life of less-than-ideal commercial dog food. His healthy hips deteriorated into former shells of themselves, and the poor guy could hardly get around in his latter years.

My partner and I got our first dog together when I was in my second year in college. We’d met him at a D&D party, where he crawled into Scottie’s lap and promptly fell asleep and snored like a lumberjack. He was about the size of a rat, maybe 8 weeks old, and a male pitbull. Black and white patches over his eyes made him just about the most adorable thing we’d ever seen.  But we were looking for a Lab. Besides, we’d lived next door to some dangerous and abused pitbulls when we lived between Coal and Lead on Edith in Albuquerque.  They were neglected and unhappy dogs, from what we could see—towing a chain the width of my thigh and a quarter length of a football field.  Those poor pups barely saw a bowl of fresh water, and were nothing more than a false sense of protection for the owners. Yet, because of these dogs we were wary of pitbulls.

Somehow, the Labs never panned out, and Chillum’s owner kept asking if we wanted him. Finally, we said sure, and traded the dog for a burly Himalayan sweater. Chillum bonded with us as if he’d never lived with anyone else. He was the best dog we ever had. A Frisbee dog extraordinaire—pictures published in dog books. He would ride along-side us on our bikes for miles, and had his own shortcuts for when we embarked on long trail rides. Chillum could hang with most any other dog, and was an awesome friend and companion. Even Scott’s father, who really is not a dog person, loved and respected Chillum, especially after the night Chillum prevented Scott’s dad from walking out the second floor sliding glass door when he was sleepwalking, and the deck had not yet been installed.

When Chillum died as a result of developing peritonitis after surgery for the bloat, he waited hours for Scott to get home, and then died within seconds of his arrival. His death hit me like a punch in the gut for years. Every time I thought about it, I literally felt like I’d been kicked in the stomach. I remember not wanting to vacuum my house for months, because the thought of removing my last physical remnants were more than I could bear. He was our first baby. Our first canine beloved.

We had Truchas, and Puck, and we dog-sat Tasha for 2 years, and then we got Boghee. We found Truchas a mountain home, when we discovered we were not especially suited for Shepherd breeds. But Puck and Boghee endured. Tasha was a complete ding-a-ling Rottie, but she had a good heart and loved us all the same, and eventually she went home to her owner—who promptly lost her in Tacoma (we have kicked ourselves many a day for ever saying goodbye).
Puck developed cancer, and Boghee ate too many socks and underpants. But both were awesome and beloved friends. After Boghee’s death, we were caught up in kids and life and stuff all over the floor. I felt like taking a break from picking up dog poop was warranted, and I was already consumed with life.

However, in the past one and a half years, I’ve been solo on many a hike and run. I’ve pined for a canine buddy to accompany me on those trails when my children choose not to. I’ve missed my bike buddies, who eagerly accompanied me on mile after mile.

We weren’t actually looking for another dog, but one came into our life. The timing was auspicious, and she had been on the shelter market for less than 8 hours before we adopted her. We actually thought she was a boy due to a shelter snafu and mislabeling. After we’d already forked over our cash we discovered the he was a she. The name I’d considered, Django, just didn’t seem right anymore.  On the ride home, I said “Nuptse” out loud and she looked at me long and diligently. Nuptse seemed to fit. I’d been reading Steve House’s Beyond the Mountain, and the Himalayan names were forefront in my mind. 

And here she has been. Two weeks already, but it already feels pretty comfy. A new pup is so easy compared to raising children. Children are complex and I spend countless hours of brain work so that I can be a more  gentle, more mindful, more peaceful person when interacting with my children. I strive to be the best Mama I can be, but I’m well aware that I’m human and will sometimes make mistakes. Puppies are easy. Consistency, gentleness, lots of their own things to chew, quiet time, good food, lots of walks, and lots of love.

Having spent all these countless hours working towards bettering myself as a human Mama, I’ve discovered that I have a different perspective towards raising this pup.  Maybe it’s the Mama-of-human-children perspective that has influenced this change, but I’ve discovered that having a puppy just feels easier, somehow, at this point in my life.  A pup just fits into our life, and we are enjoying all aspects of puppyhood—the chasing to find the stolen shoes, watching her learn how to go down stairs, get used to the car, take hikes, play ball, find sticks, meet other dogs - - it’s all good!

Expectations -- & how I'm losing them

As a parent, I’ve learned one important thing:  if I have an expectation, that expectation will likely never occur. I don’t mean this in the “I expect my kids to clean up their messes,” or “I expect my kids to be respectful to me because I am their Mother,” sort of way.  I mean in it a much larger way, more of a philosophical or whole life sort of way.  For example, when my first born was nearly two, I had heard many other mothers talking about Potty Training. Some were in the process of going through a formal method of "teaching" their child how to potty in a toilet, and others said to wait—they’ll use a toilet when they are ready. I was clueless and dumbfounded. I had recently started working again on a part-time basis, and I was convinced that because of that fact alone, my daughter would be impossible to “potty train.”  She, however confounded me by ditching her diapers and using the potty on her own, accident-free, promptly upon her 2nd birthday.

So, then I go on to think that because my first child was so easy, the second child would be even easier, right? She’d be watching big sister, and would learn before she ever reached two.  Ummm...no. This second child, now 4.5, easily transitioned out of wearing diapers to using the potty, however, she refuses to poop in the potty, and provides all sorts of rationale about why this is so. Expectation was once again shattered.

There are many more examples, but one of the most profound has had to do with school. My eldest daughter has always been a very attached child. Full of observation, she preferred to stick close to me at parks and playgrounds, and would deny requests to play with other kids until she was about 5. Being a summer birthday, meant she could start school shortly after her 5th birthday. I did all the requisite things—scheduled an appointment with the school to visit a class; introduced her to all the Kinder teachers;  we played on the school playground for weeks before school started; we played school at home; we talked about all the ins and outs of what might happen at school each day; and talked about having to go to bed earlier to make it easier to wake up in the morning.  She picked out backpacks and lunchboxes. We bought new clothes and shoes. I thought we were good to go.

Until the morning she decided she wanted nothing more to do with all that school business. Which was about day 2 of school. Oh, I did all the wrong things right off the top. I begged, pleaded, bribed, cajoled, threatened, yelled, cried, and then I finally came to my senses.  We pulled her out.  The schools, however, being in possession of some very kind and gentle people, convinced me we could try it again the next year—give her another year to mature. For another year she played. And then she asked me if she could try Kindergarten again. So, we once again went through all the requisite things—visited a Kinder class, made arrangements to choose her teacher, bought new backpacks, clothes, and shoes, and off she went.

It worked out beautifully for about 3 days, and she then decided she wanted nothing more to do with that school business. This time, however, I felt like I had more experience.  I wasn’t going to let those schools have control over me.  I wasn’t going to fall victim to attendance policies and tardies that turned into absences.  Until we missed the “allowed” 5 days of school. Until the certified letter arrived in the mail and informed me of the district’s absentee policies and consequences for failing to meet them.  Then I once again didn’t know what the heck I was doing. All those thoughts of guilt and self-deprecation flooded my brain. Why was my kid the one who didn’t like school? Why wasn’t my kid easygoing and able to mesh into the way of school life? Finally, I decided to consult with a parenting coach. He said something simple, “Honor her 'no'.” Profound, but simple.  I could at least try...what did I have to lose? She woke up, said she didn’t want to go to school, and I said, “okay.” Her look said it all.  What?  No yelling, threatening, cajoling, begging, bribing?  No.  What?  No big deal?  No, but I still have to go to work, so I’ll see you when I get back. I kissed her goodbye, and that look of bewildered amazement was still on her face. She didn’t miss a day of school for the rest of the year. 

Then came 1st grade. I had been warned about 1st grade. First Grade. It was spoken about with an aura of sanctity—a profound deference that was usually reserved for the hallowed halls of Ivy League education. 

F I R S T   G R A D E   

It made me shudder. Not only was I told there would be mandatory homework every night, but the level of academic expectation grew by at least one order of magnitude. I thought back to my own first grade experience and recalled lots of crafts, lots of play time,  lots of jump-rope, kickball, simon says, playground time--and those horrible moments when a mean girl named Terry destroyed all my crafts on the bus-ride home.

But before the actual first day of first grade started, the anxiety came flooding in and threatening to topple the boat that was my daughter. Panic attacks, worry, real  actual shaking in fear, unable to go to sleep, falling into throes of despair-- I began to seriously wonder if something more serious was going on. Before school started, we discovered who the teacher was, which was okay for her, but caused mixed feelings in me, and then we discovered that the only person she had hoped would not be in her class was indeed. To top all that off, the esteemed doll house was gone, the free-play stations dismantled, blocks and puzzles were replaced with books, and the kids were told that upon finishing their worksheets, they could pick a book and sit on the floor. I gather that maybe 3% of them knew how to read. My eldest tried, in a stoic yet disconcerted way, to try it out. By day 3 she refused to go. By day 8 I had dis-enrolled her from the schools and had registered as a homeschooler.

My expectation that my kids would attend school was tossed in the trash.

But we all felt free. Free from the constraints of absentee policies, stacks of paperwork sent home, mandatory homework, daily schedules that didn't fit into our real day life, breakfasts scarfed down at snack time, and half-eaten lunches spoiled by time. Free from phone calls by concerned mothers that wanted to discuss the playground interactions, free from testing, free from being subjected to people who wanted to ask questions and who would tell us our child's propensity for this or that academic calling.  Free.  Free to sleep in.  Free to stay up late. Free to play all day. Free to go the museums/parks/swimming pools when it's much less crowded. Free to visit our homeschooling friends at any time of the day. Free to travel at times other than winter break/spring break/or certain federal holidays, and the freedom to explore and follow interests over hours and days rather than being interrupted by a bell.

School is one of those things that is so ubiquitous in modern day life that we take that ubiquitousness for granted. Before having a second child, I remember musing about whether it would be better for them to be close together, or possibly 5 years apart, because that way they would each have their own high school experiences, and we could pay for college one at a time rather than all at once. Even yesterday, while playing at the park, an elderly woman asked which school my daughter went to. In an effort to be polite, all the while deciding to not get into the philosophical discussion on homeschooling, I said simply, “we go to Los Alamos,” which didn’t answer her question, but because we were in the little town of White Rock, which is full of their own Elementary Schools, the answer satisfied her curiosity. But that is a question we hear day in and day out.

When we are out and about or shopping during school hours, someone invariably asks, 1) Did the kids get out early today? 2) Oh, are the kids sick today? 3) Is it a conference week at the schools? I’m thankful, though, that in our area homeschooling is common enough that if we say that’s what we do, most people smile, and nod, and go about their day.

Before committing to homeschooling, I often said it would be too difficult for our family, since I, the Mama, bring home the bacon. I had visions of my children sitting at the counter doing math and writing essays and reading books for their homeschool time. I thought it would never work, because I would not be there to be the teacher, and my dear husband didn’t want that responsibility.  “I’m the worst example for my kids,” “I can’t be their teacher, I’m too irresponsible.” “I don’t want that kind of pressure,” were often the phrases from his mouth when we had previously discussed the idea of homeschooling.

Thankfully, through my years of homeschool researching, we discovered the beautiful concept of Unschooling. While we have only officially been committed to this homeschooling/Unschooling journey since August 2009, it feels like it is seamlessly fitting into our lives. I had the good fortune to attend Sandra Dodd’s Unschooling Conference in January, 2010 and to see real-live Unschooled kids—now young adults—speak and discuss their lives. I saw a number of families from all across the country and listened to their Unschooling experiences.

Having gone to the Evergreen State College in Olympia, WA, I think that we shed most of our conventional educational skins nearly two decades ago. A life without grades and curricula is easier than one with. 

I have no expectations with regards to my kids and Unschooling. I have some principals for myself, however, that I hope I don't lose.  This little Blog is our vehicle for sharing our own Unschooling experiences as a climbing, hiking, biking, martial arts practicing, mountain-dwelling family. Welcome and feel free to comment!