a deep breath of calm

My girlies cuddled up on the couch together Saturday morning. Entirely spent after a long week away from each other each day, they took some time to reconnect, curled up under a blanket quietly watching The Littlest Hobo (any Canadian readers will likely remember the Hobo: it's actually the only television the girls watch). Still and calm. Sisterly love.

Peanut had a fun week. She enjoyed herself, learned things, got to know more of the other children from the congregation, sang songs, played games...a fun time all-around. But as lovely as it was for her, it came at a cost. Thursday night was pretty dreadful; Friday afternoon at daycamp had multiple meltdowns. If a typical Waldorf day can be thought of in terms of gentle breathing, daycamp is the equivalent to a week of hyperventilation. No down-time, no self-direction, no eating (my goodness, this kid can't eat a bite when there is any distraction) and almost no hydration (ibid) left our high-spirited and sensitive little soul a little exhausted and rather out of sorts. And once again, it serves for us a confirmation that our decision is valid, that homeschooling is the wise choice for our Peanut, at least for the foreseeable future.

Yesterday was our day of calm, a bit of Sabbath-taking, reconnecting as a family, as a sisterly pair. We didn't leave the house and just focused on finding our breath.

Today, more Sabbath. We're opting to skip church this morning, instead having a late breakfast and a leisurely walk to the nearby farmer's market. We'll pick up some seasonal veggies, have a little lunch of some pretty epic samosas one of the vendors makes, enjoy the sunshine and generally take it easy. Another calm, deep breath.

homeschooling and sibling love

Just like last summer, Peanut is spending a week at a daycamp offered by our church. She's excited, she has two of her favourite church friends who will be with her all week, and she remembers having a great time last year. We're excited with her.

 Being down one child for the majority of each day is certainly strange. Bubby will get to enjoy some long walks alone with Jon or myself as we pick up her sister. She has unfettered access to the toys - no older sister "helpfully" directing her play - and lots of free cuddle time. The freedom seems to have gone to her head a bit: our normally pretty weird Bubby is now completely out to lunch. It's a whole lot of fun, honestly, watching just how strange she can really be. I think it will prove to be a very fun week for all.

Peanut's absence has got me thinking about school, though, and about one of the benefits of homeschooling that is infrequently discussed. How wonderful that our children who - as much as they may fight and argue, push and shove and hit and scream all-to-frequently - truly adore each other can spend their days together. Not only that, though, but Peanut has not yet learned to avoid younger children, to fear being perceived as a "baby" by virtue of playing with someone younger than she. This is a beautiful thing. Frequently she will come home from the park and remark to me about a new little friend she has made, telling me that the little girl or boy was very nice, or very cute, or very sweet, "just a little baby" while also telling me what fun she had playing with this child. No one has told her that such behaviour is considered odd, and for that I deeply thankful.

I want my children to appreciate people, full stop. People younger and older can make good friends, can make fun playmates, can make interesting companions. But traditional school can inadvertently send the message that it is appropriate to associate only within one twelve-month age span. Classmates may ridicule and shun those who entertain friendships from without their specific grade: I've certainly seen this myself. What I have never seen, however, is a homeschooled child react to younger or older children in such a manner, but instead have only ever seen home educated children welcome and embrace whatever playmates they encounter, regardless of age. Friends are chosen based on personality compatibility, rather than merely age or proximity. Perhaps worst of all, though, is watching siblings reject each other based on these same principles, because they are not the same age.

My daughters love each other immensely. Their love for one another is a fierce and wonderful love. Peanut is more distressed by Bubby's injuries - of which there have been many, in the past few months, including her own tooth through her upper lip - and is more deeply offended by any perceived slight or misdeed toward Bubby than even Bubby herself. And that is challenging and often infuriating - "Yes, Peanut I can take Bubby's toy if she is using it violently. No, screaming at me will not get her toy back for her." - and glorious and heartwarming. She wants so desperately to protect and care for her sister. And Bubby, likewise, wants to be with her Peanut, wants to bring Peanut her toys or books, things she knows Peanut likes to have near her or play with. They hug each other in greeting every morning. They tell stories with their Playmobil people together. They giggle - in excess, often - at the table. And while it is by-no-means perfect, it is wondrous. 

Enrolling Peanut in school full-time would not guarantee an irreversible change to their relationship: I am certain of that. But I do appreciate that in choosing homeschooling, we have inadvertently avoided a scenario that may have threatened their burgeoning appreciation of one another. Because while Bubby is enjoying having the apartment to herself today, I expect elation when her big sister comes through the door this afternoon. She has, afterall, spent the majority of the afternoon singing songs about her.

onward

Three months with no blogging.

It's interesting, really, how sometimes when I'm processing things I reach out, get verbose and hyperlexic and want to share share share. But sometimes not. Sometimes I process quietly, internally, intimately, personally. I share nothing. I work through whatever it is in my own head, often very slowly.

Three months of slow, internal processing.

The craziest part is I can't even tell you precisely what it was I was processing. I just...was.

Lots has happened, yet everything feels very much the same. All the girls of the house are a year older: Bubby had her second birthday May 3rd, Peanut had her fifth on May 19th, and I rang in my thirty-third (yes, I'm airing my age on the internet: does that make me brave?) on June 22nd (and conflagration-free, too!). Even Wembley reached the ripe old age of eight in mid-May.

Last year I struggled with Bubby's birthday. This year I journeyed toward it with a greater sense of calm, of acceptance. Time will go on, my children will continue to grow and age whether I would will it so or no. And they are glorious, these children of mine. They shine like stars and glow like beacons and every new ability and milestone is a mark of the wonder of them. If I spend too long looking backward at what we are leaving behind, I may miss seeing all that they are doing now and will do in the days to come, and what they do is so amazing, so hilarious, so fabulously silly and astonishing and brilliant that I would never want to miss a moment of it. So we move onward. Onward and upward, into the new.

Just before my birthday, I had a personal realization as well. It occurred to me that after almost six years of retirement from dancing, I had gotten soft. My body had gotten soft. I had lost muscle mass and strength and I didn't like it. I also know that with my history of pregnancy induced hypertension, pre-eclampsia and HELLP syndrome, I am at a heightened risk of having hypertensive issues later in life, not to mention the family history of hypertension. And I vowed to myself, "No more." 

If you follow me on Pinterest, you likely noticed that I've started pinning a lot of exercise and strength training links. The fact is, I know that it will be a lot easier to establish a pattern of healthy, vigorous activity at the age of 33 than at 43 or 53 or or or... And all the better to try and stave off hypertension than to attempt to undo years of damage. In the past weeks I've discovered - to my great surprise - that I love high intensity interval training (HIIT) and I now try to fit in at least 12 minutes of it every day. Less than two months in, I can honestly say that I am stronger and fitter than I have likely ever been before, and without ever lacing up a running shoe - because try as I might, I cannot find the running love. I'm lifting, as well, and feeling good about the fact that I can carry a basket full of wet laundry more easily than before. 

At first I struggled with allowing our girls to see me working out, out of fear that I would encourage body image issues. Quickly, though, I realized that all I am doing - because I never, ever comment on my body or anyone else's - is modelling healthy activity levels for them. "Mommy is exercising! Mommy is getting strong!" is what I hear from Peanut many times a week. Hopefully, they are learning not that their body should look any particular way, but instead that strength and exercise are worthwhile and healthy, that movement and activity are enjoyable at any age and will help them to be fit and happy, lifelong.

The past three months have seen me take my first real henna clients, have seen me connect with other local women who are focussed on community-building, and have seen two short articles of mine published. It's been a time of transition in many other ways: our church community is seeking a new minister after almost fifteen years with one wonderful minister, a man I have been privileged to call friend, leader and mentor, who has encouraged me and spurred me in my writing and in my spiritual investigation. We miss him desperately, but as with my children, I know we need to look forward in hope rather than look back in sadness if we are to grow. Time marches on: we must march with it.

Our family has seen some transition, as well. Faced with professional challenges, both Jon and I have branched into new opportunities, new possibilities to help our family prosper and thrive. Moments of - frankly - terror, have given way to hopefulness and vision and renewed purpose. After all, we've been through some pretty challenging times and came through it stronger and better than ever. It's perhaps a little Pollyanna-esque, but we're choosing to view unexpected challenges as good opportunities and motivation to try new things. It's easy to be comfortable and stagnate when things are more-or-less simple: when things are not, what is there to lose?

With that in mind, I have some very important and special news to share with you. My in-real-life friends have been goading me - thank you! - to do this for literally years, and I am proud to have finally done it. I hope you'll enjoy reading about it.

Glynis's "Pl'mpy" Toque

"Ooh!" she exclaimed, "It's very nice. I like the pl'mps."

A "pl'mp", you must understand, is a bobble or a nupp, and this hat is fairly covered in them. They're rather ridiculous, but I thought they might help to highlight and even exaggerate the thick-and-thin nature of this beautiful handspun we were gifted two years ago. One of my Knittyboard confederates, feeling particularly badly for us that we were displaced from our condo for several weeks during advent while we were expecting Bubby, sent us some Christmas baking as well as a skein of the gorgeous yarn she spins. Soft and fluffy and springy, and variegated in shades of yellow, orange and fuchsia, it waited in my stash until the proper inspiration struck.

And struck it did. Over a period of a few days, taking best advantage of Bubby's naps, I knit up this little number for her and she adores it. It's a slightly ludicrous hat, with its gnomish shape and bobbles from ribbing to tip, but I'm still absolutely thrilled with it. Cute and silly, just like the girl it sits atop.

a bubble dress for Christmas

It's been reeeeeaaaally cold for the past few days.

Last week it was warm. And any Ottawan can tell you, warm weather is not sunny weather. It's usually grey. Warm = grey. Sometimes rainy, usually snowy, but not bright. No, if you want bright sunny weather you have to wait for the cold. And not that sissy, wamby-pamby cold, either, but the deep, down, freeze-you-to-the-marrow cold. You know, the quality Canadian cold. Yesterday we had it and I wanted it. But we also had an entirely trashed living room and a sleep-deprived, under-caffeinated mommy with the temper of a newly-awoken bear in the spring. This morning brought -26C temperatures (that's -15F for you 'Murikans), a bright, unobstructed golden sun, and a well-rested, far-better-caffeinated mommy. Bad for anyone with plans to take leisurely walks outside, but good for me. Kidlets ate breakfast and I hurriedly made the living room presentable. Because I really wanted to show you a bit of what kept me at my sewing desk day after day, night after night back before Christmas.

I can not even begin to tell you how proud I am of this dress. I mean, we're talking way beyond that healthy, "ya done good" sort of normal pride. No, I'm into full-on, first-cornice-of-Dante's-purgatory, sinful pride. I want her to wear this dress everywhere we go and then faux-modestly quip, "Oh, her dress? Oh yeah, I threw that together one night before Christmas. No big," while inwardly yelling "Booya! 'Spect!" Because I'm  all street like that, you know.

The dress is printed fine-wale corduroy, fully lined with a brown and turquoise-dot cotton print (previously seen here and here) with white fine-wale corduroy piping at the waist and a single-button closure at the back.   I used this tutorial to get the general idea, but drafted my own pieces based on Peanut's measurements. I had drafted a paper pattern back in October for Peanut's fairy costume (which I've only just realized I neglected to feature in a post) and used that as the basis for the bodice of the dress. The skirt? Well, to be quite honest I couldn't even begin to tell you the proportions of the skirt. It was late and I was highly caffeinated when I started working on this. I can't remember anything about the math I used to arrive at the drafted pieces I did, and I drafted directly onto the yard goods I used (risky, I know, but I couldn't very well try a muslin on my 4yo and expect to keep it a surprise, could I? And therein lies the terror of sewing surprise garments for older children: what if she loves it but it doesn't remotely fit??) so I can't so much as give you a hint in that regard. Check out the tutorial I linked above: that woman did a way better job of being helpful than I am going to be, I'm afraid. 

But do ogle the dress some more. Oh yes. do ogle this dress.

It's a perfect fit. Perfect. If I had made a dozen muslins and tried it on her countless times before I cut into the cord I could not have made a better fit. I have no idea how I managed it. It was sheer dumb luck (and do read that with Maggie Smith's Prof. McGonagall-voice: it's how I hear it in my head and it's awesome).

Pride aside, though, the very best moment with this dress happened before she ever tried it on. She opened it Christmas morning, snatched it up out of the paper and held it at arm's length and exclaimed, "I love it!! Thank you, Mommy!!" and threw herself into my arms, hugging me. The dress coming together exactly as I wanted it to is good. But making my little girl rapturously happy with something I made with my own two hands? Way better. Way, way better.

DPP 2012: love letters

**This is yesterday's post because a bad cold or flu has me entirely knackered**

Love letters

Peanut has been learning her letters pretty organically. We've done a few exercises to work toward mastery, and she has magnetic letters on our steel front door that she plays with quite often, but mostly we've just been reading and identifying letters for her whenever she asks. No instruction, no pressure. She's four: we have lots of time.

Yesterday, she was playing with a crayon and a little slip of paper left over from my paper stars. After a few moments, she held it up for me to see that she had written her baby sister's name, unannounced and unassisted. 

A first. Letters of love.

rhythm

:: I was very surprised by the level of interest generated by my previous post, particularly with regard to what Waldorf living looks like. I had been planning to write a follow-up post, but I think I'm going to make it a three-part series: rhythm, reverence, and finally resources and fellows. First we're looking at rhythm, the manner in which the Waldorf life is ordered so as to lay the foundation for all learning. ::


Rhythm is a vital part of the Waldorf home. As a family that has been fairly "fly by the seat of our pants" for our entire parenting journey, this has proven a bit of a challenge, but also a delightful remedy to some of our struggles. Rather than focusing on structure, Waldorf focuses on rhythm and flow as well as intention, having a routine which is predictable and comfortable so as to provide familiarity and security for the child, while living with intention so that the elements of the day are part of a conscious decision for living. The rhythm fits the family, and not the other way around. I have only just started implementing an intentional rhythm for our days, and we're still pretty shaky on it, but the more we work at it, the better our days seem to proceed. I'm not putting too much pressure on us to get everything right and become The Ultimate Waldorf Family, but rather gradually move toward the kind of rhythm and home that is our goal.


Inspired by this post from Simple Kids, I've set aside each day for one particular creative activity to make that day remarkable. We already had a few established activities - Tuesday afternoon is dance class, Wednesday afternoons have a visit from Gran, Sunday church - but now we have something planned for each day. For now, the rhythm of our week looks like this:

Monday - baking

Tuesday - painting

Wednesday - crafts

Thursday - play dough

Friday - handwork
Saturday - park with Jon
Sunday - church
I didn't include colouring or reading because those are such daily, near-constant activities.


Each day has its own rhythm as well. Again, it isn't a schedule with set times, but rather a general flow to how the elements of the day proceed. Here's a very rough idea of how our days are proceeding:

Wake
Say good-bye to Jon
Make breakfast - girls play in the living room
Eat breakfast together
Clear the table
Dress
Wash dishes - girls are either still dressing themselves or playing together
Tidy the living room
Circle Time
Playing/reading stories/I might check my email/errands
Make lunch
Eat lunch together
Clear the table and wash dishes
Afternoon activity (baking/painting/crafts etc.)
Playing
Jon arrives home
Make dinner
Eat dinner together
Clear the table
Bedtime

Admittedly, the wheels tend to keep falling off around dinner time. Postponing starting dinner prep until after Jon arrives home is making dinner pretty late most evenings, and hungry children and the end of the day are a bad combination. It's something to work on, and I suspect the remedy is found in my crockpot.

So that's our daily and weekly rhythm. In the next post in this series, we'll look at the theme of reverence in the Waldorf home and how it relates to rhythm.

a new step on the journey

Perhaps you didn't notice, but there was a landmark post missed a few months back. All the other parent bloggers seemed to do it, but not here: the obligatory First Day of School post. Ontario offers junior as well as senior kindergarten and is rapidly moving toward having all junior and senior kindergarten classes consist of a full day curriculum. So where is the photo of Peanut in her special first day of school outfit, with her oversized back pack and giant grin?


Well, she didn't go. And she hasn't gone. She's at home with me and her sister.

It took a lot of conversation, a lot of discussion, a lot of meditation and consideration but eventually Jon and I decided two very important things: first, that she wasn't ready for full day curriculum (and prior to our recent move the school she would have had to attend has moved to exclusively full day kindergarten) but also, that we just couldn't get behind the current structure for mainstream elementary classes. I wanted to, truly, but I just couldn't reconcile myself to my four year old potentially having homework (which is something Jon and I have personally witnessed within our own school board). Moreover, we couldn't reconcile ourselves to the idea that at four years old she in any way needs formal education. Stimulation and experiences, yes, but formal classroom instruction, no. And stimulation and experiences, opportunity for play and discovery and newness and wonder are things that I am more than capable of providing for her, as are socialization with other children and other adults. I simply do not believe that suddenly in September I was no longer enough for her. The fact that education is not mandatory before age six suggests that the province more or less agrees with me. So she's home.


As Jon and I started realizing that we likely weren't sending her to school any time soon, we started investigating what home learning might look like for us. Along the way, I had heard of Waldorf education, so I started looking into that. With an emphasis on the natural world and on the importance of free, unhindered play, Waldorf education heavily discourages formal instruction before age seven. Song, rhymes, story telling, movement, creative activities and handwork are key elements in Waldorf. Serendipitously, last December we were out for a walk in the first real snowfall of the season and ran into a mother out for a walk with her daughter and son. She mentioned that her daughter was four years old, and I commented, "Oh, are you homeschooling?" to which she replied, "Yes, we're doing Waldorf at home." At the time we were still unsure of what we would ultimately decide for Peanut. She's now a friend of mine, her daughter is a friend of Peanut's and we, along with several other Waldorf-ing families, are working on pooling our resources and ideas to support one another in our children's learning. It's pretty wonderful, watching our little community of families slowly grow and come together.

One of the wonderful things about Waldorf is the sheer wealth of online resources available. I have only begun to plumb the depths of blogs and sites dedicated not only to Waldorf education but to Waldorf living. It's a holistic style of education: not merely consigned to particular hours of the day, it is a gentle and intentional manner of living, of ordering the day, the week, the seasons, the year, the entire home to create a comfortable, harmonious environment in which all in the family can live and grow. Which is not to say that we are now magically living in some family utopia: there's still lots of normal strife around here.


I've been very hesitant to write this post, to be quite honest with you. It isn't just that I know that choosing home education is a pretty controversial decision, it's that I truly do respect the work teachers do and would never want to give the impression that I do not. I have several friends who are teachers, who - I have absolutely no doubt - are truly inspired and inspiring educators. Their students are privileged to have them in their life. And I also would never want to in any way imply that this is a universally right decision or that we find fault with parents who send their children to mainstream school. Far from it. This is simply the right decision for us, for this child, at this time.


When Peanut was first born we had no idea that we would end up here, educating her at home. Occasionally  I still find myself surprised by our decision. But as we paint together, or practice finger knitting, or learn songs I feel a calmness, knowing deep down that this is what we are meant to be doing, and when she surprises me with a new cleverness, a new discovery or deduction, I feel utterly blessed that I am a party to her learning. Such a journey of discovery is youth, and I have the privilege of walking that journey with her.

We are so blessed.

four

There is a certain way that people look at a young couple expecting their first child. I remember walking around town with Jon, belly round and obvious, and seeing the subtle smiles of the people who would pass us, a young couple about to embark on a new stage of life, about to experience a monumental paradigm shift.





Four years later, it's hard to believe that so much time has passed. Wasn't she just born? Didn't we only just become parents?




And yet, it feels very much as though she has always been here, that she has always been part of our family. I remember the time before her, the time before we were parents, but it feels like another lifetime. That couldn't possibly have been us, not really: we've always had this little firecracker in our midst, surely.




The past four years have had more than their share of drama. Pre-term birth. Nursing struggles. House fire. Oral aversion and weight loss. Mild speech and motor delays. Apartment mold. "Spiritedness" (read: epic tantrums). Food allergies. But they've also held so much joy, so many moments of grace and blessing and love. Always love.




The past year have witnessed Peanut shake off the last vestiges of babyhood and blossom into a real girl. We've seen her blossom as a sibling. She'll often tell us, "I'm a big girl now. I'm a very good sister." And it's true, so true.




She's a vibrant little person. Paradoxically, she manages to be both adventurous and timid. When she is happy her laughter bubbles up and overflows and when she is sad her sorrow spills out in torrents, her anger explodes. She's a girl of many extremes, and Jon and I are still learning that her extreme joy comes with extreme opposites. We cannot have one without the other with our Peanut, it would seem, and so we learn as we journey through her life with her how best to work with her as she learns and grows.




She is very loving, easily hurt and offended, makes friends easily and enthusiastically, loves to learn and is proud of new achievements. She often tells me she wants to have a baby. Now. She tells me she is going to be as tall as Daddy (which, at 6 feet tall, would be somewhat unexpected). One of her favourites lines is "When I grow up...", used as an excuse to try and get out of anything. "When I grow up I'll eat vegetables." "When I grow up I'll have a hair cut." "When I grow up I'll cut my fingernails." It's one of the most frustrating things we hear on a daily basis, though I do admire her ingenuity and persistence.




She loves music and dancing and has developed a fantastically varied taste in music. She'll watch classic Disney princess movies with the same enthusiasm as old musicals. She requests Funny Girl and knows all the words to Don't Rain on My Parade and My Man. She asks to listen to Florence and the Machine. Her movement is nearly constant and so joyful.




It is such a wonder to watch her grow into a complex person. Discovering, uncovering the many facets of her personality, witnessing her learn and change and mature, we are both able to see how the roots of who she is were present in her infancy as well as appreciate all the ways in which she is evolving through her days and years.




Four years. Such a short time, and yet so long. We are so blessed - I am so blessed - to have her in our family, the first child of our hearts. Happy birthday, dearest Glynis!