To one side of the road is a mud trail that runs strait up a steep hill, the other was a deserted ski resort circa 1980. We choose to amble up the over grown ski trails until we reached the great divide trail. It's just the two of us.
Moving at the speed of a four year old we alternate between bounding towards the new and engaging it. We are fascinated by the pine trees, the ones which look full but are smaller than both of us, and the ones tall and needle-less whose silhouettes we search for shapes and letters.
We're only an hour from home but we are really a world away from the city. The air is cool, a treat since it's 90 degrees in town and has been for almost six weeks now. Our city life is one of biking and walking everywhere, taking the car and escaping almost feels like cheating.
In my son's hands is a glass pint jar. We want to capture the day and bring it home with us. So we find flowers, rocks and leaves to fill the jar. We add to this mix blue sky and a few songs. Now at our house we have a singing jar of color.
It all seems so casual, so unintentional to my son. Just another one of Mama's fun ideas, but there is a hidden back bone to this simple jar. We are learning to observe the world around us, to listen for the birds, to see the changes in the neighborhoods we walk through every day, and we are making a habit or recording what we notice.
But at just four my son doesn't write and is only just starting to draw what he sees. So we are finding other ways to represent what is around us. We take pictures together, we talk about things and tell Papa in the dark before sleep, and now we have collected our day in a jar.
How to make your own day in a jar:
First of all don't think this is limited to days in the woods or mountains, any day can be collected through ephemera ass well as natural objects. All you need is a pretty jar with a top.
Start by presenting to your child the idea of capturing the day for later. Don't limit what they collect, let them take what inspires them the point isn't to end up with a display piece but a bit of the day. Then head out.
I need to add that it is illegal to collect wildflowers and such on most public land, make sure you know the laws of the place you are before you start picking flowers.
My Baby
7/05/10
“How's the baby?” my dad asks me on the phone.
I am looking across the playground at my almost four year old who is currently sitting and talking with a few other kids. He is my baby, but only the shadows of that baby exist any more.
There are some moments when he is unchanged. Those first few minutes in the morning, when we lie in bed looking into each others eyes, as we have most mornings since his first, I see my baby. Tired after a three mile walk around town, sitting on my hip, his head leaning against my shoulder, the baby is there.
But each day the little boy becomes more of an individual. So I try to hold on to these moments when they come, though I still don't feel that these four years of mothering has rushed by like people say. I feel as though I have lived a life time as a mother.
Baby? I try to remember concrete moments but the images blend together in my mind.
“He's fine,” I tell him, leaving him with some small observation of a change in my son.
I'm not trying to rush him to grow up, yet I am constantly excited to see what the next stage will bring us. At two he still wasn't speaking, I couldn't wait to hear his voice and learn who he was. Six months on he was talking with everyone, he had so much to say and to ask.
Now the changes are not as stark. Three months ago he would have hid behind me if more than two children wanted to play at the park. Now he sits “just talking” under the play-structure. These changes, they build on each other, leading us through the journey of being him.
A Day By a River
6/07/10
[This is based on a few conversations I've had lately]
Me: We spent the day down at the river yesterday.
Other Mom: The whole day?
Me: Yeah, we met another Mama and her little girl and spent the day.
OM: You came up with a whole day of things to do at the river?
Me: No, we just went down to the river.
OM: I could never think of a whole day of things to do at one spot.
Me: We didn't come with anything we just thought it would be a good day to be there.
OM: What sort of toys and stuff did you bring?
Me: Well we had some oranges and a bottle of water.
OM: No toys?
Me: Well, I did have a cup from my iced coffee that they used for digging.
OM: Didn't they fight over it?
Me: Um, I don't think so.
OM: What exactly did you guys do at the river?
Me: We made a lake, and a river and a castle. Oh, we saw a family of geese.
OM: So it was a science trip sort of.
Me: No we just hadn't been to the river in a while and missed it. I guess they learned about science but that wasn't what we intended.
OM: I don't think my kids could spend a whole day at the river without getting bored.
Me: Do you mean you or them?
OM: Them I guess.... no me. I mean weren't other things you needed to get done?
Me: I put the day aside just for going to the river, I didn't think about other stuff the whole time we were there. Today we're doing errands. I guess some days I feel like it's more important to explore than get things done.
Gardening with Kids
5/31/10
“I want beets and broccoli and lettuce and ...” Alder is listing what he wants to put in our garden.
“Slow down,” I tell him, still looking for a pencil.
“And we should plant kale because it's good too,” he goes on. “Can we plant pineapples?”
“Not up here,” I say. “It's too cold for them.”
Until we planted the garden, we had this conversation three times a day. When we were finally ready, he was adamant about making a list. So we listed everything that should find a place in our garden. Some things, like lettuce, he will only eat if he can pick himself; others, like beets, we eat so often that it goes without thinking that a row or two would be in the garden.
Our garden sits between the sidewalk and a busy city street. Though we haven't lived in the house for long, we've known people on the other side of the duplex for almost 10 years. Back then, there was just a dirt patch with occasional sprouts of thistle and grass.
The change is huge; between the two gardens there are raspberries, roses, salad greens, garlic, broccoli, peas, beans, onions, blackberries and one very happy sunflower. There are also chairs, a table and a sandbox. I've walked up and down our avenue and there are no other gardens from the river to the edge of the city; ours is the only street side with food gardens.
When we first moved back to the city, in the middle of winter, Alder was unconvinced that he would like it. He knew there was lots to do — “but what about the garden?,” he’d ask. As spring came, we started to make plans for our little piece of land. As a family, we spent days removing wood chips and making new luscious dirt (my husband's name for it). As the days warmed, we started filling up a shoebox with seeds.
When it came time to planting the garden, it was a family thing: I would dig the holes and ditches, and Alder carefully counted out the seeds and put them in, while my husband stood by keeping the seed packets from blowing away in the wind. When we got to the broccoli, Alder danced around on the sidewalk excitedly: These were the only starter plants we were putting in. He loved the idea of putting the little plants into the ground — finally some green he wouldn't have to wait for!
Since the garden has gone in, we’ve had to remind Alder a few times that even if we cannot see them, there are plants in his former “construction site.” It frustrates him, until a new sprout comes up through the soil; then he rushes to show it to anyone who walks by. I like how the garden is teaching him patience, and he’s just amazed that we can make our own food, even here in the city.
The Heart of Homeschooling
5/10/10
Whenever someone finds out we are homeschooling Alder, they get this funny look on their face. Usually the first question is: How can we be homeschooling him if he isn't even 5 yet?
Learning begins well before that mystical day known as “the first day of school.” Alder started learning the first morning he woke up looking into my face, still unsure of this sunny world.
As a family, we do not separate learning from living. Everything we see or hear that stirs our curiosity is observed and investigated. When we want to learn more than our senses tell us, we usually end up at the library or talking to someone who can explain whatever we are curious about.
This is who we are. It isn't something we started for Alder; we were already doing it before he came along. I don't see any reason to keep this form of learning from him until some arbitrary date. Instead, I am learning how to help him as he explores the world. At 3, everything is exciting and thrilling to him. It is my part to observe him, watching to see what he returns to often and help him to explore this deeper.
Lately he has been fascinated by maps. We look at them to trace where all our family is, to see the routes we are going to take on trips and to just look and ask about how the map works. The last time I was at the library, I picked up a few books about maps and geography. Now I'm hoping to find an old globe at a yard sale.
None of this is a formula; I take the books out of the library because he likes them. Once I brought home a video on insects, and we made it a whole three minutes into it before he got up and left. It isn't my job to force learning on him; instead I am here as a guide, helping him to build on what he already knows and is interested in.
Vanilla Milk
4/21/10
I can't keep up with the tricycle as Alder pedals down the block. The evening is growing dark and the wind is picking up, but he is still going. We've stopped a few times on this trip to climb dirt hills and to look at flowers, but mainly we move. We are happy. The day has been a puddle of tears until now. From the shape of his yogurt bowl at 7 o'clock in the morning my son has cried about everything. Some days, being 3 is hard. Some days the world and my son just don't fit, no matter what we do.
It's getting late, but Alder still has lots of frustrated energy. He knows it's almost bedtime and he is all over the place. We try to keep bedtime consistent, but I hate the idea of him going to bed after such a bad day. So we drop everything, find his helmet, leave Papa doing dishes and head out to wander the neighborhood by tricycle.
Two blocks from our house, we are already smiling at the blossoming trees. The frustration of the day dissipates. We watch a cat run across the street. We count windows on an old Victorian. Sometimes it seems that the only way to get past the tears is to start moving. To leave the house, and car, behind. I think it is a mixture of movement, being outside and change that cheers us up. Ten blocks later, we are singing songs and making plans for Vanilla Milk at a nearby coffee shop.
At 3 years old, Alder does not have the words to explain what he is feeling when the day goes badly. These are the days when being a parent is part mind-reading, part detective work. I try to figure out the root of the problem, or at least find a way to redirect the mood of the day. In our family, getting outside and moving usually works as a reset. And a cup of Vanilla Milk never hurts.
Homemade Vanilla Milk
2 cups milk
1 tsp. pure vanilla extract
1 heaping tbsp. brown sugar
1) Pour milk in small pot over medium heat.
2) As the milk warms, add the vanilla and sugar.
3) Whisk together and heat until warm.
Note: I try to use honey instead of sugar as much as possible, but the flavor is too strong in this recipe.
Spring Exploring
3/17/10
“Look what I found, Mama,” my son says.
In his hand is a dead leaf with an ant crawling on it. He turns the leaf over a few times and we watch as the ant rushes to the right side up of the leaf, finally giving up and jumping onto Alder's arm.
We watch as it explores the new, soft surface.
“What's it looking for?” he asks.
“He's probably trying to figure out what all this squishy pink stuff is,” I tell him. “He's used to the ground being gray or brown.”
“I should put him back by his home,” Alder decides. “He probably has some stuff he needs to do.”
With a 3-year-old, I spend a lot of my day looking at the world from the ankles down. We've discovered the “ant homes” in front of our house, learned about the different materials that are used for the sidewalks in our neighborhood and watched as the earliest spring flowers bloom.
For Alder, all of this is natural; at only 3’4” tall, the ground is close, and though this is his third spring, it’s all still new to him. I must remind myself of this often and take the time to get down there with him. To really see what he is looking at.
When I am down there with him, our conversations shift from “Look, Mama” to “I wonder why.” Together we make guesses, follow creatures and sometimes discover something new. When I am there on his level, I slow down and look at the world with the same wonder and care that he does.
I don't always have answers to his questions. But rather than dismiss them, I figure out where we can find out the answer. It might mean asking our neighbor who is a bee keeper or finding a book on our shelf or at the library. If he is interested enough, we follow the lead; if not, we continue exploring.
Sometimes I am tempted to brush off his questions; we have places to be, things to get done. All the stresses and responsibilities of adulthood get in the way. Most of the time, I remember that these moments are building foundations, of our relationship and of his learning journey.
There is not some magical age when learning starts; he has been learning every moment since he was born. I also know that the four minutes it takes to join him by the ant hill will not keep everything else from happening; if anything, it will make him more willing to come with me on my grownup errands.
We are learning together. I am learning to slow down, and he is learning when these questions fit into our day. It can be a messy process, but the more I watch him, the more I learn to see what is truly important in this world.
Our Spring Exploration Supplies (these come with us most places):
Regional insect guide
Sketch books (one for each of us)
Colored pencils
Various jars and containers (for collecting)
A camera
Water bottle (we can stay out longer if we don't get thirsty)
A snack (same)
A pen (for writing down questions we can't answer)
Bus tickets (so we can go further and not have to walk back)
Our Tomato Sauce
3/2/10
When we sit down to dinner at our house there is always an extra plate at the table, not for food but for decoration. These plates have bits and pieces of nature and crafts reflecting the seasons; as darkness fills the days, a candle is added to the plate to remind us of the summer sun. The plate is a communal effort; we are all involved in creating it from the moment we start thinking about dinner.
Even the simplest meal is a chance to come together and to be involved in the process. There are vegetables to be chopped, dough to be mixed. Rather than shooing our 3-year-old from the kitchen, the step stool is opened and he stands next to whoever is cooking. He isn't old enough to use the real knives, but he has his little knife, which works well on certain vegetables; while I work on my cutting board, he works on his.
Alder does all the measuring and adding, and if there is mixing away from the stove, it is his to do. Making these meals brings us closer together, and I find that the more he helps, the more likely he is to eat the meal.
I know this sounds like a production; kids and kitchens means time-consuming messes. It may take an extra five minutes or so, but the more I include him, the less he interrupts for my attention; he already has it. I also get to share something I love doing with him.
Alder knows what goes into the food he is eating; yesterday morning he rattled off all the ingredients his Papa needed for making pancakes. It also makes me more conscious of what I am cooking and the ingredients I use. We tend to make everything from scratch, because it tastes better, but having Alder around means that I use things I think he will enjoy touching and tasting. I guess communal cooking really starts at the grocery store.
When we sit down at the table and the candle is lit and in front of us are dishes that we've made together, there is a strong sense of family. These moments are the ones that make what might seem like work into pleasure.
Here’s one of our favorite recipes to make together.
Our Family's Tomato Sauce
1 16 oz. can of diced tomatoes
1 8 oz. can of tomato paste
1 medium yellow onion (diced)
3 cloves of garlic (smashed and diced)
1/2 cup (or so) of wine
1 tablespoon of fresh basil (or 2 of dried)
Pinch of salt
Some pepper
Olive oil or butter (depending on the season)
1) Heat oil or butter in large sauce pan (6 to 8 quarts) on medium.
2) Add onions and cook until translucent (you may have to lower the heat).
3) Add garlic and cook until done but not browned.
4) Add diced tomatoes and one can of water and return heat to medium.
5) Add tomato paste and mix until incorporated.
6) Let simmer 15 minutes, then add wine.
7) Continue to cook until it looks like the water is gone and it is “saucy,” then add another 1/2 can of water.
8) When the wateriness is gone, add the spices and taste; if there is a bitter or metallic taste, add a pinch of sugar and cook another minute or two.
9) Enjoy on pasta, chicken or whatever else you like to sauce!
Teach Your Children Well
1/6/2010
The way I parent is an extension of how I live my life. Being natural isn't only about baking your own bread and using cloth diapers; it's about how you introduce your child to the world.
Educator David W. Orr said it best: “We can attempt to teach the things that one might imagine the earth would teach us: silence, humility, holiness, connectedness, courtesy, beauty, celebration, giving, restoration, obligation and wildness.” With this in mind, I try to navigate our days.
A lot of this was already in place before my son was born. I had been a teacher but came to question whether I even believed in traditional schooling. And then along came Alder, who’s now a silly, wise, adventurous 3-year-old.
Alder is the boy who, when I offered to make him a new stuffed animal to go with the new big-boy bed he and his father built, said, “I already have animals, Mama.” What can I say to that?
In this blog, I’ll share some of my favorite projects and recipes, as well as my ideas about parenting and other funky things we've done together.
It's snowing as I write this; a pot of soup is slowly simmering, and Alder is down by the wood stove playing with Papa. I'm going to go join them: We've got paintings to finish and a sweater to knit.
