Thoughts on Homeschool Curriculum

We got a letter from the local ESD (Education Service District) recently. They used paper, envelope, postage, and about 250 words to say "Please tell us if you move your homeschooled kid out of the district or enroll him in school." An email would have sufficed, and saved the district a buck or two and us the recycling. I asked Trinidad if he wants to go to school. "NO!"

The other day the kids got to wondering how long a blue whale is. So Kristin and they found a tape measure and went out to the street to measure. It was only a 25' tape, so they learned how to add the measurements together to get the whole. It stretched from the fire hydrant at the corner across our neighbor's lot and almost all of ours. Then they measured how high they climb in the willow tree (25') and how high the treehouse is (10').

We practice a form of homeschooling called "unschooling," which operates without any curriculum at all. It's a system pioneered by John Holt, author of How Children Fail, How Children Learn, and Learning All the Time – books which were influential in developing our homeschool style. As unschoolers, the boys are not involved with any homeschool group – there is at least one local group, which offers some classes and gatherings – and they are perfectly happy to be outside the school system. Instead they have a remarkable amount of freedom, and with it, a remarkable amount of opportunity.

But without curriculum, how do they learn what they need to know?

It does create some disjointed learning processes. For instance, the boys really got into math last winter. They printed out blanks, and then filled in times tables. They got some math workbooks, and spent hours doing the problems, from simple addition to some basic division. Then, as summer harvest and the house addition began to absorb our time, and their friends started summer vacation, math fell by the wayside. The kids were too busy playing with their friends in the kid-pack that floats from house-to-house up and down our street, Kristin too busy harvesting, me too busy building. Last night, as they played Scrabble, I noticed that they'd forgotten a lot of their addition. I helped them out for awhile. When I got tired, they still wanted help with the math, so I found an addition workbook and said they could add up the score on the margins. They got distracted and started working on the problems in the book while I went to bed. And rapidly regained what they had lost.

I got to thinking about it.

How do we, as adults, learn what we need to know?

We learn when we are ready, when we need to know. Nobody tells us we have to – the need is there, it stimulates the desire, we seek the knowledge, and we learn. I didn't learn much in school. I was interested in history and geography, and read books like Bruce Catton's Civil War, and The Rise and Fall of the Third Reich, that enabled me to frequently spot the inaccuracies in my school textbooks. High school history was so pointless that I used to hide novels inside my textbook and read them during class. I learned nothing about carpentry – I learned that on the job. I didn't learn to tie knots, splice line, sew web, maintain diesel engines, or start a fresh-water maker in school – I learned that working on a fishing boat. I learned nothing about design and architecture, my chosen field – I went to college, and followed it up with on-the-job training. I didn't learn to run a business until I started one. When I started work as a building official, I knew almost nothing about building code – now I can cite probably hundreds of code regulations.

Kids are no different. When Sam was five years old, he loved Magic Treehouse books. When his parents didn't have time to read to him, he needed to learn to read. He taught himself, with help from us. Now, at six, he reads at the 8^th or 9^th grade level.

But what if he had been in school? The demand to learn would be there, but the need might not. Or, he might have been too busy studying things he wasn't interested in (science?) to teach himself to read. I suspect he would have learned to read anyway. The need to learn is intrinsic to our human curiosity. If we aren't interested in something, if it doesn't have meaning in our lives, we won't learn it – or at least, not very well. If we are interested in it, if it has meaning in our lives, we will learn – and almost nothing can hold us back.

Feminism is the philosophy that women are people, too. Unschooling is the philosophy that kids are people, too.

School curricula, by removing the learning from the context, the readiness to learn it, the need for it and the meaning behind it, lowers the intrinsic motivation to learn. It is destructive. The best curriculum is to follow your heart.

Damaging My Children?

In a brief discussion on another blog, someone who calls himself "Eutychus" made this comment: "Divorce damages our children. Are you telling me that (as in your own case) that telling your children that their dad is now their mom, won't?" I've already addressed the first sentence of this comment (which can be summed up as: usually it does, sometimes it doesn't – it depends on the individual family dynamic. Sometimes it saves their lives.) Now, I'll address the second.

Damaging my children was in fact my greatest fear as I started transition. It was also an impetus to "do it now," as I feared the damage and difficulty that might accrue if I managed somehow to make it to their adolescent years presenting as a man, only to transition during their most vulnerable time. (Though that is probably moot, as I doubt that I would be alive now, or still involved with my children, had I not transitioned.)

To my surprise, I found that that fear was completely ungrounded. Instead, all evidence indicates that my transition has only benefited them. They are happy and thriving. They are well-connected with their friends and with both parents. They have not missed their "father" – indeed, Trinidad has more than once expressed his preference for his "Maddy," and both boys share a positive and close relationship with Kristin's partner. They also have close relationships with one of their friend's dad and with their uncle.

Our relationship has deepened and become closer and more meaningful. I think kids instinctively know when you're lying; they sense it, even if they can't articulate it or know it on a conscious level, and it affects trust. They trust me more now. They know I'm authentic, that I share with them the truth of who I am. And I'm more emotionally available and fun; I'm not depressed all the time. They know that they have my unconditional love.

Further, their family is still intact. Kristin's and my partnership continues even as it has changed. We are no longer sexual partners, but we remain parenting, economic, and household partners, and best friends. Through the great care we took, and the deep communication we shared during transition, our friendship and understanding have deepened and become even richer and more meaningful, and we have both grown.

This is not to say that transition does not damage children in all instances. It takes care, love, communication, and honesty. And anyway, all parents make mistakes that damage their children in some way; the point is to limit the damage, to repair it, to build a foundation relationship that can absorb and heal what damage accrues, regardless of the nature, gender, or orientation of the parent. The issue is the same for divorce. An amicable and communicative separation, placing the children at the center of care, is more likely to benefit the children than a bitter, cold, intact family where the adults' needs are so unmet they cannot interact positively with their children. Like most things, one size does not fit all, and blanket statements seeking social uniformity are bound to so many exceptions as to be more harmful than useful. We must learn to be true to ourselves. We must learn to discover what our real needs are, and to find ways to meet them. And, if we are parents, we must find ways to keep the care of our children at the center of our attention. Then, regardless of life circumstances, we can create and maintain meaning, purpose, connection, and love, and give our children the support they need and deserve.

Peace Conference: Day 4

The conference is winding down. Only the training with Marshall is left. We sleep in and have a fantastic breakfast of bacon and waffles with fresh, homemade compote made from fruit picked in our neighborhood. The training starts at noon, and we barely make it in time. We sit in the back, where there are tables and carpet and room to stand up, stretch, lie down, and so forth. Long before the six hour training is over, I'm very grateful for that choice.

Again, the material is mostly familiar. The best part is when people start objecting to how the training is going, it's format and the timing of breaks, and we get to watch Marshall live NVC in real time, trying to get the needs of a large group all met at once.

Early in the workshop, I have an important insight: I've been guilty of "guilting" my children – not by words, as my awareness of NVC has grown enough to see that. I guilt them by my expression and posture. I'm very grateful for this, as I know when I feel a certain way, that's what I'm doing; and now, aware of that, I hope I can make it clear to them that it's my stuff, not theirs.

Fortunately, they live with Kristin, and may well be immunized against such tactics anyway!

Throughout, I meet new people, make new contacts. A couple of my wonderful friends from when I was a Christian Scientist are there, and it is so good to see them and renew contact. Others are brand new, like Terri. Nevertheless, at the end, I'm glad to go home. I haven't seen much of the kids in the last four days, and my brain is full.

It's time to integrate.

Peace Conference: Day 2

I didn't even get into the EMU – the conference center – yesterday. Just ping-ponged back and forth to workshops in the various classrooms.

The first was Kristin's. Here I've been living with her for 17 years, and ever since she started teaching NVC four or five years ago, and this is the first class of hers I've ever been to. It was cool. It was impressive to see her get into the heads of kids and parents she's never met and role play the conflicts between them. You could feel the shift, as the parent realized – wow! A solution to this problem that's been destroying my relationship with my kid. Granted, I didn't take much new stuff from it – I've had lots and lots of one-on-one instruction, and know her pretty much like the back of my hand, maybe better because even though the back of my hand goes everywhere with me, she's more interesting. It was still well worth it, and I did get some new stuff from it – which is the really amazing part.

Then I met Bonnie Tinker, lesbian activist extraordinaire and co-founder of Love Makes A Family, an organization dedicated to marriage equality.

I think I'll take her workshop on effecting social change today.

Observation Point(s)

A weekend camping out with the boys – too short, yet plenty long enough one-on-two with children. Trin walking new ground, his confidence and competence growing as he brought an entire 20' tree to camp by himself, then chopped pieces off of it for the fire with the hatchet.

This morning we packed up and headed for the ocean. A short hike, crossing the creek at the ford, then across the dunes to the beach. Perfect quiet, the surf shushing in, sky so blue you look just to enjoy the color, no one there but the gulls and vultures and plover – and us. I sat on top of a dune and looked out over the hazy ocean, watching the sun shine on the waves before they crest and curl into foam, while the boys played in the sand, running, jumping, rolling.

The energy of an eight-year-old child boggles my middle-aged mind.

I found a sand dollar on the beach, delicate and perfect, just a little bigger than a quarter.

Back at the parking lot, we grab cream cheese, tomato, and bread, and head for the observation point. From there you can only see the ocean way down the coast where the creek flows into it, but the view of dunes and creek and the hills beyond is spectacular. I make sandwiches while the boys scamper around and under the wooden observation deck, and we eat lunch in quiet companionship. Couples and families wander down to the end, glance at the view, and leave, scarcely taking the time to lift a camera. Do we scare them off, or are they really so unimpressed? There's no way to tell.

Back home, I spend a few minutes catching up with blogworld. I see that I've engaged five or six Christian bloggers in conversation, and have linked to three of their blogs. Not one has linked to mine. Hmmm….

I see also that one of my Christian friends has come out as gay. Her courage is a shining light.

She linked.

Kristin, as usual, has exceeded the limits of physical possibility. Her pickles are damn good, and the deck and picnic table both are freshly finished. When I talk with her, my stress leaks away. What is it that gives her such serenity? She didn't get it from me, yet she got it while I was with her.

A little sand dollar sits under my computer monitor as I write.

A link to peace.

When Kids Ask…

Saturday, and Kristin's away at the coast for the weekend. I've got the kids to myself.

A friend comes over. "Maddy, can we light a fire? Felix wants to do some blacksmithing." "Um… well… okay. Gather up some wood, and I'll come light it when you're ready."

Gather pliers, vice grips, a couple of hammers and an old piece of rebar. Cut up the old bench that broke last summer. A twist of newspaper, pile twigs on top – make sure they're dry. The sun's shining. "Let's start it with a magnifying glass."

Bright spot of light, curl of smoke, blow, gently, gently… More smoke, then flame – less than two minutes! "Don't ever let me catch you doing this unsupervised!" "Of course not. Can we have marshmallows?"

Sunday. "Maddy, can we light a fire?" "Um, I don't know. Let me think about it while I finish up here." "No! I want a yes or no answer now!" "Okay. No." "I'll let you think about it…"

Ambiguity

Last night the boys and I went fishing.

It's been a long time since I've been fishing, and I've never done much sport fishing. It's not like splicing gangions, or sticking a piece of squid on a giant circle hook and coiling it into a tub before throwing a couple miles' worth of 3/8" line off the boat. We were trying to catch trout with a pole, bobber, sinkers, and just one hook. Not my forte.

It showed.

After nearly an hour untangling fishing line, changing lures and bait, and fruitless casts from the shore, the boys were running out of patience. They weren't having fun any more.

That's when Kevin came to our rescue.

He'd been over on the other side of the pond, dragging one fish after another onto shore.

He showed us the right bait to use, showed us the right way to cast, and invited the kids to reel in the fish he quickly caught. Trin was thrilled, and we soon had a nice rainbow in the bag.

The evening was transformed. The boys were suddenly having a great time. I was, too.

Next fish we caught, he encouraged the boys: "Let her reel it in! Let her do it!"

I didn't have a license, and wanted to make sure the boys got a full experience, so I gave it to Sam, and he fought a bigger rainbow trout, maybe 10" or 11", to the shore.

A man walking his dog came by and started chatting with Kevin, and Kevin referred to me as "he" in their conversation. I didn't make an issue of it.

It was getting dark, and just as we were about to leave, we caught another one. Trin reeled this one in, the biggest yet. Kevin gave us some of the bait, hooks, sinkers, and leader he was using.

As we loaded it into the bag and got ready to leave, Kevin said to the boys, "Now, when szche brings you back here, you'll have all the stuff you need to catch some fish!" (The "szche" is an imprecise spelling intended to describe the way he slid the "sh" and "h" sounds together in apparent confusion whether I should be referred to as she or he.)

Ah. Ambiguity. Another sign of progress, bittersweet.

Thank you, Kevin. Thanks for giving the kids a great time. Thanks for the lesson in fishing. Thanks for the gear. And thanks for letting your confusion be.

That Kid Is One Tough Dude

The other day I started a fight with my son.

I didn't intend it. I simply ran out of patience and used force, unaware in that moment that force is a form of violence, even when it causes no physical pain. I forgot to grant the autonomy I would like to receive. From my care about my neighbor's comfort, and without verifying that I was contributing to that comfort, I took the easy road of picking him up and moving him.

Trin responded in kind, hitting, biting, and kicking me, and defying my demand. I felt very frustrated. Sad. Angry. And scared that Trin would use violence carelessly and hurt someone badly because of it (even though, or perhaps because, he was responding only to my own use of violence).

It took two days for me to get over it, and during that time, any time I asked Trin to do anything, I got a scowl and open defiance.

When I was a kid, I never defied my parents – at least, not that I can remember. When I chafed under demands that I perceived as unjust or arbitrary, I responded by acting sullen and with passive-aggressive resentment. I reluctantly did as I was told, and felt ashamed of my weakness afterwards. That resentment and shame slowly festered and spread poison throughout my relationship with my father that lingers to this day, two years after his death.

Sad.

The passage of time has helped to shift me from the sadness and frustration of that argument several days ago. I see now how arbitrary my demand was, how unnecessary it was for me to use force in that moment. I did it for my sake, more than my neighbor's. I see that I started the fight, not Trin. I used force – violence – first, and not for his or someone else's safety. He merely responded in kind.

He stood up to an authority figure three times his size and weight. He refused to back down, even with no real hope of winning. He stood alone in front of a tank, and I felt completely floozled.

Now?

Despite (or because of) the challenges, I'm glad he's my kid. I'm learning so much.

I admire him.

I'm proud of him.

And I'm glad he doesn't go to school.

What’s in a Name?

Names have been of interest to me lately, as several people have mentioned mine in complimentary ways, while I've also encountered my former name in a way that was shocking. It got me thinking about what a name really means.

Usually, it's just treated as a generic label for individuals. Frequently those labels seem to fit the people who wear them, but often, they don't. In my case, my former name label was one that didn't fit me at all. Not my mother's fault. How was she to know what I would like or not? Even more, how could she ever predict that that baby boy snuggled to her breast was actually a girl? It certainly didn't show from the outside. The answer, of course, is that she couldn't predict it. She named me as best she could with almost no insight into my nature or personality, and none at all into my gender. How could she ever have the foresight to, as the song of the time suggested, "name me Sue?"

The truth is, a name is more than a generic label. It is an individual signifier, an emblem of a person's individuality that interfaces with the world and all society. It is a matter of considerable importance to a person's self-concept. But we've made it really hard to change, and socially, culturally, changing the name your parents gave you is not common or encouraged. Now, with the federal ID laws coming down the pike, more legal hurtles are being raised against changing names.

I think it's time for a change. Names are actually too important to leave entirely to uncertain prediction and the sometimes careless whims of parents. A better idea, I think, is to make a naming day or ceremony part of graduating from high school. Or maybe it should be something you do upon reaching majority (the age 18 majority), a sort of ritual to help initiate young people into the fullness of adult citizenship and responsibility; a way to mark their new role in society. On that day, each person could choose whether to label themselves with a new name that describes themselves more effectively, or keep their own. If associated with graduation, it could be a part of the packet – class ring, invitations, cap & gown, name change forms.

Important here, that their parents don't take it personally. Let's recognize that we're not perfect, and we really can't predict our child's path in life when we give them that first label to describe our hopes and beliefs about them. Let's just be grateful for the time we had, and let them go.

George Washington’s First Cherry Tree

Okay, so it wasn't George Washington, it was Trinidad. And it wasn't a cherry tree. If it was, we would have kept it. It was the tree out front that we've been planning on removing for some time, to make room for trees that grow nuts or fruit. It was also the only tree in the front yard that Trin likes to climb. He's been steadfastly and passionately opposed to cutting it down. In fact, he extracted a promise from me that I wouldn't cut it down without telling him, which kept the tree alive on at least two events and for well over six months.

Until now.

"Trin, we were thinking about chopping down that tree out front…"

Mutinous lower lip protrusion.

"… and we were wondering if you'd like to do it."

Lip retracts, thoughtful expression.

"Okay."

I was going to put if off, since it was getting late. Kristin, more wise, said, "There's enough light out still. Why don't you do it now?"

So out we went, newly-sharpened hatchet in hand. And Trinidad cut down his first tree, with half the neighborhood kids watching.

It took awhile.

Trin even allowed his little brother to take 17 chops, carefully counted, with the hatchet – which, believe me, didn't remove a whole lot of wood.

And the tree we wanted gone – is finally gone. No lies necessary.

Beltane

Yesterday was Beltane – mid-spring, halfway between the vernal equinox and the summer solstice. I took the day off work and celebrated.

Beltane is a pagan holiday, and I'm not really pagan, so we celebrated in our own quiet way. We went for a walk in the woods, bringing along lunch and some sacks to gather nettles in. Didn't find enough nettles to harvest any, but it was a great trip anyway. We wandered deep into the lush Northwestern forest, where Douglas fir and cedars towered high above, little birds singing in their branches. We walked on moss, among big sword ferns and fields of shamrocks dotted with blooming trillium. The boys and the dog ran wild, exploring the woods with eyes and nose full of wonder. When Sam ran out of steam, we made our way back to the highway and home.

By sheer luck, we got home just as the bus dropped off our neighbor's kid. The boys ran over to their house and Kristin and I went inside and had a nap.

Pure bliss.

We finished up the day with inviting some friends over for a feast – split pea soup over potatoes, kale flowers from our garden, asparagus, and pork ribs (Beeler's, not quite organic but hormone and anti-biotic free, raised not in tiny cages but in pens that are, hopefully, at least halfway decent places to live). Our friends brought wine, a Malbech from Italy – new, but good. It was all good.

There wasn't a Maypole, but, all in all, I'd say the goddess was pleased.

Jimi Hendrix as Moral Choice

"Authoritarian parents … not only offer minimal opportunities for children to choose, but tend to treat matters of taste or personal style as if they were moral issues with a single right answer – an answer that must, of course, be provided by the parent." Alfie Kohn, in Unconditional Parenting, p. 180.

When I read this, I felt a sudden hollow ache in my solar plexus. It went beyond emotional, to physical sensation. The pain that came up surprised me in its intensity. I hadn't realized how much hurt, how much resentment and anger and grief still remain, buried deep inside me.

When I first heard Jimi Hendrix's fantastical guitar licks, way back around 1971 or so, when I was 11, I was blown away. It touched my soul, and still resonates deep inside. (I'm listening to him now, as I have many times when emotional pain rears its ugly head.)

My dad viewed it as a personal affront, not just a difference in taste - a deeply immoral offense, perhaps akin to shoplifting, or giving drugs to children. He liked Hank Williams, Sr., and clearly expected me to do the same. The music that rocked my world was viewed as my choice to totally reject everything good and honest and pure.

I couldn't choose my clothes. My haircut. My glasses. If I resisted, it was not a matter of personal taste, but a moral decision akin to choosing evil.

He showed no sense of curiosity about who I was, no interest in me as my own person. I had the sense I was created to allow him to vicariously live the childhood he wished he'd had.

And my god, it hurt. It still hurts. It hurts with a deep dull ache that will not go away.

Climbing Over the Fence

Trin recently figured out he can climb over the fence. It's not a particularly strong fence. I got it on Craig's List for free – an old six-foot cedar unit that had been replaced, and all I had to do was take the panels off the posts, bring it home, and put it onto new posts here. Some of the boards are dry-rotted where the vertical 1x6's are connected to the horizontal 2x4's. Others are split, or have big knots in them. So I didn't feel real excited about it the other day when he led a pack of neighborhood kids in a chase over the top of it. Especially since there's a lovely patch of tulips on the other side of it.

I was challenged again when Trin walked out the door this morning, expressing his intention to climb over the fence again. Having embraced the philosophy of Nonviolent Communication, I immediately expressed my reservations – and promptly became an unpopular parent. I tried to understand what he was needing in climbing over the fence, and to consider my needs, too. It didn't take long to figure out that the passage from one side to the other wasn't the issue – there's a gate on the other side of the house, and he's free to use it. So it was the process. Boards not strong = broken fence and hurt boy. Safety, economic security (don't want to pay to fix it), and beauty (don't like to look at a broken fence).

Didn't matter. Trin called me some names (including 'Dummy!'), stormed out of the house, and kicked everything in sight for a few minutes. His scowl made the storm clouds look like sunshine.

I nursed my own hurt and anger for a bit, while I finished the breakfast dishes. Then I went outside and asked him to come look at the fence with me.

"What is it you like about climbing over?" I asked.

"I like the challenge. Look, this is how I do it!" He scrambled up the fence.

"Mmm hmm." I pointed out where a nail was missing from one board, and another had rotted considerably. A third had been cut thin. I pointed out where he'd stepped on a plant in the garden.

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry." Losing interest, he ran off to play with Sam.

I got the hammer and scrounged a nail. Added it to the board that needed it. Looked over the fence and the ground around it. The first three boards next to the gate are in good shape. (The gate latch doesn't work well or from both sides, so we don't use that gate much.) There aren't any tulips on the outside, and no important plants on the inside. I called Trin back and showed him.

"The only thing, I'm still concerned about other kids, especially if they're bigger than you. Would you just climb it when they aren't around?"

"Sure!"

He scrambled up again, this time reaching the top before dropping onto the other side.

It took a lot of effort to first give up my own reservations, and the hurt from the names he called me; second, to figure out what needs he was meeting in climbing over the fence (in some ways, it would have been easier to just add a brace that would make it stronger, but would also make it easier to climb); and third, to take the time to ensure that he could climb the fence with a minimum of danger to himself, the fence, and the tulips.

But I saw the light in his eyes when he climbed over, looked back, and blew me a kiss.

More effort, yes. But worth it.

Thou hypocrite...

It's not a sin to be yourself. How else can you be true to others? As the Bard said, "To thine own self be true, and it must follow, as the night the day, thou cannot be false to any man." Does it not follow that, if you are not true to yourself, you are being false to others?

It is a sin to keep your children in ignorance of me, because I am who I am. First, you are bearing false witness - you are lying to your children. Second, you are preventing them from getting to know a truly beautiful and loving person. Third, you are judging unfairly. As Jesus put it:
"Judge not, that ye be not judged. For with what judgment ye judge, ye shall be judged ... and why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother's eye, but considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye? ... Thou hypocrite, first cast out the beam out of thine own eye: and then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote out of thy brother's eye."

Worst of all, when you intentionally keep children ignorant of any particular group of people, whether they be blacks, or Jews, or gays, or trans, you perpetrate a culture of violence against those people. You may have no ill intentions, and may even believe that you are motivated by love, but the message you send to your children is that these people are evil or depraved - that they are people to be feared. Ignorace leads to fear, and fear leads to violence. That is when black men get dragged behind pickup trucks, and gay men get tied to a fence and pistol-whipped, and transwomen get stabbed forty times. Not because of anything they've done, but because of who they are.

Do you want that on your conscience?

Learning the Dictionary

Yesterday the boys were in the living room, learning to use the dictionary and trying to find the word, 'cat.' Kristin was in the kitchen, washing dishes.

K. - Where are you in the dictionary now, Sam?

Sam - Crocodile!

K. - Oh, you're already in the 'C's - great!

Trin - No, it's an Alligator.

K. - Well, keep going 'til you find the 'B'.

Sam - Billygoat!

Trin - No, it's an Alpaca.

Homeschooling. I feel so blessed that we are able to provide this for our children, because we're also providing it for ourselves. There's a price, of course. It's tough to make it on one income nowadays, at the tail end of 28 years of Republican economic policy, which favors the uber-wealthy at the expense of everyone else. Days like this make it worth it.

Unconditional Parenting

I just started reading a book by Alfie Kohn, called Unconditional Parenting. It's the second of Kohn's books I've read, and I gladly admit that the first one, Punished by Rewards, made a significant impact on my life, on Kristin's, and on our kids'. Punished by Rewards set us off on a different model of parenting, on in which we try to eliminate the use of punishments and rewards, and, ironically, the journey has been incredibly rewarding.

I read Punished by Rewards shortly after Trin was born, back in 2000. Kristin was the primary earner in those days, and the easiest (only) way I could get Trin to take a nap was to drive him around in the car until he fell asleep. Then I'd go home, park in the driveway, and read. I read a lot of good books then – it was like going to college and actually having the time to complete the assigned texts. Punished by Rewards was an eye-opener, as Alfie showed with convincing evidence, specific research, and well reasoned arguments how people, both kids and adults, act more effectively when working for intrinsic (self-generated) motivations than when working for extrinsic motivations (rewards from others). The book's ideas created a fork in the road, and Kristin and I both gladly took it.

Which is not to say that I immediately overcame 40-odd years of social and cultural conditioning in behaviorist philosophy – or 8,000 years, if you want to count all the legacy of the Hebrew patriarchal structure that permeates our culture.

Other books followed. The works of John Holt added to the philosophical underpinnings, along with Grace Llewellan and Eckhart Tolle. Then, at a La Leche League conference in 2001 or 2002, we listened to a talk by Inbal Kashtan on Non-Violent Communication, and began to learn the practical language of non-judgment, of human needs and connection.

Let me leave you with a couple of early quotes from Unconditional Parenting:

"At least in part, then, conditional parenting is based on the deeply cynical belief that accepting kids for who they are just frees them to be bad because, well, that's who they are."

"… the choice between conditional and unconditional parenting is a choice between radically different views of human nature."

"Compulsory apologies mostly train children to say things they don't mean – that is, to lie."

"Unconditional parenting assumes that behaviors are just the outward expression of feelings and thoughts, needs and intentions. In a nutshell, it's the child who engages in a behavior, not just the behavior itself, that matters."

For explanation on any unfamiliar terms – well, read the book.

Celebrating NVC

Boy, did Trin and I have a blow-up yesterday!

First, he brought snakes into the house, even though the night before Kristin emphasized emphatically that she didn't want snakes in the house. When I asked him to take them outside, he refused. (Fair to say, I think I worded it nicely, but it was not a request – it was a demand.) I finally forced him outside with them. Then, when he came in without them, I tried to tell him how annoyed I was about the whole thing.

He stuck his tongue out at me.

I about lost it. I was already angry, but that triggered me so badly that I grabbed him and picked him up. I yelled at him. I threatened to throw him outside with the snakes. And then I realized I was going to0 far, so I snarled, "I need a time out!" I stomped off, slamming the door behind me.

Ten minutes later, I called Kristin, and told her about it. She gave me a little empathy, and then I put Trinidad on the other phone, and went out into the garage so I wouldn't be in the same room with him.

Kristin asked Trin for his story, and that's when I realized he hadn't heard a word I said before sticking out his tongue. He gave a detailed, accurate, and objective account of the entire exchange – no judgments or evaluations, just simple observation – except that he said I'd just told him to go outside, before he stuck out his tongue. I didn't, I said that right after; but he had no memory of me saying anything else, and he knew I'd said something. (Memo to self: Connect first!)

K gave Trin a little empathy, and then asked for my story. I told it with less clarity and lack of judgment than Trin, going beyond observation to include evaluations and guesses about Trin's thoughts. K straightened me out on that, and then gave me a little more empathy.

And something shifted. It shifted in me, and it shifted in Trin.

I went into the living room, where he was. I held out my hand to him. He came to me and hugged me. I sat down on the couch, and he laid across my lap with his head resting on my arm. We cried. I told him I loved him, and he said he loved me, over and over.

The rest of the evening went very well indeed. When it got dark and I said I wanted to close the blinds and lock up the chickens, Trin jumped up and volunteered to do it himself – and he did. We – Sam, Trin and I – played with the boys' legos for a while. And when I said I was going to bed, he hastened into his pajamas, brushed his teeth, and climbed into bed before I could even get ready. No arguments. No crying. Easy, peaceful, and connected.

How sweet it was.

Mom Contest

Kristin asked the boys today, “Who would you most like to have as your mom? And don’t worry, I won’t feel hurt if you choose someone other than me.”

The boys thought about it for awhile, then said, “Well, we’re torn.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. We don’t know whether to pick you, Dana, or Evelyn.”

“Why not?”

“Well, Dana cooks frozen pizzas. Evelyn brings sweet treats home from the bagel store. And you know NVC.”

You know, I think we’re doing all right.

Odell Lake - Long, self-indulgent post...

Last week I took Friday off work, and rode up to Odell Lake Lodge, high in the Cascades, with our neighbors and the boys. Eight people in the car - they’ve got a minivan.

We got there, and unloaded and checked into the lodge as quick as we could, which was pretty slow, because Mekiah, Trin, and Sam all started off playing in the snow even before they had snow clothes on. So Tesha or Ted or I (taking turns) tried to get them into coats and gloves and boots and keep them from playing in dangerous places (like sledding into heavy equipment or the parking lot), while the other one checked into the lodge and unloaded stuff from the car. It was like herding cats.

After a while we got enough stuff unloaded that the boys and I could head into the snow, so we took off looking for a sledding hill. There’s a good one just up a ways from the lodge, and we scrounged a cheap plastic sled to go with our own. We had a fine time sledding until it grew dark, and Kristin, Dana, Circe, Jetta, and Joellen showed up.

As darkness overtook the land, the boys reluctantly allowed me to herd them down to the lodge. The kids all packed into Dana’s room, where there was a bunk bed, or ran up and down the hall, while the adults packed stuff in, organized, and set up some semblance of supper. We had until seven to make reservations in the restaurant below. We never did. Instead, (secretly, since they didn’t want people having their own food in their rooms) we packed in two crock pots, two coolers, a toaster oven, a coffee pot, and bags and bags of food. Roger and Brandy (Circe’s parents) weren’t coming until later, so we commandeered their room for the kitchen/dining room, and had a good but scattered dinner, sort of catch-as-catch-can, with kids eating in the hall while playing cards and all kinds of chaos and confusion, mixed with laughter and chatter and occasionally kids crying. At one point, the lodge staff came up and asked the kids to stop running races in the hall, because it was making too much noise downstairs.

Roger, Brandy, and Melea showed up around 10 p.m., and our party was complete – we took over the entire back half of the lodge with 7 adults and 9 kids, raging in age from Jo and Circe (11 yrs.) to Levin and Melea (nursing babies).

As things wound down, Sam was sitting up in bed, and he began to get quiet. His eyes began to droop, and his mouth grew slack. Suddenly, he fell over flat, fast asleep before his head hit the pillow. Trinidad, however, kept jumping up every time someone laughed, saying, “If there’s fun going on, I’m going to be there!”

The next day, I reached out and turned on the coffee pot at about 5:30 a.m. Kristin and Dana got up and headed out to the cross-country trails with their skis, and I settled down in the hall with laptop, Sudoku book, and coffee. Pretty soon Brandy joined me, and I wrote desultorily while chatting with her, sipping coffee, and generally having a fine, quiet time, until Trin woke up. As the kids dragged themselves from bed, the day took off. Trin and I rented snowshoes, everyone else rented skis, and we all headed out for the trails, with Roger (the best skier of the bunch) towing Melea in a little sled.

The lodge is set up on the shore of Odell Lake, a gem of clear water high in the Cascades. The land there is mostly pretty flat, for being high in the mountains. You can see Diamond Peak in the distance, but close by meadows and woods roll along under the snow. We cross-countried along the path until we found a high, steep embankment created for the trains. Brandy took Melea out of the sled to feed her, and a mass of kids and adults scrambled up the bank and began a wild few hours of playing by the railroad tracks. We took turns squeezing into the baby sled and zooming down the embankment. Those with skis practiced going down the embankment. I finally had enough, and asked Roger if I could borrow his. I was up by the tracks when we traded skis for snowshoes, and I tried, first thing, to ski down the embankment. Crazy! I tumbled immediately, and made my way down with many falls, more rolling in the snow than skiing. Once I got to the bottom, though, I had a fine time scooting around the lower, slower hills and humps, and getting used to skis.

Finally we moved on, as hunger and lateness approached. Back at the lodge, the kids headed out for a few more hours of sledding while I took a nap.

That evening, the other moms set out a fantastic supper buffet of bean-and-rice burritos with fixin’s, while I went out skiing with Trin, Sam, and Jo. All went well, until Trin took off ahead while Sam made a pit stop. When Sam had trouble catching up, he lost it, threw a fit, ripped off his skis, and took off running into the twilit woods. I had Sam’s skis and Trin to worry about, so asked Jo to stick with Sam, and she took off skiing after him. What a relief! (Thanks again, Jo!) I packed up Trin and Sam’s skis, and I only fell once as I skied on the way back, even though I was unbalanced with Sam’s skis under my arm. Guess I was focused.

We all got back to the lodge safely, had dinner, and went to bed with more ease than the night before. The kids were simply exhausted.

I got up early the next morning, and Brandy and I went skiing in the early morning. A crust of ice had formed over the snow, but we had a fine time, riding down steep slopes (when we found them) on our butts. We got back around 9 a.m., had breakfast, and Kristin and others went out, while we packed.

Check-out time was eleven, and I was packing and moving stuff as fast as I could when someone came upstairs and said, “Today’s daylight savings time – it’s a quarter-to-twelve!”

We finally got everything outside and checked out an hour or more late. The kids headed once again to the sledding hill, but I was done playing by that time, with a bruise on my butt the size of a saucer from falling on the ice, and muscles that felt like jello. But as the sun started to dip toward the western horizon, I headed once more to the hill, to persuade the kids to come down.

And on the very last sled run, sledding her way to the parking lot to load up and go home, Jo went down a steep drift, landed awkwardly, and broke her arm.

We loaded her up with arnica, Rescue Remedy, and Tylanol, the lodge owner gave her some chocolate bars, and we settled her in Dana’s car with her hand resting on my down coat and a couple handy plastic bags full of snow to ice it. Dana sat in the back with her while I drove, and our short and happy weekend came to an end two hours later, in the parking lot of Urgent Care.

Before we left, though, we reserved our spots for next year, and the year after – but this time, we made sure we could stay in one of the cabins – the biggest cabin, which sleeps sixteen. I bet we can fit more than that in, though!

Bathroom Rivers

So, last night I’m in the kitchen cleaning up after dinner, and the kids are in the bath, when I hear suspicious splashing sounds. I peek in, and there’s Sam, pouring water from a plastic cup onto the bathroom floor. They’ve been at it a while. Most of the floor is covered with water, and it’s flowing in streams to the threshold and under the vanity.

What’re they doing? “We’re making rivers!” And, Trin chimes in, “It’s all Sam’s fault anyway. I didn’t do it!” Complete innocence.

Uh, huh.

It seems like a really good time to explain that aiding and abetting is a crime, but I don’t trust my voice to be calm and rational – I don't completely lose it, but it's close.

Just when I was going to post a piece on what little angels they are, perhaps with pictures from our recent visit to the snow.

That one will have to wait.

NVC failed me. In the end, I abdicated. Rather than commit violence and say/do something I would regret, I let Kristin handle it, and in short order they were out of the bath, soaking towels.

Those kids have no idea how lucky they are I’m not a single parent.

But it’s top-of-mind for me, how lucky I am that I’m not. Especially since I’m co-parent with this particular amazing woman, who lives life so deeply and touches and teaches with Non-Violent Communication.