So what exactly DID we do this week?

Sometimes it's hard to picture what a homeschool family does all day.
Sometimes Friday comes along and I, too, wonder if the past days' hours and minutes were well spent.
Sometime I think yes.
Sometimes I think no.

And sometimes I feel like sharing a bit of what occurs when I give my children time and space to explore and create. Keep in mind that the wonder you'll see below could only happen because I intentionally limit planned academic rigor to just a few minutes a day for my kids under age 8 and maybe to an hour or two a day for the older ones. So here's a collection of this week's moments. I'm positive they were well worth adding to my children's long list of life experiences AND developed their brains just as they needed:

 <The Boys went on a campout last Friday night. So the girls dug out their tea sets. Naturally.

It started simple...and grew...until it resembled a full blown Fancy Nancy party that included costumes. 

My girls hosted. I just played along.>

<above pic by Cienna>

  <For the other half of the day that the Boys were gone, I unveiled a shrinky-dink fairy kit that I'd purchased at JoAnn's back on Black Friday and was saving for a rainy day.

 For $10 (or whatever I paid for it), entertainment ensued from 2pm until bedtime and into the next day. Our new fairy friends even liked what we ate for dinner and picked the bedtime story.>

<I loved this book when I was a kid, too!>

 <After studied detailed YouTube clips, Kenny mastered the 4x4. Well done.>

<We discovered Spring's first blossoms.>

<Diggy tested out the walking stick he'd carved last fall. It still works.>

  

<Diggy took the younger girls outside for some fresh air. They created a skit together. After showing me, they bowed and I clapped.>

 <Cienna tested out her running shoes...and discovered that they make her run so fast she gets out of breath.>

<And then it rained and rained and rained. Our back yard became a pool for worms to gather for a Spring party.> 

 

<Brent had a few projects on his list...some swords for the musical Kenny is in next week, the leaky kitchen faucet, the front door lock...and so the kids were of course glued to his side. Especially Kirsti this week. She even helped him clean out a friend's flooded basement for several hours after all that rain.>

<Kirsti also participated in an awesome 3rd grade show led by the fabulous music teacher at the elementary school. They did 3 performances. She sang a beautiful solo.>

<Cienna felt proud of her progress on controlling the big red punching balloon.>

<We made good use of the library books.>

<Allison displayed intense interest in copying Diggy's long division work...number by number, line by line. The next day, I explained to her what division is. She asked lots of questions and wanted to write down some real problems of her own. We acted out 12 divided by 4 and 4 divided by 2, etc. She was thrilled. The next day, she wanted to do it again. So we did. I observed about 20 future math lessons soak deeper into her brain cells than if I had tried to push them in...all because she had been inspired by big brother, Diggy, a mentor. And it only took about 15 minutes.>     

<MaryAnn practiced making faces.>

<With a dismantled kitchen faucet, we washed dishes the Little House way. We had to carry buckets of water all the way from the creek (the bathtub), scrub by hand, and carefully dry everything using towels. Allison declared this activity as her favorite thing she's ever done in her entire life.>

<I sensed a migraine coming right before the dinner hour while Brent was away from the nest one day (my eyes get blurry about 15 minutes before the intense pain hits so I know it's coming), so I *snuck* up to the bathroom to soak my feet in hot water. A few minutes later, Kirsti took the above picture for me. I felt like Mrs. Large from one of my favorite books.>

Babies and Cupboards

MaryAnn has been watching me very closely. She's noticed that I rummage through kitchen cupboards...a lot. She's also paid very close attention to how her older siblings and I enjoy caring for babies...like her.

So my Baby came up with the perfect place to put her babies down for a nap: 

A few minutes later, her mind had wondered on to some other adventure and her "nursery" was left looking like this:

It would have been super convenient for me if she'd independently noticed that being mindful of her 'messes' makes for a much more tidy living space, but her brain isn't wired for that yet...at least not consistently. Lessons on cleanliness are secondary anyways and at her age will center around what her brain IS wired for: attachment and following.

With that in mind, I intentionally refrained from scolding MaryAnn for leaving a mess (though the thought did cross my mind...and probably would have made me feel more in control momentarily). I also used my prefrontal cortex to dismiss the haunting thought that MaryAnn would grow up to be a perpetual, careless mess-maker...forever. Such final judgments make us both miserable. Nor did I expect her to clean up her mess all by herself even though I know for a fact that her brain already associates the words 'clean up' with putting things away. (If she knows the meaning of something, she also has the brain connections to apply it 100% of the time, right? Wrong. All I have to do is look through my own bag full of weaknesses to see that that's not true.)

Instead, I'm comfortable that MaryAnn will choose to clean up more consistently on her own in a bunch of years when her brain switches into 'Accountability' mode (closer to age 8). For now, she and I are partners. Because we hang out so much, there's plenty of time for me to show her how fun cleaning is. She just follows my lead (whether I'm in a pleasant mood...or not).

So, I left the mess there momentarily. When I walked past it, it reminded me of MaryAnn's sweet care for her babes. I smiled several times.

About 20 minutes later, when she came wondering back to my side, I said, "MaryAnn, did your babies have a good nap?" She nodded and smiled and glowed. Then I leaned over and picked up a sandwich container and said, "Where does this go?" MaryAnn was proud to show me its spot on the shelf.

"All clean," I said eventually (after doing most of the rest of it myself).

"Yeah!" said MaryAnn.

"Taking care of babies and cleaning up are happy tasks, aren't they, my Dear?"

We both agreed: Mothering is fun.

MaryAnn's Helen Keller Moment

Based on conversations I've had at the park, in parent-teacher conferences, or at family reunions, I think we all agree: kids are each so different. Basic neurological stages are similar (infant, toddler, childhood, teenager, etc.), but millions of brain connections are left to define someone as an individual. They happen in a different order and at a different pace. Uniqueness is a beautiful process that spans a life-time.

At 18-months, Little Miss Cienna was jabbering away in full sentences.  At 20-months, MaryAnn felt content with just a few important words. 'Mama' and 'Dada' and 'bye-bye' and 'no' and 'me' were sufficient enough to make her world go 'round.

Until one recent day...

MaryAnn accompanied Brent and I to an adult-only church meeting while Kenny and Diggy held down the fort with the rest of the troops at home. She and I started walking the halls about halfway through. We entered a small room and she instantly communicated to me using her limited grunts and moans that she had a desire to sit in a big folding chair and get pushed in up near the small table. "Dada," she said as she pointed to another chair, expecting me to join her.

I did. And we sat feeling very pleased with ourselves.

A minute later, she wiggled down and headed towards the door and pushed it closed. She turned to me and smiled some more, her body filled with light because of such an accomplishment.

"Door," I said, acknowledging her actions. "Can you say 'door?'" This wasn't the first time I'd attempted to expand her vocabulary a bit.

"Dada," replied MaryAnn proudly as usual.

I smiled.

Another minute later, we found ourselves back in the hallway and MaryAnn spotted a man she'd never met before. She seemed to want to communicate her discovery to me so she pointed at him and said, "Dada."

"Is that Dada?" I asked, sounding surprised.

Knowing that the man was indeed not her father, I noticed a jolt of shock spring through her body as she said, "No," and continued to stare, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. She seemed to recognize and care for the first time that what came out of her mouth was not at all what she knew to be true in her mind. A new connection was born.

She gulped and licked her lips as she continued to stare, surely taking subconscious note that she'd be much more careful about calling strangers 'Dada' in the future.

Then a younger person walked by and I asked, "Is that Ken Ken?"

Still confused and a bit nervous, MaryAnn replied, "No."

"Where is Ken Ken?' I probed.

This time, and for the first time since learning 'mama' and 'dada' over six months ago, MaryAnn paused to think about what was about to come out of her mouth. Then "Home" slipped out.

This time a jolt of emotion went through my veins. I had just witnessed a neurological victory...the conscious beginning of a new language path that we could now expand out into thousands of new directions.

A few days later, I pointed to Kirsten at home and asked MaryAnn, "Who is that?"

Sure enough, instead of instinctively spouting out "dada," she looked carefully at Kirsten and said, "Ti Ti."

And the next day...when MaryAnn repeatedly urged me into the kitchen to get her a drink by saying, "dada, dada," I gently reminded her of her new capability.

"You said 'dada,' MaryAnn. Do you want Dada or water?" My lips moved slowly so she could soak in the new mouth movements associated with the phonetic sound the letter 'w' makes.

"Wa-wa," she repeated. And a couple of weeks later, MaryAnn uses her new vocabulary word 'wa-wa' like a pro.

Well done, MaryAnn. When you're old enough to analyze this triumph in a bit more detail, I'm sure you'll agree with Helen Keller who said:

"When I learned the meaning of 'I' and 'me' and found that I was something, I began to think. Then consciousness first existed for me".1
  

A bit of history: Helen Keller's monumental day occurred about a month after meeting Anne Sullivan on the morning of March 3, 1887.2  Nearly 126 years later on the evening of March 2, 2013, my little MaryAnn received her spark of linguistic understanding. It thrills me to think that sparks of recognition and rays of sunshine occur for little learners somewhere in the world at a constant rate of ongoing intelligence. If we could measure it and see it with our natural eyes, I wonder what it would look like from the moon. But I think inspiring moments are more of a light that burns in the bosom. I know Helen Keller felt it because she also said, "The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched--they must be felt with the heart."2


Quotes and facts:
1. http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/h/helen_keller.html
2. http://www.percepp.com/hkeller.htm
Photo courtesy of http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Helen_Keller

Attachment Lesson #2: You Belong

Before the world gets a piece of MaryAnn's mind, we desperately want to ingrain Attachment Lesson #2 into her brain: I belong to a Family. I don't just exist under the same roof and eat at the same table as the people around me. I belong.

Babies naturally yearn for love, comfort, and affection. They join us on earth wired and ready to connect. And they are innocently and completely vulnerable to whatever kind of human (or non-human) connection they can get. It is therefore very humbling to ponder on the fact that my children chose to come to me. They chose to receive the comfort that I could give them (or not). And I have a sense that they humbly knew my connections would not always fulfill their needs and maybe even lead them astray at times (because let's face it...I'm not perfect). But I sense that they also knew I would try my best.

After a few babies, I've come to learn that one of the first and most important lessons we can teach our children is that they belong to us...forever (no matter what).

With this foundational lesson in mind, our current top parenting priority with MaryAnn is to help her feel included.

I grab two pens whenever I'm taking notes. I pull up a chair and reach for an extra measuring cup when I'm cooking. I'm getting really good at typing one-handed. I plan for a few extra minutes of coats-boots-hats-mittens when it's time to jump in the van to drop-off/retrieve another child (even if beloved babysitters are home...still can't believe I have children old enough for that!) because I know I can count on MaryAnn to notice my movements toward the door and exclaim, "Me! Me!" while beating her chubby hand on her chest.

She naturally wants to spend nearly her entire day within a few feet of me. Her radar for my presence (ie attachment) is mind-boggling. Even when I think she's not paying attention, I can't leave the room without her instantly noticing and calling out, "Mom. Mom!" It's music to my ears (assuming I'm in a good mood and have a present mind).

Hearing my name called out so frantically and so frequently used to feel completely overwhelming when my older ones passed through this stage. I wasn't used to it and I regularly dodged their calls and dreamed of the time when that constant burden would go away. It felt like it would never end. Every resolved issue led to another problem to solve.  Though of course me and my older kids had many wonderful moments when they were little, I was worried back then that my children would become "too attached", which seemed it would only prolong my exhaustion. Comments about my babies naturally rejecting friends and family while clinging to me stung my insides and left me wondering if we were on the right track.

Now I know better. (because I've studied brains and prayed a lot).

Now I know that their natural connection to me is a gift...and therefore worth celebrating.

That very connection that my children so intensely and so consistently try to make with me (especially during the first three years) is the very thing that will lighten my future burdens (and theirs). I can freely teach and lead and guide them through any subject I want (except maybe sewing) when we are connected. I can't when we aren't. I've experienced both extremes. And with a strong attachment, my children are emotionally grounded in a secure feeling that allows them to freely explore the world without defensive walls holding them back. We can feel a difference with a secure attachment. It's like a breath of fresh air.

Right now, MaryAnn's brain is in the middle of developing it's primary definition of emotional security. I'm thrilled that I'm IT. It will make life so much easier for both of us down the road. Though it appears now that she may never leave my side voluntarily for the rest of her life or ever like anyone else but me because her love for me is so focused and devoted, I know her brain is simply laying an emotional foundation on which to build on. A new area of her brain will soon dominate her attention (and often does for brief moments each day), but a feeling of deep mother/child fidelity will remain forever and liberate her future.

When I hear MaryAnn's call, I'm usually in the bathroom, or emptying clothes from the dryer into a basket, or sitting on the couch correcting grammar. I answer quickly. Then she exerts extreme effort to wobble her way back to my side...to fill up with my love before her next round of adventures. So inspiring.

My children's natural attachment beckons me to examine my own childlike yearn for my Eternal Father. I am part of His family. How often do I call out His name? How determined am I to reach His embrace? He doesn't get weary of my needs. He has a vision for who I can become. Every time I wobble my way to Him, He gently takes the time to wrap me in His arms, fill me up with His love, and lead me on a path that will bring me joy.

I think that's why I care so much about establishing a strong attachment with MaryAnn (and all the others)... because ultimately I wish to teach her and show her even just a sample of what it feels like to exist as part of God's family. I want her to feel that same peace I feel in my relationship with Him...especially when she's old enough to venture beyond my reach. That time is not far ahead. It has already started with her older siblings. But my children will always be within His reach.

So with each scribble, scoop, and car ride, MaryAnn and I (along with all the others) are building a foundation together that teaches her about her family both here on earth and in the Heavens. She belongs to both.