Memoirs of an UNschool Mom

I don't have what most Moms have. I don't have what most Moms wish for. I don't have A+ spelling tests stuck with cute little alphabet magnets to the refrigerator. No gold stars either. No report cards brought home in little colored folders labeled "Take Home." And no cut and paste color by the numbers art. I don't volunteer at a school. And I am not part of a PTA. Although, at one point that is what I wanted, I know that now I have so much more.

My house is a learning zone. Not a mess by any means. (I am too OCD for that.) But my house-our hous- is a safe place to learn and experiment, explore outdoors. In the famous words of Teacher Mrs. Frizzle, "Take chances, get messy, make mistakes..." It is a place where S is free to live and free to learn. Free to be treated as an equal and not as "just a child," which society deems as "beneath adults."

There is recycling down stairs that S is allowed to go through at any time that upcycling appears on her lists of  "to dos" for the day. There is a small army of organically grown vegetable and fruit plants on the back porch, free for exploration. From planting to observation with a magnifying glass, and even using for cooking afterward, our garden provides a plethora of learning opportunities. We have a closet filled with art supplies and piles of books about so many things, from story to reference, from picture, to classics, all at her fingertips, and which she uses frequently. Her bedroom is decorated with marker boards covered in drawings, math problems, and stories. A chalkboard covered in the same. Globes, posters about space, the human body, and animals. Comic books, building materials such as blocks, Legos, and a marble roller coaster. And don't get me started on the kitchen-a card table set up as a little area just for S. At any given moment it might be covered in supplies to build a volcano or a model of the solar system. Books about the weather along with her latest experiment or creation. Currently the table is over taken by a stack of books about artists in history, famous pictures of paintings, and books on building drawing skills. Not to mention the baskets of acrylic paints, professional water colors, pastels, and the pile of used sketch paper-along with a fresh new blank sketch book since she used her last one up already. My refrigerator is covered in real, live art and held up by magnets purchased at the places we get to go and explore during the day when nobody is there-museums, historical locations, and parks. It is covered in pictures drawn by my child who was inspired by moments of silence, times of nature study, times of play, times of boredom even. There is a loaf of freshly baked bread sitting on the counter. Peanut butter loaf for lunch. And a dozen cinnamon muffins for this week's breakfast. (Later we will make homemade noodles for our spaghetti! Yum!) We don't do gold stars. We do hugs and kisses, not for an "A+ job well done," but for a creative work inspired by relationships and experiences.

I scale my child's progress on the way that I see her growing daily from the time she wakes up until the time she goes to bed. I see her learning to use her time wisely. I see her learning to solve problems, make friends, and resist peer pressure. I see her drawing stick figures one day, and the next day she has watched 20 "how to" videos, and adjusted them to her style. The next thing I know she has created a uniquely drawn-and colored-human being with intricately finished eyes, hair, and other body features-even boobs. ;) I see her getting involved with her community, building relationships with adults and kids, volunteering, and learning about how to do things like they used to be done. I see her asking for bee pollen during allergy season. Asking for silver when she feels an infection coming on. or saying, "Where is the coconut oil? I am about to go outside and my skin is feeling tender from yesterday."

I just take it all in, because no matter how much the battle within rages-not so much anymore actually, my fears of mainstream "warnings", judgement, and condemnation are constantly assuaged when I see her doing all these things. And I realize, people are right. We will not reach the same goal. She might hace what some people consider "learning gaps." Maybe she won't be skilled at sitting in an office for a full day's work. Maybe she won't even be considered "normal."

But we are reaching out for a different goal, and that is for a life long love of learning. The ability to follow her dreams and know where to start. A passion to work for God and His World. And to question-always question WHY. Why does society say this? Is it true? Why should I conform?  Are things what they seem? And before it is asked, yes, I allow her to question me, respectfully, as I would her, when she doesn't know why I say something. I didn't care for the phrase, "Because I said so" growing up, and I would never dream of saying it to my child. It goes back to my belief that we are equals. I am here to guide her, but I am not here to control her. I digress before I get started.

To end, here is an excerpt from a book called "The Teenage Liberation Handbook: How to Quit School and Get a Real Education" The author tends to be a little bitter in her descriptions, but rightfully so. I look back at the 13 years of my public education, and I am enraged too. But I am taking my anger and trying to transform it into a 13 year lesson learned as I try to provide a better life for my child and family as a whole. That is all we can do, decide what is best for our OWN family, and go from there....

"ON A SOFT green planet, a smiling baby was born in an orchard resplendent with
every kind of fruit in the universe. The baby's parents called her Tanika, and Tanika
spent her days roaming the warm wet ground on hands and knees. Spotting a clump
of gulberries off in the distance, she'd crawl after it and crush the sweet fruit in her
mouth, red juice staining her brown chin and neck. A muavo would fall fatly from
the high crown of the muavo tree, and she'd savor its golden tang. Each day revealed
new wonders—bushapples, creamy labanas, the nutty crunch of the brown
shrombart. The orchard's fruit sparkled in the dew and sun like thousands of living
moist jewels against the green fragrance of cushioning leaves.
As her eyes grew stronger Tanika lifted her gaze. The opulent branches above
her hung heavy with fruits she'd never dreamed of, globular and glistening. Tanika's
mother and father wandered the orchard too, sometimes, and she watched them reach
out easily and take a shining cluster here, a single green satinplum there. She'd
watch them eat and imagine being tall enough to roam and reach so freely as they.
Sometimes one of them would bend down and give Tanika one of those fruits
from up there in the moving leaves. Fresh from the branches, it intoxicated her, and
her desire to know and taste all the fruits of the orchard so consumed her that she
began to long for the day she could reach that far.
Her longing strengthened her appetite, and the fruit strengthened her legs, and
one day Tanika crawled to the base of a mysterious bush at the edge of the stream
that watered the orchard. She leaned carefully forward and braced her arms as she
positioned her feet. Unsteadily she rose and groped for the shrub's pale fruit.
Tugging knocked her off balance and she sat down hard in an overripe muavo, but
she barely noticed the fruit squishing under her thighs: in her hands she grasped a
fruit thin-skinned and silver, fresh and new. She pressed it to her nose and face
before she let her teeth puncture it.
No sooner had she tossed the smooth pit into the stream, than she heard a
rustling behind her. A jolly bespectacled face grinned down at her.
"Well, well, well! You're a mighty lucky little girl! I've come to teach you to20 The Teenage Liberation Handbook
get the fruit down from the tall trees!"
Tanika's happiness unfurled like a sail. She could hardly believe her good luck.
Not only had she just picked and eaten her first bush fruit, but here was a man she
didn't even know offering to show her how to reach the prism of treats high above
her head. Tanika was so overcome with joy that she immediately rose to her feet
again, and plucked another of the small moonish fruits.
The jolly stranger slapped the fruit from Tanika's wrist. Stunned, she fell again
and watched her prize roll into the stream. "Oh dear," said the man, "You've already
picked up some bad habits. That may make things difficult." The slapping hand now
took Tanika's and pulled her up. Holding on this way, Tanika stumbled along behind
the stranger.
She wanted to ask questions, like, "Why didn't you just show me how to pick
those berries hanging above the bush where I was?" But she kept her mouth shut. If
she was going off to pick the high fruit, she guessed it didn't matter where, or that
she'd sacrificed her one beautiful moonfruit. Maybe they were going to a special tree
melting with juicing fruits, branches bent almost to the ground, low enough for her
outstretched fingers. Yes! That must be it. Excitement renewed, she moved her legs
faster. The stranger grinned and squeezed her hand.
Soon Tanika saw the biggest, greyest thing she'd ever laid eyes on. In quiet
fascination she tripped along as they stepped off the spongy humus of the orchard
floor onto a smooth sidewalk. "Here we are!" beamed the guide. They entered the
building, full of odd smells and noises. They passed through a pair of heavy black
doors, and the man pushed Tanika into a loud, complicated room full of talking
children and several adults. She looked at the children, some sitting on the floor,
some crawling about or walking. All of them had trays or plates in front of them
heaping with odd mushy lumps of various colors. Also, some of the children were
busy coloring simple pictures of fruits, and some wore pins and tags on their shirts
displaying little plastic pears and mistbulbs. Baffled, Tanika tried to figure out what
the children were doing in such a dark, fruitless place, what the lumpy stuff was, and
above all, why her guide had stopped here on their way to the bountiful tree.
But before she had time to think, two things happened. First, one of the kids
took something metal and used it to scoop a lump of dull pinkish stuff into his
mouth. Tanika opened her mouth in panic to warn the kid. Maybe there was
something wrong with him; he was much bigger than she was, old enough to know
better. But just as she began to yell, a new hand, slick, pulled her up again. "OK,
Tanika," said the cheery woman that went with the hand, "This is the cafeteria.
We're looking forward to helping you grow, and we're certain we can help you learn
to pick tree fruit, as long as you do your part."
Tanika felt confused. She didn't see what this place could have to do with
picking gulberries, and at the moment she was particularly hungry for more of that
shining moonfruit. But she had no time to think. The slick-hand woman put Tanika
on a cold chair at a table. "Here," she said, and nudged a box of crayons and a black
outline of a plum at her. "Today you will color this, and it will help you get ready for
eating tomorrow." Tanika started to feel foolish. She'd never guessed that learning to
pick fruit would be so complicated. She colored the plum with all the colors in the
box, trying in vain to make it round and enticing like the fruits of the orchard.
The rest of the day passed in a daze. Tanika was made to color more of theA Nice Little Story 21
pictures, and to her disgust most of the children ate the formless mush on the plates
in front of them. Some of the fat and greasy children asked for more and stuffed
themselves. Whenever this happened, the adults ran in and put gold stars all over the
kid's arms and face. Many things happened—children fought, napped, sat quietly
fidgeting with the stuff. Finally, the jolly man took Tanika's hand and led her out of
the dark building. As her bare feet met the orchard grass, she caught the scent of ripe
labana. She asked the stranger if he would get one for her, but he merely laughed.
Tanika was far too confused to put any of her questions into words. By the time
they arrived at the tree where Tanika slept with her parents, the evening light had
turned the leaves to bronze, and she was exhausted. Too tired to look for fruit, she
fell asleep and dreamed fitfully.
In the morning her mind was clear. She still wanted to reach the high fruit, but
she did not want to go back to the noisy smelly dark cafeteria. She could already
reach the bushfruit; maybe in time she'd grasp the high fruit too.
But when the spectacled person arrived, he told her that she'd never reach the
trees without many years in the cafeteria. He explained it—"You can't reach them
now, can you?" and "Your parents can reach them. That's because they went to the
cafeteria. I can reach them, because I went to the cafeteria." Tanika had no time to
think this through, because he'd pulled her to her feet again and they were off. She
hadn't had time to find breakfast, and her stomach rumbled painfully.
Tanika went in the room and sat down politely. "Please," she asked one of the
adults, "Can you help me pick tree fruits today? That's why I'm here, and also today
I didn't have time for breakfast."
The tall lady laughed. "Well, well, well! Aren't we cute! Tree fruit! Before
you're ready for tree fruit, you have to prepare!" She disappeared behind a curtain
and returned carrying a tray with a scoop of greenish stuff. Tanika jerked back. She
looked around wildly for an escape route. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a boy
watching with soft dark quiet eyes. The lady grabbed her hand.
"Don't be afraid, Tanika," she laughed. "How will you ever work up to eating
tree fruit if you can't handle plate fruit?" She put the tray on the table, and took the
metal thing, spooning up a piece of the stuff and holding it in front of the small girl.
Tanika pushed the spoon away violently. Then she put her head down on the table
and cried.
The lady's voice changed. "So you're going to be a tough one, Tanika? Just
remember, you're only hurting yourself when you refuse to eat. If you want to
succeed, you'd better do as we ask." She walked away.
When Tanika stopped crying, her stomach was desperately empty. She sat up
and looked at the tray. She was afraid of the stuff. She bent down to smell it and
caught a faint, stale whiff of limbergreen berry. The smell, even distorted, was a
familiar friend. She picked up the spoon and ate her first bite of cafeteria food.
Tanika was relieved. Although the goop was slimy, far too sweet, and mostly
tasteless, it wasn't as bad as it looked. And it did seem to be made from limbergreen
berries. She ate it all, and felt a little better. The lady came back. "Very good," she
smiled. She stuck a green star on the back of Tanika's hand. "We'll do some more
exercises and then later on you can try something new to eat."
Hours later, Tanika had been the apple in "Velcro the Stem on the Apple," and
had drawn a muavo tree and listened to an older student explain what fruits22 The Teenage Liberation Handbook
contained vitamins P, Q, and Z. Apparently she had done all these things right,
because the lady came back and put more green and gold stars on her hands and
cheeks. Some of the children looked at her angrily, though, so perhaps she'd done
something wrong.
At this point a man rang a little bell. Immediately all the children sat down at the
tables and folded their hands neatly. A girl grabbed Tanika's hand and shoved her
onto a chair. Then six children walked into the room carrying stacks of trays. They
put one in front of each child, and Tanika saw that each tray contained five purple
and blue wafers. "Yum!" said the girl next to Tanika, "Violetberry cakes!" Tanika
jumped. She'd seen her parents eat violetberries, and also seen the accompanying
ecstasy on their faces. She easily pictured the graceful coniferous trees on which they
grew.
She picked up a wafer. It was warm, but not with the gentle warmth of the sun.
She put it in her mouth. Dry, sandy... she chewed obediently but sadly. This was it?
Disappointment sank her stomach and she put the cake down, mentally crossing
violetberries off her wishlist forever.
In the end Tanika was made to eat the violetberry cake—all five hunks of it—
before the spectacled man would lead her out the door. Her stomach throbbed all the
way home. That night she crawled into her mother's arms and sobbed. Her mother
rocked her, then whispered something to Tanika's father. He disappeared, and
returned a minute later with an armload of tiny, glowing violetberries.
"It's time," said her mother sweetly, "For your first fresh violetberries."
Her father dangled them teasingly above her lips, but Tanika only cried harder.
The berries' fragrance, though delicate and sweet, clashed with her distended heavy
stomach. She was far too full, and it was violetberries' fault. Both parents teased and
offered, but they finally gave up. Her mother laid Tanika down to rest alone, and the
two adults stood whispering while the moon rose, worry in their voices.
At the cafeteria the next day the adults met Tanika with an unpleasant stare.
"You're making things difficult for yourself," scolded the woman with slick hands,
"Your parents have reported that your attitude at home is not meeting standards for
girls your age. You need to eat much more thoroughly." A girl brought a plate
crowded with dried out, wrinkly little fruits. Tanika ate them, tough and tasteless.
Her stomach hurt again. After they dissected a preserved bushapple, she ate another
tray full of canned gulberry. Then she went back home and slept.
Days passed, and months. Tanika ate obediently and earned lots of stars. There
was a picture of a bright green tree painted on one of the walls, and when the whole
roomful of children ate their food quickly, the adults had them play a game. They
taped three or four cut-out paper fruits to the tree, and then the kids were made to
take turns jumping or reaching to try to take them. Whoever reached a fruit got to
keep it, and also was called a winner and plastered with dozens of gold stars.
One day when the spectacled man walked her home he told her the cafeteria
would be closed for two days for cleaning. He handed her a little white carton and
said, "Be sure to eat all of this while I'm gone, and I'll pick you up in two days."
As he waddled away, a strange inspiration seized Tanika's brain. She touched
her swollen belly and flung the carton away. Out of it tumbled cakes, red mush, hard
little biscuits smelling flatly of labanas.
When she woke the next morning her stomach rumbled and she got up to lookA Nice Little Story 23
for breakfast. Leaving the clearing, she accidentally kicked a biscuit. Out of habit,
she picked it up and almost put it in her mouth, then caught herself and aimed instead
for a bush full of gulberries. Furtively she snatched a handful and crushed them to
her lips. Sweet and wild, they made her want to sing.
Tanika's father saw her then, and called excitedly to her mother. Both of them
ran to their child and squeezed her. "Look what you've learned at the cafeteria!"
cried her mother. "My baby is growing up!"
"Be sure to eat all your homefood," said her father, "So you won't be behind
when you go back." Then his tone of voice changed. "What's that?" he said. He
sprinted off and grabbed up the white carton. Tanika watched in horror as he
searched the orchard floor. A few minutes later he returned with everything—
biscuits, cake, mush.
Tanika ate it all.
The cafeteria opened again and Tanika went back. Every day she ate faster, and
gradually stopped resisting, even in her own mind. One day she reached the highest
paper fruit on the painted tree. All the adults patted her head and she could barely see
her brown skin under all the gold stars. She started walking to the cafeteria every day
by herself. The adults started giving her food for the evenings, and usually she'd eat
it like they said. One day, walking home, she flung her hands to the sky and they
touched, accidentally, a muavo hanging down from its branch. Tanika jumped back.
"I can pick it," she said slowly, "It worked." She thought for a minute. The cooks
had said it would happen, someday, if she ate what they gave her and jumped as high
as she could during the tree game.
Tanika gracefully severed the muavo from its stem, examined it, and tossed it
neatly into a shadow.
She wasn't hungry."

Academics vs. Real Life Rant

Why is it that nobody seems to care what a child has been doing unless it is unmistakingly academic? Why is the "go-to" question for children, "How is school?" Why is it not enough for children to have an intense interest is something that is applicable to real life? Why is Little Johnny considered stupid if he is a master at woodworking instead of English? These are the questions I have.

Recently Samantha started amazingly creative project-all on her own! She found a 2 liter Coke bottle. Simple Plastic 1. She asked if we could recycle it. Lesson in itself....As if that wasn't enough...we brought it home and she decided to upcycle it instead. I had to wash dishes and begin dinner preparations. S helps to cook most nights, but tonight I thought I wouldn't interrupt the explosion of creativity. She quickly got to work, first washing it out, peeling off the label, and then filling it with water. She took streamers from her art closet and tore off pieces, twisting them into fish, placing them in the water one by one. She then tore up 2 other colored streamers and said they were different types of food for the fish. (Can't remember specific names, but I'm sure she would if I asked her.) She fed her fish. Once the "fish" were fed, she named each of them and wrote each name on the side of the "tank," as well as drawing a habitat for the fish on the other side. She has carried that bottle with her the last few days, asking for "fish sitters" when needed, feeding them twice a day, and playing with them. Okay, so maybe sounds a little odd, but she is 5. Those fish are one of the most important parts of her world this week and I respect that. I'm proud of her and I encourage it simply for the initiative she took in creating something new.

But it seems the older she gets, the less people want to hear about the seemingly non academic things my child does. I'm not sure what it is that happens between the ages of 5 and 18....Most of us are "unschooled" as babies, toddlers, and preschoolers if you think about it. As well as after highschool, sometimes college. So why is this age any different? Maybe I should begin to break it down when I describe to others what she did. Maybe they would be more interested. I could say, "S made a fish habitat yesterday. Science was the main goal here. We discussed recycling, upcycling, why Coke and other soft drinks are one of the causes to society's declining health. Then moving on to habitats, discussing fish, fish species, and fish diets, domesticated fish, as well as fish naturally occurring in fresh water and salt water. We continued into Geography by discussing and listing geographical ocean features, an extension sparked by her previous Geography Fair Project. Reading and Spelling were covered when she picked out and spelled names, some with assistance and some without. We discussed names that rhyme and names that are spelled similar to those names. For math, Samantha learned to measure out the water at an angle so that it did not overflow when filling. Not to mention art, creativity and imagination, learning to care for animals...Sha'll. I. Go. On?

So my question is why do we put so much emphasis on academics that we forget what is truly important to a child? And that is play. Play. So simple. Children learn through play. A child's world is play and that doesn't stop at 5. Each child should be recognized and respected for their differences, just like adults.

I have learned so much in my 4 years out of highschool-and simply just because. I have learned in depth about home management, math/budgeting, natural cleaning-technically chemistry, cooking, organic living, gardening, most recently dehydrating foods. I read more. I write more. I get out more. I'm more social. I function better in my World than I even have. I can research well, use the library to its potential, drive even. And other adults listen to my knowledge and talents and take time to discuss them with me. None of those "talents" fall neatly into ONE academic category. Yet, I have benefited from all I have learned and I am respected for it. Why? Because of my age?

Children, if give them the chance for freedom and responsibility early on, will flourish. But we need to encourage them to be themselves and follow God's calling for them in a world where people try to bring each other down and prevent each other from following their path. Let us give them the respect and genuine interest they deserve so that they will not be afraid to show us what they can do.

New Title

In the process of thinking of a new title for this Blog. I think it deserves more. We have done so much this year thanks to our unschooling lifestyle. Homeschooling just doesn't seem to fit anymore.

The Last Year

It's my birthday! And I'm looking back on this last year, just like I do on her birthday. And Wow. It's March 2014. I can't believe it was 8 months ago when we began a whole new style of life. Of course we are still pretty unstructured. (It has been amazing seeing where the day takes us! One morning, totally unexpectedly, it took us to the bank to open an account for Sam, talk about money, check registers, and change. Then to paint pottery pieces for family (with her allowance money), then lunch with Daddy and the playground. Talk about eventful! We didn't even plan to leave the house that day!) Anyway, since August though we have met new people, gone new places, joined new groups, and learned so many new things in new ways! She is growing up fast. One day she is clinging to me. The next (literally) she is running around the playground, sliding down the poles, swinging herself, and doing the monkey bars!

We have our own routine that works right now. Our "active week" is Tuesday-Saturday. Daddy is off Sunday/Monday, so we still learn, but differently.

Tuesday: Volunteer at Pregnancy Center/Gym

Wednesday: Stay Home

Thursday: Gymnastics

Friday: Library Day

Saturday: Stay Home

Monthly we have a CHEA Playdate usially on Friday, a CHEA Fieldtrip or Party, CHEA Nature Group on Wednesday, Lego Club on Thursday, and Volunteer at the local Farm on Friday.

Sam is immersed in several different things right now:

She is working on a lemonade stand. She has made signs, flyers, crafts to sell, product and price lists, things to buy, learned how to profit, learned more about money value and making change....The list goes on.

Her newest interest is piano. Sam has had an undying love for classical music since I can remember. As a toddler, it was all I could find to get her to nap. Still is! When she is tired, she turns on her classical music and falls right to sleep. The result? Sam has memorized dozens of pieces and can recognize hundreds. She loves the composers, the sheet music, the piano, the everything. And would give anything to be able to play it. My 5-1/2 year old wants to play classical music-oh and not to mention learn about the government? I didn't believe those who told me unschool was THIS amazing!

A friend and I are planning to co-op. She would teach piano. And I would do Charlotte Mason style nature study. It would benefit Sam to have someone else teach her and be in a setting like that with friends.

Those are her two main interests-aside from art, writing comic books, that sort of thing...We are also reading Little House still, dabbling in how the government is supposed to function, always practicing gym, and doing little side experiments like making ooze, slime, playing with our new marble roller coaster, or like yesterday, we had a "Recycling Day." Again, that is just where the day lead us. It was a cold day, so we got out Sam's new Recycling Kit and learned how paper is recycled. We did that, then watched videos on it, talked and read about it. Before we knew it, it was time for gym, so we took our Recycling to the Recycling Center before class. Sam found out the WHY and HOW of recycling, something I just assumed she knew about, but didn't. I hope recycling is something that sticks with her through her adult years because she believes in it, not because "Mama said so."

Coming up we have FIELD DAY WITH CHEA!!! Sam is going to love having her own field day. She loved Brennon's last year. Soon after that is Homeschool Day at Lake Winnie. We also have Sam's Homeshow, her first volunteer trip to the farm, first Lego Club meeting...

Seems like yesterday we attended her first Not Back to School picnic. Here we are almost a year later, still learning. Still growing. Still having fun. I am thankful to God for my last year that he has given me to be a Mom. To be a Wife. A teacher. A counselor. And a friend. Life goes by too fast for us to waste it. I hope that I'm able to enjoy and take in this next year as much as the last. I know there will be good and bad, just like every year, but I just keep reminding myself that without the bad, there would be no room for growth, no place for good.

Personal Interests and Learning

One of the most amazing things about children, well, about humans in general, is that we are all so different. And we all have so many different interests that are always changing. Some of those interests-they stick with us for a long time.

If we really tune into those individual interests that we have, we will find out a lot about ourselves and the world around us. As a young child, I had an intense interest in horses. Unfortunately, I didn't receive guidance deeper into learning about them, so I never learned more than what I read in some of my books. And my interest died after a few years of looking at pictures and playing with horse toys, but maybe one day l'll pick it back up... I also had my own business with my brother when I was 9. It was called Sticky Stickers. (We went door to door trying to sell our sticker collection.) I loved art as a child and as I grew older I loved writing also. I wrote books and poems unceasingly. I studies poets like Poe, who was my favorite. I spent endless hours trying to learn his style and everything about him. I was always researching topics such as alchemy, which was sparked by a friend. I studied many other things all on my own, simply because I wanted to know. I wonder, had I had more free time to expand my mind, just how far I would have taken my interests?

S has really grown into a Beautiful young lady who has had no trouble finding herself. She has so many interests and has been able to explore each of those with few restrictions, if any.

S looks forward to gymnastics all week. She goes on Tuesdays and Thursdays for an hour each time and still can't get enough. She has become very dedicated to gym, so we decided to reward her with a trampoline to practice on throughout the Summer and on days she has no class. S will play on that trampoline from sun up to sun down, barring it is above freezing outside. She practices her swivel hips, "seat, doggy, smash," and all kinds of other flips and tricks. The trampoline gives her confidence to practice without a group watching and to try new things without a time limit or being told what to do. She has really improved in class and is moving up to intermediate come Fall. I wonder how far up she will decide to go? 

S really loves Legos too! Well, really she loves any building materials. We use Legos, blocks, Tinker Toys, Mable Rollercoaster pieces-with gears, paper, cotton swabs, bobby pins, popsicle sticks....There are endless materials and endless opportunities! When we build, her mind is constantly working and problem solving. She is experimenting to see what looks best where. And why doesn't that fit? What would? Build, Build, Build. She could do it for hours. The more she builds and older she gets, the more intricate her designs are. We often use Minecraft as a resource. It is in fact not as mindless and most parents think. Even virtual building is building. And you have infinite materials-in Creative Mode that is. She can experiment with different colors and decide whether she wants wood or stone. Should she build a lake or lava pit beside her new house? Are those creepers? Ah! Oh, the possibilities.

Building is a form of art and S is also an artist like I was. We can't keep stuff off the walls! We empty the refrigerator one day. The next day it is full of new creations! She is bursting with ideas. Sometimes she makes simple pictures. Other times she makes signs for the doors. (Each bathroom in our house now has its own male/female sign.) Other days she drags out all her stuff from the closet and sees what she can do. (She enjoys making 1st Place ribbons from coffer filters.) We have homemade necklaces, still life drawings, paintings, pastel art...She really enjoys using her professional art kit, complete with full size easel to see what she can make. Art is a way for her to experiment with color, space, and scenes of any kind.

S is also a writer. She loves to write books, comics, and songs. She just began spelling on her own fluently. (She still needs my help on words, but she can spell most simple words on her own.) Any who, it makes her feel a million times more confident that she can do most if it without help. So she just writes away. Her comics are always written with elaborate drawings and minimal dialogue. Books are filled with a plethora of words AND pictures. Then we write the songs as something to do together, complete with music notes!

Speaking of music, S also loves classical music, always has, and has expressed an interest in playing the piano. Right now we are keeping it at one activity, gymnastics, on top of CHEA-which has several extras we attend: play dates, field trips, parties, nature group...not to mention volunteering at two places, weekly trips to the library, etc. She needs down time for exploring outside, getting together with friends that aren't in CHEA, and following other interests, such as the most recent interest in starting a lemonade stand business....I digress. Classical music expands the mind, so I will always encourage it. We will see where this love takes her and go from there as she gets older.

Well, that's my S. She is a tree climbing, nature and animal loving, active, artist, little girl. I'm taking in every minute of her once in a lifetime childhood and trying to encourage every bit I can...afford. ;)

What is Gifted Anyway?

For 13 years I kept my eye on the gold. For 13 years I strove to be the best, no matter what it took. Sometimes with success. Sometimes to no avail. Failure, however, was no option. That is, failing my teachers, my school, and my family. At any cost, I would reach the goal that had been set for me since birth. What about my goals for me? Did I even have any or were these just the goals I thought I wanted to reach. I am green with envy for those "rebels" who fought for what they knew THEY wanted. I digress.

I was labeled gifted at the earliest age they could "test." Placed in gifted classes, a class that set me apart from the whole school, set special expectations for me, and made me feel, well-superior. I liked it. I was "smart" and I knew it. What is smart anyway?

I graduated early, in 2009, in the top 5% of my class-with honors, and with a baby to boot! I reached the line I had been racing for since I was 5 years old. I still felt-superior, to be perfectly honest, but the satisfaction in that was really less than anticipated. Now what?

The next step was seemingly obvious. College. But somehow college didn't give me that fulfillment I was looking for. I was running in circles, doing the same stuff I had done the last 13 years. Is there any end to this? We as humans, are on a never ending quest, for knowledge, but was this knowledge? I was a duck with an injured foot, trying to swim in water, but not getting anywhere. I wanted real knowledge. I wanted more than what you could find in your text book. So...I quit. WHAT??!!! "BLASPHEMY!" They said.

I am not a student. But without a college education, I am a writer. I am a speaker. I am a counselor. I am a researcher. A gardener. A cook. A Mom. And an amazing teacher.

And I learned all this by myself and with the gentle guidance of others. I learned it without any special labels or being made to feel superior or inferior. I made my own goals and my own time frames. I didn't have a set of gifted curriculum. I simply did things...my way. I reached where I wanted to be and I either kept going, delving deeper into my studies or I got what I needed-and stopped.

And I realize now, labels are nothing. Labels are based off a test or by our learning styles. What we are labeled is for some crazy, messed up reason, sets the course for our lives. It dictates our self worth. Our goals. And even our outcomes.

So what is gifted anyway? It isn't really a title we take with us when we leave school. In fact, it never benefited me at all after graduation. If anything, it was the reason I felt like such a failure when I left college. Or when I made a B. Or messed up. But I'm gifted. How could this be? Gifted didn't mean invincible, but I had been molded to think it did...

So what do we do with this information? I think we drop the human standards that we hold ourselves up to and look in the mirror. Find out what we want for ourselves? What did God plan for us to become? We could think on that for awhile...

So in the famous words of author David H. Albert, just do these things..."Have Fun. Learn Stuff. Grow."

Pictures From Farm-Last Post

Oops. Will post VDay Party later. They aren't on my phone anymore.