You were a big, stupid, gentle soul, and we loved you. Good night, and sleep tight, boof. We'll see you again one day soon. xx
Sunday, 27 May 2012
Sleep Tight, Zep
Today, we put to sleep our Labrador Retriever, Zep.
You were a big, stupid, gentle soul, and we loved you. Good night, and sleep tight, boof. We'll see you again one day soon. xx
You were a big, stupid, gentle soul, and we loved you. Good night, and sleep tight, boof. We'll see you again one day soon. xx
Monday, 14 May 2012
Trust
Today's musing is about trust - sparked by a wonderful little unschooling incident which reminded me why it is so important to TRUST that learning will always ...no...is always happening for your child.
Niamh has been really into the Happy Feet movies, lately. I think I know them both off by heart, including all the songs, and most of the dance moves. She does too, although her versions of the songs are as detailed as her comprehenion of the words she thinks she hears - and thus are 95% wrong, and endearing beyond belief. I spend half the movie hiding around the corner with my fist shoved in my mouth while she sings her own versions of the songs, loudly and proudly as any two year old can.
As any mother who has been forced to watch and/or listen to countless repeat performances of any G rated movie, however, no matter how much you enjoyed it the first time (or even first four or five times), I must admit to a teeeeeeensy bit of resignation every time she requests it be played. And by "resignation," I of course refer to the kind of resignation that prompts one to go to the shed, retrieve any item designed to pulverise and smash the heavy end of said tool repeatedly on the offending receptacle of entertainment.
Anyway. In a rare lull during repeats last week, I managed to drag Niamh away from the tv and to the shops, where she promptly found - joy of joys - a small orange and white box, upon which (yay marketing!) was a picture of one of the penguins from Happy Feet 2. Negotiations ensued, and Niamh ended up the owner of said box, and its contents...which in this instance happened to contain three chocolate eggs with toys insides. Specifically, toy figurines from the Happy Feet movies. She has quite a collection, now. They watch the movies together, and she re-enacts scenes using the figurines. And I still stand around the corner, with my fist shoved in my mouth, because it appears that none of the figurines know the words to any of the songs in the movies either.
So stricken, earlier today, I heard plastic Mumble say to plastic Erik, something that made me prick up my ears and realise I was over-simplifying things. "Nooo, Erik," said plastic Mumble. "You're an Emperor Penguin. You have black feet. Sven is a puffin. He has orange feet."
Huh? thinks I. I never noticed that! (I checked google, by the way, and yes, she is correct!) But Mumble wasn't done yet. "Puffins don't live in Antarctica," plastic Mumble told plastic Erik. "They're Arctic birds. That's north. Antarctica is south."
There was suddenly a lot more room for my fist in my mouth, because my jaw had fallen on the floor. But there you have it. And so I bring this all neatly back to trust. And if I am to self-reflect on this whole experience, I have to admit I had forgotten all about it. While I was busy mentally smashing the Happy Feet disk into a thousand pieces, and worrying about being a bad mother for buying my child enough chocolate penguin-figurine-containing eggs to keep the Bunny out of business for several years to come, Niamh was busy learning a little bit more about our world. Her teachers? Two animated movies, and a box of cheap chocolate eggs.
Learning is always happening. Sometimes, you just have get your fist out of your mouth and put your trust back in your child.
Niamh has been really into the Happy Feet movies, lately. I think I know them both off by heart, including all the songs, and most of the dance moves. She does too, although her versions of the songs are as detailed as her comprehenion of the words she thinks she hears - and thus are 95% wrong, and endearing beyond belief. I spend half the movie hiding around the corner with my fist shoved in my mouth while she sings her own versions of the songs, loudly and proudly as any two year old can.
As any mother who has been forced to watch and/or listen to countless repeat performances of any G rated movie, however, no matter how much you enjoyed it the first time (or even first four or five times), I must admit to a teeeeeeensy bit of resignation every time she requests it be played. And by "resignation," I of course refer to the kind of resignation that prompts one to go to the shed, retrieve any item designed to pulverise and smash the heavy end of said tool repeatedly on the offending receptacle of entertainment.
Anyway. In a rare lull during repeats last week, I managed to drag Niamh away from the tv and to the shops, where she promptly found - joy of joys - a small orange and white box, upon which (yay marketing!) was a picture of one of the penguins from Happy Feet 2. Negotiations ensued, and Niamh ended up the owner of said box, and its contents...which in this instance happened to contain three chocolate eggs with toys insides. Specifically, toy figurines from the Happy Feet movies. She has quite a collection, now. They watch the movies together, and she re-enacts scenes using the figurines. And I still stand around the corner, with my fist shoved in my mouth, because it appears that none of the figurines know the words to any of the songs in the movies either.
So stricken, earlier today, I heard plastic Mumble say to plastic Erik, something that made me prick up my ears and realise I was over-simplifying things. "Nooo, Erik," said plastic Mumble. "You're an Emperor Penguin. You have black feet. Sven is a puffin. He has orange feet."
Huh? thinks I. I never noticed that! (I checked google, by the way, and yes, she is correct!) But Mumble wasn't done yet. "Puffins don't live in Antarctica," plastic Mumble told plastic Erik. "They're Arctic birds. That's north. Antarctica is south."
There was suddenly a lot more room for my fist in my mouth, because my jaw had fallen on the floor. But there you have it. And so I bring this all neatly back to trust. And if I am to self-reflect on this whole experience, I have to admit I had forgotten all about it. While I was busy mentally smashing the Happy Feet disk into a thousand pieces, and worrying about being a bad mother for buying my child enough chocolate penguin-figurine-containing eggs to keep the Bunny out of business for several years to come, Niamh was busy learning a little bit more about our world. Her teachers? Two animated movies, and a box of cheap chocolate eggs.
Learning is always happening. Sometimes, you just have get your fist out of your mouth and put your trust back in your child.
Friday, 11 May 2012
Patience
Patience is something I've never been particularly good at. And, I've discovered, it's not really something I have been particularly good at learning, either. Despite many, many opportunities having presented themselves to me, I remain sadly lacking in the acquisition of patience department. In fact, given that I have Niamh to compare myself to, I can now safely say I have the patience of a two year old.
A lot of things have been happening here, lately. Not many of them pleasant, but with the ups of life must, I suppose, come the downs. One HUGE up is that Niamh and I will soon be moving to northern Antarctica (aka Tasmania). A very sweet little farm and a welcoming community of gorgeous unschoolers await us there, and I have been assured - by my duck-mad and rather persistent offspring - that many, many ducks will soon be quacking their way into our future...(and if I get MY way, into a pot...in my oven. Mmm...duck...)
Waiting for all this to come to fruition is hard. And I'm not getting ANY better at being patient, despite the fact I have no choice.
Anyway, enough about all that for now (though watch this space for more news!). What has Niamh been up to lately?
She has been learning how to fix the reticulation
Creating her own sense of style
Dancing (with ducks)
Drawing (ducks)
Archaeology (with dinosaurs!)
Making an ice cave for her toys to explore
Making a solar system model
And just generally living life as only a 2 year old does!
Come to think of it, I have way LESS patience than a two year old.
A lot of things have been happening here, lately. Not many of them pleasant, but with the ups of life must, I suppose, come the downs. One HUGE up is that Niamh and I will soon be moving to northern Antarctica (aka Tasmania). A very sweet little farm and a welcoming community of gorgeous unschoolers await us there, and I have been assured - by my duck-mad and rather persistent offspring - that many, many ducks will soon be quacking their way into our future...(and if I get MY way, into a pot...in my oven. Mmm...duck...)
Waiting for all this to come to fruition is hard. And I'm not getting ANY better at being patient, despite the fact I have no choice.
Anyway, enough about all that for now (though watch this space for more news!). What has Niamh been up to lately?
She has been learning how to fix the reticulation
Creating her own sense of style
Dancing (with ducks)
Drawing (ducks)
Archaeology (with dinosaurs!)
Making an ice cave for her toys to explore
Making a solar system model
And just generally living life as only a 2 year old does!
Come to think of it, I have way LESS patience than a two year old.
Friday, 20 January 2012
*Cough*
I am still alive...
...just very, very lazy.
I have (at last count) about a billion things to update here, but, well...LAZY. It speaks so succinctly for itself.
Okay. If I may just waive the white flag of innocence for a moment. "Lazy" is the word I have chosen to describe the 24 hour a day, 7 day a week, unassisted mothering of a very engaged 2.5 year old who has apparently taken my daring to sit before this other-worldly portal as some sort of personal insult of the highest and most severe degree - thus limiting my available blogging hours to those between her falling asleep and my carrying her to bed (ie, ZERO).
Okay. So not exactly zero, either. Because, if I'm to be truthful, there is that hour or so after she falls asleep and BEFORE I ferry her to bed...that self-same, blissful, peaceful, duck-free hour during which the white, ungainly blancmange I am so displeased to call my body and I, prostrate and mentally weak with the constant pressure to come up with the answers to all things beginning with "Why...?", am lying on the couch and mindlessly watching television (documentaries, I swear!!). I could choose to give up this sweet, precious, restful hour to blogging. I could choose to allocate this hour to vouchsafing the particulars of my day to you, the wonderful few who dare to follow my pointless ramblings. I could choose to conjur up the effort required to wax erudite...intelligent...even daringly political on subjects vital to my heart such as unschooling and treating children with respectful consent. I could also choose to spear out my own eyes with shards of glass. Because, at the end of the day, I WANT to be lazy. I enjoy being lazy. I have EARNED being lazy.
You mothers will understand what I mean. It's the kind of laziness that you will defend - suddenly and even terrifyingly against any non-combatant ideals to which you loftily aspire - to the talon-bearing, teeth-gnashing, telephone-ripping-off-the-wall, husband-daring-to-ask-you-if-you-want-a-coffee-heavy-pot-stoving-in-the-head-of, death. It's lazy with a capital "get the hell out of my way, I'm a mother and I've had enough of every other human on this planet who might possibly want something from me at this moment and I'm bloody well doing NOTHING or I'll kill you." It's where lazy wishes it could go for its holidays. If it was brave enough. Or lazy enough. It's the kind of lazy where normal lazy takes a few, rather drunken steps backwards, holds up its lazy hands in supplication and say, "Whooaaa, mate. I don't want any trouble here. I'll maybe catch you later."
I could go on. But the above-mentioned lazy (the one currently holding a weapon to my head and smiling at me in a bright, "let's chat" kind of way) has informed me that I have a date with the couch. Maybe even a freddo frog.
Laziness is in the eye of the beholder. As long as those eyes are mine, and the mouth below them is filled with chocolate, anyone who has a problem with laziness can go...do something incredibly amazing and sporty and tell me about it later. There's napping to be done.
...just very, very lazy.
I have (at last count) about a billion things to update here, but, well...LAZY. It speaks so succinctly for itself.
Okay. If I may just waive the white flag of innocence for a moment. "Lazy" is the word I have chosen to describe the 24 hour a day, 7 day a week, unassisted mothering of a very engaged 2.5 year old who has apparently taken my daring to sit before this other-worldly portal as some sort of personal insult of the highest and most severe degree - thus limiting my available blogging hours to those between her falling asleep and my carrying her to bed (ie, ZERO).
Okay. So not exactly zero, either. Because, if I'm to be truthful, there is that hour or so after she falls asleep and BEFORE I ferry her to bed...that self-same, blissful, peaceful, duck-free hour during which the white, ungainly blancmange I am so displeased to call my body and I, prostrate and mentally weak with the constant pressure to come up with the answers to all things beginning with "Why...?", am lying on the couch and mindlessly watching television (documentaries, I swear!!). I could choose to give up this sweet, precious, restful hour to blogging. I could choose to allocate this hour to vouchsafing the particulars of my day to you, the wonderful few who dare to follow my pointless ramblings. I could choose to conjur up the effort required to wax erudite...intelligent...even daringly political on subjects vital to my heart such as unschooling and treating children with respectful consent. I could also choose to spear out my own eyes with shards of glass. Because, at the end of the day, I WANT to be lazy. I enjoy being lazy. I have EARNED being lazy.
You mothers will understand what I mean. It's the kind of laziness that you will defend - suddenly and even terrifyingly against any non-combatant ideals to which you loftily aspire - to the talon-bearing, teeth-gnashing, telephone-ripping-off-the-wall, husband-daring-to-ask-you-if-you-want-a-coffee-heavy-pot-stoving-in-the-head-of, death. It's lazy with a capital "get the hell out of my way, I'm a mother and I've had enough of every other human on this planet who might possibly want something from me at this moment and I'm bloody well doing NOTHING or I'll kill you." It's where lazy wishes it could go for its holidays. If it was brave enough. Or lazy enough. It's the kind of lazy where normal lazy takes a few, rather drunken steps backwards, holds up its lazy hands in supplication and say, "Whooaaa, mate. I don't want any trouble here. I'll maybe catch you later."
I could go on. But the above-mentioned lazy (the one currently holding a weapon to my head and smiling at me in a bright, "let's chat" kind of way) has informed me that I have a date with the couch. Maybe even a freddo frog.
Laziness is in the eye of the beholder. As long as those eyes are mine, and the mouth below them is filled with chocolate, anyone who has a problem with laziness can go...do something incredibly amazing and sporty and tell me about it later. There's napping to be done.
Thursday, 15 September 2011
Long Time, No See
Phew. It's been a while since I've updated here, hasn't it? I'd love to be able to report that so much has happened. But really, life has just chugged along its fairly familiar path, as it so often is apt to do while leaving us feeling busy, swamped and plain worn out - despite the fact that, upon reflection, we really have nothing to show for ourselves...
I hope you like the title of this blog. It came to me as one of those unnoticed idioms which you dismiss as a superficial attempt at humour, but only afterwards realise your brain was actually trying to send you a message. But we'll get back to that in a minute...
We have been doing a lot of soul-searching lately, on a lot of subjects. Top of the list is currently the kind of life we want for our beautiful daughter. You see, for a long time, I didn't see. Well, I thought I saw. Don't we all? The part of me that likes to be right (which is, let's face it, the most ME part of me), was pretty convinced that what I was looking at was the whole picture. You know, kind of like looking through a window from a short distance away...you might see open fields and clear skies and think, "I see the world out there," but really, you're only seeing a small piece of an infinitely larger reality - a chunk, a 'glimpse' as those in real estate like to put it (and we all know what that means when we read it, right!). What you're really seeing, frankly, is a hell of a lot of wall and glass and, if you're lucky, a splash of colour which, in time, you may come to call "the whole world," because you've forgotten that any more of it exists than what you can see. (Seeing is believing, anyone?)
As so many adults do (and have been trained since childhood to do), I mistook the view for the destination. I wanted so much to believe in that view, too, because hell, it was the ONLY view, after all. When you're faced with so much wall, a window is a lovely thing. A refreshing possibility...the potential for a greater existence.
For a long time, I have loved the window. Justifiably so. It is easy to lose oneself in a beautiful view. Windows offer potential, too. The view itself can prompt much discussion, thought and planning. It can take you in directions you hadn't previously planned. Nothing better than a glimpse of what lies just over there to interest you enough to want to start a journey...to get you up out of your chair and really study the view.
The great thing about windows (I'm going to run with this theme today...I like it a lot!) is that they offer more than just a pretty prospect. They let in light. You can open them up and breathe clean, sweet air...air that fills you up and cleanses your mind and smells of things you never dreamed existed. And if you only dare poke your head outside...wow! What a world! What a universe! And all that is required to explore it is to pluck up the courage to unlock that big, imposing door and take your first tentative steps forward.
And in that spirit, and with all the hopes, fears and excitement of explorers in a brilliant new land, so we have taken our first tentative steps into the world Radical Unschooling. Already, it feels so right that I wonder why I was ever content with just the window.
Long time, no see.
But the view is SO worth the wait!
I hope you like the title of this blog. It came to me as one of those unnoticed idioms which you dismiss as a superficial attempt at humour, but only afterwards realise your brain was actually trying to send you a message. But we'll get back to that in a minute...
We have been doing a lot of soul-searching lately, on a lot of subjects. Top of the list is currently the kind of life we want for our beautiful daughter. You see, for a long time, I didn't see. Well, I thought I saw. Don't we all? The part of me that likes to be right (which is, let's face it, the most ME part of me), was pretty convinced that what I was looking at was the whole picture. You know, kind of like looking through a window from a short distance away...you might see open fields and clear skies and think, "I see the world out there," but really, you're only seeing a small piece of an infinitely larger reality - a chunk, a 'glimpse' as those in real estate like to put it (and we all know what that means when we read it, right!). What you're really seeing, frankly, is a hell of a lot of wall and glass and, if you're lucky, a splash of colour which, in time, you may come to call "the whole world," because you've forgotten that any more of it exists than what you can see. (Seeing is believing, anyone?)
As so many adults do (and have been trained since childhood to do), I mistook the view for the destination. I wanted so much to believe in that view, too, because hell, it was the ONLY view, after all. When you're faced with so much wall, a window is a lovely thing. A refreshing possibility...the potential for a greater existence.
For a long time, I have loved the window. Justifiably so. It is easy to lose oneself in a beautiful view. Windows offer potential, too. The view itself can prompt much discussion, thought and planning. It can take you in directions you hadn't previously planned. Nothing better than a glimpse of what lies just over there to interest you enough to want to start a journey...to get you up out of your chair and really study the view.
The great thing about windows (I'm going to run with this theme today...I like it a lot!) is that they offer more than just a pretty prospect. They let in light. You can open them up and breathe clean, sweet air...air that fills you up and cleanses your mind and smells of things you never dreamed existed. And if you only dare poke your head outside...wow! What a world! What a universe! And all that is required to explore it is to pluck up the courage to unlock that big, imposing door and take your first tentative steps forward.
And in that spirit, and with all the hopes, fears and excitement of explorers in a brilliant new land, so we have taken our first tentative steps into the world Radical Unschooling. Already, it feels so right that I wonder why I was ever content with just the window.
Long time, no see.
But the view is SO worth the wait!
Sunday, 31 July 2011
Colour Month? No! Colour Life!
I've had a rethink on the whole "Colour Month" idea. Why confine it to one month? Why not one lifetime? One can live a whole lifetime and not see ALL the colours there are to see, after all.
Roll on, Colour Life!
I have ummed and ahhed about what to write here the last few days ("dithered" maybe a better word - or, if I am to be honest, "procrastinated"). Ever known where you wanted to go, but weren't sure how to get there? And I don't mean which route to take...well, I do...but I also mean the method; do you go by car, or bus, or train...or should you walk, or run...or hey, why not ride a horse...or a unicycle? What if you really did know how to get there, but instead of just beginning the journey, you spent time dithering (my word for to today - it sounds so much more fun than procrastinated, or avoided) around getting in and out of your car, maybe taking the bus for one stop only, then walking back to where you started only to trip over the horse on your way to getting out your unicycle?
What if, after all that, you realised you were actually where you needed to be, and all you needed to do in the first place was to open your eyes and see that you were there? And what you really needed most to do was to put the car keys away, tear up your bus pass and just trust that, you know what? You are already living the journey.
It all sounds very philosophical, if you let it. But it sums up a lot of what has been going on around here, for real, in the past few days. Well, for much longer, even, than that...but perhaps the last few days has seen us reach a turning point. Or a learning point. Hehehe.
Sometimes, trusting that you will arrive at your destination is as hard as taking that first step - whether that step be inside yourself, or against the external stream. Sometimes, that same fear is so exciting that you HAVE to take that step. You can't not take it. Even if you have no idea where you're going. Because you know it's right anyway. You know it's where you should always have been heading...even where you've always been, although you never knew the name of the town.
I think the next few weeks will see us consolidate many ideas, dreams and philosophies into something huge. It may not be to everyone's tastes. And that's okay. I can only ask that you choose openness and curiosity over close-mindedness and fear.
Life, after all, is awash with many colours. But only a very few of those are named in the rainbow we physically see. Perhaps the reason no one ever finds that little pot of gold is because it was all around us to begin with, rather than hidden at the edge of a fleeting band of fading colour in the sky.
Roll on, Colour Life!
I have ummed and ahhed about what to write here the last few days ("dithered" maybe a better word - or, if I am to be honest, "procrastinated"). Ever known where you wanted to go, but weren't sure how to get there? And I don't mean which route to take...well, I do...but I also mean the method; do you go by car, or bus, or train...or should you walk, or run...or hey, why not ride a horse...or a unicycle? What if you really did know how to get there, but instead of just beginning the journey, you spent time dithering (my word for to today - it sounds so much more fun than procrastinated, or avoided) around getting in and out of your car, maybe taking the bus for one stop only, then walking back to where you started only to trip over the horse on your way to getting out your unicycle?
What if, after all that, you realised you were actually where you needed to be, and all you needed to do in the first place was to open your eyes and see that you were there? And what you really needed most to do was to put the car keys away, tear up your bus pass and just trust that, you know what? You are already living the journey.
It all sounds very philosophical, if you let it. But it sums up a lot of what has been going on around here, for real, in the past few days. Well, for much longer, even, than that...but perhaps the last few days has seen us reach a turning point. Or a learning point. Hehehe.
Sometimes, trusting that you will arrive at your destination is as hard as taking that first step - whether that step be inside yourself, or against the external stream. Sometimes, that same fear is so exciting that you HAVE to take that step. You can't not take it. Even if you have no idea where you're going. Because you know it's right anyway. You know it's where you should always have been heading...even where you've always been, although you never knew the name of the town.
I think the next few weeks will see us consolidate many ideas, dreams and philosophies into something huge. It may not be to everyone's tastes. And that's okay. I can only ask that you choose openness and curiosity over close-mindedness and fear.
Life, after all, is awash with many colours. But only a very few of those are named in the rainbow we physically see. Perhaps the reason no one ever finds that little pot of gold is because it was all around us to begin with, rather than hidden at the edge of a fleeting band of fading colour in the sky.
Thursday, 28 July 2011
Life Is Lumpy
"Life is lumpy: let it be." - Sandra Dodd.
Niamh was napping on my lap, the way she has done since she was born. I was reading. And, I am sorry to admit it, feeling a bit resentful of the distinct lack of me-time I've had...well...for a long time. Feeling ashamedly resentful towards a certain little someone, who through no fault of her own happened to be born into my world, and who without doubt did not deserve the negativity flowing her way.
Things have been a bit flat the last few days. Niamh hasn't really been into any activities, and I somehow haven't been able to muster the energy to make her world more fun. Well, I did create a few activities for her, but she wasn't into any of them...and although that's perfectly okay with me, I was feeling a bit hard done-by. You know how it goes. I think a slow, sad violin might be playing for me, somewhere...
Realising I was in need of some mental refreshment, I pulled two well-read books from the shelf before being pinned to the lounge for the duration. (I say "well-read"...but not necessarily always well-remembered!!) One was Naomi Aldort's wonderful Raising Our Children; Raising Ourselves, and the other was Sandra Dodd's Big Book of Unschooling. I flicked open Sandra's first, and the above quote leapt off the page at me. Really at me. It got me right between the eyes...and thank god, it buried itself right in. (Yes, occasionally snippets of information do make it into the inner sanctum. Usually only once they have solved the infamous "two brothers" riddle and braved the labrynth, though...)
I can't quite describe the feeling. It was a combination of relief, embarrassment (at my self-centredness), calm, truth, peace, and a whole heap of "well, duh," aimed squarely in my own direction. I think, though I'm not entirely sure...but I think there was a slapping sound, as it connected.
Without wanting to wax too lyrical (oh, what the hell!), it was like a great big, warm, blankety hug for my soul. Ahhhhhhhhh!
Life is lumpy. Let it be. I'm going to type it again (for my own therapy...skip over it, if you think you've already got it!). "Life is lumpy; let it be."
Not every day is perfect. Not every moment is memorable. Perfection is never perfect. And you know what? That's okay! Fighting it only makes you miserable. You can choose to be miserable, of course. But that's your choice. Hard to feel victimised if you refuse to be the victim...
A lot of Sandra's book spoke to me today. And I'm grateful for it. It has helped ease my mind a little, and to clear a little of the fog from the path at my feet. I'm not saying it doesn't lead up to some pretty intimidating mountains...and it's kind of rocky and unkempt. But at least there is a path.
The best teacher is the one who recognises that they are as much the student. The best teachers in the world are those who never try to teach, but who support others to learn for themselves.
Niamh was napping on my lap, the way she has done since she was born. I was reading. And, I am sorry to admit it, feeling a bit resentful of the distinct lack of me-time I've had...well...for a long time. Feeling ashamedly resentful towards a certain little someone, who through no fault of her own happened to be born into my world, and who without doubt did not deserve the negativity flowing her way.
Things have been a bit flat the last few days. Niamh hasn't really been into any activities, and I somehow haven't been able to muster the energy to make her world more fun. Well, I did create a few activities for her, but she wasn't into any of them...and although that's perfectly okay with me, I was feeling a bit hard done-by. You know how it goes. I think a slow, sad violin might be playing for me, somewhere...
Realising I was in need of some mental refreshment, I pulled two well-read books from the shelf before being pinned to the lounge for the duration. (I say "well-read"...but not necessarily always well-remembered!!) One was Naomi Aldort's wonderful Raising Our Children; Raising Ourselves, and the other was Sandra Dodd's Big Book of Unschooling. I flicked open Sandra's first, and the above quote leapt off the page at me. Really at me. It got me right between the eyes...and thank god, it buried itself right in. (Yes, occasionally snippets of information do make it into the inner sanctum. Usually only once they have solved the infamous "two brothers" riddle and braved the labrynth, though...)
I can't quite describe the feeling. It was a combination of relief, embarrassment (at my self-centredness), calm, truth, peace, and a whole heap of "well, duh," aimed squarely in my own direction. I think, though I'm not entirely sure...but I think there was a slapping sound, as it connected.
Without wanting to wax too lyrical (oh, what the hell!), it was like a great big, warm, blankety hug for my soul. Ahhhhhhhhh!
Life is lumpy. Let it be. I'm going to type it again (for my own therapy...skip over it, if you think you've already got it!). "Life is lumpy; let it be."
Not every day is perfect. Not every moment is memorable. Perfection is never perfect. And you know what? That's okay! Fighting it only makes you miserable. You can choose to be miserable, of course. But that's your choice. Hard to feel victimised if you refuse to be the victim...
A lot of Sandra's book spoke to me today. And I'm grateful for it. It has helped ease my mind a little, and to clear a little of the fog from the path at my feet. I'm not saying it doesn't lead up to some pretty intimidating mountains...and it's kind of rocky and unkempt. But at least there is a path.
The best teacher is the one who recognises that they are as much the student. The best teachers in the world are those who never try to teach, but who support others to learn for themselves.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)