Talk Feeleez

A Love Story

When I gave birth to Echo I didn't know how it would be. I'd never been a birth mother before. I knew that I would love her unbelievably, that I already did. I knew I wanted to parent her well, to love her parental-ly in ways that would feel good to her, and in turn good to me. And I knew I wanted to be with her.

When she was little this meant holding her at all times possible, which was all the time. It was her preference, clearly, and her body next to mine, her tiny heart beating next to my bigger one, brought pleasure beyond belief. I held her even when my back went numb. I held her until my muscles became steel. I held her even when I was tired and even when it felt ridiculous.

We stayed close, physically close. Every day. And our hearts followed suit. 

I gave myself to her.

She also gave herself to me.

Of course I didn't know what these goals- of loving her in ways that felt good and being with her as much as possible- would look like beyond those chubby-edible-legs days. I had no idea. But it turns out I didn't have to know. With our hearts knitted together with sturdy yet elastic string, our bodies and minds just knew what to do, when to stretch and when to huddle near. 

We are still close five years later.

I wake up with her hands in my hair. I pee with her chattering voice in my ear. I swim with her shiny face bobbing before me. I cook dinner while timing her run from the front door to the back. 

And of course I didn't know that when fall came around that fifth year, and other children toddled down the street to their first day of kindergarten, that my little girl wouldn't; that she'd stay with me, that we'd stay together even in learning. Nor that I'd love it so. I knew I'd love being with her, of course, but I didn't know how much I would love watching her brain unfold, escorting her through learning to read, or counting by tens.

I didn't know that our love could get any bigger or denser, but of course it did, of course it can. 

Last week we read The Glorious Flight and studied poetic descriptions. Echo wrote some of her own, including one about me.

Blue sparkling eyes.

Her lips are like the sunset.

Her love for me spreads through herself.

I never want her to die.

Hair like a beautiful, smooth, shining forest.

I am so thankful it continues; the journey of stretching and strengthening heartstrings, the exploration of how to love one another in ways that feel good, the unfolding of years.

 

Her Brain in my Hands

When strangers meet my daughter they always ask her if she started school this year, to which she promptly answers: no.

That's it! That's all she says. The person shifts uncomfortably, suddenly thrust out of the comfort zone of kindergarten talk and into this no-man's-land of "not going to school". I shift uncomfortably too, torn between not saying anything, since what does it matter anyway, and tempering the awkwardness by explaining we are homeschooling instead. Then, after a few beats, when I start to worry that they think I am a negligent mother the homeschooling words burst from my lips like a jack-in-the-box.

Ah, public opinion, the eternal menacing shadow.

I am human so I have anxiety. When it comes to homeschooling I have multiple levels of anxiety. 

1. Other people. I worry about what other people think. Some think homeschooling is the bees knees and that Echo is a lucky duck. Other's think it's not really educational and that we're doing our child a diservice. Others don't know what it is at all and have corresponding feelings to that. And even others feel judged, judged for not being "supermom" enough to do that sort of thing. The point is that everyone has an opinion and I can feel that opinion coming off them in waves. Sometimes I'm good at staying centered and feeling fine, other times I stumble a little.

2. It's new to me. Well, not exactly. We homeschooled Xi until she was seven when she started at the Montessori school but somehow I've forgotten all about that.

3. I want to do it well! After all a child's education is involved here. Some days that can feel like a very big job.

When our little friends were packing lunches and taking "first day of school" photos last week we were speeding past hay pastures on our way to the Colorado wedding, not a school reference in sight. This felt free-ing, yeah for homeschool where you can go to Colorado instead of a classroom!, but I also felt terribly aware of the start of school phenomena happening all over the country. To help myself feel more official I set the monday of our return as "first day" of "school" at our house.

I am so silly.

I'm silly because the whole point is that school is happening constantly. Echo is a whole person, and as such she is continuously looking to better understand her world, to follow her interests, and gather the information that her brain craves. I'm silly because her brain has in no way been on summer vacation and it wasn't going to suddenly act differently or need different things when monday came around.

I realized this when, on sunday, the day before school officially began Echo started collecting and talking about seeds. We gathered some from the riverside, some from our garden, and some from our food. Soon we had tape and a chart. A chart!

So school-like.

There was a part of me that felt bummed we did something so official the day before school started! That's what's silly: We already are learning. We already are teaching. All I have to do is keep it up. Easy!

The other thing I realized is that this homeschooling (also called unschooling when you follow the child's interest more than a curriculum) gig really is simply a matter of saying "yes" more often. When Echo wanted to make a seed chart I said yes because I have this whole chunk of my mind now reserved for "school". I have made mental room to help her more. When I was typing away at the computer and she wanted to use the feather she found as a quill I stopped typing and rumaged around until I found bottles of ink. I'm willing to be interrupted in the name of brain development!

 

So, needless to say I have less anxiety now. Phew.

And then on the official first day of kindergarten Echo made not a single chart.

• She defended 35 stuffed animal dogs from an imaginary bear, yelling "Resurrection! Resurection!" to scare the beast away. I have no idea where she picked up that particular vocab word.
• She rode her bike back and forth for an hour.
• She set up an elaborate mud and water scene on the front steps.
• She sold bathwater tea to her father for most of the evening.

Okay, we also read several stories, including many chapters of Harry Potter 3. She counted a gazillion things. She pondered big life questions. The point is is that her brain was working overtime. 

We're going to be just fine.