Whole Life Learning

Just through living our normal lives together, and Rowan constantly asking questions and constantly receiving answers from me, I have noticed that as a side effect he is learning some quite 'academic' stuff.

He is learning his numbers mainly through us getting buses all over the place. Buses always have numbers on the front, and Rowan now recognises which is our bus home from town, for instance, by the number on the front. While we are waiting in the bus station he is always asking what numbers the buses are and where they are going. He now has quite intimate knowledge of the numbers 27, 6, 13, 14, 1 and 2, as they are the ones we see and catch most often. There is a frieze in our hallway of the numbers 1-10 that has been there since Rowan was born. I've never tried to get him interested in it or draw his attention to it in any way. Like everything else in our house and surrounding environment, it's just there, and whether he ever decides to show an interest is entirely up to him. Yesterday he ran up to it all excited, and wanted me to tell him what it was. So of course I told him. Rowan really seems to like numbers and I think he prefers them to letters, as he usually calls letters numbers too. "Number" seems to be his default definition for any written symbol at the moment.

In a similar way he is also learning about letters and words. A lot of this happens on buses too, as he asks me to read the notices to him. He asked me the other day what the "numbers" where that lit up on the bus after someone had pressed the button to tell the driver they wanted to get off. I told him they were letters that spelled the word "Stopping". He noticed that the letters went off when we got to the stop, and didn't come back on again until someone else pressed the button to get off. Today on the bus, someone pressed the button and Rowan pointed at the lit-up sign and said, "Look! That says Stopping!"

He also spends a lot of time looking at the written word around him. He has several old Doctor Who annuals, which he reads in bed with me each night. I mean we read side by side - I'm reading my book, and he is copying me by quietly reading his Doctor Who annuals before he goes to sleep. He can now recognise the words Doctor Who, aswell as Dalek, Cyberman, Sontoran, Ood, Tardis and several others. I know he is recognising the words and not the pictures because sometimes the word appears without a picture and he still knows what it is. I suppose recognising whole words is the same thing as recognising pictures, but does it really matter? I don't think so. He studies everything that comes into his hands with great scrutiny, especially if it has numbers or letters on it. Sometimes he asks what it says, and sometimes he seems content to just study it on his own, perhaps trying to work it out himself, or perhaps just not that interested, who knows? When he asks he always gets an answer, and that is key. He appears to "read" everything, by which I mean he really looks at it, turns it around, follows lines with his finger etc.

(kestrel image from here)

On our trip to the place where I grew up today, we were discussing the geography of the landscape, how the hill we were standing on was comprised of limestone and that is where all the stone came from for building the houses, which is why they are all that pale yellow colour. We saw a kestrel, and I was enthusing about what amazing birds they are and how they keep their heads exactly still while they hover, eyes fixed on their prey until they swoop down to get it. He doesn't say much usually, but I get enthusiastic about things and can't help keeping up this monologue about anything and everything we see. I assume if he got fed up with it he would tell me to shut up, as he sometimes does! I told him about how we used to go down to see the horses in the fields, picking blackberries on the way to feed them when we got there. And I picked out the old police house on one of the lanes, now just an ordinary residence, and explained how that was where the local bobby used to live, and he had a police notice board in his front garden, and we would see him all the time going round the village on his bicycle. The air ambulance came over really close when we were on the Viking Way, so we both waved. We just carry on like this all day every day, taking each moment as it comes; not deliberately setting out to learn anything, but doing it anyway. I defy anybody to live a whole day and not learn a thing. It's impossible to stop learning.

So, I'm not writing this to say look how clever my boy is or anything - but I do like to keep a record of the things we do and the ways Rowan does things and how it's amazing that some of my rabbiting on all day seems to sink in, which is not why I do it at all, but a nice side effect. It really is Whole Life Learning, and I think it's vital that the Learning comes at the end of that little phrase. The Whole Life is the really vital part - the Learning happens anyway, whether you plan for it or not, if you are living your Whole Life. :)

Hair

I'm not properly out of hibernation yet but I wanted to write about this before I disappear again. Something upset me this morning at soft play (just for a change - why oh why do we still go there?) - Rowan's hair is getting quite long now, which hasn't escaped anyone's notice, and people frequently say it needs cutting. That's just water off a duck's back. I have asked Rowan several times if he would like me to cut his hair for him, and the answer is always the same - No, he wants to grow it long. So I've asked if he would just like me to trim his fringe for him. The answer is still No, he wants to grow that long too. So, that's the end of the matter as far as I'm concerned. Until such time as he says Yes, he would like it cutting, it will remain uncut. My family have suggested I do it anyway while he is asleep, but I absolutely will not sneak about in the night doing something to his person that he has expressly said he doesn't want doing. I just won't. It is dishonest and disrespectful, and aside from anything else would seem very wrong.

So, back to soft play this morning. Rowan's hair was mentioned several times by several people. We had the usual boring conversation about how he won't let me cut it, and how he's said he wants it long, and how neither of us are particularly bothered about it. Still the comments persisted, and at one point it actually felt quite threatening, with one of the women saying she had some scissors in her bag and would do it now for him. I actually had to move away from her. Rowan just looked a bit bewildered by everybody going on about it all the time, and I said something jokey about not coming here anymore if people were going to start threatening us with scissors. But really, I was upset. As I've said the bottom line for me is that Rowan has said repeatedly he doesn't want it cutting, so I won't cut it. It's a simple as that. But it seems for most people the idea of actually respecting your 3-year-old's wishes is absurd, and they think I should ignore what he says and cut it anyway. I really wish it wasn't even a topic for conversation. I really wish it mattered as little to other people as it does to us, but this letting his hair grow seems to be taken as some kind of sign by people - a sign of otherness, of difference, something that sets us apart, and they're all desperate to cut it so we can be the same again, and they can feel comfortable with us. It's bizarre.

It may sound odd, but I've always been fascinated with hair. I think it has some sort of magical properties, or symbolism at least. I think there's a lot more to hair than it simply being dead stuff that grows out of your scalp. I did a little Googling about this and found some interesting things. I really love this quote from a 5 year old boy whose school told him he would have to cut his long hair if he wanted to go there:

How long my hair is, it tells me how long I've been here.

How simple, and wonderful, is that? This is also very interesting, in answer to the simple question of why Native Americans grow their hair long:

"The long hair for Native Americans represents the strength of their spirit. They believe the longer the hair, the stronger the spirit.. And why only certain people are only allowed to touch your hair. When a Native cuts their hair, traditionally is was only for mourning... When a Native does cut their hair, they have to dispose of their hair in a ceremonious way, in the Lakota tribe, they put their hair that was cut off in a river, creek, stream, etc.. Since they are a part of the earth, they always put ourselves back into the earth"... (Wakiƞyaƞ Iśnala)

My husband is Lakota/Choctaw and he wears his hair long, past his belt when it is braided. And I braid it for him everyday before he goes to work.

You see, that makes perfect sense to me.

Ever since I can remember, I've loved Crone images such as these and I am a particular fan of this fabulous painting by Max Dashu, and now I'm beginning to look more like those images, especially in the hair department, I can hear the mumblings beginning about my hair too. People are all too blatantly thinking Why doesn't she cut it? Why doesn't she dye it? Why does she let it just grow all straggly and grey?  Of course, as is all too painfully not the case with Rowan, they're too polite to say anything, but I can see them thinking it.  It doesn't bother me, I'm just aware of it.

What would they say if they knew I hadn't used any shampoo or conditioner, just water, on it for the last 2 months??? This picture was taken 2 months ago.  My hair is longer and straighter than that now - more on that later...

Anyway, my point is, our hair - yours, mine, our children's, is ours and nothing to do with anyone else.  Nobody has any business making anybody else (and that includes children, of course) feel pressured to cut it, don't cut it, dye it, don't dye it, tie it back, cover it, or anything else.  This morning was a vivid illustration of the way people think they can act for and on behalf of children without their consent.  People also have no qualms about commenting on the appearance, demeanor, personality and everything else of children, as though it's any of their business.  One of my old friends' son came home one day at the age of around 11, having been to get his head shaved without telling her what he was doing.  She was plainly disgusted with him and told him he looked like a "thug".  What a message to send to the poor child.  All that disapproval, along with the brand new label of "thug" on his young shoulders, where it didn't belong.  All he had done was shown a bit of autonomy, a sign that he could think for himself, and look where it got him.  I don't think for a minute that he was seeking her approval by doing that, but wouldn't it have been nice if she could have reacted more positively?  As with my own son, even at the age of just 3; it's his hair, and his decision.

Blogging Break

Usually as soon as I announce a blogging break I'm back blogging the next day - it's just sod's law - but anyway we'll see. I've been speaking lately about the fallow periods that my child and children in general have, well it seems I'm having one of my own. There's plenty of things going on that I probably should be blogging about, but I just haven't got it in me at the moment - I'm totally uninspired. I have to sit back and take stock, and even though I'm fine with the whole not-having-anymore-children thing, it's taking me a while to get my head around it. It's having an unexpected impact on the way I view other things, and other relationships (most notably the non-relationship with my own mother), and means I have to develop a new way of thinking, new frames of reference. I suppose that's only to be expected when you've just assumed something all your life, and then at 38 your assumption turns out to be wrong. I feel as though I've lost something, even though I never had it in the first place.

So, this is just to say I'm not dead, things are fine and carrying on pretty much as normal, but I just haven't got the wherewithal to sit here and type about it all at the moment. Be back soon, I should think. :) xx

I don't like it...

...when people say that schools only churn out automatons who can't think for themselves. I've said myself that this is the aim of schooling, and it undoubtedly is, but it doesn't always succeed in producing young people who will unthinkingly get a meaningless job for a meaningless company, produce 2.4 kids, pay the mortgage, and not complain about their lot.

What I always think of is this: the people who say this more than likely went to school themselves, so they should know better. I went to school myself. I hated it with a passion, but it did not turn me into an unthinking servant of the state. The fact that I have now chosen to home educate my own child proves that. If I were happy to just go with the herd and not think too deeply about things, Rowan would have started preschool this September with all the other 3 year olds. But he didn't, and that proves something. It proves that, despite the schooling system's best efforts, I have retained my own way of thinking, the ability to form my own opinions, and the courage to stick with my convictions and try to live a life that upholds those convictions and beliefs as far as I can.

I think the distinction needs to be made between saying what the aim of schooling is, and saying all school children are brainwashed. It's simply not true. The system attempts to brainwash them - it does not follow that they are all brainwashed, and it's actually quite insulting to the children to say that. People generally don't give children nearly enough credit for knowing their own minds, for experiencing emotions just as strongly as adults do (if a 15 year old says they are in love, are they taken as seriously as a 35 year old would be?), for being able to form their own informed opinions on any matter that interests them. But they can and do do all of these things, just as much as adults do.

The aim of school is to turn out institutionalised people who will keep the state machine running. It does not follow that all children who leave school are institutionalised people who will keep the state machine running. I attended school between the ages of 4 and 18, and the school system spectacularly failed to have that effect on me. It bored me, yes. I thought it was a waste of time, yes. It quite often infuriated and outraged me. I felt patronised and quite often fantasised about planting a bomb in the place. But I was one of the awkward ones who wouldn't fit into the schooling mould, and there are many many more like me. When we trot out the "schools only churn out unthinking robots" line (I might even have done it myself in the past - can't remember though) we do a huge disservice to children. Children are every bit as complex, and just as likely not to be taken in by all the schooling crap, as we are. Which is of course not to say that school is harmless - it is the exact opposite - it just means we should give the children who are being schooled some credit.

This week

Apologies for the lack of any proper blogging this week. Since making The Decision last weekend (about not having any more children) I've felt completely uninspired to write anything here or anywhere else really. So, what's been going on?

It's been a fairly quiet week. Rowan's interest in Doctor Who continues unabated. We have now acquired another cardboard model, of a Dalek this time, to make, and DH's old videos are getting nicely worn out with repeated playings. I woke up this morning with the name Terry Nation in my head for some reason, and had to think for a while before I could work out who he was. He invented the Daleks I think. Possibly. Anyway...

I've decided to finally get rid of all the baby clothes and toys we've been hanging onto for years in case we had another one. I have 11 bags of baby clothes which I'm in the process of washing, ironing, sorting and listing on ebay. I should be able to get the first batch listed sometime today. It's not as much of a wrench as I was expecting - in fact it feels almost like a relief. Sort of a cleansing/decluttering exercise. Now the decision has been made that we won't be trying for any more babies, I'm adjusting quite well to that idea, and it's nice to create some space, and maybe even get some money out of the decluttering process, too! I also have an idea (pinched from someone else, as most of our ideas are if we're honest) about a little ebay business once I've got rid of all the baby stuff, but more on that when I can actually get around to it.

The Twilight obsession continues. As you know I'm going to see New Moon at the cinema tomorrow. I finally finished the last book in the saga, Breaking Dawn, on Tuesday night. I enjoyed it so much - definitely my favourite book of the four I think - and the ending is one of the best endings I've ever read in a book. It made me cry (in a good way). But I was a bit stumped as to what to read next that wouldn't feel like a disappointment after that, so I've just started again at the beginning of the saga and am now reading Twilight again! This is very odd. There are only 3 or 4 books I've ever read more than once - I tend to think it's a bit of a waste of time because I already know what's going to happen and there are all those other books waiting for me that I haven't read yet. I've never got to the end of a book (or series of books) and just gone straight back to the beginning and started again. It's kind of nice to read Twilight knowing what's going to happen, I'm looking forward to my favourite bits (ie the bits with Edward Cullen in lol) and just coasting through the other bits. Very enjoyable, I have to say.

Willow (the dog) finally has an appointment at the vet on Monday. We've been waiting for our application for PDSA funding to be approved. She has a nasty looking growth in her 'armpit' area behind one of her front legs. It's been there a long time and doesn't seem to bother her, but it is getting bigger and we just want to get it looked at. Also since the last time she was on heat one of her teats has become very swollen. So, we'll feel better when we've got her to the vet just to make sure she's okay, and maybe get that growth removed.

I think that's it really for this week. :)

Gifts

From my husband...a book about soap making

From my sister...a very handy notice board for the kitchen wall

From my mum...some money to spend in Marks and Spencer

From myself...a diary and a cinema ticket!

I cannot wait to get some ingredients and start trying to make some soaps!  It's really exciting, and I think I'll probably get in a complete mess, but it will be fun.  I also love the diary I've got - it's got loads of blank spaces for scribbling and doodling and rambling in, just what I need. :)

38

Today I am 38 years old (happy birthday me!), and it's also around a year (can't remember the exact date) since I first started a home education blog.

I have actually been blogging for around 3 and half years, but previous blogs were about feminism, and nothing to do with HE - all deleted now. Actually, the first ever blog I set up was called CND Mum and was about my activities as a campaigner for the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament. The first home ed blog was called Car Parks and Digging, because they were Rowan's main obsessions at the time, but it soon morphed into this present blog here, which has been through a couple of name and server changes, and still by some miracle managed to hang onto some readers, despite all that!

It's been a humdinger of a year. I started out knowing we were going to be unschoolers but hating that term, and then ended up running a blog ring for UK unschoolers, of which I'm very proud, and which has 20 members, having fully embraced the term. I've also set up another blog ring, the snappily titled Non-Violent Parenting and Education Blog Ring, of which I'm also very proud, and which has 30 members worldwide.

I've met (in the virtual sense) some truly wonderful people, and quite spectacularly fallen out with what will hopefully not for much longer be the most well-known HE organisation in England.

It would have been lovely to have had nothing to write about but what myself and Rowan get up to on a daily basis - all our travels, our attempts at art and crafts, the funny things he does, how my parenting is evolving - there's been plenty of that, but unfortunately overshadowing it all has been the presence of the Badman review, which started in January amid a flurry of lies and hype and which is still rumbling along as we speak. I really wish I hadn't had to write a word about how the UK Government seems intent on wiping out home education, at least in England, in any meaningful form, as a valid and equal alternative to state schooling. But, I have written plenty about it, and I suppose the culmination of my blogging efforts with regard to the review was the Home Education Blog Carnival to celebrate International Freedom in Education Day in September.

True to form, I have also started a few projects this year that have come to nothing and soon been abandoned. There was the Scar Clan blog, where I talked about the times I was raped at the age of 20 and my recovery from that. There was also the Losing the Plot blog, which was meant to document our vegetable growing adventures that never happened in the end. And Scarves for Survivors, where I sold handmade scarves and other items in aid of Rape Crisis. That is no more either. Well, if I didn't have a few unfinished projects a year, people might worry I was unwell or something!

In just this short year, my personal inner work has gone from this:

There are oceans of tears women have never cried, for they have been trained to carry mother's and father's secrets, men's secrets, society's secrets, and their own secrets, to the grave. A woman's crying has been considered quite dangerous, for it loosens the locks and bolts on the secrets she bears. But in truth, for the sake of a woman's wild soul, it is better to cry. For women, tears are the beginning of initiation into the Scar Clan, that timeless tribe of women of all colours, all nations, all languages, who down through the ages have lived through a great something, and yet who stood proud.

All women have personal stories as vast in scope and as powerful as the numen in fairy tales. But there is one kind of story in particular, which has to do with a woman's secrets, especially those associated with shame; these contain some of the most important stories a woman can give her time to unravelling. For most women, these secret stories are embedded, not like jewels in a crown, but like black gravel under the skin of the soul.

Clarissa Pinkola Estes - Women Who Run With The Wolves

to this:


And, on a completely different note, to celebrate both my birthday and my blogiversary, I'm going to reproduce here one of my all-time favourite posts. It's an early one (from March this year), so many of you may have missed it, but if you've seen it before I hope you enjoy it all over again. Here it is!

HERE'S SOMETHING YOU DON'T SEE IN MANY CRAFT BOOKS

Fish printing. Yes, you heard me right. Fish printing. As in, painting a dead fish and, er, printing with it. My husband came back ages ago from one of his charity shop rummages with a book called Children's Arts and Crafts, published by The Australian Women's Weekly. I can't find a date on it, but it looks very 80's. There are some great ideas in there for things to make and do. And there is also fish printing. I do apologise to any avid fish-printers out there, but it made me alternately laugh and feel a bit sick so much I had to share it. :)
Aw, look, he's really proud of his fish printing, bless him! He doesn't look at all scared. No, not a bit.

Actually, despite my initial "WTF?" reaction, it does look like a pretty cool thing to do, especially if, as the book suggests, you do a whole aquarium project or something. So, just in case you get the urge, here is how to do it, as if it wasn't self-explanatory:

"YOU WILL NEED:

Fresh dead fish with large scales (flat if possible)
Powder paint
Paintbrush
Newspaper
Absorbent paper (blotting paper works well)

1. Lay fish on newspaper. Dry if still damp. Paint side of fish.

2. Carefully place absorbent paper on fish. With flat, dry hand, rub paper all over painted fish. Lift paper off and allow to dry. Several prints may be taken each time the fish is painted. Sometimes the first print is not always successful as there is too much paint on the fish. After thorough cleansing, the fish is still perfectly good to eat."

There you go, you've no excuse now - go and print yourself a dead fish! :)

And here's my other, more serious, favourite post so far:The Rights of Eaters, Sleepers, TV Watchers and Daydreamers.

So now I shall be off to celebrate my birthday with my lovely family. My sister and her daughter are coming across to see us today too. Yay! :) xxxx