I’m so very happy this morning, about so many things, not the least of which being Iain and Elijah sneaking off to secretly vacuum my bedroom and change the sheets, while I made breakfast. They made up all the beds….
in their own special way…
Another scene that is pure joy…
Lots of blue wool slipping through my fingers these days; occasional blue thoughts drifting through my mind…
I just finished reading Susan Hand Shetterly’s “Settled in the Wild; Notes from the Edge of Town“. It was painfully beautiful to me in this moment and place in time. In reading it, that ache that settled in my breast, as the weather started to warm, throbbed itself into clarity. I miss home. I miss living on land that I have intimate knowledge of…earth that I’ve tilled, year in and year out…soil that’s been squished between my bare toes in countless garden crossings. The gurgle of water over, under and around the mossy rocks that I’ve stood on in days gone by, eyes closed, arms out stretched, heart open wide.
I wonder if I’ve yet missed the very first evening that the wood thrush can be heard singing it’s haunting twilight melody. Is the night air yet filled with the frog’s mating song so startling that when I first heard it, all those many moons ago, I thought it sounded as though someone had set up an orchestra of fax machines in the woods? Is the great blue heron yet crossing the sky in the noon time hour, bringing back food to his mate?
I resent the flock of robins in the open field here for not being our own little robin-in-the-thorn-bush, strong and stout, who’s appearance amid the dried red berries and snow heralded the coming of spring. I wonder if my mourning doves with their iridescent breasts and plaintive cries, still gather in pairs all around, now that there is no one there to fill the home-made wooden feeders balanced on stumps. Are the buds on the lilacs swelling, in three different shades, with no one there to see them? Are there new babies in the cat bird nest, calling for food with their incessant, raucous cries? Have any of their brilliant turquoise shells drifted down to earth, with no one to claim and cherish them?
Are the phoebes wondering why there have been no tea parties beneath their nest this year? No recorder song? No child’s laughter? Is the heart shaped stone that I balanced against a tree, four years ago now, still standing? Have the tulips that I planted in peaches and creams, started to open their pastel chalices to the sun? Will there be anyone to admire them when they do?
Did anyone come this year to nest in the birdhouse that Iain built when he was but six years old? Are the trees, under which my children’s placentas lie covered in buds? Ready to burst into a profusion of blossoms? With petals that will shower down as fairy snow, all pink and white, some golden afternoon? Some golden afternoon, with no one to dance underneath them.
I’m the kind of person that was meant to live in the same house all my life. There is no gypsy blood in my soul, no matter how I once might have thought it so. I’ve been missing my home keenly in the beauty of this springtime.
On a random Tuesday morning. Last Tuesday, to be precise.
Iain with a fraction tree in progress.
Elijah working on a diorama.
And the little folks playing at being “bubble factory workers” (an idea blatantly stolen from Kyrie of “Are So Happy“).
Not pictured: me baking Cinnamon Bun Muffins, because I’m still on my giddy cinnamon buns are a part of my life again kick but needed something at least a bit more healthy and a lot less high maintenance. It’s not the same, but a reasonable substitute in a pinch.
Anywho.
One of the things that I get asked a lot is how I balance caring for and teaching 4 children of different ages and stages. Which I always find kind of funny, because it’s usually asked in a what-a-ridiculous-thing-to-even-attempt sort of tone, that makes me want to respond by asking the student to teacher ratio of their local school district. That said, it is true that it can be a challenge. The structure of home is very different from that of a school where everything is set up with teaching many children at once in mind (case in point, I don’t tend to make the kids line up to go places). But I think that there are plenty of ways to make it work and I actually relish the challenge.
Our days go smoother when I’m well prepared, well rested and in a peaceful and reasonable state of mind. I suppose all that is pretty obvious in theory, but there is a big difference between knowing these things to be true and actively cultivating a life that allows for those things. I’ve learned time and time again that my state of mind can make or break a day.
From a practical point of view, it helps to have a little metal list, or even an actual list of things for each child to accomplish in a day, with thoughts towards what one child can be doing when I’m otherwise occupied. So if Iain finishes with his math practice and is ready for his Main Lesson work, but I’m still involved in work with Elijah, I can suggest he go do a certain chore to get it out of the way or get a head start on some other independent work. Handwork fits in well here. Other times I’ll request that one of the older ones read to or otherwise entertain one of the younger ones. We all work together here to make our home, our family and our education work.
Which brings me to perhaps the most important part of fostering an atmosphere for multi-age learning; respect. I talk about it a lot, with even the littlest of the kids. They know that when I’m working with one child that they need to be patient and not cause disruptions and in turn their siblings will do the same for them (clearly there is a bit a leeway here for very young people, but they really do start to learn this surprisingly early).
So that’s a very general overview of how we try to find balance and make things work for us all. Tomorrow I’ll be sharing some of the things that we’ve been working on this year.
It’s that time of year again. Still snow on the ground in a lot of places, but lots of melting too and the sap is flowing, which means that surely spring must be just around the corner.
We had sugar on snow last week as a treat.
And we’ve been enjoying a selection of maple related books from the library yet again this year.
Amoung the ones that found their way home with us…
“Sugarbush Spring” by Marsha Wilson Chall
“Sugar on Snow” by Nan Parson Rossiter
“Sugaring” by Jessie Haas
The other sign of the season?
MUD!
I’m going to be doing a little series of posts here starting (probably!) tomorrow and lasting for around a week, as something of a peek into our lives as homeschoolers. My apologies in advance for those of you who could care less! I’ve had many requests over the years to show more of how we “do school” and I’m looking forward to dedicating a bit of time to sharing with those who are interested.
Do you see it?
Now?
What about now?
I took this picture two days ago as I was thinking about cultivating spring on the inside even if it’s not quite ready to make an appearance outside. I’ve suddenly found myself sick of the paper snowflakes and window stars and ready to move on to other things.
I’ve had less patients for winter this year. I think it has something to do with all of the time we spend house hunting over the summer and fall. I don’t think I managed to soak up my quota of vitamin D or the stock of sunny experiences that carries one through a long dark winter.
Then yesterday Mother Nature countered with the double whammy of the largest snowstorm of the season and sickness in the house. Well, ok then. I concede. Winter is not done with us yet.
I spent the morning in the kitchen with the well ones, while the sick ones rested in bed and Steve reported in to work from a make-shift office in the living room.
A double batch of nettle and red raspberry leaf chai and two kinds of almond flour scones (blueberry and orange vanilla, I modified this recipe), cheered up the scene a bit (the sheets needing to be changed twice in so many hours, did not).
I appreciate the efforts of my shamrock, with it’s blossoms managing to open just a little even though it is so cloudy.
I spent much of the afternoon reading to the sickies.
We have one well one here who has little tolerance for the atmosphere of a house with sick people and one sick one who has no tolerance for the process of getting well! We are hearing lots of “I’m bored!” from a child who is otherwise never bored.
Steve and I have been encouraging him to take this time to think and dream. He’s not really one for introspection normally, and quiet and still do not come naturally to him. That’s what this time is for; hibernating, hunkering down, digging in deep. And maybe, just maybe, it’s just what he needs. The seeds of inspiration and the clarity of dreams take root so.
As for myself, much of the busy work of the day was spent lost in a day dream of my own. I had an epiphany regarding Iain’s birthday sweater for next year. And I’m pleased to know that now that I’ve found the one, I’ll have a nice long head start on it. And somehow in the scattered bits of sleep last night, I found the inspiration for a new recipe as well.
A little bit of doing and lots of dreaming, that’s what February is all about.
If you are noting the conspicuous absence of certain family members, it’s because they spent the better part of the day sneaking around, hiding and whispering, with an endless stream of craft supplies disappearing behind the firmly closed door of their room. They did resurface for dinner though, and with Valentine’s a plenty, dear, sweet boys of mine.
Galen got a potholder loom for Christmas this year and it’s played heavily into our weekly crafting time of late.
Now that it’s winter and it’s not-so-very-nice to go walking about town, we’ve fallen into a rhythm for our time at home together. We do the same things every week. First we fix a snack for the boys to take with them, then we read a story while eating our portion of the snack, then we work on a craft. We take a break to put a chicken in the oven to roast, craft a bit more, bake something to go with the chicken, and finally prepare some veggies and set the table (hopefully) in time for Steve and the big boys to get home from choir rehearsal. They are gone for several hours, and Màiri usually has a long nap at that time, so it’s just the two of us for a good chunk of time.
Last week Galen told me that I was one of his “favorite things in history” because I, “do things with him on boys’s choir night”.
So while she did this:
We did this:
The loom is by Harrisville Designs and it’s all metal with pegs that curve slightly to hold the loops. The design is far superior to the plastic red ones I had as a kid!
He’s not quite big enough to do it all by himself, but there are parts of the process that he can do alone and other parts were we do it together.
We made 4 of them, over the course of a couple of weeks, then sewed them all together, and in the end we got this:
A new “hot-spot”, as my kids call it, to protect the table from hot pots and pans. I’m finding that it’s far more cheerful then the, erm, cloth diapers that we usually pile up instead!