Unschooling theory as read through the New York Times: "There is good reason to suppose that responsibility has to be installed in the foundation of your mental equipment — at the level of perception and habit. There is an ethic of paying attention that develops in the trades through hard experience. It inflects your perception of the world and your habitual responses to it." 

~The Case for Working With Your Hands

Also see: "Shop Class as Soulcraft"

Speaking of feminism and what's wrong with our culture, this essay should be required reading.

Eat The Damn Cake: Bleeding Time

My first labor was 40 hours long. I missed a c-section by the width of a gnat's ass. I had a fever the whole labor, I had a bad reaction to the epidural drugs, I won't discuss the tearing, and by the time my beautiful perfect son was born I was tired in a new kind of way. I will never forget what my mother told me my first night home. Actually, I can't remember her exact phrasing. She either said: "Your first night home with a baby is the only time in your life you can expect help." Or she said: "deserve help" or "get help" or something like that. What I remember clearly is bottomless relief. I thought to myself: thank you thank you thank you thank you oh sweet Jesus thank you! She held my son while I slept the first night, for like five hours. And she came back the next day with food. I remember feeling guilty for needing so much special attention. For real, I remember feeling guilty.

My best friend got married six weeks later. I was either Maid of Honor or a bridesmaid. I can not remember which. What I do remember is how I very much did not want to go to the wedding. I did go. I stood on the alter through the ceremony in front of friends and family, in a satin sleeveless dress, dripping milk, bleeding, and trembling. I took the dress off an hour after the ceremony and we left about three hours later. The family let it be known I had post partum depression. How else to explain my behavior--not being more engaged in my life after the baby? How else to explain changing my clothes an hour after the wedding? Never mind the dress was stained with milk on the outside and blood and fury on the inside? Have you ever nursed at a party in a spaghetti strapped satin gown? Oh but, my son was six weeks old. He should just wait it out, right? After all, we were at a wedding. There are more important things in life than nursing a six week old infant. I was being so selfish!

Just last night, for heaven's sake, I sat drinking a beer in a bar with my husband and both of us were nearly in tears we were so tired and frustrated with each other. He for his good reasons. And me because I feel so guilty for not also holding down a paying job while raising our children. I feel so guilty for being so lame and unproductive. I fought tears because we were in public. But I wanted to weep. He stared at me like monkeys were flying out of my ears. From his point of view, I have been working. 

I could go on and on. There are so many important points in this essay. It relates to everyone. It relates to my husband who won't take a day off work when he's sick because it makes him feel too guilty. It relates to our healthcare system and how much we get it wrong. We get it wrong all up one side and down the other. I just....ugh.

A few months ago we studied Malcolm X. Yesterday we listened to Dr. King's "I have a dream" speech and next month we have tickets for "The Mountaintop." After the speech we had a talk about how recent and pertinent this history is. My brother was alive when Martin Luther King gave that speech. I remember that time, the free flowing hatred, and the fear. I most wanted the kids to understand racism in their distant ancestors, in family too smart to admit it now, and even in myself. I tried hard to impress upon them the idea that we need to examine ourselves deeply, with regard to prejudice because its a human impulse rooted in fear and we are all susceptible to fear.

Its curious to me that they never asked what my prejudice is. When they didn't ask, I offered that my own brand of prejudice is not based on skin color in any way. They didn't want to know more. Its possible they simply wanted me to stop talking. There is no bell to save you from verbosity in homeschool. Plus, its a topic that hurts. No matter what, it hurts.

The catch phrase for our family this fall, with a raised fist: 

"No freedom till we're equal. Damn right I support it."

Here is a fabulous article about the most common trajectory for new homeschooling families. They pull out of the system because its lame. They recreate the system at home only to discover the industrial model is lame, even at home. Then they begin to give up relax. Relaxing creates an opportunity for them to observe how children learn. They end up with some mix of child led learning and are happily on their way.

"I also began to realise that this wasn’t just about us educating our daughters; rather the experience of home educating was teaching us about life and learning all over again, and in a way that was so much more powerful than either my wife or I experienced when we were at school."

My daughter, as I just mentioned, learned how to make pastry this weekend. I happen to be really good at making pastry. I know, its not exactly rocket science. Except that almost no one does it in our society anymore and most average folks think its a difficult thing to do. Anyone can do it. Many don't do it well. My daughter asked me a couple of questions, banished me from the kitchen, and went to work with a book of her choosing---a book I would not have chosen for her. And she crushed it.

Similarly, last week she decided to make a skirt for herself. Her Grandmother is a professional seamstress. There is nothing her Grandmother can't sew and not much she hasn't. I'm decent enough with a needle and thread. Dear girl asked us exactly nothing. She noticed fabric, researched technique on youface, and proceeded to make herself a skirt with a zipper that is lovely. All without ever referring to a physical pattern. She wore it out Friday night. Yeah, again, she crushed it.

Do y'all understand what I'm saying? She free handed a very precise garment. Free handed. Because I know how to sew I can tell you, that is badass. Most people can't do that. Most people can't free hand a circle on a piece of paper with a pencil. Don't believe me? Try it. More importantly, this is what self directed learning looks like. When you aren't dependent on authority to tell you how or why or when, you just get busy doing, and there isn't much you can't do.

My son is learning as well. But his learning doesn't involve stuff I can photograph. A bunch of it might not even involve things I understand. I have no idea what he spends most of his time thinking about. But he keeps gets smarter all the time. Mostly reading books and researching things online I would never choose for him. He reads most days, all day. I know he's interested in Chemistry and because of that, he works at math skills. Then he chills out playing video games.

ps: Wow, I just noticed how stereotypical and gender biased we sound. Consider that sewing is the study of geometry and cooking is chemistry. My girl reads all the time as well as her brother. Everyone had access to both trucks and dolls growing up. My son lived in a dress and "sparkle party shoes" when he was little. And my daughter has, by far, a more aggressive personality. We are who we are.

 Her first crust, our first apple pie of the season. 

Does it seem a bit neurotic to beat yourself up for "failure to love" because you didn't feel like petting the dog? Maybe its neurotic to even notice such a thing? Or to raise it to the level of blog-worthiness, even when the blog-worthy bar is super low? Bonus points if you can, at least, laugh at yourself.

This week I am noticing a phenomenon Brene Brown calls "foreboding joy." Foreboding joy is a defensive reflex. When moments of joy sneak up we shut them down with dark thoughts, superstitiously and because if we never let ourselves feel too happy maybe getting hurt won't feel too bad. I am beginning to understand this is how I've lived my life. Yesterday I noticed it happening, oh, about 1000 times. Which means my life is approximately 1000 times happier and more awesome than I allow myself to feel or experience. I live in a state of foreboding joy. Like, all the time.

For example, this morning. I am up between 4 and 6 almost everyday. Even though I don't have to get ready for my job because I can do most of my job in pjs. (Happy and awesome, right? Hells yes.) This morning I was sitting with my husband drinking coffee in the dark listening to crickets when I began to notice how totally awesome it was to be there doing that. Instantly, almost before I could fully register I was feeling great, a dark tide washed over me. The dark tide contains any random pain. For me its generally angst about mortality and the depth of time---because I'm so deep y'all. Happy feeling, dark tide to shut it down, next topic. Wash rinse repeat.

Somehow, as we quietly allow tiny shards of light through the gloomy curtain, it all becomes kind of funny. It is comical, how we create our own reality, how our thoughts are our lives, how simple it can sometimes be to change our mind.