Know Thy Children

I am a regular reader of a few different blogs. One that I check in on a few times a week is Sew Liberated. Meg Nielsen used to be a Montessori teacher but now mothers her toddler Finn and is pregnant with a second boy. Another blog I read, Soule Mama, is written by another crafting/sewing/"earth-mama-esque" woman, Amanda Soule, who is Montessori-Un-Schooling her four children ages 11-2. Though there are quite a few aspects of the Montessori movement that I do not agree with (even "snort at" in my Mid-West Practical Bent), I do appreciate involving crafting/art/nature/exploration/imagination in the everyday life of our family. Lately, I have been wrestling with my own expectations of what I want(ed) our family-life to look like and what it actually looks like. So often I try to do a project with the kids or try to embark on an "adventure" and instead there is chaotic disaster filled with frustration on all sides. I have also been overwhelmed by the volume of "stuff" in our house -- constantly purging things but realizing that a family requires a certain minimum to operate and we live in a small-ish house with a lot of people. Anyway, my entire life people have told me to "chill out", "relax", "let go, Sarah"...and though I understand the wisdom of trying to counter-balance ones personality, the advice has been pretty frustrating for me especially because I feel like I spend most of my energy forcing myself to "let go" -- of what I expect to accomplish in a day, of how any particular minute will unfold, of what I want to learn and do and see and understand. The entire performance of my existence has been and is and will most undoubtedly be until I die, LESS than what I expect of myself and existence itself. Despite this on-going existential tension, I do realize that with each child that has entered our family there is a necessity to lower and change my expectations for cleanliness, order, productivity, personal study and creativity, etc. etc. Radical across-the-board alteration of expectations. This is okay -- I'm all right with it and can feel the good in growing and changing from this. But I need to change more. So a month or so ago I read a post on Sew Liberated about an activity to do with 18-month olds. I was thinking "This is crazy!" but I was also in envious awe that Meg's son was so gentle and controlled in his play. This mom suggests taking a giant Tupperware container, filling it with colored dried beans, and then letting the child play in it. In Montessori-style play it seems that tactile experience is a big focus; Also not directing the play is suppose to help the child end up more original and creative in his explorations. I disagree that boundaries squelch creativity but I do think it's good to give a kid some "space" to come up with stories (in writing, drawing, in play). And I have a hard time finding good activities for Lincoln to do on his own. Plus, honestly, I was thinking about when I was a kid and my dad let my brother Aaron and me play in the giant wagons of soy beans -- one of my favorite harvest-time memories. So I went and filled a Rubbermaid container with a beautiful rainbow-colored array of dried beans. One late afternoon the two older boys were watching a movie, Thea was asleep, and Brad had headed down to take a shower. Lincoln was, typically, bored and getting into trouble. I took down the tub and sat Lincoln down across from me in the upstairs hallway. Meg said if I was worried about a mess, to put a towel down under the tub. My gut told me that my son would take these beans and fling them high and hard and wide and that I would be cleaning beans up for quite awhile. But I was trying very hard to go against my gut -- which has been maligned for its anal, order-worshipping ways. So I set the tub down, took a deep breath, and took off the lid. I looked at Lincoln. He looked at the beans and looked up at me. I didn't say anything, just smiled. He carefully picked up a bean. I thought, "Wow. Maybe I was wrong." Then he paused and put his entire hand down into the beans coming up with a big handful...up up it went spraying across three rooms and down the stairs. I started to yell "No!" and then stopped myself. No, I'm supposed to let him explore this. [I know, "What?! the heck were you thinking?!" -- but I really wanted to make this work, I really wanted to be the kind of person who let my kids experience things without thinking of all the clean-up.] So then he screams and squeals with glee as he begins flinging and swatting the beans, jumping up to stand in the tub kicking beans near and afar. Atticus and Dietrich are snapped out of TV-Comas and turn to see what's going on. They scream with delight jumping to join the growing chaos. The three boys begin running across between the two rooms across the hallway leaping to slide over the beans in an amazing indoor slip'n'slide. It was wonderful. It was terrible. It was so ridiculously funny. I just stood there stunned not thinking anything. Trying not to think anything. The door to the bathroom at the bottom of the stairs opens. Brad steps out to see colored beans sprayed across the floor in all directions...growing thicker as he ascends the stairs. The boys are still racing and running and flinging and squealing. I am trying to explain the inexplicable scene. We begin cleaning up the mess. Weeks later, every time I find a bean stuck in my shoe or in one of the kids toys or the corner of some room I am reminded that maybe it's a good thing to accept that one's kids are unique -- not someone else's kids. And that I just might know my own kids better than anyone else no matter how great a mother that other person is. My kids are my kids. Scratch Bean Tub Exploration off my list of possible activities to do together this winter. Until then, maybe I'll let them have their way with the beans this time in the back yard!