Lazy mornings of dog walking and second breakfasts, seeing friends and playing, climbing and exploring.

A time for wellies in the rain, ‘summer glasses’ and muddy banks to slide down. New buds have burst and bloomed and we have been there to stop, see, smell and chatter about all the new things we have found. Mole hills have been trampled, sand sifted, stones painted, daffodils and dandelions picked, birds spotted, puddles stomped, trees swung from, forests foraged, pine cones pinched and all under the glorious sunshine or the most suspicious of skies.

But care not for the weather, we have done it in t-shirts and shorts, or togged up with waterproofs, and it hasn’t mattered how dirty we have gotten, or how much time we have taken. If a worm has required us to stay for his entire journey across the path, we have obliged. If every single duck in the pond has required at least one piece of bread, we have counted, corralled and checked off each one.

Friends (school and non school) have been called for, and many games have been played, balls unstuck from trees, and imaginary games invented. Entire hills have become the Tardis. Ladybirds have been sought and goldfinches identified.

And bluebells.

Bluebells as far as the eye can see have found themselves frolicked in, little boys digging in the soft forest mulch all around them. Badger setts thick with spider’s webs have been peered into and stories about them supposed. Bees and bugs have been squealed at, and blue tits have snacked with great tits, sparrows and nuthatches while we hid inches from them in the bushes with our bird book.

We have had the pleasure of a herd of cows in their field, not through a fence, not in an enclosure. Free and unobstructed we watched them crowd and cavort at the sight of us wandering towards them. We smelt their sweaty breaths, their cow bodies, and jumped over their cow pats as they snorted at us for invading their meadow.

We’ve watched an old lady spin alpaca yarn on her spinning wheel, and a blacksmith forge new railings while the red glow of the hot metal shone in the children’s eyes. We perused chickens, guinea, pigs, rabbits, lambs and pigs. We’ve watched a pond drain so it could turn a water-wheel at the flour mill, and romped around a roman ruin.

We’ve had picnics wherever and whenever. Food seems to be some much more fun when outside, and more so with friends. We’ve experimented with ice-cream, and my die-hard plain and simple chocolate only child, has now added mint choc chip to his repertoire.

Lists have been written, colours, shapes and numbers remembered and recalled, questions asked, answered or sought together, pictures painted stories read, telly watched and creations of Play-Doh, Lego, Duplo and Moon Sand have arisen- each more magnificent than the last, and all with a story to go with them.

Forts, castles, dens, houses and pirates ships have been built from anything and everything. Battles have been fought, friendships forged. There has been snot, snivelling, tears, tantrums, truces, coughs, colds, cuts, bumps and bruises. Next to them have been laughs and jokes, wicked grins and cheeky smiles and random, oh my gosh the most absolute random of stories, sayings, thoughts and choices. Experiments that worked, and the ones that didn’t, all analysed and reflected upon. Sometimes repeated, even if they failed the first time, just to be sure.

That was just April and a little bit of May…

We made it to Walsall Art Gallery on Monday. Just. Thanks to my Mum for driving us.

I feel a great accomplishment that I was able to show her (without too much shrieking) that the road we had travelled down was in fact 2-way, and so no need to drive on the right hand side of the road. Twice.We did make it there though, and had excellent parking and chauffeuring, so the thanks is quite heartfelt J

It was with great trepidation I took the kidlets to the Art Gallery, knowing that in big open spaces there is usually lots of running, Peter-Kay-knee-sliding, touching, grabbing, and protestations that , ‘this is rubbish, I want to go home’.

There was running. And sliding. Touching and grabbing. But not protestations so it was happy times all round.

Something else that had spurred me on to visit the gallery was Grit’s declaration some time back that children should go to art galleries. Okay then, I shall do it Grit.

The gallery had thrown their doors open to us Home Ed types, and we must have fit the part because the lady at reception didn’t even ask if we were HE-ers but assumed that we were and that we hadn’t just wandered in off the street. We had a map of activities that were on, I had to sign (sigh) a photography permit and were let loose on the exhibits.

Taking Grandma was great in two ways. Lovely company, but also art protection and no need to split myself in half if the plaintive cry of ‘I need a poopoo NOW’, came up -which it did.

Activities ranged from badge making, clay moulding, potato animal sculpting, building towers, bust making with play-doh, colouring, making corsages as well as the art itself, which I was hoping they would absorb along the way, drip-feed style.

The biggest hit by far was the purple balloon exhibit, which was pretty much a room full of strong balloons that we could go and play in. A waking nightmare for some, but my kids adored it and played with their friends running in balloons well above their- and my head. 

The boys didn’t care so much for the artwork on the walls, but enjoyed the sculptures. 

They both liked the random bin liner in the room: 

Which we kept them from touching for quite some time until we realised, um, it wasn’t a real bin liner but a sculpture. Doh. Can you tell we don’t do art that much…? 

My personal favourite had to be the sunglasses: 

We managed to take a few pics before H went running through them, and Grandma had to unspin them while the art gallery aide watched us tight lipped. Oops. 

We found a bit of nudity and breastfeeding on the wall too, which was great to see. Of course we managed a live showing of that courtesy of H and him feeling a bit unsure of the new place we were in. No pics of that though… 

And finally, badge making really did it for C. He drew a picture on card for his badge and watched as the lady showed him how to load it into the machine, turn, press, turn again, and bring down the big lever to put it all together. 

The second badge he made he wanted to do the machine part by himself, much to the anxiety of the badge lady as she issued a trembling ‘be careful’ as C tried to wrestle the lever from her grasp. Yikes J 

All in all, a very good first art gallery visit. No paintings were destroyed, and no gallery police shooed us out. We aced it- thanks Grit! 

Ahh 

I manage this because I have a little computer and tea drinking time on my hands ( Thank you Shaun!)

I also feel rubbish at not being able to blog more, but time seems always so short, and we do so many things.

C is happily learning writing skills, and loves to write  letters and address envelopes, mostly to himself. We do have some ‘workbooks’ of letter shapes, but he prefers to copy words himself, but will sometimes request a workbook to use. He is also getting more into writing  birthday cards for himself. I just wish he wouldn’t waste all my stamps….

It has been quite a challenge for me and C, as I have to remember what is easy for me being right-handed, may not be so easy for C being left- handed. Turning the paper to the left hand corner is higher up, and almost sideways, has meant it is easier for C to see where and what he is writing.

However his mouse control on the computer is with his right hand, and he certainly knows his way around a PC – including spelling the user password!

C and I went to our Home Education group sans H the other week, and it was lovely to spend time without feeling I was being divided. H had Daddy all to himself.

Usually C isn’t particularly into the HE activities that are organised, preferring to play outside with the bigger boys. However he sat and made a Chinese Kite with me. He got to fly it with the others in the garden later on. No pictures, I’m afraid

The half term week has been strange- quite a few of our normal activities are more difficult at this time as there are just so many bigger kids around, and also some of our under 5 group things are cancelled at every school holiday.

Happily we are never stuck for things to do, and I do feel sorry for the parents who are so unused to entertaining their school kids, or their kids having no skills to entertain themselves that they hate holiday time ( I’ve heard that lament by mums so many times this week).

Our favourite activity has been our volcano

C has been quite interested in explosions recently so I thought a volcanic eruption would be right up his street.

Using my sieve, we did papier mache, painted it and while waiting for it to dry we all trooped upstairs to look at volcanoes erupting on youtube.

Helped along with the hairdryer, the volcano was ready by the afternoon, and with a little vinegar and bicarb, food dye and glitter we managed two eruptions. The boys help spoon the bicarb in, and were quite excited by the result :

Things are changing for H right at the moment, and it has taken us by surprise.

Quite suddenly he decided he no longer wanted to wear nappies, and with that he has set about learning the whole continence ritual. I am guarded about saying he has ‘potty trained’ himself, or that we have ‘potty trained’ him, because I just don’t feel it has happened like that, and to describe it as such detracts from, I feel, H’s whole journey from nappy to pants.

We have had a little potty chair kicking around for a while downstairs, and we have never really made reference to it, never really told him what it was for, or drew big attention to it. C told him it was for weeing on, and that was that.

A couple of time in the past few months I’ve invited H to wear pants, which was sometimes met with a flat-out ‘No’, and sometimes not. We have never pushed the issue if he said no.

Pant wearing over the nappy became a popular thing, as did pants over pyjamas, superman stylee. H has always taken great interest in watching us all go to the loo (I never get a minute’s peace!), and has ‘helped’ along the way. He has wanted to lift the lid, flush the toilet, turn on taps etc for the longest time. He has taken careful notes by watching closely- with no pressure on him to do the same.

Until he chose it for himself.

And he has, a full year earlier than his brother did.

I feel quite contradictory here, in mentioning the age/milestone thing, because I really don’t believe that there should be an ‘age’ that children should do anything by, but I feel that this particular milestone has come sooner because H was ready and given no pressure, and I’m pretty sure that the same milestone for C was so much longer and harder because we wanted it more than he did.

I can remember how pressured *I * felt that C should be in pants, or in the very least interested in all things toilet related from 2 years onwards, and how worried I was that not only did he not show a positive interest in the whole process, on the contrary, he appeared to be terrified of it. The mere mention of pants/potty/toilet would have him freaking out. And me too.

It was a painful journey, I look back now and wish I’d worried less about when that was going to be. C did eventually get over his pants fear, and became pants obsessed. He collected them, lined them up and colour coded them for quite some time. A bit of ‘pants control’ for him, I wonder?

He got over his potty fear, although his nursery he went to for a time reported he would not go on their toilet or potty. We took our own for him.

He finally got over his toilet fear one day when there was no option for him but to use a toilet. It was a horrible situation, and I felt as helpless as he did.

He finally got over his pooping on the loo fear about 6 months ago, when he stopped holding it all day until he had a bedtime nappy on.

One day I’m sure he won’t need a bedtime nappy on, but I am leaving well alone. I’ve learnt my lesson.

C was ‘gently’ steered by us (so we thought), and not so gently by others. Maybe the gentle steering may have worked on its own, who knows?

H has been ready to make a step towards continence at 2, in a way that C was not. And it wasn’t necessary to use a star chart, a reward, wild clapping or anything that made it seem that he was doing us a service in order to gain something from it. No special fanfare, just following a cultural norm.

How I wish that the move to pants could have been the same for C, whatever age that might have been.

And onto beds:

A week ago we had bunk beds for C’s room delivered, with a spare trundle bed underneath for musical beds in the night. It was never the intention for H to go into the bunk beds straight away, but it was more for later on, but we had to replace C’s bed as the slats had broken.

Co-sleeping with both of our boys has been wonderful, and although I was struggling with a sore back with H in our bed, I still wasn’t ready for him to move out.

However, he is!

He has a need to be in with his brother and ‘do’ the going to bed thing. We still play musical beds, as he isn’t completely happy to spend the whole of every night in his bed ( he has done that once so far), but we have more choices about beds we can sleep in, and ultimately we all have more comfort. So H will either comeinto our bed, or one of us will go into the (very comfy) bottom bunk.

I have been a little worried about how the new beds will affect breastfeeding, but so far this hasn’t been much of an issue, and H always asks if he wants milk. C loves the top bunk with a passion, and the biggest problem we have is getting him down!

…are long days.

It’s a time for small children to bounce off furniture like little pinballs, and find glee in emptying every..sodding…thing  they can find. Which is mostly the toy box, my purse or the contents of the kitchen cupboards/my make-up bag.

The relay race isn’t learnt at school. Oh no. These two know just how to ‘tag’ so that while one is emptying, the other waits patiently until I am tidying that before finding some other thing to climb/break/dismember/destroy.

On one of the snow days, we did play-doh. And after discovering that dog #1  likes to consume play-doh like a fine steak, we have to be careful. When supplies ran low, I decided to give making the stuff a go.

um…

 I possibly made more mess than even C & H are capable of, but we can now add blue, green and red salt- doh to the collection. And even the dog has turned his nose up at it. Unfortunately I don’t think I will ever get the food colouring out of my work surfaces, but hey ho.

So today, upon discovering the world is white again, I decided to grab the munchkins and drag them out for fun. By God I would make them have fun if it killed me. And, happily, they did.

We sledged, snowballed and snowmen-ed. We kicked in snowmen and at least one child got a faceful of snow. Another ate the stuff. Dogs shivered and children sniveled, but we had fun. I made sure of it.

At the last we decided on a trip to the local shop for milk and ‘provisions’. As you do when the snow is a massive inch or two, and you may never see a food outlet ever, ever again.

And we went…by sledge.

It was easier, apart from the rope burn in my hand and the aching shoulders. But the big thing I didn’t factor in was what to do with sledges when we got there.

 As expected the smoking teens were there in the trolley bay, listening to Jamie T ( whom I love but didn’t dare tell them that) and saying Fuck a lot. Hmmm.

I took in a big, brave breath, and asked. Would they mind looking after two sledges while a harassed mummy, with two kids whining for Kinder eggs, went shopping?

No, they wouldn’t mind. Ooh.

We went, we shopped, we wondered if we would have sledges on our return. I wondered if I would have to pay them in fags or crisps?Happily our sledges were looked after, and the kids seeing me come out of the shop, sauntered off. No need to pay sledge money. Happy days.

So now finally ensconced at home, one kid has dropped off from sheer exhaustion from the sledging, and one is parked on the sofa drying off. Clothes are dripping from every radiator, and the dogs are defrosting.

I’m getting the play-doh out….

cutting...

 

play-doh in here mummy?

Sam, H and Star

Little did he know his brother was sneaking up on him with a giant snowball...

Snowball King

Um… 

I’m really not sure what happened from November onwards. I’m pretty sure I did all the usual ‘Mummy’ stuff, and ‘Work’ stuff, but other than that, time has slipped away from me. No blog posts, and not much blog reading either. 

A very good friend lost her baby in November, and supporting her through this terribly sad time has meant taking a step back from a lot of things. 

Christmas and all the preparation always has had me stressed out, and no matter what, I can’t seem to get any better organised with each passing year. 

 But I think I am going to take a few lessons from a wiser  person than me next year, and maybe it won’t be nearly so stressful on the things I feel I ‘ought’ to do, but more enjoyable on the things I really enjoy doing.  Note: that probably means no Christmas cards next year, and gift bags all the way. 

Christmas and Birthday gifts have given me the realisation that I seemed to have entered the state where my kids know more than me how technology works. I swore this could never happen, after all I still feel about 18 in my head and pretty ‘down with the kids’.  

Um…but of course if you ever use that phrase, you just know you aren’t… 

So when C managed to access youtube, pause it while he had a loo break, then checked his lego Bricklink site- I knew it. The kid knows more than me and more than I give him credit for.  I got Shaun to password protect the computer ( as C also knows which youtube vid has all the rude words on it) and because I don’t know how to do this. 

Nor do I really know how to text on my new mobile phone, get Wi-fi on my Ipod when out of my house, or really have much of a clue how to get the Sat Nav going. When did it all change?! 

At least my 4-year-old can help me out when I get stuck… 

So to the boys…Santa came, offloaded a few  hundred  presents. Along too came all the dazzling Christmas lights, that in previous years we had scoffed at.  

Now we have discovered that they are life savers for entertaining small children scrapping in the back seat of my car. Instead many a journey was driven with the chorusing of  ‘There’s a Santa’ or ‘Ooh blue flashy ones’, rather than the usual poking, prodding and happy slapping. 

We no longer scoff at the shinysparklyoverthetop lights ( except in regard to size of someone else’s electricity bill), and happily we have no need to buy our own either.  

And owing to a good friend  I also didn’t need to take my own photos of the lights we saw either! It would have meant trying to mend the camera who had been in H’s charge for some time… 

So have the kids done anything remotely ‘schooly’? Um… 

Well they have learned their colour mixing: Apparently a whole box of Play-doh mixed together creates brown. With the help of Daddy, this can be rolled just-so, and with the eager assistance of a certain 4-year-old, the new turd-creation can be left for Mummy to stand on and scream about when she exits the bath… 

I think we can tick colours, art,  biology and deviousness off on that one. 

Tomorrow we shall be awaiting another biology lesson- if you feed the dog enough blue and yellow play-doh- will  he crap green?

And finally my littlest guy is 2. I can’t believe the time has gone so quickly, and once again it is a reminder to me  how quickly my children are growing, and to capture, either with a camera or in my heart, all those sweet moments of their childhood.  

H’s birth was the complete antithesis of C’s birth, thankfully. C’s birth is not a place I am able to revisit often, but maybe will some day. H arrived gently, with the lights down low, with just Shaun and I there, and in a water pool. I birthed him myself and all at once felt  powerful and at peace. I may not do pregnancy well- but I can birth a baby well, I CAN! 

I would love to say you may see pictures in the spot underneath- but who knows? It will involve some swearing and hard work on my part as I get to grips with my new computer and all of its new programmes! 

Cmas Day- The only time my kids have worn matching clothes. Honest.

A more usual pose...

Bring...the...Chablis...to...Mummy...

Before the snow came...

Birthday boy!

New Trike- just waiting for the snow to go now...

Two years ago...

The Star Wars love continues...

C, at 4, is now an expert on all that is Star Wars. From the entire cast, to the names of every single creature/planet/spacecraft. He also knows that it was dreamt up by none other than George LUCAS - ‘like me mummy!’ he says. C’s middle name is George. Give it time I’m sure he will be telling people that the creator of Star Wars is a long-lost relative.

C & H have had light sabers. Blue and Green. The colour, apparently, is very important.

Luke has a blue one.  Luke & the colour blue is C’s favourite. H is YodaGreen. I told C I would like a purple one, and he informed me that colour light saber belongs to Mace Windu ( Windoo??- not sure). I have to believe he is right, as I have no clue. Nor do I have a clue about Boba Fett, Taun Taun’s or why Padme had that bizarre lipstick thing going on.

What I do know, however, is how C has managed to accumulate such a lot of knowledge on a subject in a short space of time. Okay it isn’t the Russian Revolution, the Alphabet or objects that are green. Instead it is a clear demonstration to me, that the desire to learn about a subject is all you need to learn about that subject.

 Motivation? Right here, thanks. Willingness to expand on the new found knowledge? Check. No need to test to see if the knowledge has been retained. No planned outcomes or objectives, coursework or measurement against what others may know about the subject.

From Star Wars Lego, drawing pictures, looking at space rockets and planets, to role playing. It’s all there. It may not be my chosen subject, but I can facilitate it- and I can learn alongside too ( I have already learnt how to Duh-duh-duh-duuh-dee-duh-duh-dee-duh) to the Imperial Death March, and I am out of this world at being Darth-Vader-with-the-funny-breathing (although I’m pretty sure I never heard Darth say, ‘I will just come and kill you when I’ve washed this plate up- but hey, we improvise well).

Dying is my speciality- I am soo good. I can do slow & agonising, to quick- fire, draping myself over furniture as I go. I can do dead-come-alive-for-one-last-grab, and dying-crawl-across-the-floor-rasping. The bit I like best is the 40 seconds of face down on the floor having a rest, before I am shoved over and find twenty little fingers trying to prise my eyelids open amid howls of laughter.

Sounds horrific? I wondered too about that too, pre-kids. Never would my kids have toy guns/swords etc. Encourage fighting role play? No way.

But you know what? They will use anything to make a ‘weapon’ with, whether you like it or not. Fingers, Duplo, sticks, teddies, my dressing gown belt(!)

These days I wonder something else entirely- that children may need to act out these themes of death and fighting in the safe confines of play- where the idea isn’t to hurt but to understand what motivates others to fight or protect themselves. Perhaps it is a part of emotional development that I shouldn’t stop, or distract from right now.

So I join in- with my hairbrush ( I’m all for imaginative play).

‘I’ve got my Light Saber,’ I declare, leaping into action.

I get The Withering Look from C- one that could melt Han from his carbonite and possibly free Leia-in-a-gold-bikini from Jabba’s clutches .

‘That’s a hair brush mummy’.

Oh dear. Strong in this one, the sarcasm is.

What a week. If  home educators haven’t been accused of being mentally ill , pregnant women accused of being unfit because of their houses being half-decorated,  mothers fined for feeding the ducks, then all the rest of us should never, ever look at a child, go near a child, help a child or indeed be within a hand-span radius of a child. Unless of course you have a magic bit of paper that tells you and the whole, wide world that you are safe, safe, safe.

Take today for instance. I went to a meeting today that just so happened to be in a Children’s Centre.

The ones that have sprung up like posh little lean-to’s at the side of most primary schools. They are heated VERY well, have lovely carpetskitchenswhiteboards&ergonomicallydesignedchairs. Posters adorn every wall in joyous colours. And its all for the kids, and anyone with any (good, wholesome and clean) interest in kids.

Never seen a kid in one. However…

At my meeting today we were told, in no uncertain terms that we were to leave the building at or preferably before 12 noon. The meeting was to finish then, and there could be No Lingering. No popping to the loo, no running back for forgotten coats or queries. Move directly to the Door, and do not pass go.

Why?

Well, apparently the superduperlovely Children’s Centre also houses the canteen (methinks that they just chopped a bit of the school off and rebranded it).

The shiny-faced and possibly ravenous children have to cross from their school, across the foyer and into the canteen. Our meeting- a women’s group of voluntary workers were in a secure room off the foyer.

The children must not meet us. Nor see us, nor ever know that we were there.

Again, why?

Are they so dangerous, these children, that they might eat us, claw our eyes out, demand our child-safe credentials?

Ahh- that I can do. You see, I’m all good. I have the bit of magic paper, as do all the other ladies. In fact I have had about 7 of these magic bits of papers in the last few years. And I have been referenced too. And Police Checked.

They haven’t done a DNA profile or fingerprinting on me yet. I’m sure it’s just a matter of time. I am expecting a full-body x-ray invitation any day soon. Just in case I’m ‘packing’ a bag of sweeties or a basket of puppies in my handbag.

If it’s not me that’s the problem- it must be the kids that are a problem for me. Mabe they have a secret conker-hoarder that somehow avoided being frisked on the way into school ( those darn conkers can cause a nasty slip injury- there’s a poster on the wall to prove it).

This is accepted. The meeting went ahead, and we scurried out like guilty people, lest we accidentally got in the way of A Child. Why did I accept it? I’m not sure. Groupthink maybe, a slow surrender to whatever will be will be. A desire to be part of the meeting that morning.

I regret it.

But now, in my own home, with my own children, whom I didn’t need to be CRB checked to have, and don’t need to be CRB checked to raise while under 5 (so far), and for whom I will most definitely be saying NO to being licenced  in order to facilitate their learning- I realised, too late, that I should have stood up and asked very loudly, WHY?

Our little family managed to have a little more time recently since Flicka the pony died, and withdrawing C from playgroup, but it has been so strange getting used to it. We still rush around for some stuff, getting to work , getting husband to work etc, but more and more I have been discovering going at a much slower pace.

The good bit is saying ‘yes’ to more things. So now there is no time limit on dog walking- if those leave need kicking some more, the little Lucii get to kick them ( and I grit my teeth and try not to think hidden dog crap etc).

 Need to pop to the shops? Yes we can walk. Though it does mean that a 10 minute walk is now an hour because we go at fairy-step pace with H.

Yes we can crawl after the snail in the garden to see where he is off to (unless I can no longer ignore the urge to pee, or finally the hunger pains strike).

Shall we build a Star Wars rocket whose pieces are spread through 3 giant buckets of Lego? Yes ( though it took three sodding hours to find that essential last lost piece, and for once C didn’t lose interest before we found it-worst mummy luck).

Ahhh.

But still all good fun, and it’s getting easier to quit asking them to hurry up as much.

Now maybe it’s because we are new to this HE stuff, or maybe it was because of holding a conversation with C that didn’t include a) the noise a light saber makes  b) exactly how much Star Wars toys is too much for Santa to bring – but we took a ‘thing’ and ran with it the other day.

It started with the public toilets at our dog walking spot. A grand start. The light was flickering on and off, which sparked the conversation about a power cut we had last year. Our street was on a mobile generator for three days (noisy, but at least we could all watch telly and cook). We moved onto electricity, pylons, sub-stations, and finally the power station. Um, which we live near. Well, about 10 miles away. C wanted to go right then and see it.

I said ‘No’ and then wondered immediately. Why had I said no? We were in the car anyway, we hadn’t got many plans, and it was raining. So we went. Now it isn’t my idea of a riveting day out, and nor are we in at a stage where we could discuss the politics of a coal-burning power plant- but both kids we in awe of the giant cooling towers and the gas stacks that looked like rocket launchers (of course).

Now, on a journey C will point out every sub-station he can recognise (turns out those yellow hazard pics of a person being electrocuted are pretty effective as a signpost), and counts the pylons. Yay.

But we had time and we had fun, and we did some learning.

Next week it could be the sewage works- count us in!!

”Due”. As in scheduled or expected.

Thanks, but no thanks.

Apparently the ‘closing date’ is 11th December, so that will be another happy ‘deadline’ to miss.