2

Welcome. Thanks for coming!

Featured |
westportpic

Hi! I’m Michelle Kennedy Hogan and I’m the unschooling mother of eight children, a writer, gardener, baker and nomad with a homebody complex. I’ve written 14 books and more than 1,000 articles on simple living, parenting, pregnancy, dogs, home and unschooling, cooking, weight loss, healthy living and much more. I also write the healthy-living blog:  The…
Continue reading »

1

No More Cereal? What Do You Eat For Breakfast?

|

My kids almost kicked me out of the house, but for the last three weeks we have been completely cereal-free. Yup. We don’t even have a box of organic Toasty O’s in the house anymore.

Why? A number of reasons. The expense was one of them. Even a box of cereal at $3 each will be gone in one – maybe two breakfasts in my house. Everyday? That’s $21 a week or $84 a month on CEREAL!

The other reasons are all health-related. It turns out that even buying organic cereal isn’t all that great. The process through which the food goes in order to get into your bowl.

According to biochemist Paul Stitt, the author of Fighting the Food Giants, ”the extrusion process, which treats the grains with very high heat and pressure… destroys much of their nutrients. It denatures the fatty acids; it even destroys the synthetic vitamins that are added at the end of the process. The amino acid lysine, a crucial nutrient, is especially damaged by the extrusion process.”

Most conventional cereals are made with GMO corn and soy as well as high-fructose corn syrum and BHT – a preservative used in embalming fluid and jet fuel – YUM!

So – what do we eat for breakfast?

Eggs. Bacon. Peanut butter and jelly or honey sandwiches…usually on homemade or, at least, organic, locally-made bread. Oatmeal. Homemade granola bars. Leftover homemade pizza.

You’ll notice that a lot of our foods are homemade. If you can purchase the raw ingredients, you’ll save money and be able to create those yummy organic foods without paying the high price for the ones in a box. And truthfully, making a batch of granola bars, bread or cookies doesn’t take a lot of time out of my day.

Here’s my recipe for No-Bake Granola Bars:

1/2 cup honey

1/2 maple syrup

1 stick of butter

3 cups of rolled oats

1-2 cups puffed rice (if you want – otherwise another cup of oats or shredded coconut)

2 cups raisins, dried fruit, coconut, chocolate chips, nuts or whatever else you might like. If you don’t have anything extra in your pantry, these are good plain.

Place the honey, maple syrup (or more honey) and butter in a saucepan over medium high heat. Once the mixture is incorporated and dissolved, let it boil until it hits soft ball stage.

Mix the dry ingredients together well in a bowl. But not chocolate chips – place those on top after the mixture is in the pan!

Grease a brownie pan – 9 X 13 – with butter or coconut oil.

Mix the wet in with the dry and spread it out in the pan. Place the pan in the refrigerator for 30 minutes. Cut into bar sized pieces and eat.

 

0

In Unschooling, The Learning Disabled 7-year-old Becomes the Extraordinary Entrepreneur

|

liam1

When my fourth child, Liam, was in second grade, he was “diagnosed” ADHD and Aspergers. I was told he would have to repeat he second grade because he couldn’t “keep up” academically. I knew this would devastate him, so his father and I made the choice to pull him out of school and homeschool him, hoping that we could compensate for his learning disabilities. We already homeschooled his oldest brother and his next older brother, Alex, came out of school the same year because he liked the idea — and was having boredom issues at school that led to A LOT of phone calls from the principal’s office.

In my typically Type A fashion, I set about gathering curricula of all sorts. I ordered fancy math and science textbooks, designed my own handwriting pages and purchased all sorts of books – many of which I had read when I was in school.

I was ready for “schooling at home.” Only, Liam was not. For hours every morning, Liam and I battled. We would start out happy and fun and then as soon as we got to math – it all fell apart. He hated everything and would slip away at every opportunity.

When he started to exhibit the same symptoms he had before going to school – stomach aches, headaches, and other “sick” symptoms, I knew something had to change.

Taking a cue from my oldest son, who was basically teaching himself at home, I backed off. I put away all of the fancy books and schedules and let Alex and Liam do what they wanted to do, all day long. I had started to read about unschooling and deschooling and thought that maybe with some time off, they would start to come around. They did, but not in the way I imagined.

For days, Liam and Alex watched movies, played video games, ran around outside and played. Just played. All day long. Some days I was pleased with the joy of it all. Some days I couldn’t stand it. “They should be learning things,” my brain said. What I didn’t realize then was just how much they were learning.

I tried to keep myself from “teaching” them. Instead, I read a lot about boys and the nature of boys and how children learn. I read some John Holt.

“If we continually try to force a child to do what he is afraid to do, he will become more timid, and will use his brains and energy, not to explore the unknown, but to find ways to avoid the pressures we put on him.” – John Holt.

I took the boys on field trips and to the library and to the farmers’ market. We played at the playground and baked things in the kitchen and pulled weeds in the garden and fed the chickens.

My husband took the boys to work with him (where he fixed computers) when he could and while Alex didn’t like it (so he stayed home), Liam loved it and it became a regular thing for him. Alex, when left to his own devices, stayed in his room and drew pictures and read books. Liam, when left to his own devices, tore apart old computers we started buying for him at yard sales and started to navigate the computer expertly.

Our life has pretty much continued in this fashion for the last 7 or 8 years. We have done lots of things as a family, including owning a restaurant, moving a few times, owning and racing a dog sled team and tour business, and lots of other stuff.

In all that time, I have never once forced Liam to crack a book – although he has read many. Liam is a lot like me in that he doesn’t enjoy fiction. I should say I was this way as a kid. I’m not like that now. But he’s taught himself how to be a ham radio operator, computer programming in a number of different languages and now has a fascination for politics and political and history books. He also loves to volunteer and has volunteered at public libraries, the bookmobile, a local horse stables, senior centers in at least two different cities and for the church youth group. He is also starting a soccer club because he loves soccer but hates mega-competition, so he wanted to have a relaxed soccer environment.

Liam – my ADHD and Aspergers’ child for whom I refused to “seek medicinal treatment” – is now almost 15 years old and running a computer business almost entirely by himself. I help with some of the marketing and John helps with advanced computer issues with which Liam is unfamiliar.

Without a spec of schooling, my 15 year old son now makes more per hour than I ever have at any job I ever had. He networks with local businesses, engages people everywhere and apparently brags about what a computer genius his father is. We have only lived in this little town for 6 months and I already hear from many people in town just how kind, polite, inquisitive, generous with his time and smart he is.

For a boy who was so severely “learning disabled,” this is, to me, quite extraordinary. Alex (at almost 17) too, although not ever labeled learning disabled, has become quite the artist and is designing a full-fledged comic book that he hopes to sell soon. His artistic talent amazes me and I know that if he hadn’t been allowed the time to develop it, he could never have achieved the level of artistry he has.

Am I bragging about my kids? Well, sure…I guess. And I’m sorry if that offends. My point though is not to be “braggy” but to illustrate how well unschooling can work. We have had horrible, rotten days where I’m crabby and the kids are crabby and we all retreat to our neutral corners. But most days are interesting, fun and full of all sorts of things (particularly noise) – including learning.

Some days we accomplish nothing but hanging out and reading books and watching the rain. Other days we complete projects big and small and go on expeditions. Sometimes I get overly enthused about something and try and teach it – and then I get a bunch of crabby, bored kids who remind me that maybe just a simple answer, instead of a lecture was good enough.

By letting the kids be themselves, I’ve also learned that there is a place for me. I’m no longer a burned-out homeschooling housewife who never has time for herself. As the kids see me pursue my interests, they see how to pursue theirs.

Just a thought.

0

How Do You Do It?

|

jackhalo We were doing a little Easter basket shopping (OK, a lot of shopping…with 5 kids to make baskets for this year, there is no little) and I was wearing one-month-old Anais (quickly becoming Ani) in her wrap. She was snoozing away as I filled the cart and tossed things to John when the inevitable happened – a number of people admiring her and asking me how old she is. No biggie. Later, though, I got the “Is this your first?” from someone who obviously wanted to give me advice. I had to keep from snorting in this poor lady’s face!

I politely replied, “No, she’s my 8th,” which of course brings about a whole other round of questions, looks and stares. Once admitting to having 8 children, strangers generally ask one of the questions all moms of large families get – “How do you do it?”

Truthfully, it’s not that hard. Even with homeschooling and having a lot of kids of different ages – it’s not that hard. Granted, we probably stay home more than the average family with two kids, but that’s more a financial issue than a kid issue.

There are days, of course, when the kids are running around, jumping on my bed and chasing each other over the couch with foam swords while I try and write my book when I would very much like Calgon to take me away, but those days are rare, often, occasional.

Through the years, I’ve tried a number of strategies to deal with the chaos that is sometimes a day in the life around here. I’ve tried strict schedules. I’ve tried relaxed schedules. Basically, I’ve learned that if it has the word “schedule” in it, it’s not a Hogan-friendly phrase. We are not good schedule people. Don’t get me wrong, we can get places on time and we participate in all kinds of activities that require us to work a scheduled time into our day, but as far as doing A, B and C at the same time everyday – blech. We hate it.

As I’ve phased out formal scheduling and relaxed over the years, I noticed that we tend to do the same things at the same time every day whether we schedule it or not. Our day has a natural rhythm to it and we are flexible enough to be able to work things in and out of the day as we need to.

I like being able to throw a beach day into the afternoon or add a class here or there because we are not rigidly following a set routine. This has been extremely helpful when adding a newborn to the household as it’s nice to be able to slip off for a nap and not worry about what schoolwork is being “missed” or what set part of the day we aren’t keeping up on.

“But how are your kids going to know what to do…how to be…how to live when they grow up?”

Well, I don’t know. How do any of us? I often still ponder alternate paths and wonder what I will be when I grow up? I’m 40 and still don’t feel like a grown-up most of the time. Except when bills come in the mail. Then I remember.

I do know that I have two children that qualify as bonafide grown-ups now and two children that are making their way to that world. The only one who is truly struggling as a “grown-up” is the one that went to school for the longest time. For him, life seems difficult. But for the rest, those that were able to explore their own learning paths, make most of their own decisions and guided instead of “taught,” they seem to be enjoying exploring adulthood.

My oldest daughter lives in another city and has a job in cooking – something she always wanted to do. Alex, 17,  (3 of 8) has his first “real” job and even though he was never scolded and ordered to get up and go to school, somehow – all on his own – he gets up on time for work, rides his bike and gets there all on his own. Amazing how motivating a little cash and independence can be!

Liam, 15, is the entrepreneur and spends his days learning to program computers, fixing them, going to meetings with his clients, volunteering for various organizations and riding his bike. In addition to the math and science portion of fixing computers and programming, he also has had to improve his communication skills through sending clients emails, creating invoices and writing copy for websites.

Jack, 8, has recently become a Lego master builder…finding plans online and creating whole worlds from his Legos. While this may seem like “child’s play,” I know that in addition to the reading and following instructions he is doing, he is also manipulating and calculating and all sorts of other stuff. The creativity and invention is also thrilling to watch. He also loves to make costumes out of materials from around the house. His current creation is the picture above.

Kiara, 5, is currently a fashion designer, artist, cook, Lego builder, gymnast, doctor and shopkeeper. The house is constantly being turned into one type of store or office or another.

Seamus is almost 4 and constantly on the move, learning to read on his own, asking questions (oh the questions) and talking, talking, talking.

And well, Anais is 5 weeks old and taking it all in.

So how do I do it? Well, truthfully, I feel like I’m just a guide and facilitator. If you need to know something, I’ll help you find it out. Need to go somewhere? I’ll drive you. Are you hungry? I’ll go make something…or help you do it. Need some exercise? We’ll go to the beach or the park or the yard. Feeling bored? Let’s play a game, read a book together or just be bored. Some of the greatest creative projects come out of boredom.

We watch movies, play games, go outside, go on field trips, go for bike rides and walks, do community service projects, bake and cook, garden, hang out with friends. How do we do it? We just do it. We don’t worry about whether the house is clean enough to leave it for the day. We clean – as a group – when it’s messy. I don’t have a chore list or designated areas. I say, “Hey, will you pick up over there, while I pick up over here?” Or “Will you clean the bathroom while I put away the clothes?”

It’s about helping out the family, not dictating work.

Having a large family is like living in a small community or village – everybody needs to help out. However, I don’t think being dictatorial about is necessary. We try and get everyone to help at a level at which they can succeed.

I don’t, I guess, really “do” anything in particular. We just do.

“Life is what happens while you’re busy making other plans.” – John Lennon

0

Crazy Pregnant Lady Syndrome

|

Yes, it’s a syndrome – at least for me – and when you’ve been pregnant as many times as I have, I believe you can start calling something a syndrome or possibly an epidemic.

It is an undeniable truth that whenever I get pregnant I become a crazy lady – at least for the first few months. Nevermind the craziness that enables a person to get pregnant 10 times (I’ve had two miscarriages), but there is a distinct craziness that occurs as soon as those hormones kick in.

Now, this is not a depression – I don’t think. It could be a mania. But first, what am I talking about? What kind of crazy?

Well, let me tell you. When I was pregnant with Matthew – my first – I didn’t recognize the crazy because it had never happened before. So I can’t recall specific instances – also, it was VERY long time ago as Matt will turn 21 this year. I do remember a lot of anger on my part and an incident where I was so angry with my younger sister – she must have been about 13 – that I threw a cereal bowl in her direction and it smashed into about 4 million small pieces. I can still remember the look on her face – and can only imagine the look on mine – we were both shocked.

By the time I was pregnant with Lydia, my second, I still didn’t recognize the crazy as it was happening but looking back, I can go – “oh, yeah…should have known…”

Before I knew I was pregnant with Lydia, I went crazy on a lady I used to babysit for. I was totally fine with the kid and babysat for him with my son Matt everyday. But the lady didn’t pay me on time and I became absolutely rabid. I’m never like that. Usually if someone owes me money I will go out of my way to not make a big deal out of it. I’ve owed too many people money to ever make someone feel bad for not having any (this could explain why I still don’t have any, but that’s another story…). But on this day, I was absolutely beside myself – calling and screaming at this poor lady on the phone – slamming it down (several times if I recall) and telling her to never bring her son to my house again. Yup. Crazy.

What’s weird about these flashes of crazy is that they are rare and come up and go away so quickly I hardly know who I am. A few days later, I took a pregnancy test and realized the source of the crazy. I was like, “Oh…” but by that time, I was too embarrassed to call her and apologize.

With Alex, I hollered at an employee at a fast food restaurant and I may have made him cry AND I quit my job at a bar – throwing my keys and beeper through a stack of glassware. I’m pretty sure I didn’t get a paycheck after that.

With Liam, I quit my job at the credit card company and bought a pizza restaurant. Poor John, he didn’t know about the crazy yet.

With Jack I bought THE SAME RESTAURANT BACK after we had given it up because it didn’t make any money. At some point, you’d think John would stop me – but unfortunately, my crazy can seem perfectly reasonable at the time.

With Kiara, I was too sick to be crazy but I do recall hitting one of the teenagers in a moment of freakishness. I was immediately regretful and begged forgiveness. I believe the teen I hit was too shocked to do anything but forgive me – I don’t hit children ever, so it was a shocker for both of us.

With Seamus, we moved to a huge Victorian house that I was going to fix-up not thinking that I would soon be HUGE and exhausted. Oh well.

With the baby I miscarried after Seamus, we moved to Tomahawk – which seemed crazy but was actually one of the best things that had ever happened to us.

With little Anais, we moved here to Ocean Shores – also seemingly crazy, but due to circumstances at the time – like being evicted from Tomahawk…it was a necessary, if not completely rational, move.

Yup. Crazy Pregnant Lady. Now that I’m 40, I wonder if I’ll be crazy menopausal lady sometime (PLEASE?) soon. I may truly be that lady wearing a purple housecoat and fuzzy slippers on her walk into town. But who knows? I might do that anyway – with 8 kids, I frequently have nothing to wear and am so sleep deprived I could care less what I’m wearing even if I have something nice…

And NO – before someone Googles it – I am NOT pregnant with my 9th (although that is often what I said when someone asked me if I was pregnant with number 8).

0

Why I Didn’t Have an Abortion

|

This is one of those essays that I had to write but am afraid to publish. I know how people feel about this topic and I am bracing for the negative comments that will undoubtedly come my way. On the other hand, I think that sometimes some things need to be said – and read.

Walking through the grocery store in our little Northwoods town, I was on a mission for milk and bread – as usual. I paused briefly to look over a new display of low-carb granola bars (I’m always interested in a new granola bar) and was so overwhelmed with dizziness that I had to hold on to the shelf.

“Oh no,” I thought. “Shit. Really?” All of a sudden the inability to stop coughing and gagging on my daily runs made sense. I was pregnant. I knew it. I walked quickly to the feminine hygiene aisle and plucked the cheapest pregnancy test I could find off the shelf. With not a little indignation, I paid for it and my other items and raced home to take the test – the thought that I could possibly be pregnant – again – making me more and more angry by the second.

Yes. I was mad. I was. I’m sorry, now, that I was mad. But right there, right then, in that moment when I pictured everything I had been working for the last couple of years going down the tubes, I was quite upset.

I raced into the house without saying “Hello” to anyone, ran into the bathroom and ripped open the test box as I sat down to pee on the stick.

I’ve been pregnant often enough to know what it’s going to say, but still for the 10 seconds that I watched the pink “control” line appear, I had hope. I have never hoped before that I wasn’t going to be pregnant. Usually, I’m quite happy and hoping to be pregnant again.

This time, I had resolved myself to not getting pregnant. I was getting older, after all. I was going to be 40 in a less than a week. And I had a large team of sled dogs in my yard waiting for fall to come back around so we could train for some of the races I had been dreaming about most of my adult life. This was the year I was ready to put together a team that would qualify me to eventually run the Iditarod.

So, when my husband knocked on the bathroom door to see if I was OK, I told him to come in and then angrily thrust the test in his face. “Fabulous,” I said. My husband, pretty used to getting this kind of news by now was unphased and although he wasn’t upset, he could see that I was and did not express his happiness at the news.

Being pregnant just now would wreck those plans for the year. If my math was correct (and it was), I was due in February of 2013 – smack dab in the middle of the racing season. Crap.

And yes, before anyone says anything, I do know how it happens – and that was what was so puzzling about this particular pregnancy – measures had been taken to ensure that it wouldn’t happen. I was not ready, this year, to have my eighth child. Quite frankly, I had other stuff to do. Seamus, my just turned three-year-old, was just getting to the point where I could leave during part of the day – having a baby around was too much to imagine.

My mind was reeling. For days, I raged. Combined with overwhelming morning sickness and my impending 40th birthday, I pretty much believed my life to be over. Early one morning, I started reading about what I came to think might be the best option – an abortion. For a few days, I actually considered doing it and researched my options. I was encouraged to do it by several of my mushing friends who knew how wrecked my winter plans would be.

I read essays and articles by other women who had had abortions. Some were painfully sad and regretful. Others were cavalier and the lack of emotion – even from women who already had children – disturbed me. I was horrified by websites and videos of women who proudly wore t-shirts that said, “I had an abortion.” But still, I thought about it.

For days I laid on the couch in a depression, but buoyed by my children who danced and laughed around me. And then I would need to throw up and would go to the bathroom that overlooked the dog yard where my dreams were waiting for me.
I prayed. A lot. I prayed for strength and understanding and some sort of sign. I secretly hoped I might miscarry. I know – that’s terrible – but I did. I had three times before so it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. But everyday that went by, I puked longer and harder than the one before – ensuring, for me, a pregnancy that would “stick.” The irony of it all, of course, being that all of the changes I went through, getting healthy and strong through losing weight, running and working so hard with the team, was that my body was now in optimal condition to conceive (even with birth control) and grow a baby. Even though I was about to be, gulp, 40.

Laying in bed too long one morning, listening to the dogs howl (one of my favorite sounds) and the children play (my favorite sound), I asked myself the same question I ask whenever I hear someone say they support the death penalty – or abortion: “Who am I to decide who gets to live or die?”

No one. It was the only thought in my head. That and “who said what I want was more important than the right of someone else to live?”
What I want – my dreams and my hopes – do not preclude the rights of someone else to have hopes and dreams. Period. And yes, I believe life begins when a life is conceived. I just do. I’ve seen the heartbeats at a few weeks old.

Why is my dream to run the Iditarod more important than a baby’s will to live (and by the puking I was doing, this child definitely showed the will to live)? It’s not. It’s that simple. I have always believed myself to be a live and let live kind of girl. You can do what you want, with whomever you want as long as you don’t hurt or impede anyone else’s right to do the same. This extends, in my heart and mind to an unborn child.

I also knew, that as a mother, I would never forgive myself if I did anything to hurt this child – or any other child for that matter. To me, when I really thought about it, aborting this baby – even at this extremely inconvenient time for me – was not different than walking over to my five-year-old and killing her for no other reason than that she was inconvenient to me. Extreme? I don’t think so. If more people thought of it on those terms, aborting babies might be less common. At least I hope it would be.

In an effort to get over my depression about my lost dreams, I started to create new ones. I began by announcing to the world, much sooner than I normally would, that I was pregnant. I started to find homes for the superior racing dogs so that they could run through the season. An interestingly-timed eviction from our farm in Wisconsin expedited the process and I ended up selling every dog and every piece of equipment. A heartbreaking process, I had to come up with a new dream, and fast.

We ended up “where the land ends,” according to my five-year-old, on the coast of Washington State where I could be pregnant and have a baby without having to watch snow pile up around me – and be sad about it.

In a way, I’m glad that I was so thrown into turmoil by this pregnancy. Truly, it made me face up to what I really believe and put myself in the place of other women who make the choice everyday. Granted, my choice was not tempered by violence or another issue that could further complicate the decision. However, what I learned by reading many stories by women who decided to abort is that many of the choices are influenced by convenience and circumstances at the time. To me, that’s just not acceptable. Circumstances change – constantly. I should know, last year I lived on a 40 acre farm in the woods of Wisconsin and now I live in a small house in a new town on the coast of Washington. Everything I knew has changed and we live on the cusp of the unknown almost everyday.

I believe fate and God work in mysterious ways. I believe that all things happen for a reason – even if we never get to find out what the reason is. Losing my dog team and my Wisconsin life seems unfair to me somedays, especially if I lay in bed, early in the morning and wait to hear howls that never come. I do know that I would be beyond devasted though, if I there was no laughter of little children in the house instead. As my due date comes closer and closer, I am more and more excited to see this little one. I am hopeful that all will go well and that this child will forgive me for what I couldn’t reconcile several months ago. In fact, I even looked for a name that might mean something like “forgiving,” because I feel so badly for not wanting this child for as long as I did.

In this new, strange place in which we live, I am exploring other interests and still keep up with the mushing world through writing and following the races of my friends. My children are thriving and everyone is caught up in the excitement that follows the holidays and a new baby on the way. Being able to go to the beach everyday doesn’t hurt.

Garrison Keillor said something in his “American Masters” portrait about how he had strived to live an extraordinary life but found that we all end up with an ordinary life and that’s just as good. I think that’s something I’ve struggled with for a long time. Learning to be content with where you are what you are doing is difficult in a world that promotes the unusual and abnormal (can you say Amish Mafia?) as normal. But it’s necessary. In the end, the 37 people who once read something I wrote won’t remember me or come to my funeral. In the end, an Iditarod champion is just another person who runs dogs. In the end, the only thing that matters, I think, is that the people who matter most to you, know that they matter most and that you do something everyday to make someone else’s life a little better.

I recently read an essay on a prominent blog by a woman who said she had an abortion because it was “just something I couldn’t bear doing right then in my life…” and, “I didn’t want to offer my body to that process again.” I don’t even know what to say to comments like that. I just don’t. If anything, though, this kind of laissez faire attitude about it makes me hurt for the children this woman already has.

Since I was a teenager, I dreamed that I would have a large, happy family. Over the holidays, I was reminded that I had accomplished that dream but that I have to nurture it – and not deter from it, even if I sometimes want to do something else. I’ve had other dreams too, and motherhood has not prevented me from accomplishing them.

Today, I can write this while feeling and watching my ever-increasing bump move and groove to the sounds in the room. I am more grateful for than I can say.

I may run dogs again and I may even get to run Iditarod. And that would be wonderful, but I will never, ever want that chance at the expense of someone else.

4

To Train a Child?

|

“Train up a child in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it” – Proverbs 22:6

I’ll freely admit that one of the reasons I never did go into politics is that I’m the queen of the wafflers. I am such an intense reader and seeker of information that I often see both sides of the coin, making me almost inert when it comes to formulating a solid opinion.

I am this way when it comes to the subject of “training” a child. I bristle at the term “training.” My child is not a dog, I don’t need to train it to do tricks. Truthfully, as the former owner of almost 30 sled dogs, I rarely trained them either. My dogs did what they were born to do and I didn’t train them to please me.

However, when I read this quote from Proverbs, I am struck not just by the word “train” – which often gets us in trouble with my unschooling friends, but also by the phrase “he will not depart from it.”

When you’ve been a mother for 20 years, you learn a lot of stuff. You learn that every child is not the same. You learn that each child needs to find their own path, but also that you, as the mom or dad, sometimes need to go bushwhack the path in front of your child.

The definition of “to train” is: to make proficient by instruction and practice, as in some art, profession, or work. But it also means to to treat or manipulate so as to bring into some desired form, position, direction, etc.: to train one’s hair to stay down.

I’m not sure I like either definition, but I understand the sentiment and I follow it sometimes.

For example, I take my children – all of them – to restaurants as often as I can. I take them to family restaurants, fancy restaurants and fast food places (occasionally). I don’t just take them to Chuck E. Cheese so they can run around like crazy people. When we go to these places, we sit down, we talk, we eat. We practice our good manners – just like we do at home at the dinner table. Why? Because I want my children to be able to go out to lunch with me in public without it being a constant “reminder” fest of instructions and reprimands. And we can and we do – why? Because apparently, I’ve “trained” my children in how to eat in public. Look, I’m not a harsh disciplinarian, but I also don’t think my huge family – and we get panicked looks when we all enter a restaurant – should disrupt other people’s meals. I’ve seen so-called “gentle” or let’s face it, “no” discipline parents try and get their children to stop climbing over the tables or throwing food. It’s embarrassing and it’s wrong.

I do not cajole, reprimand or threaten my children to stay in their seats at a restaurant. Sometimes we take a little walk around the restaurant just to take a breather. But I do model good behavior and I expect it from my children. Expectations are everything in child behavior. I expect in a restaurant – or at our home dinner table – that my children will sit, eat what they want or what they can, and not be rude. I tell them so. We practice. I give little pep talks before we go in. I say things like, “OK, this is a fancy restaurant and there are lots of people. We need to sit and talk in our inside voices. You can have soda, if you want. You can order whatever you like, but remember, we have to be patient.”

We do this in all types of situations: going to store, the library, wherever. I do this because I like my children and their company and I want to take them places. I also want other people not to mind that I take my children places. Sometimes it’s hard. Sometimes we have to leave a full grocery cart behind so we can go outside and take a breather. But I try and do all of this without threatening or harshness.

Do we do timeouts? Not really. They really don’t work. When a child is 1, 2, 3 or 4, it’s usually best to just let them cry, listen – if they can talk – to what they have to say and then suggest an alternative activity. If there’s a major breakdown or tantrum and I feel myself losing my patience, I might pick up the child and set them on the couch for a minute. Other than that, there’s very little reason to wreck a child’s day.

I didn’t do this with my oldest two children. I cajoled, threatened and punished. I even spanked once or twice. I was 20 years old and it was what was done to me. I also lost my patience easily. And I was motivated by embarrassment more than any need to train a child. I wanted my children to “behave.” What I didn’t know then was that it was my behavior of being exasperated and losing my temper that inspired the same behavior in my children.

I learned to treat my children with respect and they would return it. I know this works because I now have teenagers (not my oldest two) that listen when they are spoken to, do their chores without attitude, understand when I explain why they can’t go here or there and are kind to their younger siblings. They also model the good behavior I want my younger children to use.

Was this training? Well, I think it was, in a way. It was training for them and me. I think it’s imperative that children – and young adults – learn to be polite and be cheerful…yes, sometimes even if they don’t feel like it. I would never force a 4 year old to speak to a stranger, but I encourage every child to say “Goodbye and Thank You” at the store, post office or wherever. I think it’s important to understand that even if we feel bummed out one day, it’s not the other person’s fault and they deserve to be treated with kindness regardless of our own feelings.

Training a child is not the Pearl’s smacking a baby with a stick if he gets off a blanket – that’s abuse, by any measure.

I know now though that training a child does not need to be some formulated, military-style indoctrination, but can be a gentle introduction to the world in which we live. We are respectful of other people’s views and rules – and that’s OK – even if we are WAY relaxed at home.

I would however, prefer a different word…”guide,” I think works well. “To guide a child in the way he will go.”

1

The Road Trip

|

First off, let me say that I adore my family and truly 5 days in the car was not really a burden (thanks to some portable DVD players). We had a good time, there was minimal whining and not a lot of freaking out (on my part). We had our moments with five kids and a dog in the truck, pulling a trailer, but they were minimal and easily remedied.

However, if you thought our funky luck from this summer stopped when we loaded up the truck…well…let me just say, that the fun continues even now.

Our first glitch occurred when I had a quick panic attack before we even left Wisconsin. We were two hours down the road Friday morning, when I wondered out loud if Alex had remembered to grab his month’s supply of insulin before we left. Of course not. Insulin, for anyone who doesn’t know, costs $660 for one month’s supply. That’s just the insulin – not the needles, test strips, overnight insulin ($500), or other supplies. I actually have Alex’s insurance information and doctor’s number in my wallet at all time and thanks to the almighty cell phone, was able to call the nurse, explain what happened and she had two month’s supply waiting for us at a Walgreen’s in the next town on the highway. A mega-phew…Alex can eat now for the next couple of months.

As we got into South Dakota (corn, corn, soybeans, corn, horse, corn, corn), we noticed a distinct lack of horsepower in the Suburban as we went up even slighter hills. Since we hadn’t encountered a lot of hills in Wisconsin or Minnesota, we hadn’t noticed an issue. As we rolled through the Badlands – which were amazing and beautiful to see – we also noticed we were going about 40 mph up the hills and starting to heat up the truck.

Hmmm….

The heating up grew worse and worse and as we approached the Black Hills and our trip up Mt. Rushmore, the truck was not happy. We had to stop once on the interstate to put in more coolant and again just to let it cool down.

Our trailer was definitely too heavy. So, in panic-mode, we donated every piece of clothing in our trailer (we had several very heavy contractor bags full of clothes), and our entire book collection (probably 20 plus boxes each weighing at least 40 pounds), to a church. We literally roasted in the sun and placed our stuff at their doorstep. I wrote a note explaining our situation and asked that they find a nice home for our stuff. It’s all the good stuff, I said, that we chose to bring. Hopefully, someone in South Dakota can use the Steger Mukluks I left behind. They’ll probably get more use out of them there than I can here.

Onward we charged, up to Mt. Rushmore. Our trailer was indeed lighter, but not light enough. We went so fast down some of the hills into Rapid City, we were afraid the brakes and transmission might not hold out. Up to Mount Rushmore, we struggled, prodded, hoped and prayed that we would make it up. We did, but we were at 20 mph…and smoking. The truck coolant was boiling by the time we made it to the Rushmore parking lot. Ugh…we still had to go down.

I tried to swallow my anxiety and walk through the Mt. Rushmore museum and viewing with as much excitement as I could muster for the kids. And it was cool…I’m so glad we got to go, but the trip back down was terrifying me.

Fortunately, John talked to park volunteer who affirmed that exiting the park the opposite of the way we came in would be a gentler descent. It was still scary at times, but nothing like what we would have faced going the other way.

Safely down and out of the beautiful Black Hills, we stayed a second night in South Dakota (we were now way behind schedule), and tried to figure out how we were going to get up the Rockies…then the Bitter Roots…then the Cascades.

In Billings, Montana, we realized we couldn’t take the trailer with us. We stopped at a U-Haul dealer, downsized to a much smaller trailer and put the rest of our stuff in a storage unit in Billings. So, as we finally made it to Ocean Shores, we had with us 5 wonderful and healthy children, one fantastic retired sled dog, a few sets of clothes, John’s computers (for work), a few pots and pans, and that’s about it. The kids toys, our dishes, tools, washer, and all that other fun stuff is in currently in Billings. For kids who sacrificed so much already, it was amazing to see them sacrifice just a little bit more. I’m so proud of all of them. Not one of them complained, although you could see the sadness in their eyes as they left their stuff behind.

A few yard sales today quickly remedied the no-toy issue – as did several days spent on the beach as soon as we got here.

Things are definitely looking up, but not without a few jabs left for us…a house that wasn’t ready when we got here, Kiara getting sick (again), and a carpet in the new house with fleas – charming.

Such is life. I am grateful everyday that compared to many people our strange and quite awful summer was really not too terrible. We are in our new home, overlooking a beautiful canal and just two blocks from the ocean and we are happy.

We’ll get stuff as we get more money (we now have NONE after the road trip). If I’ve learned anything, it’s that stuff is easy to accumulate. My morning sickness has started to abate and the high-speed internet works (yay!).

We skipped homelessness, just barely. Being homeless again has always terrified me more than anything else, but living on the road with the kids in the truck for the past week showed me that we could do it if we had to. We are resourceful and we are, most importantly, fun. We have a pretty good time no matter where we are – and as long as we’re together, we have it all.