This is a draft of a new project I am dreaming of: creating little poems and illustrations to share with infants and young children before going to bed. Hope you enjoy it`s simple outline and sweetness .
I visited my friend and colleague Alejandra last Thursday morning.
Sane people would have taken around 5 hours to process the enormous amount of information we exchanged. But we both work in education, so we pushed contents forward and fit the whole thing into intense 90 minutes, before the bell rang.
Time and again I directed the conversation towards free education. I can´t help it. Since I have memory I feel an urge for change. For transformation. I can almost visualize the image of a renewed humanity born from the re-education of adults learning to allow the self-education of infants. As if a revolutionary spirit would revolve within my self, frustrated and satisfied concurrently… Much has been seen and said, but I sense much more has to be done yet!
It would be easier not to feel like this, but I do.
Then I came back home to pick up my husband and our youngest child. We needed to drive him to a health center. He got bitten by a cat, which is stuff for another post to warn you why you should not allow your child to caress stranger cats. But that would drive me off the story and since our boy is ok there´s nothing to really worry about.
So, now we are in the car and Ricardo asks me how did the visit to my friend go.
– You can´t imagine!… She has been working in public infant education for 25 years. She tells me… the little ones, from 1 and 2 years old are asked to sit at the table with their hands held in their backs, while teachers place the materials to “work” with in front of them – I can almost see the image I am describing; innocent children handcuffed in the back in some kind of concentration camp camouflaged by good intentions. The one who moves hands, is the bad guy, the one that misbehaves. They are so automated that by K5 they do it by themselves, she says… no one has to tell them.
I sense within an emerging indignation that ignites while I speak… Is perchance a sin to move little hands around? This is so far from what I dream infant education to be… I am outraged and my disapproval is evidently expressed in the pitch of every word I say.
Unexpectedly, from the rear of the car reaches us the soft voice of our 5 years old boy:
– Yeah mom, but it is not as bad, you know?
– Do YOU have to put your hands in the back when you sit at the table at school???
– Yes, but I don’t mind, he wisely answers. It is just like keeping them still on your lap.
Our little boy is far from being automated, flattened by education, destroyed in his uniqueness… He is far, far from that. He is one of the most self-determined people I know, if not the most one. But he knows how to lay his hands on his back without further psychic damage.
Then I ask myself. I ask my self. I ask myself.
Am I exaggerating?
I would like to end this post with this question. Right here.
But I can´t.
I am not pretending you to give me an answer… if I do exaggerate, if I don´t… I am not expecting anything from you (even though I would definitely appreciate your comments).
I want to throw this question within, let it resound and observe wherefrom its echoes resurge.
Am I exaggerating with my vision of actual education? I ask my self and wait…
I am what I am, I am not going to tell little children to lay their hands on their backs. But I believe I can give me the chance to lower my hypersensitivity and look at formal education with better eyes.
The Education… I imagine her as a distinguished lady, standing in front of me, no age or time yet as old as humanity itself. I look at her in the eyes and new words surge from my lips…
– Education, until today I was bound to you by my anger, my desire for you to be different. Now I see you and accept you as you are… I take what you have for me and that is enough… I wasn´t able to acknowledge you before. I apologize for that… And I thank you.
She is standing there, calmly looking at me. She smiles, in glowing eyes.
I feel the desire to go closer. We hug.
Me from underneath her arms, she embraces me over my shoulders: I feel her generous hands surrounding my back.
I feel sheltered, I am a little one.
I am free.
Thereby, fueled by a new inner force I turn and look into the future, towards my own destiny.
If there is to be the revolution, so be it.
Photos by Julia Margaret Cameron (1815-1879).
photo courtesy of “Julieta y Andrés a través del espejo”
– Finger Paint safe for baby. Get a homemade recipe here.
– White Cardboard, Wood, Oil Burner, Lamp Shade or Fabric (depending on the project).
– Staining mood.
Offer a big white cardboard (or the support of your choice) and finger paint to baby and allow him to explore the mateiral using his fingers and brushes . It´s beautiful to observe what he does and how he discovers the printing of the colour on the canvas.
The idea here is not about getting upset because baby painted grandma´s furniture or he cleaned his hands on his best t-shirt. To avoid the inconvenience dress both of you in old, comfortable clothes and choose an ample easy to clean, stable support (for me there´s nothing best than the floor). We can explain him we are going to make a present for dad while he enjoys exploring the material.
Once baby had enough and enjoyed sliding his fingers all around the cardboard he´ll crawl away to the next destination at home (may be a drawer or the nearby closet). Making sure he´s in the safe play area, we have now some time for our craft. The only thing you need to know, is what you´re going to use the art work for.
Here are 9 ideas, depending on the father´s personality:
1. Sports dad. Let baby paint a running t-shirt and a towel so he takes a shower as soon as possible when he´s back.
2. Cooking Dad. An apron and a chopping board to decorate the kitchen wall. Warning: to ask him to prepare dinner tonight might be too much.
3. Repairman Dad. A wooden key chain. Add a little notice “¡Hey! Here are the *%¿¿# misplaced keys” (I had one of those at home when I was a kid and I still laugh when I remember it).
4. Creative scientific dad. A pencil case and a notepad with 999 blank pages to write down every important idea… and the shopping list.
5. Mystic dad. An oil burner (get it white and let the baby paint it) and a fabric fold for the I Ching.
6. Long hair dad. A case for his own revitalizing conditioner and shampoo… even though we sometimes use his razor (there´s no need to mention that).
7. Short hair dad. A cap. It´s also useful for bald-headed dad but there should be no intention to offend, in order to avoid adverse side effects.
8. Cyber dad. An old mouse pad folded with baby´s art work fabric.
9. Reader dad. ¿A bookmark? Could be, but no! Paint a white reading lampshade. You´ll fill with color his well earned time for a pleasant reading, weather there´s chaos or not around him (kids awake or asleep). If there´s something babies like doing is turning on and off the light switch. I read once that instead of screaming “NOOOOOOO, doooon´t touch!!”, is much better to give them a different safe option to explore, for example, the lamp shade, which is not dangerous.
For having read all way down I prepared this little gift for you, wonderful mothers that allow your babies to get dirty fingers while painting.
This awesome art works were painted by Mario Mariotti, as you can see in the signature below.
I´m sure mamma Mariotti allowed him to get dirty fingers when he was a baby too!
- Did you see the pencil?
We might have many reasons for making a present to our kid´s father. One really important is precisely because he is their father. That´s why one day is not enough to celebrate. If you don´t make it today, you might want to do it any other time. Observe your baby, relax and enjoy while you are doing it!
We are back in town after a long stay in the countryside.
Those 4 months were intense, beautiful and tech free! We didn´t even have an oven, so we became experts in baking bread and cookies in the pan! Anyhow, this post is not about emergency cooking recipies, therefore you got my in-law (don´t miss her cooking blog). It´s not about countryside photography either, therefore you got my mom (her photo blog is beautiful).
This humble post is about what I could see from my kitchen window, beyond the house limits, in a world where kids had no TV, no internet, no phone, no mobile, no playstation… A tech free playful life! More specifically, this post is about how my kids rediscovered, enjoyed and loved trees.
It took them some time to realize trees were something they could interact with. The first weeks they explored the surroundings wanting to do the usual things they were used to: they asked us to take them to the playground and wanted to ride their bikes and skates on the road side (actually on the road, there was no “side” at all, but no traffic either).
It surprised me how many scrapes, minor cuts and bruises they collected in their feet and legs during this period. This brought me to think they were “city” kids, who never had a true extended opportunity to roam around freely, barefooted, without my constant warning advises behind. I trusted them, though. So I resisted the temptation to confine them into the house and they quickly developed the necessary skills to keep themselves safe during their games.
Slowly, they stopped asking for a daily visit to the playground and they started to realize there was a great world of play opportunities all around them, in front of their eyes. First thing they noticed was they could climb a big bush which they named “The Fat Sumo”. They literally went into the bush, took position on different branches and started moving them as the arms, legs and head of a big fat sumo wrestler.
It took three to four kids to complete the task and they spent hours and days repeating the game. Unfortunately the bush was not used to such high risk experiences and its left arm-branch broke. So we kindly invited them to explore real trees to climb and play with, remembering them trees are living creatures too.
From then on they chose a Weepping Willow as a King´s Court (throne included), a Shade Tree became a swing and a riding horse and some sort of Medlar was transformed into a den wherefrom some “fruit munitions” flew into the open field (some reached me and let me tell you the word munition applies perfectly well here). Finally, a beautiful Sweetgum in its Fall dress became the Everest, but only the older child in the troupe made it to the summit.
They didn´t left behind any tree to explore and play with. But the old grumpy Chestnut. It was that time in the year when the tree drops it´s distinctive spiny fruit shells to the ground… did I mention kids were barefooted all day long? One or two stings were enough to establish safe zone limits.
So there it was, as a Selfish Chestnut Giant, standing alone, sorrounded by it´s own natural barrier, keeping kids at a distance. But as Oscar Wilde knew (and we parents all know) kids are not easily discouraged, specially when it comes about limits. Actually, kids love barriers… just to be able to cross them and see what´s up on the other side. And this is precisely what happened.
Slowly, very slowly, autumn neared winter and the good old Chestnut tree run out of its porcupine like little bombs and the field was cleared. Our gardener helped a lot, ignorant of the love battle that was going on he did score the final goal kids needed to win the game.
Helpless and naked, the tree surrendered. For good.
It became the most adored, trusted and cared for tree in the world. In my kids world at least. They lived great adventures around it and asked me to read them fun stories while sitting on its bare branches.
Finally, one sunny autumn afternoon it became the most fashionable spiritual Grandpa Tree there has been. Kids had organized a fest in its honor. They decorated the branches with silk wool and polyester wadding, wrote little love letters to hung on the threads, made invitations for neighbors, created tree masks and prepared fresh lemonade for everyone (I did help a bit with the little boy´s mask and cutting the lemons into halves). The lady opposite our home brought a copper inverted pyramid containing dry dung, rice and clarified butter (ghee) and offered us to burn a small fire praying for the healing of the Earth. She explained this was called HOMA Therapy. We accepted.
So there we were, experiencing joy, unity and peace, praying for the healing of the Earth under the Great Tree our kids learned to conquer…
Recalling the whole experience I don´t feel anymore like advocating for the importance of playing in nature which was my first idea when I started writing this post. I don´t know you, but what my heart is whispering into my mind right now is a simple question: am I ready to release my well fostered ill-feelings towards thorny life experiences? Are you ready? I hope we all are. A true natural love story might be waiting behind.
We did this card for Father´s Day last year. Thank God kids did not want to use it as a Frisbee since it was the only present we had! It says “I love Dad” in lime green and the background is in yellowish orange & red.
Kids painted using watercolors, cut in stripes and then in squares. I pasted the whole thing using carpenter glue on a thick cardboard (I thought they´d love the pasting part but they didn´t even want to think about it).
After finishing I took a look at our present from a distance and I could hardly differentiate the background from the figure. Since I´m not feeling like going to oculist, I convinced my self this difficulty was due to the use of a common color for both: yellow. I love yellow, I couldn´t help it. Anyway you could choose plain colors for a better contrast if you try this project.
I´m sharing this to show Kristin at Intrepid Murmurings how she can do a Frisbee with her kids, since pizzas over there only come in square boxes and massively eating pizzas to export the trays is not going to do any good to our health.
By the way, don´t be surprised if after finishing your art, kids resist to throw it up in the air.
– No way, mom! This is not a Frisbee. We want to hang it on the wall.
You know. Divergent creativity works like that.
I mastered to perfection level every single detail a mother needs to know until husband and I decided to expand our family.
I mean it: EVERYTHING.
I had all motherly skills you can imagine, from infinite patience to unconditional love, from breastfeeding readiness to chef cooking abilities (husband doubted that part, though. But I knew I was going to delight my kids with every dish). I could meet any challenge finding the best solution to all sort of life situations and I used to boast about it.
I didn´t notice then, but I really went around boasting about it. Proudly standing on my perfection pedestal I would judge almost every single mother for their mistakes. How can she loose her temper like that? How can she put her kid aside to keep talking to her friend at the coffee shop? How could she wait for her husband to come back home to complain about her difficult day, about kids behavior, about feeling frustrated? Motherhood is life´s hightlight, how does she dare to complain?
Ok, I had been practicing to become a mom since I was age 3. Maybe they hadn´t. So I even dared to feel some compassion.
Then, the first month I didn´t get pregnant I suddenly became a mass of uncontrolled emotions that altered my nervous system to unknown heights and depths at the same time. Husband was worried (about me? about himself??). Under normal circumstances I´m a happy, smiling, fresh and calm person. But now I was hysterical.
Maybe just to save our marriage, the next month pregnancy test showed two beautiful soft pink lines the day after I missed my period. I was restored to normal (husband relieved). To normal did I say? Oh, poor man. He didn´t imagine what was coming next. The first three or four days I was radiant, shining like the moon and the sun together, smiling to everyone on the street and “feeling” the new life growing safe and sound in my womb. So I put a bit on weight to show everyone my belly, I felt dizzy, I had nausea all day (forget about morning sickness, that wasn´t enough for me), I cried and laughed for uncertain reasons and suddenly I started doubting… Doubting my body, doubting my emotions, doubting my mental health, doubting nature. So I started reading to solve my doubts.
By the time my first boy was about to be born I had read a real size piramid of books which drove me safely to motherhood insanity. There were so many “professional” opinions as there are stars in the sky, as so many diverse experiences as water drops in the ocean. And all claimed to bear the flag of final, unquestionable truth. Inspired by them, I started listing my brand new motherhood decisions: I wanted to give birth naturally. Caesar section was unimaginable. I din´t want to receive epidural anesthesia, I wanted to breast feed my baby immediately after birth, I wanted to avoid hospitalization and keep my baby with me from the moment he was born onwards, forever after… Husband patiently listened to my loud voice thoughts, listed my wishes and promised he was going to stand by my side to grant and protect my rights…
Oh! How afraid I was to become a mother. I protected my fear with a thick coat of bookish knowledge and argumentative talk, so no one would notice I DID NOT KNOW how to be a mother. It took me a long time until I finally realized I was a complete ignorant on the matter. I recognized I was afraid of becoming a mother and accepted the fact that I needed to slow down my crazy mind and listen to my heart, that part of me which had kept silence all the way, from the very beginning of this story, waiting for me in its nonjudgmental characteristic mood.
But I did not find this revelations on my own. Oh, no! My first baby gently and consistently guided me in the introductory steps of this awesome discovering.
I defended breastfeeding on demand so he called me every two hours day and night for months, and months and months.
I defended not letting babies cry, so he wouldn´t fall asleep if not being in my arms.
I defended safe attachment, so he wouldn´t like being alone not even when I needed to pee or have a bath.
I had dreams of men wanting to breastfeed (imagine husband´s look when I told him?).
I was exhausted and really desperate. I knew there was nothing wrong with my baby, but big changes needed to be done… with me.
Today, nine years after that life long transforming experience that motherhood has meant for me, I´m more than happy to recognize I´m as simple and common as a mother can be, far, far away from perfection. A while ago a young, sweet, smiling new neighbor approached my husband with true concern to warn him the nanny had been yelling (yes, yelling) to one of our boys the day before.
We have no nannies. It was me.
This is something I´m not proud about and I do my real best to avoid going into loosing my temper like that. It´s an exceptional situation, I know. I must also admit this has happened here and then since I became a mom.
Saying this is not easy for me, the “good old days perfect mom”. But I´m not perfect any more, I´m not free of all human eventual frustrations and emotional influences. I do have freedom, though. I´m free to accept myself as I am, no arrogance coats, no masks. As good as it gets. This prevents me from creating false images about myself and allows me to see what I really have, what needs to be changed, what is alright.
After divine love, I don´t think there´s a mightier love on earth than the love a parent feels for his/her child, a love that can move mountains and fulfill the most difficult task on earth: the transformation of a human heart. At least that´s what has happened to me.
You might think I´m exaggerating when sharing my story and you´re right. I´m an exaggerated person. But don´t worry. Since I´m not perfect anymore I can live with that.
But I need you to change.
I met you one year ago, when I almost did not know what a blog was. Rearing three little boys, working as a teacher and as household did not leave time left for such luxury.
Quitting my job on March 2010 has been one of the most difficult (and yet great) decisions in my life. I became a stay at home mom and I was really happy about it. But I also needed to keep in touch with my interests, with my profession and my passions.
I found you, dear WordPress, to be a great tool to find that balance.
Starting my own blogs was just the beginning (about children birthdays celebrations, about education in human values, about children litterature, about solidarity, about family life and creativity). One day I discovered Freshly Pressed posts and I found enough motivation to start my own blog in English: amararama.
And I was loving it all. Really. Writing and reading is one of my life passions. And doing it beyond any boundary was amazing.
Then school was over (we have summer holidays right now) and I realized my balance was getting lost. Quite often my body was at home, but my mind was far away, writing, editing, uploading images, answering comments while my kids where complaining they wanted to be with me. So I decided to stop blogging as much and as often as I did before.
Now I write a post here and then in some of my blogs, when free time and inspiration meet in a magical conjunction of events. Which is not that often, though. So I started feeling a bit frustrated and I found my self blaming you, dear WordPress. I know finding external reasons for personal frustration is a favorite technique to avoid facing your own need for change. I know I could change, yes. I could close most of my blogs, for example. But since you are a software and I´m a creative mom, writer and educator desperately wanting to blog I´d deeply appreciate your good will and your cooperation so I don´t have to do that.
I know I come a bit late for a Xmas letter, but let´s just pretend you become some sort of Santa and surprise me placing the following presents under the holy tree of my creativity. I´ve been a good blogging girl for a full year and I think I deserve this:
– Please enable direct access to all my multimedia files from any of my blogs, not only from the blog I used to upload the files initially. I like using my own photos and many a time they are useful to illustrate completely different articles in my various blogs. Since my user name and my account are the same, why not allowing me to grab images and files from an “account media library” instead of uploading the whole thing again from my PC? This would definitely save a lot of space to you too. Just think about it.
– Please enable faster linking options for comments: some of my blogs, particularly Pedí3Deseos and La Casa Naranja have a good deal of discussion. Mothers and families ask lots of questions and I really like giving them good answers, helping them rediscovering the deep meaning of celebrations and a simpler and truer way to rear children beyond consumerism and social imposed stereotypes. I do have a FAQ section but they are lazy, you see? They simply ask the same question again. And being a polite person I tend to answer when people ask me a question. So please allow direct access to links, direct linking to older posts and direct access to the multimedia files folder in comments feature, instead of asking me to find the URL of the image, the previous post or link.
– Please help me finding great blogs in my own language creating a Freshly Pressed Home Page section for other languages, particularly for those languages you already have as an option to use in our dashboards and as an option for WordPress home page. And even if you want to see it that way, for languages which are massively spoken in the States. Bingo! Spanish is Nr. 1 on that list! I spend a lot of time surfing the Spanish tags cloud and no way! I cannot find as easily as in the English version those great posts I know are hidden somewhere in the WordPressish-Spanish-Blogosphere. So I end up subscribing to English blogs (wow! really amazing blogs I must say) because you make them available for me. Give all world citizens who use and love WordPress the chance to enrich their blogging experience reading great posts in their own language! And I wouldn´t mind if you start by Spanish (I think I mentioned this already?).
– Please, please, please, dear WordPress Santa, make me not fall asleep at 8 pm when my kids go to bed so I can blog a bit more every day. Ok, I know this might be too much even for you, oh! Almighty Software Wish Granter. But may be not. Who knows. If you can fulfill my other wishes, maybe you can do something for this one too. There´s nothing to loose. Just in case, I dare to ask.
Thanking your for considering my requests I must say farewell. Muppets from Space is over and I´ll leave you now to go and play with my boys some “animal basketball” (I´ll let you know about this new game soon).
For a blogging community that celebrates diversity, warmly yours,