The Disney vacation

We're back, we're settled in. The laundry is mostly done, we've actually prepared and eaten two home-cooked meals, and Calvin has already finished two sections in math and thoroughly explored the Mayas. Obviously the last thing to return to normal is my journaling here. More on our exploration of the Mayas later.

First, a bit of trip closure. It was fabulous. We had sun every day (except the morning we drove to Vero, but who needs sun for driving?), and the unseasonably warm weather was pure joy. We stayed in a Disney resort and let the Disney crew take care of our every need: we were picked up from the airport, our luggage delivered directly to our rooms, and our meals were covered by a dining plan that we were able to cash in for some surprisingly nice meals in a lot of different places (they force you to eat the desserts). The resort had cafeteria style eating, and a bar by the pool, and the great Disney bus system got us to and from the parks every day. The place is like a city unto itself, with friendly staff (they refer to all workers as cast members), good food, clean grounds, and bright, open spaces (plus they know how to move the crowds through smoothly). When we left the parks we transferred (by rental car) to the Disney resort at Vero Beach, and things there were very much the same. There is no service quite like Disney service, and I can see why so many of my friends have mentioned taking frequent, even yearly, trips.

Plus Disney really does try to create that magic they promise in every ad. Calvin's favorite part was meeting the characters, riding the rides, and especially riding the Figment ride and Spaceship Earth. Jon's favorite part was the firework show at Magic Kingdom. Mom loved the Animal Kingdom African safari ride and the fireworks, and dad loved "the margarita ride" (i.e., drinks at Epcot's Mexico pavilion, plus beer in Germany, sparkling wine in Italy, and wine in France). My favorite part? Maybe everything, but I really loved that the cast members in the World Showcase were actually from those countries. Listening to them talk to each other in their native languages was really fun.

And the characters. There's just something about that mouse. You see? They've even got me doing it, because something else Disney does really well is create a sense of belonging and nostalgia in visitors. It makes people buy things, after all, like ears, or pins, stuffies, and shirts. We got away pretty easy on those counts (we've practiced immunity for years), but while Calvin had no attachment to any Disney character before we left (no real knowledge of any Disney character actually—even Pooh he knew most through Milne), while we were there he developed an admiration for several of the characters (the ones worn by humans), especially Figment and Mickey. Mostly Mickey. And how could he not? There really is something about that mouse.

Yes, it's obvious how infectious the Disney machine can be, and yes that's something I've always avoided, but I don't feel like our values were encroached upon in any way. Being at the park didn't force us to change the way we approach things, and our avoidance approach to pop-culture didn't at all get in the way of our enjoyment. And that character attachment? He fell in love with a live character he met on a magical trip, much like falling in love with a panda at the zoo (or a penguin), and I hope Calvin will always have this happy love for the two characters he met there—two happy memories, souvenirs from a really magical trip.

I'm a little in love with them myself. What a great, great trip.

Notes to self (or anyone else who might appreciate them):

1. Staying in the park in the Disney resort (and using their bus system) saved a lot of time.

2. The Disney photo cards are great. I assumed the photographers set up around every corner were offering to sell photos, but actually they give you a free photo card that you use everywhere in the parks, then you access your shots online (for free) and decide then if you want to buy anything. Great idea. PLUS, they were all more than happy to take a shot with my camera, too. Awesome!

3. The fast pass really did come in handy a couple of times (probably would even more so at a busier time), but for it to work really well you have to plan ahead.

4. Kidcot...I wish we'd known about it the first day we were there—it's a great way to get kids more involved in the World Showcase tour. At each of the eleven countries in the Showcase there is a table where kids can collect country stamps on a (free) bear picture that they color. Or, for $10 we bought Calvin a passport from a gift shop that cast members at each country stamped and wrote messages for him in their native languages. Then he spent much of dinner carefully placing the stickers (six for each country) on the appropriate pages. He's very attached to it.

5. The Kimpossible missions in Epcot were way more fun than I had anticipated.

On to the Neanderthal stage

Jon and I were just talking the other day about stages. Ever since Calvin was born I've found myself longing to hold onto stages of life—not so much "the baby stage" or "the toddler stage", but the "diapers are easier and I don't want to have to potty train" stage, or the "I feel safer with him in a crib and can't imagine him in a real bed" stage, or even the "I'm not ready to let go of the baby monitor" stage (and that was just last spring).

What we were talking about a couple days ago was how Calvin has defined each stage for us, as long as we were listening, and how letting him do so avoided any stresses for all of us. Just about the time I was worried about potty training he came downstairs in the morning and said he was done with diapers. Not much later he asked us for a "big boy bed", and just last spring he came into our room when he needed us at night without my needing to hear him on the monitor.

It hasn't just been with standard milestone stages, either. About a year ago he decided to learn to read and promptly did so, and this spring he decided to "study math" so he could play Monopoly. He goes through all kinds of stages—physical, mental, emotional (right now I'm enjoying a new "cuddle mommy" stage), some being obvious, others a little more subtle, but if we listen carefully he's giving us directions every step of the way.

We've been making our way through prehistory, and as in love as we were with the creatures of the Carboniferous, then with the dinosaurs of the Mesozoic, and now with the prehistoric mammals of the Cenozoic, with each step I've dragged my feet, reluctant to leave the beloved behind. This morning I came downstairs, still groggy with sleep because I'm the slow one in the morning, and was presented with a "cave drawing" by a little boy who was letting me know that it was time to move on to our study of early humans and their path into recent history from there.

He asked me for a family of Neanderthals, their cave, and a fire, all out of felt.

And so on we go.

Tomorrow, since today we spent mostly running errands or playing in the sunshine.

The philosophy of ability

Today being Friday we spent the afternoon with our new homeschooling group. It was the first meeting of the year that was held indoors in a rented space with a youth room and gym, and the kids mixed over air hockey, foosball, blocks, and playing tag. At one time I looked out the second story window and saw kids in the trees.

My son spent most of the time exploring the game tables and watching the other kids play. He is happy being a watcher and playing in a game world made up in his own mind. He is imaginative and self-sufficient and happy, but I sat at tables with the other mothers and fretted. Should I go over and play with him? Should I help him find something to do or some way to fit in? Is this something I need to worry about???

In the car ride on the way home I asked him if he'd had a good time and he answered in the affirmative. I asked him if he had just wanted to play alone or had he not found anything to do with the other kids? He hemmed and hawed a bit about that one but I think the answer was that he'd tried to play and hadn't been welcomed, but that he wasn't unhappy playing by himself. And this is what it had looked like to me at the time, too, so I had reassured myself that the point of the meetings was for him to mix with other children and to explore and discover new things, which he certainly couldn't do with me hanging over him.

My inner jury is still out, but I think mine was the wrong answer today and if I had it to do over again (which presumably I may at subsequent Friday gatherings), I would join him in exploring the games or playing in the imaginary world of his choice. What, after all, is the downside? That he'll never learn to get along? That he'll never learn to play by himself? Clearly he's already very capable of both of those things. He has learned them the same way that he has learned reading, writing, spelling, math, piano, science, everything else worth knowing—simply by living, by trying, by watching our examples. When he is picked on he moves on, when he is left out he watches in interest and learns, when he is included he participates with consideration and enthusiasm.

Kids are confident, curious, and resilient all on their own, each in their own way. Because Calvin is confident in his own abilities he doesn't question them when others do, nor does he question his value even when others don't seem to see it. Oh what I couldn't have done with that kind of self-assurance back in school. So if he is by himself again next week I think I see myself trying out foosball and maybe I'll learn some of that self-assurance from his example.

Waking up

"It is never too late to wake up from a nightmare" *

This morning I was surfacing from sleep gently, listening to the sounds of the world waking around me, and in those moments of drifting in and out of dreams I found myself smack dab in the middle of a terrible, terrible nightmare: a family vacation, a misstep off a very high dock over very deep water, and I was desperately trying to rescue my son from sinking to the bottom of the ocean. Just writing this brings back the feeling of desperation and helplessness that I tried to shake immediately upon waking. So why on earth would I rehash it here? Because it started me thinking. It's true that lately I've felt like I was drowning—drowning in a sea of things that need to be put away, of chores that are getting away, of things that must be done versus things I want to do, of missteps and frustrating moments. That nightmare? It might just be a wakeup call: something isn't working.

Of course, I've known that something wasn't working for a few weeks now. Be it the heat, the late nights, the age, I've mentioned before that we've all hit a wall as far as congeniality goes. Calvin is wonderful. He's sensitive, he's motivated, he's interested, he's bright, and in the past few weeks he's also started to show himself as strong willed. Now a strong will is a great thing, but without thinking about it my initial reaction was to demand compliance, and that made me grouchy, that made him grouchy, that made all of us grouchy. It was a vicious circle. Then I wrote a week or two ago about trying a more definitive weekly plan as a way of handling this, and honestly it's been going just fine. Peace is returning, but defnitive and authoritarian just isn't the path we wanted to take. It's not even the path we were on just a few months ago. It's hard to tell where we took the wrong turn, and the change in direction happened so gradually I think we didn't even notice it right away, but now it's time to find our way back.

This is a hard thing to write about. It's hard to admit to making mistakes, to being lost, to taking wrong turns, but I've always maintained that I have the right to change my mind, and it's time to do that now. On a recommendation from an unschooling mom I greatly respect I've started reading a new book: "Raising Our Children, Raising Ourselves" by Naomi Aldort. I'm only one chapter in and already I can see the difference I want to make, the change I want to be. It won't happen overnight, but I believe we can go from being the authoritarian parents we've become, to being the teachers and partners in learning that we once were and still want to be. I'll be spending the next few days on the first chapter of Aldort's book, moving from "reacting" in situations, to sharing in them, and then on from there. I guess you could call this our newest journey, a journey back to the family we knew we wanted but somehow stepped away from, and I want to share some of that journey here, in case our experience can motivate someone else the way that other moms have motivated me.

*from Raising Our Children, Raising Ourselves, by Naomi Aldort

Just like that

Not every day can be perfect. There are, in fact, whole weeks that go by that seem to take my patience and sense of well being right along with them. My communing with the mama robin yesterday was a way of reminding myself of the promises I made when we chose to embark on the journey of parenthood and, later, homeschooling. Some weeks those promises—like not to yell, to give space, to be patient, to go with the flow—are easier to remember, and to keep, than others. But the rough days don't last, and neither does the headache that goes with them. I fully expect days when things like lack of sleep and an overheated house will drive everyone in the family over the edge, and a child's need to test boundaries is also to be expected. And when all of those things happen at once it's just time to take a step back and breath for a moment and replenish the well.

There is a bigger picture. This week may have been about butting heads and arguing for the sake of hearing one's own voice, but the bigger picture has always been dominated by love and respect and pure unadulterated joy, and a few rough days can't diminish that. It always comes back.

Just like that.