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

Lego-ing

Yesterday I happened to spot a local events calendar listing a Lego inventor's competition, sponsored by the Ann Arbor library. The projects were built on the inventors' own time, then dropped off for the event to a nearby hotel ballroom, and were on display for the public for a couple of hours in the evening. So we went. There were several tables with projects in all age groups, from preschool to adult, and we spent an enjoyable half hour or so walking from table to table.

Some of our favorites:

Lifecycle of a butterfly

Undersea adventure

Burton Tower

apple car

When we got home it was bedtime, but our own little inventor really really wanted to build. And what's the fun of a flexible schedule if you don't take advantage of it? We couldn't waste all that inspiration on sleep, so we let him build for a while. Then he built all through today, too. In fact, I have a feeling the floor in the front room will be covered in Legos for a while. And that's a beautiful thing.

Magic tree house and magic tornado

Special 4 in 1 boat

See...it was one, now it's four

Nature Thursdays—wading the lakeshore at Independence Lake

We missed the last two Nature Thrusday activities, one because we were out of town, the other because it was raining and I didn't think we'd see much on a butterfly and bee hike. Having missed so much, even though it was dark and chilly and dismal outside we made it to the Wading the Lakeshore event this morning. It was worth the trip. We joined park camp kids in catching fish with a seine net, watched them a bit, then let them go (the fish, not the camp kids). Then we put on our water shoes and waded into the lesser traversed parts of the lake, braving weeds, muck, and fallen logs and trees to look for crayfish, turtles, and snakes. We found very little, a plight for which I'm afraid we can thank the zebra muscles, but we did have a great time scooping water and discovering shells, rocks, side swimmers, a handful of water striders, and, right at the end, one beautiful, and very large, Northern Water Snake.

Calvin loved handling the fish, but he loved watching them scoot away quickly, back into the depths of the lake, even more.

He also loved being in the water. I should have just had him wear his swimsuit, but I hadn't connected "wading" with being in water above one's waist. I guess I should have known, but clothes dry so it wasn't a big deal. I think the snake was my favorite part.

Northern Water Snake

The program ended with charting our findings and a good lake story.

And when we were done we put on our swimming suits, in order to get dry again, ate our lunch by the lake, then took advantage of the splash zone being empty thanks to the weather. Really I think clouds aren't a problem, and upper seventies for weather, after a month of mid nineties, is an enjoyable break.

It was a great time.

Getting friendly

Common blue damsel flies

Field trip—UofM Museum of Natural History

Calvin had his five year old doctor appointment today, only almost two months late. We're late because when I called to make the appointment his pediatrician was booked for the next three months, and we didn't go through a ped selection process in order to see some other doctor the one time each year we end up in the office. I love our pediatrician, and the wait was well worth it. He's always put Calvin at ease, and been happy to answer any questions I may have. I've always figured that we're doing our job right if the visit is merely an affirmation of things that are going on at home, and he has always been conscious and supportive of our decisions.

But no matter how fantastic of a visit it was, there were two shots waiting at the end of it. I knew they were coming. Calvin knew they were coming. When we talked about them yesterday I was honest in telling him that they would hurt for a short while, probably not even as long as the wasp sting he had gotten last Friday and had forgotten by Saturday. I offered him, as something to look forward to, as a reward for braving a tough situation, his choice between going to the splash zone, going to the movies (his first time), and going to the University of Michigan's Museum of Natural History. I was kind of looking forward to a movie (they are very air conditioned, after all), but he chose the museum. And that's my boy.

During the latter of my college years the Museum of Natural History was my home away from home. I attended several classes in the rooms down those hallways, dissected animals and identified species by their skulls in the labs, and had long, drawn out conversations with professors, T.A.s, and other students while sitting in the rotunda. These are my favorite memories from school, and walking back into the building, which has hardly changed, was like being transported. Except for the overly excited five year old who had too much innate curiosity and unquenchable exuberance to be anything like the kids I went to class with (or myself).

Mastodons

Calvin loved the exhibits. The museum has the feel of something assembled almost as an after-thought, as you walk in amidst signs warning you from research wings and labs and classrooms left and right. You pay by honest donation, you take your own tours, some things are behind glass while others are not, and only some are touchable, but it is up to your own guess as to which those things are.

Proboscideans

Basilosaurus isis

Basilosaurus isis

But the mastodons and the Allosaurus are right there, two feet away, as large as life, and they are oh so impressive that way. And the fact that they are squeezed into an overcrowded, un-air conditioned room along with 70 year old cases of even older fossils, sculptures, and drawings, gives them a purely academic feel that is inspiring.

Allosaurus

Allosaurus

Tyrannosaurus rex skull

There is no real flow, but each section is a world unto itself, full of things to discover. The writing also has the flavor of academia, as in long winded and excessive to read, but Calvin actually absorbed quite a bit of it before succumbing to exhaustion (or heat stroke, one of the two).

Pterosaur

Hadrosaur

There are two more floors, current Michigan fauna and biology, and a planetarium that we have yet to explore, but that's the great thing about being close: we can come back. He was so thrilled with it that I think I see it again in the near future, which is actually better than trying to go during the school year anyhow.

For more info:

The University of Michigan Museum of Natural History