Things that help people with ADHD...

...that do no harm to neurotypical people:

- checklists

- fidget toys

- gamifying their lives with challenges and rewards

- having someone listen to them

- having someone enjoy their company

- having someone share their interests

- compassion during tough moments

- awareness of what constitutes a tough moment for them

- making the most of impulsivity

- putting things in the same place every time

- reminders, cues, and anchors/touchstones

- routines that support goals and good habits

- acceptance

- limiting criticism and correction

- opportunities for exercise

- therapy

- considering that a traditional classroom might not be a good fit for them

Got others? Please add them in the comments.

How to talk to teenagers and young adults

A lesson or reminder for all who need it (including me).

1. Happy to see her? Say so. Show it with your face. Light up your eyes.
2. Unless it’s to offer an enthusiastic compliment, do not comment on his clothing, shoes, accessories, tattoos, hair, weight, or anything else appearance-related—especially in the first five minutes. If you don’t feel complimentary about any aspect of his appearance, go back to #1.
3. Ask what she’s been up to. Listen to the answer and then DON’T JUDGE. If you don't like the choices she is making regarding college or career or how she spends her free time, do not say so or in any way reveal it. Don’t offer advice. If you can’t think of anything else to say besides judgment and advice, simply ask what she likes or doesn’t like about what’s been going on.
4. Ask him for a movie, book, TV show, or game recommendation. Young people are often voracious consumers of media of all types, and the choices they make about what to consume are hugely varied from week to week. If he knows you at all, he is very likely to immediately think of something he’s seen or read that will be up your alley, or he’ll say, “I don’t think you would like what I’ve been reading,” and that’s a great conversation starter right there.
5. If her skills lean that way and the timing is right, ask her for help with that problem you’ve been having with your electronics, car, cat, leaky faucet, whatever. This shows that you know what her skills are and that you value them.
6. Listen, listen, listen. You are in the presence of a great mind that has matured in a completely different culture from the one you grew up in. Take a peek at his perspective on life and the world.
7. If she doesn’t seem interested in talking to you, don’t take it personally. By the time most kids turn 16, they have given up on adults' ability to really talk to them. It might take a while for her to recognize that you are worth her time. Meanwhile, find a way to set her free. “Would you like to go out to the yard and see the dog?”
8. Make yourself available for a conversation as equals whenever he gives you a chance to show what you’re made of.

Got more? Add them in the comments.

Except me

For the past couple of years on this blog, I've been writing about accepting people as they are. During that same timeframe, I've been doing some work on accepting myself as I am. I have a ways to go there. You see, acceptance applies to everyone but me. I must be perfect.
I have no idea what the hell "perfect" is except that I know when I'm not being that. Which is often.

Recently I've been putting in very long days at work. They start at 6:30 a.m. and, counting commute and the occasional hour of so-called downtime (when my brain remains dominated by work thoughts), they end at about 11 p.m. I'm doing the work of two people, and I'm doing it damned well.

But I'm short on sleep, and I'm tired, and most nights I go to bed feeling like an utter failure because there is always so much that didn't get done that day. The work is never done, and my personal commitments are suffering. I have nothing left for my family except snarky comments about the housework that didn't get done while I was working. The only one who gets any quality time is Rigby, and that's because she attacks me or cuddles with me until I pay attention to her. (That's the solution, Frank and MJ and Chloe and Emma: pounce on my feet or get in my face if you want some time from me.)

I suck, and I refuse to accept that this is Who I Am.

Let's try that again. I don't suck. But I'm ridiculously human. And accepting me for Who I Am is a process rather than a switch I can flip.

That's true with the kids too, of course. They are also human, with foibles and preferences and habits and their own varying capacity for daily accomplishment. Living with them involves some daily adjustment of my expectations and my attitude. But I don't look at, for instance, Chloe's foibles and preferences and habits and accomplishments and think, "She sucks." I don't think, "There she goes again, being imperfect." And I don't qualify "human" with "ridiculously" when I talk about her humanness. Only my humanness is ridiculous in degree.

I'm special that way.

For the last couple months, I've been doing this thing where I take those "special" thoughts in my head and amplify them by saying them out loud. I am trying to hear myself better, trying to hear how hard I am on myself. What's been the most illuminating about this practice is how very distressing my family members find it when they hear me say these things. They find them vicious and frightening and cause for immediate remediation, not of anything I've done or failed to do but of the underlying belief that I'm expressing.

They are horrible beliefs.

What gets really tricky is that accepting myself as I am includes accepting that I have them.

I expect perfection in/of myself. And that's okay.
I am really hard on myself. And that's okay.
I can practice loving-kindness with everyone but me. And that's okay.
I have less time for my personal life when work is busy. And that's okay.

Except none of those is really okay. They are all things I'd like to improve. And that's okay too.

This acceptance business ain't for sissies.

Fitting parenting to the child

MJ is 19. She doesn't live with me anymore. When she's at her home in Salem, I typically have no idea of her daily plans: whether she's going anywhere, where she's going if she is, how late she'll be out, who she'll be with. I don't worry about her as long as I "see" her via text, phonecall, or Facebook occasionally, which here means every 5 to7 days or so, and which "sighting" does not necessarily have to include me. For example, if I see her post something on her wall on FB, my internal mom-timer gets reset, and I don't worry.

I also have no idea what she's eating, how much she's exercising, what she's learning, how she's learning, whether she's tidying up after herself, whether she's minding her manners, how she's spending her money, what music she's listening to, how much TV she's watching, whether she's brushing her teeth and wearing her retainers, and so on and so on. I don't ask, she doesn't offer, I just don't know.

In other words, in the absence of evidence to the contrary or complete radio silence, I trust that she's healthy and happy enough, and I know she's quite competent enough to handle what life throws at her, either on her own or by picking up the phone if she needs help.

And then she comes home for a visit. Something happens inside my brain, and MJ moves from the "MJ's responsibility" compartment to the "My responsibility" compartment.

Last night she went out with her cousin Chelsea. As she was walking out the door, she said she'd either be home "later" or stay the night at the friend's they were headed to. I opened my mouth to request a rather more specific plan, and to go through my usual magical-thinking routine of questions designed to reassure me that she would be safe.

And then the absurdity of that struck, and I said, "Have fun" and closed my mouth again. This child-of-mine, despite her name and similar appearance, is not the same person she used to be. She no longer needs (if she ever did) the type of parenting I had been about to offer.

It's up to me to catch up.

Unschooling my cat

Catchy title, right?

This is my cat:


She's bigger than that now, but you get the idea. This amazing, bright-eyed little being has entered our lives and transformed our home and our routines.

Sound familiar? Yeah, it's a lot like having an infant again.

Several years ago, I read something Sandra Dodd wrote about things she did to make her dog more comfortable. She didn't say she was unschooling her dog, but somehow hearing the changes she was willing—no, happy—to make, to her home and routine and the arrangement of her furniture, in order to meet her dog's needs and make her dog happy really helped me see what the unschooling lifestyle is all about.

Fast forward a few years and my kids are pretty much grown. While we continue to adapt our home and routine as needed to meet their needs, everything is pretty settled these days, and we take even the surprises in stride because adapting is habitual by this point.

And then along came Rigby.

She is named for Eleanor Rigby, thus continuing our mini tradition of naming cats after Beatles' characters (our last two cats were Desmond and Molly). I am allergic to cats, so she was only supposed to be a visitor, and I was quite prepared to fall head over heels in love with her and give her away anyway.

What I was not prepared for was for her to fall in love with us. And she did. Within a day after I found her cowering under the neighbor's car, beyond thrilled to be found, she had bonded completely with all of us. This is where she slept:


And there I was, an unschooler and attachment parent riding on nearly nine years of unequivocally meeting the needs of the beings I love, confronted with a little loved one who clearly did not need to be separated from another family. Surprise!

So we adapted. We kept her (and my allergies are learning to live with it). She's a fair bit bigger now, but she's still attached. She sleeps on whichever of us is not moving, and she struts and sprints around the house like she owns it. Which I suppose she does.

My next surprise was the unschooler refresher course that having her in our home provided.

She likes to play with the cords on the mini-blinds. We don't especially want the mini-blinds to come crashing down, so we tied a string to chair. It has a bead tied on the end, in as close an appromixation of a mini-blind cord as I could conceive on short notice. She loved it.

She has daily periods of astonishingly high energy. We call this Satan Cat Mode, and Honey Badger has nothing on Satan Cat. What Satan Cat Rigby needs is someone to romp with her. It doesn't matter that we'd rather sit on the couch or go to sleep. (Cats are mostly nocturnal, remember.) We have acquired a collection of toys and other items that she finds entertaining, and I spend close to an hour every day creating opportunities for her to chase, tackle, climb, pounce, sneak, destroy, and gnaw. Very often with me as the target. This is in addition to the time that Frank, Chloe, Emma, MJ, and whoever happens to be visiting contribute to the cause.

She loves plastic bags and cardboard boxes. We have had varietal bags and boxes littering our floors for eight weeks.

She needs to claw something. She would like to use the oriental rug, while we would prefer for her to use one of the alternatives we have provided. We can occasionally be found dragging our fingernails over the surfaces of these alternatives to show her how it's done. She's getting the idea.

She needs to be with us. We leave doors open so she can follow us around. We make sure not to leave her alone for too long. We talk to her and generally provide companionship. I sit in weird positions so she can drape herself across my neck or my lap while I work.

She needs to cuddle. I know this is true because if we are too slow about noticing when she's ready for a cuddle, she will climb on shoulders, laps, keyboards, books, or faces until someone does their damned job, thank you very much. It's usually not too hard to get someone to cooperate. She prefers cuddling on her favorite blanket, so this blanket is usually adorning one or the other of us. (This last might become more problematic in August.)

And of course she needs a litter box and good food and medical care. Check, check, check.

But in terms of illustrating unschooling principles, the need that is the most interesting and, yes, entertaining is her obsession with the bathroom. She loves the bathroom. She needs to explore the bathroom. We have no idea why. It is the strangest cat behavior we've ever seen. If someone goes in to pee, she literally runs after them so she can watch. She hangs out in the sink. She sleeps on the toilet lid (the seat is heated so this one is less puzzling) and considers the toilet tank a prime perch. If someone goes in and closes the door, she sits outside and waits for them to come out. And she showers with me every day, spending some of the time hanging out at the foot of the tub and the rest in the safe zone between the shower curtain and (clear) shower liner.

We don't get it. But the thing is, we don't have to understand her need in order to respond to it. We just have to care that her need is met. That is pretty much the prime directive of unschooling.

Gotta go. My cat needs me.

Self-care

There is a fair amount of content out in the self-improvement sphere devoted to helping us see the difference between self-care and indulgence. You will get more genuine comfort, they say, from a brisk walk than from a jelly donut or a trip to the Nordstrom shoe department. Maybe so.

But unschooling with my kids—accepting and staying calm about their choices—has shown me something very important:

Self-care is not only doing the things that you know are good for you—eating right and exercising and getting plenty of sleep—but loving and accepting the part of you that can't be "good" all the time.

LIFE is Good lessons

LIFE is Good 2011 was not a perfect conference. Things went wrong. Pranks were pulled. Friends' gifts to each other went missing. Another friend spent the end of the conference grieving the loss of her mother. Even so, I loved it. It made me happy. It gave me some more amazing memories to add to my burgeoning "Unschooler Love" file, and I received a good dose of inspiration and renewal. I came away smiling, energized, exhausted, and content with my life.

And then last night I got on Facebook and the LiG group, looking for photos and shared memories and more fun. I found those things. But I also found regrets and complaints and reports about even more unfortunate events that had taken place. I got rather depressed.

But driving to work today—Sitting in Traffic Meditation—something occurred to me: If every conference we attend has a theme, the theme of this one was not "A Series of Unfortunate Events" but "How Unschoolers Respond to Suffering."

Two fire alarms were pulled. We learned that false alarms cost the hotel $500 each and that Mary Gold, our beloved Conference Diva, was deeply distressed. How did the unschooling community respond? They opened their wallets and reminded each other that young people are curious and impulsive.

Some of the treats left by Fairy Godparents (secret pals) went missing. How did the unschooling community respond? They came up with replacement treats and reminded each other that people who take are needy people.

A friend received word Sunday night that her mother had died. How did the unschooling community respond? With an outpouring of love, with songs, with laughter and space for tears. It was a wake to remember.

As always LIFE is Good provided me with an opportunity to learn, to expand my horizons, to experience acceptance, and to see with better eyes. What I saw was unschoolers at their best, responding to the pain of life and the shortcomings of others with grace and generosity. That is the theme and lesson of this conference. I will carry it with me for the rest of my life.

The lessons of time

MJ, Frank, and Chloe—yesterday
My sister-in-law never got to hold her first baby. I have one friend whose son died at four or five and another whose daughter died at nine. One of my aunts lost her oldest son—and my grandmother, her first grandchild—when he was in his twenties.

If you need a reason to be nicer to your kids, any one of these women could give you one: Today could be your very last chance to do it.

Beyond the death card, as the mother of two young women who were toddlers one moment and teenagers the next, I can tell you that a childhood is incredibly short. Today may not be your last chance to make your child's childhood happier, but it is one of your last chances. And make no mistake: your chances will run out, and faster than you think.

Get busy! Right. Now.

Avoiding zombies

The other night, Frank was watching that new zombie series on AMC, "The Walking Dead." At one point, a ~10yo boy spots his zombified mother outside the house. He bursts into tears, and his father tries to quiet him because, hey, if the zombies hear them, things are going to get ugly. What was interesting was that the scriptwriters chose to have the father respond compassionately. He snuggled his son close, spoke in loving tones, and offered the boy a pillow so he could cry into that.

That is peaceful parenting, folks, and I am so pleased with the writers for showing it that I might even give the series a try, blood and guts and all.

The sad thing is how infrequently one sees that kind of compassion out and about in the world. Instead, it seems like people want their kids to BE zombies, stifling their emotions and walking the earth in a mindless, hungry shuffle. Their kids' emotions (and probably the parent's too) are too much work, too much noise, too much mess. Sure, they might dredge up some compassion when their kids are suffering a huge, gaping wound of a hurt (as this boy was), but the rest of the time they just want their kids to suck it up and move on. They want things to be easy, which means they want their kids to be quiet (without having a fraction the motivation this dad had).

Consider the possibility that, to kids, smaller wounds are just as gaping and scary and overwhelming. Consider that kids with smaller wounds are just as deserving of compassion as that boy with the zombie mom, and that they are just as entitled to some time and space to feel what they're feeling. And consider that asking them to bottle their emotions is just another way to lose them to the zombies.

NaBloPoHalfMo: This vehicle does not come equipped with seatbelts

Today, I want to talk about keeping our kids safe.

It's probably what parents want most in all the world, right? For our kids to be safe. Every parental concern, from academics to hygiene to video games, boils down to this.

We had a stark reminder recently that unschooling alone is no guarantee of safety: a teen member of the unschooling community committed suicide. The news has left his friends reeling (What could they have done differently? Why didn't he know he could talk to them?) and us parents taking a hard look at how we support our kids.

I don't have any answers. Over the years, in spite of the accepting environment that is unschooling, my kids have wrestled with shame and fear and feelings of inadequacy. They've had their dark moments. I can only speculate about what has gotten them through those moments and what was missing in this boy's life or psyche that he couldn't do the same.

But his death has been an important reminder to me to Pay Attention. To connect with Frank and my kids Now. If things aren't working, I need to fix them. If they need additional or different support, I need to provide it. And above all, I need to make sure they know that I am a safe space for them. No matter what.

Frank and MJ and Chloe, how can I love you better?

NaBloPoHalfMo: Accomplishment

Note: This post is still for NaBloPoMo, but I am temporarily abandoning the "play" theme because something else is on my mind today.

I believe people are free and able to determine for themselves when is the right time to accomplish something.

I believe people are free and able to determine for themselves what counts as accomplishment.

I believe people are free and able to determine for themselves how much accomplishment is enough—for the day, for the year, for the whole of their lives.

Enough said?

NaBloPoHalfMo: Playing for keeps

Today is an international day of remembrance for people lost to suicide, particularly young people who killed themselves after being bullied or forcibly outed for their sexual orientation. Wear purple in their memory. Speak up against discrimination when you see it. Tell the kids in your life that you love them no matter what, and refrain from hate speech that might cause them to doubt that.

And if you have a kid who is being bullied in school, please consider bringing him or her home. Whatever compromises it requires—lifestyle, financial, social, familial—they are a small price to pay to help your child see that it can get better Right Now.

Some statistics from the It Gets Better Project:

• 9 out of 10 LGBT students have experienced harassment at school.
• LGBT teens are bullied 2 to 3 times as much as straight teens.
• More than 1/3 of LGBT kids have attempted to commit suicide.
• LGBT kids are 4 times as likely to attempt suicide then our straight peers.
• LGBT youth with “highly rejecting” families are 8 times more likely to attempt suicide than those whose families accept them.

The original It Gets Better video

The Trevor Project - Donate here!

Warty, warty mom-warts

Ronnie today

I am in an exceptionally bad mood for no good reason. This seems like an excellent time to post about my flaws.

Attention: You are now entering a shame-free zone. If you are feeling judgmental, go somewhere else. Thank you.

----------
My best buddy, Steph, said something to me in a recent email, in response to my comment that I was looking forward to our upcoming empty-nest trial period. She said, "In public you are the invincible 24-hour RU mom. I forget that you are susceptible to weary-of-momness."

Steph knows me very well. We've been friends since, oh, about 1985, and we have talked or corresponded most days since the day we met. If Steph can be surprised by my moments, it means I am not being forthcoming enough about those moments, and I am painting an unfair picture of what being an unschooling parent looks like.

So, here, for the record, I state unequivocally that sometimes I just simply SUCK.

I have bad moods. I snap and snark at family members. I get tired and overstimulated and sometimes decline to engage with a kid or spouse who is interested in talking with me.

I have helicopter-mom tendencies that occasionally eclipse my awareness that my kids don't need that kind of parenting. I say things I shouldn't say, offer reminders about things that are none of my business, and ask for "courteous" status updates at times when the real issue is my own fears.

I am sensitive to noise and too often ask people in my house to quiet down or take their movie-watching selves to the other TV. I am ridiculously irritated when other people fail to adhere to my systems and do really heinous things like attempting to recycle the lid of a bottle, or not putting the scissors where they go, or leaving a dish on the counter even though I for once have emptied the damned dishwasher.

I am currently going through a period of life-weariness that feels like swimming in molasses, so, yeah, I am looking forward to our upcoming empty-nest trial period. In the meantime, I am more than usually self-involved and reclusive and grouchy and prone to resentment.

So, what does all this mean to our unschooling?

Short answer: Not a damned thing.

Long answer: The members of an unschooling family really live together, and our particular unschooling family is fully together a lot since I work at home. There are not many secrets in our house, you know? Frank and my kids know my flaws and failings all too well; whatever smokescreen I manage online does not carry over to our in-person life. They have no choice but to be used to me.

This means that, while they do not necessarily take my lesser moments in stride, they certainly know that they are moments. I am not defined by my bad moments but by my whole self, and my whole self is
Ronnie Maier, dedicated unschooling mom, peaceful partner, and woman who never stops trying to do better.

Unschooling and the relationships between family members in an RU household don't flourish because we have found some magical way of avoiding bad moods, screwups, and sad times. No, they flourish because the philosophies we live by—my infamous RATS: Respect, Acceptance, Trust, and Support—are not just for good moods, successes, and happy times; they're for all times. And those philosophies don't flow only from parent to child but from child to parent and partner to partner.

We are not perfect, and I am certainly not. But we are in this together. We give each other the benefit of the doubt, a Get Out of the Doghouse Free card, or simple forgiveness as needed. And we never stop trying to do better.

Valued hopes

From Lynelle's comment on my previous post: "i kind of believe that as a parent, it's actually part of my job to try to instill certain values in my kids. i try to do that through example, suggestions, sharing experiences, asking my kids questions about their thoughts and feelings and reasons, and talks."

She goes on to detail some of the values she hopes her kids will share.

I've been thinking about this a lot these past few days. What are my values? Are there things that I am SO passionate about that seeing their opposites in my kids would really bother me? For half a minute, as I ran through the list of things people often freak out about, I thought Maybe I'm exempt. I mean, religion is the biggie, and I'm not religious, so...

But there are things I feel religious about. Oh, yeah. Unschooling. Peaceful parenting. Being kind. Making fun a priority. Living a wide-sky life. Certain political and social viewpoints that I hold.

Do I hope for my kids to share those values, and have I tried to instill those values in my kids? Yes, and yes. And do I, intentionally or otherwise, make clear to my kids when they are choosing something that is contrary to those values? Yep.

I try. I hope for. I communicate.

But that's where it stops.

Let's say MJ interacts with somebody else in a way that I characterize as unkind. I might talk to her about the other person's viewpoint, about things I think she could do to make amends, about strategies for interactions with this person in the future that might have a better outcome. All of this is parenting, and it can be peaceful and kind and free from shaming or punishment. (It can also be brief. A ten-second conversation is going to tell me if she is open to discussing this with me. And if she is, a two-minute conversation might be long enough to cover all of the above.)

But if MJ reviews her own actions and is fine with them, or if she does not want to discuss it... At that point, I am left with the relationship that I have with MJ, and the relationship that I have with the person I think she hurt. I can separate those from each other. My relationship with MJ from that point is just as it usually is: accepting, respectful, taken for what is now rather than what is past (and the problematic interaction is definitely past). My relationship with the other person is whatever s/he and I need it to be, and I can respond as a sympathetic friend or sympathetic stranger or whatever is appropriate.

Beyond that, I'm helpless. MJ's relationship with this other person is none of my business. MJ's assessment of her own actions is none of my business, even and perhaps especially when I disagree with her assessment.

One more example: Let's say Chloe becomes a mother and decides that Cry It Out is what works for her family. Phew. Oh boy. First, that is really hard to imagine. Chloe ignoring a needy baby? Not gonna happen. Second, that is really hard to imagine. My poor grandbaby!

Would Chloe hear from me? Oh, yeah. I'd send her the research on the harm that CIO does, and I'd encourage her to see things from the baby's point of view. I'd volunteer to stay at her house and take care of the baby during the night. I'd probably beg.

But if none of that worked... At that point, I'm left with my relationship with Chloe and, separately, my relationship with the baby. I'm still going to want a relationship with Chloe even if she is a sadly misguided mother. And I'm going to believe that the baby needs his grandma desperately, so I'm not going to do anything to jeopardize my contact with him. And of course I'm going to be the most loving, accepting, snuggle-him-up grandma I can be.

Beyond that, I am helpless. It's none of my business.

It is easy to be respectful of our kids when we approve of what they are doing. I think being respectful when we don't really approve is where the "radical" in "radical unschooling" comes in.

Formative years

There is a lot of chatter in the parenting world about kids' formative years. This term can mean anything from infancy to adolescence, but the implication is always the same: that there is a time period during which kids are formed into the people they will be (presumably forever).

I certainly don't dispute the importance of treating children well and raising them in a loving environment. But I really want to challenge this idea that people are ever finished "forming." Looking back over my life so far, I see a lot of formative years, and there are a few in my adult life that were at least as formative as the highest impact years of my youth. (2009 was a case in point! Whew! What a year!)

The accompanying ideas—that kids are merely "forming into" adults, and that they are especially "formable" during certain years—are equally bad. They are booby traps for the unwary, and they can lead us to some thoughts about our kids that are really pretty nasty.

How about this one: "Oh, he'll grow out of it." This usually refers, interestingly enough, to a child's deepest emotional needs or his strongest signals that something needs to change. It's something we say or think (or maybe just hope) when our child's wants or behaviors are inconvenient to us. When accompanied by loving patience and responsiveness to our child's needs, this thought is not the end of the world. But even at its least dismissive, it still carries with it an expectation of—even an insistence on—change. I think it's really hard to hide our expectations from our kids. They always know.

And what happens if he doesn't grow out of it, whatever it is? What do our thwarted expectations lead to? "He's a hopeless case" perhaps, or similar sentiments? Ouch! These are cultural weapons we use to beat up the square pegs among us, the angry ones, the sad ones, the bloody but unbowed ones. They are not like us, therefore they're a lost cause.

I don't believe in half-formed children, and I don't believe in lost causes. There's no such thing. There are only people—learning, thinking, evolving people—for whom every year is a formative year.


We are game-playing, fun-having creatures, we are the otters of the universe.
~ Richard Bach

Transition times

MJ is moving out at 17.

Moving out at 17. That phrase causes a moment's pause, doesn't it? Usually it signifies strife, and either a desperate escape or a cruel rejection or both. In our case, it is simply a step. Here's how we came to take it.

As I said before, MJ's really been ready to live independently for some time. There's a little garage apartment across the alley from our place that I have long had my eye on for my girls... Ah, well, it was a nice idea.

Instead, MJ and Sean started talking about getting an apartment together. There were various obstacles in the way of this idea—primarily employment in a recession economy—that would have meant many months of delay. So, I got to thinking about it. If the role of an unschooling parent is to facilitate her child's interests, does that role suddenly change when her child's interest is moving out? Despite my reluctance to lose her, I ultimately concluded that it does not.

So, after we all talked it over, MJ let Sean know he would be welcome to move in here. And then Sean's parents, Lynelle and David, said MJ would be welcome to move in there. And then MJ and Sean looked at various practical considerations and decided that she would move to Sean's place in July.

And that's been the plan for a couple of months. MJ has spent that time meeting some prior commitments, enjoying some fun times with family and friends, attending LIFE is Good, and traveling to Oregon for visits. We've researched some of our own practical considerations and readied ourselves for our baby to move out. And I've been calm, as I said.

This morning, I experienced what is probably only my first wave of grief. As we got ready to deliver Chloe to the train for her own visit to Oregon, it hit me that my daughters had just spent what might be their last night living in the same place. Ouch! But it's interesting and—though I didn't anticipate it—unsurprising really that what hits me hard is their separation from each other.

Stuff and money and space

Most of us have an innate desire for stuff that starts at the exact moment we become aware of stuff. My babies, as many babies do, started reaching for stuff at four months. We saw this early desire for stuff as natural and healthy, and we happily put stuff where the baby could reach it and took great delight in each fumbling grab. Most parents are the same.

It is only as our kids get a little older, as the stuff that they desire extends beyond the teething rings and cloth books that we joyfully provided, that their desire for stuff becomes problematic. Then, their desire is suddenly attached to money and space. As experienced acquirers of stuff, we parents see very clearly the money-and-space pitfalls of the bottomless pit that our kids' desires seem to encompass.

We know something they don't know.

That is such a tricky spot to be in! Indeed, it is the crux of most conflicts between parent and child. They want X, and we know that X will lead to undesirable consequences 1, 2, and 3. We know, for crying out loud! We know! Are we supposed to just stand by and let them blunder their way into those consequences?! Are we supposed to just stand by and allow them to drag us into those consequences with them?!

Yep.

We can certainly offer our perspective. We can share our experience. We can warn. But as unschoolers, as thinking parents, as people who believe that kids are people, we simply don't get to pull out the "I'm the parent and I know best" card.

I know what you're thinking: Why didn't I take the blue pill? Heh. Too late now, sorry!

When it comes to the acquisition of stuff, standing by while your kids choose means two things:

One: Your kids will make purchases that you do not agree with.

Two: You will have to live with that.

Both of these are easier to navigate with a stuff-and-money-and-space system in place. The system needs to reflect your lifestyle and income, and it needs to evolve as the kids get older and as other cirumstances change.

Here's our system:

Stuff - The kids choose. Period.

When they were young, I used to do a lot of coaching about choices. "If you buy that, you won't be able to buy this." This coaching may or may not have been helpful for a while, but they both quickly reached the point where it was bugging the hell out of them. "You take all the fun out of it!" they told me. Oops.

Money - We give our kids a weekly no-strings allowance.

The amount has varied over the years, and there have been lean stretches where we were all going without spending money. Right now, they're getting $15 per week.

When they were little, this allowance was a lifesaver. It completely removed me from the "Can I have this? Can I have that?" mom-as-bad-guy cycle.

Now that they're teenagers... Guess what? $15 per week is not really enough money. They have things they want to buy and experiences they want to have that will take more. Frank and I will help as much as we can, but my kids know that they will have to work to earn the more. They are making plans accordingly.

I want to be crystal clear on this: I have said "Yes" to my kids for years. I have "indulged" them in virtually everything. I have simply handed over as much money as we could afford every week for longer than we've been unschooling. I have made it clear to them that we will continue to support them beyond age 18 if they want us to. And even so, my kids are developing financial independence even as we speak. There's been a really interesting shift in the way they manage money over the last year or two that is worth its own blog post.

For now, I'll just say that people who think kids won't learn the value of money unless there are chores-strings on their allowances are just wrong.

Benefits of the no-strings allowance:
* Practice
* Built-in math
* Independence
* Experience

It's gold. And it doesn't have to cost you any more than you already spend.

Space - Where do we put everything?

There are a couple of myths about space. It helps if you reject these.

• Myth #1: More space or better organization would make everything easier. We have a three-bedroom, two-and-a-half story house with a lot of storage space. We've acquired a lot of storage containers over the years. Frank has built several bookcases. Stuff can still be an issue. No matter how much room you have, it tends to fill up, and you will periodically need to make adjustments. Over the years, we've rearranged rooms, swapped rooms, and tried a bunch of different stuff-management schemes. It's ongoing.
• Myth #2: Kids' stuff should fit into their bedrooms. This belief is a relic of traditional parenting. Toss it out! If each member of the family gets equal space in the house, who is really taking up more than his or her share? It's usually not the kids.
• Myth #3: If you had less stuff, the house would be tidier. We're unschoolers. We live here. We're home a lot. You can tell.
• Myth #4: Your kids will share your values about stuff and money. MJ spends a good portion of her money on clothes. Chloe has a sizable savings account. I cannot say either of those things about myself. Our values—and the stuff we value—are different. Simplicity and frugality may not ever describe your child. That's okay. Love the kid you have. Accept the kid you have.
• Myth #5: It's going to be like this forever. Once upon a time, we probably had 250 cubic feet of Barbie stuff in our house. I kid you not. Now? Barbie occupies less than one cubic foot. Every single Barbie item that has left our house has done so not only with my daughters' permission but with their blessing. We have made several other little girls very happy over the last several years.
  
  I am so glad to be able to say those things, so glad that we embraced (or at least tolerated) and made room for the Barbie collection until they were done with it.
  
  And there's a pang, too. Did I appreciate my little Barbie-playing girls enough while they were here? I don't think I did. I don't think I really knew how fleeting those moments were going to be.
  
  Whatever stuff your child is acquiring now, she will eventually be done with it. Probably. But even if she's never done with it, storing it will eventually be her problem. :-)

I like our system, but it is just one approach. As with everything else in the entire freaking world, the What To Do is less important than the How To Do. Handle your child's stuff or money or space choices as you would handle his choices about TV or reading or racing the wind: with joy, with "Yes," and with an underlying belief that his choices are valid and valuable.

Make a joyful light

I met a little girl in my dreams last night. Looking back on it now, I can theorize labels for this girl and know that she was probably on the Aspergers spectrum. Whatever. In my dream, she was simply my friend. She carried with her at all times one of those little keychain LED flashlights that you squeeze to light up. That flashlight was a cause for concern in her family, and I was caught up in the concern.

So, she and her siblings and I were hanging out together at the mall. We were having a blast and there were many distractions, and I was able to manipulate my little friend into giving me her flashlight for a while. But then we walked into THE toy store, the kind of toy store that kids fantasize about. FAO Schwartz on crack. My friend was suddenly a dancing ball of energy, hopping up and down and tugging manically on the pocket where I'd put her flashlight. I laughed and hugged her and promptly gave her back her light, which she proceeded to flash happily over and over again.

In the way of dreams, her dad appeared beside us and said something to her in that indulgent-scolding voice that all parents probably use from time to time. It's a voice that says, "I'm letting you do this just this once, but I find your need to do it amusing." I turned to him and said, "Steve, that's how she shows you her joy." And the light dawned for him, too, and we were all settling into enjoying the very pretty lights when my alarm went off and I woke up.

I think it is no accident that we use "light" words when we talk about joy, and no coincidence that a light symbolized joy in my dream. Our faces light up. We beam smiles. We glow with happiness. Joy dawns on our faces.

One of my favorite things about the unschooling community is that our friends amplify my kids' joy the way I amplified the little girl's joy in my dream. They do this all the time, not only by recognizing MJ's and Chloe's expressions of joy but by joining into it. At its roots, to enjoy means to put joy into, and our friends do that, too. MJ and Chloe have friends of all ages, all over the place, who are their friends in joy. They play and laugh together and trust each other. It is stunningly beautiful to watch.

And these friends help me see with better eyes. I can look back over our unschooling years and remember so many times when the words or simple presence of unschooling friends—people who habitually, deliberately, look for and find the best in people—showed me the path out of fear-based, critical parenting and into acceptance and fun and doing life together. Unschoolers remind me in a thousand ways to enjoy my kids, and my partnership, and my life. They show me the light.

Do you see it?

How to fight

I haven't blogged in so long that I thought I'd go ahead and post this here. I wrote it for Unschooling Partnerships, a new list on Yahoo! Groups where unschooling parents can discuss bringing the principles of unschooling into our marriages or partnerships.

--HOW TO FIGHT--

I grew up in an environment where disagreements were handled loudly. I used to store scathing things to say, and I always got the chance to use them. That is the method of communication I brought into my relationship with Frank.

Well. Let's just say it did not work very well. When I went into a conversation with Frank with either volume or accusations, that was pretty much the end of the conversation. A brick wall is more responsive and communicative than Frank when he feels attacked. I learned this pretty quickly, but I didn't have any other tools, so there was a stretch there where our disagreements were looooooooooooooooooong periods of silence. The tension in the room was all consuming.

By now, we've developed some better tools. These mean, first off, that we have fewer fights. We check in with each other earlier and nip a lot of them in the bud. Disagreements that do get to the angry stage tend to be short-lived because, essentially, we have learned how to fight more effectively.

I'll share some of our tools and habits here and look forward to hearing what
works for you.

Rule #1: Cardio. No, just kidding (although it probably wouldn't hurt). Our prime directive, as it were, is to use "I" statements. I feel, I want, I wish, I am hoping, I am trying to accomplish X. The minute we get into "you do this, you do that," the conversation is in trouble. Accusations beget defense, and we can't connect if we're defended against each other.

Take things one at a time. When our emotions (mine and his) are in a messy stew, we tend to lump disparate complaints into one Big Issue. As soon as we break them back down into their separate selves, we begin to see solutions instead of overwhelm.

Stay on target. I actually learned this from a manager whom I otherwise detested. She would listen very intently to side issues that cropped up, and then firmly direct the conversation back to her goal for the meeting. With us, if we start out talking about issue A and issue B comes up, we try to table issue B for the time being. That way, the main concern of whoever initiated the conversation doesn't get lost, and issue B will still be there whenever we have the time and energy to address it.

Avoid escalation. This is mostly for me. Frank never escalates. When he gets pissed, he clamps his mouth shut so tight I sometimes wonder if he'll ever get it open again. :-) But I react to hurts verbally and quickly, so I have learned over the years to check my reactions. I slow things down. I breathe. I ask for clarification. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?" If the answer is yes, I try to respond with puzzlement instead of outrage: "I don't understand why you would say that."

Allow your partner's feelings. Feelings aren't always rational and logical. They aren't always fair. In fact, they often come from "old tapes," as Frank says, that are so emotionally charged that rationality, logic, and fairness are way out of reach. Try to have compassion for the hurt contained in those old tapes, even as you ask your partner to move forward with you.

Don't overreact. For whatever reason, having somebody mad at me sends me into a tailspin. I guess I'm phobic about anger. A week or so ago, Frank was mad at me and I didn't know why and he wasn't ready to talk about it. By the time we did talk about it, I had been through our entire divorce in my head. And this even after I had meditated on it and recognized how I was overreacting! Then of course, it was *nothing*, just a bad mood really, and boy, did I feel silly. Ah, well, learning all the time.

My last one is something about being solution-oriented. I'm having trouble articulating it, because so often our solution is to "go forth and sin no more." Maybe it's more about recognition than solution. It's about always moving out of the disagreement with renewed commitment to be kind, attentive, and responsive.

Other ideas?

Diversity in the unschooling community

I am having trouble getting the below comment (novella?) to post where it is supposed to be, so I am putting it here for safekeeping. I wrote it in response to Eli Gerzon's post Welcoming Diversity at Unschooling Conferences. My comment is supposed to be in the context of Eli's post, and I'm a little worried that taken alone it will seem a dismissal of the possibility of discrimination in the community. That is not my intent at all. Please also read Eli's post linked above and the other comments there.

Good topic! The issue of discrimination and/or elitism in the community comes up periodically on various message boards. What's interesting is that the people who feel excluded are a diverse group. I am in no way denying the existence of racism--people who suggest that our society is now colorblind are just, well, wrong, and either naive or downright stupid--but it seems there are always people who feel excluded at conferences, regardless of the color of their skin.

From what I can intuit, some of this has to do with their encounters with groups of people who (1) seem to already know each other, and (2) seem to be closed to newcomers. I firmly believe that the reality is not what it appears: those apparently close friendships might have been formed yesterday, and the people in them might actually be (probably are) completely open to forming more and more and more friendships.

Another part seems to be the expectation that one carries into the conference. Some people go in expecting to find high school-like cliques, so that's what they find. I suggest going into the conference expecting to find people who are *thrilled* to meet you. You will!

Also, remember that most people have their own little pockets of shyness or distraction. That woman who didn't smile back at you might be tracking down her kids for dinner, she might have a bad headache, or she might be in an overstimulation daze. The one who seems reluctant to talk to you might simply be intimidated by your awesomeness--and that is not a joke! One year at LIFE is Good I hesitated to talk to a woman because she had rockin' pink hair and seemed too cool for me. "I'm too boring for her," said the nasty little voice in my head, and I listened to it! It wasn't until months later that we became friends, and I realized what I had projected onto this perfectly nice, accepting, open lady.

As for race... Sometimes (maybe not in either of your examples) it's not discrimination but white guilt! I am sometimes so conscious of what minority groups have suffered that I am a bumbling idiot for the first few minutes after meeting a person of color. That I was not directly involved in the injustices doesn't seem to matter; my tongue is crippled anyway. And if those first few minutes are the *only* minutes of our acquaintance... Oy.

So, what's my point? I don't know. LOL. I guess it's just that understanding and awareness and reaching out might need to go both ways.

For LIFE is Good, Mary Gold has taken some distinct steps to try to make sure everyone feels welcomed and included. She and Colleen Paeff have set up a buddy program for newbies, and we're going to have some roving "ambassadors," people who are easily identifiable as folks to talk to if you're feeling alone. (There has been talk of neon-lighted bras, but I'm thinking crazy hats or something instead.) I think things like this can help a lot, with awareness and friendliness and patience taking us the rest of the way.