Janet Lansbury of Elevating Childcare
Lisa Sunbury of Regarding Baby
Gauri of Loving Earth Mama
Teacher Tom Hobson
Karen of Kloppenmum

And, mostly, Hand in Hand Parenting.

All of these folks are writing from either a secular perspective or from a faith background other than Christian. I believe in common grace — the idea that God sprinkles truth and beauty everywhere — and therefore I don’t have any problems with learning from secular or other religious resources.

On the other hand, there’s something else, a kind of refreshment, in finding other Christians who are interested in this side of the parenting spectrum. Through Loving Earth Mama, I discovered first Pearl in Oyster, then Dulce de Leche, then various others through their links. Here’s a beginning list of some Christian resources:

Pearl in Oyster
Dulce de Leche
Dare to Disciple
Gentle Christian Mothers
GOYB Parenting

One of the things I am thinking about lately is obedience, respect, habit formation, and the like — in other words, I don’t intend to be a permissive parent who has no boundaries, sets no limits, shrugs, and lets the kid get away with murder if she doesn’t feel like changing course when I politely ask her to, please. But I am quite sure I don’t want to go about obedience training in a punitive way, or in a way that is disrespectful, unrealistic, unhelpful, ineffective for the long term, unkind, not appropriate for Amy’s maturity / age / stage of life.

I am thinking about things like cleaning up, getting ready, or otherwise taking responsibility; and not *always* throwing or being rude as a first response to frustration or disappointment. I am thinking about where I might need to step in and act more, to help, to participate, to prepare, to prevent.

Charlotte Mason talks in this section about ways parents unintentionally hinder their kids’ natural relationship with God. She mentions the story of Jesus saying “Let the little children come to me,” pointing out that his statement suggests that without outside interference, kids naturally come to him. I wonder if he meant that about all kids, and not just the kids that got to see him in the flesh.

Hindrances include such things as much talk about the threat of God not loving the child when he’s naughty or sending the child to hell; long boring thoughtless prayers; careless talk about spiritual things and holy words; not enough talk of “how God does love and cherish the little children all day long, and fill their hours with delight”; and the parental life not showing how much more important God is than the world (20).

VI. Conditions of Healthy Brain-Activity

Okay, I confess, parts of this section made me laugh incredulously. Oh my. Well, let us suppose that Charlotte Mason was speaking outside of her area of expertise in those parts.

Since mental activity involves the use of the brain, the health of the brain must be cared for.

It should exercise, as the rest of the body does, but with “daily habit of appropriate moral and mental work” and “regular and sustained efforts of thought or will” (21). Because the brain does not sit idle, without these things it will work in its own way, producing eccentricity. Since “wholesome mental effort, like moral, must be carried on under the discipline of rules,” children must do intellectual, moral, volitional work — to understand, “to do and to bear,” to do right even when it’s a sacrifice” (21-22).

What? What rules? And is eccentricity altogether such a bad thing? What happened to “masterly inactivity”? The idea of mental exercise is a good one — the more you think, the better you get at it — but the rest seems contrived and weirdly artificial. It makes me picture rows of children performing some kind of mental calisthenics with furrowed brows.

Next, Mason talks about the need for rest. First there’s timing — strenuous mental work is not best done right after a meal or right before bed. Lessons should be timed for when the brain is most fresh, if possible. Then there’s variety — working on one thing for a long time can get tiring, and a change in subject or type of work can be refreshing. My teacher dad used to say that you tend to remember the first and last things you study, so that studying is most effective when you take lots of good short breaks. And pressing on when your mind isn’t working well is counter-productive, even in the face of a deadline or other pressure.

Then there’s food, which should be “nutritious and easy of digestion” and varied — regular meals not spaced too far apart. Sensible, right? But then read this:

“Everybody knows that children should not eat pastry, or pork, or fried meats, or cheese, or rich, highly-flavoured food of any description; that pepper, mustard, and vinegar, sauces and spices, should be forbidden, with new bread, rich cakes, and jams, like plum or gooseberry, in which the leathery coat of the fruit is preserved; that milk, or milk and water, and that not too warm, or cocoa, is the best drink for children, and that they should be trained not to drink until they have finished eating; that fresh fruit at breakfast is invaluable; that, as serving the same end, oatmeal porridge with treacle, and the fat of toasted bacon, are valuable breakfast foods; and that a glass of water, also, taken the last thing at night, and the first thing in the morning, is useful in promoting those regular habits on which much of the comfort of life depends” (26).

Giggle — regular habits — POOP! Seriously, though, what’s wrong with cheese? Or seasoning? or…

But she goes on — pleasant talk at meals, as opposed to dull silence or too much excitement, promotes good digestion. And of course pleasant meals are opportunities for manners and moral training as well as for family connection. And making a thoughtful effort to provide meals that are both healthful AND enjoyable is not going to lead to food obsession; it’s the kids who don’t get enough to eat who obsess, not the ones who get to eat what they enjoy. (Tell that to my candy and carbs fanatic; I don’t forbid them, but any limit is unwelcome to her.)

Now after all this talk about nourishing the blood with food, we move on to air. With many words, Mason makes the point that it is best to breathe plenty of fresh air, which means avoiding inadequately ventilated indoor spaces with fires burning and people breathing, and being outside as much as possible, not just for an hour’s walk each day. Besides, in the early years, children learn more effectively by exploring, especially in nature, instead of through lessons and words.

There should also be a lot of sun and light in general, indoors and out, and kids should have plenty of opportunity to sweat, which is one of the ways the body eliminates wastes. She talks about clothes and bedcovers needing to breathe, and argues that woolens are better than cotton and linen; I bet she would be appalled by polyester and the like.

Mason closes this section with what sounds like a nod to Maslov and his hierarchy of needs: “Intellectual, moral, even spiritual life and progress depend greatly upon physical conditions.”

Mark got a can of crabmeat in his stocking. It became quiche last Wednesday, with bacon and cheddar and romano cheeses. Mmmm. Used a brown butter crust.

I’ve been crocheting produce bags for a month or so… mindless and easy, slow and tedious… and sometimes on such projects one gets a little punchy.

I didn’t really expect her to agree to my suggestion that she shovel the driveway. She did the porch and one whole swathe from garage to road.

She asked to play in the sink. And later, she got to use a sponge to clean up the mirror, counter, and floor.

There’s a thread on Ravelry where people post pictures of the ugliest things they’ve knitted or crocheted, and I finally got around to taking a picture of this, my first sweater, in all its mostly-acrylic-with-bits-of-mohair glory — simultaneously bulky and oddly flat, too warm, too tight under the arms, and absolutely shapeless. It feels and looks so ridiculous on, that I was surprised how little its ludicrosity shows in the picture.

I used to have one of these Tomy Tuneyville Choo Choo trains. It runs around in a circle playing records by some kind of whistle. I really wanted one for Amy when she was little, but on Ebay they run from around $50 to $150 depending on condition and what all it comes with. So, even though Amy is five now, when I saw this one in a bag with two other baby toys at the thrift store for $5, I bought it on impulse. It was in a sealed bag, and I didn’t really even try to look closely at it. Turns out it doesn’t work, even with batteries in it, and even though Mark managed to take it apart, he couldn’t find anything to fix inside. Fortunately, there is YouTube to hear what it sounds like, and Amy likes it even without the music and movement.

Aaaand last night I knitted a tiny hat and a tiny sock for the phonetic works in Amy’s Montessori class, but my camera batteries died; PhotoBooth couldn’t seem to get anymore focused and clear than this.

And then when she does, I say “No.”

I think of myself as someone ready to help, happy to connect, and yet, it doesn’t seem to be entirely true.

Well, if it was a beautiful day and Amy and I woke up smiling and I didn’t have anything on my to-do list, or not much, and she asked oh-so-politely, “Would you like to play Junior Monopoly with me?” I might cheerfully say yes. On such a beautiful day, I might even say yes if she asked oh-so-politely “Would you like to play paper dolls” (or “Miss Clavel” or “Cinderella”)? I’m not sure I would ever cheerfully say yes to “Would you like to play mean girl,” though.

I guess the problem is when the asking is inconvenient to me, or when it happens AFTER I’ve found the end of my rope.

Like today, when I was practicing stay-listening by following her around after she had kicked or hit something she was frustrated with, and as long as she still seemed upset I stayed near her, explaining that I didn’t feel safe yet leaving her alone.

But then, after a while, she started to back away just a little and giggle as I stepped forward just a little. And, ideally, this is perfect! Laughter is a great emotional release, as well as a great connection tool. Ideally, I would have joined in the new game with enthusiastic abandon.

Instead, I got annoyed.

And figuring she felt better now, I left to get back to the work I wanted to do.

And she started to cry and to say “I don’t feel safe.”

And I didn’t feel like doing the right thing and returning to stay-listening. I (too quickly, I’m sure) felt manipulated into paying more attention than I wanted to. She wanted to connect more and more and longer and longer, and I wanted to get away and do something else.

It’s not that terribly hard to set a limit like “No, we’re not going to have a cookie right now,” using connecting and listening tools. But what if you want to set a limit on being together? How do you disconnect in a connected way?

Sometimes my just-like-me ridiculously intensely craving willful daughter feels to me like a looming monster about to devour me, hovering over my every move, waiting to pounce, insatiable. It’s really hard to say “Yes!” to an insatiable monster.

Yes, such specialized material means that it costs a fair bit to properly set up a Montessori classroom — which also means it’s not easy to do Montessori properly at home. Then again, it wasn’t designed to be done at home.

Charlotte Mason criticized Montessori for her emphasis on such specialized equipment. She argued that normal children learn about height and diameter from ordinary things and don’t need fancy knobbed cylinders to help them do so — she also suggested that such materials were actually undervaluing children’s abilities.

What’s interesting about that is that Mason was really big on training focused attention. Her approach to literature involves this training — you read to the child one time, then ask them to tell back (narrate) what they heard.

Mason emphasizes ideas — ideas presented mostly through literature — at least for six-year-olds and older. For the younger ones, she didn’t suggest any kind of formal schooling — mainly plenty of time outdoors. Montessori for the younger ones involves a lot of sensory materials (like the cylinders). But I don’t believe Montessori expects older students to learn primarily through sensory material.

To me it seems rather obvious that sensory exploration and exploration of ideas are both excellent food for whole persons. And I think that Montessori is correct that sensory things and movement ARE connected to the brain and other kinds of learning, and that Mason is wrong to absolutely separate sensory things and movement from ideas and the mind. Montessori’s idea also seems to mesh better with the traditional Hebrew view of persons being whole and undivided.

I think Mason and Montessori both have an excellent appreciation of and respect for the personhood of children, and their need for self-direction. They were both so insistent on their own methods being followed exactly that I can imagine it being a challenge to integrate or blend their ideas — and yet I still want to do so. I haven’t found many resources yet that have done this integration.

———

It would be nice if a packaged curriculum was available that was already everything I want and care about. I rather doubt that I will find one, though. Sonlight looks interesting in some ways… it may be, though, that I could do the parts I like about it by using one of the online (and free) Charlotte Mason guides.

I don’t have anything against the idea of a Christian curriculum… but I am skeptical. I think I would rather add my own Bible study than follow someone else’s, and I am especially skeptical that any packaged curriculum could integrate Bible and other subjects in a way that I would agree with.

Some of the Charlotte Mason and Classical approaches seem to have a love of books that are old precisely because they are old. Or they think the older books automatically have better moral content. I’m not convinced — even though I also love a lot of old books. I hate _The Book of Virtue_, for one thing — so pedantic! I don’t think anyone becomes a better person because some pedantic poem told them to do so. It’s more through grappling personally (and vicariously) with real moral dilemmas. It’s one of the reasons I actually like Philip Pullman’s _His Dark Materials_ trilogy — his characters are all real and round — no black and white hats here, no clearly demarcated good and evil. I think there IS value in fairy stories and such that do have clearly good and clearly evil characters, because good and evil do exist and the difference matters… but I think there is also a LOT of value in stories that show people realistically, as we know them, as flawed and beautiful, wonderful and repulsive, fallen but still bearing a glorious image.

I remember really liking “The Story of Ping” as a child but I don’t know why — and on reading it again as an adult I haven’t yet found it compelling — for one thing, I don’t really want to use a story that includes spanking in it, even fairly innocuous spanking like Ping gets. Or I’ve seen “The Little House” on the award shelf at the library, but glancing through it I don’t find it compelling at all. I do love “Blueberries for Sal,” though — partly because Sal wears overalls and has short hair and otherwise isn’t frilly and pink, partly because of the brush with danger involved with the presence of bears, and partly because of the homesteading appeal of picking wild blueberries and canning them.

I don’t know how I feel about history yet. Some approaches do chronological history, like in a four-year cycle, that students go through again when they are older. Others organize it differently. I do like the idea of introducing other parts of the world and other cultures very early — understanding that everyone is in a context and that differences matter is important, especially (it seems) in our country where Christianity has gotten all sorts of cultural stuff attached to it that doesn’t really belong. (Bet that’s true — but different — in other places, too.)

I looked around online but didn’t see anything identifying this backstamp. I did see some stuff suggesting that there were a lot of short-lived Bavarian companies so it can be hard to identify them.

I forgot to take any pictures yesterday — oops! — but here are the pictures from the rest of this first partial week.

Amy (5) has had tea parties at a friend’s house, and I thought she might like her own tea set. We ordered one that turned out to be too small, and then found this one at an antique store. The size is really perfect — big enough that it’s worth using for real tea, but small enough for her to manage most of the pieces herself. She’s enjoyed playing very carefully with it at the table with her dolls, and we’ve had a whole family tea party complete with cookies, too.

One of Amy’s presents from her grandparents was this little butterfly box to decorate. She had a grand time painting it and applying glitter and a jewel. She keeps her money in it now — theoretically. Last I looked, there was a plastic Mardi Gras coin in there.

This is the original set we ordered. Look how tiny it is! If I’d known, I would never have asked for it. I’m not much for keeping tiny things that need to be dusted and can’t be used, and while you could serve a swallow of tea with it, it doesn’t seem worth the effort. Beautiful, though, isn’t it? I just listed it on Ebay, and the name only shows on one side…

(Pssst… don’t tell Amy about this little set — she has no idea it ever existed.)

These are my favorites:

Watermelon and tomatoes. I love the composition and the color contrasts.

Milk and stuff. This kid looooves her milk.

Mark eating watermelon. Intriguing framing.

The best beloved. I like how the feet are included.

Ceiling fan. Nicely composed with the fan hovering upper right.

Lamp. This might be my overall favorite, for composition and light and shadow.

Tomato sprouts. Lovely how the light shines through the translucent leaves. And she captured something I had forgotten to take a picture of.

Kitchen drawer. Lovely colors. And, again, interesting how it's framed -- what gets cut off, what parts are included.

Floor. Another nice one for lines and lights and shadows.

Daddy. Love that light and dark; and still crisp.

Hands. Grandma P's hands; lovely framing.

Hair. Grandma P again. The curls fill the frame.

Christmas tree. I guess she moved the camera after clicking -- such neat lines.

Family group. The only clear shot of many she took of these and other figures.

It’s interesting what she chooses to photograph — the ridiculously ordinary, the best beloved…

I realize that a lot of what I love about these particular pictures — the framing, composition, colors and lighting and lines, is completely out of Amy’s intention or consciousness, considering how many of her other pictures are dark, blurry, and so on, without bothering her in the least. I think it’s a rather difficult camera to use, with a small screen, hard to keep it still long enough, and no cues to help with lighting and focus. But I think as / if she gets interested in such things, she’ll be able to get better with it. No matter — I like these, and she likes just about every picture she takes. And if she doesn’t like one — or even if she does — she knows how to delete it.