Ice

The last place I expected to find myself on this cold winters day was the minor injuries hospital in Cinderford. This was definitely not the plan, but as is often the way when one has children, plans must be open to adaptation. I was accompanied by my little four year old and my teenager one of whom had a fishing hook stuck in their finger, and it wasn't the latter. 

The day had begun ordinarily enough, we did our morning devotionals, read a chapter of Oliver Twist and battled through some Maths and English lessons with my older boys, the four your old pottering around with his dinosaurs and cars.  We had some lunch and decided we needed to get out into the fresh air to experience some daylight on our skin, let off some energy and give the dog a run. But this was no ordinary walk, for this was a very icy, wintery, Forest of Dean walk, and this state of affairs commanded that we get ourselves to a body of water in order to fully immerse ourselves in one of the rare delights of this bleak season, that of thick, cold, dark but oh-so-fun ice.

    

  Speech House Lake was the body of water of choice for this particular walk and it did not disappoint.  We walked down the long straight path to the turning for the lake.  To the side of the path was a ditch, itself presenting us with a teasing taste of what was to come.  Crusts of ice formed above the trickle of water that had drained into it and much delight was had in stamping on, crushing and kicking the ice until the muddy waters underneath it pooled and swirled above like a decidedly unappetizing glass of iced coffee.  In some places the water beneath the ice had receded leaving little clean, floating shelves of ice held up with brackets of grass and twigs.

We finally approached the lake itself, excitement grew and it became clear that Jack Frost had been very thorough on his night-time visit leaving a inch, or in some places a two inch thick layer of ice, a veritable sensory playground for four boys whose current purpose in life was to touch, smash, crack and throw as much ice as was humanly possible till their fingers were frozen stiff.

The boys immediately began stamping on the ice at the edges of the lake where the water was shallow (no risk of falling through and drowning; a mothers worst nightmare)  it gave way with some effort and a satisfying crack, allowing for thick heavy shards to be lifted out trophy-like from the waters and thrown, skidding and skipping playfully across the lake virtually uninhibited by friction.  A competition to see how far the ice lumps would slide then ensued. 

The desire to destroy, smash and impose their physical strength on nature was over whelming, and rocks, sticks, stones and logs were hurled joyfully onto the ice, usually the ice won, it was so thick, it could withstand even the most powerful throw from the arms of a sturdy young boy, but occasionally the boy would win and a small, jagged hole would appear in the thick sheet, allowing air to form bubbles underneath, ethereal, like globules of mercury, taking on a life of their own and swimming away like a chilly jelly fish beneath the icy surface. The pond was soon littered with an array of natural detritus which, in a few days’ time would sink beneath the surface or float to the sides, likely causing aggravation to the fishermen who frequented the lakeside during more inclement seasons (more on them later). I also joined in with the fun breaking off pieces of ice and placing them artistically in tree branches. 

    

When that game was finished it was time to see how much weight the ice could bear.  Holding my hands, or a sturdy branch the boys each took turns standing at the edge of the lake to test its strength in another way. Apart from the meagre weight of the four-year-old the ice quickly gave way beneath them, and they dropped stone-like into the shallow leafy water beneath with a yelp, freezing water flooding over their wellies if they were particularly unlucky, squeals of laughter echoing across the forest. On one thicker patch it seemed the ice might take one of the boys' weight until a unearthly crack travelled eerily across the lake resonating through the surrounding forest like an extra-terrestrial craft landing in a corn field on a dark night in Roswell. The sound, so unnatural and alien felt foreboding and reminded us sharply of the dangers of walking on ice. “Do not walk on the ice” I repeated for the umpteenth time “I know it’s tempting but you really must not.”  The dog, of course refused to heed my warning and when running onto the ice like a puppy on a slippery floor.  The last thing I needed was to wade into a frozen lake to rescue a daft dog.  We all screamed and called for her to return, which she thankfully did without any harm done.  But my nerves had become slightly jangled by this alarming event and little did I know, more excitement was to come.

All seemed well, my children were playing in nature, happily engaging in their natural environment, how very Charlotte Mason, how very Nature Study, how very wild and free, but the joy was about to end as my little four-year-old turned to me for help with something stuck in his glove.  He had tried to remove his glove, but it was apparent that something was stopping it from coming off, a clothes tag?  A strange safety pin? No, a fishing hook!  And the darned thing wasn’t just stuck in his glove; it was hooked right through the fleshy surface of his index fingertip.  It pains me to remember.  Realisation dawned, and I quickly began to examine my options.  Remove the fishing hook there and then, but I was afraid, I didn’t know if it was barbed, I didn’t want to hurt him and his little fingers were cold so it wouldn’t bleed much, meaning bacteria could remain.  Option two was to go straight to the hospital, but I didn’t fancy that with all four boys and who knows how long a wait, and option three was to go home and ask my husband for help.

 

I opted for three, mediocre feminist that I am, but it was no easy feat getting everyone back to the car, we had walked quite a way, and I now had a screaming four-year-old who wouldn’t walk, and a crying nine-year-old, upset at the calamity and demanding I call an ambulance.  We said a quick prayer, and I calmly ordered them to walk to the car as I carried the four-year-old on my hip whilst my teen carefully supported the toddler’s hand to prevent the hook from tugging at his finger.

Eventually home and after a conflab with my husband and a quick snip with some pliers to remove the two ends of the hook we found ourselves back where this story began, in the minor injury unit of Cinderford Hospital.

Despite the anguish this unfortunate incident was causing his mother, at this point my four-year-old was playing happily in the hospital's children's area as if the fishing hook still impaled in his finger, were a distant memory.  I grumbled silently about the evils of fishing and inconsiderate fishermen.  We were eventually seen and after a myriad of questions regarding the incident, including, but not limited to his home life, his education, any allergies or medication and any number of other questions which I failed to see were related to the fishing hook, and it was swiftly removed.  We returned home and the event was filed in my memory under “accidents I’d rather forget but most likely won’t” and life continued as normal, no ill effects except that I will probably think twice about letting my children play in that particular lake.

Alas, that was the last thick ice of the season, we had enjoyed it very much, though not quite thoroughly enough since our play was interrupted by the fishing hook escapee. It would likely be another 10 months or so till we would be able to enjoy this rare treat of nature again, because winter would soon be coming to an end in the Forest of Dean.

Mist

    Car headlights appeared, spectre like in the night, materializing almost out of nowhere and floating like eyes from an unconnected from head. Driving felt precarious in these conditions, bends in the road, potholes (of which there were many) and other vehicles constantly took me by surprise, all shrouded in a thick, heavy fog. 

A cloud had descended on the Forest of Dean.  It was not an unfamiliar experience, sitting as we were so high in the landscape, we often woke up in a misty veil which might stay for a few hours or a couple of days.  From our bedroom window, the distant hills of Malvern and the Black Mountains usually such familiar humps on the horizon, were blocked completely from sight by this white, impenetrable cloud. It made us feel cocooned, isolated, like an island in the sky, the whole world miles and miles away, just us, dreamlike, floating in the heavens.

Occasionally we would wake up on a cool Spring or Autumn morning and find ourselves perched atop the clouds. The mist sitting like pools of soft foamy milk in breakfast bowls in the valleys and dips of the landscape and we would look out like fairy kings and queens over our fantasy cloud kingdom. The mist took on a magical quality on days like this; it seemed to hide treasures and secrets in its lacy folds, I could imagine it sprinkling magic into the ground as it floated dreamily across, planting spring seeds or sending the ground to sleep.

 

The mist seemed to take on a physical form on days like this.  Driving through the Forest would take you in and out of the resting mist as if diving in and out of a milky ocean.  One minute above the mist, the air crystal clear and fresh, the next diving down into a cotton wool sea, and just as quickly rising out of it again.  At other times the mist would seem alive, crawling menacingly over hedges and tumbling into the road like a deadly virus out to consume all it encountered.

But we were in the midst of winter now, a cold, frosty and icy January, neither the hope of new life which spring brings, nor the cosy cuddle of Autumn, but the bleak, endless, hopelessness of winter. 17^th century German Romanticist painter Casper David Friedrich perfectly captures the feeling in his painting “Wanderer above a sea of fog”, we stand surveying a bleak horizon, brooding and Darcy-like taking in the moody landscape as if it were doing this on purpose just to spite us. And yet even in the face of death and hopelessness, the Forest continued to take me by surprise in forming beauty with the most unlikely of materials; Dark, bare forests transformed into beautiful enigmatic paintings, bare tree limbs and branches, less spider like and more delicate, seemed to reach through the mist and reveal themselves in layers like a series of net curtains gradually revealing the players on a stage, the performer; nature itself.

 

Wandered Above a Sea of Fog by Casper David Friedrich

On a forest walk at this time of year I imagine myself as Cathy in Wuthering Heights, or Jane Eyre walking through a Gothic, enigmatic, Northern landscape, holding up imaginary skirts and encountering mysterious men who are taciturn, ancient hansom and loyal, but who aren’t men at all but trees only disguised as mysterious men, hiding their beauty and soul behind a rough, craggy bark, bare branches, and emerging hero-like through layers and layers of vapours chiffon. One could easily fall in love with a man like that, and just as easily I have fallen in love with the Forest.

But alas, I wasn’t Cathy and the Forest of Dean is no Heathcliff, especially not on nights like this, nights where  I am just a mother driving her son to Cub Scouts, knuckles whitely gripping the steering wheel hoping that the next bend in the road would reveal no more surprises and I could get him to the Scout hut without encountering another car along a narrow winding lane forcing me to reverse uphill, blind.  I had done that before on a clear day and I didn’t fancy it when I could see less than three meters ahead, let alone behind and without the benefit of headlights to guide me. No, driving in the Forest on a misty night did not transport me to a romantic scene from an Edwardian novel, it left me shaken and longing for a cosy sofa and roaring fire to envelop and hold me, the only defences against the cold and damp Forest of Dean winters. That was winter here, cold and damp, a damp that penetrated to the bone, with no blustery, moorland wind to drive it away.  A damp which sits and waits for the forces of its enemy spring to drive it back into the wet ground and rotting wood. 

But I wasn’t about to let the cold and damp crush my spirits, because I knew that that was what was needed in order to experience the rich, greenness of a Forest of Dean Spring. The mists would eventually melt away like a winter snow, and like a bride lifting her veil at the alter the Forest’s beauty would be revealed.  And so, I left the car on the muddy drive, headed into my house to warm up and closed the door against the penetrating mist, it could fill fields and spill into roads and drift quietly through forests, but it couldn’t enter my own safe dwelling.  And through the bedroom window in the morning I admired the beauty of the mist which shrouded our house still, and I pulled my dressing gown tighter around my shoulders girding myself for another chill day, I lit a candle and imagined myself as a heroine in a Bronte novel, waiting for her hero to return.

Social Media Fast - my 40 days offline

 It's Lent!

This is a special time of year for some Christians as we prepare to celebrate Jesus' death and resurrection on Good Friday followed by Easter. 

This time of preparation was traditionally used as a time of fasting, remembering Jesus' 40 days and nights in the desert where he fasted from food and drink and was tested by the devil. 

Since the 300's AD people fasted during lent, and later people would fast from foods like eggs, milk and butter, which is why we make pancakes on Shrove Tuesday, to use up these items. 

This Lent I am fasting from sugar and social media, and I want to tell you that so far, just under two weeks in, it has been wonderful.  Some might say I am a bit of a cheat thought because I do indulge in these two vices on Sundays.  Lent is, after all 40 days and nights EXCLUDING Sundays, because on Sundays we celebrate the risen Christ.  I have been using two really good devotionals to help me remain focused and committed to the fast, the first is called Celtic Lent, 40 days of devotions to Easter by David Cole, and the second is called The 40-day Social Media Fast by Wendy Speake. 

I don't want to lecture you about the benefits of giving up sugar, the benefits are pretty well documented (Wendy Speake has also written a 40-day devotional for quitting sugar), what I will tell you thought is that my once a week indulgence of sugar on Sundays is revealing to me how unpleasant an effect sugar actually has on my body.  I can't deny the biscuits, syrup soaked pancakes, Turkish delight and cake have tasted delicious, but I could really do without the sluggish, jittery, dizzy, headachy spell I get afterwards. So far my Sundays have been especially unproductive (aside from writing this blog post of course which is fuelled by an especially delicious pistachio flavoured Turkish delight!) Housework and planning have gone out the window as I have stumbled round the house, face buried in my phone, wondering where I put my cup of tea and trying to pull myself together enough to do something productive. 

Needless to say I hope to persist with abstaining from sugar after Lent is over and continue to benefit from the reduction in sugar spikes, the clearer head and the genuine energy to do things around the house that fasting from sugar has generated. 

What I really want to talk about is my break from social media, not so much what I have gained from not going on, which has been a great deal including more time for reading and looking my children in the face, but more especially what I am NOT missing out on. 

Before Lent I am ashamed to say that I was likely addicted to social media, it was an excellent distraction and diversion from the stresses of home educating four wild boys, staring at Facebook videos, one after the other in an endless reel was a hypnotising, dopamine stimulating, but cortisol inducing way of escaping from life.  I was like a chain smoker who couldn't resist picking up the next cigarette and lighting up, before I knew it I spent an hour lying in bed watching reel after reel, resulting in an even later night (and tired-er morning) as I lay awake for a further hour, overstimulated and unable to sleep. 

Thankfully, unlike withdrawing from drugs alcohol or cigarettes I have suffered from almost no withdrawal effects. For a few days I was compulsively checking my phone for updates and notifications, I still check my phone for messages but its much less often habitually, and I often go several hours without realising I haven't checked my phone. Now, only 12 days later I am not checking nearly as often. 

What I had come to realise before I made my break from social media is that it is almost wholly toxic and bad for us. 

There are of course some benefits, such as finding out about home education and church events, and being able to ask people for help of different subjects, connecting with other people.  This is of course what sold us all on social media to begin with, connection, but for me, that became a much less used resource than the video reels. So, I'm not saying that social media is all bad, but it had become very unhealthy for me. 

I wasn't just watching reels on Facebook, I was also watching reels on Instagram and twitter and spending significant amounts of time reading posts and comments on Twitter.  Thankfully I have never engaged with Tiktok so have not had to deal with that monster. 

I'd say that Instagram was the least toxic of these, the algorithms generally showed me aspirational posts, home education, homesteading and home making ideas.  With these sorts of posts there is always the risk of comparison, the "grass is always greener on the other side" feeling, but generally speaking there wasn't too much horrific content.  I do sometimes fall victim to felling not-as-good-as the women who seem to have perfect lives, but I have enough sense to know that oftentimes we aren't seeing the full picture.

Facebook also has generally inoffensive algorithms, they were much less relevant to me, funny kitten videos, people falling from things, hyper speed cleaning videos, that sort of thing.

By a long shot Twitter was the most toxic.  There were two main types of post that I was being show, first, posts which would provoke me to anger, such as those with an anti-Christian, anti-woman, anti-child message, and second, posts which would shock, upset or disgust.  The algorithms were wild, showing me things I had never searched for, not would ever want to.  I have seen an awful lot of things on twitter that I wish I had never seen, to give you a flavour, I have seen people who were almost certainly being killed, dead babies, women with severe anorexia, images of self-harm, broken limbs and actual p8rn. What is most worrying is that essentially a child could see these things.  As I said, I never searched for any of this content, it was what Twitter decided to show me.

A friend told me recently that this difference between Instagram and Twitter is more common knowledge than I had thought, apparently a post search for "France" or "French" on Instagram would show pleasant photos of baguettes in bike baskets, the pretty Parisian women in front of the Eiffel tower, beautiful French landscapes, delicious food and of course manicures (at least Instagram knows I am a woman!) whereas an equivalent search on twitter would show posts and photos of angry protests, rioting and posts with a generally negative tone.  I did this search myself and found it to be generally true the only thing they had in common was football (obviously the algorithms don't know me THAT well!) The comments section on Twitter is by far the worst place and where I saw the most disgusting, debased content. 

I haven't been able to manage this very well as an adult, I have found myself feeling deeply disturbed, upset, angry, agitated and repulsed by some of the things I have seen, and I'd like to remind you that I have never searched for any of this content.  I am certain that if I had the wherewithal I might have been able to change settings so that I saw less disturbing content, but my point is, children might be seeing this. Children. 

It is hard enough as an adult with a fully developed brain, to extract myself from the endless scrolling.  The videos and images are so stimulating and provoke such an addictive response in the brain that it can be very hard to put down your phone and step away from it. They are designed to be like this, to keep us coming back. If social media becomes an addiction, UK Addiction Treatment Centres says that:

"An addict [social media] will rely on their device compulsively to satisfy a particular need, dependant on social media to feel balanced and functional.  This is because social media use activates those same reward pathways that are triggered when using an addictive substance, such as drugs or alcohol.

When we spend time on social media platforms, our brain releases small bursts of dopamine, as if to reward us for such a pleasurable activity. Experiencing this neurological response can push us to take part in that behaviour again, using social media to seek instant and constant gratification wherever we are."

If social media is so potentially addictive for an adult imagine how much more so it might be for a child. 

What is more the content itself is potentially harmful.  For example seeing pro-anorexia content has been shown to trigger anorexia in those at risk of or recovering from anorexia. There is also evidence that viewing self-harm increases self-harm, and that watching footage of violence can increase aggression even in children. 

Because of the unfiltered nature of social media, which, unlike television has very little in the way of editing and regulation, the risk of seeing harmful imagery is high unless restrictions are in place. 

You can see therefore that I am really not missing anything positive from being absent from social media, and I am benefitting from missing a great deal of nasty and unpleasant stuff.  One weird thing I have noticed since going media-free has been that I have been so so tired!  I have concluded that prior to lent my brain was essentially running purely on sugar and dopamine hits and hyper stimulation from social media.  The screen would keep me up late at night with its over-stimulating and troubling viewing, and in the morning, I'd be so tired, I'd need a boost of social media, with it's dopamine hits to switch my brain back on.  However because now I am feeling my tiredness, I am going to bed earlier and getting more sleep. 

It's worth mentioning that social media use has been shown to also increase the stress hormone cortisol, according to behavioural health experts:

"Too much time on social media increases stress levels, and levels of the stress hormone cortisol and adrenaline.  The more you engage in doomscrolling, the more cortisol and adrenaline are released in your brain and body.  This leads to more stress and both mental and physical exhaustion."

It has been a great relief for me to extract myself from all this harmful content, as well as the constant diet of dopamine and cortisol in unhealthy and inappropriately timed amounts.  It has freed me to dig into lots of books, has opened my spirit to more prayer and bible study, turned my face and heart towards my children, turn my body towards housework and even start tackling the growing to-do list.  

I'd like to conclude this post by saying that I'll never become addicted to social media again, that I'm going to use my self-control to only use it appropriately, but I am worried that I won't be able to resist the temptation to scroll once Lent is over.  I really don't want to get into those bad habits.  This post will have to be a "to be continued" type of post and we will have to wait and see, though probably I'll be too ashamed to mention it if I do get sucked back in. Please do message me if you have any tricks or tips of staying free from social media.

Have you given up anything for Lent? Have you given up social media or sugar? How are you finding it? Let me know. 

Turning 40 - Why I'm not giving up on my dreams and neither should you

 In episode 1 of The Good Life, a 1970's sit-com based in Surbiton, England, following the story of the Goods, a couple who decide to quit the rat-race and try their hand at self-sufficiency, we see Tom Good turn 40.  

As a young 20 year old in her second year at University watching the series on VHS on my little TV in my bedroom, the Goods seemed ancient, but they inspired in me the seed of a dream that I had to one day become self sufficient myself.  If they could pick up at 40, living in a suburban house and become self-sufficient then I, with a whole twenty years extra time ahead of me, could easily achieve this dream.

Well now I'm 40 and I'm not self-sufficient.

What happened?  Well life happened, I had no house, no land to be self-sufficient on, so I had to get a job, I trained to become a teacher, got a mortgage (but not for a big house with land because who can afford that on a teachers income in Berkshire!?), I got married, then I had a child, then another, then two more, and now... here I am. In a house full of kids, no chickens, no goat, a few sad veg that grow as a testament to the little spark that still resides in my chest, waiting to be kindled into a flame. 

I'm pretty happy with my life though.  I think I have achieved some great things in my 40 years, things that I'm really proud of.  I've grown so much as a person through the trials and the joys that I have experienced over the years, they have embroidered many layers into my personality and identity, layers of wisdom, contentment, self-sacrifice, resilience and strength, and I've really enjoyed getting to know myself in deeper and more profound ways.  I'm proud of this person that I am, that I've become, that I am becoming. And not achieving my dream of self-sufficiency doesn't mean that I've lost anything or failed, it's just...well...life. It turned out differently than I imagined.  

I've had many adventures in my 40 years, which at the time I thought were side quests, distractions from my main goal of becoming self-sufficient, but in the end became THE quest.  Submitting to this quest has been one of the hardest and most joyful journeys of my life.  I never would have guessed all those years ago that self-sufficiency would become a side quest.  

In my defence though there are reasons my life did not exactly emulate the Goods, for one thing, unlike the Goods, my husband and I decided to have children.  Also, and I don't know if this is due to the economy now verses the 1970's or simply because of the children, but in episode 1 Tom reveals that they have paid off the mortgage. Imagine that!!  Being mortgage free at the age of 40.  Was that the norm back then?  (Please let me know in the comments if you know).  We still have a pretty substantial amount to pay off our mortgage which requires work, which means one less person for all the milking and growing, bartering, digging and egg collecting (and that one person has been pretty occupied by the child rearing!).  I also have a husband who does not share the self-sufficiency dream. Tom was quite easily able to persuade his wife Barbara that becoming self sufficient was a great idea, my husband isn't so keen.  

So what's to do?  Give up on the dream?  That's what most people do isn't it.  They decide, or perhaps realise that their dream isn't really their dream any more, or that in fact it isn't achievable, but I'm not ready to give up yet.  

The Goods became self-sufficient when they were in their 40s and so can I! (there is that slight issues of the mortgage needing paying for but let's put that to one side for now.)

At the moment my main quest, my mission is my children, home educating them and helping them become ready to be independent people in the world. 

But oh the side quests!!

Some days I wish I wasn't a person who had side quests, if only I could put aside all that and just be a mum, focus all my attention on that.  For some reason God didn't make me that way, He made me to have multiple interests all at once.  There's the Art side quest (that was once my main quest too), I love art, it is something that brings me so much joy and peace, expressing myself though paint is a rare but nourishing treat.  Then there is the writing side quest, I absolutely love writing, putting a message out there, encouraging others with my words, maybe even improving our income a little bit with various projects (stay tuned for the book I'm writing!), then there is the self-sufficiency side quest that I've already mentioned.  These days I prefer to call this "homesteading" which sounds terribly American, but like the American "Homemaker" over "Housewife" describes better what I am aiming for I think.  Self-sufficiency feels a bit like I want to cut myself off from community and I don't want that, I also feel it alludes to spiritual self-sufficiency which I also don't want. Homesteading is more about growing what we need, preserving that and using our skills to provide for ourselves or create a small income.   Of course my homesteading side quest is very meagre, my little garden of veggies, my efforts to make bread and other food from scratch, to forage what I can, to break away from the system that ties us into working "for the man"! But it gives me an extra sense of purpose, and fuels my rebellious side! 

I'm certain God is using me in all these ways to glorify him, (which is of course the quest that supersedes all other quests, along with loving God and loving others) I can't say I am certain how yet, maybe it's like one of those films or TV series which have multiple story lines all playing along at once that all converge at the end of the story in one extraordinary climax!!  

In episode 1 of The Good Life Barbara plays a record for Tom on his birthday, a song by Sophie Tucker, I played it for my husband's 40th birthday, you'll recognise the name it's called "Life begins at 40", you can listen to it here some of the lyrics are quite poignant, she says:

"Yes, life begins at forty

And I've just begun to live all over again

You see the sweetest things in life grow sweeter as the years roll on"

When I think about this, it does seem true that I have lived half my life and am beginning a second half now. I am done with having babies (very sadly as I'd love more) and the truth is that I am now facing the beginning of "middle age" I'll be thankful if I have another 40 years on earth, maybe I'll get more than that, like my grandpa who is approaching 100, or maybe I'll have fewer years like my dear mother-in-law who died aged just 70.  I don't know what the next decades will hold for me, I hope that Sophie Tucker is right and the sweetest things will get sweeter as the years roll on, but one thing is certain, I am not giving up on my dreams.  I am not giving up on my dream of homesteading, and I have no intention on giving up on any of my other side quests either, and I want to tell you that you also shouldn't give up on your dreams, it is never too late.

It's not too late to learn a new skill, to start writing a book, to learn a new language, to learn a new sport, to achieve a physical goal like running, losing weight or starting a new sport, it's not too late to learn to paint, to start a business, or fly a plane!  There is so much that can still be done, so many dreams that can still be fulfilled, it is never too late to set a new goal no matter how big or small.  

Vera Wang didn't design her first dress till she was 40, Stan Lee created his fort hit comic at age 39, and Laura Ingalls Wilder didn't publish her first Little House book till she was 65!  There are hundreds of people who have gone before us, paving the way, starting new dreams after middle age, if they can do it, so can I, and so can you!

Joyful Homeschool

I am certain that some British friends would wince at my use of the term "home school".  In the UK the term for teaching your children at home is "Home education".  Some people can become quite pedantic about not using the term "home school" because they say it implies school at home, which is, quite rightly what we are trying to get away from.   However I have found the term "home school" to be very useful.  It certainly rolls off the tongue more easily that "home education", and I have found that it is more easily understood by questioning strangers.  Funnily enough my children have taken to using "home school" to describe what we do in spite of my correcting them in the past. I think they simply find it easier to say and they find they are better understood.  

I think you'll agree that "joyful home school" has much more of a ring to it that "joyful home education".  My argument, like our American friends (who typically use the term "home school" in favour of "home education") is that in actual fact home school is not school-at-home.  The word school has several definitions, one of which is the place which children go to to receive an education,  this could be home could it not?  Similarly the word "schooled" as in "home schooled" simply means to receive an education.  So using the term "home school" certainly does not mean the replication of the institute of "school" at home. 

All that to say,  today I am talking about my word of the year "joyful"  and how I am going to be attempting to apply it to our home school (home education!).  

Before I begin I would like to take a moment to reflect on my February focus which was "Joyful Parenting".  I read "Yell Less, Love More"  By Sheila McCraith, and am about half way through "Calmer, Easier, Happier Boys" by Noel Janis-Norton.  I really enjoyed McCraith's book she is very honest and wears her heart on her sleeve which really helps you to feel a connection to her; it makes her very relatable.  I also enjoyed all her tips for yelling at your children less. She gives lots of ideas for strategies to use to get a handle on your yelling.  It is a fairly gentle approach to parenting and does ask her readers to examine what behaviours can be triggering, and how to manage them,  I like this idea more than the idea of having to spend time in counselling to supposedly overcome your triggers, learning to manage them is much more realistic.  However I have found that what you mostly need is a heck of a lot of self control to stop yourself from yelling, and what I really need more of are strategies to stop my children from doing things that cause me to yell.  This is where "Calmer, Easier, Happier Boys" by Noel Janis-Norton has been really useful.  I absolutely love her no-nonsense way of talking about children's behaviour, no messing about with talking about "big feelings", she quite honestly describers some behaviours as annoying (thank you!)  and gives really practical and achievable ways to help your children become less annoying!  I am about half way through this book and am already putting some of her techniques into practice, for example using praise (shocking!), more specifically descriptive praise ("I noticed you put your plate in the kitchen") rather than hyperbolic praise ("Oooh fantastic plate carrying!"), and reflective listening.  I am finding the reflective listening really helpful with my 6 year old he responds really well to it, but I often forget about the techniques and fall back into old habits of yelling, begging and coercing.  I also realise I also need to get my husband on board so that we can be a united front for things to really change.  There is still much to work on, and I will be continuing to hold "joyful parenting"  in my mind as I move into my March focus of "Joyful Home school".  

When I saw that I had chosen "Home school" to be the focus on this month I wanted to skip it, or switch it with something easier.  How on earth can I make our home school joyful? It really doesn't feel joyful right now.  The main problem is that my boys do not want to do anything that I suggest.  All they want to do is play with their friends or have their eyes on a screen.  Screens have become extremely problematic in our house in spite of me restricting them.  And I do believe strongly in restricting screen time (you can read my blog post about it if you like).  I don't believe children's brains are developed enough to be able to self regulate their screen time when it is, by nature so incredibly stimulating and addictive.  What is more, I do in fact have to give them an education.  I am obligated to by law.  I know that this can look very different to a school education, and I understand that some people who take an "Unschooling" approach to their children's education would encourage me to let them do what they like, (which I hear can include unlimited screen access), but I am just not the right personality to be able to do that.  It would cause me far too much anxiety.  Also I love learning and what I longed for when we decided to home educate was to share my love of learning with them; I want to show them all the beautiful things, all the art, all the music, amazing world history, astonishing geography, mind-blowing science, I want to show them the world, and I want them to share in my excitement about it all and I want to share in theirs.  So how can I do this without the tears, tantrums and repeated chants of "no," or "I'm not doing it," or "it's boring", or "I hate...(insert whatever it is I'm suggesting here...")?  The answer right now is that I don't know!  To be honest I really don't understand it because, as much as I hated school, I loved learning, I loved finding things out, drawing diagrams, writing descriptions, stories, being creative... Is it because I am Female and I'm just wired differently? I don't know, but something needs to change.

I have seen some people suggest that I could grab one of their interests and run with it.  For example, my boys are quite into Minecraft, and I have seen products online such as Minecraft Maths books for example.  Unfortunately my boys know from a mile away when I am trying to make something "educational", they're not that easily tricked!  

Likewise,  some have suggested that by letting them really get into the thing they are interested in, I might be facilitating for them to be then next amazing xbox game designer or coding expert.  However I would argue that in order to be a producer of something that requires creativity, a game designer for example, one needs to have a bank of experiences, images, sensations, art, understanding about the world etc in their hearts and minds to draw from in order to create something new and exciting.  I don't believe anyone ever created anything extraordinary from simply playing the old games day in day out.

What is more I quite simply don't want them glued to a screen every day.  I do not believe it is healthy, I do not believe it is nourishing or enriching and I do not believe it will help them to turn into good men who give something positive to the world.  I want to spend time with them, get to know them, share experiences with them and have opportunities for expanding their hearts and minds with new ideas and knowledge.  And I want them to experience all the good and beautiful things first hand. 

Talking to the boys, what they do seem to enjoy is field trips, though there is still a degree of resistance in leaving the house.  Unfortunately field trips can be expensive, they're tiring, and some things just can't be learnt through field trips alone.  They enjoy doing experiments, but again not everything can be learnt or experienced through an experiment.  

I want them to be free to enjoy their childhoods without the pressure that comes with a school education, but I also need to teach them maths, and how to write and spell and at the moment, this part is like pulling teeth! Help! I really have no clue what the answer is at the moment, so of course I am doing what any sensible person does in an unknown situation, I am going to buy books!  (My husband will be thrilled!) As March unfolds I will see how I can inject more joy into our home learning, and I'll report back here so you can find out how it went! 

I really believe home education can be a joyful experience for both me and my children, at least 90% of the time, that's the goal.  Joyful home school here we come!

Word of the year for 2023

Well hello there, long time no see!

2022 has, in one word been nuts.  Utterly mad, chaotic and crazy.  I had a baby and that's pretty much all you need to know. 

My word for 2022 was grace.  I was to give myself grace on parenting, art, creativity, home ed, my home, and I did.  Giving myself grace was supposed to mean forgiving myself when I couldn't achieve everything that I wanted to,  grace was supposed to mean forgiving myself when I did not achieve perfection, and it was supposed to mean resting in the moment rather than frantically trying to do everything. Grace did all these things for me, whenever I started feeling like I wasn't doing enough, wasn't good enough I reminded myself that this year I would give myself grace.  2021 was a stinker, bad pregnancy, covid, my husband nearly dying, and numerous hospital visits, slow progress on our house and umpteen other unfortunately events meant I was all out of energy and motivation.  Grace was what a needed for 2022. 

And I did indeed give myself grace, I gave myself grace in abundance, I totally and utterly clocked off from trying, the grace I was giving myself started mean that I became a bit lazy, I started to give myself excuses for doing the things that I should have been, could have been and wanted to be doing. For much of the year grace ended up meaning not trying too hard at anything. And in the end this was not the goal.  

Although I did feel a degree of peace in not putting a lot of pressure on myself to achieve, I have ended up looking back and feeling like the year still very stressful and chaotic and I've ended up feeling a little bit disappointed with myself, and and that's not a nice feeling.

It was back in November that I realised the word I needed for 2023.  It had been in my mind since my baby was born at the end of December 2021.  Joyful.  He was born at home about 20 minutes before the paramedics and midwives arrived, just me and my husband and it was perfect.  When he was born I felt the most exquisite joy wash over me and I began to laugh! His name means joyful. 

Unfortunately thinks went bad after that, and joy wasn't something I could access for quite a while.  

But I am so ready for joyful in 2023, and I'm excited to find out how I can make all aspects of my life joyful.  I'm going to explore joyful eating, joyful dressing, joyful home school, joyful marriage and joyful parenting to name just a few.  

As I prepare for the year ahead I have been turning to the Bible to inform how joyfulness can influence my year and there are two things that strike me most.  First, joy comes from Christ and second joy in not dependant on circumstances. I will talk more about this in the year, but those two factors are going to be infused into every aspect of my word of the year and I'm really excited to experience the year unfolding with joy at the heart. 

Do you have a word of the year?  I'd love to hear what it is a why.  

On Being a Full Time Mum

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Before I had children I was a secondary Art and Design teacher.  There was much that I loved about this job, engaging with young people, hearing about their ideas and what made the excited, sharing my passion and love of art with a younger generation, and igniting a spark in them for a love of art.  At the end of the school year I could look over my spread sheets of marks, levels and grades and say "yes, I did a good job this year." Seeing some of my pupils go on to do degrees in the arts or gain creative jobs added another layer of job satisfaction, My work here was done. 

At the age of 28 I gave birth to my first child and I was forever a changed, a new adventure had begun.  

When that day came where I had to make a decision about going back to work, although I enjoyed my job and the rewards, both emotional and financial, the choice was an easy one.  Although it would mean living on a small budget and not upgrading our home as many of my friends were, the thought of giving my child to someone else to look after for upwards of 8 hours a day 5 days a week was unthinkable.  In spite of the words I was hearing around me about being a full time mother, that I wouldn't be mentally stimulated, that I would lose my identity and financial independence, being able to continue breastfeeding on demand, to be the one to help him off to sleep for a nap, to sit with him whilst he ate, to provide fun activities for him to do, to be there for him when he was sad, to witness his first words and steps, to mother my child full time was too much of a draw.  I would be a full time mother.  

At the time I didn't know what a challenging role full time mothering would be (there were days during my teacher training when I thought I couldn't be tireder, little did I know that that tiredness was nothing compared to the tiredness of being a first time mum) , I could never had imagined what this adventure of motherhood that I was embarking on would be like.  But as I look back over the last 8 years I can honestly say that it is the best, most rewarding and fulfilling job I have ever done.  Yes it can be crazy making at times, I continue to be thoroughly sleep deprived, and we are still having to stick to a small budget, but I have had the privilege and honour of being with my children whilst they are little, I will only get that time once.  As soon as I had my first child I knew I wanted to be a full time mother and I am so thankful that I get to live that dream. 

It would be easy in our society to feel like I was the only mother in the world to feel this way, in this country it is pretty much standard that mothers will go back to work either part time or full time once their child is at most a year old, only 20% of mothers stay home after the birth of their first child, we are in the minority (although ironically I hear some mums who go back to work experiencing guilt about their decision).  Returning to work is expected of you.  It is expected of you by society to return to being a contributor to the economy, and therefore it is expected of you by every other part of society.  Your family assumes you will return to work, because, although perhaps your mother didn't, you will because that's what modern women do, and being a full time mum is a relic of a past generation.  Your friends assume you will because they all are and they all want to. Even your church will assume that you are returning to work because they wouldn't want to appear to be expecting you not to and then seem sexist or old fashioned, (you may even be the only full time mum there). Likely, if you are a valued member of your work team, you've also had pressure from work to return, or at least they would like to know if they need to begin recruiting again. 

It makes you think that there must be something really terrible about being a full time mother, and something that is really amazing about returning to work. 

I find it really strange that some mothers experience guilt and regret about going back to work when it is what most mothers (4 out of 5) do.  I experience guilt because of NOT returning to work, I feel guilty that the burden of providing for my family falls 100% on my husbands shoulders I feel guilty that we can't have a more comfortable lifestyle on only one income, that my children don't have some of the luxuries and privileges of other children whose parents both work.  But I do not feel guilty about not contributing to the economy, because I know that in spite of what society would have me thing, my role is very very important, Sally Clarkson puts it perfectly:

"A mother, living well in her God-ordained role is of great beauty and inestimable value to the future history of any generation.  Her impact is irreplaceable and necessary to the spiritual formation of children who will be the future adults of the next generation." Mom Heart Moments,

The message from society is clear in its contrast to this; disparaging phrases like "stuck at home", and "tied to the kitchen sink",  reverberate with a feeling of imprisonment and subjugation, words ike "drudgery" and "monotony" will ring in your ears, they make us feel like being a full time mum is a punishment, a last resort, something you might do if you have run out of other options, or have no other skills to do anything else.  Society also tells us that other people could be doing a much better job than we are, trained nursery workers are presented as being able to offer our children care and experiences that we never could. 

The message that contributing to the economy is the only way to be useful and of value is insidious and hard to ignore.  It is a powerful message, and it has to be because the economy wants mother back in work paying taxes and the leaders do not want mothers at home cultivating a culture of togetherness, unity, home and family; the earthly leaders would rather us all split into our own separate boxes, work, school, care homes etc lest we realise that it is family and community that give our lives meaning, not expensive gadgets, cars and holidays.  Without any of the perks, rewards or gratitude one receives in the workplace it takes a lot of strength to believe that what I am doing is worth something, that what I am doing is of value and that what I am doing is something no one else can do. 

When I really think about it working on the job of making a home and caring for my family is far more rewarding than any paid work I could ever do. It's the best job in the world!  And I choose to make it feel rewarding and satisfying rather than making myself miserable by comparing and craving external validation.  I am beholden to no one, I am the Queen of my kingdom.  No boss to hold me accountable (aside from God) or check up on me. I am not working to fill someone else's pockets or build someone else's empire.  I am in charge. I choose.  You might say hanging laundry is boring and tedious, how can anyone find that sort of thing alone satisfying? Well I would rather hang laundry, cook meals and clean and tidy to care for my family, my own flesh and blood, the people who give real meaning to life than work day in day out for a corporation.  You might say that being with my kids all day must drive me crazy, and feel unsatisfying, but I'd rather gain fulfillment from breaking up fights between my children, holding them when there are tears, and being there for them when they have nightmares than find fulfillment in filling someone else's pockets.  I could serve strangers, or I could commit to serving my family, the gifts from God that I have been blessed with whilst they are all under my roof.  Being a full time mother and home maker is an honor and a privilege, I'm looking after my household, I am in charge of making my house a...well a home! It is my job to make my home into a loving, peaceful retreat away from the stresses of the world.  It is my job to educate my children in our ways and values, to build their character on the things we feel are important, to nurture them and help them grow into kind, loving thoughtful adults.  What could be more rewarding than that?  

As a full time mother there is no end of term tick sheet, no grades, no external validation, it's all a mystery for 18 plus years till you send them out into the world with a prayer and fingers crossed to discover if you did a good job or not. But I would really encourage any mums who are not sure if they want to return to work or to give full time mothering serious consideration, with intention it can fulfill all the wonderful claims that we are told we will gain by returning to work; find your tribe of other mothers to share your feelings with, they are out there if you look beyond the toddler groups and library rhyme time, find mums who share your interests, who have similar life experiences, who have the same parenting philosophies and you will gain so much in mental stimulation, support and encouragement.  My mum friends really are the best friends I have and I couldn't be without them. Also remember being a full time mum doesn't mean you stop having other interests.  Look at me right now!  Writing a blog post and everything!  I make time for the things I love, you can even make money from these things if you wish, if you do this you are less likely to experience the "loss of identity" which is so often hung over us as a threat to our emotional welfare if we quit paid work.  Remember there will always be jobs out there when the time comes that you are ready to return to work, you are replaceable in your job, but you are not replaceable to your children, and they are only little once. 

I do not need spread sheets and grades to give me a sense of worth and value, witnessing my children grow and develop, seeing them conquer battles and share compassion, hearing their stories, problems, feelings and ideas far outweighs any validation I gained from previous paid employment and I would not change it for the world.  What's so great about filling in spread sheets anyway?

P.S I know that there are people reading this who will disagree with what I have said here, and that's cool, we don't all have to agree on everything, we can still be friends and have different ideas about how to live life, I am simply sharing my own positive experiences and outlook in the hope that it might give another mum the courage to do the thing she dearly wishes to do but didn't feel confident enough to try.  It's to encourage that mum to take that step in spite of the messages she has been receiving from all around her, to ignore those messages and live the life she dreams of, if you're not that mum, that's cool, this message isn't for you.  This is a message to mums for whom it is not financially critical for them to return to work, if you're not that mum, that's OK, this post isn't for you. We are all different and if you're not relating to anything I am saying here then this post probably isn't the post for you and that's fine. I can't please everyone.  I am all for supporting mums in their choices, let's life each other up, not tear eachother down just because we have different ideas about what is best for our families.  However my message will always draw from my own personal well of experience and be for those who wish to receive it.

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Lockdown reflections

A friend called me out on my complaining this week.

As most of you know I have struggled through lockdown and continue to struggle through the ongoing restrictions.  Phrases like "the new normal" set my teeth on edge and I want to throttle anyone to tells me that there is no going back to what we had before and that the virus will be with us forever. 

I enjoyed my life before lockdown.  I enjoyed seeing my friends and family, I enjoyed being able to do things spontaneously, I enjoyed socialising with other families, I enjoyed going to church and singing hymns. Living in our tiny house wasn't so bad when we were out of it most of the day at groups, other people's houses or visiting places, I have found spending more time at home with three children and an extra adult in the house all day (my husband working in our tiny bedroom) very challenging. I have had intense moments of cabin fever, wanting not only to run away from the house but to climb out of my own skin and just get away. But we've been trapped. 

That's how I've felt during lockdown: trapped. 

I have read often in messages from friends and on facebook that people have enjoyed lockdown.  All I could feel about this was envy and irritation. How can they find THIS enjoyable!! Don't they know how hard it's been for ME? How dare they say they've enjoyed it! 

And this is where my friend came in with her truth.  And I am so thankful for her insight.

"Your life was good before lockdown so lockdown is just a bad patch for you.  For the people who have enjoyed lockdown their lives were worse before and the lockdown is the good patch for them; and that's sad."

Lightbulb!

For some people lockdown has been like an oasis in the desert, compared to my relatively small shadow in the light, (apologies for the mixed metaphors).  There are people out there who have had to go to a miserable job everyday who have been furloughed or else been able to work from home for whom lockdown has been a huge relief and a rest, maybe they've got away from a mean boss or unpleasant coworkers and be able to relax and be themselves, there are people who have been able to spend time with their children that perhaps they never felt able to before due to school pressure, endless hobbies and clubs, and they have loved it.  There are people who have really enjoyed being able to spend time at home instead of  travelling away for work, there are people whose lives may have been so busy before that lockdown has given them the chance to pause and reflect on their lives. 

So while I have been busy moaning about how hard lockdown is for me, I should have been being thankful that my life was so good before and that lockdown in only temporary.  For me that bad bit is temporary, for other people the good bit is temporary.  Talk about food for thought.

I don't mean at all to sound patronising to people here, my life was good before but not perfect and I certainly don't mean to sound boastful or prideful about my life because it's not that at all.  It's gratitude, it's appreciation, it's thankfulness. It's feeling like actually I have got a lot to be happy about my life, as much as there are hard parts, like everyone else, overall, it's pretty damn good. 

Now there is no point in a moment of epiphany if one doesn't take something from it and change. How am I going to use this insight and make a difference in my life.  Here are some ways I am starting to make changes:

Stop moaning about how hard it all is, it's not as hard for me in lockdown as it is for some people normally, 

Tell myself that I enjoy cleaning and tidying for my family (fake it to make it!),

Make the best of the home we have, we are lucky to have one of our own despite how small it is, 

Enjoy my children as much as possible, I am fortunate to be able to home educate them, 

Craft a beautiful life.

                                          

My wise friend messaged me later and said this:

"Compare lockdown with food rationing during the war.  Families that were more well off, and could usually afford a wide variety of quality food, found rationing really difficult.  They were so unsatisfied with it because they were used to much better and much more food that that, and they tended to be the people that would buy stuff on the black market quite regularly.  However, the poorer working class families thrived during rationing because they were usually mal-nourished.  And so, they found that they were now getting more food than they'd ever had before.  A lot of them said "we've never had it so good!" By the end of the war the British nation was at its most healthy in terms of nutrition and cardio-vascular health as a result of rationing.  There was no gap in health between the rich and the poor.  Be like the poor people.  Proclaim to yourself: "we've never had it so good!"  Even if you don't feel like it."

                                          

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