The Freedom Experiment…

So…

I haven't told the kids that I'm experimenting on them.

I haven't said, "Oh, we're taking the term off to see what happens."

I haven't mentioned that I plan to leave it up to them—to decide what they want to do, when to do it, and how.

I haven't declared anything, or put up any banners.

I have simply decided…very quietly and without any fanfare…

to watch and

listen and

play and

talk and

answer and

help and

learn,

alongside my kids.

(with a lot of quiet excitement, a feeling of incredible freedom, and just a sweet sense of this being right.

Cue: Small clinking of glasses, between myself and myself, as I toast this lovely beginning.)

So.

It is the end of Day Two of the Freedom Experiment.

What's been happening in the "Lab" with my gorgeous specimens so far?

Well, my girl has made a boat for her toys, and sewn two pairs of pants for her toy cat. The first pair did not work. I introduced two words into my girl's vocabulary. They were: "Trial" and "Error". She decided not to be afraid of either word. She learned how to create a pattern, thread a needle and perfect her running stitch. The second pair of pants rocked.

PLUS she did science on the computer and wrote a diary of her day. PLUS she played tennis then frolicked with her friends for 8 straight hours.

PLUS she did a watercolour in art class and barely noticed when I stepped out to buy pens in the shop downstairs.

PLUS she told me about a book she'd read called, A Mouse and His Child. She loved it, and told me why she loved it. (I think I read it when I was a kid, and on my girl's review, am totally going to read it again.)

PLUS she talked to me about wanting to design an elevator, and what she needed to make it happen.

She said, "I'm thinking a lot about how things work and about all this Science stuff. Sometimes I think so hard about it, it makes my head hurt!"

PLUS she said, "I want to do woodwork. I want to build a house for my toys."

And I said, "Okay. Howabout you draw up your plans, and then we go to the hardware shop and see what we need?" (at which point my son said, "I want to build a house too!")

My girl ALSO decided she wanted to start going to bed earlier from now on. Up into bed she's hopped, for the last three nights, without a word of complaint.

And last night…

she said, "Mum, we've been doing a lot of natural learning, recently."

I said, "Yes, we have, haven't we."

And she said, "Maybe we really are unschoolers!"

(and perhaps we are, my sweet girl…

with all the possibilities inside and outside the boundaries of that word)

As for my boy…

he has spent hours drawing comics—painstakingly copying, by eye, Asterix, Obelix and Julius Caesar from the Asterix comics. When he got to Julius's insanely difficult head, he traced it, created a grid over the image, and then drew it, on a larger scale, on a separate piece of paper. It looked awesome. Getafix is next!

He said, "Mum, I really need some different pens, so I can do the fine lines and the thick inking. Maybe I can get them for Christmas?"

I said, "Maybe I could get them for you today?"

(And I did, because I thought it was important and because Christmas is just so far away, like whole days and weeks and months… Much too long to wait, don't you think?)

Also, my boy has decided to start Life of Fred—Fractions. He began yesterday and by tonight, had completed a third of the book.

He worked on it from dinner until 9.30 last night; today he worked away at it from 8 to 3, stopping only for meals, snacks, tennis and to organise a ball game for our homeschool group. (Plus he got a spot of trampolining in, and belted out some jazz tunes on the piano.)

Somewhere in his new maths notebook are the words, "THIS IS AWESOME!!"

(how cool is that?)

And today, on the drive home, my boy and I talked.

my boy: "Tomorrow, I want to draw Getafix. And you know the short comics I've done? Well, I want to write a longer comic this time. I'm going to practice drawing tons of comics until I feel like I know how to draw and then I want to write a story about a Roman refugee running away from the soldiers."

me: "That sounds great. You also mentioned you wanted to write a story about a Spartan pacificist one time. I wonder if you'd want to make that into a comic, make it like a graphic novel?"

my boy: "Oh! Yeah! YEAH! That's right! That's what I'll write about. That's totally what I'll do.

Okay. So that'll be my English and my Art. And for my Maths, I'll do Life of Fred and MathsBuddy, and for science, we'll keep doing what we're doing, and for history we'll keep doing Story of the World. That's everything! And for PE, we'll walk the dog."

me: "And if you don't feel like doing any of that, you could just read a book for the whole day."

*stunned silence *

my boy (practically in a whisper): "Could I really do that?"

Yes, my sweet boy, you really could.

(Bring on Day 3 of the Freedom Experiment! I can't wait.)

an ending and a beginning

Today saw…

us saying good bye to our house guest

who managed in one short week to

• almost break his arm doing jumps on his bike

• fall into a creek just before tennis (which he then played, left handed and dripping wet)

• go on a hike where he…

ran down a very very very steep hillside

swung from vines (so that everyone else had to swing from vines…).

and looked at a view.

He also managed to

• play hours and hours and hours and hours of piano (left-handed) and drums (left-handed).

• teach my boy two new piano pieces, composed by him

• be outwitted (but only barely) by me in countless games of Abalone (well, I counted, and it was 8 games, of which I won 5)

• swim and dive and frolic (when his arm was better) two days in a row (which meant my kids swam and dove and frolicked too)

• help my kids make a board game for my husband's birthday…

which involved planning, designing, discussing, inventing, enjoying, laughing

and which my husband loved

(that's my husband concentrating because the game is complicated!)

• give my girl's soft toys whole new personalities

(like her favourite husky dog who, in his hands, became a rapper with a profound fear of corn and a need to sing, non-stop, songs about his fear of corn)

• enchant my kids so that bedtime became later…and later…and later

• and make us laugh so much I cried

(yeah, he enchanted me too. He's a good, good kid.)

Today saw…

us going to the Big Smoke,

for our first ever baptism,

…where we watched a gorgeous, two-toothed baby smile delightedly to the gaggle of kids crowded at the pastor's feet

…and where we listened to a sermon,

…which was my kids' first time, and which led to a big, rambling talk with them on the drive home about faith and judgement and Jesus and differences and Christians and Muslims and Holy Books, and good and bad and truth and forgiveness, love and kindness

(and I felt full-to-bursting with pride at how much my kids aren't afraid to wonder, and question, and embrace, and respect. I do love them so)

and us returning

from the Big Smoke

…where the kids instantly went to their favourite things in the world:

My girl, her art. My boy, his books

…and where my girl designed a wedding chapel for her toys, complete with flower arbour, so that Silver and *other doggy I don't remember the name of* could get married

…and then she could barely eat her dinner

and had to go bed…

at the not-even-dark-out hour of 7pm…

because she was an incredibly over-tired, over-swum, over-laughed, over-hiked, over-art-ed and over-happy-ed little girl.

And my boy stayed up late to draw…

a near-flawless picture of Obelix

and then he went to bed.

Now…

today sees

us here.

With a busy, beautiful week behind us…

in which the kids "didn't do any school work!"

(this being what they kept saying, as they described their week with our guest. Like it was extraordinary, insane, just plain kooky.)

And I wonder…

Will they ask to do school work tomorrow?

Will they want to be free in the way I imagine and hope?

I have a list of all the things they want to do this term—make things with clay, finish writing a book, make a car with a motor, sew a skirt, draw cartoons, read history, discover graphic novels, play games.

Will it count, for them, as learning? Or will they marvel at the end of the day, "We didn't do school work today either!"

I wonder…

will they ask for structure or will they relish space?

will my son seek out his workbooks and timetable?

and will my daughter do any maths ever again?

I wonder…

What will the Freedom Experiment bring?

Well…

It sure will be a lot quieter than the week we just had.

It could be scary.

It might be extraordinary.

Or the most unusual, unexpected,

amazing combination

of both,

and of everything that is

unknown.

what if we let go?

So it's a new term… but what does a new term really mean?

Does it mean new lesson plans, unit studies, workbooks, projects? Does it mean a return to "regularly scheduled programming"? Does it mean renewed interest in learning? Does it mean School Time has begun again? Does it mean life as usual?

Others might have a quick answer to those questions. For me, I don't really know. I feel a bit unsettled now that the school term has started.

I felt the change the moment Monday morning came. I thought, as my kids woke up and wandered downstairs at 8.30, "there are kids who would be at school by now."

There was something in the air, stirred up perhaps by the bustle of all those kids going off to their classrooms, the energy of parents hustling to get their kids to and from and from and to. But also from my husband going back to work after taking a break and the resumption of the kids' classes. That "go go go" feeling returned. We went back to Busy.

And we went back to being different.

On Monday we had to take a guest, a fellow homeschooling boy, to the doctors (he had a suspected broken wrist—awesome timing to fall from his bike just as his parents flew off to Vanuatu!). The doctor said, "I thought school went back today." No, I said, We're all homeschoolers. Then at the x-ray place, an older woman muttered something to her friend and the friend said, "I guess the schools are going back tomorrow." Then another woman asked, "No school for them today?" And I said, No, they're homeschooled.

It felt like we were rare beasties, wandering from place to place, to the curious looks of outsiders. The kids being cute little curios, escaped from the zoo.

I've had this all before, the sense of difference, the busy, the go go go. I actually don't mind it. I mean, we chose to be different. The kids chose their lessons. We chose homeschool. We freely chose a life that I love.

But I still kind of want my holidays back.

And in mulling it over during the holidays, and then writing it down here, I think I have figured out why.

I think I want "school" to leave our Homeschool Land.

I don't think I want it to be part of our identity, or mentality, any more.

(And I wish I'd said to all the people on Monday, "Oh, we don't go to school" without elaborating. Or said, "Oh, we learn outside the Institution known as School." Or, "Oh no, we're just a bunch of loony anarchists. Don't mind us." Or something!)

"School," for me personally, has come to mean "teaching" as opposed to "learning." It has come to represent all the "shoulds." The shoulds of: The kids should do maths every. single. day. The kids should learn grammar/spelling from a nice workbook that fits the NSW requirements for Grades z and q. The kids should learn about the Gold Rush in Australia, but only in Year 5. The kids should know their multiplication tables by the age of x. The kids should learn Text Types (narrative, explanation, procedure, information report, blah de blah). The kids should be at the exact same level as their schooled peers. The kids should fit.

It represents the feeling that without a set plan, and me teaching them, the kids won't really learn, and I'll have done it all wrong, the kids won't realise their potential and I'll end up the mother of two Modern-day Neanderthals.

Yeah.…

It's a feeling that's really hard to shake.

We have let go of a lot of this, by following the kids' interests. By letting my kids choose the schedule they like. By doing less bookwork. By going off on adventures whenever we choose.

We really are, mostly, free.

But the spectre of "should" still lingers inside me. It's a tenacious little sucker—even a year and a half into our journey, it's still sitting there, saying, "Oooh, you didn't do maths today. This is a baaaad sign. No university for your two!"

I really want to shake that sucker free.

I want to have a grand clearing out; a Spring Clean, if you will.

Right now, in this moment, I don't want to say, "Time to do some work" to my son. I don't want to suggest a workbook or a set plan to either of my kids. I definitely don't want to struggle through maths with my daughter, with her feeling fearful and resistant.

I want them, and us, and me, to be free.

I want to watch them read, create, think, plan, play and be. I want to release the kids from any sense of obligation and see what happens. I want my boy to find his schedule if he desires it, but I don't want to remind him to stick to it. I want my girl to find her love for maths but I don't want to make her do it.

I want to see what journeys we could go on if we just let go.

So…what does that mean?

What would our new term mean, if we just stayed "on holiday"?

What if we sewed, and built and drew?

What if we designed and read and discovered?

What if we wrote and talked and walked and ran?

What if I just stood back and watched and helped when they asked and took them places—

places they needed to be and places they asked to go?

What if we didn't feel we needed to be home to learn?

What if… what if…?

What if we grew wings and flew?

Ah. It might just be magical.

our holidays…

Our holidays…

in

one word:

YUM.

We got outside a lot

mostly to

one beach

or

another

where…

ice cream was enjoyed

cliff paths were followed

rock forts were built

and rock boats were rowed

a dog was walked (and then rested)

rocks were wandered on

tree bridges were traversed

water was waded through

shark eggs were gathered

yellow met yellow

dolphins were found frolicking

the sky was held

waves were watched

(and swum in, and run from)

smiles were smiled and grins were grinned

and

joy was jumped

if you were small…

If you were very very small

and you wanted to go somewhere big

would you go here

and see the world like this?

are you okay?

http://www.ruokday.com.au/content/home.aspx

my feeling on this is:

this is a good

good

thing

so good in fact that

why not make it 'r u okay day' every day

if you can

check in with friends and loved ones who might be struggling

let friends and loved ones know you care about them

even when (it seems) they aren't struggling

let friends and loved ones know that they

matter

to you

This simple act

has made a world of difference to me

in my own journey

and

because of that kindness and care

I am

here

today

the beauty of boredom

A few days ago, our local newspaper published an article about holiday activities in the area. The opening paragraph went something a bit like this:

"A whole week of holidays has gone by,

and now parents are looking to find new activities

to battle the boredom until school goes back."

Hmmmm. Interesting…!

It's interesting to me, because two pretty big assumptions are being made here.

1. That kids get bored on holidays (and don't get bored at school… ha)

and

2. That 'boredom' is something negative, something to deal with, battle, fight, and overcome.

I think I might just reject both of those assumptions! Because I can, and because I think there's a whole other way of looking at this.

For one, I think kids LOVE holidays, whether they are filled to the max or not. And for another, I think boredom can be wonderful. It's a brewspace for the mind, an arena for the Stupendous. It can make you lead, not follow. Boredom can make awesome things happen!

Really, newspaper people, it really can.

I remember looking forward to holidays. Like, really looking forward to them. Because I'd imagine the stack of books waiting for me, the long days of having nothing to do but read. I'd think of the nowhere I had to go or be, and all the playing that stretched out in the moments between waking and sleeping. I remember playing with my sister, playing by myself, making things, listening to music, climbing trees, finding little spaces in the garden and making imaginary homes, and reading reading reading. It was magical.

And I liked school, so it wasn't torture to go, but it wasn't torture to be on holiday either. I don't ever remember thinking, "Oh, I hope Mum and Dad have filled my days to the brim so that I'm not bored!" I liked going on adventures with them, but I also liked the potential of a completely unplanned day.

When a day is unplanned, it opens the world up for kids.

When a timetable is cleared, a child is free to fill it as he/she wishes.

When you have days where the only person asking anything of you is you,

then you are Captain of your Dreams.

And that's a wonderful thing.

And yes. Sometimes, you get BORED.

I totally remember being bored. I remember flopping onto the couch and announcing to anyone who would listen that I was Bo-o-o-ORED. And I remember waiting for someone to 'fix it.' And I remember sometimes suggestions being made. I remember irritating my parents. I remember getting no answer at all. I remember then flopping back into my room and reading some more. Those were the still days, the days like an empty wastebasket. At the end of them I'd think, "Nothing happened today! My life is so uninteresting!!"

But the next day, I'd find something to do. Because at some point, you realise it's kind-of up to you to fill your own empty space. Your parents might be busy, or your friends. It might be raining and/or the planned day might be cancelled. You might have actually had your fill of reading. (No! Say it ain't so!).

That's when your creative self steps in. It does. It has to—creativity sits inside you like an organ; it's a vital, integral part of yourself. If you give it enough time, air, space, it emerges.

If you get enough space, enough opportunities to be bored, then something has to come and fill it. 'Something,' can't help itself, whether it comes in the form of you waking up the next day and deciding to ride your bike up and down the street pretending it's a horse, or deciding to write a story, or make a mud pie or draw chalk pictures on your driveway. You might find yourself up a tree and daydreaming, imagining yourself in a tower or flying to the moon.

If you let a child get bored, give them enough empty space (and to be a complete rebel, imagine no tv, no computer, no playstation—gasp), then they will find something of themselves to fit that space. It might be through reading, writing, drawing, music, building, organising, socializing, inventing, fulfilling, baking, fixing, asking, questing or…

just breathing, and thinking, and being.

In that moment, it might look like your child is doing nothing…and maybe they are. Physically, maybe even mentally!

But what that stillness, and silence, and openness provides, is time to brew. Ferment…form…fix…and find. Time to create. Time to be.

And that, I think, is glorious.

(We've had three days of rain.

Inspired by a segment on a Mathtacular dvd, my girl created a board game with a visiting friend.

Then yesterday as it rained and rained and rained some more,

my girl and boy made board games…all day…and played them…all day.

And it's raining today, and my girl and boy are…

you guessed it…

making board games…and playing them… and

drawing and dreaming and being.

Yum.)