The Great Pretender

*Dear Readers,
I wrote the following post a few months ago, then chickened out when it came time to post. Re-reading it now, I smile at that...because don't we all pretend, even just a little bit, in our blogs? That we're always crafty, that our houses are pretty, that our child never wear a second-hand shirt with a (gasp!) Nike symbol on it. That we never give our kids McDonald's fries when out shopping because we didn't have the time/energy to pack a healthy snack. That our kids don't watch too many movies on days when we just want a break. Why do we do it? What are we afraid of? Read on, dear readers...this mama is months down the road from when this post was written, and although I haven't arrived yet, I'm working on it...

Women are so good at pretending.

We pretend to love playing "I Spy" in the van when actually, we'd like our kids to give us 5 minutes of peace. We pretend that we're in the mood at 11 o'clock at night, even if all we can think about is sleep, because we don't want our husbands to feel rejected. When we know company is coming we frantically clean our houses and pretend that it always looks this nice. We smile when we're sad, resist shouting when we're full of rage, and pretend that every moment of raising these demanding little souls we call our children is delightful.

I had one of those days. After spending 40 minutes gathering up library books, getting the kids dressed/combed, packing the diaper bag, and buckling all three of them into the van in the pouring rain, I couldn't find the keys. Moments like this make me feel like the top of my head might explode, like Old Faithful...a geyser of frustration and "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD" disbelief spewing up to heaven. After tearing the downstairs apart, dumping my purse three times, and scouring under the seats of the van, I conceded defeat and brought three very disappointed children back into the house.

Jude was a real pain in the neck today. After being sent to his room several times, he announced that he was going to punch me in the face if I kept "talking to him like that". My eyes almost bulged out of my head but I managed to act calm. Then I overheard him telling Violet, "If mommy tells you to do something, just punch her in the face".

If your alarm bells are going off, please note: Jude has never witnessed anyone punch anyone in the face...punching mommy in the face is not a regular practice at the Knitty Gritty Homestead.

So, while I was upset by his words, I took a few deep breaths, and thought about what the mama I'd like to be would do. I tried to be objective, and prepared myself for calm intervention. When he came near me again, I reached out to him to draw him into a hug to discuss what he was feeling today that made him so angry. He mistook my hands on his arms for me restraining him and took a swing, just barely connecting with my chin...

(Yes, dear reader, at this point feel free to be appalled, and gasp in horror)...

Usually, this would make me fly into a rage. I'd yell and send him to his room. I know this is ineffective, but I'm kind of out of tricks these days. I don't know what else to do, and feel guilty and ineffectual pretty much every day.

Instead, I started to cry. And then to bawl. It alarmed my child right out of his nasty mood, and then he started to cry, too. I told him to go into the other room, and I let it out...all the pretending.

Pretending to be calm.
Pretending to be super mom.
Pretending to know what I'm doing.

It felt good to let it out. Heck, it felt GREAT. But, I had to pull it together again when the girls started asking for stories. Deep breath, a talk with Jude (where he cried and cried with regret at upsetting me so)...

After this difficult morning, I cleaned my entire downstairs, collected and washed the eggs, sorted the laundry, cleaned the bathroom, styled my hair, and put on makeup in preparation for a visit from my in-laws, with their friends visiting from England.

Once again, I pretended: that my house is clean, that I effortlessly look nice, that my children are always happy and sweet, that our life is rurally idyllic and peaceful.

Because the reality of it is that my son always misses the toilet, and the pee runs down the sides and pools at the bottom where it dries into little crusty yellow circles. My kitchen table is used more often for crafts than for meal time, and my front doormat usually has blobs of straw mixed with chicken poop on it. My hair is usually in a ponytail, and I spent the morning yelling at my kids and crying in my kitchen.

But when everyone arrived, I looked lovely, my house was clean, my kids looked adorable and were on their best behaviour. I poured the wine, served homemade coconut milk ice cream, and listened attentively to the conversations around me.

Why do we pretend?

I can't answer for you. For me, the reasons are plenty. I pretend so that my kids will think I'm the best mommy ever! I pretend so that I don't hurt my husband's feelings. I pretend so that others won't think I'm too opinionated. Wow. Writing this post did more for me than 10 years in therapy could. I'm off to take some steps towards expressing myself more authentically, while digging a little deeper into this concern about what everyone else thinks (at the cost of my own feelings).

Are you, like me, a Great Pretender? Why do YOU do it? Does it make you happy, in the end?

PS You'll be pleased to know that after the above incident with my son, he has been much gentler in his words and actions; I think my tears shocked him so much! Manipulating your child through false emotions is not kind. However, expressing genuine distress with tears is probably the best thing I've (inadvertently) done in recent months. Things have been much, much easier since then.

I Choose Love

Fear has many disguises. It is a shape-shifter. On any given day, it can appear in my life as

• rage
• disgust
• anxiety
• judgement
• anger
• self-loathing
• negativity
• despair
• grief
• hatred
• defensiveness

The list could go on and on. But these are the guises in which fear most appears in my life. I once read that all human emotions can be divided into two groups: fear, or love.

Think about it. When you have that knot of anxiety (for me, it's in my upper abdomen/solar plexus; in my husband, it's his teeth that hurt when he feels anxious), poke at it a bit. Like your tongue probing the gap left behind by a just-lost tooth, it's a bit morbid to explore pain; it hurts. But it's hard to stop yourself, too.

If you just breathe through it, like breathing through a contraction, you'll see that surface emotion beginning to unfurl, revealing the base of it all.

Fear.

I'm tired of feeling fearful. Fear of the future, fear of not having enough money, fear of being "stuck" here with my children all summer without a vehicle, fear of something bad happening to my loved ones, fear of being clung to and depended on, fear of failing, fear of succeeding, fear of being overweight for the rest of my life, fear of not fulfilling my potential, fear of clutter.

Did I say I'm tired of feeling fearful?

I'm EXHAUSTED. It takes a lot of energy. That fear needs feeding and daily nurturing. It needs negative self-talk. It needs the encouragement I give it when I give in to it.

I read the book I mentioned above (I can't for the life of me remember its title) when I was in the newest stages of love with my husband. We read it together, and marvelled at the simplicity of it:

Choose love.

Choose love.

There have been moments in my life as a wife and mother where I scoffed at the over-simplicity of that concept. Sure, I could choose love when I made enough money to cover our cheap rent, when I had time to exercise and meditate, when the future lay ahead of us like a treasure map. Like the bloom of first love, it faded into the mediocrity of every-day-living.

There's just so much more to fear now, with three little people depending upon me, with my heart walking outside my body in the form of my children.

But I've recently come to realise that all of the things I long for: a peaceful, clutter-free home, harmonious children, a passionate and connected relationship with my husband...are within my reach.

When I get angry at my children, it is easy to blame THEM: they're aggravating, they make too many messes, they are so DEMANDING!

When I am frustrated with my husband, it is easy to blame HIM: he's forgetful, he's self-centred, he doesn't earn enough money, he doesn't take care of his car.

I'm tired of all this blame. I'm remembering something I once knew:

It's not them. It's me.

I'm afraid. Mostly I'm afraid of not having control in my life.

But I've made a decision, because I've remembered in a deep place within my soul what once made perfect sense to me.

I have a choice.

Starting today, I choose love.

I choose love.

So Long, Farewell...

"I don't have time to (enter activity of choice)".

Exercise. Cook healthy meals. Play with my kids. Paint my bedroom. Put in a garden.

What? When did this happen? I LOVE these activities. Or at least, I used to, before blogging and commenting on the blogs of others gobbled up some of the most precious commodity in every mother's life: my time.

I need to centre in on my real life for awhile. I came to this conclusion last August when I wrote this post. I was inspired by the brave decision of my friends at Twig and Toadstool to step away from a space they'd nurtured and loved when it became clear that their real lives were suffering. Remember "Childhood Magic" and how shocked we all were when she closed her wonderful blog? I wonder how she's enjoying her life and time these days...I imagine she LOVES it. Nicole at Frontier Dreams wrote about this very busy-ness today. I have also been deeply touched by this heartbreakingly honest post over at Apples With Honey.

I feel myself floating away from the mother I want to be. I want to be engaged. I want to be in the moment. I want to breathe through those moments (and there are many) of impatience and anger. I want to sit and have a tea party with my daughters for hours if they so wish it, without glancing away in distraction. I want to build Lego robots with my son.

I love that feeling of flipping the page of a calendar and seeing that the coming month is mostly blank. You can choose to fill up every square, or make a solemn promise to carefully consider your yeses for the month.

After a month of birthday craziness, I flipped the calendar to June.

Case conference. Stag and Doe. Stag party. Shopping for weddings. Wedding rehearsals. Friend's wedding. Brother's wedding. Birthdays. Class trip. Kindergarten graduation. Grade 8 Graduation. Report cards due. School Fun Night. Assemblies. Gigs. Doctor appointment. Anniversaries. Data due.

Oh. My. Goodness.

How can we possibly have writing on 26 of the 30 days in what is already a busy month in the home of two educators?

So. I'm taking the phone of the hook, so to speak.
If you're a new visitor to this space, please read through the archives, or check out some popular posts (by clicking on the buttons at the right). If you're an old friend, you can email me by going to my profile page. I also highly recommend those wonderful women over on "Kindred Spirits" roll.

July is looking good. Two music gigs. One bellydancing gig. Kittens due. A birthday and an anniversary.

Bring on July.

(*haha...I had to take a deep breath before I hit "publish post"...but as with any great leap, I know the fear will soon be replaced with relief that I just did it...there). Phew.

Unconditional

Remember when you were pregnant with your first child, and you made all those sweet promises to your unborn baby...about how you'd always share the wonders of the world with them? You couldn't imagine being impatient with them, raising your voice at them, being impatient or frustrated with them. We all think we're going to be better than "those mothers"...

The trouble with parenting is that you have no idea what you're getting into, until you're irrevocably INTO it. When you made those promises, you didn't imagine holding a screaming baby for hours, or dealing with a toddler who bites, or trying to get three kids out the door on time on a winter morning. You'd turn to books, but when your kids are small, it's hard to find the time to read anything, let alone some dry how-to-raise-amazing-kids-with-this-magical-three-step-process type of book.

Because here's the rub: There is no magic trick. Children don't come with instruction manuals, and the advice we get from our own parents, TVs latest guru, or well-meaning strangers doesn't often help, because your children are unique: they're YOURS.

The expectant mama...blissfully unaware.

But giving them lots of love is a good start. Setting reasonable boundaries, listening to them, tuning in to their needs, and giving them many opportunities to learn and explore safely take you further down the road to your goal of raising healthy human beings.

We can be so hard on ourselves. I reflect a lot, and wake up often in the middle of the night replaying a scene from the previous day, wondering what I could have done differently or better, worrying that I've irrevocably damaged my child's sense of trust or self-esteem (because I yelled at them in a moment of impatience, or said "No" too many times). I know that every parent loses their cool. But it seems the worst of ironies that we so often reprimand our children for impulsive behaviour, losing control, or being impatient when we are such good role models of these behaviours!

Innocent beauty and ultimate trust rolled into one sweet being.

About a year ago, I started reading Alfie Kohn's "Unconditional Parenting". Every once in awhile, you come across a book that just resonates with your soul, finds communion with your intuition, and reassures you that what you felt in your heart was just right. I don't recommend reading loads of parenting how-to books, as they can make it hard to figure out what YOUR stance is. You may sense what you feel is best, but it cab be challenging to articulate. People think you're wishy-washy, or airy-fairy, or artsy-fartsy. Yes, I've been called all of the above.

Patience and good role-modelling starts early.

I often found myself giving in to things my own parents said or did ("If you don't stop that right now, I'm turning this van around and we're NOT going to Aunt Lana's house!!") I cringe internally when I hear myself saying things like this: coercion, bribes, empty threats, "because I said so!" kind of statements. They just unsettle me, but in the heat of those moments where you're surrounded by screaming kids, or you're late for work, or overtired, sometimes you feel like you have no other option.

Learning to be human in this world.

Forget that these techniques actually don't do a whole lot. Ditto for timeouts. When my older children went through the hitting/biting stage, I'd give them a timeout. They'd do it again within an hour, and I'd give them another timeout. The next day I'd give them more. So...duh. Obviously the timeout doesn't work. Growing out of a stage does. By the time we had our third child, we started recognising developmental patterns and have eased up on the "discipline". Gentle reminders, distraction, and removing a toddler from a situation (without isolating them) seem to be more effective in the long run.

I finished reading "Unconditional Parenting" this morning, covering the part I'd been waiting for: alternatives to traditional parenting. Kohn doesn't offer a band-aid solution. He does, however, offer a beautiful list that will be posted on my refrigerator. This sang to my mother's soul:

1.  Be reflective.
2.  Reconsider your requests.
3.  Keep your eye on the long-term goals.
4.  Put the relationship first.
5.  Change how you see, not just how you act.
6.  R-E-S-P-E-C-T
7.  Be authentic.
8.  Talk less, ask more.
9.  Keep their ages in mind.
10. Attribute to children the best possible motive consistent with the facts.
11. Don't stick your no's in unnecessarily.
12. Don't be rigid.
13. Don't be in a hurry.

Parenting is hard work. No one ever said it would be easy. It is overwhelming, underrated, unpaid, and often thankless.

But important? You betcha. Get thee to a bookstore and  buy this book, then read it. It may confirm what you already know. It may support you in questioning those practices that you find unsettling. It will certainly open your mind, and perhaps give you some backup support when someone questions your approach.

You're wonderful. Your children are wonderful. And your relationship is so worth it.

Cabin in the Woods

I'm aware that some people's idea of hell would be a weekend spent with their whole family in a cabin in the woods, with no cell reception, internet, or television.

Still, it has been a long-held dream of mine to escape the commercialism and busyness of Christmas Present, and find a cabin in which to celebrate a version of Christmas Past. Back in August, I contacted Carole Van Massenhoven of Twin Wheels Farm, and after a brief "what do you think?" email to my siblings and parents, to which everyone replied, "yes", I booked a cabin for a weekend in faraway December.

Well, December arrived, and we were thrilled to have snow for our early-Christmas gathering. Mom and I landed in first, with my kids, to find a beautiful, open-concept, sunny and clean space in which to celebrate. The woodstove was burning merrily and we set about putting away food, claiming bedrooms, and settling in.

Then came all the ingredients that pulled our weekend together into a perfect memory:

Hugs for each safe arrival;

a simple, natural tree in a corner;

a selection of hand-knit hats;

boots, mittens, and hats left to dry by the fire;

an energetic aunt who carried the little ones up the hill again and again;

a table big enough to seat all of us at once, made by Carole's husband Joe from a tree that grew in their yard;

post-meal snoozing;

and of course, lots of board- and card-games to pass the evenings.

To those looking in from "out there", I know this seems more than idyllic; you see a perfect family, happy together, healthy and perfectly content. And I will admit, that for this one weekend, we were that family. It may have been the fact that no one drank excessively (as we used to do when we were younger!) or that we were forced to just be together, with nowhere else to go, no hockey games to watch on television, and no interruptions by phone or email. The children got along beautifully, and were so peaceful. My theory is that they had the full, undivided attention of the grownups they love; what could be more satisfying for a child than the security of being surrounded by trusted adults? There was no rushing around, and no distractions. When they wanted to play a game, we did. When they wanted to read 10 Christmas storybooks in a row, we did.

The word for the weekend was "yes", and as always, I'm amazed at the power of that one little word.

Stay tuned for more details of our magical weekend...

These Moments

Every time the power goes out, we vow to be more prepared next time: stock up a box with canned goods, candles, batteries and flashlights, a jug of water, etc. We don't own a generator, but luckily, our woodstove saves us every time. I've cooked spaghetti, perogies and sausage, pancakes, popcorn, and eggs and bacon on it. When I do use it, I ask myself why I don't use it all winter, whether the power is out or not. I relish the simplicity of it all, and often have a twinge of regret when the Hydro One workers fix the problem and the lights flicker back on.

With payday 3 days away, our cupboards are getting bare, so it was canned baked beans on toast, popcorn, and carrot sticks for dinner. The kids loved it. We had a fairy guest for dinner who kept stealing Violet's juice when her head was turned, and tickling Jude's toes under the table. We had more fun than we've had in awhile at the dinner table.

Warming their post-bath-buns by the woodstove.

Those lips!

Jude and Margot were enthralled with the LCD lantern I bought to bring on my retreat.

Violet blew at the candle to make it look like "spiwits dancing".

Our beloved beeswax candles, sharing their clean, warm light.

...and Jude's expression when the power came back on.

Because the power flashed off and on all afternoon and evening, we had to adapt quickly; the older ones were in the bath when the lights flickered out, and it happened again during storytime. I spontaneously invited Jude and Violet outside to look at the stars without any residual light from nearby villages and houses. They oohed at the Milky Way, and we talked about constellations, satellites, planets, and stars.

It all kind of makes me want to declare one night a week "Off Grid Night". The quiet simplicity of it all is compelling. This marks our first (and certainly not last) power-outage of the Long Dark (fall-winter). Aside from the fact that our water doesn't work (pump is powered by electricity, of course) and the possiblity of food-spoilage if the outage lasts, I find myself kind of looking forward to more evenings like this one, where our energy is taken up by the most primitive of tasks: keeping warm, and feeding our family.

It feels like a retreat from the busy, noisy conveniences of modern life: we leave the dishes, sit close together near the woodstove, and make up silly stories and games. I can't help but imagine that these nights will be among my children's fondest memories.

The wind is fierce; I'd better post this now before my screen goes dark once again. Good night, all.

For the Love of Violet

If the (invented, admittedly, by me) word lanaphilia means "the love of wool", then I need to invent a new word. Synthetophobia  is the abhorrence of acrylic, and all yarns not derived from animal or plant fibre. I HATE acrylic. I know, it's a strong word, and I do not use it carelessly here. Sure, acrylic is cheap. It washes and dries without care, lasts for a million years without wearing, feels really soft, and is unappealing to moths.

These acrylo-virtues do not override several facts: the colours suck. It pills when you wash it. It makes you sweat, without really keeping you warm (unlike wool, that wonder fibre, which keeps you warm even when wet). And perhaps worst of all: it SQUEAKS when you knit with it. I LOATHE the squeak of acrylic as it grunts gracelessly across my needles.

I learned to knit with acrylic, way back in its glory days: the mid-eighties. Back in those days, before the internet, before fancy local yarn stores, before Knit Picks, Wool Time, Yarn Forward, before even Walmart*, my mom would take me "downtown" (which is being generous: my hometown has a population of 1100), to "Daphne's"...our version of a local yarn/fabric/general craft supply store. I remember going there with my mom before I even started school. They'd sit me up in this half-tube that ran along the side of the cutting table; this was a place to lay the bolt of cloth. I marvelled to see it again when I was an adult; that my ass could fit in that little space is a wonder to me now. But I digress.

Daphne sold acrylic yarn. All of my first projects were made with some version of Patons yarn. I still have the first fair isle sweater I knit (when I was 12!); the yoke pattern was of little boys and girls (resembling paper dolls) holding hands, with green fir trees for colour. It's a nice gender-neutral grey. My kids could wear it! I'm still proud of the accomplishment, proud of the determined little girl I was, learning to knit and purl, increase and decrease, do ribbing and even real raglan sleeves. But it's acrylic.

 When I was introduced to wool, my world changed. You could say I am a yarn snob, and I'm not ashamed to admit it. The way I see it, if it's worth making, it's worth the best wool you can afford.

Enter Violet. The child who thinks a bug is biting her every time she feels an itch. If I put a pea under her mattress (or 20 mattresses), she'd feel it. You know the kind...sock seams, shirt tags, and bunchy elastic waists drive her crazy. After several flat refusals to where anything woolish, I made her a sweet cardigan out of Cotton Fleece, a lovely, very soft cotton-merino blend. Here she is, modelling the cardigan, after I'd wrestled her into it:

She loves it! You just can't tell because she's screaming so loudly.

This is the last time she wore it. Next I tried to knit her a vest, the Cobblestone-Inspired "Pebble". I casually suggested she tried it on (lest I scare her off with my intense desire for her to wear SOMETHING knitted); nope, no can do, mommy.

Everytime she sees me knitting, she asks what I'm making. She always follows my reply with "For meeeee?" So I've finally surrendered to what this girl needs.

She needs a mama-made sweater. In acrylic. I'm 4 inches into the back (colours chosen by her), and hating every minute of it. I hate the colour. I hate the yarn (which, incidentally, cost me $9...for the whole sweater). The pattern is cute. And I hope she'll love it so much that I'll have to peel it off her at night, coax her to pass it on to Margot when she outgrows it, and promise to save it for her babies. Even if it isn't wool. And even if my descendents think I was just some tacky acrylic-knitting granny, with no sense of the value of natural materials.

Because if she doesn't, she's not getting another damned knitted thing from me, ever.

August in the Knitty Gritty Garden

The Knitty Gritty Homestead, from my front step.

One of my favourite books ever is "Thornyhold" by Mary Stewart. Here is a summary, copied from Amazon, edited by me, and pasted here:
This old-fashioned gothic romance is as good as they get. When Gilly's witch aunt leaves Thornyhold to her, a house in the middle of the woods, Gilly finds that she has inherited far more than she realized. Along with the house comes a cat, a still room filled with herbs (and a missing recipe book), an attic chamber with carrier pigeons (who have secret messages), and an attractive neighbor whose young son offers the sacred and unique blessing of friendship. But Thornyhold possesses far more than even these simple offerings. The place itself seems to invoke otherworldly gifts as well: Gilly cultivates the abilities to heal and to foresee the future once she makes Thornyhold her home.

I read it in a former life, when I was single, living in a country one-room schoolhouse, and indulging my every whim (e.g. I read this book in one sitting, into the wee hours, sustaining myself with tea, dill pickles, and crackers)...playing the piano and mandolin, watching the stars from the front step, creating gardens where school children played a century ago, napping and dreaming and wondering about what the future would bring.

I think of this book often as I work to reclaim the gardens established here by the former owner. Mint and violets wrestle for dominance, while lilies bloom randomly, interspersed with hydrangeas, raspberry canes, and hollyhocks. Thyme, sage, comfrey, oregano, and cicely elbow their way through tall invaders, and hold their ground. If there was a plan in place when it was all planted, it has yet to reveal itself to me.

I love to get down on my hands and knees and clear little areas of weeds...I half expect a fairy to come out of the dense undergrowth to scold me for tearing up her tiny garden patch. I am patient with the gardens here, grateful for what is growing, and always dreaming of what it will all look like 10 years from now, once I've managed to move things around a bit.

For now, things just bloom as they bloom. I'm thrilled with what greets me every day:

Herds of conflowers...

A rogue sunflower beside our winter bird-feeder.

Hydrangeas, all ostentatious in their debutante gowns.

Hollyhocks as high as an elephant's eye.

And of course, best of all, the patrons of this botanical restaurant...monarchs, hummingbirds, and bees.

I'm off to pack for our first family camping trip this weekend, and am wishing I'd hunted down this book for a re-read! Instead, I'll be working on my Tea Leaves Cardigan, and enjoying every moment with my kids. Have a great one.

Letter Love, Love Letters

If your oldest child isn't quite at the developmental stage where he/she is taking an interest in literacy, brace yourself...it is a joy akin to watching your child taking a first step or saying a first word!

I've always been one of those Maria Von Trapp type-teachers...the one that kids love, and talk about adoringly to their parents (or so I'm told!)  My classroom is a fun place to be...I haven't forgotten what it is like to be a child, or the qualities that I adored in my own teachers. Being gentle but firm, consistent but flexible, and humourous but professional are skills that have taken years to hone. I haven't perfected them yet! But I still have lots of years ahead of me to work towards that!

I also happen to be an incurable bibliophile. I have books set strategically throughout the house, so that at any given moment of peace I can pick one up and read. This includes stacks of children's books: in the bathroom (to be read aloud while the kids splash in the tub!), on their nightstand, on OUR nightstand, on the woodstove, in the summer kitchen, potting shed, and living room. We read a lot of books in a day.

SO, you can imagine my surprise when I discovered that my first child
a) had no interest in stories as a baby/toddler
b) wasn't saying a word when he was 2, and
c) was not into board games and activities aimed at introducing the letters of the alphabet

When he was first diagnosed as having a speech delay, I was filled with anxiety, worry, fear for the future, and guilt (did we do something wrong??) After a few months of this, I realised that all of these negative emotions were NOT going to change anything, and that all we could do was focus on what we could accomplish each day. Wondering if he'd struggle socially/academically when he started school was pointless, as it was a long way off. We just worked diligently at all the suggestions of his wonderful speech pathologist, and watched with joy as he began to progress. It's been a long road, and from this journey has sprung my parenting mantra: Faith and Patience. Jude still struggles with receptive language, and we continue to practise various aspects of speech to help him communicate more clearly.

One of our favourite stories is Leo the Late Bloomer by Robert Kraus. It is the story of a little tiger who cannot do the things his peers can (eating neatly, talking, writing, drawing, etc.) His father frets and frets, but his mother says "A watched bloomer never blooms!" Sure enough, Leo does bloom in his own good time. It is heart-warming, and particularly poignant for parents who have a child who isn't quite like his/her peers.

They say that boys aren't often ready for "literacy" as early as girls are, and I would say that this certainly seems to be the case in my kindergarten classroom. I work hard at not being the teacher-parent (having grown up in a house where my dad was a teacher...); I try to turn it off and just be mommy when I'm home. I do catch myself chirping, "Let's practise your letters!"...the Mary Poppins voice doesn't seem to have the desired effect, and my active little man usually disappears before I can pin him down.

So you can imagine my delight to find him doing this:

In his own good time, my little late bloomer has bloomed. He is always asking for his pencil to be sharpened, and finds a little corner in which to create maps, lists, magic spells and signs that read: " iNoANieNGN" (No Bear Hunting Allowed). This is a beautiful developmental stage in early literacy: invented spelling. You may get the well-intentioned urge to help your child "sound out" the words, or at least create some semblance of sense.

Resist that urge! This experimentation is wonderful because it means your child now understands that the printed word has POWER and MEANING! We find signs stuck to garbage cans, walls, doors, and mirrors, and Jude tells us what each one says. He makes lists of things to bring on our camping trip, to buy at the grocery store, and of items in his toolbox. He gets it! Words are useful!

Another way to support your young child's developing literacy is to help them create a story. These may make no sense at all, or have no ending, or no consistent characters or plot. That's okay! You have the power to record their ramblings, and to capture this stage of their development, by scribing their exact words.

Here is a story Jude created for Daddy as a Christmas present (with me acting as a scribe):

                                              

Jude copied the title from my example; I encouraged to independently write the letters he knows.

                                        

I used fabric and watercolours to enhance his already-adorable illustrations.

Don't you love the octopus?

 

You've just got to love a satisfying resolution like this!

The highlight of the whole project: proudly presenting his creation to his Dad,

a wonderful, thoughtful, handmade gift.

To create this simple book, I folded two sheets of cardstock in half, and sewed a seam down the fold to hold them together. I have another great book tutorial that I can't share with you, not because I love to leave you in suspense, but because my camera is broken (boohoo!). I'll save that for another day. You can find another lovely book-making idea at Childhood Magic.

Read to your child every day. Let them see you reading, and talk to them about what you read (explain what a road sign says, talk to them about a recipe, discuss the news, etc.). Take them to the library as often as possible, and show excitement (but not so much that they kick you OUT of the library!) about books on many topics. Write down what your child says, and without pressuring them, show enthusiasm for recording their stories. Instead of more plastic toys, encourage your relatives to give books (or bookstore gift certificates) as gifts. Fill your house with books, and read them, and you just might find someday that you have raised a reader!