No Solutions Manual

There is no formula. Every child has their very own built in processing devices. This brain of theirs  just doesn't have a solutions manual to go with it. Their brains are distinctly wired. The wires that keep us on our toes and take our energy and make us mad and laugh and grieve and grow and pull and push and giggle and love fiercely. We have four humans. Each with a unique set of wires. They keep us on our toes.

One child needs a time out. One child needs an extra job--a big one, one needs to write a letter, the other needs to hear a song, another -- we sit criss cross apple sauce across from each other and hold hands and talk it through, and kumbaya. And this is just when we have a need to reset, reconnect, correct. There is the every day: Chores. Games. Learning. Communicating. Keeping Clean. Keeping Going. There is the long term: Attitude, Beliefs, Awareness, Thoughtfulness, Forgiveness, Alertness.

William. He needs all of it. A lot. The job, the talk, the song, the tears, and the kumbaya. 
He is five, almost six. He is ready to learn. We've started regular math class. Regular writing and reading and thinking and creating. Somedays, he is right there with the others rocking it out. Other days. Tears. Not ready. Not willing. Not present. We try to work through these days at a more gracious pace, but I can get so red hot and ready to pop. This is basically a snails pace, no graciousness about it. But, he is finding his way. He is reading. He suddenly understands odd and even and skip counting. Just that day. Nothing other than that day being the day it clicks. Last year, we were classifying animals and struggling between the difference between a mammal and a fly. This year, he is in love with insects. We have dissected mud wasp nests to find the spiders the mamas left for their babies to eat when they hatched and collected cicada shells and read about the spiders and bugs. He excitedly sketches diagrams of his projects he does with daddy and wants me to write down his story. He is unbelievably brave and coordinated and that leads to power naps on trips and melt downs in the afternoons. This is our William. 


  1. The picture of George Wilder on the table writing with his feet on the chair is soooo Abby. Love it.


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