While we were walking the goats to their pasture today:

Hannah: "You know what another good name for Mother is?"

Mother: "No. What?"

Hannah: "Your Royal Highness."

I like this kid.

Hannah in garden.
Ainsley and Chinde.

Hannisms.

"Daddy, I'm fourteen. But without the teen."

Last Sunday, Grayson had a congenital cyst under his tongue get infected and burst causing swelling that not only started to close his throat but pushed his tongue up and back, blocking the air from even getting to his throat. For the first time since we moved here I was cursing living in the country. It takes thirty minutes on a good day, hitting all the green lights, to get into 'town' (the town with the hospital which is actually two towns away). We made it there in fifteen minutes, tops, speeding up from 70 mph to 90 and finally hitting 110 mph (on the highways between towns) in our big ol' diesel truck as Gray struggled to breathe. I never want to repeat that ride. A 911 call made on the way seemed to change lights to green for us, stop any cops from trying to stop us, and had doctors waiting at the emergency room door when we squealed to a stop and I threw Grayson into their arms.

He was life-flighted to a bigger hospital about an hour away who in turn life-flighted him to Children's Primary in Salt Lake City, a state of the art hospital that could not only diagnose his mystery problem but could treat it.

Getting off the fixed-wing life-flight.




Hannah with Grayson.



All of the girls with Grayson.

Playing with stethoscopes.

Being at a hospital like Primary Children's, which specializes in unusual and rare diseases in children, was such an experience. I went in there a bit traumatized but holding it together, having a three month old son who was now stable and breathing, but with a then-unknown cause to his troubles. In the four days we were there I saw

-a four year old girl, my oldest daughter's age, pulling an oxygen tank behind her as if it was part of her body

-so many parents, siblings, and grandparents pulling little plastic wagons with children to weak to walk

-children obviously in the middle of cancer treatments

-a baby ward that was huge and full of babies in much worse condition than my little tyke

-parents that ranged from those that, as one nurse put it, "have to be told to leave the bedside of their kids and go to the bathroom" to parents that "have to be called and told that the doctor wants to talk to them about their child, so could you come in to the hospital" - so many different ways of dealing with sickness

-a six year old girl that stopped and talked to me about my son and asked all sorts of probing questions about his condition - questions that could only be asked by someone intimately familiar with doctors and tests and shots and hospital stays - her little brother (also named Grayson) lived at the hospital due to his problems

-so much kindness from everyone - janitors, nurses, doctors, life-flight EMTs, cafeteria workers - everyone in that hospital had a smile for my children and that hospital is *made* for children

Ainsley and the 'Fish Tank'.

-a cafeteria that was more like a restaurant in the quality of food it offered - we've missed that cafeteria since we left - it was nice not to feel like we were living on fast food

All in all, after being there a day, I wasn't thinking that what we were going through was so terribly awful by comparison after all. By the time we left I was fully cognizant of how lucky we were to be leaving so quickly and with such resolution in his case and wishing we had something similar close to where we lived so that I could volunteer there.

We go back in two weeks for some more tests and hopefully some resolution. I'm not looking forward to the poor kid getting poked *again* - he hated that worse than anything else.

After talking with the ambulance driver on our way from the fixed-wing life-flight (which landed at the airport) to the hospital, I now realize that even if we lived in the middle of Salt Lake City it would have taken us fifteen minutes at the least to get to the hospital. So country living works for me again.

Here are some random pictures of the girls during the trip:

To pass the time with the girls, Matt used the colorful gauze to make the girls look like 70s joggers.

Relaxing at home.

Jesus is a fairy.

Hannah's starting to explore spiritual ideas more. She's fascinated with different beliefs now since she knows that her daddy is Mormon and I am not.

Yesterday she asked "Was Jesus Mormon, mother?" I told her that Jesus was, by his very existence, Christian, but not Mormon. After I got to thinking about it, and about books I've read about Jesus as a person and about how the time he lived in shaped who he was, I have to wonder if he'd even classify himself as Christian today. Interesting.

She has decided that Jesus is a fairy (thanks to a picture in the Primary room). She's also wavering between thinking Jesus came back to life and thinking that's just a story. She likes the idea of someone beating death - death's a bit nerve-wracking for a four year old - but she can't wrap her mind around the fact that he came back looking like he did before he died. According to her, when you die you become a skeleton. He should look like a skeleton. A fairy skeleton.

Breastfeeding hero.

For my sister the lactivist - this woman is absolutely amazing. Read about her.

http://yesboleh.blogspot.com/2008/05/chinese-policewoman-helps-quake-effort.html

"A Chinese policewoman is contributing to the country’s massive earthquake relief effort in a very personal way -- by breastfeeding eight babies. ... She is nursing the children of three women who were left homeless by the quake and are too traumatised to give milk, as well as five orphans, the report said.The babies who lost their parents have been put in an orphanage which does not have powdered milk, it said."

On the porch.

Lazy, outside afternoons. Playing in the shade, in a breeze, on the porch.

Growing up.

Little things jump out at you that make you realize your little one is growing up.

Wanting to walk home all the way from the mailbox to the house - and chatting about the state of the world (or at least *your* world) all the way home.



Being big enough to pick up the chicks yourself at the feed store.



Being big enough to carry your sister.



Mother's having a hard time with this.

Baby smiles and a sleeping toddler.

The framing is off on these since it is so difficult to get a baby to smile when they see a camera.

Let's go fly a kite.

It's very windy here. Flying kites is a dangerous sport in our neck of the ... fields. The wind's so strong that the girls can barely hold the kite and when the kite hits a wind gust, the kite can zoom back to the ground at an alarming rate.

This is actually the least dangerous way to fly a kite here.





That's us heading down the driveway at two miles per hour, going to town on errands. We keep the kite in the car and she gets to fly it from the house to the mailbox and then from the mailbox to the house on the way back.

Homesick.

For a place not home.

I lived in Ireland for seven months, working at a stable. Mornings like this, overcast, muggy, green - I miss it. I miss it a lot.

Unschooling the mother.

“[Mothers can] put their own lives and interests on hold as a sacrifice to their children. As noble as this seems, [it is] a sort of negligence: withholding who she is - the best part of herself - from our children.” Monte and Karen Swan

I saw this quote at Handmade Homeschool, a blog I check frequently.

It really jumped out at me because this is one of the tenets of unschooling that really makes unschooling make sense to me.

To effectively unschool, to teach your kids to follow their passions and their interests, the parents must follow their own passions and interests. They must model that behavior for their kids.

When I find answers to my questions, when I do research on my gardens and my animals, when I learn a new skill, when I try a new recipe, when I do any of this, I'm teaching my children how to do the same.

An effective unschooling parent cannot give up their life for their child, putting off "outside" interests until the child grows up. And that makes unschooling a very intriguing option. By doing the things you want to do - with your child there, watching and participating when they want to - you're helping them learn how to learn, introducing new ideas to them, and teaching them that life is meant to be lived.

So many mothers - especially stay at home mothers - put themselves on hold for eighteen years until their child is raised. Or, at the very least, they put themselves on hold until their child is in school and then incrementally take back more of themselves as the child ages and becomes more independent. It's a very child-centered way of life compared to letting the child become part of the family, part of the world around them by being present and watching others live their lives around them.

Kittens come out to play.

Aradia brought her kittens out for a short visit the other night.

Unschooling numbers.

Hannah's been making leaps and bounds with numbers lately.

When my dad was here, he commented on her not knowing her numbers. He's not big on unschooling. I said that I wasn't worried about it, she'd learn them when she learned them. She's surrounded by numbers and math in life. Matt and I are constantly doing math out loud, also. Two days later, when my dad was still here, she all of the sudden said "Four. That's how old I am." I looked over and she was pointing at the number four on the computer. Then she started noticing fours everywhere. Then threes (because that's how old she was), fives (because that's how old she will be), and ones (because that's how old her sister is). If I asked, she could tell me what other numbers were (I only asked up to nine), but she didn't care about them. They had no importance in her life.

Like I said, she's been noticing fours everywhere. Today we were reading one of her Catwings books and she pointed to the four on page 24 saying "that's how old I am, amn't it?" "Yes, that's how old you are." With a mischievous smile, "I'm twenty four?!?!" My mouth dropped. When did she learn THAT?

A couple of weeks ago, I was talking to my brother on the phone and Hannah asked to talk to him. She was in one of her stuttering phases, where she repeats words or phrases. He asked about it since it had made it hard for him to understand her and I told him that she goes through a stuttering phase right before she makes a big leap physically or mentally. I joked that when this phase was over, she'd be multiplying.

A few days later, we were making a recipe and she asked how many eggs I needed. I told her that I needed two for the recipe, but that we were doubling it. She said "So I will get four eggs." I smiled to myself, thinking "I should tell my brother that she's multiplying", but really just counting that as adding.

She's also doubling recipes. Did you notice that, sister?

Then, not long ago, we were making pancakes and I wanted to quadruple the recipe. I asked her to get me some eggs. She asked how many and I said "Well I need two for the recipe and we're making four of the recipe so that we can freeze some." "OK, I'll get eight eggs." Ok, then. She's multiplying. Or adding very, very quickly.

I think this unschooling thing may have something to it after all.

Well, crap.

Yesterday we were out running errands and Hannah had to go potty. Not just any potty - owie poo potty. I wouldn't even mention it here, but half the store heard about it. When she realized that it was imminent, she was saying (loudly) "Push the cart faster, mother! FASTER! This is going to be owie poo potty!"

When we got to the bathroom, her constant, loud narration of the goings-on of her innards got us to the front of the line. The narration continued with her on the potty. You don't get it all, only the line that got the most giggles from the other patrons. "This is *such* owie poo potty, mother. I think I'm going to *die*! Yes I do."

The night sky.

One of my friends sent me this link.

Plug in your coordinates - it's like having a planetarium on your computer!

http://www.stellarium.org/

The spotting scope.

Diego has a spotting scope. Hannah *had* a spotting scope.

We took the girls to a bookstore and let them each pick out a book with part of our Debt to China incentive check. Both girls picked out Diego books. Hannah's had a spotting scope, Ainsley's had push-buttons to make animal noises and lift-flaps.

Hannah's spotting scope really worked. She would look at things that were farther away and say "Whoa." Ains wanted in on the action, of course, and would put it up to her forehead, between her eyes and say "Whoa!!!" and look proud of herself.

Hannah and I were out picking dandelions for the goats yesterday and there were bees all around us. Hannah, not being a fan of 'stinging bugs', wanted to run off. I convinced her to sit on my lap and watch. Within a few minutes, her nose was inches from the little bees as they gathered from the flowers. She was fascinated with their movements. We even saw one that had full legs - little yellow balls on each leg.

A little off-topic note - I wish I could do up-close photography. I could have gotten some killer photos.

Her closeness was starting to make the bees nervous, so I had her run in the house and get her spotting scope. She was able to sit four feet away and watch the bees work.

Then she left the scope on the lawn and Chin found it. Labradors tend to chew anything left on the lawn. When Hannah saw that this morning she said "Well that's just a bummer, in't it? Dang it. I can't believe Chinde doesn't like spotting scopes."

Now I have a magnifying glass on my list of things to buy - she's becoming quite the little scientist.

Hello?

Hannah's answering the phone now.

The other day she answered while I was organizing our freezer. I heard her as she was walking down the hall towards me.

"Well of course Sarah lives here, that's my mother."

"Yes, you can talk to her. She's my mother because she gave birth to me, don't you know? I came out of her uterus. Yes, she's here. Here, mother. I told them you were my mother."

Thanks, sweetie. It was a telemarketer. I'm having her answer the phone from now on.

Imagination

Hannah has an active imagination. She pretends to be just about anything. Cat, dog, cat that barks, hippo, pony, princess, pauper, mermaid, mouse, lamb, goat, baby, Diego, Alecia (Diego's sister), baby jaguar, elephant, dinosaur, planet, volcano, clam, walrus, any stinging bug, any of her cousins (which makes Matt and me our siblings and their spouses)... and that's just the ones I could remember off the top of my head.

What she's pretending to be can change after a few minutes or she could stay in character for hours, and you have to stay on top of it or you'll get answered with "I'm not _____, I'm ____". It's gotten so intense that she now tells us when she's "Hannah". She's only herself for two hours a day, tops.

I remember imagining so intensely when I was little that, as only little ones can do, I really felt I was whatever it was I was pretending to be. I can see that in Hannah. As an example, one day she was pretending to be one of her cousins which made me her aunt and her little sister became one of her cousin's siblings. We all get roped into this. As it happened, during this pretend stretch, her aunt called. When Hannah answered the phone and my sister-in-law said her name, Hannah looked at the phone with a funny look on her face, looked at me and said "It's *you*!" It was so hard not to laugh.

This pretending is interesting for Matt to watch. He says he never had much of an imagination as a child, so he doesn't understand what she's doing or why it's so important to her to be addressed as whatever or whoever she is in the moment. It's fun watching him play along with her now.

Warming up.

The weather's warming up.

Things are getting hung out on the line.



The new kittens are getting checked on.





The huge tree is bursting with tiny bird activity.



Brand new baby goats (the last of the season) are being played with.



The forest pasture is being explored.



The bunkhouse is being played in.



Rocks are being thrown. (this game is called 'disturbing Dan')



Snails are being discovered.



The girls are insisting on canal play.









And Grayson, as always, is sleeping through it all.