Domestic Bliss

The winter sun shines warmly on the long, polished pine dining table before me, interrupted only by the brief flickering shadows of chickadees and titmice alternately feasting and bickering at the feeder outside the window. At one end of the table my four younger children, ages four, six, eight and nine, attend quietly to various school work. Well, mostly quietly; if I remind them often. Blue and Royal are building math equations with plastic blocks designed for the purpose (we use Math-U-See curriculum), Little is copying letters and numbers in her lined primary pad, Justin has laid aside his coloring book and Tupperware box of old crayons and is now familiarizing himself with the math blocks by building walls and what he tells me are spaceships with forcefields. The older children have received their assignments for the week and are upstairs working on their daily portions of math, reading and writing. 

Little making apple pie

At my end of the table are a couple of bread pans, a bottle of extra virgin olive oil, and a mound of bread dough which I’ve begun shaping into loaves. After years of baking bread for my family, I know that the smooth and soft elasticity of the dough means I combined the right measure of ingredients and kneaded it for a good length of time. It will rise well and yield tasty loaves, light and easy to slice without crumbling. I love the feel of it in my hands. I love oiling the pans, rolling the dough out, pinching and tucking, placing it in the pans, covering it with an old flour sack towel, and placing it somewhere warm to rise. Today it rises near the wood stove. Which reminds me…

I peek in the stove and see a bed of coals needing attention. I pull the damper on the stove, open the door, rake the coals over with a tool my dad made out of steel re-bar for just such a purpose when I was a young little thing and he and mom burned wood to keep our family warm during long, cold Vermont winters. The firewood is nearby, but the pile is running low. I make a mental note to have the children bring in wood after lunch. The floor is due for a sweeping, so the timing is good. I select a few smaller pieces of seasoned oak and arrange them on the coals in such a way to allow the air to flow around them. I’ll add more once they get going well. Pulling my iPod out of my pocket I set a timer for ten minutes. It wouldn’t be the first time I started the fire up only to forget about it and let it go nearly cold. Setting the timer reminds me I didn’t set one for the bread, so I pop into the kitchen and set the timer on the microwave for an hour.

As I clean up my bread-making mess I check on the wee ones. Royal has done a fine job, but needs help reading a couple of words on his last problem. We finish up, he dates his page then runs off to my office to put it with the other completed schoolwork. As for Blue, her sixes and most of her twos are backwards again, and her 21 should be a 12, but she’s managing her dyslexia better than she did when she first began writing. I gently and matter-of-factly point out her errors and she corrects them without complaint or discourage. For the millionth time, I experience a warm ache in my chest. I am so glad that this brilliant, artistic and tender girl is able to learn at home instead of lost in a crowd and teased mercilessly at public school just because written symbols dance around unpredictably on her. She’s learned to read, albeit with more work and over a longer time than her siblings, and she enjoys it. She loves to write and make up stories, too, illustrated with the most imaginative and colorful creatures. It’s a pleasure to work with her.

And so the day goes. Beautiful moments that make up the good stuff of this brief life. Warm sunshine highlighting the cold, bare trees outside the windows, complimenting the cozy fire inside. Bright, lovable children going about their schoolwork and play. The whole family gathered for a simple lunch of cheese, crackers, pickles and fruit, then back to our various activities. Some of the kids bundle up in their worn, torn and mismatched winter gear and head outside. After bringing in firewood they visit the frozen creek to enjoy its wonders. Those whose assigned day it is to wash dishes get started after I add some hot water to the sink from the pot on the wood stove. I turn on some music, do some preliminary prep on dinner, and water the houseplants while the bread bakes. When I water the plants in the back rooms Denny pauses his design work and gives me a sweet smile and a kiss.

Domestic: adjective      of or relating to the running of a home or to family relations.
      (of a person) fond of family life and running a home

Bliss: noun      perfect happiness; great joy. 

I can’t remember ever being unsatisfied with my role as a homemaker. Frustrated sometimes? You bet. It can be overwhelming, yeah, and demanding, but I have never desired another occupation. In my late teens I held a very pleasant and suitable-to-me job on a landscape crew at a local golf course. That lasted about a year and a half before I had to quit due to my unplanned pregnancy. My boyfriend and I moved into a 5th-wheel camper in my parents’ yard, renting for $100 a month. I stayed home, cooked, cleaned, crafted, managed the finances, and planned while he worked construction five days a week. We married and, with the help of a midwife, we welcomed our firstborn in those cramped quarters. Shortly before my twentieth birthday we put a down-payment on our first house; very small, but roomy after seven months in a camper.

Soon we were welcoming another child. And another. I had plenty to do at home. If my husband and I ever talked about whether I would stay home and raise our children, I don’t remember it. He wasn’t the communicative type. In the last years of our marriage I think he resented me staying home. He seemed jealous of my freedom to manage my own time and enjoy the children, but he didn’t see half of what I did around the house and his own time at home was spent much differently. A sad and classic story, I’m afraid.

When I was growing up my mom had mostly stayed at home and seemed to find much satisfaction in it, and Dad, a carpenter by trade, seemed to appreciate what she did there, so I guess I just assumed that since I’d started a family, I’d stay home and manage things the way Mom did. 

I’d gotten a head start, but soon my friends were settling down and having children too. They weren’t all enjoying it as much as I was. “I’m stuck in Baby Jail,” one friend was fond of saying. “I’d love to go back to work and feel like I’m contributing. I miss it.” Interestingly, she'd spent two or three years working in a nursing home taking care of the elderly before coming home to start a family, caring for equally unappreciative droolers in diapers. I reckon the difference was that at “work” she earned a paycheck, had time off, worked alongside other adults, and was patted on the back often because she was truly good at what she did. It can be a little daunting, being alone with babies and toddlers all day, with no end in sight, especially if no one appreciates what you do.

I understand more of this now that I’m older. Not everyone is cut out for parenting and homemaking or enjoys the same rewards for their efforts. For the most part, that’s okay. Most families manage. There are extremes, however, and I feel more strongly than ever that people who don’t enjoy or find some satisfaction in raising children shouldn’t be bringing children into this world, but that’s a rant for another day.

I don’t know whether anyone in particular appreciated or cared at all about what I did—if my husband did he never expressed it and to expect children to is a burden I don’t believe they should bear—but I felt good about it. What I did and what I continue to do at home satisfies me.

Investing in my children with time, kindness, patience, firmness when needed, and thoughtfulness has resulted in a house full of interesting people whom I enjoy tremendously. Is it easy? Nope. I’ve shed more than a few tears, wondering if I was doing the right things, occasionally cracking under the constant demand. Let’s face it, some days are just demanding and we’re not always up to the tasks, are we?  But I pull myself together and put the children first. As the days go by and I watch these amazing individuals grow, I know I’ve done something right, something worthwhile. Maybe it has something to do with my belief that relationships are the most significant factor in enjoying a full, rich life. This is a huge part of my domestic bliss. Deeper, secure, fulfilling relationships for all of us is one of the reasons I am raising my own children instead of sending them away five days a week.

My home isn’t always clean. I like to clean, I just don’t do a lot of it because there are other things I enjoy more. I like things tidy, but I’m not fussy. Dust doesn't bother me. With seven children and various pets there’s little in the way of home furnishings that don’t take something of a beating, and there’s a constant barrage of clutter that must be dealt with, but generally it’s cozy and inviting, warm in the winter, cool in the summer, and so forth. No one who steps foot in the door questions which we love more, each other or the material things, and if you’ve ever been in such a home there’s something lovely about it. There’s usually good food on our table and the place buzzes with life and vivacity. There are interesting things going on everywhere, always a project or two in progress; the natural outflow of nine creative people who love each other, love life, and love being at home.

In the past year I’ve experienced an occasional spell of frustration, realizing how much of my life I’ve lived in a bubble, shutting out the sinful world, ignorant of world affairs, of societal issues, ignorant of my part, just focused on the goings-on within my four walls and engaging with a few families besides, leaving the world in God’s hands and washing my own of such responsibilities. I studied the Bible and prayed instead. Granted, I had my hands full with a bunch of young 'uns, trying to make meager ends meet. But I have moments of regret, hating how caught up I was in my own things and knowing I missed out on a decade and a half of learning, understanding, being involved. I’m ashamed of my ignorance, but I’m learning to deal with it. And slowly to remedy it.

When I’m having one of those days I try to focus on accomplishments that I'm proud of. I think about domesticity. I realize I’m good at it. Damned good. I can turn out delicious, nutritious food three times a day, balance my bank account, juggle bills, wash clothes, milk goats, build fences, garden, build shelves, make soap, sew up a storm, teach children these things as well as to read, write and do arithmetic, while fine-tuning their attitudes, having a good laugh, and so on... and it’s all in a day’s work. Fifteen years of this; I do it well, I enjoy it, it gives me a deep sense of satisfaction. It takes the sting off that feeling that I wasted my life on God when I could have been doing something meaningful.

Yeah, I guess what I’m saying is that when I get down about my religious past, I fold laundry, bake bread, tend plants, teach my children about evolution, and remember not to regret the past because I love who I am today. And tomorrow's possibilities are limitless.

New Year, Old Year

Yesterday found the Williams Henke family settling down into a typical evening. Eat dinner, wash dishes, chat with the kids, retire to our respective spaces to unwind before bed. No staying up until midnight, no New Year’s champagne or kisses. I've spent most of my life on the outside of American holiday traditions, so I don’t usually pay them much mind. Though vehemently opposed to religious holidays when I was religious (yeah, you read that correctly. Funny thing about religion, any other than your very own can twist your knickers), these days I could take or leave most of them. I don’t always have the umph required to celebrate the arbitrarily assigned holidays, but friends change things. Good friends are always a reason to celebrate. A holiday is just an excuse to spend time with the ones you love.

A sweet three minute holiday greeting in video form from our friends across the pond got me into the spirit of this new year/old year business last night. There they were, champagne in hand, sitting on the hearth with a warm fire behind them, telling us how much they have enjoyed getting to know us over the last several months, saying a little something for each of the nine of us by name, looking forward to the new year with us in their lives, and making me melt into a puddle of tears. Afterward we chatted online and counted down to the new year with them, six hours in advance of our own. We celebrated by snacking on some of the British biscuits they’d sent us a couple weeks before. Today we gathered and recorded our own greeting in response. A bit longer, as there were more of us to cover, though it was like pulling teeth to get the kids to say anything at all. Little beasts. Denny, clever man that he is, added cricket noises over the kids’ silent shrugging. Perfect.

It’s all got me reflecting on the year past and feeling right hopeful about the year to come. Here’s where I get teary-eyed.

Two years ago today I gratefully took a seat at my dining table with family and friends (one of which was Denny—who’d have thunk he’d be moving in almost eight months later?), fresh bread and hot tea, and a cozy fire in the stove. I’d spent most of the previous month in bed with a back injury and, just for fun, a kidney infection. I was happy to be recovering, to have friends over again, to bake bread again. I was feeling vivid and alive with my new freedom and my new friends. It felt like a splendid way to bring in the new year and I considered making a tradition of it. It didn’t happen this year, in part because some of the kids have a touch of a cold, but no matter. In the past several days we’ve spent all kinds of time connecting with our dearest friends, the people that make our lives worthwhile. Some on the phone, some in person, some online. So what if it didn’t all happen today?

If that were all, I’d feel right rich and content, but there’s more. This year I’ve matured and developed deeper character while exploring what it means to be me, to be free. I love who I am today. I feel like I have my very own identity for the first time in my life. And I love all the changes and challenges and people that helped shape me; Denny, my children, my parents, my friends, my readers, my reviewers.

Thanks to Denny, last year I was inspired to dig within and scrounge up the gumption to complete and publish my first book, the first of many. I did it for him, I did it for the children, I did it for myself. What I didn’t anticipate was the floodgate of responses. I’ve been completely humbled by the kindness and warmth with which my words have been received. Because of the autobiographical nature of my book people feel they are directly connecting with me when they read it and many have reached out; some to encourage, some out of curiosity, some even for help. I have wonderful friendships at the turn of this new year that I didn’t have at the turn of the last, simply because of the writing and publishing experience. It was unexpected and is very rewarding. There’s no feeling quite like it.

Last year I explored new aspects of motherhood at the side of Denny, who has been embracing and exploring fatherhood. I’ve heard “you’re such a good mom” more times and more sincerely than I’ve heard the whole time I’ve been a mom. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed having a partner who cares about the children as much as I do, and cares about me while we’re doing this parenting thing. As a family we are learning to navigate the teenage years, transitioning these young people into adulthood with as much grace as possible, while giving the younger ones a good foundation and happy childhood. Perfectly? Heck no. But we communicate, we love, we strive for understanding. I’ve thought a lot about my past and my mistakes, but I wouldn’t undo a moment of it because wow, these kids are astounding.

Our home school has cranked up a few notches in quality. The older children are writing up a storm in the form of reports as well as creative projects. Instead of a narrow history of the earth starting six thousand years ago and involving a worldwide flood, the children are learning about the history of the universe, evolution, our place among the stars and the animals. Social studies happen regularly as we discuss events current and past. The children are inundated with some form of science study nearly every day and all seem hungry for it. Algebra has found its way to the table. We are also learning gobs about Britain, thanks to our friends over there who love to share their knowledge and experiences. We’re very much looking forward to traveling to the UK as soon as we can afford it, probably within a few years. (Donations accepted!)

Together we have worked and sacrificed to pay off debt and, aside from a moderate mortgage and a small dental bill, we’ve done it. Not only that, but we’ve managed to get my and the children’s health up to snuff with dental visits and vaccinations. (Without a dime of support from my ex. Just sayin’.) We’ve improved our home with some orginzation, lots of shelves, a bit of paint, and sundry other things. Our property saw the addition of a duck pond, two cedar arbors and some trellises, hugelkulture garden beds, and many perennial herbs and flowers. In a bittersweet vein, we parted with our goats to free up time and energy to pursue other things. But we still make and sell soap.

We’ve had a lot of laughs, shed a few tears because we’re really just big softies, and enjoyed the year thoroughly. Thanks to all who have been a part of it. I can’t begin to imagine what next year will bring to my door, but I greet it with open arms.

Time Is On My Side

Tock, tick, tock, tick, tock.

That classic sound of time slipping away is announced by the grandmother clock above my mantle. A birthday gift from my dad two years ago. (Or was it three? Tricky time.) Somehow it’s wormed its way into my heart as one of the most soothing sounds in the world. If I can hear it, it means the house is quiet. The only other sound on this wintry afternoon is the hiss of the water pot we keep simmering on the wood stove. And the occasional slurpy sip of hot Yorkshire tea with a little cream and sugar—that’s me, being cozy. Every now and then I hear a shout or a note of laughter drifting from the yard, where my younger four children are at play, bundled up in snow suits, hats, mittens and boots of assorted colors. (I love that my boys don’t mind wearing pink.) Make it do or do without. There’s no snow on the ground today, just an inch of ice and sleet. It’s a make-it-do winter.


My older three children are upstairs doing their school work. When the younger ones come back in I will fix them some hot cocoa and we’ll read together on the couch and then they’ll do some copy work at the table. Maybe today I’ll break out the sewing machine and teach Blue to use it; she’s been asking me to. Denny is in the back working at his computer. I see an occasional flutter at the bird feeder outside the dining room window as titmice, nuthatches, chickadees and cardinals fly in for a quick snack.

But it’s mostly quiet. Stillness prevails. I am basking in it.
We must, as parents, you know. We must pause to note life's peaceful moments. Did I say parents? As people—with children or otherwise. Slip away from the children or send them outside, set the iPhone aside, turn off the TV or radio, find somewhere inviting and just be for a few minutes. Funny, we have to unplug occasionally to fully recharge. (For the record, I did spend at least nine minutes this way before I thought how nice it would be to write it down and grabbed my laptop.) 

I enjoy the house at this moment with the awareness that someday the children will be grown and gone, the days more still and quiet than busy and noisy, and I’ll go about my days and nights with more time to remember how full of life it once was. Not that I anticipate the fullness going out of my life when my kids are gone--I have plans, ideas, hopes—but it will certainly be quieter and… different. I’ve read the mommy poems about the fingerprints on the walls growing higher and higher and finally disappearing. I’ve cried my share of sweet and bittersweet tears as I’ve watched my children play together, say the darnedest things, reach personal milestones, snuggle next to me on cold mornings and give me hugs when I needed it most. Childhood is fleeting. Time is fleeting. I’m neither in a hurry to see it pass nor longing to hold onto it. Sometimes I’m just incredibly aware of it. And in those moments it seems to stand still.

My mind snaps photographs, desperate to capture the moments. I take actual photos or write down descriptions if I’m able. It’s a process of observation, pausing to acknowledge my life, to memorize and appreciate it. I take the moments in and they shape me, help to make me who I am and who I will be. I don’t want to rush by them and end up at the end of the road wondering where my life went, you know? My house will likely be very quiet one day, but, if I’m careful to capture them now, it will be full of vivid memories. What’s more satisfying than the knowledge of a life purposefully lived?

Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick.

Appreciation Rant

The full quote is, "The woman who serves unnoticed and un-thanked is a woman who loves God more than she desires the praise of others. She is confident that all her unnoticed deeds on earth are noticed in Heaven. She is satisfied knowing she has pleased her Lord."

A believing friend sent me this meme, expressing her frustration with this aspect of religion. It rather burns me, too.

Just yesterday I was doing something benign for Denny and he thanked me, quite sincerely. Then he paused thoughtfully and, with much emotion, expressed how sad it made him to think of all the years I and the "amazing" things I do went unappreciated. You know that good, achy, almost-want-to-cry, overwhelmed feeling that tingles in your chest sometimes? That. I do so love this man! It makes me sad sometimes to think of how long I went uncared for. It wouldn’t have taken much…  But, eh, at least it made me hyper-sensitive to Denny’s appreciation and it’s been wonderful for our relationship.

So, yeah, I call BS on this meme! A woman who serves unnoticed and unthanked is a an under-appreciated and 
probably not a very happy woman.

Now, that isn't to say that you should do things just to receive praise. Personally, I do what I do because I love myself and the people in my life. I do what makes me happy, what satisfies me, and I try to do things that are good and pleasant for those I love. I do what needs to be done because I don't feel good letting things go if I can do something about it, even unpleasant stuff like scrubbing behind the toilet or cleaning up vomit, or emotionally draining things like those occasional conversations with your teen you’d rather not have first thing in the morning.

Serving happily can be a tricky balance, especially if what you do does go unnoticed or unappreciated. I lied to myself for many years, thinking that I was at least pleasing God with my actions. It’s not easy to extend yourself with, “You’ll be rewarded somehow after you die,” being the only thing to hold onto. With God out of the picture I sought and found richer relationships with beings who can and do actually give back. It's been very rewarding.

That said, I never had the issues some do regarding motherhood. It’s nice when my children express appreciation, but I have never sought it from them. I don't need it from them. I ask for respect, and try to deserve it, that’s all. I give myself to them because I truly enjoy it and because they are my responsibility. But motherhood isn’t for everyone and not everyone finds the same satisfaction in the work. After your children are born is a very unfortunate time to discover this, as there are very few legal or moral ways to back out of it. My advice to these mothers is to suck it up, do your best, and try to add something more satisfying to your life. You’ll be happier and should bring that peace into your relationship with your children.

But if your other relationships aren’t rewarding, if you feel unappreciated (and you’re pretty sure you’re deserving of appreciation), the first step is communication. Second step is the same as above— can you add other people or things that satisfy? Can you subtract the negative? Or maybe you just need an attitude adjustment? Being arrogant or needy never got anyone anywhere.

Whatever the case, for the love of pasta, do not settle for pie in the sky!

Er… that’s all, I guess. Just a random rant triggered by Facebook.  Carry on.

Parenting and My Decision to Homeschool

Amidst falling acorns and leaves, our friend climbed off of our steep roof, down the aluminum ladder, and joined his wife and some of my family on the remarkably safe, sturdy ground. He collected his chimney sweep’s tools and stuffed them in the back of his compact SUV, near his camera bag and tripod. It was mighty kind of him to swing by after his latest photo shoot to tackle the job that neither Denny nor I were experienced, agile, or brave enough to tackle. We stood and chatted a bit before they left. We’d had the two of them over with some other friends the day before, but we were always glad to see them. Friends that you are always comfortable around, always look forward to seeing, can talk with about anything, that make you laugh, make you think, and generally make you feel warm and fuzzy—these are gems you should treasure.

“You should give parenting lessons,” our friend suggested as he and his wife relayed some of the shocking parent-child antics they witness on a regular basis.

Our friend is not a flatterer. This was a compliment indeed. And couldn’t have been better timed, though he didn’t know it. I needed a boost from a friend.

I’ve rather taken a Show-Me state approach to sharing my parenthood: spend some time with me and the kids and see for yourself. Q&A to follow. I thought that was working rather smashingly. But, recently I was stung by some comments of a friend who has been spending more time around our family and engaged in more conversations with me about parenting. I was under the impression that he adored my children and was favorably stirred, maybe even intrigued, by the approach Den and I are taking. That’s why it caught me off guard when he started hinting that maybe our kids are missing out by not being in public school.

There are many homeschool families in this area and Missouri is generally very homeschool-friendly. Our area is not very populated. It’s not unusual to see children out and about town during school hours. What I mean to say is, we are not often challenged in our decision to educate at home. I know all the arguments in favor of it, but am not accustomed to offering them. Those who know us see vibrant children doing remarkable, pleasant, interesting things. They may ask questions out of curiosity, but no one challenges. (Maybe I’m too intimidating? Ha. Imagine.) I haven’t felt defensive for a long time. Unsure of myself and frustrated sometimes, yes, but then I see my kids (or occasionally other people’s kids, though it’s not fair to compare) and know that I’m doing something right.

Alternately, one of my friends suggests that I offer parenting classes. That’s always nice to hear.

It bothered me a great deal that this other dear friend missed it, missed what we are doing. A stranger might, yeah, but someone so close to us?

“I think it’s criminal to keep children at home and limit their opportunities to learn,” or something along those lines. What…? How…? I was hurt and confused. I wanted him to understand. I stuffed it down at the time, not knowing what to make of it, and talked it out later with Denny. (Denny is great for talking things out with, which is the main reason I decided to bring him home and keep him handy.)

I think our friend’s comments have simply come out of his love for us and a slight misunderstanding. I’m sure he didn’t intend to offend and would be upset to know he did. I suspect he wants the best for the kids now that he is really getting to know them. In his mind, the best equals higher academics. I think. If I dared to try to guess his mind. I suspect he sees the kids, sees how incredible they are, and mistakenly thinks, “Imagine how much better they could be with the education and opportunities that school would provide!” I could be wrong, but if I’m not, then what he neglects to realize is that the children are amazing not in spite of, but because of how I’ve raised them thus far. I didn’t merely have the good fortune to birth seven vibrant, curious, happy, well-behaved children! 

There has long been a debate regarding the importance of academics in the lives of children. Surely no one would say that academics are unimportant. But are the rest of a child’s needs considered equally important? I’m not sure what to call it, maybe there’s a collective term for it, but I guess it includes love, moral instruction, behavioral guidance, confidence building, nutrition and security. We’ll call this The Other Stuff, though it deserves a much cooler label.

Unfortunately, the question is often posed with a battle line drawn: Academics vs. The Other Stuff. Public and private school proponents on one side, home educators on the other.

Now, just stop that.

It doesn’t have to be one or the other. I’m guessing the majority of home educators will agree with me when I boast that home education offers the best of both worlds, whereas the drawbacks of public/private education make it difficult to accomplish The Other Stuff. Without a foundation of The Other Stuff children often have a difficult time with their academics (as many a school teacher will attest). And that’s assuming the academic opportunities at home and in school are equal, which they aren’t. No, I won’t say home is always better. I say it depends entirely upon the school and the parents. We know what a joke American schools are, but we also know what a joke many parents are. But as for my family, I don’t believe for a moment that any public education I could thrust my children into could compete with opportunities they have outside of school. Don’t get me wrong, Denny and I know our own limitations. I’m not personally going to teach them algebra or biology, but as with public educators I’m familiar with these little things called resources…  Anyway. More about that another time, but for the record our fifteen year old did just tell us she found a website where she can take a free college level digital art class and she would like to add it to her curriculum this year. Not because she wants a grade or a degree, but because she wants to learn it. Just sayin’.

Maybe we’re not up to our ears in Latin and biology, but my children are young yet. We are only really just beginning to dig into serious academics. I assume my doubting friend has limited knowledge of education (and children), and so cannot understand how unsuitable a classroom environment is for a child’s development, or what kind of opportunities they have at home, and not just opportunities, but that foundation of The Other Stuff that children need to succeed. Man, our older children are nearly ripe for their futures now! It’s so exciting! It’s our goal to supply the tools and skills that compliment their natural curiosity and love of learning. They have the freedom and support to pursue what interests them and no boring class, bad teacher, school bully, locker room embarrassment, or peer pressure is going to hold them back!

My children are not overly sheltered. They are loved and protected and their needs met, but they are encouraged to grow and explore and are regularly exposed to new people and ideas. Religion was the last wall and now it lays crumbled, its bricks studied occasionally with critical eyes. They are bright, confident, respectful, well-behaved and enjoyed by all who meet them. They share the household responsibilities, work well both together and independently, they love books as well as hands-on experiences. They experiment, take things apart and rebuild them. They have time to be curious. Do you realize how important that alone is? They know about life things. Life is the best foundation upon which a strong academic education can be built. The better the foundation, the better the future education. Whatever our children want to build on this foundation, I’m willing to bet it will serve them well their entire lives, to a higher degree of satisfaction and true success than if they joined the institutional masses for rote memorization, mindless parroting, and popularity contests.

Day in and day out, night in and night out, we are working and thinking, living and enjoying, talking and doing everything in our power to give these children the best foundation possible.

And no, I don’t give parenting classes, but you’re more than welcome to stop by and spend the day with us to see what intentional parenting and happy kids look like.

Tightening of the Bible Belt

My parents visited us the other day. They live only 30 mins away but we don’t get together very often. No particular reason, just life things. And we’re each 15 minutes from town, in opposite directions, so there’s no just stopping by on your way somewhere. It was a nice visit.

My mom emailed me the next day to let me know they’d enjoyed the visit and to fill me in on their adventures afterward, which included swinging by the park to visit with my sister and watch my young nieces play soccer. (We all see my sister even less than we see each other, though she lives right in town.) My sister is a believer and she fellowships with many of the same people I used to a few years ago, including neighbors of mine. One of these ladies, with whom I was fairly close and whom I see upon occasion, struck up a conversation with my mom. They hadn’t seen each other in ages, didn’t ever know each other very well, but were friendly. 

During the course of the conversation the lady mentioned me and tried to encourage my mom that she’s praying for me, that I am still young and that there is hope yet that I would come around and get saved. My mom is not an atheist, but neither is she a christian. She retorted, “Saved from what? From her peace and happiness? I certainly wouldn’t wish that on her!”  Ha. Go Mom! That apparently ended the conversation.

It’s been awhile since I’ve felt that pang of sorrow I felt reading that. I’ve faced more strangers recently as an atheist than I have former friends. I’ve made new friends and moved on with my life. It’s still interesting to me to think about how many people I have loved and shared my life with, most of whom now all feel sorry for me. Now, right now, when I am the happiest I have ever been and when things are finally going right for me and the children.

Incidentally, in the beginning I had much grief over the sudden distance between myself and the people with whom I used to be close. Some friends I dreamt of over and over, I missed talking to them and hearing what was going on in their lives. I tried to continue to reach out—as an unbeliever I had nothing stopping me from friendship with anyone I pleased—but it was awkward. I finally made peace with it when I realized that talking with me just made my former friends sad. Deeply sad. They had truly cared about me and they were sincerely saddened by my life choices. Any true conversation could not take place without their discomfort. I decided to walk away, give up, stop reaching out. I let them go.

I digress.

Er…. Where was I?

It’s interesting to note that, typical of believers in my local area, this lady that approached my mother assumed Mom had similar enough beliefs to 
her own that Mom would be comforted by her words.

There's a workable segue.

I’m tired of the bible belt. Yes, it makes for some interesting things to write about, but when I think about raising my children here I grow sad. In our area there will never be anything we get involved in, any place we go, where we will not encounter fundamental christians who are either talking about their faith (a little annoying); assuming we share their faith (awkward); shocked, saddened or angry about our lack of faith (unpleasant); or trying to convert us (unacceptable). We don’t necessarily advertise our atheism everywhere we go, but when put on the spot we are open about it. And it’s surprising how often we’re put on the spot. And how it affects our future dealings with people in our community.

I suppose if it weren’t religion, it would be something else. But it would be nice to be some place where it wasn’t as prevalent. A little progressive thinking would be great.

Is it regional thing or a rural thing? Surely there are rural places in America that aren’t so populated with churches and closed minds? I don’t want to live in a big city. I love my little place in the country, I just wonder how my children will grow here.

But they take after their momma, and I’m think I’m pretty good at growing where I’m planted and making the best of whatever situation I’m in.

Perfect Motherhood, Perfect Body

I remember sitting one time, about three years ago, in a homeschool group meeting. A mom had brought some clothes to give away and the other ladies were sorting through the bag, discussing sizes, making jokes about how they'd never fit into a size 12 again and so forth. For no particular reason, one of the older moms began talking about her oldest daughter, whom most of us had never met.

"She has the perfect figure," she said. "Big on top, tiny in the middle, big on the bottom." She made an hourglass shape in the air with her hands. My blood boiled a little. Perfect, she says. Big tits, tiny waist, curvaceous ass. By whose standards?  Are we buying into what the media tells us is perfect? Are these our own ideas and preferences?  I looked down at my body.  Know what I saw?  I saw an infant, only a couple months old, cradled in my arms.  He was discreetly latched onto my "imperfect," small right breast, greedily sucking and gulping down life-sustaining fluid produced by my "imperfect" body.  I thought of my soft and baggy midsection striped with stretch marks.   I thought about the fact that seven of the most amazing people I know have lived there.  My body has grown, brought forth and nourished seven other lives!   My body is fucking amazing.  I smiled to myself.  My nursing infant had not one complaint about my body.

Neither has Denny.  He thinks I'm beautiful.  He touches me like he thinks I'm beautiful.  He has occasionally expressed awe at my body and touched it reverently, knowing it has produced life.  I think this is as it should be.  Early on he told me he thought that me being a mother was sexy.

Interesting perceptions we humans have.

Picky Eaters part 2-- Children Are People Too

Yes, yes, yes! A good friend of mine responded to my last blog post and gave me permission to share it anonymously here.  This is what I love, this interaction, this exchange of ideas.  This is what we can do for each other, folks!

Ok, so first, I've been following a family on Facebook called The Libertarian Homeschooler. She is the one that got me thinking. Then, in light of leaving the Bible and God's authority, it has made me come up with better reasons than, "God said so, so I said so," to say to my kids. Which then begs the question, why do I say so and why should they listen to me? So, then I have to ask myself, what authority do I really have over my kids, except that they live in the house that I provide for them, but does that mean they aren't still their own people, with their own desires, needs and ways of expressing themselves? 

In the Biblical model we are taught to believe "because the Bible says so" and "because the parent says to." But don't we want to raise kids who are able to think completely on their own without influence from us or the Bible or anyone else? Clearly, there will be some influence, but we want to raise independent thinkers. That is impossible to do in a biblical model, I think, so it's hard to let go of this idea that I have complete authority over my kids. I mean, they aren't really "mine" are they? They are only in my care because I birthed them and they are somewhat helpless until such a time as they can fend for themselves. My job is to provide food/shelter/protection/support until such a time as they are ready to be on their own.

Which brings us to your issue of food. And everything I'm saying, I'm saying just as much to myself as I re-think my role as parent in my world, so don't feel like I'm picking on you. 

What does it really matter if they turn up their nose at a certain dish? If it were a table full of adults in your dining room instead of a table full of kids, would we even for a second stop to question their reason for passing on a certain dish, or making them defend their reasons for wanting a piece of fruit instead of a pasta dish? Do I ever for a second consider myself ungrateful if I don't want to eat liver when it is served to me, or do I just know I don't like liver? Or pasta. Or whatever it is that I think my kids should eat, but won't. Why is it so bad for our kids to decide they would rather go hungry or to comment that they don't care for something and would rather not partake of it? I mean, if they are forgoing dinner because they are looking forward to ice cream, then maybe we need to help them see how those are bad choices for their health, but if they are choosing a piece of fruit instead, what is really so bad about that? I don't know... I want to raise autonomous kids who know their own mind, and that means they need to be able to make decisions for themselves, even the foods they eat, but that also means I have to allow them to make decisions, even ones that I don't like or agree with! Eeeek! Now, I think there is a way to teach being gracious and polite and such, but to make them eat something that they don't like just because we think it's the way to do things, isn't really respecting them as people is it?

One thing that has really made me go huh? is to ask myself if I would do the same thing to either me or another adult. So, if I were made to finish a meal I didn't like, how would that make me feel? Would I appreciate it? Would I learn a lesson or would I just be pissed that I was made to do something that I didn't want to do? Especially something as benign as eating something that was gross to me. In the whole scheme of things, taste is so individual and also so not a big deal, right? I think part of my thinking that it is a big deal is because mealtime is so much about authority/control in the biblical model that is still seeping through in my parenting without me even realizing it. So much stuff to get rid of, but man, it's hard!

Holy pasta, I love this woman!  It's such a pleasure to parent alongside her.  My response:

Thank you sooooo much! You've hit the nail on the head, methinks. Denny and I go back and forth with these conversations. What's funny is that I struggled with that whole, "God said so, I said so" authority thing early on, as I wrote about in my first book, and backed off on some of my former child-training methods. Denny, a long-time anarchist, oddly leaned more at first toward reigning the kids in a bit.  But we end up talking about these things at least once a week. 

 It's tricky, isn't it? Humans having such a long developmental stage is interesting.

We probably went too far with the food thing, too authoritative, but the thrust of our overall approach was one of attempting to help the children with some perspective. This is a way I think we can and should be helping our children. Not "Eat this because I said," but "Here are some reasons you might consider eating this without complaining." I realize I didn't wrap up the blog by saying what approach we would take from here on out. I’m actually not sure we decided on anything, we were just desperate to help them see some reasons their complaining is unpleasant.  I'm not inclined to force them to eat food they don't like, never have been.  I had a long talk with one of them, asked him to write up a list of foods he likes, and I'll do so with the other children, too.  We'll see if we can come up with some nutritious meals everyone enjoys. And I will invite them to help create them.  I said, "I'm a busy momma and I have nine people to feed, three times a day, every single day.   It's not always going to be food everyone likes.  But I'm more than willing to accept help in this area.  I want input, but I want it polite.  And I don't appreciate complaints from people who aren't willing to help."

You're so right; contrary to what we believed before, these children are not ours. You couldn't have explained it better.  I feel my oldest testing me from time to time, and stories of wild and "rebellious" teenagers have been coming our way. I told her, "If you want to do those things, you're absolutely free to.   You're your own person with your own choices to make, I'm just here to support you.  There may be limits to what Denny and I allow in our presence and under our roof, but we can talk about those things when you’re ready.” She appreciates it. I feel like she is growing tremendously and expects to crash into my boundaries any moment, but when we talk like this she relaxes. By giving her the freedom to be who she is, who she wants to be, I feel like I am giving her the freedom to make better choices for better reasons. I want her to have no one to rebel against and focus instead on being who she wants to be. Are their going to be bumps? Hell yeah. But I think this is the best way, and I think that as a result there will be fewer bumps than if I try to shape her into what I think she should be.

Anyone else?  Feel free to chime in in the comments!

Picky Eaters

A possibly culturally insensitive ramble about intentional parenting

My kids are picky eaters.  Most of them.  I was determined they wouldn’t be, but, try as I might, here we are.  Granted, they are probably not as picky as most American kids their ages (three to fourteen), and the odds of serving one meal that pleases all seven of them are less than if there were only two of them, but more often than not we hear a complaint or a simple, “I’ll just go hungry tonight.”

In the past I have worked hard to respect the fact that we all have different tastes and preferences and that sometimes we just don’t feel like eating.  As a stay-at-home mother I have been relatively in tune to my children’s health and well-being; I know what they’re eating and when.  No one is allowed to help themselves to food, they ask for fruit for snacks if they want something mid morning or mid-afternoon, they drink water all day and sometimes milk with meals, and the three meals are generally served at regular intervals.  If, for instance, Royal is quieter than usual and says he doesn’t feel like eating, he probably is coming down with something and it would be foolish to make him eat.  My ex used to make the kids eat everything on their plates and more than one of them threw up their dinner as a result.

It takes discernment to decide if they don’t feel like eating or if they just don’t like a particular food or if they’re just being ornery.  I ask them to try two bites of new foods and if they don’t like it they can go hungry.  For my little ones (three and under, or thereabouts) I’ve been more flexible, allowing them to have a glass of milk and/or piece of homemade wheat bread instead.  Over time we’ve learned that Atira just can’t stomach bell peppers or the texture of quiche, and the same with Blue regarding beans or Mexican-seasoned food, so if I put these foods on the table I also serve something they will eat.

I have allowed the just-go-hungry option recently for the older kids, but the younger ones have joined in on it.  What ends up happening now is that 1/3 of the table’s occupants opt out of the meal every other afternoon or evening and just wait until the next meal, hoping it’s something they like.  Some of them pout about it and we deal with that separately; I don’t want attitudes like that around, not for any reason.  There are two other issues we are concerned about; one is the ungratefulness for the food and the labor of the one who prepared it, another is that more often they are opting out of the more nutritious meals of the day.

Most months I plan ahead, creating a 30-day menu of evening meals (breakfasts are standard—every Tuesday this, every Sunday that, etc.—and lunches are leftovers or whatever easy, simple food we have around).  I would keep it posted on the fridge.  Denny observed that the children looked at the menu and decided to skip a lunch they didn’t like because dinner would be more to their satisfaction.  Or they would ask for snacks in the afternoon, planning to skip dinner.  We took down the menu.  That still didn’t help much.

It’s not like I’m cooking up wild ethnic foods, here; nothing spicy, rarely anything strong-flavored at all.

How do we help these children be grateful for the nutritious meals prepared for them?  We have told them about the children in Africa.  They were unimpressed.

This afternoon we had an issue over lunch.  A benign pasta dish which everyone used to like has fallen out of favor with a couple members of the family.  Pasta, mind you.  A couple more turned up their noses because I added some vegetables to it today.  I decided to offer them a small serving each and, trying to hide my frustration, make them sit at the table until they’d eaten it.  I won’t go into all the details, but one of my older children is having cold pasta for breakfast.

Here’s where having a wonderful man like Denny has made the difference in our home.  With my ex there was no talking sense, only butting heads, with kids caught in the middle if I wasn’t careful.  Certainly no conspiring together to educate the children and help them become better people.  But Denny is thoughtful and considerate.  We discussed the issue at length and came up with a plan.

I put a pot of rice on to cook.  Denny put together a third-world slide-show; starving children living in dreadful conditions.  He mixed up a small bowl of mud and set it aside.  When dinner time rolled around we sat the children down and talked to them about privilege.  We realized that we live in a bubble.  These children really have little idea what is going on outside our community.  I haven’t done a very good job of keeping the world on our radar over the years.  It’s time for that to change.  I don’t know yet what all it will entail, but we started with this tonight.

We played the slideshow and discussed with the children starvation, malnutrition, illness, death, and things we take for granted. It was very somber.  We moved to the table and Denny passed around the bowl of mud, asking the children to imagine being hungry enough to want to fill their bellies with that.  Yes, some of our children are too young to really understand, but they did seem to pick up on the mood and were listening quietly.  Then Denny fetched nine bowls from the cupboard and placed about a third of a cup of cooked brown rice in each one.  No butter, no salt, no soy sauce, no eating utensils.  We ate with our fingers and no one complained.  Justin, the youngest, looked a bit put off, but eventually ate with no complaints.

When we had finished eating we talked a little bit more about nutrition and being hungry.  Denny asked the children to look across the table at a sibling and imagine him or her as thin and sickly as the children in the photos. That seemed to really affect them.  It affected me.  Tears in my eyes and voice trembling, I told them that tonight, when they stretch out in their clean beds, cozy and safe, their tummies rumbling, to please not be upset with us, but to really think about the privileges they enjoy every day.  I asked them to please, please never again look at the food on our table and complain or turn away a nutritious meal because it’s just not to their liking.


How culturally insensitive is all this?  I couldn’t say.  I don’t for a moment feel that our actions in any way benefitted the world’s starving children. That was in no way our intention; a silly notion.  Actually, I feel what we did was a tad on the ostentatious side.  How can a considerate person not feel that way when comparing their lifestyle to that of the underprivileged?  The unprivileged?  Using images of unfortunate people and situations as props for my own goals rather left me feeling painfully white, sickeningly rich, and somewhat ashamed.  I think we made an impression on the children, though it won’t last without some continued education.  I think we managed wrap up the meal with humility, not pride, but maybe even that sentiment smacks of pride.  How do you sort out these feelings?  Is there anything we can actually do to help starving children in Africa or elsewhere?  If we reach out, will it be to improve their lives or to assuage the guilt of sitting down to a balanced meal at home?

Sci-fi, Fantasy, Religion

Another tale from a rural, mid-American atheist.
Because what is commonplace here might just make an interesting story somewhere else.

A bit of rambling backstory first.

With a houseful of rapidly growing children who are receiving their education at home, we are keen on opportunities to get the family out of the house for worthwhile activities and socialization.  Trips to the feed store, library and dentist are great, but they don’t quite cut it.  There are doubts that the weekly homeschool playgroup we’ve attended the last two years will come back together this fall, so we have been discussing our options.

Farra, "dark elf" age 14

Freed from the religious bondage that kept wizards, witches and Klingons at bay, my children have all blossomed into sci-fi and fantasy fans.  My wee ones run around with wands carved by their older siblings, casting spells in Latin with delightful British accents.  My oldest girl and boy have begun working metal, wearing elf ears, and experimenting with stage make-up.  (The cloaks are not new, however.  Cloaks are always in style.)  Our van will soon sport a Star Trek logo with “WWDD” by it:  What Would Data Do?

The children are writing stories about interstellar space travel, cursed elves, magic dogs, and hillbilly children named after, uh… plants.  The creative juices are flowing.  My oldest, at nearly fifteen, shared with me that she would like to be a traveling costumer and writer.  The most benign children’s games can turn into life-long hobbies and careers, you just never know.

So how do we, as parents, foster these seven creative geniuses and their unique skills and interests?  We start a sci-fi & fantasy club.  Duh.

Bonuses:  it involves other members of the community, feeds creativity and imagination in all, encourages each one to set goals and offers the support needed to reach those goals, and helps them develop social skills (especially as we hand over leadership of the group to our older children).  It’s like Scouts.  For geeks.

We put a little extra thought into creating something that would cross the religious bounds of our community.  No atheists or believers here, just sci-fi & fantasy fans.  In our community there are oodles of activities if you are a child of christian parents, especially in the summer with camps and vacation bible schools. There aren’t enough secular families to justify starting a secular group of any kind; besides, who wants to discriminate like that?  Nope, everyone would be welcome in our group.

So, our first meeting of Fantastic Worlds was last night.  We had only a few people outside of our family in attendance (still getting the word out, and it will be interesting to see if we get more or fewer people when school starts next month).  We discussed the purpose of the group, our favorite books, movies and characters, and we were in the middle of making the cardboard and duct tape daggers that one of the moms had bought for a project when in strolled a man that I at first took for a teenage boy.  Second glance put him maybe around thirty years old; he was short and awkward.  He was wearing a dress shirt, tie, and dark slacks.  He had come to inquire after one of our crew members, a fourteen year old boy who’d apparently skipped his piano lesson to join us.  The boy introduced us.

This boy happens to have a special place in my heart.  His grandparents used to live across the creek from us and when he would stay with them (just one of the many places the unwanted chap was passed around to) he would cross the creek to visit with us.  I’ve known him a few years; he’s bright and remains tender-hearted in spite of the neglect of those responsible for him.  Church is one place he’s been well-received and shown love; if not genuine love, then at least attention, and “good, clean” attention as far as our community is concerned.  (The best place for a troubled youth is church, right?  Where else is he going to learn morals?)  As it turns out, this piano teacher was an acquaintance from church.  I overheard my friend talking with him about the next Fantastic Worlds meeting, which would fall on an evening the church was hosting a revival (a hyped up, week-long church service).

The church man turned to me to ask if he could make an announcement.  I guessed he wanted to announce the revival and invite everyone.  Yep, seriously.  An evangelical christian knows no limits.  If there is a group of people gathered, for whatever reason, or even a single person, he or she will take the opportunity to try to get you to their church, or at least get you to believe you are a worthless human being in need of a bloody salvation.

Trying to think quickly, I decided to let him say his piece, but not without putting a word in myself.

His invitation was awkward, but sufficient.  He jazzed it up by saying, “You all are into sci-fi and fantasy.  Well, what I’m offering is even cooler.  All kinds of miracles happen.  People dance with their eyes closed and don’t even bump into things…”   He trailed off.  That was it.  I swear to pasta, that was the miracle he had to share with us.  Frankly, I was slightly embarrassed for him.  I would have been even three years ago, when I was a christian myself.  But my embarrassment for him didn’t prevent me from speaking my piece.  When he hopefully looked my way I took a deep breath for courage and a chuckle escaped me before I said, “Um, no.  Been there, done that.”  He looked at me, puzzled.  “I’m an atheist,” I said, clearly, proudly.  Maybe it was my imagination, but the look on his face turned to wonderment.  I like to think he was an atheist virgin and that I was his first.  Ha.  I continued, “I was a believer for many years before that.”

“Oh,” he stammered.  “Do you mind my asking what happened?”
“Sure,” I smiled, as friendly as I could be.  “I studied my way out of the Bible.  I was really steeped in it, but I studied and found out the god of the Bible was not real.”
“But he is real.  This stuff you guys are doing here, it can all be disproven, but God can’t.”  He almost found his feet there for a moment.
“Sir, I make no pretenses about what we do here, this is entirely and admittedly fiction.  As it turns out, so is God.”
He had nothing else for me.  He began to back toward the hall he’d entered by.  I had one more comment for him.
“But this group is open to everyone, believers or not.”  I didn’t want to misrepresent the group, make it seem like an atheist gathering.  I’m not sure he heard me as he turned and shuffled toward the door.

He retreated.  He actually turned and retreated at my words.  I have mixed feelings about that.  Part of me feels good for standing up and making it known that his church propaganda was not entirely welcome, that there are people who aren’t interested, people who know better.  Obviously to him we don’t “know better,” but I want people in my town to know that there are unbelievers here, that they are not the only ones around, and that if they are going to go into random places, uninvited, and share their “good news” then at least this one unbeliever is going to stand up and be noticed.  Yeah, I’m the kid that pointed out that the Emperor was bare-ass naked.  My only hope and purpose is to give others the courage to think about what it is they believe, or don’t.

A greater part of me wishes I’d handled it entirely differently.  I wish I’d thought more quickly when he asked if he could make an announcement.  I didn’t necessarily want to make a scene.  I wish that, knowing what he wanted to announce, I had asked, confirmed it.  Then I could have told him that although everyone is welcome in our group, religion isn’t, unless it’s acknowledged as the science fiction or fantasy it is.  Then, had he asked, we could have talked about my unbelief.  I feel this would have been a far nobler approach. 

Sigh.  I’m learning.

Sex Ed

Are you going to give your children sex education and how?

Okay, how about some random, rambling thoughts and interesting links?

I'm have been easing carefully into this sexual education bit. It helps tremendously to live on a farm with breeding animals. I know folks who've told their children, upon their surprise at witnessing the mating of chickens, "It's okay, they're just dancing." Seriously? How could you pass up a perfect opportunity to begin your child's education in reproduction and sex?! No, my children know about how sex works firstly from our around-the-farm conversations and events, secondly from my many pregnancies (at least, the older ones had that aspect). I chat with them about it casually. I don’t make a big deal of it and I don’t go into a lot of detail. Time for that later. For my eleven-and-unders this seems appropriate.

Tucker Creek Homeschool Sex Ed Teacher

But down the road? I don’t know. I am so conflicted still about my own sexuality and shame, as some of you have read here. I recognize the need to do something different with my children, to help them avoid some of the shame. I recognize that I may have already done some damage to my older ones by dragging them through the modesty mire, possibly, unintentionally, making them ashamed of their bodies. I can talk with them some, but I must lead by example. I’m still figuring this out.  I don't want to just swing the other way to get as far away from conservative christiandom as possible.

Only part of it has to do with the way we dress, but I still think the way we dress is important. We are projecting an image of ourselves and will be judged accordingly by everyone we meet. How can I present myself in a way I’m comfortable and also be respectful of others? Tricky balance. Frankly, I love long skirts, baggy shirts, and long braided hair, I always have, but I am tired of looking like a frumpy housewife. I am experimenting with clothing and hairstyles. I am feeling free to discover myself. You may be laughing or scratching your head; maybe this sounds curious to you. Maybe you’ve taken your freedom for granted. If you knew the culture I’ve been steeped in for the last several years you would understand.

Right off I'm thinking of this ultra-modest family we used to spend time with and how I focused so much on trying to dress appropriately for visits to their house. I became hyper aware of my body and my sexuality around them. I went to their home one evening wearing a button-up shirt I thought was very modest (read that: not attractive in the least) and had just stepped through the door and been greeted when my host discreetly pulled me aside and kindly buttoned the very top button of my shirt. She said nothing, but smiled a matronly smile. Of course, I was uncomfortable all evening; not just from the choking collar of my shirt, but oh my, what else was I wearing or doing that was unacceptable, immodest? I was ashamed of my skirt which came only to mid-calf instead of to my shoes like those on all the women in their family. I was sure everyone was staring at my legs the whole night.This is only a small bit of the type of shame I felt and the way christians, in my experience, focus on sexuality by trying to avoid it.

For myself and my children I want to find some balance between this shameful restrictiveness and flaunting of our sexuality. I am a sexual being, yes, but that’s not all I am and it's not necessarily the aspect of myself I want to bring to the forefront. How about a tiny bit of sexy with a side of humorous and large helping of brilliant? Yeah, that sounds good. Ha. Balance… balance… Who do you want to be? Create yourself. Put thought into it. That’s what I want my children to understand.

But beyond appearances...

I’d like to share a letter that I wrote to my children last December, after writing those bits about sexuality and shame. This is in Free to Be (page 217 in the paperback):

To My Dearest Children, 

Today you cannot fully understand how getting out of religion has changed the direction of our lives. Because we live in the midst of a culture of Bible-believers it may always be a part of your lives, but maybe that’s not such a bad thing. Seeing this culture around you will challenge you to think and make your own decisions. I guess that’s what I want most for you, the ability to observe and consider, to think critically and make careful decisions. This will be the key to your happiness and that of the people around you. 

Spending almost 33 years in a christian culture myself I learned some things I want you to be aware of, some things I want you to watch out for in your life. I learned that these things were true but now I know they are not. 

I learned that God was watching out for me. Now I know that I am in charge of my life and that I have to watch out for myself and learn to trust others in my life to watch out for me, too. 

 I learned that God would judge me. He would reward me if I was good and punish me if I was bad. Good and bad were decided by God and the rules written in the Bible. Now I know that the Bible was written by men who were just trying to make a culture (a group of people and the way they live) to be just the way they wanted them. It’s not for our culture today. We have many tools the writers of the Bible didn’t have, like our modern science, that enable us to make an even better world than they envisioned.

Not everything the Bible says is wrong, but some of the things it claims are good aren’t good and some of the things it claims are bad aren’t bad.

No one is going to judge you when you die. This is your life, here and now, and you can do whatever you want with it, but please, never forget that the things you do affect other creatures here on Earth! You will need to pay close attention and put thought into your actions. Decide for yourself what is good and bad. Does it hurt you? Does it hurt someone else? Does it hurt the Earth? 

I learned from the Bible and christianity that sexuality was something to be ashamed of, that if I kissed another person or had sex with them without being married to them that I was sinning, that I was doing something very wrong. Now I know that it’s not wrong, it’s a very normal thing to want to experience. Our sexuality is a very special part about being human; as far as we know, no other species experiences it like we do. Kissing and touching and sex are very beautiful ways to express our love for other people. Because it’s so special, we should be very careful with it. Though we are free to practice it with whomever we want, we should apply the same thoughtfulness to it that we do to other things. Ask yourself, will this hurt me or anyone else, physically or emotionally? Talk about it with the person you want to be with. Communicate.

Of course, you may decide some of this or all of this is something you want to wait to experience until you marry or find just the right person to commit to. That is a fine and beautiful choice, too! Just think about what’s best for you, what you want, and how to go about making it happen that way. Think.

Sex requires a little more thought than some other things in our lives. Because sex involves body fluids, diseases are sometimes passed from one person to another this way, sometimes very serious ones. Sex is also how we make babies, and babies shouldn’t be brought into the world unless or until you and your partner want them. So, be thoughtful and wise, get educated. There is much to learn to practice safe, healthy sex and the information is readily available. There are books at the library and you can always talk with an adult you trust. 

You know that I got pregnant with Farra before Daddy and I were married. We were just having fun and we didn’t think about the consequences. You may also know that we wouldn’t have gotten married if it weren’t for that. I felt a lot of shame because my culture, christianity, told me that what I had done was very wrong. I thought getting married would make it better; it did, as far as my culture was concerned, but it was not a good idea for Daddy and I. Of course, neither of us regret having Farra, but neither of us was really ready to be a parent. Also, we were not a good match for each other and shouldn’t have gotten married.

I wish someone had just hugged me and told me that it was okay that I made a mistake, that someone had helped me to see what the next best step would be for me instead of just trying to make things look better on the outside. But then, I cannot regret all of that because if we hadn’t gotten married we wouldn’t have the rest of you awesome kids!
That’s one of the funny things about life... it is what it is. Sometimes it’s what you make it, sometimes it just happens to you. If you don’t put the effort into making it what you want it to be then more of it just happens to you, which can be very hard! But, accept your mistakes and pick yourself up and move on to do your best. Surround yourself with good quality people who will help you do this. 

Anyway, it’s a lot easier to do the work and make life what you want than living under pressure from your culture and an imaginary God to be and to live a certain way, or to believe that a higher power is controlling things. It’s very nice to be free and I hope you all will grow up happy and confident in this freedom.

I love you so very much,
Momma

I don’t have all the answers. I’m still figuring out things myself, but I want to carefully lay foundation I can build upon later. I think I can do that even if my goals are as vague as “I want my children to be unashamed of their humanity” and “I want my children to think things through and to communicate.”

So many thing have popped up in my internet wanderings this week regarding sexuality. First, this breakdown of sex education in America, presented by Upworthy is shocking. It’s no freaking wonder we have the highest teen pregnancy rates in the world. Second, this absolutely amazing and articulate piece, The Failures of Sex Education, by tween activist Madison Kimrey, whom I have begun keeping my eye on since reading her feminist rebuttal to Phyllis Schlafly awhile back. She and her young friends are blazing remarkable paths in our world. True inspiration and hope for our youth. If you have nothing else to do tonight, and even if you do, go read this article. I’m just gonna share the first couple paragraphs to give you a taste:

High school is a complicated time in life. We’re preparing for college and careers, we’re defining and expressing ourselves, and we’re thinking about sex. However, the way many of my peers are thinking about sex is extremely unhealthy. Many of them are thinking about it as a way to level-up their relationships, as something that will make them more adult-like, and many view sex as something dirty. 

The messages teens get from many adults and from society do little but to reinforce these unhealthy views on the topic. It makes many adults uncomfortable to have frank discussions on the subject, either with or in front of teens, and because of this, teens are even less likely to engage in frank discussions themselves.

Even more disturbing and unhelpful are sex education programs designed to indoctrinate teens into a particular mindset regarding the most personal of topics. Abstinence-only programs are the manifestation of adult fear. In order to keep teens from making “bad decisions,” adults step in to attempt to control the decision making. The tactics used in such programs range from instilling fear into teens that any sexual relationship will lead to STD’s, pregnancy, or feelings of shame to directly trying to shame teens by comparing those who are sexually active to a piece of passed-around chocolate or chewed-up gum.

I won’t keep you because I want you to go read the whole article (and it's so hard for me to write about a subject when I've just read someone else's wonderful insights). Be sure to watch the video at the end of Texas Governor Rick Perry fumbling around, trying to answer a point-blank question about abstinence.

Girls like Madison inspire me. I don’t know yet what a complete sex ed will look like for my children, but I have reason to believe we’re on the right path.