My son Woody turned six in November of 2011. That would have been the kindergarten year for most kids, 180 days that mark the beginning of the school career. But Woody did his learning in the big, wide, beautiful world, without school being a part of it.

I'm Teresa Honey, and I kept this blog to document this time in my son's life, to share pictures and stories with far-away friends and relatives, and to add ours to the many stories of families living rich, engaging, loving lives with learning happening all the time and in many forms, totally inseparable from every other part of being human.

Here you'll find 180 or so learning moments recorded from August, 2011 to April, 2012 in the life of a 5-turned-6-year-old radically unschooled kid.

Saturday, October 15, 2011


Fox, on the left, is having a day. Because of a brief miscommunication between Daddy Honey and me, he was separated from us at the farmers market today for about 15 seconds. It was plenty long enough for him to register our absence and for the deep, deep, panicked worry to set in. I saw it on his face when I bent down to pick him up. (Oddly enough, two minutes after this happened, we saw a little boy about his age who really had lost his parents, and he was trying to cross the street, and we went and brought him back to the information booth, where his dad just then found him. That little boy was really, really upset, too, and didn't pick his head up off his mom's shoulder for a good ten minutes afterward.) Since then, there has been a lot of yelling and crying at our house. It reminds me of the Ernest Hemingway story, "A Day's Wait," about the little boy thinks he is dying, and is trying to be brave, but when he finds out he is not dying, all those feelings burst open.

So, we are all trying to be extra patient and kind with Fox today. In the picture, we are playing war. Woody first thought all the soldiers should be equally distributed among us, but when it became plain that Fox wasn't really in a state to offer any of his, Woody worked with what was left. He counted them at 24, asked me how many was half, which I told him, and then he counted 12 out for himself and gave me the rest. It turned out that I was a little handicapped with no mortar men and two binoculars-holding generals, so he traded a few pieces back and forth until he felt the weaponry was more evenly matched. 

But then, my entire army was exploded with one well-placed bomb before they'd even all been set up, so the battle was over and it was time for fish and chips lunch.