Today we spent all morning at the car dealership getting the car repaired. Luckily, the fix was covered by our extended warranty, but the weather was yuck, there was much glass and many bustling people about, which impinged some on our running around and making our own active fun, and the waiting room was not so engaging. I wish I had thought ahead to pack some paper and pencils, a couple of books, or a snack, but I didn't. (I know some parents have the packing routine down, but I've always struggled with it. I may get better at it; something in me might "click" someday. I have days that are perfectly prepared-for, but I always default to a kind of survival-pack plus whatever forgotten surprises lie on the floor of the car.)
Since we were the only folks in the waiting area, we got the remote control to ourselves and watched episode after episode of Tom & Jerry--a favorite, other Looney Tunes, then a couple of Scooby Do's. We ogled the vending machine snacks. (All my change was in the car, inaccessible in the service area.) And we made three trips each to the water fountain and one trip together to the bathroom.
Three hours of that. Waiting. Busying our minds. Zoning out, tuning back in, pacing, still waiting. Interestingly, though, one of the modern Looney Tunes episodes was about Bugs wigging out on energy drinks since his doctor told him to scale back his coffee drinking. Daffy and Porky finally stepped in when Bugs had rearranged the furniture in the whole house, decorated for Christmas in June, and was on the treadmill while talking on his cell phone while talking to them. Watching that while sitting fairly still and quiet in the waiting room was an interesting juxtaposition.
The energy of the morning and midday was subdued, quiet, more passive, a light blue-gray in hue. If I had had an A.A. Milne story to read aloud, it would have been the perfect time for it. But settled cozily in big black leather chairs watching cartoons together with the whirs and buzzes of mechanics' tools int he background had a sweetness to it, too.
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.