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.

Monday, January 30, 2012

120

When I was pregnant with Woody, I always thought of him as doing yoga poses in my belly; his movements were long, gentle, and slow, but solid, and his little heart rate was steady at 120 beats per minute.

I went to my first yoga class in 2001 at Florida State University where Pam Lightner taught me in her soft, friendly voice about chakras and energy and my favorite pose, the crow. And for a long while after that I dipped in and out of yoga, mostly out, to my regret. But recently I found on Netflix a yoga video that I liked well enough. So, we are trying it. Fox is not so happy about me doing this, and climbs up and under and on me and asks me to stop. Woody did yoga with me as a toddler and littler boy, and alternates between doing the poses with me and coaching me along. I must say, both are pretty cute:

"Extend the arms, mama! You're supposed to be up now! Are you taking the breath now? This one's called Down Dog."

"Look at me; is this right? I have some pain. She said stop if I have some pain. They're using a chair. I want to use a chair."


In my younger mama days, I imagined this morning, doing yoga with my son in a quiet, sunny house (though I didn't, at the time, imagine another sleeping son in it!).  I saw our days moving in happy, relaxed rhythms, punctuated with fresh, organic meals, favorite books, long walks in the woods, and wise and loving friends. I saw Woody as uncannily calm and mature, confident and kind. I saw myself twenty pounds lighter. 

It's funny now to think of the map I made in my mind of how we would get to six years old. And even though, when I would talk about this with other parents, they would laugh and tell me, "Good luck!," I held on for a while, Woody's first three years, more or less. I'm glad things changed, that they became a lot more about what worked for our family rather than what was ideal in my mind, and what Woody wanted and needed rather than what I thought he wanted or needed. But I like, too, moments like this where that old vision is brought back to my mind because a small piece of it actually fit, that the life I imagined wasn't so far off the mark, broadly speaking: doing yoga with my son in a quiet, sunny house, ignoring the dustbunnies under the TV, thinking about whether or not I want to serve last night's hamburgers for breakfast, listening with one ear for the little tank to wake up and plow into me, grateful for the minute I shared with Woody in Eagle pose before he took his beautiful swirling chi on to the Star Wars action figures.