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.

Tuesday, February 7, 2012


We left Memphis this morning carried by a talented DJ doing a bit on Mr. Ray Robinson Charles. I heard "Busted" for the first time. The drive was long. Ten and a half hours today from start to finish. I'm soon for bed, both boys already being asleep, so I'll attach pictures and captions and call it a night.

Visiting Grandaddy in the hospital early this morning, sharing a drawing war.

Rest-stoppin' it for a late lunch in Alabama. 

The Florida border! Late, but not too tired to whoop and holler when we crossed the line.

Clever phone! Helped us get to where we were going. Woody held it from south Alabama through Georgia and into Florida, following the blue dot and letting me know what was coming up. This was probably his favorite part of today's trip.

And this is my favorite part.

This was our first Facetime chat with Daddy Honey, new to cell phones as we are. Daddy Honey, a bit worried about our extended time away from him, is very happy about this capability.

It was the last thing we did before bed, and as I lay there with the boys, chatting softly about our drive and our plans for tomorrow, Woody was finding the camera on my phone and studying at making a straight face as he maneuvered his hand to come in close from the side of the lens, surprise-like, to blast Daddy Honey with his finger pointed like a gun. Daddy Honey, then, would surreptitiously return fire. This went on for our whole conversation. They boys (all of them) were delighted. And thus we had our two kinds of simultaneous communication, me, talking, they battling, all of us connecting.

I was so thankful in this moment that I had come to embrace the gun play. This exchange wouldn't have happened. I could have squashed it.