We have a crew of “Ologists” at our house.  Experts in dragons, fairies, Egypt, elves, pirates and so forth abound.  Yesterday, for instance, there were very serious discussions about fairy bait as well as what temperature to keep a frost dragon’s egg.  Do not make light of such matters or risk being scorned as one of the unbelievers and then blamed for the lack of magical creatures.

I try, really I do.  Imagination is high of on our list of hopes for our children and they all seem to be doing quite well in that department (it is a common comment on many report cards coming home that our Ologists exhibit extraordinary imagination and creativity).    But there are times when I falter.  Like yesterday when I was trying to have a discussion as to why I would not let the sugar bowl go outside to be fairy bait in the newly constructed fairy house.  “But Moooooom,” Moose whined, “Fairies like sugar, they won’t come without it.”  I tried reasoning, “Yes, that may be so, but so do ants and wasps and you don’t want them in your fairy house, do you?”  Ha, ha!  How could he argue with that!  “Well, maybe the ants and wasps are the fairies’ pets!”  I gave up and gave him one pinch of sugar in a bottle cap and a jelly bean.

Now our four-year-old son Scoob is either truly imaginative or precocious (or I guess he could have magical sight) because he was ecstatically watching the fairy house and recounting their comings and goings—“Look there is one on my finger!” much to the chagrin of Moose (age six)—“Where???  Why can’t I see it?  I believe in fairies!!!”  Scoob smiled knowingly and continued to play happily with his new friends.  The not-so-subtle-mother that I am tried a tactic to elicit work.  “I don’t think fairies like this messy garden.  Maybe they will come if we pick up all of this dead brush and leaves and take it over to the compost pile,” I said hopefully.  Knowing in their heart-of-hearts I am no fairy expert they asked Arwen (14) who is trusted on such matters.  I try to ally quickly, “Right, Arwen???”  She gave a half-hearted “Sure, Mom,” which totally gave me away.  Drat. 

But there is something truly wonderful about a motivated child.  What I see developing besides creativity is a love of learning.  Being an Ologist means being a researcher and a studier.  These children are amazing.  Last year Cherish and Slim took to studying hieroglyphics.  They spent hours on end last summer translating texts into hieroglyphics, writing each other notes, and quizzing each other in the car, (“What letter is a broken vase with a triangle in it?  A squished lemon?  Horizontal squiggly lines?)  Arwen does not want to take Spanish, French, or German, “Why can’t I take Elvish?” she laments often, that she studies enthusiastically just for the love of it even though no one else speaks it.   Slim has studied diligently for the past few months all of the Dragonology texts, completing all of the exercises to be an official Dragonologist.  For as much work as he did he should have got college credit, (he has asked if there are college classes on dragons.)  The site www.ologyworld.com is visited daily in this house.  Moose is eagerly awaiting the Monsterology book due out later this year so he can be the Monster expert around here.

Having all of my resident experts is a wonderful blessing.  I love their enthusiasm and we encourage them to find out answers for themselves rather just give our lame ideas.  They all enjoy that process of searching for information, then they own that knowledge.   So often now in our schools they teach to the test (but that is a whole other blog!), sometimes they catch the spirit of research and mastery in school, but often not.  Our hope is this love of learning, this learning to learn, this passion and enthusiasm , as well as the creativity and imagination all continue with all of our children throughout their lives.    Here is to being Thinkologists!

Another one from the archives! 1999 published in The Wise Mother

            As I write this, my year old son Slim is falling asleep at my breast.  He is looking more and more grown-up all the time.  He is beginning to mimic everything we do, blowing kisses and throwing balls to his big sisters Arwen and Cherish, making animal noises like Daddy, and patting Mama on the back, to name a few.  In light of this, I have decided to give him his first doll for Christmas.  Oh sure, he carries around his sisters’ dolls, but I want him to have his own baby to play “Daddy” to.

When we give toys to our children we communicate our values to them.  My daughters know how Mama feels about doll bottles, Barbie’s, and guns by my actions as well as our discussions.  And while those explanations will continue with little Slim, perhaps a new dialog needs to begin on the importance of parents—both of them.  Girls have continued to play with dolls despite the “feminist” movement telling us to instead give our daughters toys that were traditionally “boy” toys.  I am not saying we shouldn’t offer girls and boys the same toys as well as the same opportunities, in fact I am saying precisely that.  Lets be sure to give our sons the same opportunity to model good parenting as we do our daughters.

            My husband  is a wonderful father, and no he didn’t play with dolls (other than his Dapper Dan).  But I want to change that for the next generation.  I want Slim to be able to honor his father by modeling his behavior: comforting his babies, wearing his babies in the sling, sleeping by his babies, and giving the babies to Mama to breastfeed.    I want to communicate to Slim that being a terrific father is more important than being a fire fighter, a pilot, a teacher, an engineer, or whatever profession he chooses to pursue.  I want him to know that terrific fathering is not something that just happens, I want him to plan for it, role-model it, and expect it just like I want my daughters to plan and prepare for mothering.  In our vocabulary “mothering” means nurturing, but “fathering” instead merely refers to the act of co-creating.  I don’t want my son to think that is where a father’s job ends.

So this Christmas morning Slim’s first doll will be under the tree. I will watch with emotion and anticipation.  I can only hope it is more interesting to him than the box it comes in.

One from my archives! Back when I only half of my present gang.  April 1999  Published in The Wise Mother

            Too much to do!  My list runneth o’er!  My sweet baby, Slim, wakes up before I can make a dent in the list of things that absolutely must be done today.  Now, with the baby on one hip, I get my preschooler, Cherish, another drink while still cleaning up the remains of the first one.  What is my priority now?  I try to decide if it is the sticky floor or the bills or —before I can go any further in my thoughts the doorbell rings.  Great!  Yet another interruption to this day!  On the way to the door I mentally add eight things to my TO DO LIST.  I open the door and I am suddenly aware that there is a beautiful day outside.  Until that moment of sunshine and warm air hitting me, I was consumed by my housework and tending to the needs of my little ones.  My  little bubbly Cherish pushes past me to see who rang the bell.  No one there.  The sunshine seems to pull her forth from the house, beyond her control.  “Mama!  Let’s play!” she cries.

            Go, Rachel, go!  voices from beyond, my past and my future at the same time call to me.  Live without regret!  they seem to say.  All of the sudden I see myself in Cherish– in my mind’s eye I am four again.  I run with reckless abandon just for the sake of running.  I spin and spin in circles until falling giggling to the earth.  I see the trees and bushes as my dream-house, palace, and fairyland.  I live in the moment with the sheer joy of each minute and all of its possibilities.  I hear that younger-self calling to me through the years to remember, for a few moments to drop the laundry and the bills, forget returning e-mail and phone calls and go outside and play.  “I’ll never get so old I won’t love being dizzy!” the younger self reminds me.  We can explore the tall, tall pine tree that strands guard in front of the house.  We hide in the secret forest in the side yard, untended and utterly perfect.  We pick up rocks just to look for ‘tater bugs and worms.  We explore, and pretend, and imagine.

            Rachel, Rachel!  A grandmotherly voice calls back to me, but it is very familiar.  There are never enough cuddles, never too many I love yous, . . . my future self calls to me.  Stop.  Don’t yell at that precious child for leaving the door open or going out without shoes, those things don’t really matter in the end.  She’ll be all grown up before you know it, showing no interest in climbing trees nor finding bugs.   Treasure these tender moments; make the most of each one.  Make memories!  Live without regret!

            Snapping back to the present, I find myself standing at the open door with my giggling baby still in arms.  He is reaching for the package at my feet; the driver is down the block by now.  I have been given a gift.  I look up to watch Cherish run and play barefoot, hair blowing in the wind, carefree.  Slim pats my cheek with his sweet, sticky hands as if he is asking to be put down to join his big sister. It hits me that this is what life is about.  It is these decisions, those made in seemingly insignificant moments, which make up the bulk of our lives.  Today I choose to make a memory for me, for us.  I will live without regret.  Enough of the mundane.  We’re going outside to play!