Daniela Ginta, Freelance Writer

Gratitude makes the journey better. Kindness, too.

Tag: parenting Page 9 of 14

Two Boys and Their Smiles. Seasons and School

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On September 3, 2015

In Learning, Life Stories, Motherhood, Self-improvement

FaceThe summer came to an end a few days ago. Or so it seems. It is cold in early morning, and cold at night. It feels like late October mornings when dollops of hot breath snake out of your mouth and you feel the tip of your nose becoming a separate, cold entity.

Calendula orange suns are the only flowers that still ornate our lost little garden, the one that became so small and dry it required daily water support. Except that we were not here every day and thus the story of what could have been ended a while go with some sorry half-ripened tomatoes and leggy minuscule cucumbers that tried to embrace some oh-so-dry beans with their last drop of climbing energy.

Summer endBut I will not dwell too much on that. The summer had its fruit in days of hot and silly times, it had swimming and traveling and waking up so late the sun was almost scolding us. It had starry nights and lying in the dry grass in the back yard waiting for a meteor shower that we barely saw but relished the experience so much that we thought it was a successful adventure. Are they not all like that though?

Yes they are. Boys grow and as they do, they make it so. We dance as they sing and no one knows which song comes next. Life happens. It did so all summer and now fall comes back like a stray dog we left behind last year. Hello September, here already? Of course you are.

But this year… Stop. We talk about school but our words have wings. The boys and their smiles are complete. We have stacks of books awaiting, we have stories to tell and write and we have a world to discover. And then another. Time will not stand still. Be it so, we make it sing with us.

Boys smile and snuggle in early morning, hikes to follow just before we start the day of school which this year we will call homeschool.

as far as...With gentle ties to online schools that will assist our flight, plus a forest adventure every week for little boy. Thus shall be our dance and time will have its say complementing our words rather than have us chase for better ones. Time is never enough, not with growing kids and life tumbles. Slow slow, so you can hear leaves whooshing in the wind and blades of grass grow…

 

them twoTime with boys, growing boys that still have plenty of smiles and their growing trust. That we can have our school here, that we learn together and travel to places unknown. Day after day, this month and the next and all that will follow until the nest becomes too small for their wings, the boys will snuggle, ask for more, ask for less, laugh, scream loud enough for half the world to hear, hug and say ‘I’m sorry, never again’, and then it will happen again, because we never learn all there is to learn, but keep on trying… and I will see it all, I will see their footsteps tracing paths I never knew existed. It is so. Magic.

To flySchool, ours, with two boys and their smiles. To fly, infinitive. To make wings out of love and have them spread all the way over the horizon. ‘Tis so.

Lessons Sprouting Out Of Small Gardens. Eight.

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On August 16, 2015

In Learning, Life Stories, Motherhood, Self-improvement

FlavoursIt is by no one’s fault in particular that the garden this year is of Lilliputian dimensions and rather drab looking. A far cry from last year’s. But such is life. The road reveals itself as you go and gardens have a way of teaching humbleness. Lesson one.

Like parenting. I said it before. The parallel is striking. The temptation to dismiss the less glamorous results and expect excellence cannot lead to growth of any kind. We’d be stalled in deciphering the meaning of it all. Hiccups give a measure of worthiness. Struggles. Lesson two.

Despite its size and abysmal appearance (tours by request, not that anyone would, and no, there is no fee other than accepting the immutable truth that dandelions are not weeds) a garden is a book to read and learn from. Small print like this year’s in particular.

PagesHaving never read a garden makes no difference. Learning happens as you step outside in early morning and clumps of dry grass become artesian fountains; instead of water, grasshoppers. They waltz in the morning air, so at home in their long graceful jumps you start wondering in whose garden you all are after all… Be grateful, they seem to say, even a small garden can be shared. Lesson three.

 

TeenyLife is always to celebrate. Dead quiet is scary and sad. Gardens are supposed to buzz, I learn as I crunch my way through towards the tiny pickling cucumbers and miniature beans bushes. Feet want it soft, but the roughness reminds of hot summer air and water too precious to waste on too hungry a lawn to make a difference after all. It’s never about my slight discomfort, visual, physical or otherwise. We’re here to sharpen our sight se we can see the big picture… Sharp sight goes well with softened hearts. Lesson three.

Tiny curled cucumbers befriend leaves that keep them safe from the hot son. What if this garden and its humble harvest was all I had to feed my family? What if? What if no one wasted a bite ever again? What would the ripple effect look like? Humbleness, again. So much to say thank you on any given morning. Lesson four.

Keep on reading gardens. Too small you think? Too dry? They never are… You’ll read in a handful of dirt you pick up, in a leaf that sits in the sun but never burns to a crisp as I would, in the bugs that crawl on the dark green kale… Mysteries. Can you see? Hear? Save time for being where you are, for the one blink that teaches you about how fast everything goes. Lesson five.

still thereBloomAs if the garden is not small enough, the bugs make it smaller by eating the kale leaves. Former green lush tongues spike the air as empty stems, sorry looking and slightly confused. Who’s the thief? The nighttime bug show is on every night. I sleep, they crunch and munch their way through the only leaves that made it to full size. We’re only as alive as the world, visible and invisible. Light and dark, up and down, gifts and plundering… Accept it all, choose to not be bothered but enlightened by learning that you’re given challenges as you go. Lesson six.

Boys burst out in the sun, sleepy faces, bug kisses on arms and legs, hugs… reminders. They are one day older, one day closer to learning that it is all in the choices we make. To feel the sun pinching your cheeks, to smell the summer air, to learn that grasshoppers hear with their tummies and to never take anything for granted… not even a small enough garden. Lesson seven.

Orange sunsnever give upI pick calendula orange suns. They’ll become golden oil for winter days. I pick lemon balm and mint for tea, basil and tarragon. Small and fragrant. Life abounds. If only I remember to see it. Through the lenses of my Lilliputian garden where sunflowers match the theme. Small. Despite all, it grew. Barely reaching knee height, my only sunflower never considered quitting reaching for the sun. Lesson eight. 

Consideration Is The Only Way To Go

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On July 22, 2015

In Armchair Mayor Column, Learning, Life Stories, Motherhood, Self-improvement, Social issues

Initially published as a column in the AM News on Friday, July 17, 2015. 

then and thereYesterday we landed on Denman Island and luck had it that we got a campsite by the ocean in what could easily be called ‘slice of paradise’. Night came and with it clouds and a bit of rain. Might as well, it is not only needed in our bone dry province but it really suits the ocean well.

We had dinner and listened to the waves. Lights flickered on the islands nearby and on the sky that was occasionally cleared of clouds.

A light came on at the site opposing ours. Then musical instruments, and an impromptu band complemented our night by the ocean. A group of musicians, most of them calling themselves ‘old enough to know that song’ who meet every year on the island for a couple of weeks, managed to add a touch of magic to the night.

For two hours or so, they provided us all with music and laughs. It happens when there you can count the sites on the fingers of your hands. We got to chatting and found out about other campsites on nearby islands where partying takes a different path.

Many young people bring enough alcohol and recreational drugs to party hard, which makes it noisy and unpleasant for the rest of the campers there. No softly sung tunes that invite in, we’re told, but raucous and uncomfortable.

It made me think father then just camping. It’s everywhere and it has to do with everything we do, from everyday life activities we have to do, to the recreational ones. Some people live with consideration towards others, while others live for themselves and do not bother think whether their actions impend other people in any way. Everything we do impacts others and it takes a good deal of brain power trying to figure out why some simply do not care.

It shouldn’t be this way with anything.

Raising our children in a way that helps them learn that everything they do might prevent a lot of heartache down the road.

As we drove through a handful of small communities along the northern part of Vancouver Island, we got to talk to a few people and learned a lot. Many communities have been heavily and negatively impacted by the industries that provided work for most of the people for enough years to make people dependent on it, but recent changes in laws (think the last decade or so) created work vacuums that saw the same communities dismantled and people scattered in search of means to survive.

The story repeats itself at every level. Local people are employed by certain industries (mainly logging here) but often times they see things that oppose their communities’ beliefs, yet speaking up might mean job loss and inability to provide for their families.

Just the same, residents can wake up with chemicals being sprayed way too close to their only source of water and no accountability for what could mean health issues down the road for people who form too small a community to have a loud enough voice to be heard.

These are beautiful places, just like the rest of our province and country, where nothing deleterious to people or nature should ever occur. Not if people would live with consideration for others.

People’s efforts to save beauty and the pristine while also allowing the necessary work-providing industries is the same in every community, be it large or small, except that in the small ones everything is more visible.

With enough consideration and less greed, everyone would have a fair chance to live a life they’d earn with decent work and enjoy the places they choose to live in. Consideration cannot be achieved by secrecy or governments that do not consider the impact of their laws on the very people they govern, but by openness that allows for opinions to be shared and consequences to be understood and if negative, prevented.

such isConsideration allows for joy as well. Whether it concerns working, vacationing, driving (rather shocking to realize how many tailgaters live in our very province), building a new home or an industrial project, activities that people undertake, individually or as a group, should be taken through the necessary filter of consideration and respect.

Lack of it benefits a handful, while its presence benefits all. Choosing the latter and educating ourselves and our children in that way of living makes all the sense.

Sliced Mango… And Yes, That

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On May 29, 2015

In Learning, Life Stories, Motherhood

brightThat morning the boys asked for mango for breakfast. ‘Cut in squares Mom, you know how you do that, with the peel still on.’ I do. Squares. Orange yellow, a colour so deep that it draws you in. It smelled fresh and it reminded me of summer mornings, of this year, of last year, of so many summers we leave behind never to look at again because life takes us too fast, too far, too rushed.

They ate the mango, square by square. Yellow mustaches, peels left on the side of the plate.

Then it was time for school. We walked to the bus stop, little boy and I, today’s book ready. Peter Pan. A world of boyish everything, following swiftly after Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn. ‘Read, Mom, please.’ Yes.

We snuggle, the sun budges in like it should on this mango-bright morning, and we read. I read for both of us.

We get off the bus and the book is not done. We walk and I read… ‘When a baby laughs for the first time, a fairy is born.’

‘You know, I caught your first laugh. Your brother’s too’… Little boy looks at me, smiles. ‘Really, you did? How?’ I knew it will come, so I waited… and they did. Shy and small like a seedling finding its way towards the world. those first laughs make the world I open my eyes to every morning. So much grew out of them since…

Big little boy and I do school later on. We’re outside on the sun-drenched porch, then in the garden, picking things up, measuring, observing, learning. ‘Mom, I love this. How we talk like this.’ I do too. We’re fortunate. Seedlings to grow… We go for a hike, we breathe in sunshine and make it ours. To have and to hold.

LeftThat night little boy looked straight into my eyes for a brief few seconds before another hug laced his sweet smelling hair all over my face. ‘I don’t want to grow up Mom, because when I do you will grow old and die one day, and I do not want that. I cannot live without you.’

I smelled his hair. His words, like summer birds touched by a sudden winter chill, sat silent in between us, cradled between two deep breaths. Where to from here?

‘It’s a long way away my love…’

It sounded almost ridiculous. I am never ready for this. Big little boy once said the same, a few years ago and a few times since. It chilled me the same and I mumbled the (now you know) ridiculous ‘oh, i will be so old by then…’

Hugs fix something like this. Soul patches of some sort, pain over joy and joy over pain, like a game where you keep building wondering if the tower will topple soon. But what if you don’t? What if you know that it does topple at some point, but you’ll build another. And then another.

boyA game is all, children most of all know that. Thoughts come and go, like river waves lapping over shores. But a river is not just the waves. It’s the many shades of blue and green, it’s the murkiness, it’s the breeze and the skies of blue that ask for a bit of peace so that a mirror can be for a bit, it’s the sound of birds that live alongside and keep alive because of it and more.

The game is real.

You can’t complain that time does not deal a fair hand. You take what you get and make the best of it. Now is what we have. Now is ours. Mine, yours. Time is not to worry about, because you should know, time is what we tell it to be.

Time gameWe deal time our own hand you know, and a measure of worthiness. It’s a game, but it’s real.

The School Conundrum. Again

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On October 10, 2014

In Life Stories, Motherhood, Self-improvement, Social issues

Morning todayThe trees in our front yard are raining leaves, swayed by the same gentle breeze that has been peeling off grey clouds from the hills that are now draped in a bright October sky. You cannot take this kind of beauty for granted.

I called the boys to witness the sight this morning. Fresh out of warm beds, pitter-pattering bare feet on the wooden floors, eyes and souls pried open by the carnival of nature. It’s Friday, a long weekend begins today and that is reason for celebration: among others, school is out until Tuesday. This year, the fall comes with changes we’ve been anticipating for a while but had yet to address: We are on the brink of homeschooling, at least part-time for now, unless the school deems such liberal approach unrealistic, in which case it becomes a full-time adventure. Conventional schooling has been creating a few ripples for a while now, and the reasons are as complex as they are puzzling.

It’s not academic challenges that have led us to where we are today but the opposite, and the negativity that sprouts from being immersed in a system that allows for wings to be clipped, thus preventing children to think for themselves instead of encouraging them to do so, and welcoming the challenge that can only lead to minds that will keep expanding. The world today requires thinkers more than ever; people who will challenge established, convenient views not for the purpose of being different but because they see occasional wrongness and are able to envision better outcomes through revisiting and reshaping concepts. That is a tall order.

I believe every independent, critical thinker starts with a baby dropping an object and delighting in being able to do it again and again (hopefully, if adults will allow) until one day the baby becomes the child asking why the object falls instead of floating and thus beginning the amazing journey of discovering the world. The question is: how do we make curiosity grow into creativity and critical thinking? Rules are different than boundaries, and rules that have no other explanation than ‘because I/we said so’ or ‘because that’s how it’s always been’ will work against everything that the human spirit is born to live up to.

I have, over the summer, witnessed my boys delving into what interests them without any reservations, waking up every day ready to create, play, read, run around, and share their joy of seeing the world and learning about it through the unique lenses each of us is born with. It’s easy to become addicted to that twinkle of joy in their eyes. Curiosity just ate a big portion of what will make my appetite for learning grow even bigger, they seemed to say.

On the other hand, I have witnessed morning grumpiness, frustration, moans and complains associated with going to school. Why is that? Many reasons that have, for a while, made me question whether my sons are seeing the world through negative lenses. Raised to trust a system that promises to address my children’s academic needs and help develop social skills and help them thrive, I ended up doubting it greatly and feeling as if I was failing my sons by not listening carefully to how they saw it all. While my youngest is still shielded from some of it, my oldest’s lists of complains has been growing steadily: Boredom, lack of challenging subjects, repetition of already learned topics, gratuitous forbidding of what one could call ‘normal children’s play’ by supervision aids who seem to forget that children need to feel welcome and safe rather than incarcerated in the space dedicated to learning of life skills, authority figures that fail, sadly, to grow into appropriate role models because the way they approach teaching and disciplining intimidate children, rather than motivate them to do better and learn more.

Six hours a day should cover enough interesting material to make the mind soar. Instead, it leaves my oldest say it is more of a daycare than he would ever want it to be. A few interesting topics covered do not make up for the ones that are either not challenging enough or downright insulting towards children that can and should be trusted with so much more. The problem is not all are at a level that allows for more challenging material, I am told by teachers. Many higher grade students struggle with basic things and that has to be addressed. I believe both teachers and students are double-crossed by a system that does not see the forest for the trees. It is not the teachers’ fault that children are not up to par, and if I am correct, we are witnessing the degradation of a learning system that has become children-led but not in a constructive way. Children need boundaries and guidance, rather than praise and complacency. They need to be presented topics that will pique their interests whatever those interests turn out to be, rendering them wide-eyed and ready to jump in with questions and delightful ideas to build further thinking avenues from then on. If a child falls into lack of interest and boredom or downright hates school, it’s not the child’s fault, or the teachers or the parents’, but the system that prevents all of them to move freely and understand that every child is born with a mind ready to learn and create and should be fully encouraged and nourished to do so.

A taste of added challenge is only for the gifted ones though, which, I am told, my oldest son is. I’ve never believed in that concept. I believe both my sons are creative in their own special way, just like every child is. As for gifted, the greatest gift of all, which is life, has been given to all of us. Beyond that, it’s up to them to build a path showing what they are interested in and it’s up to us adults to help their creativity and love of learning grow; through discussions about what they see, what they learn and through debates on topics that go beyond political correctness and ‘thou shall not’. I do believe that, given enough attention but also room to explore and find their interests, all kids have to potential to thrive.

Fall days ahead will be bringing sunshine and cloudiness, blue skies and grey, just like many hours of pondering over this complex matter will bring arguments that will help solidify our decision. Our decision, not mine or my sons’ alone, but ours as a family, ours as people who hold themselves accountable to each other, and  keep together, knowing what we stand for and honouring the amazing gift we’ve been entrusted with: life.

It should go up from here, bumps in the road notwithstanding.

To be continued…

In Praise Of Slowness

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On July 9, 2014

In Armchair Mayor Column, Kamloops, Life Stories, Motherhood

Originally published as a column in the AM News on Friday, July 4, 2014.

Slow...We were on a mission to get a couple of laneway wild poppies, my youngest son and I. We were inspired by one of the vendors at Art in the Park on Canada Day. In case you missed it, make sure you go next year. It’s not something you should be OK with missing out on…

We have always pressed wildflowers and used them for various art projects but this would be a step up, where the whole plant minus the roots gets pressed and mounted in a frame, as we saw at the fair. Talk about slowing down time.

It was 11am or so, and we were to cross Columbia Street. We stood on the sidewalk by the crossing, my son’s small hand in mine and we waited. Three rushed cars later, we were still waiting. I dared to put a foot on the wide white stripe. Open Sesame?

A fourth car stopped, screech included. A thank-you wave did not melt the driver’s face into a smile. He was in a rush and that crossing was clearly not a happy addition.

We crossed and walked a few blocks to get the two lone poppies. They were just about ready to drop their petals, which will only make it better in the final display.

We made our way back, talking about wild plants and how they grow, with no one to take care of them. Then we talked about fruit trees, why you need to graft them and how long it takes for them to bear fruit. We saw cherry trees loaded with fruit, cherries on the ground and bugs giving in to their sweetness.

On a back street life slows down and there many bits of life to see; our slow steps matched the rhythm of it.

Crossing Columbia Street reminded us what fast is, again. Even residential streets become fast lanes occasionally, which makes both walking and cycling with or without children a challenge many times. Rushed can turn dangerous in a split second; I’ve seen it happen enough times to fear it.

Why rush? Life pushes us into the fast lane occasionally, or often. Yet no matter how often that happens, slow can still be fit in there somewhere.

In fact many things cannot be done in rushed manner or else they come out wrong. Learning takes times, growing food takes time, reading to a child better take time, creating or building anything that is to be durable and worthwhile takes time.

Slow is not robbing us of time but rather gifting us time.

Rushing has become a religion of some sort. We put rushed and busy together and we feel accomplished. Truth is, sometimes we do, and sometimes we don’t. There should be room for both.

If you are an adult today you had the benefit of being born in a world that was likely less rushed than the one today. Children nowadays eat on the go, they get dressed on the go, they get to be driven places because there are many places to go for so many activities and so days tumble, one after another, year after year.

But they need slowness. That’s how they come out. The first walks I took with the boys were the epitome of slowness. Picking up leaves, rocks, staring at how rain drops made puddles jiggle, listening to bird songs, everything was taken in.

Most children rarely get the luxury of slow times these days. Time to get to know the world and make it worthwhile.

But summer is here. Children and summer are a good mix when it comes to discovering slowness. That includes getting bored. When they do, creativity kicks in.

With no agenda, they will discover a world of wonder where scheduled activity stops. Free playing for example. How many of your summers were spent playing whatever crossed your mind and having the time of your life, dirty from head to toe and never ready to stop?

In the age of restlessness and plunging attention spans, allowing children to experience slow times is a gift.

Celebrate slow times. As much as your work commitments allow you to, keep in the slow lanes. Encourage your children to know the pace of life as it is outside what we make it out to be.  Slowness makes room for deep conversations, and when we spend it with children, they get the worthiest gift of all: time with us.

So why not start with this summer?

Chasing Happiness

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On June 27, 2014

In Life Stories, Motherhood

HappinessIf it’s past 9 o’clock kids should be in bed, or so the unwritten laws of good parenting dictate. But the breezy night just set in after a long hot day and we still dance our feet on the pavement on the way to the river.

We take the back alleys because they are unpretentious. No perfect lawns, no empty yards. There are signs of life in the back alleys, you see.

The boys hop and chat, one’s words stomping the other’s words because ‘oh, I had this thought and it’ll go away if I don’t say it now…’ and what do you do then… Word stomping has its place.

Today is not it. While one talks the other listens and finds something to do on the side. Kids’ hands and minds are such busy machines, they cannot sit still and they should not. That’s how they stay joyful. That’s how they learn the world.

‘I will call this happiness,’ big boy says, wrapping his palm around the big fluffy head of a Tragopogon.

This is happiness… the night breeze carries his words further. I smile. Indeed, nothing wrong with that.

‘I want happiness,’ little boy chirps in.

That’s when it gets better. They run to get the next happiness globe of fleeting stuff (literally) and their laughter hops along with them.

‘My happiness, I touched it first!’

‘Mom, you want some happiness?’ The best answer is the one my soul paints across my face; I smile because what else can match the state I’m in. I have some, look, it’s right here.

‘I want some!’ little boy says, realizing that the blob he was holding was taken away by the wind.

Big boy laughs and wickedly rubs ‘happiness’ onto his little brother shirt, throws me a big smile and does the same to my shirt. There are signs of happiness all over. Sticky, fluffy, goofy. Let the magic be…

We get home late, having bumped into every blob of happiness on the way. It shows, inside and outside.

Boys brush teeth, they ask for cuddles, and one more and then just one more… I am stuck in thinking of how simple it is to get some happiness.

It is. It’s what you make of it really. It can be as elusive as a blob of fluff that you have now and the wind takes away the next second. It could be that someone wrestles you to the ground and takes it away. Chances are you won’t be laughing but then again, why not? It’s already gone but there is more to get if you keep on going…

Happiness is there, but you won’t find it where the aim is perfection. Just ask the boys. The big fluffy happy blobs are all huddled in the back alleys, where it’s all real and some of the less elegant things show. ‘cause they do, life is like that.

As for that happiness? Open your eyes, stretch out your hand and grab it before the wind takes it away… and if it does, keep on going, there’s more.

And you know how I know the boys were right? Because this morning on my run, I took the back alleys as I usually do. There were big fluffy Tragopogon heads all along and though I did not pick them, they whispered their secret to me.

The boys’ dash hunting happiness during our late night walks, the laughing about all the happiness they can rub on each other or mine over the occasional ‘Don’t rub your happiness on me!’ – it was all there. And just like that, happiness was there too.

Really, it’s what you make of it. So we made it a Tragopogon fluffy head. In fact, I am ready to change the plant’s status: from invasive species to reason to smile and keep going. Wouldn’t you?

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