My 8 year old Violin Teacher

Being her helpful self

I realised a few weeks ago that our eldest child gets a bit of a raw deal in the family. She's mature for her age, responsible, extremely helpful and busy, busy, busy. I realised that she's so busy and helpful that I don't find time for fun with her. I had a cats-in-the-cradle moment flash before my eyes where my children were grown and I had wonderful relationships with my adult children, except for Gaia who never made it to family events, "we'll get together soon, Mum" #tear

Around the time I realised this, she started attending group violin lessons. Kids of all ages studying the Suzuki method gather once a week to play together. The songs you don't yet know you can sit out or play the rhythm on a single string. It's fun and judgement free. Seeing how accessible the group class was for total novices it struck me: this is something I can share with Gaia, a way to connect. I hired a violin from Gaia's Suzuki educator and asked Gaia to teach me what she knew.

Gaia is ahead of me in Suzuki Violin Book 1, but I'm determined to keep up as best I can. Sometimes we play together (though she prefers if we play separately and listen to one another). She enthusiastically claps when I finish, no matter how terrible my performance, because she is proud of me for trying and she's excited to share this part of her that used to set her apart from the rest of the family, something she could only share with her teacher for half an hour a week. Now it's a game to play with Mum and a way to feel accomplished and knowledgeable as she educates me. Thanks to group lesson it is also a social affair she shares with many of her friends.

It has been fascinating to note the similarities and differences between the way Gaia and I learn. We both want to be perfect instantly, we both want to rush through pieces and tick them off the list. Gaia relies heavily on sight reading to be able to perform, whereas I can rely on my memory a little more. Gaia's fingering and bow lifts are years ahead of me, but I struggle less than her with rhythm.

It's humbling to stand in a room full of people much younger than me who can play violin far better than me. But it's a wonderful kind of humbling, because it isn't embarrassing, it's inspiring. None of the children find my presence weird, and there is another mum who plays at group lesson also. Many of the kids at group lesson are also homeschooled, so the lack of segregation between young and old is a normal part of their day.

I have such a better appreciation for Gaia's skill now that I am trying it out myself. Beforehand I might have cringed at a missed note or wondered why after all these lessons it still didn't sound like the CD. But now, I hear everything she has accomplished and to be honest I am just amazed she can hold the blasted thing up as long as she does, because my back muscles are completely exhausted after two songs!

I've never had a desire to play the violin. I've spent the last two years secretly hoping she'd move on to another instrument and being disengaged from musical education, leaving it to her and her teacher. But I'm surprised to discover that it's actually a lot of fun and I'm starting to really like the violin now that I'm playing. It's physically and mentally satisfying to play and makes me appreciate the music in a way that I could not before when I was merely listening. This homeschooling journey is full of surprises and I'm grateful to Gaia for being her own person and following her own passions because as well as growing into her own perfect self, she's also opening up my tiny world.

The first time I tried out the violin

Conversation From the Sugar Free Front Line

Scene: An eight year old wears a sour facial expression and refuses to speak to her mother.
Mother: Are you mad at me because the other girls got a lollipop and you didn't?
Her: (nods her head in affirmation)
Mother: That's okay, I can take it. I know it's not fair. But your health matters to me. I want you to grow up strong and healthy and live for a long time. And I know that sugar hurts your immune system and your body is fighting off a cold right now. A lollipop would make it harder for your body to beat the virus.

(She remains silent. Her mother starts the car and they continue to sit in silence until)
Mother: It isn't fair that they bring lollies to share at a sporting event. Last season everyone brought fruit. Nobody checked for allergies or special dietary needs beforehand this season either.
Her: I liked when they brought oranges and watermelon, it was fun licking the juice off my hands after games.
Mother: Well how about we bring fruit next week? I can make sure we always pack something that isn't sugary to share with everyone and that way you're not left out.
Her (smiling): Yes!
Mother: Can you think of some snacks that aren't sugary that you'd like to have on the sidelines?
Her: Olives! And cheese! And apple slices (can you slice it so it's easy to share?). And strawberries!
Mother: Okay, okay! Slow down, you're building quite a list. Let's keep it simple.
Her: Alright, just olives and cheese (she grins)
Mother: Olives and cheese it is.
Her: I love olives, they're my favourite fruit, they're delicious. Hey Mum?
Mother: Yes?
Her: Can we also take apple slices?
(A glance at the rear view mirror reveals a very big grin and hopeful eyes which cannot be resisted)
Mother: Sure.
Her: Make sure you bring a lot of olives, because everyone will want to eat a lot.

End scene with eight year old happily moving on to other topics of conversation, without receiving sugar or the promise of sugar to come. Mother feels like magical wizard (and silently chuckles to self that her low-sugar daughter thinks olives are up there with lollies in the minds of all her peers).

Patriarchy on The Court: Not Very Sporting

"I had fun!" Our eight year old beamed as she came off court from her 68th game.
It was the first game of the new season and the first game she had ever played on an all girls side. Since February 2014 Gaia has played on a mixed community basketball team. Until last season there were always three or more girls on her team, but there was poor organisation in the lead up to the season and all the parents with daughters pulled their girls from the side, under the impression that there wouldn't be a mixed team. Our family missed all of this and signed Gaia up as we do each season, only to discover that she was the only girl and playing in a boys league.

Initially we didn't mind. I thought it may even help her skills...getting the same coaching given to the boys (because I had noticed that the boys sides tend to get more dedicated coaches). I played on mixed netball sides at her age and it made for some of the best sporting moments of my life. It had been suggested to me that she would become a more aggressive player and be unstoppable when she joined the girls league later. This turned out to prove false. Instead, we learned that the patriarchy is strong even in children under the age of eight.

I wasn't able to make it to a lot of her games that particular season. When she came home from games I would ask her how it went and want a blow by blow description, but she had very little to say. Sometimes all she would say was "I only got the ball once", or "I didn't get to touch the ball today". She didn't complain, though she was obviously disappointed. She was upset that the boys never passed to her. It was something all the parents noticed too.

Parents spoke to their sons about passing to Gaia (who was always free because no one on the opposing teams took her seriously either). But no matter how much we screamed from the sidelines they still searched for the one talented male player and passed to him, even if all five opponents were guarding him.

When she did get the ball the other team descended on her like a flock of vultures. The games that I attended I noticed that they were far more aggressive with her than with the others....if she had the ball she got shoved, pinched, grabbed, smacked, punched (as did the ball). As soon as she got the ball the other team were fouled. But then the ball would be given to one of her male teammates to throw in, rather than her....so even when she got the ball there was little she could do.

Because I hadn't been to a game in a while I noticed a very big regression in her skill level when I returned court-side one day. She rarely went for the ball, she'd lost her edge. When she happened to get the ball she quickly got rid of it, she never held it for longer than a second, passing to her male teammates, automatically assuming they'd know what to do with it (and a message not so subtly screamed at her by the teammates who hated when she got the ball because they had decided she wasn't good because she was a girl. It had become a self-fufilling prophecy, they never passed to her because she was a girl so her skills regressed from lack of engagement). My heart broke for her when I saw the change. She used to be confident, she used to the be the kid on the side who got the ball from the enemy's end down to ours, pass it on and assist with the goal, if not shoot it herself. It also stung to see how much the boys had progressed.

I also noticed that Gaia's sex was impacting how she was trained. While our coach would yell instructions from the sidelines to the boys, he went silent when it came to Gaia. I didn't realise this until late in  the season. Seeing the change in her I took to reminding her of her skill. I called from the sidelines, telling her to get in there, go for it, "Take it! Take the ball! SHOOT!" And she started to play more like her old self.

After that game the other parents were astounded. "She really listens to you!", "She does what you tell her!", "Amazing game, Gaia!", "You were on fire!" And then in struck me: I give her instruction, the coach doesn't. While he stood on the sidelines yelling instructions to the boys, but not Gaia...I'm assuming because girls are made of glass and if you give them loud direction in a sporting match they'll break? I pulled the coach aside after that and said "Don't be afraid to yell at her, like you yell at the boys. She can take it and she needs it. Look at how she played today. She needs more instruction." The coach took it on, but it was so late in the season, the damage was done and two weeks later we were at our break-up function.

There was an attitude problem too. At the end of each game it was an effort to get the boys to shake hands with one another, or to do so respectfully. It was this obligatory nuisance they did half-heartedly, avoiding eye contact and grunting at one another. Most of the time it was an effort to find a single player on the opposing side to shake Gaia's hand at all. It may seem like a small thing to "nit-pick", but it's not...it's about the culture we're creating, it's about the tone we set for this generation and how we teach them to enjoy sport. Shaking hands at the end of the game is meant to bring us back to the very point of sport: coming together for fun! What's the point of sport if not to learn how to be a good sport? We're meant to thank each other for the time and the challenge. And in terms of patriarchy and smashing it? Well, this is where it begins, it's in these tiny details that we begin to bring down the entitled bullshit that exists on a spectrum...where at one end we have kids who take their competitive sport too seriously to the other end where grown men commit assault.

At the start of the season my feminism told me: girls can do anything boys can, and being the only girl on court every game of the season was character building. But the season changed me too. I learned the importance of female only spaces. I saw the sweet little faces of 8 year old misogyny. I was astounded by how internalised the patriarchy had already become in these tiny little basketballers, some no older than six! And the equality based messages given by parents at training were a drop in the patriarchy's ocean. It was disheartening to see how those little boys had already come to swallow society's sexist messages. They were a boys club! Individually, they were nice enough kids, but ultimately they were a sexist boys club.

That season Gaia and I had to have some hard conversations. She faced sexual oppression, she learned that there are people in the world who think boys are better than girls and underestimate girls. She learned that you can't stand back and wait for boys to share what belongs to us all, you have to demand and take from boys. She learned that telling boys the difference between equality and inequality does nothing to change their actions. She may not have learned much about basketball, but she learned more than most men ever come to understand about sexual politics.

Her birthday pushed her up into the next age group and there are no mixed sides allowed from under 10s onwards. She never again has to play with or against males. Over the break she said to us "do you think my new team will pass me the ball?" and we told her we hoped so (cue glass shattering heart break sound).

At the first game of the Winter season none of the girls had met before (due to a mix up that meant there was no training before the first game). Despite a lack of history the girls pulled together and made a formidable team. There was clearly one stand-out player, but she shared the ball with her teammates, she congratulated their efforts and they all looked around for whom to pass to, rather than simply passing to her every time. The coach spread his attention evenly among the girls, and it felt amazing to watch our daughter receive some positive reinforcement and guidance. And the girls listened and took on board the instructions given to them, like "pass to X", they made smarter choices when it came to passes, they never tried to do it all single handed (which was a huge problem on the boys side!)

Going for goal in her new team

In one game it felt like Gaia got the ball more times than she had the entire previous season. She scored a goal,
she did her old move: getting the ball down to our end with speed, and the whole game she had this wide eyed look of ecstasy on her face. Basketball was fun again.

When she came off court she was positively beaming. She was completely surprised by how much fun she had experienced. And when she exclaimed "That was fun!" I was teary, realising just how oppressive last season had been for our joyful daughter. It's going to be a great Winter :D

Girls make for great sportsmen!

The Responsibility of Home Educating

Many parents feel that they couldn't cope with the responsibility of educating their children themselves and are grateful for the school system. Parents are usually their children's most significant and influential teachers, regardless of whether or where their children attend school. But I understand that the idea of shouldering that responsibility solely seems overwhelming. I also understand that to the untrained eye it may seem that homeschoolers do shoulder this overwhelming responsibility. But let me tell you a little known secret: homeschoolers are not alone on a desert island.

We are not alone in carrying the responsibility for our children's education, we share it! We have family members who favour certain subjects over others, we have extended family members and friends we outsource to, on occasion. Many of us have tutors we regularly employ to share their knowledge and skills. We have a metric shitload of activities paid and unpaid that our children are involved in that are facilitated by others, or we free range it.

For example, on Mondays we have a nature walk group we spend the day with. During this time there's a hike most families go on together, and the kids run ahead. Then we have picnic lunch and the kids are left to their own devices, playing and learning together in which ever corner of the outdoors we've set ourselves up in, while the parents talk, eat, some of us crochet and we all parent, often kid swapping as the need arises, or simply because we were closer to the child than her parents at that moment. This is an example of free ranging their education.

Then there are the community activities our children participate in with their schooled peers. In our family these include basketball training, workshops and games, dance class, childcare/playgroup at community centres, swimming lessons, lego club and little athletics. Those are just the weekly group activities, there are also annual festivals we attend and random events (especially during school holidays, during the school holiday's councils go crazy putting on activities to entertain and educate children).

In our local homeschool community we have a few paid group activities such as weekly "sports", similar to school phys ed classes, but with more emphasis on fun than competition. We have sewing circle  where one mum and her daughters help the group to learn how to sew and complete a project each week and music class where a music teacher plays musical themed games, sings to the children and provides them with a variety of instruments to try. There are so many more activities we could take up, but we're very busy with what we do already.

Our family hires private tutors for violin lessons and in the past for learning a second language, though at the moment we're using a Youtube channel and online worksheets to teach ourselves Australian sign language. We also have "Molly Day", once a week when the girls babysitter spends half a day with them so that I can get some work done, or go to uni. She takes them to the museum, library, playground, or they play at home.

For all these scheduled activities there are ten sporadic playdates and catch-ups with other homeschool families where the kids learn from each other. They have different interests and participate in different activities and then bring all that experience to one another's lounge rooms and backyards. The kids also bombard their friend's parents with questions or simply soak up new information from being engaged in conversation with their friend's parents. One of the things I love most about our home ed community is that the other parents are genuinely interested in my children's lives and enjoy talking to my children, learning about their interests and sharing their own with the kids. I love the lack of age segregation in the homeschooling community. My children are used to socialising with people of all different ages. The other day there was a group of fifteen or so kids all playing together, some were as young as three and others were sixteen, and everyone was having fun. I would not have believed such a thing were possible had I not seen it with my own eyes. It is so great for the little kids to have that attention from older kids which makes them feel special, and for the older kids to get to feel the honour of nurturing young children and imparting their wisdom. All of the children get some context and perspective from being exposed to people of many different ages. These sorts of interactions make me think: if school is preparing children for the real world, homeschool is the real world.

When it comes down to it, I don't feel overwhelmed by the responsibility of teaching my children. Education can't help but happen when you lead a life as rich as ours. I feel that the burden of exposing my kids to new perspectives, information, opportunities etc is shared between the many adults in our community, as well as the other homeschooled children (and some of those children are starting to get a bit adulty with their aging and what not). I am constantly inspired by my friends who try new things, share their photos online or tell us what they've been up to lately. I steal from them (because "that's what creativity is!" one of them likes to tell me) and likewise share my ideas with them. Every now and again one parent will say "everyone come to our place and learn X!" Most often it is our children driving the curriculum, they inspire one another. Even if I were determined to stop my children from learning anything, I'd fail.

Homeschooling is an entirely different culture from living with school. While many of my friends can't imagine spending all day with their children, or being responsible for their education, the flip side is me: completely awestruck that anyone has the power to get a houseful of people out of bed, dressed, fed, groomed, out the door and to a school gate with lunch already packed by 9AM every week day.

a few of our home ed kids at weekly sport event

Reading: " just another screen"

Yemaya was obsessed with this book for a while

When Eale and I were child-free and imagining our future together we thought parenting would be like living in a book club (cue laugh track). We love reading. So it seems only fitting that as yet none of our children have been bitten by the book-love bug.

This is cause for most of my homeschooling anxiety. I worry about my children's future, I worry about what others will think, I worry about all the wonderful moments and stories my children are missing out on having because they can't yet read. Eale, on the other hand, is a faith-keeper. He does not sweat this stuff. He knows how wonderful reading will be when the kids come to it, but he is happier than I to let them come to it in their own time.

Every now and again I get all up in my head about having an eight year old who doesn't read. I remember devouring chapter books of The Sweet Valley nature at her age. I wonder how much of my concern is truly for Gaia, and how much is about my own preconceived notions of parenting and education and what "successful" and "smart" look like. When these moments came in the past: I sat with G and coaxed her into reading and it was not fun. I've handed the reins over to Eale and let him be the parent she reads with. We both agree that Gaia can read when she wants to, but she rarely wants to. If she doesn't want to read and you sit down and ask her to, she tunes out...she magically unlearns everything she knows about the alphabet and phonetics. It's reached the point where Eale and I feel like we're being punked.

Friends have reassured us with tales of their own children who were late to reading. Other friends reassure us that eight isn't that old or far behind, and speak of Steiner and Waldorf. But what really made me relinquish my reading paranoia was what a friend referred to as his "controversial" opinion that "reading can be just another screen."

My mind melted at the theory that books are not the holiest of holy items we hippy-esque parents imagine them to be. Books could simply be another product in the endless pile of stuff sold to us as childhood entertainment. Think about it...I remember getting in trouble with family for having my nose in a book and being anti-social, the same way adults spin out about kids and their screen time these days.

The friend who theorised that books are like screens went on to say that screens and reading share the potential to "steal childhood". Why do we worry about how much screen time our children are having? Screen time is not time in nature like climbing trees, it's not active like running around, it's not social in the way that playing with toys with friends is social. With their minds lost to the screens children can become disengaged from the world around them and it has the potential to become an addictive behaviour: favouring screens over "real life". Literally all of these criticisms can be applied to reading. In fact, both books and screens can facilitate socialisation and be used as educational tools, but for some reason many of us put books on a pedestal as the superior tool when there are many more talents the screens possess. 

There is another way that reading can "steal childhood": and that is through the pressure placed on kids to learn to read. When my friend made his controversial comment it made me think about the times I'd called Gaia to sit with me and a book. Calling her out of the moment to sit and read was extinguishing whatever learning she had deemed important. I was calling her away from her childhood.

Unschoolers suggest that you don't need to teach a child to read. Regardless of theory, our expert experience in educating Gaia has shown us that this is not a method that works for her. Thus, we need to stop. We were drawn to homeschooling because we wanted our children to learn the necessities at their own pace, when they felt ready. But loving the theory and living the reality are two different things. The theory appealed because a blissful cloud of delusion made pre-mother me think that my kids would value the things I value and learn the things I thought were important when I felt was age-appropriate. Turns out, my children are unique individuals!

The children will learn to read when they need to (that is, when they have a strong desire to do so). How do children learn to talk and walk? We model the behaviour, we immerse them in a culture of walking and talking, and they pick it up themselves to be part of our world. Our children want to connect with us: they want to talk with us, walk like us, and having us read books aloud to them is something else they like. We also allow them to play with books. They like to pretend to read thick reference books (Gaia cannot drag herself away from the reference section of the library, even though she has not yet mastered the art of reading children's books herself). They like to touch books, build with them, use them in games as stepping stones, plates and toy beds, to name a few. They see Eale and I reading, we make regular trips to the library, borrow books, have family reading nights and particular series we read together like The Magic Faraway Tree. We discuss books. The girls know I'm writing my own book and Gaia often dictates her own stories to me as scribe. Gaia also has a pen pal. My bet is, that in a reading rich environment such as this: chances are our children will be fluent readers one day.

One of my favourite photos. 2008: Eale reading to baby Gaia

 Further reading on reading

Children teach themselves to read

Learning to read naturally 

Learning to read the Waldorf way

Myth Busting: How reading is taught in a Waldorf school

I'm Unschooled, yes I can read

Autism & Unschooling: when Someone Else didn't check themself...

When it began to dawn on me that our daughter is not "just a little quirky" I felt guilty for not realising sooner than she may be on the autism spectrum. I shared this shame with my fully-grown autistic friend and she said: "You didn't realise because you were coping so well! You've always been really good at meeting your children where they're at." For that: I credit our school free lives. Unschooling means that I never expected my child to meet developmental milestones at the same time as her peers. Unschooling helps me be flexible and accommodating in negotiating how we spend our days and it gives my daughter more control over her life than if she were made to fit herself into a schooling schedule. Learning that she is autistic has not changed our education plans, but this was a concern for Someone Else.

Unschooling is working really well for each of our children. Our daughter doesn't need school to become a functioning adult, or to learn how to set and achieve goals. But, even if you put those things aside, we would not consider school for our autistic daughter because her anxiety and communication issues would make it incredibly difficult for her to participate in traditional schooling.

Homeschoolers know that if ever they express dissatisfaction with any aspect of their daily lives they will be met with "send the kids to school." So I should not have been surprised that Someone Else felt school would solve this autism problem too. When I made it clear school was not an option that's when it kicked off:
"Oh my heart! I feel so sad for her." Someone Else stated with melodrama. "What makes you think she couldn't cope with school?"
"I know my child and-"
"Everyone thinks they know their child but..."
What followed was a lecture in which I was told that I can't meet my child's needs, only school can do that. I was told that as her mother I underestimate my daughter's abilities and that if I sent her to school she could reach her full potential and stop being held back by me. I was doing my daughter a disservice by denying her enrollment to a special school (the assumption being that if traditional schooling won't work, surely a school for the developmentally delayed will).
 
If you're wondering how I could  let someone speak to me like this, just know that I have a lot of experience with being treated as subhuman. This sort of offensive, patronising rudeness is all part of the "having female genitalia" package. Also, by choosing to home educate your children you cease to be fully human because homeschooling is an "alternative lifestyle choice" ("alternative" being a code word for "unworthy of respect").

The implication that I am holding my daughter back reveals Someone Else's ignorance about autism. Sending her to school will not suddenly "correct" whatever it is about her brain that makes her anxious about groups of people, and transitioning between activities. She's not going to magically learn to speak clearly from school teachers and students (because if it were that simple she would already be speaking clearly from learning at home with us, jut as her siblings have!).

What is it about school that Someone Else wants for my daughter? In a mainstream school my child would have to compete with twenty other children for the attention of her teacher. Funding issues mean that she is not guaranteed an aid worker in class with her. At home the worst the teacher:child ratio gets is 1:4...but our active lives and local homeschooling community mean there are frequently many adults. Our daughter's music teacher pointed out that our daughter is highly intelligent and if she could get into a "special school" she would quickly be the lowest priority in a roomful of very needy little learners.

If I sent my child to school she would spend hours at a time in a single room with twenty other children her own age. At home she is free to spend her time in any room or outside. We spend a lot more time out and about than at home, though. My point is that she is never confined. If she becomes overwhelmed seeking refuge is simple.

If she is unready or unable to perform a certain task, we leave it be and come back to it when she is ready. She has a say in what she learns, how she learns, and when she learns it (same as her siblings). If we start a new activity we can give her plenty of attention and support preparing. If she's anxious we can take the time to work through it with her. We know what situations make her anxious, we know how to help her deal with these situations and the anxiety. We know when a little encouragement will help her try something new and we know when a little encouragement will cause her anxiety to spike. And for all the times that we don't know for sure: we try, we observe, we wait, we see, we adjust, and most importantly: we love.

No teacher, no matter how great, cares more about our child's welfare than we do (and teachers agree). Even the most devoted teacher is not there for our daughter, like we are as her educators. Teachers are there for everyone's daughters. Perhaps Someone Else thinks that teachers have advanced training in educating autistic children? Given the constant efforts of other parents working to make schools safe and supportive for their autistic children, I'm going to hazard a guess that there's not a teacher alive who understands autism better than the parents who live with it. From what I can tell it is generally the parents of autistic children who are raising the awareness, advocating for their children's rights and needs and working with teachers and the community to get a better system for their often bullied, shamed and misunderstood children. Furthermore, given the lack of understanding of autism in girls, even within the psychological profession, I don't have faith that the average school teacher is equipped to meet my daughter's needs in a classroom.

School would be my daughter's nightmare. An enclosed space for much of the day, many people in that space, her activities prescribed to her for a set amount of time and these activities stopping and starting frequently throughout the day. It would take a massive amount of physical, mental and emotional energy for her to survive the world of school. We don't have to do that to her, we can provide a learning environment better suited to her needs without school and she can save all that energy to focus more on the things that inspire her. Perhaps by giving her a school free education she can spend the energy she saves on not dealing with the classroom, on facing the challenges her neurologically diverse brain presents? In any case, despite the developmental, social and communication difficulties our daughter lives with, she is a happy and healthy little girl. She enjoys her life and is always learning. Just like her neurotypical siblings.

Look at all that disservice I'm doing these children by denying them the necessity of a classroom

Edited: Days after writing this post we discussed this issue with our daughter's psychologist, paediatrician and autism advisors from Amaze. The advisors and paediatrician recognised home educating as a legitimate choice and saw no reason to change our current approach with our daughter, the advisors emphasised that autism can't be caused or cured by anything a parent does. But what was most reassuring was the psychologist informing us that with an IQ like our daughter has she could not get into a special school even if we tried. It was her professional opinion that we were making the right choice for our daughter's education, that many families with autistic children make the same choice because it is the best way of meeting their learning needs, especially given mainstream schools can't afford to provide autistic students with the support they need. #vindicated

The 4 Year Blanket

Four years ago I started learning to crochet. I thought the bet approach would be to learn one of the stitches and then repeat it fifty million times to ensure I understood it, before moving on to learning the next stitch (I was wrong. So very wrong.) For my first project I decided to make a blanket for Gaia.

Gaia was four years old and had no interest in moving out of the big family bed into her own bed. I thought making her a single bed sized blanket might make the transition more appealing. She moved into her bunk bed three years before I finished her blanket, LOL. Gaia selected some balls of yarn and left the rest to me. I bought my first set of hooks, borrowed two 'how to crochet' books from the local library and set to work.

What I did not realise at the time was that there are two different crochet "languages". Stitches in American crochet have different names from stitches in British crochet. And this was how I invented an insane stitch that is something between a British single and American double stitch. This is partly why it took four years to finish Gaia's blanket. It didn't take long for me to master one stitch and move on to the next and before long I was working on a number of different projects and the blanket had become tedious. Then when I did return to the blanket, more experienced, I realised the stitch it was made from doesn't exist LOL. I had to figure out how to recreate the crazy stitch (or "Sazz stitch") or unravel months worth of work. I decided to forge on with the unique stitch...but now that I knew how to crochet, it was hard to make my hands and my brain do the wrong thing over and over.

As I neared the end of the project I realised that the edges were very uneven and hoped a border would make it look more respectable. The finished project is FAR from perfect, but it is filled with love and I'm rather proud that I kept at it despite the flaws and the years it took (and I'm impressed with my girl for maintaining her faith and enthusiasm for the project despite the long wait!).

The woman who started making this blanket was a mother of two in her 20s, she was addicted to soft drink and chocolate, working on a masters degree (which, unlike the blanket, did not have the good fortune to be completed) and she was working as a doula. She could not have imagined the woman who weaved in the ends of the lilac border. A woman in her 30s, mother of four, sugar free yoga enthusiast, and student midwife. I remember the period in my life when I took up crochet as being particularly tumultuous. I like to imagine I can reach back through time by stroking her hobbled stitches and reassure the lost young woman that she was on the right track. With each passing stitch she grew a little more self-accepting and wise. As the blanket grew, so did her family and her circle of friends. The blanket is full of history, as well as love.

I finished in the late hours of Saturday night, while on Face Time with a friend. In the time it took me to make this blanket my friend and I had been through many life-changing moments as well, including the birth of my third child, for which she was present. On Sunday Gaia came home from a morning swim and before I'd finished telling her what had happened while she was asleep the night before, she spied the folded fabric on my desk and guessed.
"YOU FINISHED MY BLANKET!" she squealed with such heartwarming delight.

Totally worth the wait

She is completely in love with her blanket. She loves the border most of all, she said "I thought you meant you were just going to do a boring line around the edge, not something flowery like this!" I'm relieved her taste in colours hasn't changed over the past four years ;)

Now the blanket has become part of Gaia's evening. When I told her I was feeling a bit lost now that this epic project was put to rest, Gaia replied:
"Time for Yemaya's."