I’ve been thinking a lot about the choices I make in parenting lately, from the words I use to the toys we buy (especially now that I have a Disney Princess-aholic on my hands). How I am prone to over-analyze every aspect of my role as mother and am trying to tone it down a bit. How something as simple as word choice and language impacts my kids every day. How I have a hard time instinctively letting them play on their own, always trying to structure them or give them something to do, when in reality, they are just fine without me. Better, probably, because their brilliant little brains can think of a thousand awesome things to do with an empty egg carton and I have to go on Pinterest to think of one. I don’t think it hurts them that I am so willing to be their playmate or am staving off their boredom–I just don’t know how much I’m helping them, either. Things to consider and work on, as always.
I read a great post from Moving Smart a while ago; it was my favorite one from the blog hop and I meant to bring it up here and never did. Well it’s an extremely well written post about how we impart not only information to our kids, but also our opinions; how in our efforts to educate them we may also be over-informing them by attaching meaning to things without letting our kids experience them for themselves. We project adjectives onto experiences or judge a food or a movie without considering what the child may have been thinking before we opened our big mouths. So quick to educate, so quick to inform–what if my interpretation impairs a particularly magical moment that I didn’t even know was happening, and by throwing in my two cents, I took the shine off, or the sparkle out, or labeled a soup ladle a soup ladle, when in reality it was King Arthur’s sword freshly pulled from the stone?
Or like that scene in The Lion King, when Timon, Pumba, and Simba are all sharing what they think those twinkly things shining down on them from the night sky are, and Pumba’s ideas are dismissed as insignificant and Simba’s ideas are laughed at–it makes me wonder, have I done that to my kids today? Have I labelled something as scary, silly, insignificant, useless, when to them it was mystical and mysterious only minutes before? When I tell them that a star is a ball of gas millions of miles away, am I erasing all the future possibilities for folk tales and fables and fairy tales to weave their wondrous way into my child’s heart? Am I over-educating them in an attempt to share the world with them? Very likely, knowing me. It requires a balance to teach and yet not tell, and although it is precarious, it is attainable. Not that I know–I’m just musing over here.
The reason I thought of this is because suddenly Jax has begun labeling things as “scary.” The idea of being scared of the dark has come up in a few books or TV shows, but nothing that I thought particularly resonated with him. In the book Beyond the Rainbow Bridge that we received from the kids’ school, it talks about why Waldorf schools use real, unedited age-appropriate Grimm’s fairy tales rather than the softer, edited (ahem, Disney) versions. It says,
“In a true fairy tale as those collected by the Brothers Grimm, human beings undergo trials and suffering and accept that deeds are a part of proving oneself worthy of the reward at the end of the path…They confront evil and overcome it. Children experience the greed of the wolf and the evil of the witch quite differently than we adults do. They experience these qualities more as archetypal pictures about life, but do not identify themselves personally with the suffering. They trust that there will be a happy ending or that good will triumph over evil. Such stores strengthen the moral lives of children….This strength and guidance will help them to deal with the challenges life brings to them.”
I think it goes back to what Gill from Moving Smart was talking about–the power of suggestion, or providing too much information. Movies have music to create anxiety or build suspense. Stories are read with emphasis. Adults are so quick to supply preschoolers with their emotions when they are upset, rather than allowing them to give voice to their own emotion –What’s wrong, Johnny? Are you okay? Did that SCARE you? when in reality the idea of being scared never crossed Johnny’s mind. Now suddenly he thinks, Oh, crap, balloons popping are scary? Well, does that mean balloons are scary? Does that mean clowns are scary? Now I hate clowns! Man, I use to really like them, too. We put the idea in their head–stars are balls of gas, clowns are scary–and we can’t take it back. The innocence and wonder of childhood are gone.
Maybe that’s why I am so keen to keep my kids at the Waldorf school, because they not only understand this notion (and bring it to my attention), they guard children’s innocence as fiercely as other schools guard their IPads. Because yes, I want to keep my kids in a blissful little bubble of happiness for as long as possible. Is it going to last very long? Nope. Are they going to have to grow up eventually? Of course. But can I hope to foster the joy and simplicity of an early childhood spent at home with mom in the backwoods of Vermont for as long as I can? You bet. And if I can keep my heroes noble, my witches evil and vanquished, my kids’ spirits nourished, their curiosity piqued and their anxiety at bay for a while longer in the process, even better.
I just have to figure out how to make that happen.














