High Needs

I have a lot to say (write/post/blog), mostly about my eldest child. I start a million blog posts a day about her. I'm just so gosh darn confused by her really I am. I first read the term "high needs baby" when she was only a few weeks old and thought how awful that was since I couldn't imagine any baby requiring more from it's caregivers than mine did and therefore "high needs" sounded like hell on earth. It took me until she was 12 months old, yes, an entire year to realise she actually was high needs. I looked at a similar aged baby one day happily cooing in it's pram and realised that there was a possibility that child was not just pretending to be happy there because it had been tortured by being left screaming in the pram until it realised it wasn't going to be picked up. A possibility that that particular baby might just maybe possibly have been naturally ok with not being constantly held. That did my head in. I honestly thought up until that moment that all non-attachment parents were baby torturers. I really did. Because that's what it would have been to M for us to parent any differently.
The thing is, before I had that realisation I also had a niggling little thought hidden deep within that I was somehow failing at motherhood. That because I found my baby so hard that I was somehow lacking.
What I've realised in the last week is that although they've changed a lot at the age of not-quite-five-years, those high needs haven't gone away like I thought they had. No, they haven't gone anywhere at all. That niggling little shameful thought though, it's come back with a vengeance. Go away little thought! I am not failing because our days are hard sometimes. I am not failing because I'm not a perfect unschooler nor am I failing because I'm not a perfect Waldorf mother or a rigorous classical homeschooler. I am also not failing because I sometimes contemplate trying to fit those or any other labels, sometimes think a formula would make it easier.
She is hard work. I am hard work. Life is hard work. That's ok.

India?

That's all.

Electricity-free day

Phew. It's been an interesting day here. Last Friday a friend lent P one of Laura Inglis Wilder's books he'd recently read to his nearly 7 year old daughter. While I'd seen a few episodes of Little House as a child, I'd never read the books. In fact, I didn't realise there were books until I was about 30. This led to all kinds of disccusions about what can best be described in shorthand as "doing it all". You know what I mean, the thing that always comes up in self-sufficient type discussions. Timely discussions for us as a strange set of circumstances led to us having far too much raw milk that needed to be used up so most of the discussing occurred whilst P was making cheese or evaporating milk (takes hours!) to make Indian fudge. Around midnight last night in the midst of said discussion, "click" the modem and phone were off. Hmm, my computer started showing the battery icon double hmm. A glance into the bedroom where the little people slept. Yep, the night light is off. Yet we have lights. Hmmm. A trip to the fuse box. Yes, the safety switch for all the plugs in the house has been tripped. OK, turn it on. Nope. No difference.
So until 2pm today when the electrician arrived to replace the faulty safety switch we had effectively no electricity. Because one doesn't really need electric lighting in the middle of the day even here in the misty mountains.
*snip*
Blog post interrupted by life.
So to get to the point, our day yesterday until the elecrician turned up was really rather pleasant. For one thing it was nice to be able to honestly say "No you can't watch a video" rather than saying it but actually meaning "I don't want you to watch a video". I liked it so much I'd like to do it every week. P suggested going further and having "electricity day" once a week. Sounds like a fun challenge but I know M wont be pleased about it.