THE NEW DOMESTICITY
the
NEW DOMESTICITY
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Something for Everyone By Julianna Lawson
I used to blame it on the baby. Without fail, our
family would be frolicking about some delightful landscape—say, a pebbly ocean shore or an old-growth forest—and I would be the one to lag behind, tending to the smallest child. The wee pixie with aching legs and whining throat would fall to the back, and I would naturally fall back as well. Cheered by a drink of water and gooey handful of trail mix, the little one would gain renewed vigor and dart away to the front of the pack, chubby legs accelerating at an astounding rate. This erratic zest invariably left mother in the dust. I say I used to blame it on the baby. The reality is becoming more clear as my children age. (Our “baby” is now 12, so the dawdling, chubby-leg phase is well behind us.) Or perhaps I just grew so accustomed to my scenic rear view over the years that I now rather prefer it. Either way, as my family bounds ahead, I often remain in linger mode. This was decidedly evident on our family’s recent trip to Whidbey Island. Our temporary home was nestled cozily along a vast shoreline, and one of the first orders of business according to the Lawson Family Code was: explore it. It was in this exploration that our family personalities were thrown into relief. My husband, the visionary, risk-taking adventurer, had one goal, and that was basically to follow the shoreline to its utter limits, no matter the obstacle. Now, if your eyes were to travel from my husband leaping in the lead all the way down to the sixth person in line, you’d find me. I am not leaping. I am recalling the days of yore: I am lingering. Between us are four children in alternating stages of leaping and lingering, for they are, after all, our children. One child leaps from the fallen log which has obstructed our path, while another joins me in the rear to marvel over a perfectly symmetrical mollusk. One child grabs a rock, hurling it toward Canada, while another kneels to note the many colors among intertwined kelp and algae. We are different. But we are also the same: we are born to explore, to admire, to be awed. You see, a marvelous truth about nature is
that there’s something for everyone. The delightful challenge is to find your child’s something. Dorothy Edwards Shuttlesworth in her 1952 book, “Exploring Nature with Your Child,” says, “Children are natural explorers. They have the true explorer’s interest in their immediate surroundings as well as in faraway places, and they are eager to know why things are as they are. If you are a wise parent, you will look upon these qualities in your child as a sacred fire—always to be fed, allowed to die out never.” How can we feed this “sacred fire” in our child? Just as we would tend a campfire, so may we kindle our child’s zest and feed him that which is a part of his very life: nature. As the month of May unfolds in glorious color, hinting at warmer days to come, let’s explore ways to KINDLE the natural fire in our children.
K: Keep it Simple Children don’t require much to delight their senses. Start opening their world for them, little by little. A baby placed on a plush lawn will marvel at the textures, and the preschool child will love to find familiar shapes in the clouds.
I: Invite Questions Assure your child that questions are welcome. The inquisitive preschooler wants to know why and how and when and where. To the best of your ability, feed that thirst with answers. When you don’t have the answer, research together.
N: Naturally Explore Follow your child’s natural interests. When she’s asking questions about birds, find library books and study birdsong. When he shows curiosity over the way a rock splits in two, see what there is to discover about igneous, sedimentary, and metamorphic rocks.
D: Discover the Diversity A child who is interested in “nature” doesn’t necessarily need to love flowers or quote poetry. (But please introduce me if he does.) continued on next page
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Vancouver Family Magazine • www.vancouverfamilymagazine.com • May 2018