Summer Solstice

My love for and interest in all things related to Waldorf began many years ago before my children started school but in terms of practical implementation and adopting it as a way of life we are still fairly new to Steiner education. This means we are new to developing a seasonal yearly rhythm. As we are Muslims our rhythm needs to not just take into account Muslim festivals but to filter existing festivals as usually incorporated  into a Waldorf year through the lens of an uncompromisingly monotheistic faith. There are many Muslims who send their children to Steiner schools and many Muslims who homeschool in a Steiner inspired way. Our adaptation of the festivals will differ from family to family, we are all different. For me, this whole area is a work in progress.

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Midsummer Fairy in the apricot tree

Over the last few days I found myself brimming with a creative yet anxious energy. Because my hands are often full (with a baby) and because I have formed habits (since becoming a mother ) to deal with my creative energy in a cerebral rather than handcrafting way, I started to write. It didn’t help much, I felt very pressured and scattered, not grounded at all. It then occurred to me that it was Midsummer Eve! It was Summer Solstice! The Summer energies were at their peak. Could it be that this was what I was feeling?

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A Waldorf daily and yearly rhythm are based around cycles of breathing in and breathing out. In Sufism we call this contraction/qabd and expansion/bast.

The whole of reality breathes in and out. 

In ancient times human beings were innately connected to the cycles of the Earth and the expanding universe. In the contemporary world however we are totally out of touch. We cannot even see the stars anymore because of pollution. Electricity has extended the day well into the night, we no longer follow the cycles of the moon or sun. Disconnected from the natural/created world we are also disconnected from Source/Creator.

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When we bring our attention back to the natural world we increase in reverence for the Divine Reality that we Muslims call Allah/God. 

This is why I think the Waldorf calendar with it’s recognition of festivals we consider ‘pagan’ has relevance for us as Muslims and it doesn’t need to be something that gets our monotheistic knickers in a twist because ‘actions are according to intentions.’

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Islam has always been a faith that pays attention to the cycles of the natural world. The Muslim calendar is a lunar calendar, our festivals are heralded by the sighting of the moon, we pray according to the position of the sun. So it seems like a natural extension of this to pay attention to the cycles of the seasons, to the longest and shortest day, to the tides. Giving attention to something is not the same thing as worshipping it as an individual entity. On the contrary paying attention to rhythm and cycles is a way of honouring the interconnectivity of everything. What Islam does is simply bring this multiplicity and interconnectivity back to a Single Source.

Since we are just starting our journey towards a full Waldorf rhythm I hadn’t organised anything for the Solstice so what we ended up doing was a kind of on the spot happening.
We gathered together some things orange and yellow, we made chalk drawings, we took Midsummer Fairy to a lovely spot in the apricot tree, we ate some oranges while basking in the sun and we felt ourselves radiating with the Summer energy. We recited a surah/verse that begins

‘Allah there is no God but He, the Living, the Self-Subsisting, Eternal’

We also recited the following poem.

‘The radiant beauty of the world
Compels my inmost soul to free
God-given powers of my nature
That they may soar into the cosmos,
To take wing from myself
In cosmic light and cosmic warmth.’

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Afterwards, satisfied and relaxed, I started to ponder about the significance of nature orientated action. Our interaction with the cycles through a simple acknowledgement and commemoration gave me a feeling of balance. But this is a conversation for another day.

Spring 2016

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The year is drawing to an end already and this space has remained largely empty. I haven’t had time or free hands for our usual arts filled approach to homeschooling. It’s been a bare bones/skeletal kind of year and I’ve really just focused on the dry necessities such as literacy and maths. That been said the way these things are folded into our days kind of organically is far from dry and nothing like the way a school would approach it and our experience just leaves me marvelling at how easy these things are when children want to learn.

When Lili turned seven we started spending time learning to read more earnestly. I purposely delayed pushing academics with her before this age ( in line with both Waldorf philosophy and the advice of our faith) but it turned out that her interest really increased in natural tandem with reaching these milestones anyway so our approach has still been mostly child-led. She enjoys it immensely and it’s a beautiful process to watch unfold. We are half-way through ‘Teach Your Child to Read in 100 Easy Lessons’ and whilst it took a little while to really get into this method of teaching/learning we are finding it so straightforward now. We spend about twenty minutes per day plus story time and letter writing practise.

I’m continuing to use computer programs for Maths. Future School is my favourite as it has video tutorials on all topics. Tom has finished his program for his ‘year level’ this year,  not that we stick to year levels entirely but it’s nice to know where they are ‘at’ according to the system. There are still some topics that need to be brushed up on so we will go back over them. I don’t like the Future School Gr 1 curriculum so we are using IXL practise for Lili.

We’ve been doing a lot of reading out loud since it’s so easy to pick up a book and listen to Tom read while I’m busy with the baby.

Zeph (who has always been my child most suited to unschooling) is preparing for high school next year. Mostly I am letting him pursue his interests and passions which largely revolve around technology since this is what he will be able to follow up in detail once he starts Year 7 at his new school. Unlike his siblings he has always resisted more formal learning so it will be interesting to see how things go next year. He teaches himself to do a wide range of stuff and I know with the right guidance he will be able to flourish.

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It hasn’t happened, the garden until yesterday was an overgrown jungle. At least now the grass is no longer one metre tall! It’s time to plant the Summer crop of tomatoes and cucumbers, I really want to do it early this year so we make the most of the season.

I’ve been reading a lot about gut health and whilst I’ve known that I have ‘gut problems’ for a long time, it is daunting taking stock of what really needs to be done to attempt to heal it (leaky gut). I’m deeply concerned that I have passed these issues onto Ollie as he is already experiencing repeated ear infections. I’ve been reading up on the GAPS diet and I think we need to do it, the question is when? I can’t do it now, I don’t have the hands or time. Plus I eat a mostly plant based diet and it is SO meat based, I can’t handle that aspect of it, very challenging. I can bring myself to cook chicken as long it is as ethically sourced as I can muster but this is very expensive. I’m thinking to start with two special organic chickens per month and make bone broth with them.

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I am making our  own yoghurt using the machine from GAPS Australia which is a long ferment, up to 24 hours which hopefully means the yoghurt is almost casein and lactose free.

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It’s takes about thirty hours all up to make including the setting time in the fridge. Twelve small jars will last our family about one week. I use Schultz organic milk so it’s not any cheaper than buying pre-made organic yoghurt but hopefully it’s softer on our tummies.

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Ollie has been diagnosed with ‘Failure to Thrive’ which basically means he is not anywhere meeting his milestones in growth and it is currently unexplained. He needs to see a Geneticist to work out what the underlying problem might be. It’s very worrying and I’m really grateful for my faith because it’s a source of strength. He is now eight months old.

The time is nigh….

This is the view from my bedroom window.

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We have had a lot of rain and the plants are happy. We prepared the soil late this year and so we didn’t plant a lot of things but we have had rocket and bok choy and lots of cucumbers and tomatoes and there are capsicums still to come. It really was a struggle to keep this garden watered over the hottest days of summer and sometimes I used up my last little bit of waddle doing so but it is all worth it when it comes time to pick the produce. There are few things that make me as appreciative as freshly grown home veggies and fruit, there is something so beautiful about the whole process of growth and variety and something so calming about being immersed in greenery.

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I am spending most of my day looking out upon this view because if I spend too much time on my feet the SPD problems become really intense. It is frustrating because there is so much I would love to do in the house in preparation but still I am grateful that I can sit down and that the children are old enough to not require my physical aid and intervention all the time.

So much of our experience during pregnancy is influenced by what occurs at a subconscious level. And because we are conditioned to be rational not intuitive our emotions can get pretty confusing. Because I spent the first 30 weeks of this pregnancy completely avoiding the medical model I was able to really enter the beautiful rhythm of pregnant space. I didn’t worry about anything, I was not obsessed with time or what date I was up to, it was a lovely process. And I found the discomfort of having to suddenly exit that space and enter the world of medicalised birth very challenging. It involved a process of grieving for the birth that I longed for and because we don’t live in a society in which it is acceptable to include the mothers real experience as a priority then there is usually no vehicle for processing the grief, we are expected to just be grateful for whatever care we receive and it is thought selfish to consider otherwise. This is so short sighted because it is all so interrelated, the mothers experience IS the baby’s experience, there is no separation between these two things.

I felt very torn as I went about the decision making process, what aspects of the standard hospital procedure for dealing with Gestational Diabetes was I going to go along with? Induction is not complication free especially an early induction. And how do we really way up the odds between the risk of induction and the risk of macrosomia or stillbirth etc? It is difficult to be needing to make these decisions because what happens is that the more we are pulled into our analytical minds the more we lose touch with our natural intuition which is ultimately the thing that can help guide us make these kinds of decisions properly.

Initially I was told that I would need to be induced between 37 and 38 weeks and I was not happy with this. If left to go naturally I usually go into labour around 41 weeks. To be induced at 37 weeks is considered pre-term but particularly so when compared with my norm. Thankfully they did not push this when a scan showed that the overly excess amniotic fluid previously discovered had settled down and whilst the baby looks big there is nothing to suggest that it is big for me. At this stage it is just hypothetical, it can’t really be known.

I decided that I would refuse induction at 38 weeks and insist on being as close to 40 weeks as possible and I was kind of expecting a bit of a battle or at least being treated like a negligent fool but surprisingly it was not like that at all which gives me a lot of confidence because if there was any real medical need for early induction they would insist. I just gently asked if we could move the induction date forward a week and the doctor said it was fine. And this has taken a lot of the pressure I was feeling off, there is still a chance I will go into labour naturally and if not then at least there is far less chance of my body not being ready for birth at 40 weeks than at 37-38.

So now is really a time of waiting. Last night I dreamed that I moved with a group of women and children to a log house by a beach in Norway or Denmark. Our contemporary life is too fractured to make the real connections of sisterhood available but our bodies remember a more archaic time. I would love to spend these weeks sitting in a circle of women of different ages engaged in doing and making, to thread baskets and tell stories, to be quiet and listen. The odd conversation with a loved friend is not enough for me, I want it all day every day, I feel the absence but such is modern life.

I am being well cared for by the people around me and that is such a blessing. It is so, so hard for me to relax into needing the help of other people but the more I am forced to do so the easier it gradually becomes.

I decided to write down how I felt about not being able to home birth and it helped process the feelings.

Weary. Tonight I had a good sob after months of stoicism. Hopefully this means a good processing of all those things we are not supposed to feel but instead cover with a dose of saccharine gratitude. When another casual directive to ‘think positively’ made me want to start flying punches.
Acknowledging discomfort or loss or grief or worry does not cancel out positive thought. In fact it can be a stepping stone and a process. But it is so ingrained in our culture to silence the raw and churning places. And perhaps this is why so many live as dead zones enacting culturally prescribed roles but never really getting close to the pulse of life.
I am grateful and excited, there are a million things to be thankful for from basic food and shelter to the love of small people to the lightly showering rain.
I am also a woman on the edge of birthing sitting close to the heart of the world feeling it ache. There is exhilaration, anticipation and fatigue, fear and disappointment. I wanted to home birth and I can’t. I was pulled out of the intuitive rhythm of pregnancy into the analytical fear spaces. Trying to weigh risk against risk, decisions that seem impossible.
Birth and other rites of womanhood always open in me a gap, the longing I have for sisters, blood sisters. And aunts. Woman love. People who speak the languages of being female accompanied by unconditional love. The love that generally only blood or a shared childhood can accumulate. Pregnancy takes me into the heart of the island, my island-ness.
But well rehearsed now I can shed the tears and simply let it go. Trusting and knowing that weary spaces open us beyond our small limitations and in those openings there is peace. Shedding now the exhaustion and the hanging on and the million ways we women try to micromanage our lives. Birthing is the most beautiful time to surrender our illusion of control.

A couple of days ago I felt a real hormonal shift. I have not felt overly fragile this pregnancy compared with previous experiences but definitely in the last few days something has shifted. I have been weepy and grumpy. But it makes me happy because I know it means the time is nigh, everything is conspiring in preparation. InshAllah.

I have half packed my hospital bag and assembled the baby seat in the car. I enjoy the late summer afternoon air in the garden briefly before returning to my spot on the bed looking out on the greenery. It is time for waiting and patience and enjoying these last weeks, possibly the last time I will ever feel a baby kicking inside me.

I enjoy music that reminds me of being twenty and yet oddly contains lyrics that suit my current perspectives in life.

My little people also react to the slow pace of the household, all ‘formal’ homeschooling on hold now.

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I really truly believe that pregnancy is a journey for women designed to untie the places we are knotted. It’s impossible to articulate and so I won’t try. It is just such a truly amazing experience, a wonderful awe inspiring journey every time.

We women we know how to birth

Lili runs into the garden again and the way she moves transforms what I see. She is one with the wind and the late afternoon sun. She picks up a stick and she is calling ‘Wafa’, she looks for our cat. The sun is hot. Tomato plants wither against their stakes, tonight when it cools we will stand on the grass together and fill the garden beds with water.
The fruit trees tower over her as if already fully grown, she searches for her cat and the garden is a jungle. The fences are tall and this is her own private world. She moves with confidence.

I sit inside and I watch her and my womb is contracting. The pressure is down low, it feels deep in the earth. It tightens, tightens and I feel ready. But there are weeks to go, these are just the first signals, this deepness in me is communicating Beyond the confines of my skin and when the time is ripe the baby will come.

The house which just a few days ago was so neatly organised and clean has erupted into disarray, there are dirty dishes and piles of washing and I only dress if I really have to. My stomach is round and my breasts are low. My movements are slow and laboured. The pain in my lower back suddenly rings sharp and renders my legs useless. But all this is familiar now, I don’t resist it anymore.

I am resting. Waiting.

Sometimes I let myself be drawn out from this powerful energy, this other worldliness of late pregnancy. I am called into fear and into planning.

they will want to induce me, what am I going to do? Is there the possibility of refusing? What is safe?

The energy doesn’t want to emerge into cold sterile lights and the smell of disinfectant, the energy wants to stay home in this house that sees few people. This house with its fences and its garden and its layers of homeness. The energy is building and I want to abide with it. The energy fills a bath in the living room, it makes the lights low, it moves into the deep, it sways in the places where pain is not pain. And I am the energy and the energy is me.

I remember, last time, in early labour I climbed into the shower. Just to check it was true, if it was the real thing. And as the water ran and the steam rose it seemed as if I crossed over into the back of time. Water, steam, rhythm and sweet beautiful contractions. I could have stayed there forever.

Lili moves in the garden and I move in preparation.

I don’t want to surrender to my body being tricked. I long for the waves that flow from the deep, not a drip, not a synthetic mimicry.

I wonder why I am feeling these signals so early….
I have a glimmer of hope that maybe I got my dates wrong, maybe this baby is not too big, maybe I will go into labour naturally on my own before they set me a time on the calendar and call me in.

I am feeling the language of Maryam when she laboured by the date palm, alone.
I also hear their voices. I am too old….my BMI, the fluid, macrosomia, diabetes.

HIGH RISK!

But the deep tells me to move into the dark and these weeks now I am dimming the lights.

Now Lili comes inside and makes herself a cocoon in her blanket. She is talking to herself softly, she is several characters at once.
What’s the day today? one. two. three

Outside the foliage is enraptured, leaves like skin when touch calls it to ecstasy. I want to go into the garden and birth with the trees.

Lili is feeding her cat, she sings to her as she pulls the lid off the can. Wafa curls around her legs with love and affection.

I suspect I will be taken by the fingers and led through the lights and the lines. Step by step through the concepts of safety.
I should be grateful. grateful.

But there is a whole chorus; plants, bugs, bee’s and birds, a cat and a small child at one with the wind, they tell me not to forget what my body knows and what the back of time taught me,
we women we know how to birth.

Homeschooling end of year updates

Zeph – continued withThe Ramayana in more detail and looked at some classical Indian painting using a still from the children’s Ramayan on Youtube to copy a watercolour painting of his favourite scene from the story. Of course he chose the most gruesome aspect of the entire thing.

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He turned eleven and we ate cake by candlelight, he assembled the stunt scooter he wanted and he has been enjoying it ever since.

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I introduced him to Baraka Blue and he loved the clip “Love and Light’  since we have been to so many of these places in Fes.
We talked about the elements that plants need to grow and about the differences and similarities between the way human beings and plants interact with the elements.

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He started learning about the story of the Buddha’s life and we discussed the Four Noble Truths.

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We discussed the Tree of Life including plant/animal kingdoms and he made his own Tree of Life drawing.

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Then we started making a Family Tree to illustrate how the Tree of Life/Plant and Animal Kingdoms branch out from one another. I showed him the old coffee and burnt edges trick to make a document look old and he loved it. We can trace our family to the Second Fleet on my mother’s side.

He finished reading Demon Dentist.

Tom – learned about gravity and wrote a humorous story about ‘The Day there was no Gravity’. We did some grammar and spelling.
We discussed the basic elements of photosynthesis.
He read from Little House in the Big Woods.

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He read two Native American Creation Stories – Cherokee and Sioux.

A theme of one Creation Story was to not be scared of trying new things, we made a plate with some new (to M) tastes, mostly fermented goodies from my fridge that the children usually turn up their noses at…

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We looked through a book I’ve had since childhood, Native American Portraits and began to talk about the impact of  colonisation upon the Indigenous people of North America and Australia.

He started a unit on the Water Cycle and an experiment boiling water to show condensation. And an experiment about evaporation.

Spelling and handwriting practise.

Lili – is six meaning she is at Kindergarten level according to our syllabus. The main thing is to focus on rhythm and play incorporating letter and number forms slowly.

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We have started in the garden. HH was delighted when I gave her a garden bed all of her own and everyone gathered together to help assemble it. She had been asking me for days if she could grow strawberries so this was the first plant I gave her for her garden.

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We read ‘Does my Garden Grow?’ by Gerda Muller. The illustrations are wonderful and the story is very involved, it is more like reading a chapter book and we read a little every day rather than it all in one go.

Our cucumbers seedlings are already at least one centimetre tall, HH was thrilled to see that they had already come up. We read a story about a germinating seed and we talked about how the sun ‘calls’ the seed to sprout through the surface of the earth. She has been watering her own veggie patch every morning and evening so she understands that the ingredients a plant needs to grow are sunlight and water and the nutrients of the soil. We talked about the number four and how there are four seasons and four elements. We read a story about the four seasons. And this afternoon it is raining heavily so the garden will be happily drinking it all in.

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Focused on the letter H and the number 5 so we listened to  ‘Aranjuez‘ and we performed the Dance of the Five Silks to an audience of dolls!

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She dressed as a Queen and we tried lots of different combinations of costumes made from play silks. These are really one of my favourite Waldorf toys, so incredibly simple and versatile and HH loves them.
We then played Hopping on the H. Later she kept dancing while I read to her from Grimm’s Fairy Tales. Generally she loses interest in stories that are without many illustrations but the movement enabled her to stay completely absorbed.


We read Flower Fairies of the Seasons and HH loved that it was a copy I had owned as a child.

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She read the story of Eartha the Earthworm and then we went into the back garden to look for worms. It must have been too hot though as we didn’t find anything. Then we modelled the numbers one to six using modelling wax and played some number games.

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We sang a physical mandala, ‘Parts of Plants’ to the tune of Head, Shoulders, Knees and Toes, an active way of learning the functions of the roots, stem and leaves….the leaves soak up the sun, soak up the sun.

The strawberries started growing well.

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She made a kite on a very windy day for the letter K.

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We read Sonia’s Chicken’s.

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We continued reading Grimm’s Fairy Tales and her reluctance to sit and listen to non illustrated stories is now a thing of the past, it just took the right stories to captivate her attention.

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My favourite part was really the Welcome to Country. The elder spoke of the Merri Creek we sat next to being like the blood in our veins and this really struck a cord with me because I feel like the Huon River is my blood and I miss that landscape more than I can describe, I feel it like an ache in my body. I wonder sometimes if the discord in my sense of place related to my becoming a Muslim has really sensitised me to the reality of belonging and where and how we are owned, which atoms resonate with which atoms. Perhaps because I no longer know where I belong in terms of race, my sense of connection to land is heightened. The land does not belong to my cerebral interpretations, it simply exists and is as it is and whether white, Muslim, city dweller or not it is the pulse of my childhood. I do think we are owned by the land we grow up upon. But I wonder how my children can foster a similar sense of place since our connection to the land in suburbia is so fractured.

In the Welcome to Country he spoke about the genocide, about the stolen generation. At least two thirds of the crowd he was speaking to were not listening, already throwing colours upon themselves and laughing and dancing. I found it hard to hold back tears because it just seemed like a metaphor for the greater reality of our situation in Australia in which white people (and I am one of them) have not and will not and do not listen, not properly.

The elder also said we all belong to the land and we are all welcome and it is this humility and generosity that always rips my heart out because we white people are welcomed, we are included, if only we could just start listening as well. He spoke about refugee’s and boat people and Manus Island, he said that Manus Island is the same as the stolen generation.

I know that it isn’t completely the same but I am so, so grateful for my experience of sexism and my awareness of how male privilege works and how difficult it is to get through to some men about it because I can use it to recognise similar dynamics with white privilege and colour blindness. When we grow up white it is very, very difficult to start to understand how racism really works as opposed to what we have been taught racism is. Our understanding of racism is usually around 5% and if we don’t fit that 5% we assume we aren’t racist, we don’t realise that our entire society is built upon structures that are racist. Recognising this is probably the most difficult thing a white person can do and therefore most of us won’t do it.

It was great for Zeph to see the Festival of Colours in action, even if an anglicised version of it, they had lots of fun.

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Made watercolour mandala’s and decorated some of the lemon branches we cut from our tree with some colourful wool for our nature table.

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drawing mandala's

Made our Summer Nature Table

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We began learning to knit using Youtube video’s.

We cooked.

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dinner

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Pregnancy wise we had a bit of an upheaval when the lovely non-medicalised bubble I was living in popped and I discovered I have Gestational Diabetes again. Whilst not a big surprise since I have had it before, it is disappointing because it probably means I cannot birth at home as planned. I am grateful for at least spending 30 weeks in such a blissful, non intrusive space, an entirely different experience than my other pregnancies during which I was connected to the hospital system from Day 1.

Whilst I had planned to continue homeschooling through the Summer holiday break right up until my due date, the next few weeks I will now be busy with appointments so I think we will take a break from doing anything structured and just enjoy preparing the house for the baby.

 

 

 

 

Something beautiful and whole

It’s already Friday and most of my plans for the week fell through. I have been feeling really nauseous, I guess it is a just recurring morning sickness but strange to experience so far along. And next week I enter my third trimester so I shouldn’t be surprised to be feeling so tired again, now comes the homeward slog. I love so many things about being pregnant but I don’t have easy pregnancies. This week I have been grappling with all those now familiar to me feelings regarding being sick and needing the help of those around me and how difficult it is for me (being hyper-independent) to experience that kind of need. I always fight it and resist and make things harder for myself than they need to be.

I put a lot of effort into meal planning and then was unable to follow through every day, we ended up eating take away. That being said, I have been substituting hemp seeds for burghul and couscous in salads and I’m really happy with the result.

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The best thing about this week is that our garden bed has been weeded and filled up with soil and is now ready for planting. Plus we have another in the process of being built. All three of my homeschoolers have either gardening or botany components of their learning to be done so this is going to work well for us.

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As a perfectionist and an idealist I struggle when things threaten to taint the bubble of beauty that I have built for myself. I build and then my relentless intellect finds ways to tear it all apart. It’s just a little idiosyncrasy that I have slowly come to tolerate in myself, I am endlessly hard on myself and on the things I choose to be close to, always striving after some kind of unreachable ideal. There is a great irony between my spiritual sense of knowing truth and beauty lies beyond all frameworks and conceptions and the constant striving I find myself performing in order to capture and compartmentalise. It’s an endless tension and a futile one because the very nature of the thing I seek is beyond all forms, it is not in the nature of form to be perfect.

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It is also a tension between my creative/spiritual self and my rational/analytical intellect. Waldorf attracts me because it speaks to the first aspect in me yet I cannot help dissecting it with my mind. I have learned to live with Islam despite my mind shredding things continually, learned to recognise what it contains of truth and to leave the dogma to those who need it so it is foolish to be dogmatic in my interpretation of Steiner education. After all my children are not in a school, they are not at risk of being indoctrinated into some reductive cult vision and I doubt really that this is the reality of most of the schools anyway.

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I am a product of a generational cynicism raised to distrust religion, to hate dogma and to be suspicious of all spiritual leaders and yet as a young person I never realised the strong dogma’s of my secular humanism and now middle aged I have learned that there are spiritual truths that require leadership and directive to move towards.

But the distinct lack of this kind of leadership and directive in my immediate physical sphere and geographical locality has forced me to always be interpreting with my mind making my mind the site of practise. The gentleness of Waldorf as something reorientating myself into my creative being is something I consider a gift to come across because it is all interconnected, faith, education and family culture, the tone and spirit of the house.

So I am leaning back towards what attracted me towards Waldorf education in the first place, something beautiful and whole. Does it matter if I call it Waldorf or Sufism or Zen? I watched this lovely short video this week and it struck me that this is what Waldorf education is all about really…or at least this is what it is about for me….

H just came in and said ‘Mum, you said fuck today!’ and it’s true, I did. Life moves on.

So after a week of take-away and television we will simply get back on the horse.