Free Range Mothering

He's got jam from this morning's toast in the corners of his mouth, a smudge of dirt across the bridge of his nose, dirty bare feet, a stick in his right hand.  He's squatted down in the sandbox, working on some creation or other.  The only clean thing about the guy is his bright white smile that flashes when I ask him what he's up to.

I've always wanted clean kids.  The buttoned up, combed down type that Michelle Duggar, with 3 4 times the number of children I have, seems to be able to pull off.  I'm in awe when I meet someone who's kids have dazzlingly clean socks on (and matching, at that), and somehow manage to keep their shoes on while playing in the back yard.

My kids relish getting their hands dirty.  They may start out the day in shoes and socks, but by the time I drag them in at dusk, I'm lucky if they still have all their clothes on.  My kids just don't work that way.  Even on Sundays when I am extra strict and careful, they still manage to come all undone before Church is even over.

I've realized that perhaps it is my parenting style that is at fault.  The trouble is, I don't see it changing any time soon.  I'm a free-range parent, which means I try to do minimal hovering in all areas - including what my kids choose to wear most days.  While I definitely require a certain calibre of outfit for special events like parties, weddings and, of course, Sunday mornings, the rest of the week I tend to let them wear what they want.  And play what they want, even if that means plopping right down in the middle of a mud puddle.

I see the natural affinity most kids have for touching things (even messy things!) and realize it is their natural way of learning about the world around them.  Think about it: you probably know how mud feels between your toes, and not because it is something you do regularly as an adult.  No, it is probably something you experimented with during childhood.  I try to remember that childhood is a time of multi-sensory learning.  A time of splashing in rain puddles, rolling down hills, and that irresistible urge to touch squishy, gooey, slimy things.  It might cleaner and neater to keep them sequestered indoors where I can keep an eye on them, playing video games or watching movies.  But if childhood is about learning and growing, what better place to do that than outside?  And what better way than as hands-on as possible?

I try to remember that their whole lives will be spent looking and acting in ways our culture deems appropriate, using inside voices and keeping themselves clean.  The priviledge of childhood is the opportunity to learn in the most natural way possible.

So when Peter pulls up on the garden box, takes a swipe of dirt and deposits it right into his mouth, I try to remind myself - he's fine.  Just learning new things.