The Waldorf Co-Op

A few weeks back, I was truly touched and flattered when one of the moms in our county-wide homeschooling groups asked me rather secretly, if I would be interested in checking out their co-op that her and her 4 friends do on Wednesdays. I was intrigued! She told me it was Waldorf-based, and that they got together at one of the women's small beach houses that she has decided to use for just this purpose. It sounded precious. But I was nervous. Did she mean all five of us, really mean me and my four children, or what? She said absolutely, and so we looked forward to it.

The very first week (which was last week) we did not go. A million reasons, but we didn't. So yesterday we did. It was really, really something!

On a lake, which was surprisingly nearby, was this cool old white and black house. It had a long gravel driveway and a little tiny house to match it in the backyard. Wild flowers were everywhere. There was a ring of tree stumps which reminded me of an old campground ring or something. There was a huge vegetable garden, and just flowers, flowers, flowers. Very aged, very New England, I was charmed before I even came in.

We were met by the original friend, who is just a nice, nice woman from a nearby town to me. Mom of 2 girls, wears tshirts and pants, has funky glasses, seems really funny and down to Earth. Seeing her there first was reassuring, as I was finding myself incredibly nervous and self conscious. I was actually astonished at the flood of insecurity and almost dread I was experiencing. If I wasn't keeping track of 4 kids, I could have spent some time thinking about what in the heck my deal was, but I was too busy! We were welcomed into the house, which was so wonderful. It had hardwood floors, completely bare and empty except for a few pieces of furniture, rugs, and mirrors. In front, right on the lake, was a beautiful room which was all painted white woodwork, with windows on all 3 sides, rocking chair, wicker couches...I can't even explain. Like a catalog, where they work super hard to make it seem all weathered and old but this really was.

There were immediate signs of "Waldorf" products being brought out, the little dolls, the silk rectangles, wooden baskets filled with natural puffs of wool. Yarn. Sticks. A glockenspiel, and wooden recorders. Very precious.

I them met the woman whose house this was, and she was very kind and welcoming, but when I say gentle and natural, I am talking wowee wow wow, she was the real deal. Like, her voice was all ethereal, and her hands were itty bitty, and she had long long hair, and spoke just like someone would on a meditation CD. Same intonation, slight accent, extremely quiet. She had one little girl with some lyrical name, lanky long hair, pale skin, shy.

I am NOT trying to make fun of these people, and I even have one or two whom I am seriously considering steering towards my breast and belly blog--I am truly just trying to paint a picture for you. I will pre-empt any misunderstandings and tell you that every single woman I met and every single child was as sweet and pure and earnest as an actual time traveling stalk of Celandine. The way that they were just so happened to make me feel about as ethereal and wispy as a bag of Pork Rinds and a can of Miller high Life.

So, the next woman I meet, is even sweeter and gentler than the first one! She was dressed in what appeared to be possibly flax, anyway it was a white ethereal gown to the floor, and she had long long dark brown hair and rosy cheeks. She looked really familiar, and we talked about how we thought we might have met before. I was conscious of the fact that I was trying to alter my voice to more align with the quiet, quiet lilted accented voices of these women, and then I felt like they would think I was making fun of them, oh jeez! Why was I so wigged out?? anyhow, it turned out that I had met her 4 years ago at another Waldorfy thing. Long story, whatever. So she had a 2 daughters, both with lyrical names, long lanky hair, pale and sweet and shy and gentle.

Then, another one of my friends whom I knew from my homeschool group was there! Yay! She was a breath of reality (again, I don't mean this to sound mean, it was just so surreal!) in her jean shorts and bobbed hair. She good naturedly whispered "very Waldorfy!" to me when she saw how I was dressed--which thank goodness I had the sense to scrounge up what I did--and thankfully it was very very cold out--in the 50's. I had on a long woolen sweater and a long long skirt and big woolly socks and birkenstocks and my hair was in two little buns with no eyemakeup. (Awww) phew!

So anyways, she has a little boy and a little girl. What--a boy?? Yes. But he is 3 and I have never heard him make a single noise. Her children are so so so so so quiet and so sweet and gentle, they look like little paintings. Her girl is 5.

Is anyone getting to where I am getting to at this point? That me and my big wild self and my big wild bunch of 75% big wild boys have landed ourselves smack dab in the middle of some kind of photo shoot for Celtic Clothiers, or Pagan Petites, or, I dunno, Edwardian country diary girl world of flowery flowers incorporated? I felt literally dumbstruck. I loved everything about this place, but really wondered if we were "ok". then I felt so awful, thinking such insecure thoughts like that. then the whole cycle would start over. Ack!! Why must I be this way. (I have alot of insights as to why, but I will type them later)

So.

the last woman to arrive was really really cool looking. she had these huge earrings, and dreadlocked hair up in two huge piles on her head. she had some wool thing tied around her head, and at least 2 or 3 pairs of wool giant socks on, under some colorful dress. She did not seem like a little ghost from Scotland, she seemed like a fire breather from Lollapalooza. She had a gorgeous silk baby sling, out from which peered the dearest plump little baby head. (a girl, of course) The baby had on some kind of fantastic woolen or crocheted hat, and was wearing some fancy little cardigan. Be still my heart, I die for those kinds of baby clothes. Pant, pant, this baby was so cute. Then she pulls her out of the pouch and she is a big girl, and walks away and talks and stuff! I was like staring at this lady and her baby like a freak. they seemed so interesting!!! Oh and p.s., if you care about this detail the baby had on some kind of fabulous little jumper and mystery woolen socks and precious mystery baby shoes. Sigh Sigh Sigh. So so cute. Like a daguerreotype of Baby Queen Victoria or something. Cant deal with how cute this tot was.

So, there was a light suggestion of an activity, which was to make a frame out of sticks and to weave some yarn in and out of this frame and then for the children to go and gather natural things from out side to weave into the frame. Darling, right? Except that Greta and Mickey were completely blowing the heads off of these kids with their jokes and sarcasms and I was dying and mortified and stressed and I kept telling them (in private) that if they were not able to be gentle and calm and to respectfully participate in what clearly was a gentle and lovely handicraft then we would have to leave. ((big forced smile from me))

It wasn't working.

When the "children" were sent out to "gather", Greta and Mickey were just totally leading them astray. I felt so worried and I had no one to reassure me, really. I knew with all my heart that if we were not there, then these Waldorfy little girls would have been merrily gatherin' their bundles of thyme and marigolds...pondering each sweet feather, and wondering aloud with their Mommy which birdie the pretty feather might have lit from....instead we have Casey trying to break some hammock frame, Greta telling stories about some Harry Potter thing on YouTube to a girl who never had pop before in her life--(never had soda pop, so I bet no YouTube then, right??) Mickey saying stuff that had the kids cracking up and Greta smashing her had over his mouth and saying "DON'T BE BAD, MICKEY!!!"

Did I mention Charlie?

He was a freak. Crying crying crying. Wanting to nurse, but then not doing it. Wanting to go outside, then back in. Obsessed with the fridge. Obsessed with the bathroom. I was SWEATING my little woolen outfit off, lemme tell ya.

Now I know that I have painted sort of a hellish portrait for you up to this point. But the women were sweet. They smiled at me. One told me she liked my skirt. They seemed surprised by my stress. I was in and out, up and down, wiping my brow, apologizing profusely for my missing out on Morning Meditation, Morning handicrafts, and for my children's seeming inability to go pick some flipping flowers and to come back in to stick them into the loom. (Which turned out really pretty, by the way.)

They made a communal soup, for which I bought and brought carrots to contribute to, but I was so busy with Charlie and every thing else (the property was not all the way fenced and less than 100 feet from a lake-yikes!) that I never even got to give the ladies my carrots. Which I went out for at 10 the night before. Damn.

the soup smelled fantastic, and it was soon time to eat. They apparently all chip in all their food and we all share it. I knew this, and yet, like so many other insecurities that I was being bombarded with that day, I worried about my food I brought. Simple, whole, natural stuff. But not like theirs. Not in heirloom glass dishes, but in gladware. Not organic or picked fresh that morning with my black cat playing his lute, but bought from meijers and rinsed well. I brought:

French bread

Carrots

Cucumber slices

Apples

Sunflower seeds

Hummous

Cream cheese

Cheddar cheese

Raisins

Pickles

and of course, Mickey's pasta, precooked.

It all looked so nice, the huge spread all over the giant antique table, all the moms and children all filling their plates with the wholesome foods, the smell of the dill and the onions and the tomatoes from the soup mingling with the warm wood smells and the lake air...except there was nowhere for my kids to sit except Casey!

You know what, though, I was glad.

there was a picnic table outside and I tended to Charlie and Mickey's plates out there. I did risk Charlie being out in the yard alone as I rushed my butt off trying to do all this, but obviously he lived. I got about 2 bites of soup, and felt so sad about it. But Charlie didn't want much of the nice plate I made him, so I got to eat something which tasted like zucchini bread, and had some vegetables. Maybe that's how you get wispy--tee hee.

After lunch, the "7 years old and over" children went upstairs to do something with one (or more?) of the moms, and Charlie finally was wanting to nurse and actually stay on. Cool, right? Once Charlie fell asleep, I did the "walk somehow discreetly while the baby is still latched on" waddle across the house and plunked myself and my nearly 40 pound baby down on a wicker couch. the women in the room were knitting. I don't know how to do any of that stuff, as my hands have been full literally, since 1997, (and before that you were more likely to find a videogame controller or a beer or a copy of BUST or worse in my hand than a knitting needle, I must say) but it didn't matter. I was happy to be nursing my baby, sitting on that beautiful sunroom porch, when suddenly Casey--where was Casey? I didn't know what to do. I had Charlie asleep on my lap, to lay him down would mean my boob hanging out, and him screaming and freaking out, so I just sat there. It turns out he went upstairs. The "7 and older" was too much for my little curious one, and he just HAD to see what the deal was up there. They gently shoo'ed him down, and he was pouty.

This whole thing was from 10 to 2, and before I knew it, it was nearly 2. Unfortunately, this was when the best funnest part happened! They let the kids go into the little house. This is a tiny scaled house in the flowers, in the yard, which is even more adorable inside. It had a tiny broom and wooden containers with silks in it to play with. A rocking chair, a little wood play-stove, a porch...and I had to be the bad guy who had to tell them it was time to leave! I also did not clean up whatsoever, but I think I was suppossed to. Again, I only have 2 arms.

The leaving was really good. These ladies give hugs, and that was nice. They seemed genuine in their saying it was lovely to meet me. The children hugged, too, which was sweet. Casey was so sad to go and said he wanted to live there. They were all rosy cheeked and asking when we were coming back. My friend who invited me to this whole thing was like "Everything is ok! Don't be stressed! Its all good!" and I smiled a feeble smile and just said that I would relax in a week or two and she seemed worried about me, which of course made me even more self conscious, arggg.

I didn't want to meet new people like this. I love my children and I love myself. I do not think I am inferior or bad or wrong. I am just unique, and multifaceted, and complex. I do no know who I "appeal to" and mostly I do not care. I get quite mental when I have PMS and this was a bad time for me to be doing this. So lets assess:

My reality is that I have four children. Three of them are boys. We are as likely to be pressing wildflowers as we are to be watching spongebob. We are as likely to be listening to our new CD "Lakeside Retreat" (ambient nature sounds with some flute and harp) as we are the Beatles, Bjork, or Japanese techno. We eat junk food and we eat whole foods. Yes my kids have had pop. Today. Probably tomorrow. They are allergic to juice and milk, and I honestly think it through and think it is ok. Mostly we drink water. From the tap. :)

Although it was mind blowingly difficult to not quite get what I was supposed to do, and to feel like my kids were "too" regular, too rowdy, too male, was sucky, we really did have an amazing experience. The firebreather looking awesome and fun Wiccan Mama told me about some extraordinary gynecologist in the area who works with women who have had difficulties healing properly from c-sections, and she is going to email me some info. I got to talk about homebirth, and knitting, and raising a boy (or three) with some really different people. My children got to experience something really lovely and unique, which they are begging to go back to. I feel myself treating them with much more patience today, and it is nice. We are going to buy tons of yarn this weekend.

I don't know what to do about Charlie. the little cardigan girl fussed as much as he did.

Next week they told me it will be much more structured, with all sorts of lessons and classes.

That's my story. We'll go give it a try again next Wednesday. I won't be under the influence of mind altering hormones and hopefully, I will be somehow more prepared for the whole vibe.