My daughter has conceived a little project for herself, and has been ardently collecting cardboard toilet rolls for the past couple of weeks. She’s delighted every time we finish a roll, and proudly lines up her collection.

Well today was the day she announced she was ready to start. Depending on when she’s talked about it, she’s planning to make: binoculars, a telescope, a jet pack, a Paw Patrol rescue invention, a slide for her little fellas, and, most recently, a surprise.

She directed me to bring her all the craft tape, the paint sticks, scissors, white paper, and glue. Then I went and made myself a cuppa because I didn’t want to step in and direct her. I committed right from her announcing this little project to leave it all down to her, and step in only when asked, and then to follow her direction and not attempt to direct myself. This is something I find incredibly challenging, but I’m aware of it within myself and am making a conscious effort to step back and allow her creativity to lead us.

I guess this is part of the deschooling necessary for me to effectively facilitate her unschooling. Part of me still has that mindset that views colouring within the lines as “good” and successful. This expands to encompass other art and I find it really tricky not to guide / make suggestions when she is painting ceramic figures (which she loves to do), cutting & sticking, using glitter etc. I find that when I don’t offer guidance, the whole thing ends up a shade of murky brown / black dripping with glue and with the rest of the room covered in glitter. But she is far happier when that is the end result, and I can see her joy in the process, and in the discovery (mixing the colours is a particular fascination at the moment).

So I made a silent promise that I absolutely would only get involved in this project in order to facilitate, and only at her request. I think it’s easier in this instance because I have no concept of the end product and how it should turn out. So I resolved to sit back and enjoy observing her creative process.

My goodness it’s frustrating!! You have not experienced frustration until you’ve watched a three year old try to attach two toilet rolls end to end with PVA glue. Over and over. Strangely this didn’t seem to frustrate her, and when she eventually asked me why it wasn’t working, I said I thought the edges were too narrow for the glue to work. I held my tongue and didn’t suggest an alternative and I was so glad I was able to, because she looked pensively at everything set out in front of her and said “hmm how can I do it then?”, before picking up one of the rolls of tape and literally having a eureka moment.

Further frustration followed: waiting to be asked to find the end of the tape and start it off for her (you’d be surprised how long she turned the little roll of tape round and round in her hands for before she asked), watching her struggle to manipulate both scissors and paper simultaneously, seeing her get the tape folded and stuck on itself.

But I distracted myself with tea and biscuits, and stayed resolute in my determination not to intervene.

The project is by no means finished. Nanny arrived with new Playdough cutters which obviously took precedence over her junk modelling! But I think she’ll return to it, and I’m intrigued to see where she goes with it.

As a child, I loved those balsa wood models: skeletons of dinosaurs, insects, vehicles etc. And I’d always take them to my grandad for help putting them together. I remember feeling so wound up when he took over and gave me far more help than I needed or wanted. Sure, the finished models were perfect, but I never felt that pride in them because I always felt as though he’d made them for me, when I hadn’t needed him to.

My dad and I put together one of those Airfix models of the Starship Enterprise, and I remember him being uncharacteristically controlling because he wanted the finished ship to be great. And it was. The pieces were all intact and unblemished (his hovering over me as I cut each part from the packaging with his Stanley knife, made sure of this), there were no blobs of dried glue (I remember him demonstrating how to avoid them, and what to do if they occurred), and the paintwork was beautiful (again, I remember him showing me how to paint in one direction only, and explaining that I’d have to do two / three thin coats rather than just slapping on one thick coat). But the transfers and the windows he did himself when I was asleep one night. He painted the windows with a matchstick (so he explained), because it was such detailed work. And he did a great job, don’t get me wrong. That ship graced my bedroom for more years than I’ll admit. But opening that box for the first time and seeing the decal transfers on their sheet was so exciting, and the anticipation of applying those as the final step was tantalising. And I was always a little sad that I didn’t get to do them (if memory serves, I did get to “help” with one of the transfers).

As with everything, there’s a balance. I would love for my daughter to take a balsa wood kit to my grandad, and for him to put it together while she “helped”. And when she gets her first Airfix kit, I’ll send her straight round to my dad to help her compile her list of tiny pots of oil paint she’ll need to find. That’s my nostalgia talking. I hope she will know that her projects are her own, and be confident enough to take ownership and ask for / refuse help when she needs to.

In my dad and grandad’s defence: projects I took on with them actually got finished. Aged about 10, I bought my second Airfix kit: the Enterprise D, and announced that I would make this one all by myself. I was a married 25 year old before I finally accepted I was never going to finish it, and threw it away.

So as my daughter is learning the relative merits of various adhesive options, how to coordinate cutting paper unaided, and what colour you get when you mix all the paints (brown, always bloody brown!), I’m learning to sit back and enjoy the journey, not to focus on the product or even on getting something “finished”.

The joy is not only in the journey, but in those we share it with. I wouldn’t trade those memories with my dad and grandad for anything. For me it’s the first time I can recall feeling genuine justifiable frustration, and as an adult and parent myself now, it’s interesting to look back and imagine their frustration which would appear to mirror my own at the time. Through parenting, deschooling and unschooling, it is interesting how much of my own upbringing I’m reflecting on. I like to think it’s helping me to understand my parents and grandparents a little better, now that I have a daughter, and find myself suddenly able to absolutely understand where they were coming from. I can’t promise she won’t ever feel frustrated with me (to be honest in recent days, it’s hard to recall a moment when she hasn’t been!), but I hope in years to come, she looks back on time spent in my company, as fondly as I do with those who raised me.

For now, at least, I’ll busy my hands with tea and biscuits until I truly curb the urge to take over.