Recently I did something, as a mother, that was incredibly daring. Neighbours may consider it scandalous. Friends who know me well might raise an eyebrow. It even gave me a little lump in my stomach but I pushed on, knowing how much it meant to my eldest who had just turned six.

I let her walk four blocks to her friend’s house for a playdate. Without me. Alone.

After years of walking the route again and again, she knows it better than me. I couldn’t tell you how many blue doors are between our house and theirs. How many driveways and dogs, or backyards with trampolines. But she can.

Thinking about that route I found myself remembering how when I was five I was trusted to walk to and from school everyday – twice because I went home for lunch. Why couldn’t my six-year-old make it four blocks to her friend’s?

We reviewed the essentials: phone numbers, her address, what to do in case she DID find herself lost. When I called to tell the other mom about her little adventure there was a short period of silence on the phone. I started to think maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. “Get her to call me as soon as she gets there, OK?” I asked, hoping it would make everything sound better. “She’s walked that way 1000 times. She knows what to do.” Seconds of silence felt like an eternity.

“We did it. Remember? I even walked to school on my own – when I was five.”

Agreement came quickly then, my last comment offering a way back into the conversation for this woman. “Yes, I guess we did.” And then I was reminded of how much we did at that age. We climbed trees so high we could see over houses, we crossed small rivers, dug out icey caves in the winter, ran through the forest and built forts. All without our parents knowledge or at very least, out of their sight.

No, she could do this. And she did. The power went out in our home moments after she shouted a brave “Bye mom!” and slammed the front door. I waited about 10 minutes before I picked up the phone and tried to call her friend’s house. But it was dead.

Ah, life will always throw you a curve ball when you least expect it. I waited another five minutes before piling my youngest in the van and cruised through the neighbourhood. She was there. She was fine. And she had the biggest smile on her face.

“Guess what I did, mom?!”

“Tell me,” I said with a big grin.

“I walked here all on my own!”

It was like she had learnt to walk, ride her two-wheeler, and jump off the diving board into the deep end all at once. I wouldn’t take that away from her for anything.

Squamish Chief editor’s note: This is the first installment of a new column by local mother and writer Kirsten Andrews on issues related to parenting in the 21st century. The column will appear every second week in the Our Town section of The Chief.


I have always been a bit of a doer. That is neither a good nor bad thing, it just is. I need to keep busy and stimulated, and subsequently always have lots on the go.

Luckily, my career stemmed from my passions and always included a lot of travel. I have worked as a journalist in radio, print and TV; I’ve managed musicians, and did their marketing and publicity. I’ve promoted movies at big film festivals and hung out with stars and bigwig directors. In short, my days (and nights) were incredibly interesting.

Things are a bit different now.

Now I have kids — a six-year-old and a four-year-old. Girls. We spend many a morning bickering over socks — are they on, do they match, has Sister stolen a mate? — mittens (pretty much the same thing) and unfinished bowls of oatmeal. I have gotten used to dropping my plans at a moment’s notice when someone’s head is too hot. Like a lot of parents, I often place my needs after those of my kids.

Life has definitely slowed down.

There are, however, times when I forget why slowing the pace is so important. Like last weekend. The husband was away and it was just us girls. Friday was pretty typical, but on Saturday we were out of the house before 8 a.m. so they could have pancakes at a friend’s while I taught a class. Big Sister had a swimming lesson, followed by a visit at the cousins’ house and sushi on the way home. Before bedtime we built a giant nest in the living room and hunkered down for the night in front of a roaring fire. By the time dad came home later on Sunday, we had scuttled around the dike in search of eagles, threw rocks into the river with friends, and made a Mexican feast. All in all, it was a pretty fabulous few days.

But we weren’t without one or two meltdowns. OK, there were several. And for this I must take full responsibility. In all our to-ing and fro-ing — in my effort to keep things fun and exciting — I forgot the one thing I have become quite adamant about: Keeping it simple.

You see, a couple of years ago I was lucky enough to hear a man named Kim John Payne speak about his new book Simplicity Parenting. His approach to parenting meshed seamlessly with mine — I just hadn’t perfected mine yet. For the record, I still haven’t and don’t expect to anytime soon. But I do keep trying.

Simplicity Parenting is about getting back to the basics. It’s about streamlining your home environment, establishing rhythms and rituals, scheduling a break in your schedule, and scaling back on media and parental involvement. It’s basically a manifesto for protecting childhood and allowing it to unfold naturally and with grace (or as gracefully as possible!).

Essentially, “Simplicity Parenting” reminds us that less is more.

But when faced with the notion of 72 hours without my partner, an empty slate of nothingness and two young kids, I resorted to my old ways: I got busy. And the kids got really, really tired.

Children move at a different pace from adults — and that is something we would all do well to remember.

Kirsten Andrews offers Simplicity Parenting courses throughout the Sea to Sky Corridor. Visit www.SeaToSkySimplicityParenting.com for more information or to reach her via email.