On This Valentine's Day...

When I was a crazy-for-love variety of teenager (and even pre-teen), Valentine's Day brought a twisted sort of beautiful agony. (I was dramatic that way.) On the years I didn't have anyone to send me anything, the holiday was a depressing one, and yet I envisioned, with great hope, future years in which I would be with the "the one," and Valentine's Day would be the incredibly romantic day it was supposed to be.

That would be now, right? Married, with all the gorgeous children I had always wanted. Dear, romantic, overwrought girl of the past (channeling my friend Lisa now, who posted in a similar vein this week), let me tell you of my Valentine's Day this year. Starting in the early morning hours yesterday, Scarlett had succumbed to a stomach bug, so the day had been rough. She had recovered by late that evening, and had decided to play...until about 1:00am, which is also about the time Ryan began to have serious leg cramps that gave him (and his parents) a restless night. So we were all pretty tired when we woke up this morning. No, scratch that - Dave and I were zombie-tired. Somewhere in the midst of trying to pull myself together to get a semblance of a respectable day going, I remembered it was Valentine's Day. "I love, love, love all of you!" I assured the kids. (Even though I forgot to make you heart-shaped pancakes for breakfast!) Dave and I texted our love to each other. Oh, then, I also remembered that I was supposed to give a violin lesson sometime that day, but I couldn't remember when, and I didn't have their number to call them and suggest they stay far away. I even feel a little reluctant to post anything about this now, since I feel almost sure stomach viruses are contagious even over the Internet. Anyway, I looked around at the chaos that was our house, and at my state of dishevelment, and decided I had better do what I could.

But some of my children weren't having it. Scarlett was better physically, but still a little cranky, wanting to be held, and yet not in the sling, in a way that would have made it possible to do anything. Ryan wanted to make heart-shaped cookies. Right now. Please. Please. Please. And oh, by the way, can't we have heart-shaped cookies????? Now???? Repeat about a hundred times. Also, he was thirsty, but water, juice, and milk were "disgusting", and the only thing in the whole wide world he could possibly want was sweet tea. For breakfast, and I really had to put my foot down, even though he wanted to know why I wanted him "to die". Drew wanted to know if he could play the Wii. Also repeat many times. Aimee (bless her) and I were having our own moments throughout the day, and later she admitted that she was rather Dr. Jekyll and Mr Hyde-like throughout - and, in fact, very Mr Hyde where it concerned things like grammar. Ironically, Chase was the most laid-back and well behaved today, until he poured all the sprinkles I had bought for his birthday cupcakes onto the school room floor - and he and Ryan proceeded to eat them right off the floor.

Oh, and when my students arrived, I met them at the door with warnings about germs. They opted to stay for the lesson anyway, and I DO so hope all the precautions we took with them worked, because tonight after bedtime, after Dave and I had just settled everyone down and were just starting to contemplate relaxing (and I had started to enjoy a glass of some really lovely wine he had brought me from Chile), we heard the sound we had feared. Ryan had gone to bed full of excitement and hopes for his birthday tomorrow, but also looking rather green. So it wasn't a surprise when we heard that fateful sound. It was slightly more surprising when we heard it again, from Chase (who had just come into our bed, of course), and even a little more surprising (because these things usually space themselves out a bit more), when we heard it from Drew. But in the midst of escorting kids to the bathroom, gathering towels, and changing sheets, we had to give thanks that we are getting done with it all at once this time. Also, it has been a very long time since we've been visited this way, so I guess we were due for it.

And we also had to laugh a bit at the timing of paying those dues, on this Valentine's Day that has crashed into a fiery ball of flames. The most romantic thing being done for me this year is that Dave is cleaning up the worst of it, and while to my former self that may not seem like much, it's absolutely priceless now. Ah, the many expressions of love. Happy Valentine's Day, honey.

How to Hug a Porcupine

We've read a couple of children's books by this title lately, and I'm sure there are quite a few with that name, because it's a cute thought - a creature who wants to be loved, but is just so darn prickly. It's also a familiar concept here, as it probably is in many families. We have more than one child in ours who can become rather porcupine-y, and in those times, often exasperated beyond reason, my first response can be to run away from the quills, or to force the quills away (which rarely works, by the way). But I know somewhere in my why are you behaving this way - addled mind, I know the porcupine just needs love. So how in the world do you hug a porcupine?

You just do. You just take a breath, say "I love you," with no conditions, lectures, or corrections, and give that porcupine a tight squeeze. Sometimes the quills soften instantly, sometimes it takes a little while longer. But you hug the porcupine.

Now, how to hug this sort of character....

Still working on that!

(just kidding - same principle applies...if you can catch him)

A Successful Failure

Even aside from our "yes" day today, we took the whole week off from school. So, sorry kids, no spring break later - this was it.

Truth be told, the boys did watch a little more TV than usual, and certainly more superhero cartoons than I would every normally allow (or that their older sister would allow!). Even Scarlett watched Sesame Street twice, which is also something she never does, but which I allowed because when she saw it, she squealed and danced with glee. And it's awfully hard to deny a toddler something that makes her squeal and dance with glee.

But anyway, that's not all we did. We went to the library three times, went to the aquarium in Cincinnati one day, we finished Charlotte's Web, read in Lord of the Rings, read about knights, samuraii, Robin Hood, rocks and minerals, and dragons. We listened to books on CD, played games like Scrabble and Checkers, played with friends, and did all our usual activites at church. So I think it wasn't a lost week, after all. Of course, lest anyone think I'm painting an over-rosy picture, sometimes the boys were absolutely dreadful to each other. Sometimes I wanted to hide in the closet. I was already for bedtime. And you notice that I didn't mention any math, of which we did nary a thing.

We had the sort of week we probably would have had whether I had planned for the week off or not, but as I told a friend, I find it helpful to plan our failures, as it were. If I know we're going to have a period of time in which it's unlikely we're going to get much done, I always feel much better about it if I plan for it in advance. Of course, it's probably better to say that this a good way to plan for success.

"Yes" Day

It's a "yes" day here today. Snow is falling outside on this cold grey day, I want to get the house ready for Aimee and Dave's return home from Chile tomorrow, and it's just been a long (but not bad) week in general, so I decided to let the rules go today. There are still some basic boundaries, of course, but if a request can be granted with reason, I'll do it. You boys want to sit in your pajamas all morning and watch the Clone Wars movie while eating an entire box of cereal? Go right ahead. And sure, while you're at it - take turns chugging the rest of the juice right out of the bottle. Your older sister isn't here to care.

That sort of thing.

Surprisingly - but I guess not really - they aren't spending the entire day in front of glowing screens, and are now upstairs builiding with Legos and listening to books on CD, which is their favorite pasttime anyway. In any case, it's a pretty peaceful day, and I think it's nice for everyone to have a "yes" day on occasion, if at all possible. That being said, it's not really possible for me to have a day like that. But if it were, what would I do with such a day? How tantalizing. When I have bits of free time here and there, I find I'm filling them up with cleaning, school-ish planning and organizing (such as it is for me), and the like...and if I'm not doing those things, I feel a little guilty. But what if I did have the opportunity to do just whatever I wanted and was forbidden from doing all the necessary things?

Hmmmm....it would take me a while to decide, but here are some things for starters:

I would take a long, hot bath, with a good book in hand. (I even have the book - Falling Together, by Marisa de los Santos, the author of a couple other books I really enjoyed.)

I would eat a meal slowly. Without sitting down. Also without sharing.

I would sit in front of the fire with a cup or two of coffee. That's it. Just sit.

Later I might go for a run. Or not, depending on how I felt.

And I probably would look through some school books and put a gazillion library books on hold, because I actually do enjoy that.

I wouldn't want to be without the kids all day, although since I can't even take a 3 minute shower without a certain little one screaming right outside the shower door...they might have to be happily occupied elsewhere for some of it. But my point is, my "yes" day wouldn't necessarily have to be a "me" day. I do like my kids, and I like having them around. I'm just thinking about what I would do if I didn't have anything else to do. You get the idea, I'm sure. At any rate, those are just a few of my ideas for a personal "yes" day. What would yours be???

Choosing Faith Over Fear

Something I wrote yesterday, before I had a day which made me feel I probably shouldn't be giving any advice about education!


I mentioned in a previous post that if we had a family theme for the year, it would be "faith over fear." When the turning of the new year also brought us back to more or less "formal" learning - okay, mostly "less!" - we tried to continue to apply that theme to our learning as well, and even more purposefully than ever. Choosing faith in any situation is not always easy, and choosing faith over fear in the area of education is certainly one of those times. In the first place, fear seems to come naturally when it comes to parenting. We want to do only the right things when it comes to raising our children, and often, it's hard to know what the right thing is. In the second place, education, and more specifically, public education, has become an idol in our society. As such, it has an insatiable appetite for time, money, and other resources, and, like all false gods, it rules by feeding fear.


After all, what can you do against claims that a good education is the foundation for personal and national success and prosperity? How can you deny anything to a system that claims to provide this, and how in the world can you, one set of parents with no teacher education and vastly limited resources compared to the system (limited - ha! just now I'm out of just about everything, even paper!), possibly imagine to offer such an education to your children. I think this is what gives rise to one of the most common questions we still hear, despite the fact that homeschoolers have proven themselves again and again - "How do you know if they're learning what they're supposed to be learning? How do you know if they're on track with other kids their age?" I posted some time ago about how a relative even challenged me with, "So you think you'll be able to teach EVERYTHING they need to know in high school?" Quite a tall order, that. Studies come out periodically assuring us (time after time) that homeschoolers are, in fact, doing just fine, but sometimes even these can bind us to the system of fear-mongering. One asserted that structured homeschoolers do just as well as, and even a little better than, public school students, but unstructured homsechooling leaves kids behind. I think that's supposed to be reassuring, but in reality, I think it just feeds the fear and adds to the pressure we already feel. Structured? What exactly is that supposed to mean, and how many of us homeschool moms feel we're offering a structured educational environment? And here's a study showing that the unstructured learning that's probably happening in most of our homes is bad. So I think those kind of studies are probably a way for the system to acknowledge (grudgingly) the success of homeschooling, while still maintaining itself as the standard.

Embrace a new standard.


I think that's the first step in choosing faith over fear in the education of our children, because

Fear tells lies, while faith tells the truth.


Among the lies we allow ourselves to believe are that the government system is the standard, and that we are ill-equipped in resources and training. The truth is that the system in relatively new in the grand scheme of things, and that it isn't doing such a terrific job. After all, it gives itself a "C" average nationally. It demands enormous resources of all kinds, but isn't delivering glowing results. Those who have their children in public schools can't - and don't, because of course I know some great parents who are involved and responsible - just toss their kids in and let the system do its job. It always seems to me that they have to do a fair amount of work to make sure that their children are getting what they need. So the truth is that every parent must be involved in their children's education, and furthermore, that God requires us to teach and train them. The truth is that if he asks us to do it, then we're perfectly qualified to do so. Another wonderful truth is that God created us to discover and learn. Babies learn at amazing rates. They don't just cease when they reach kindergarten age, and become a blank slate, on which you must etch perfectly timed skills and knowledge. It's amazing to me what they continue to learn, with minimal instruction. For instance, I remember being worried about the right time to teach Aimee to read and to do things like learn how to use scissors. Believe me, I didn't have to teach my current (almost) five year-old how to use scissors! And he's learned his letters, numbers, and a whole host of other things on the fly, certainly without sitting down with me for any amount of time at all. He's just immersed in a world where it's all around him, and his perfectly designed brain is picking it up and mastering it just as God planned it.


Obviously we have our fair share of days, weeks, and months, in which we feel "behind," or feel like we haven't done much of anything at all, but even in those times, I have to remember that

Fear highlights failure, while faith sees things that perhaps can't actually yet be seen!


Education based on faith rather than fear has to look toward the long term rather than the short. It has to remember that a nine year-old boy who would probably fail a timed math test but can answer the questions correctly aloud from a math lesson isn't failing, but will ultimately be a success. And when I send him to practice his violin, and instead he gets distracted picking a song out by ear on the piano, fear says, "He can't stay focused! How is he every going to do such-and-such-and-such if he can't follow instructions??" But faith says, "He has a great ear for music, and he's unafraid to use it! What a great skill to have" (And then maybe after the hundredth time he's played that particular tune, it reminds him to go ahead and get to his violin practice.) He's nine. There's still plenty of time to learn how to follow instructions blindly. But obviously our children's shortcomings aren't the only failures that keep us bound to fear. Those days in which we stay in our pajamas until almost lunchtime, and don't get around to getting our kids started on school until later when we're doing Latin in the car on the way back from Chic-fil-a (ahem) can make us panic that we've wasted time, we're behind, we failed the day, etc. etc. etc. But faith sees that the kids played Ivanhoe outside in the beautiful weather, and read from The Adventures of Robin Hood, and packed for a trip to South America. Fear says that if they don't know how to be structured, organized, or know how to take tests, they won't be able to go to college and then become productive citizens. (In my experience, fear is always the voice saying , "What if...?" That's not from God.) Faith says that war games and creative play foster good relationship skills and problem solving abilities, that reading good literature is joining in the Great Conversation, and that going to South America with your father for a week is an invaluable experience on all kinds of learning levels. Actually, this is another time that faith rejects the false standard put before us by the system, and defines success differently. I was encouraged in this a couple months ago in one of our homeschool moms' meetings. One of the moms was talking about a friend of hers, who had used unschooling in the education of her children. They read for hours each day and did little structured schooling. It had been a good experience, and the kids were now grown and enjoying their respective places in society. Another mom asked, "What about things like math?" The first mom replied, "Well, my friend will admit that her kids aren't great at Algebra, but her oldest is a ballet dancer in Europe. He has an exciting, satisfying life." I would rather have my children grow up to be vibrant, creative people than just to train them to be students who are good at worksheets.


For the record, I think math is a worthwhile pursuit. We are a little more structured than that particular mom, and, frankly, a lot less structured than some other families. But I have slowly been learning over the years to avoid comparing myself even with other homeschool families. Not only are there a variety of styles that work for different people, and most of them not better than the others - just different - but also, I think that

Fear marginalizes, while faith....doesn't.


We marginalize ourselves when we feel sure we're the only ones who do or don't [fill in the blank], and often we're marginalized by others, when they say (well-meaning though they may be), "Oh, I could never homeschool. You must be so organized, patient, etc, etc,. That has never encouraged me, and I doubt most moms are encouraged by it. Rather, I think it makes us feel more like failures, because we know we aren't more organized or patient than anyone else, and is it really such a hard thing that normal people can't do it? But that's how fear rules, by that voice in the back of your mind that says, "It really is too hard, and you really aren't good enough for it, like the tiny minority of super-organized moms who are." Faith believes that anyone can choose to homeschool, and that it looks different for everyone (the truth is that some people are incredibly organized and structured, which is great for them), but that's just fine. Really, it's all the same thing, I guess. Faith believes that we CAN, that our children CAN, that God created them to learn, and that he gave us the mandate and the ability to teach them. We don't anyone else's approval or affirmation (although, also for the record, we do comply with the law, as it generally better to be on the right side of it than not!). But as I wrap this up, please know that I'm contemplating a day at the end of which I thought, "Maybe I should be afraid, That was pretty bad." In fact, the whole of January wasn't really what I hoped it would be, and while I keep thinking I'm just "getting into the swing of things," I realized recently that the school is more than halfway through. This IS my "swing of things," for better or for worse. So no one should take this as a treatise from an expert (as if they would in the first place!), and in fact, I suppose you should all take this with a grain or two of salt, since we haven't graduated anyone yet. It's entirely possible this whole thing will go down in spectacular flames and I'll look back one day and see all my glaring mistakes and failures....

Faith over fear, faith over fear!

Choosing Faith Over Fear

I mentioned in a previous post that if we had a family theme for the year, it would be "faith over fear." When the turning of the new year also brought us back to more or less "formal" learning - okay, mostly "less!" - we tried to continue to apply that theme to our learning as well, and even more purposefully than ever. Choosing faith in any situation is not always easy, and choosing faith over fear in the area of education is certainly one of those times. In the first place, fear seems to come naturally when it comes to parenting. We want to do only the right things when it comes to raising our children, and often, it's hard to know what the right thing is. In the second place, education, and more specifically, public education, has become an idol in our society. As such, it has an insatiable appetite for time, money, and other resources, and, like all false gods, it rules by feeding fear.





After all, what can you do against claims that a good education is the foundation for personal and national success and prosperity? How can you deny anything to a system that claims to provide this, and how in the world can you, one set of parents with no teacher education and vastly limited resources compared to the system (limited - ha! just now I'm out of just about everything, even paper!), possibly imagine to offer such an education to your children. I think this is what gives rise to one of the most common questions we still hear, despite the fact that homeschoolers have proven themselves again and again - "How do you know if they're learning what they're supposed to be learning? How do you know if they're on track with other kids their age?" I posted some time ago about how a relative even challenged me with, "So you think you'll be able to teach EVERYTHING they need to know in high school?" Quite a tall order, that. Studies come out periodically assuring us (time after time) that homeschoolers are, in fact, doing just fine, but sometimes even these can bind us to the system of fear-mongering. One asserted that structured homeschoolers do just as well as, and even a little better than, public school students, but unstructured homsechooling leaves kids behind. I think that's supposed to be reassuring, but in reality, I think it just feeds the fear and adds to the pressure we already feel. Structured? What exactly is that supposed to mean, and how many of us homeschool moms feel we're offering a structured educational environment? And here's a study showing that the unstructured learning that's probably happening in most of our homes is bad. So I think those kind of studies are probably a way for the system to acknowledge (grudgingly) the success of homeschooling, while still maintaining itself as the standard.





Embrace a new standard.



I think that's the first step in choosing faith over fear in the education of our children, because

Fear tells lies, while faith tells the truth.






Among the lies we allow ourselves to believe are that the government system is the standard, and that we are ill-equipped in resources and training. The truth is that the system in relatively new in the grand scheme of things, and that it isn't doing such a terrific job. After all, it gives itself a "C" average nationally. It demands enormous resources of all kinds, but isn't delivering glowing results. Those who have their children in public schools can't - and don't, because of course I know some great parents who are involved and responsible - just toss their kids in and let the system do its job. It always seems to me that they have to do a fair amount of work to make sure that their children are getting what they need. So the truth is that every parent must be involved in their children's education, and furthermore, that God requires us to teach and train them. The truth is that if he asks us to do it, then we're perfectly qualified to do so. Another wonderful truth is that God created us to discover and learn. Babies learn at amazing rates. They don't just cease when they reach kindergarten age, and become a blank slate, on which you must etch perfectly timed skills and knowledge. It's amazing to me what they continue to learn, with minimal instruction. For instance, I remember being worried about the right time to teach Aimee to read and to do things like learn how to use scissors. Believe me, I didn't have to teach my current (almost) five year-old how to use scissors! And he's learned his letters, numbers, and a whole host of other things on the fly, certainly without sitting down with me for any amount of time at all. He's just immersed in a world where it's all around him, and his perfectly designed brain is picking it up and mastering it just as God planned it.





Obviously we have our fair share of days, weeks, and months, in which we feel "behind," or feel like we haven't done much of anything at all, but even in those times, I have to remember that




Fear highlights failure, while faith sees things that perhaps can't actually yet be seen!







Education based on faith rather than fear has to look toward the long term rather than the short. It has to remember that a nine year-old boy who would probably fail a timed math test but can answer the questions correctly aloud from a math lesson isn't failing, but will ultimately be a success. And when I send him to practice his violin, and instead he gets distracted picking a song out by ear on the piano, fear says, "He can't stay focused! How is he every going to do such-and-such-and-such if he can't follow instructions??" But faith says, "He has a great ear for music, and he's unafraid to use it! What a great skill to have" (And then maybe after the hundredth time he's played that particular tune, it reminds him to go ahead and get to his violin practice.) He's nine. There's still plenty of time to learn how to follow instructions blindly. But obviously our children's shortcomings aren't the only failures that keep us bound to fear. Those days in which we stay in our pajamas until almost lunchtime, and don't get around to getting our kids started on school until later when we're doing Latin in the car on the way back from Chic-fil-a (ahem) can make us panic that we've wasted time, we're behind, we failed the day, etc. etc. etc. But faith sees that the kids played Ivanhoe outside in the beautiful weather, and read from The Adventures of Robin Hood, and packed for a trip to South America. Fear says that if they don't know how to be structured, organized, or know how to take tests, they won't be able to go to college and then become productive citizens. (In my experience, fear is always the voice saying , "What if...?" That's not from God.) Faith says that war games and creative play foster good relationship skills and problem solving abilities, that reading good literature is joining in the Great Conversation, and that going to South America with your father for a week is an invaluable experience on all kinds of learning levels. Actually, this is another time that faith rejects the false standard put before us by the system, and defines success differently. I was encouraged in this a couple months ago in one of our homeschool moms' meetings. One of the moms was talking about a friend of hers, who had used unschooling in the education of her children. They read for hours each day and did little structured schooling. It had been a good experience, and the kids were now grown and enjoying their respective places in society. Another mom asked, "What about things like math?" The first mom replied, "Well, my friend will admit that her kids aren't great at Algebra, but her oldest is a ballet dancer in Europe. He has an exciting, satisfying life." I would rather have my children grow up to be vibrant, creative people than just to train them to be students who are good at worksheets.






For the record, I think math is a worthwhile pursuit. We are a little more structured than that particular mom, and, frankly, a lot less structured than some other families. But I have slowly been learning over the years to avoid comparing myself even with other homeschool families. Not only are there a variety of styles that work for different people, and most of them not better than the others - just different - but also, I think that

Fear marginalizes, while faith....doesn't.






We marginalize ourselves when we feel sure we're the only ones who do or don't [fill in the blank], and often we're marginalized by others, when they say (well-meaning though they may be), "Oh, I could never homeschool. You must be so organized, patient, etc, etc,. That has never encouraged me, and I doubt most moms are encouraged by it. Rather, I think it makes us feel more like failures, because we know we aren't more organized or patient than anyone else, and is it really such a hard thing that normal people can't do it? But that's how fear rules, by that voice in the back of your mind that says, "It really is too hard, and you really aren't good enough for it, like the tiny minority of super-organized moms who are." Faith believes that anyone can choose to homeschool, and that it looks different for everyone (the truth is that some people are incredibly organized and structured, which is great for them), but that's just fine.




Really, it's all the same thing, I guess. Faith believes that we CAN, that our children CAN, that God created them to learn, and that he gave us the mandate and the ability to teach them. We don't anyone else's approval or affirmation (although, also for the record, we do comply with the law, as it generally better to be on the right side of it than not!). But as I wrap this up, please know that I'm contemplating a day at the end of which I thought, "Maybe I should be afraid, That was pretty bad." In fact, the whole of January wasn't really what I hoped it would be, and while I keep thinking I'm just "getting into the swing of things," I realized recently that the school is more than halfway through. This IS my "swing of things," for better or for worse. So no one should take this as a treatise from an expert (as if they would in the first place!), and in fact, I suppose you should all take this with a grain or two of salt, since we haven't graduated anyone yet. It's entirely possible this whole thing will go down in spectacular flames and I'll look back one day and see all my glaring mistakes and failures....



Faith over fear, faith over fear!

Excuses, Excuses

One day this past week, I gave one of my children (who shall remain nameless, but whose identity will inevitably become apparent in the course of this story, I'm sure) a math fact sheet to do. We had a busy afternoon ahead, and I knew we wouldn't get an entire math lesson done, but I figured we would sneak something in, so that we could say we had done math that day. Not surprisingly, the child balked (a mild term for the scene of moaning and groaning that ensued, but anyway...). I encouraged the child simply to do his best at it, and to start with the easy ones. I emphasized that I wasn't after perfection - I just wanted him to give it a go.

That was in his room. About fifteen minutes later, he meandered downstairs. I asked him if the fact sheet was done. "Um...fact sheet?"

Of course. So I asked him to bring it down to me...which he did. He slapped it on the table, and then left. I called to him and asked him to come see me. When eventually he found his way over, and I reminded him that I had asked him to bring me the fact sheet, he replied that he had done just that. I hadn't specified that I wanted him to stay. So I most lovingly and patiently asked him to sit down, and I placed the fact sheet in front of him, gently repeating my instructions on how I wished him to work on it. Ahem. Actually, I may have been getting a little testy by then...which didn't put me in the best of moods to handle the additional moaning, groaning, wailing, complaining, etc, etc, etc. that followed. He insisted it was too loud downstairs, that he didn't know all the facts on the sheet, that there were too many facts, that I was being unfair to expect him to do all that, that math was unfair, that life was unfair! Succeed, fail, or come somewhere in between, but I dislike excuses, and encourage my children to avoid making them. Ever so...um, sweetly...I reminded him of that again, but by that point, he had ceased to hear anything I was saying, so I set the timer and threatened...er, told him that he needed to make some kind of acceptable progress on that sheet in the allotted time, or he would miss the activities at church that night.


The time was up, and he had still done nary a fact, so we...discussed...the situation a little further. He repeated his objections that there was too much noise in the room, that there were too many facts, that I was unfair. And then he came up with the best excuse I think I've ever heard - and I've already mentioned how much I love excuses.

"But I was doing them in my head. You don't believe me? You don't trust me?"

Oh, well, in that case... I wish you had said something sooner! We could have avoided this whole thing if I had known I just needed get out my magic mind-reader machine so I could see the progress going on in your head!

You can imagine the tension in the room was pretty high by that point. It had been at least a half an hour, and nothing had been accomplished except that we were both exasperated, he was in tears and was grounded, and there was no feeling of victory on my part in having meted out the punishment. I believe in being firm...but I also believe in fairness, and when tempers had cooled a few minutes later, I repented of my haste. He's a child, after all. What was my excuse for losing my temper over a piece of paper? I explained to him that we had both been wrong, and that I would withdraw the punishment, if he would work on the facts while we were out and about. And then I forgot to bring the fact sheet along, so we did the thing we should have done in the first place. We spent a few minutes in the car having him recite the multiplication table out loud, which he did with ease and with no tears.

So what's the moral here? Initially I was writing this simply to share a funny and exasperating story. I felt I had to give him some credit for the "I was doing it in my head" excuse. But what I also thought was ironic was that the excuse actually hit close to a truth., because in the end, doing it in his head is pretty much what we ended up doing. If I'm being totally honest, I had thrust the piece of paper on him because I had one of those moments in which I reasoned that eventually he's going to have to be able to do an assignment with pencil and paper, without me prodding him every step of the way. And I suppose that's my excuse for having asked him to do something out his comfort zone on a day we were in a hurry, which would make it doubly hard for him.

Way to go, me! But no one is perfect...and that's ok. It was just a good reminder for him and me that we need to do our best with our best, and not try to force things OR to make excuses when we fail. Live and learn.