We are going back to South Carolina in two weeks to see my sister, who has been in South Korea for a year and is coming back for a visit. (We'll be visiting our other family there, too, of course!) We'll be flying down, which is a big first for the kids. We were going to keep the flying bit a secret until we got to the airport, but last night at dinner the kids were asking pointed questions about the trip, and it was just impossible to keep things under wraps, so we told them. Their responses were so funny, and so true to their personalities:
Aimee, coolly: "I knew that's what you were going to say. I knew it all along." After a few minutes, "Can I please go email Emily and tell her? Please, please, please?"
Drew: "I'm so excited I'm speechless! I"m so speechless I can't even tell you how speechless I am..." and on and on, in a state of anything but speechless. And later, "I'm just worried about airport security. Will I get in trouble because of these?" (opening his mouth and pointing to his dental crowns). He seemed disappointed when I told him that he'll pass through security just fine.
Ryan: "Will it be bumpy? [referring to turbulence] I'm worried about it being bumpy. You said sometimes the ride in an airplane is bumpy."
Chase, over all the din: "I'LL JUMP OUT OF THE PLANE, AND THERE WILL BE AN EAGLE FLYING NEXT TO US, AND I'LL JUMP ON IT AND FLY NEXT TO THE PLANE! AND THEN I'LL GET BACK IN THE PLANE AND I'LL DRIVE IT."
Monday, January 24, 2011
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Tidbits from the Minions
Aimee was reading Black Ships Before Troy (which tells the story of the Iliad) yesterday, and when she came to the part in which Ajax throws himself on his own sword, she remarked aloud that it sounded like a particularly horrible way to kill oneself. I agreed, and then we began a somewhat morbid discussion about what a person in ancient times might have done instead. The little boys (the "minions" from my previous post!) came in and offered their suggestions:
Ryan said, "You could hit yourself with a frying pan!" (followed by dramatic demonstrations)
Chase, his eyes huge and serious, offered, "A snake could eat your heart." (more demonstrations indicating how gross and painful this would be)
They also remarked that if a giant stepped on you, that would do the job, too.
Thanks, boys. You have warmed your mother's heart.
Ryan said, "You could hit yourself with a frying pan!" (followed by dramatic demonstrations)
Chase, his eyes huge and serious, offered, "A snake could eat your heart." (more demonstrations indicating how gross and painful this would be)
They also remarked that if a giant stepped on you, that would do the job, too.
Thanks, boys. You have warmed your mother's heart.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
What Was That?
Having answered some of my own questions from my last post, I decided to back off of Drew a little, and I read him math questions yesterday, just letting him answer them orally, no pencil and paper - and no sitting! - involved. He walked in circles around the school room answering the questions, and it worked out just fine.
Then I asked him this question:
"What's $48 plus $16?"
He thought for a second, then said, "Let's see, fifty plus fifteen, then minus two and add one..$64."
It's no wonder he can't concentrate on the traditional methods for figuring out problems - his brain appears to be on a different wavelength altogether!
Then I asked him this question:
"What's $48 plus $16?"
He thought for a second, then said, "Let's see, fifty plus fifteen, then minus two and add one..$64."
It's no wonder he can't concentrate on the traditional methods for figuring out problems - his brain appears to be on a different wavelength altogether!
Reading Aloud
A more appropriate name for this activity in our house would probably be "Reading Very Loudly," because that's often what it sounds like!
Long ago, in a galaxy far, far away, when I had just one child, I read to her ALL the time. We read stacks of books in one sitting, and even when she was just a preschooler, I began to read chapter books aloud to her, always gently pushing the boundaries of her attention span and comprehension. She responded by developing a greater attention span by degrees and better comprehension by leaps and bounds. Then I had child number two, and we had beautiful moments in which I would be nursing him and reading to child number one, feeling that I was at the heights of motherhood as I nurtured both their little minds and bodies at the same time. Child number three entered the scene, and reading aloud became slightly hectic, but this was still one of my favorite things to do.
Then child number three learned to talk.
He would began chattering, loudly, as soon as I began to read anything, whether it was for school, or just for an attempt at those pleasant read-aloud sessions while I was nursing the baby (child number four, who arrived rather quickly on the heels of number three) and hoping to be surrounded by happy, attentive children on either side. If that didn't work, he would suddenly need something - anything- that was impossible to have, and he would need it desperately. In all other respects, he looked like an innocent preschooler, but it sure seemed like he was doing this on purpose, the diabolical little darling.
The when child number four grew older and began walking and talking, things became exponentially more challenging, and it brings us to where we are today. For certain, the days of reading to happily settled children on the couch while nursing the current baby are gone. If I can even get them all on the couch with me, they begin climbing on my head, or, with their fierce brand of loving, trying to kiss or tickle the baby. So not snuggling together would be fine with me, and, as noted in the previous two posts, I've become flexible about having them sit down and listen. Child number two listens best when he's tossing a football around, anyway. But number three and number four like to talk...and talk, and talk, and talk...and wrestle, and argue, and laugh, and behave raucously in general...and do it all very loudly. They are in league against me! Or so I've told my husband via text or hysterical phone call from time to time.
Long ago, in a galaxy far, far away, when I had just one child, I read to her ALL the time. We read stacks of books in one sitting, and even when she was just a preschooler, I began to read chapter books aloud to her, always gently pushing the boundaries of her attention span and comprehension. She responded by developing a greater attention span by degrees and better comprehension by leaps and bounds. Then I had child number two, and we had beautiful moments in which I would be nursing him and reading to child number one, feeling that I was at the heights of motherhood as I nurtured both their little minds and bodies at the same time. Child number three entered the scene, and reading aloud became slightly hectic, but this was still one of my favorite things to do.
Then child number three learned to talk.
He would began chattering, loudly, as soon as I began to read anything, whether it was for school, or just for an attempt at those pleasant read-aloud sessions while I was nursing the baby (child number four, who arrived rather quickly on the heels of number three) and hoping to be surrounded by happy, attentive children on either side. If that didn't work, he would suddenly need something - anything- that was impossible to have, and he would need it desperately. In all other respects, he looked like an innocent preschooler, but it sure seemed like he was doing this on purpose, the diabolical little darling.
The when child number four grew older and began walking and talking, things became exponentially more challenging, and it brings us to where we are today. For certain, the days of reading to happily settled children on the couch while nursing the current baby are gone. If I can even get them all on the couch with me, they begin climbing on my head, or, with their fierce brand of loving, trying to kiss or tickle the baby. So not snuggling together would be fine with me, and, as noted in the previous two posts, I've become flexible about having them sit down and listen. Child number two listens best when he's tossing a football around, anyway. But number three and number four like to talk...and talk, and talk, and talk...and wrestle, and argue, and laugh, and behave raucously in general...and do it all very loudly. They are in league against me! Or so I've told my husband via text or hysterical phone call from time to time.
I think, though, that they just can't help it. They are, and this is a big aside, but it's too true and too cute, just like the minions in Despicable Me. Have you seen it? If you have, then you know what I'm dealing with. And you know that while the minions are funny and adorable, it's hard to imagine snuggling with their incorrigibly mischievous selves and reading them the works of Tolkien while they listen in rapt silence (or even near silence).
See the resemblance?!
But the fact remains that even minion-like children must be educated, and must have their little minds properly nourished, whether they like it or not. And unlike some of my previous posts, I actually have some measure of success to share. In the first place, I just read more loudly. Sometimes Dave comes home to one of these reading sessions and shakes his head in disbelief, wondering aloud how anyone can be getting anything out of it. Secondly, it helps to keep their hands busy. I've found that play dough works better than cars, Legos, or action figures, all of which can become catalysts for loud fight scenes, both in play and in earnest. Better yet, involve food, because they can talk less when eating. Thirdly, concede that what worked for number one and number two probably won't work with number three and number four. Most recently for us, I tried to read The Hobbit to everyone, since I read it to the older kids when they were the boys' age, but I soon realized that we were never going to finish it if I tried to make the younger ones listen. So I let them off the hook, and finished reading it to Drew, but I did start reading Prince Caspian with the younger set. (C.S. Lewis is just a must.) They are slightly more receptive to this, although sometimes even minions get the last word. Almost halfway through the book, I read, "And then Caspian..." Child number three looked up, his handsome eyes full of innocence. "Who's Caspian?"
Diabolical. Just diabolical.
PS Humor aside, and just for the record...we do read plenty of picture books to the younger ones. I'm not such a hard taskmaster that I don't recognize their need for reading in very short doses! We've also read shorter chapter books that stretch them just a little, but not too much. Dolphin Adventure and Dolphin Treasure were very good for this!
Monday, January 17, 2011
The Distractible Child
There is a chapter in The Well-Trained Mind (our revered guide to education) entitled "The Argumentative Child," referring to the child who is entering the logic stage of classical education. At this stage, which begins around 5th grade, the child's natural tendency to question everything and everyone coincides with their graduation, in a manner of speaking, to a more inquisitive and structured style of learning. Or something like that. At any rate, it is a good-natured joke around here that this chapter was named for Aimee - it describes her rather perfectly. It's true that she has certain character traits and skills that are well-suited to a style of learning that asks her to debate ideas, as well as to ask "Why?" on a regular basis.
That introduction really served little purpose except to say that while that chapter suits one of my children nicely, there is no corresponding chapter for Drew, who could be dubbed, "The Distractable Child." Actually, now that I've just said that, I should probably look through the book again and see what Susan Wise-Bauer or her esteemed mother might have to say about a child who can't sit still for five seconds and who has an attention span a couple seconds shorter. (I say this all in love, of course, and it's another open topic in our house. Drew doesn't seem to be offended by our pointing out his distractability.) My strategy so far, in this the grammar stage of his education, in which exposure to ideas and the grasp of basic foundational concepts is the goal, has been to let him tell me what he knows in whatever way I can and in whatever snatches of time I can hold his attention. Translated, that means that I've read him his math lesson while he's played in the backyard (back in the days when playing outside was something he could do - I hear it does warm up here and he may be able to do that again), or read him a chapter from our science book while he - don't laugh - jumped on the trampoline. In fact, the time I read him the science chapter, he was filling in information that wasn't included in the chapter, from library books we had on the subject, so about halfway through the chapter I just stopped. And because he has a mind for numbers, he's almost always been able to answer math questions without hardly thinking about it, and definitely without sitting down to look at the page. He's also a good reader, so if I can provide books on any given subject, he will probably soak in some information that way.
This is all great, but what we have great difficulty with is anything that requires sitting down with paper and pencil. His math is among the subjects that are requiring more of this as he progresses, and this is how it usually goes, after I manage to get him downstairs from his room or up from the basement, and that usually takes 10-15 minutes:
Me: Ok, Drew, we're going to look at a number line. First, hand over the gun. No weapons at the table.
Drew: Why can't have my gun? I can do my math with it, and besides, I already know what a number line is. [As he's talking, he moves over the window, where he begins to mangle the blinds, for no apparent reason.]
Me: No gun, we're looking the number line, and please stop playing with the blinds. PLEASE SIT DOWN.
(Which he does, for about two seconds, so I continue.) Now, what number is the arrow pointing to on this line?
Drew: 55.
Me: Did you even look? Because I don't think that's the...Ok, never mind, you're right. PLEASE put the candle down, and PLEASE sit back down. Let's skip to negative numbers on a number line...
Drew: You know you really can't have negative of anything. Do you want to know something interesting?
Me: Is it about math?
Drew: Well, sort of. In the last episiode of The Clone Wars...
Me: PAUSE. Tell me later. [which I must repeat several times before he actually complies.] Just tell me the negative numbers on the number line. And put down the candle, for the last time. No, don't touch the blinds!
He tells me one or two, then asks if he can play the Wii, which I - rather incredulously - answer by reminding him that we're right in the middle of school. He then asks if he can go get some water, and in order to have a moment to gather my now-scattered thoughts before we actually have to do some math work on paper, I agree. I hear him go to the kitchen and putter around, but about five minutes later, I have to get up and go look for him...and find him in the basement riding his scooter. He insists he just got distracted, and I really do believe him, because he's not sneaky or deceptive by nature, just distractible!
Now the incident above seems to describe not only an easily-distracted child, but a bored one. He needs more challenging work than the review we're currently doing, but if given a page of more difficult math problems, he becomes easily overwhelmed. He understands the principles and concepts, and can explain them to me if prompted step-by-step, but if given an entire page of math problems, he can't even seem to start on the first one. The same is true of things like spelling. He can spell just fine, but bless him, he can barely get started on an excercise in his spelling book on his own, much less finish it without a great deal of help. As a result, we're behind in spelling in one sense, although in another, it seems unfair to label him "behind, " when if I ask him to spell words in a given lesson, he can do so with few mistakes, if any.
So part of me wants to continue to go at his own pace and in his own style. Another part of me stresses a little over the fact that eventually he will need to be able to do an assignment without practically (but not actually!) being duct-taped to a chair. At some point he'll have to take tests (I shudder to think!). As it is now, I have to have papers to put in his school binder, because if someone wanted to look over our required portfolios, they would want more than my word for it that he knows how to spell and is actually quite talented a math mind. (And, rest assured, he does have examples of his own work in his portfolio - it's just challenging to get them there.)
All parts of me know that this will work out somehow. (And it would have been more useful to my readers if I had used this post to offer wonderfully creative ideas toward that end...) I'm sure I'm losing months off my life-span in the process, but it will all work out!
That introduction really served little purpose except to say that while that chapter suits one of my children nicely, there is no corresponding chapter for Drew, who could be dubbed, "The Distractable Child." Actually, now that I've just said that, I should probably look through the book again and see what Susan Wise-Bauer or her esteemed mother might have to say about a child who can't sit still for five seconds and who has an attention span a couple seconds shorter. (I say this all in love, of course, and it's another open topic in our house. Drew doesn't seem to be offended by our pointing out his distractability.) My strategy so far, in this the grammar stage of his education, in which exposure to ideas and the grasp of basic foundational concepts is the goal, has been to let him tell me what he knows in whatever way I can and in whatever snatches of time I can hold his attention. Translated, that means that I've read him his math lesson while he's played in the backyard (back in the days when playing outside was something he could do - I hear it does warm up here and he may be able to do that again), or read him a chapter from our science book while he - don't laugh - jumped on the trampoline. In fact, the time I read him the science chapter, he was filling in information that wasn't included in the chapter, from library books we had on the subject, so about halfway through the chapter I just stopped. And because he has a mind for numbers, he's almost always been able to answer math questions without hardly thinking about it, and definitely without sitting down to look at the page. He's also a good reader, so if I can provide books on any given subject, he will probably soak in some information that way.
This is all great, but what we have great difficulty with is anything that requires sitting down with paper and pencil. His math is among the subjects that are requiring more of this as he progresses, and this is how it usually goes, after I manage to get him downstairs from his room or up from the basement, and that usually takes 10-15 minutes:
Me: Ok, Drew, we're going to look at a number line. First, hand over the gun. No weapons at the table.
Drew: Why can't have my gun? I can do my math with it, and besides, I already know what a number line is. [As he's talking, he moves over the window, where he begins to mangle the blinds, for no apparent reason.]
Me: No gun, we're looking the number line, and please stop playing with the blinds. PLEASE SIT DOWN.
(Which he does, for about two seconds, so I continue.) Now, what number is the arrow pointing to on this line?
Drew: 55.
Me: Did you even look? Because I don't think that's the...Ok, never mind, you're right. PLEASE put the candle down, and PLEASE sit back down. Let's skip to negative numbers on a number line...
Drew: You know you really can't have negative of anything. Do you want to know something interesting?
Me: Is it about math?
Drew: Well, sort of. In the last episiode of The Clone Wars...
Me: PAUSE. Tell me later. [which I must repeat several times before he actually complies.] Just tell me the negative numbers on the number line. And put down the candle, for the last time. No, don't touch the blinds!
He tells me one or two, then asks if he can play the Wii, which I - rather incredulously - answer by reminding him that we're right in the middle of school. He then asks if he can go get some water, and in order to have a moment to gather my now-scattered thoughts before we actually have to do some math work on paper, I agree. I hear him go to the kitchen and putter around, but about five minutes later, I have to get up and go look for him...and find him in the basement riding his scooter. He insists he just got distracted, and I really do believe him, because he's not sneaky or deceptive by nature, just distractible!
Now the incident above seems to describe not only an easily-distracted child, but a bored one. He needs more challenging work than the review we're currently doing, but if given a page of more difficult math problems, he becomes easily overwhelmed. He understands the principles and concepts, and can explain them to me if prompted step-by-step, but if given an entire page of math problems, he can't even seem to start on the first one. The same is true of things like spelling. He can spell just fine, but bless him, he can barely get started on an excercise in his spelling book on his own, much less finish it without a great deal of help. As a result, we're behind in spelling in one sense, although in another, it seems unfair to label him "behind, " when if I ask him to spell words in a given lesson, he can do so with few mistakes, if any.
So part of me wants to continue to go at his own pace and in his own style. Another part of me stresses a little over the fact that eventually he will need to be able to do an assignment without practically (but not actually!) being duct-taped to a chair. At some point he'll have to take tests (I shudder to think!). As it is now, I have to have papers to put in his school binder, because if someone wanted to look over our required portfolios, they would want more than my word for it that he knows how to spell and is actually quite talented a math mind. (And, rest assured, he does have examples of his own work in his portfolio - it's just challenging to get them there.)
All parts of me know that this will work out somehow. (And it would have been more useful to my readers if I had used this post to offer wonderfully creative ideas toward that end...) I'm sure I'm losing months off my life-span in the process, but it will all work out!
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Not-So- Perfect Learning
(Note: I wrote this yesterday, so when I refer to "yesterday" in the post, I mean Thursday!)
Learning is often messy, at least for us. I don't like this necessarily - I would rather have order and quiet, and every once in awhile I conjure up the image I saw once on TV of a homeschool family sitting around their kitchen table (on which all the food, even the crumbs, had been cleared away, probably by one or more of their cheerful and industrious children and probably right after breakfast - which they probably ate fully dressed and not in their pajamas...) saying the Pledge of Allegiance together. When I think of it, once in a blue moon, I make sure the kids know the Pledge of Allegiance. And oh, by the way, you guys know who the president is, and the capital of our state, right? Check. Breathe a sigh of relief.
Maybe I'm exaggerating just a hair, but one thing is for sure - we hardly ever find ourselves neatly dressed (all at the same time), just after breakfast, saying the Pledge of Allegiance around our spotless kitchen table before we began an orderly day of school. Rather, I find that for us, if we're going to get around to learning, we just have dive headlong into it. We do have a loose morning routine - breakfast, morning chores, Bible memory verses - and we do our best to tidy up as we go along, but the beginning, middle, and definitely the end, is just messy in all kinds of ways. And the truth of it is that often those messy days (I don't mean the completely chaotic ones, obviously) result in some of the best learning, even if the house, and my sanity, takes a hit.
Yesterday was no exception. We couldn't wait for everything to be set up just right - I had to catch them before they escaped in all different directions for all sorts of recreational pursuits. So I put the baby on my back, corralled the little boys into the kitchen to help me make some salt clay for an art project they had asked to do, and I directed Aimee to start on her math and Drew to do his violin practice. It went something like this:
Me: Boys do NOT put any more flour into the dough. Aimee, find a pencil - ANY pencil. Drew, open your violin case and start playing.
Aimee (continuing a thread she's been on awhile) I can't find a pencil. We don't have any pencils in the house. The boys take all my pencils. Why do they always go in my room? Why do I have brothers?!
Ryan: Chase is pouring water on the dough...!
Drew: [doing something other than getting his violin out]
Me: Drew, GET YOUR VIOLIN OUT. Aimee, just use whatever you can find. Yes, ok a pen - just this once. Boys, let's knead the dough. DON'T push each other off the chair. Share!
Drew finally gets his violin out and begins playing, Aimee finally settles in to her math. We have flour all over the kitchen, and I have it all over my hands as I go back and forth from the kitchen to the the school room, directing the various pursuits.
Me, sounding a little manic: Drew, that's great! Left hand straight, right fingers curved! Keep going, keep going - don't get distracted! Boys, keep kneading, we're almost done. No, do NOT get the paint out yet. That's for [much, much] later. Yes, Aimee, all the questions from the lesson practice. If it's "so easy" than it shouldn't take you very long...
We finish the dough and put in on the dining room table (on which there are still some cereal crumbs). Ryan and Chase start making the birds and nests they had wanted to do, which means I start making their birds and nests. Aimee and Drew join us as soon as they finish their respective assignments. Aimee spends almost the whole time lamenting that she can't do a perfect bowl shape. Drew has little sense of perfectionism, and just makes all kinds of things, while the little boys clamor for me to make birds that are exactly like each other's. The baby sleeps, somehow. Eventually I walk away to clean up, and they all end up making some pretty nifty little creations, which we put in the oven to bake.
When all this is done, I clean up what I can, but we move on to other things, and throughout the day, I tuck things like spelling and history into whatever nooks of time I can find, and in the quiet(er) moments, I read aloud. At the end of the day, the house is a mess, which I still can't bring myself to love, but what I do love are the things like Drew's big smile over mastering "Ten Little Indians" on the violin, the boys' joy over lumpy, uneven pieces of clay, which they painted (in yet another mess) with bold colors and then carried around in their pockets when they were (mostly) dry, and the way Aimee got a little huffy over the noise but as a result took her books upstairs and did two hours of work on her own. I love thatt our day was filled with God's Word, literature, music, some math, and a little more about the ancient world. I love that it feels as though we didn't just cram information in just to get it done, but that, somewhere in the craziness and somewhere far away from a perfectly ordered homeschool world, we made our way a little further up, and further in.
(Another note: I was in the middle of writing this when I took a break and saw Hannah's post about a typical homeschool day. Nice timing!)
Learning is often messy, at least for us. I don't like this necessarily - I would rather have order and quiet, and every once in awhile I conjure up the image I saw once on TV of a homeschool family sitting around their kitchen table (on which all the food, even the crumbs, had been cleared away, probably by one or more of their cheerful and industrious children and probably right after breakfast - which they probably ate fully dressed and not in their pajamas...) saying the Pledge of Allegiance together. When I think of it, once in a blue moon, I make sure the kids know the Pledge of Allegiance. And oh, by the way, you guys know who the president is, and the capital of our state, right? Check. Breathe a sigh of relief.
Maybe I'm exaggerating just a hair, but one thing is for sure - we hardly ever find ourselves neatly dressed (all at the same time), just after breakfast, saying the Pledge of Allegiance around our spotless kitchen table before we began an orderly day of school. Rather, I find that for us, if we're going to get around to learning, we just have dive headlong into it. We do have a loose morning routine - breakfast, morning chores, Bible memory verses - and we do our best to tidy up as we go along, but the beginning, middle, and definitely the end, is just messy in all kinds of ways. And the truth of it is that often those messy days (I don't mean the completely chaotic ones, obviously) result in some of the best learning, even if the house, and my sanity, takes a hit.
Yesterday was no exception. We couldn't wait for everything to be set up just right - I had to catch them before they escaped in all different directions for all sorts of recreational pursuits. So I put the baby on my back, corralled the little boys into the kitchen to help me make some salt clay for an art project they had asked to do, and I directed Aimee to start on her math and Drew to do his violin practice. It went something like this:
Me: Boys do NOT put any more flour into the dough. Aimee, find a pencil - ANY pencil. Drew, open your violin case and start playing.
Aimee (continuing a thread she's been on awhile) I can't find a pencil. We don't have any pencils in the house. The boys take all my pencils. Why do they always go in my room? Why do I have brothers?!
Ryan: Chase is pouring water on the dough...!
Drew: [doing something other than getting his violin out]
Me: Drew, GET YOUR VIOLIN OUT. Aimee, just use whatever you can find. Yes, ok a pen - just this once. Boys, let's knead the dough. DON'T push each other off the chair. Share!
Drew finally gets his violin out and begins playing, Aimee finally settles in to her math. We have flour all over the kitchen, and I have it all over my hands as I go back and forth from the kitchen to the the school room, directing the various pursuits.
Me, sounding a little manic: Drew, that's great! Left hand straight, right fingers curved! Keep going, keep going - don't get distracted! Boys, keep kneading, we're almost done. No, do NOT get the paint out yet. That's for [much, much] later. Yes, Aimee, all the questions from the lesson practice. If it's "so easy" than it shouldn't take you very long...
We finish the dough and put in on the dining room table (on which there are still some cereal crumbs). Ryan and Chase start making the birds and nests they had wanted to do, which means I start making their birds and nests. Aimee and Drew join us as soon as they finish their respective assignments. Aimee spends almost the whole time lamenting that she can't do a perfect bowl shape. Drew has little sense of perfectionism, and just makes all kinds of things, while the little boys clamor for me to make birds that are exactly like each other's. The baby sleeps, somehow. Eventually I walk away to clean up, and they all end up making some pretty nifty little creations, which we put in the oven to bake.
When all this is done, I clean up what I can, but we move on to other things, and throughout the day, I tuck things like spelling and history into whatever nooks of time I can find, and in the quiet(er) moments, I read aloud. At the end of the day, the house is a mess, which I still can't bring myself to love, but what I do love are the things like Drew's big smile over mastering "Ten Little Indians" on the violin, the boys' joy over lumpy, uneven pieces of clay, which they painted (in yet another mess) with bold colors and then carried around in their pockets when they were (mostly) dry, and the way Aimee got a little huffy over the noise but as a result took her books upstairs and did two hours of work on her own. I love thatt our day was filled with God's Word, literature, music, some math, and a little more about the ancient world. I love that it feels as though we didn't just cram information in just to get it done, but that, somewhere in the craziness and somewhere far away from a perfectly ordered homeschool world, we made our way a little further up, and further in.
(Another note: I was in the middle of writing this when I took a break and saw Hannah's post about a typical homeschool day. Nice timing!)
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Sometimes One Should Keep One's Mouth Shut...
Or at least be careful of what one says aloud (ok, that's becoming awkward, but I just gave Aimee important-sounding instruction today about the use of "you" in...um..one's writing). At any rate, this is because children rarely ever, IF ever, forget what they hear. In our house, this is especially true of Aimee, about whom I seldom write anymore, since she is old enough to care (very deeply) about what is said about her; but on this occasion, I think I will get a pass, since none of this is something I wouldn't discuss with her in hearing. I've discussed it with her in fact, it's an open subject in the house, and, finally, she's quite proud of any and all of the traits I will describe about her herein. I will, in fact, take this opportunity to say that Aimee is one lovely and intelligent girl, full of spark, spirit, and wit.
At any rate, according to my own sensibilities as well as the advice given in The Well-Trained Mind, I started the older children on musical instruments some time ago. I started with Aimee, and I started with the violin, since that's the instrument I play (correction: that I know how to play, but which in reality I don't have occasion to play very often). One short lesson clearly revealed to us that it wasn't such a good idea - we were definitely going to butt heads over it,and I had no desire to turn music into a time of misery. But I did insist that she choose something, and something that I could teach her, which left the piano. Not much of a choice, I guess, but it was one to which she wasn't vehemently opposed (which was an improvement). We bought a keyboard and some books, and away we went. Of course, since this is Aimee we're talking about (and I'm pretty sure she doesn't mind me saying this), we still weren't in smooth waters, and often she bucked pretty vigorously over music practice. In fact, it seemed to be a ritual that she had to go through in order to learn a new song or skill - become incensed that she had to take lessons at all, pretend not to remember anything she had previously learned, declare that it was impossible to learn whatever was before her, probably have some sort of privilege removed for some amount of time, then proceed to hammer away at it until she got it.
Repeat...let's see...lots of times. One day somewhere in the first stage of this process, she begged and pleaded to be told just HOW LONG she had to be subjected to this particular form of torture, and in a moment of weakness, I confessed that I only wanted her to take piano for two years, and then if she still hated it, she could quit. And Aimee stored this piece of information somewhere not just in her long-term memory, but in the "forever and eternal, oath-sealed-in-blood" memory section of her brain. Since then she has asked repeatedly when her two-year sentence will be up, and in recent months, has been reminding me of it's imminence. But she's also displayed a fair amount of talent at the piano and has frequently been found playing it in her free time. (So I hope she forgives me for being skeptical of her claims that she hates it.) Technically the two-year period ended at the end of last month, but I've bought a couple more months on the basis November and December couldn't have counted because of the move, and also because we just inherited my parents' piano and I want her to be able to get some good practice on it. Anyway, it's more or less here, and I'm very much regretting having said anything about a time limit, because I think it would be a shame for her to quit something she probably enjoys and in which she has developed some proficiency, with potential for much more - now I AM going to say something I might not say in so many words to her face - simply because she doesn't like being told what to do. Now I think if I provide her with books, she will continue to dabble at it at least, but I think without that charming ritual mentioned above, the one that includes insistent prodding and encouragement, there are some things she will skip over because they are "too hard." The kids ask me why I've insisted on music lessons, and the development of perseverance to accomplish a skill is one of the primary reasons. We don't have any musical prodigies here, I realize that - but music encourages a certain metal discipline that I value and I think they should also value.
This is devolving into a complaint, which is useless. It's also not a dilemma, for which I can solicit advice, because I have no choice but to stick to my word. Otherwise I will have lied, emphasis Aimee's, and obviously that's not acceptable. So perhaps it's just a cautionary tale, the lesson of which I have carefully remembered in regard to the other children. I passed the violin down to Drew, and gave him no promises about when he's allowed to quit, and fortunately, due to his relatively easy-going nature, he hasn't thought to ask. And of course, it could be that Aimee will apply her best traits to the situation and surprise me with an inner determination and discipline after all. It's been known to happen.
At any rate, according to my own sensibilities as well as the advice given in The Well-Trained Mind, I started the older children on musical instruments some time ago. I started with Aimee, and I started with the violin, since that's the instrument I play (correction: that I know how to play, but which in reality I don't have occasion to play very often). One short lesson clearly revealed to us that it wasn't such a good idea - we were definitely going to butt heads over it,and I had no desire to turn music into a time of misery. But I did insist that she choose something, and something that I could teach her, which left the piano. Not much of a choice, I guess, but it was one to which she wasn't vehemently opposed (which was an improvement). We bought a keyboard and some books, and away we went. Of course, since this is Aimee we're talking about (and I'm pretty sure she doesn't mind me saying this), we still weren't in smooth waters, and often she bucked pretty vigorously over music practice. In fact, it seemed to be a ritual that she had to go through in order to learn a new song or skill - become incensed that she had to take lessons at all, pretend not to remember anything she had previously learned, declare that it was impossible to learn whatever was before her, probably have some sort of privilege removed for some amount of time, then proceed to hammer away at it until she got it.
Repeat...let's see...lots of times. One day somewhere in the first stage of this process, she begged and pleaded to be told just HOW LONG she had to be subjected to this particular form of torture, and in a moment of weakness, I confessed that I only wanted her to take piano for two years, and then if she still hated it, she could quit. And Aimee stored this piece of information somewhere not just in her long-term memory, but in the "forever and eternal, oath-sealed-in-blood" memory section of her brain. Since then she has asked repeatedly when her two-year sentence will be up, and in recent months, has been reminding me of it's imminence. But she's also displayed a fair amount of talent at the piano and has frequently been found playing it in her free time. (So I hope she forgives me for being skeptical of her claims that she hates it.) Technically the two-year period ended at the end of last month, but I've bought a couple more months on the basis November and December couldn't have counted because of the move, and also because we just inherited my parents' piano and I want her to be able to get some good practice on it. Anyway, it's more or less here, and I'm very much regretting having said anything about a time limit, because I think it would be a shame for her to quit something she probably enjoys and in which she has developed some proficiency, with potential for much more - now I AM going to say something I might not say in so many words to her face - simply because she doesn't like being told what to do. Now I think if I provide her with books, she will continue to dabble at it at least, but I think without that charming ritual mentioned above, the one that includes insistent prodding and encouragement, there are some things she will skip over because they are "too hard." The kids ask me why I've insisted on music lessons, and the development of perseverance to accomplish a skill is one of the primary reasons. We don't have any musical prodigies here, I realize that - but music encourages a certain metal discipline that I value and I think they should also value.
This is devolving into a complaint, which is useless. It's also not a dilemma, for which I can solicit advice, because I have no choice but to stick to my word. Otherwise I will have lied, emphasis Aimee's, and obviously that's not acceptable. So perhaps it's just a cautionary tale, the lesson of which I have carefully remembered in regard to the other children. I passed the violin down to Drew, and gave him no promises about when he's allowed to quit, and fortunately, due to his relatively easy-going nature, he hasn't thought to ask. And of course, it could be that Aimee will apply her best traits to the situation and surprise me with an inner determination and discipline after all. It's been known to happen.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Getting Back Into the Swing of Things!
I know you're just dying to know how my first week of resolve went....
As could easily have been predicted, we didn't do everything I had hoped to do last week, but we did successfully re-enter a purposeful routine. I banned TV and the Wii for most of the week, while we redisciplined ourselves, and there were some definite withdrawal symptoms, but everyone survived. As for school, some children had better feelings about it than others. One child spent most of the first morning in misery, moaning (and that's a nice way of putting it) about how they they felt like a SLAVE and how I was utterly lacking in sympathy. In an odd twist of sibling rivary - that yielded some pleasant results - this prompted another child to attack their schoolwork with fervor and declare periodically and pointedly through the day that they LOVED getting back to school and that I was the best mom ever. Things evened out, of course, and by the end of the week we were back into the usual swing of things, with no more than the usual sort of complaints. Unfortunately (I guess - I'm always at odds with myself about how I feel about this), the "usual swing of things" means that we're forging ahead with me feeling at least a step behind everything. Once upon a time I ordered my life with lists and schedules, and so I feel I ought to be have our schooling better planned and organized. I can almost see it in my mind's eye, but in reality if I were to wait for everything to be lined up just right we would never get anything done. So we read - and read and read and read - every day and hope that gets us to most of the places expected of us. We do some math and music every day, throw in some "formal" language study in the areas of spelling and cursive and grammar, make our way through history studies, stumble through some science (this is, besides art, positively my weakest area!)...Oh, and Aimee is still technically doing some Latin, although we're not, as the book admonishes, disciplining ourselves very strictly and memorizing everything as diligently as advised.
Confession: I'm really not very good at homeschooling. I was homeschooled myself, and whether this contradicts my current shortcomings or is a contributing factor, I can't decide.
But there's nothing for it but to keep on keeping on, as they say. We're in week two of this the second half of our school year, and so far things are progressing at a good pace. It would really be an enormous help if we don't have any major changes and transistions this year!
As could easily have been predicted, we didn't do everything I had hoped to do last week, but we did successfully re-enter a purposeful routine. I banned TV and the Wii for most of the week, while we redisciplined ourselves, and there were some definite withdrawal symptoms, but everyone survived. As for school, some children had better feelings about it than others. One child spent most of the first morning in misery, moaning (and that's a nice way of putting it) about how they they felt like a SLAVE and how I was utterly lacking in sympathy. In an odd twist of sibling rivary - that yielded some pleasant results - this prompted another child to attack their schoolwork with fervor and declare periodically and pointedly through the day that they LOVED getting back to school and that I was the best mom ever. Things evened out, of course, and by the end of the week we were back into the usual swing of things, with no more than the usual sort of complaints. Unfortunately (I guess - I'm always at odds with myself about how I feel about this), the "usual swing of things" means that we're forging ahead with me feeling at least a step behind everything. Once upon a time I ordered my life with lists and schedules, and so I feel I ought to be have our schooling better planned and organized. I can almost see it in my mind's eye, but in reality if I were to wait for everything to be lined up just right we would never get anything done. So we read - and read and read and read - every day and hope that gets us to most of the places expected of us. We do some math and music every day, throw in some "formal" language study in the areas of spelling and cursive and grammar, make our way through history studies, stumble through some science (this is, besides art, positively my weakest area!)...Oh, and Aimee is still technically doing some Latin, although we're not, as the book admonishes, disciplining ourselves very strictly and memorizing everything as diligently as advised.
Confession: I'm really not very good at homeschooling. I was homeschooled myself, and whether this contradicts my current shortcomings or is a contributing factor, I can't decide.
But there's nothing for it but to keep on keeping on, as they say. We're in week two of this the second half of our school year, and so far things are progressing at a good pace. It would really be an enormous help if we don't have any major changes and transistions this year!
Saturday, January 1, 2011
And a quick update...
These thoughts didn't fit with the last post, so I thought I would just make another one!
Dave asked me the other day if I was unhappy here - I'm sure he's worried that the crazy version of myself might gradually appear. New baby, sudden move...the same set of circumstances triggered her arrival a few years ago, and nobody wants to see her again! But I assured him that she's not even on the horizon. It's true that I'm not yet in love with Ohio (and they can't EVER make me do things like call Coke "pop"). The snow was lovely for the first few days, but the second week of it did start to make me feel a bit claustrophobic, and the cold seeped into my bones - all of which made me feel irrationally giddy when ordinary rain and warmer temperatures melted the snow and gave us an outdoor kind of day yesterday. We went to a park and did some hiking together, and that brings to one thing I do love about being here - lots of time together as a family. Dave works regular hours (and not nearly as much as some weeks back in SC) and has much more time and energy for all of us. He'll need his own blog to tell you if he thinks that's a good thing! He does seem to be enjoying his job, however.
The kids are doing a great job overall, despite the strain I know this has been for them. The older kids have been missing their SC friends and activities rather fiercely. I wish I could make it easier for them. but there's nothing for that - it just hurts. And I'm not sure they think this "family-togetherness" deal is quite worth it! The younger ones don't have the same kind of attachments to miss, but they are feeling the lack of outside play. The little boys have practically lived outside up until now, and obviously that has changed abruptly, although of course warmer weather will come eventually. I think.
Scarlett obviously doesn't care one way or the other, as long as I'm available. I confess that's one thing I love about having babies - it's a lovely thing to be the center of someone's universe for at least a short period of time. Of course I'm not the only thing in her universe, and she does love her daddy and her siblings, who are a constant source of entertainment for her. She had a fever last night, and was miserably unhappy when she woke up this morning, and when Chase came bounding in, we started to tell him to be quiet and stay away from her because she wasn't feeling well. But as soon as she saw him, she stopped crying. It was beautiful. He talked to her, and she talked back to him, reaching for his face, and just loving him. I don't usually think of Chase as a peacful presence, but there it was.
More updates later. No really - see previous post! It's part of my "tweaking."
Dave asked me the other day if I was unhappy here - I'm sure he's worried that the crazy version of myself might gradually appear. New baby, sudden move...the same set of circumstances triggered her arrival a few years ago, and nobody wants to see her again! But I assured him that she's not even on the horizon. It's true that I'm not yet in love with Ohio (and they can't EVER make me do things like call Coke "pop"). The snow was lovely for the first few days, but the second week of it did start to make me feel a bit claustrophobic, and the cold seeped into my bones - all of which made me feel irrationally giddy when ordinary rain and warmer temperatures melted the snow and gave us an outdoor kind of day yesterday. We went to a park and did some hiking together, and that brings to one thing I do love about being here - lots of time together as a family. Dave works regular hours (and not nearly as much as some weeks back in SC) and has much more time and energy for all of us. He'll need his own blog to tell you if he thinks that's a good thing! He does seem to be enjoying his job, however.
The kids are doing a great job overall, despite the strain I know this has been for them. The older kids have been missing their SC friends and activities rather fiercely. I wish I could make it easier for them. but there's nothing for that - it just hurts. And I'm not sure they think this "family-togetherness" deal is quite worth it! The younger ones don't have the same kind of attachments to miss, but they are feeling the lack of outside play. The little boys have practically lived outside up until now, and obviously that has changed abruptly, although of course warmer weather will come eventually. I think.
Scarlett obviously doesn't care one way or the other, as long as I'm available. I confess that's one thing I love about having babies - it's a lovely thing to be the center of someone's universe for at least a short period of time. Of course I'm not the only thing in her universe, and she does love her daddy and her siblings, who are a constant source of entertainment for her. She had a fever last night, and was miserably unhappy when she woke up this morning, and when Chase came bounding in, we started to tell him to be quiet and stay away from her because she wasn't feeling well. But as soon as she saw him, she stopped crying. It was beautiful. He talked to her, and she talked back to him, reaching for his face, and just loving him. I don't usually think of Chase as a peacful presence, but there it was.
More updates later. No really - see previous post! It's part of my "tweaking."
Now That We've Moved...Let's Get Moving
So.
Have you ever caught yourself telling yourself repeatedly, and over way too long a time period, that once things settle down, you'll get back on track (with whatever - keeping the house clean, keeping a good routine going, eating healthy, homeschooling, maybe all of the above!). And then you start to realize that you just need to buckle down, lady, and DO IT.
The entire last year was one of major events and transitions, and while sometimes, try as I might, I just couldn't help but let things slide, I felt like I was always in survival mode. From the last throes of morning sickness to the burdens of a burgeoning pregnancy, to a birth and subsequent baby-moon, to a colicky infant for a couple months, to a huge move in a short amount of time.... At what point does survival mode become an excuse for avoiding real life? Or, perhaps just not realizing that this just IS real life, and not life "on hold"?
I didn't get enough sleep last night, which is why I'm indulging in cheap philosophy. Do forgive. Survival mode is in fact real, but so is that truth that sometimes you just have to put your feet on the ground and start moving, even if not everything is out of boxes and the baby has just started teething. (I didn't actually plan for that moment to coincide with a new year, but I suppose it's rather convenient!) For one thing, our formal schooling really must start again. It's been...awhile. And that's ok for a time, but I think everyone could stand a return to structure (or some semblance thereof). For another, my own daily routine and habits need a tweaking of discipline.
These are starting to sound like New Year's resolutions, which they absolutely aren't. I know better than to make starry-eyed determinations and expect them to start happening out of nowhere. And actually, I think we've already made some strides in the right direction -it's just getting my head out of the "once we get settled" mode that needs to happen. "Settled" is a relative term, anyway, especially for us!
Have you ever caught yourself telling yourself repeatedly, and over way too long a time period, that once things settle down, you'll get back on track (with whatever - keeping the house clean, keeping a good routine going, eating healthy, homeschooling, maybe all of the above!). And then you start to realize that you just need to buckle down, lady, and DO IT.
The entire last year was one of major events and transitions, and while sometimes, try as I might, I just couldn't help but let things slide, I felt like I was always in survival mode. From the last throes of morning sickness to the burdens of a burgeoning pregnancy, to a birth and subsequent baby-moon, to a colicky infant for a couple months, to a huge move in a short amount of time.... At what point does survival mode become an excuse for avoiding real life? Or, perhaps just not realizing that this just IS real life, and not life "on hold"?
I didn't get enough sleep last night, which is why I'm indulging in cheap philosophy. Do forgive. Survival mode is in fact real, but so is that truth that sometimes you just have to put your feet on the ground and start moving, even if not everything is out of boxes and the baby has just started teething. (I didn't actually plan for that moment to coincide with a new year, but I suppose it's rather convenient!) For one thing, our formal schooling really must start again. It's been...awhile. And that's ok for a time, but I think everyone could stand a return to structure (or some semblance thereof). For another, my own daily routine and habits need a tweaking of discipline.
These are starting to sound like New Year's resolutions, which they absolutely aren't. I know better than to make starry-eyed determinations and expect them to start happening out of nowhere. And actually, I think we've already made some strides in the right direction -it's just getting my head out of the "once we get settled" mode that needs to happen. "Settled" is a relative term, anyway, especially for us!
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