Late Spring Shorts

In math: 

Madelyn has finished 1st grade math (in four months) and is now in 2nd grade. We started her behind on purpose since the early 2nd grade math curriculum included concepts she had not yet seen (despite having been a public school 2nd grader). Nate continues working through 3rd grade (a year back, same reason), which has included forays into geometry. He has used a protractor and compass. Rob got out his little plastic kit of tools and spent an hour explaining the hows and whys, helping Nate with his work and going off on other uses for geometry. His next unit is measurement (cm, in, lbs, oz, etc). I bought a kitchen scale in anticipation. Finally! Math I use!

In writing:

Nate completed a story: self-conceived and modified many times. He's a natural with the action and dialogue. He typed the thing himself and made several corrections over many days. I doubt he'll let anyone read it this decade, but it's saved on my hard drive, at least. Madelyn continues to tinker with her story (she likes to change the story and embellish as she goes). We don't have a typing curriculum, but finding one's way while writing is a good start. Nate is learning parts of speech because he'd rather spend ten minutes on sentence structure than five minutes creating another story.

In science:

The ear: the anatomy of it, how it works, and experiments in the sounds around us. They sat on the patio for five minutes and wrote down everything they heard. We played the Mean Kitty Song (YouTube) and stood across the room, cupping our hands around our pinnae (outer ear) to better pull in the sound waves.

In real life:

We're tending chickens and ducks for a friend. Every day we "scratch" the poultry (throw out feed), change water, scrape poop off the roosting ledges, and toss lettuce for the ducks.
One day, Nate didn't watch the yard door and most of the chickens got out. Rob and Madelyn chased chickens while Nate held the door open/closed. Madelyn loves to collect the eggs and doesn't seem phased when they are sometimes found with poop residue. We wash them off, of course, but it's good she knows that life (and food) comes from dirt and generates some filth.
Sunday afternoon, we found one of the ducks dead in the duck coop, her companion lingering over her. We believe it was the female. There have been no duck eggs this whole week. We joked that the ducks were angry that they were left behind, but it must have been an illness or age.

Things Said:

Nate will chatter away if he has an audience of one. While I weeded the garden, he told me he likes to be home because he "doesn't have much in common with kids [his] age." (This after visiting a former neighbor--a homeschooler--and finding their interests have deviated).  He also told me he wants to invent something so that blind people can see. Then he asked what I thought if he never found a job because he "doesn't know what to do." This kind of meandering conversation was a rarity when he was in school. He was gone all day, there was homework in the afternoon, and then evenings were full of soccer or neighborhood kids or maybe TV. Nate would want to talk right at bedtime (my worst time of day, patience-wise). Now he can snag a talk whenever we're alone for a moment, or in the car, or walking the dog.

Madelyn starts little phrases and keeps them circulating around our home vernacular. After watching Of Mice and Men several weeks ago, she still says, "I don't have nuthin' in my pockets, George," mimicking the dopey speech of the mentally impaired character, Lenny, who is prone to picking up dead mice and petting them in his pocket.
In the car, Rob recounted having been in a bar--as a  young man--where there was usually a fight among the drunken customers. He said many times he was asked "To got outside," which he always declined.
Madelyn chimed in with her Lenny-voice: "Do ya wan tuh go outside and see whut's in my pockets?"

Easter Ante

Of all the things I did not expect to do on Easter, we learned how to play poker. I thought it was sacrilegious, but on second thought, it's perfect. We weigh the odds and hedge our bets in spring. I planted my cold weather crops in early April and have yet to see a pea  or loose leaf lettuce spout. Maybe I should have waited, holding those seeds a little longer. No matter; I also subscribed to a food co-op, so there's a good chance I'll have local greens anyway. We put away snow blowers only to have snow last week (The last snow? Care to bet on it?). At church, we had a roomful of people, some of whom I have never seen before. Why show up only on Easter-- to make sure the message is still the same? I'll bet.

How did we go from coloring eggs to the dealing cards?

For the token system we are using to motivate the kids, we needed a currency. Poker chips seemed the best idea. Meijer doesn't sell just chips, so we bought a whole poker kit. Since our Sundays are "screen free" (no computer, gaming systems or TV), I suggested Rob teach the kids how to play. He hesitated at first, but given the choice between yard work and "card work," he chose the game.

My husband and kids sat at the table for a solid hour, dealing and laying down cards (five card draw, I think). The kids loved it: triumphing over each other--and their Dad-- with a mere handful of laminated paper. They didn't bet at all; it was just about which hand beats which, and the strategy of when to hold cards and when to go to the deck for a chance at a better hand.

They got to practice again yesterday. The kids love to go to my Thursday job because the client plays with them like no other adult. She gives them her full attention, listening to them like the most patient friend or teacher. Usually they play Monopoly or Bananagrams, but this time Nate suggested they play poker. The three of them sat around the table with chips, and she taught them how to "ante up" and "call."

Rob was working with me, so he witnessed this tutelage. He smiled and shook his head as he overheard our little card sharks celebrating their wins with whoops and yelps.

"At least they're building a skill," I said.

They have found something new to do that doesn't require electricity, it's an illustration of probability (math lesson!), and they can play with anyone able to hold a hand of cards. It's a sure thing.

Some days are rough, especially with all four of us together for most hours of the day. Having Rob at home means trying to blend both our expectations for the kids. I think taking until 3 p.m. to finish math is fine; he does not. So we are trying a token system, rewarding the kids for timely work, neatly done. It sounds like school, which I don't like. However, when I am hastily handed a scribbled representation of the human eye with misspelled words (and the diagram and words were PROVIDED), that's a sure sign of getting used for my permissive personality.

Nate is thriving on this system. He loves knowing exactly what's expected.

Madelyn, with her aptitude for interpreting what it means to "finish" a job, is stumbling some. She is apt to dramatize and try to slink by with inferior work so she can do what she wants. She likes to wander away from our lesson and start talking to the dog, for instance.  How interesting that the easier child has become the harder one, in this instance.

Our history segment is wrapping up. We have come to the end of the history CD ROM (Intellego Unit Studies), and I will continue with this company come fall. We insert the disk, do some reading, watch short videos or do a  worksheet or game, and the lesson's done. The kids can find the Tigres and Euphrates on a map; they know the Game of Ur; they know the Code of Hammurabi was considerably more strict than laws are now, and they have tried Mesopotamian cookies but declined more than a bite. (They were dried and pureed figs, dates, and raisins + flour + butter, fried lightly. I found them delicious and reminiscent of Fig Newtons.)

I found picture books about the Epic of Gilgamesh, which is obviously the origin of Noah's Ark, the serpent in the garden of Eden, and every super hero since. Gilgamesh was 2/3 "god" and 1/3 "man," was unstoppable, and he STILL wanted to live forever: the first overachiever.

We will continue to work on math through the summer since we started back one grade (to cover any holes left over from public school). We'll read, of course, and take a round of swimming lessons (Pool School), but that's about it.

We have an offer from a friend to volunteer at a local store, learning about how to make change, keep the shop, wait on the public. We have to see where Rob's next job lands, but if we take her offer, it's a chance to work that most people don't get until they are sixteen.

I know the kids don't meet all Rob's expectations.  I don't know anyone--including myself--who meets all of mine. Overall, I am enjoying our homeschool experiment, sloppy work aside.

Free to just *be*

Although there's nothing revolutionary in the kids' homeschool life, I'm reading some things that are peeling back assumptions and teaching me a few lessons.

One book is The Freedom Manifesto (click for an excerpt). The author pines for pre-Puritanical, pre-capitalist days when living in community and being average would qualify one for eternal life in the hereafter. Nowadays, he says many of us subconsciously buy the line of  continuous improvement, not slacking for a moment for fear of falling behind--and so we are never satisfied, never safe. It's great for advertisers but disastrous for our mental and physical health.

He advocates giving up a lot, namely--your fear. We pander to our fears and discomfort and fail to build community and self sufficiency. The author says: simplify, and don't be modest about it. He aligns the nobility of the monastery with that of the hobo, life outside the norm, a life of freedom. I can't do his tone justice, and I detest abridged books, so I'll stop here and move to...

Free Range Kids. This woman became famous for letting her nine year old ride the New York subway, alone. She compiles a lot of statistics about how safe life really is and wraps them in a tasty layer of humor and anecdotes. I had to stop reading repeatedly just to laugh.

Parents are so over-informed (24 hour news, the web) and prepared for the worst (CSI and other horrible crime dramas) that we put our kids into paralysis.
No walking or biking anywhere because "What if...?"
No trick or treating after dark (or trick/treating PERIOD).
No letting the kids run amok through the neighborhood, monitoring themselves.
No discomfort or failure for your delicate offspring. 


I didn't realize, until the author points it out, how deeply the Adam Walsh story of 1983 and the subsequent milk carton kids had made assume the worst about...most everyone. Perpetual mental discomfort has become normal parenting. However, she points out how we take our kids into cars (accidents), let them play inside all day (house fires), and visit relatives (molestation), all of which are much more likely to result in "something bad" than if we let them play with their friends outside, unsupervised, or go to the movies with friends. Planning for the worst doesn't make the bad stop happening; it brings another kind of abduction--the abduction and squashing of a kid's chance for independence and confidence.

Reading these books concurrently has been a double loaded barrel, blasting apart fears and attachments--stuff I didn't realize I had; it's been the equivalent of a deep tissue massage for the mind, bringing flexibility where I didn't know I was tight.

Some examples of how I have faced fear, giving up (in a good way):

made bread, ate my fill, and enjoyed it ( fear of being fat),

drank wine and enjoyed it (fear of...more fat, I guess. I like wine so much I figure I'm guilty of something),

turned off all screens (DSI, computer, TV) for a whole Sunday (fear of solitude, discomfort not having pre-packaged entertainment or being in-the-know),

told the kids to go outside and not list all the things to watch out for (fear of losing control),

let my kitchen be dirty and letting the jerk of discomfort subside (fear of not being a decent housewife/human and breaking the Cleanliness Is Akin to Godliness "rule");

allowed my normal workload of life--teaching yoga, walking the dog, yard work-- account for my workout (fear of...yep, being fat, again);

let my kids occupy themselves without insisting they do something edifying (fear of raising wards-of-the-state);

forgave myself for letting the kids quit music lessons last year (fear of not enriching their lives)

took a break from judo while the kids are doing soccer and ballet (again--fear of not enriching their lives enough)

Practicing yoga is supposed to be about awareness. Reading these books has been like my first handstand: freeing and terrifying.What are you afraid of? How is it binding you?

When trying leads to liking

The movie had been by our television for three weeks.

"Let's just put it on for an hour, and if we don't like it, we'll send it back," Rob said.

In a bout of connective zeal, I had put "The Seven Samurai" in our Neflix queue. It was supposed to have something for every one of us. It was a movie that influenced George Lucas (Star Wars, for Rob and Nate), was the blueprint for many Westerns (me), and it was Japanese (Madelyn).

It was also over three hours long, made in 1954, and in subtitles. So it sat.

Then Rob made his suggestion. We put it on at 8 PM. The kids had the choice to either watch it or read in bed. Reluctantly, Nate took up a blanket, crossed his arms, and "harumphed" onto his seat. An hour, later, Madelyn had drifted off (which she does regardless of the movie, once it's past 8:30), and Nate was groggy, but we were still watching.  I didn't want to stop. It was obviously the influence for all those "get the gang together" movies, like Sneakers and Ocean's Eleven and, oh, that Bruce Willis/Ben Affleck one about saving the world from a meteor. The A-Team, my favorite show as an eight year old, was modeled after it.

Rather than a quick, rock music-themed montage or opening voice over, the samurai meet one another in scene after scene, and we get to know each character. The story unfolds rather than rushing. It gives time for the personalities to be established well before any action. It's got some swearing (not too bad, but words like "bastard" and "hell" and "ass"--enough to get Nate tittering). At least he had to keep reading to keep up. It's got a gentle love story. It has sequence after sequence of non-computer generated action. The blueprints for Yoda and Obi Wan Kenobi are in this movie.

We put it in the next day and finished it, damp and drizzly day that it was. What a find!

Destiny calling

In big and small ways, we seem to be in the right places lately.

Take the Ides of March (15th)--while walking with the family, a woman pulls up and asks if we have "seen anyone walking this dog." There's a black lab wagging in her backseat. She had found him on a chain, wrapped figure-eight style around a stop sign and a street sign. He has no tags.She is taking him to the vet to be scanned for an ID chip.

A second ticks by and a dozen things flash through my mind--mostly that I had just the night prior told Rob that, after many weeks of thinking about it, reading articles and a book about it, and looking breeds up online, I feel like having a dog again, six years after Newton passed away.

I tell her that if she doesn't find his owner, to call us. The next day, she calls. We can have him for the rest of the ten day waiting period that Animal Control mandates for lost/abandoned animals. But, someone may claim him. We say, "Yes" and bring home an underfed but docile black lab.

The kids cannot believe their luck. One day we are four, the next day we are bringing home a DOG?! REALLY?!

When we visit Helen, our friend and my cleaning client, Madelyn spends the whole time with Willow, her rescued Golden Retriever. Madelyn is proving just as attentive with our new charge, throwing the tennis ball or frisbee for him in the backyard, using scoop bags to pick up his droppings, patiently walking him back and forth in front of the house to teach him to "heel." She's dutiful, that girl. Nate loves him, but Nate's more into whatever doesn't take that much work, like reclining next to the dog on the floor. Nate chose the name, however, which means baker: Baxter.

And speaking of baking, we made bread last week for history in conjunction with learning about the agricultural revolution of prehistoric humankind. It was flour and water bread, kneaded, flattened and baked. Nate declared it "the best bread" he's ever had and ate his share by dipping it in plain water and biting off the damp end. This boy would fare well in prison if this counts as good eatin'. A few days later, we made a standard loaf, as a comparison. Yeast requires a lot more waiting. Amazing what a little bacteria will make you do; it took hours between start time and the eating. Rob explained how the gas by-product of the yeast makes the air bubbles, which was hilarious to us-- yeast fart bread. Yummmmm.

In smaller ways, we were in the right places just being out and about. At the laundromat, doing all our bed comforters, I asked to watch the attendant crochet a blanket. This lead to her compliment about my kids' behavior at the laundromat and how pleased she was to "see them reading." I explained that they had to read before being allowed to play on the arcade games on site--a treat for them in this era of hand-held DS games. This lead to the homeschool revelation, which lead to her sharing about her grandchild's disability and the mother's consideration of homeschooling.

Onward to lunch at our favorite spot, where the owner asked, kindly, about whether the kids had no school today. When I confessed to homeschooling, his eyes widened and warmed. "That's just wonderful," he said. He went on to share that his daughter wants to homeschool his grandchildren someday, and he wants to help. I gestured around us, to his establishment, and said, "Bring them here. This is an education!"

Both encounters yielded compliments about the kids' behavior "compared to most." I know it doesn't matter what others think, but the public school-raised me sits a bit taller when another adult compliments my "work."
Perhaps we are adding to their confidence, too, being living examples of what is just an idea at this point in their lives.

Some days we are just in the right place.

To the city

Steering from the back of a trolley

We took an early Spring Break. It was time.

We had been working for eight weeks. For most of our week off, the kids played at home. There was a lot of Pokemon stuff and Cartoon Network. Rob was on vacation, too, so we took an overnight trip to Grand Rapids. I wanted to see the Bodies Revealed Exhibit. I had chosen our science lessons (the body) to coincide with this event.  The kids had already reviewed muscle types and the names of major muscles and bones.

Madelyn and I were riveted. Nathan and Rob were, shall we say, borderline-repulsed. They spend a lot of time looking at the floor. We girls spend a lot of time leaning into exhibit glass and hovering over the figures, pointing and comparing.

There was a planetarium, which was Nate's favorite part. Anything with a screen that big is aces for Nate. Rob found the animal exhibits the most interesting. (What--preserved animals good, but preserved humans bad?) For Madelyn, the bodies were cool, but the carousel was best.

The kids had never stayed in a hotel/motel. We lived it up and stayed at the Amway Grand Plaza, just a block away. Between down comforters, restaurants on site, a huge pool and TWO hot tubs, this was the hit of the trip. Museum lessons cannot compete with luxury. Maybe that's why so much money is poured into corporate coffers (TARP government bailouts) while school budgets are cut. Can't deny the wealthy their standard of living, can we?

Despite the decadence, it felt rather silly to be pampered. It takes an huge staff to keep up the appearance of perfection. There were parties in  the ballrooms, corporate ones by the looks of it.Watching people in their suits mingling, drinking, guffawing, and striding past with a level gazes, I wondered what real work they do.  How many people worked, figuratively, under one business person so that he/she can make decisions and connections amid glittering crystal and vast expanses? It's a small town bias, but being in a city--despite distractions galore--felt like a reality show  There was a big set with lots to see, but behind the scenes, there's a lot of emptiness. No one can be genuine or the charade falls.

I think our next overnight should be in a tent. One values tiny conveniences more when life's a little rough.

It can be any color, as long as it's pink

On the fly

I let them set the pace today.

I set the kids' books on the table  and printed a new "Chore Chart" for the fridge. They know what to do.

Madelyn needs to be nudged into action now and then ("Whatcha doin' Babe?"), but when she announced she would rather "work on her room" (a cleaning process that takes weeks and basically tidies one area while she plays in another), I shrugged, said, "OK."

Then I rolled out my yoga mat and minded my own business.

When Nathan spent more time pacing the kitchen than tackling math, I said nothing. I put out foam yoga blocks for him to use as stepping stones while he paced.

When he took his writing to the gym; when she asked to type up her story on Word, when he hauled out two weeks worth of laundry wrapped in blankets, I just nodded: Yes yes yes. Today was about trust. Trusting it will get done. Trusting in their timing.

Using a stool to hold down the paper in late winter sunshine.

I didn't let up on the load, just how it happened. They are drawing and labeling bones on a life size tracing of their own bodies. Nathan grumbled. I ignored it.

Madelyn asked for some room on the hard floor, too. I suggested she go outside. Her eyes widened: "Yeah!"

Just as long as it gets done, do it in your 'jamas, do it on the patio, put it off until 3:19 PM. If you want to do two hours worth of work in six hours, so be it. It's about disciplining oneself, which for me--today--meant disciplining myself enough to let them go.

Flexing and extending his phalanges on the kitchen floor.

Happy Japan Song

Madelyn's fascination with Japan spilled over onto her birthday.

We went to a Japanese Grill -- the four of us plus Aunt Becca and Uncle Andy. Good thing for reservations as the place was packed, turning away people at the door. We sat at the edge of a round grill while a chef clanged and slapped his way through appetizers, vegetables, fried rice, and meats. He wasn't Japanese, but Korean-born ("South Korea, so you know I'm not crazy" he added).

He doused the food in oil and lit it on fire, earning Nathan's unbroken gaze and admiration.

Madelyn was  prim, eyes wide and glistening with her internal smile.

There was no cake, but she was presented with a candle-holding ceramic Buddha and two pineapple chunks sliced to look like gondolas, shaded on the end by  paper and toothpick umbrellas. Beside each was a blood red cherry hugged by an orange slice, skewered onto a plastic sword. The staff sang "Happy Birthday" and then the "Happy Japan Song." We only know how to count to ten and the words for "left" and "right" in Japanese, so it could have been about anything. (You stupid Americans paid five dollars for this song...).

Madelyn later told Gramma the dinner "was magical." Maybe it was all that fire or maybe it was the delectable yolk sauce on the shrimp, but I think she's onto something. Now--how to work in a round grill on a future kitchen remodel...

All that school socialization? Not so great.

The kids got two compliments within the last two days. Yesterday, while waiting outside my yoga class for five minutes, they sat and read/doodled on their DSi games. When I came out, a woman who had been sitting across from them told me how "wonderful" my children are: they sat quietly and spoke to her politely when she inquired whether school was out for the day. She told us homeschooling "is the best," and she beamed at them.

Then at Meijer, the kids returned bottles and got to keep the money. We stood at the end of the checkout, cart full and paid for. They eyed the toy and candy machines, weighing their choice of saving versus spending. When I gave a last call to "either spend some money or save it so we can go home," they both said "Save!" A woman sitting on a bench about six feet away exclaimed: "Good for you!"

Maybe it's all this being-in-the-adult world that got them going with this next topic. I'm not sure. On the drive home and in the car wash, they talked at length about how "mean" and "bratty" this-and-that kid had been in school. Nate said there were even kids who seemed glad he would be going; Madelyn talked about how she wouldn't miss this one ordering her around, that one putting her down. When I was at the dentist yesterday, the hygenist asked about our "socializing." It is assumed that being in school is the optimal place to learn how to interact with other people. Except, according it my kids, it's not. It's a place to be called names; it's a place to be isolated in a crowd; it's a place where the kid to adult ratio is such that small disagreements get ignored for the sake of moving a class along--and small disagreements turn into silent wars when left unattended.

My kids have to work on their manners and self-control--but so does every person alive. At a time when those habits are forming, they were left on their own more than not at school, a situation that doesn't exist now that's we are one on one every day. Those minor irritations are managed and smoothed over, laying groundwork for the big irritations bound to come.

How are their social skills? Getting better, now that they're not bombarded with group-think or mob-rule. 

In public

The most noteworthy event of last week was going to see Papa in the hospital, where he is rehabilitating from a stroke. We drove up with Gramma (my mom). Nate volunteered to push her in the wheelchair since long hallways and breathing difficulty (COPD) do not mesh. He leaned into it, all fifty-five pounds of him. Then those two kids of mine did something that near-astonished me. They sat in a small hospital room and occupied themselves for over an hour with one small McDonald's toy (Madelyn) and tinkering with the wheelchair (Nate).

When the boredom finally overcame them, Papa turned on the TV and treated them to half an hour of cartoons we don't get at home. Then we loaded up the wheelchair with Gramma and Papa's laundry, and Nate insisted on making the return trip, pushing all the way back to the entrance.

When we parked the chair, the security guard greeted us, then asked, "Shouldn't they be in school?" This was the first time anyone had made this remark to me. It took a beat for me to respond with "No. We homeschool."

"Really?" he replied. "You do it?"

"Yep. We do the basics of reading and math and all, but when the kids get interested in something, we can check it out. Rather than doing a unit and hoping it's interesting, we use what they like already."

He nodded, seeming to approve. I felt compelled to elaborate.

I gestured: "This one (Madelyn) knows about Vikings and Japan because those are what interest her."

Madelyn complied by echoing, "I like Viking and Japan."

Then we waved off and boarded the elevator for the parking garage. The kids had never been in a hospital until this day and it was my first experience "defending" our apparent truancy. How fitting that it was a security guard--a man of enforcement--who had to be put right about where my kids "should" be.

Temporary Neverland

In the previous post, we seemed to cram two weeks into one. Between the blizzard and the flu, now it's like we skipped a week  My work obligations dried up with the increasing snow starting Tuesday. Rob came home ill Tuesday night and set up residence on the couch. We took a snow day on Wednesday, resumed our routine on Thursday, but cancelled Thursday evening obligations as Rob was still sick. On Friday, our school and errands came to a clammy halt when I woke up with the flu. Rob went back to work; I took his spot on the couch.

I have rarely been so miserable. My kids have rarely been so happy and free. Too weak to do much, I lay around and watched that my kids have become better friends. We sat around Friday and Saturday doing little-to-nothing. Rather, they sat; I propped and slid, shivered, and draped over. Left to entertain and occupy themselves, the kids became allies, poring over their DSIs like generals over a war zone; they consulted YouTube Pokemon experts and haggled over superior nicknames for their characters. They took turns watching each others favorite cartoons. Nate helped create and play Madelyn's stuffed animal warfare game. Madelyn let Nate "beat Pokemon" on the DS for her. They offered snacks to each other.  They still bickered with the vitriol of political opponents, but then they turned and made like best chums. Ah, how common interests make fast friends: yielding to all this Pokemon nonsense gave me more hours of peace than any amount of pleading, nagging, or threatening.

They took turns nursing us, too: filling hot water bottles, making tepid tea, resisting minimally when I called out chores that had to be done. They worked together folding laundry, putting away dishes, and wiping bathroom surfaces while chattering away continually in Pokemon vernacular.

Madelyn told me last night that she wishes it were Saturday again. I narrowed my eyes, automatically flashing through that day of passing out (literally) from low blood pressure, that day of no appetite, those times of blooming aches in my joints.

That's not what she's thinking. She wants to have the run of the house again. She and Nate held dominion over that day, with Rob at work and me laid out. It was a day fit for a kid.

Late January--getting into our stride

Last week was so full, it felt like two weeks in one. Despite the extras of more-- doing a yoga demo for Constantine Middle School girls' group, bowling with friends, going out to lunch with another friend on another day, working around my doing Thai bodywork one afternoon, picking up our vacuum in Kalamazoo-- the kids got their work done.

Madelyn learned how to do reporting and composed a family newsletter. Nate had to contend with doing neat, correctly-spelled writing because I wouldn't give him a pass on the erratically-paged, semi-decipherable essay he wrote at first. He resisted; I put my head down and kept vacuuming (that's how I stay strong--by cleaning something). When a fifth grade neighbor saw Madelyn's writing project, he pronounced it, "Cool." She beamed.

For history, we watched a video about the human origins (National Geographic: The Human Family Tree). Madelyn said, "We have a HUGE family!" Some of it is a little dry and beyond their comprehension, but it's laying ground for big ideas. This is the stuff I had to wait until high school to see--if there was time and a reason to view it.

The kids are learning Judo; it  is teaching them self control and physical confidence, as well as some Japanese.  Madelyn can tick off 1 - 10 in Japanese, but still gets our address confused with our phone number (!?!?!?!?!?!)

The best --and sometimes worst-- part is being with them through every phase of every day. There are gems in the monotony, though, like when Nathan cautioned against my being anything "like a 20-ish mom who's concerned about fashion" because that's not "the kind of mom [he] wants to have." He would prefer I let him worry about what's cool.

What a relief.

Between strict and free

It seems to bite me back when I give the kids too much freedom. It goes from "freedom" to "anarchy" in one short walk in the snow.

They have a list on the fridge of what they are to do every day. I have stepped back to see how motivated they are to get through the "must-do" things. There's a lot of walking around the house, a lot of free-form conversation about whatever's interesting to them at the moment (all things Japanese and Pokemon are the phases of now).   When I rustle them up for a walk at ten a.m., only math has been done. 

Nate free associates about his friends and the ranking of these various friends in his esteem. When he arrives at the pinnacle friend, he suggests we "walk to his house"--as in TODAY. My weeks are so varied that I need to check a calendar to see what's up for each day, work-and appointment-wise. Visiting this most esteemed friend can't happen for, oh...several days. Maybe not until Saturday. This refusal puts him in a snit. 

When we get home, the snit has become a semi-rage and he's turning irrational. Then a thought dawns: he hasn't eaten yet, has he? 

I ask, and he snarls "NO!". Then he stomps to his room, shouting that he refuses to eat (!). 

This is where freedom turns sour. I mix a soy shake--lots of protein included, demand he remove the barricades, and proclaim that "I'm in charge" and that he will eat .

He is quiet. He drinks the shake, big eyes looking up at me over the blue glass rim. Within ten minutes, he's a rational person again. I explain about our calendar, reminding him that I offered over the last weekend to have over ANY friend he wanted--but he declined. 

"You can't do anything at anytime you want, Nate. That's not how the world works." You have to take your opportunities when you get them, and do your work whether you feel like it or not. 

So: one strike against unschooling and one point for domineering parenting. I heard a bit on NPR about  successful parents in limiting alcohol abuse:

"The parenting style that led to the lowest levels of problem drinking borrowed something from each of the extremes. From the strict parents: accountability and consequences for bad behavior. From the indulgent parents: warmth and support

Bahr says these parents tend to be more balanced.

"They recognize their kids when they do good things and praise them, but they offer direction and correction when they get off a little bit," he says."

In other words: tyranny leads to rebellion and laissez faire parenting leads to bad choices. You set the rules, and when they don't comply, you stick it to them. So perhaps this was a better day than it seemed.

MLK Day

Since every other kid was off on MLK Jr. Day, we took off the usual subjects, too. However, we watched a BrainPop movie about MLK and were to look for some way to serve another on this day since Dr. King said: "Life's most persistent and urgent question is: 'What are you doing for others?'" 

Nate tidied the living room in anticipation of my seeing a Thai Yoga client in the afternoon. He stacked books, cleared dishes, toys, and socks, folded blankets, and arranged the pillows symmetrically on the couch. 

On our morning mile walk/jog, the neighborhood dog ran out to meet us. He is a raggety, bug-eyed Shih Tzu named Samson who runs loose a lot, I've been told. (We first met him two weeks ago and thought him to be lost. We brought him home, fed him, and called a few people to inquire where he belonged. I found his owner--someone who seemed to consider a dog running loose as common as the wind blowing--and we returned him.) Samson followed us home, so we let him in again, fed and watered him, and let him stay an hour until we had to leave. When we pulled out of the garage, he emerged from the side yard and followed our car down the street, like: "Where we going?"


After my yoga class at the gym, Madelyn bought a fruit bar for herself and for her brother. 

In the evening we attended the MLK Jr. Service at Center Park Methodist--the church where Rob plays drums. It was our turn to host this annual event, and the speaker was a district something-or-other for the SW Michigan Methodist area. He was Southern-born Afri-American man, and he preached with cadences that echoes MLK Jr.'s style. The service lasted two hours, included about eight songs, and entailed a lot of high energy preaching and response. The kids held out better than usual--probably because the speaker paced and gestured and amplified his voice to emphasize his points. When he mentioned Jesus saying "What you do to the least of these, you do to me, " I nudged Nathan and whispered "Samson."

He talked about how the "black and white thing" is old news, how the challenge now is to integrate with Hispanics, Muslims, and the homosexual communities. This impressed me as it brings MLK's message into present times rather than lingering over the 50s and 60s Civil Rights, as if we're all fine now.

There was a lot of hand-shaking and hugging afterward, and we ate a light snack. If we ever stop going to Center Park--if Lyne is transferred, say-- I'll go to a black church just for the energy and warmth. 








 

The TP of time rolls on.

I have CD-ROMs for the kids' history and science; however, the history one is lacking in visual aids thus far. It wants us to "talk about" the importance of the past and what a historian does. I love history, but YAWN. So to illustrate the abstraction of The Past, I took a roll of toilet paper and, with a marker, drew a 12-piece "pie" on the end. Each piece of the pie was a month.

"This is the year, and it goes around. You will often see time stretched out like this [pull end of roll and extend a flat piece of TP here], but it can also be thought of as going around, making layers as it goes. The Vikings were around about a thousand turns ago. Madelyn's has been with us almost eight turns."

"What's the hole in the middle?" Madelyn asks.

"The Big Bang," (Other answers could include "God" or "The Void".)

We talked about "bias," how each person remembers differently. Each of us was here last year for Madelyn's birthday, but my version of that day is not her version nor is it like Nate's version. To illustrate bias, I found a link to the Chicago Fire of 1871. The CD-ROM prompted this example, but it was all wordy, so I found another site with crackling fire sound effects and a changing map that shows how the fire had spread.

Sensational destruction aside, our lesson for the day was how the fire started. Apparently, no one knows for certain, but Mrs. O'Leary and her cow get the popular credit. One site said the reporter who got the by-line made up the cow part  to make his account interesting. There are several theories about the fire's origin--party-goers, flaming debris from space, Mrs. O'Leary herself (not the cow). Despite not knowing the facts, the *truth*  is that some people's claims are taken as fact. Mind your assumptions; watch your opinionated tongue. It could make history and destroy a reputation.

What was the "true" story of Madelyn's birthday party? Mine? Nate's? Hers? We all saw a different side of it--that's what. Same for history.

The coincidences that count

In December, I wrote how Madelyn had found a new favorite movie. The characters in "How to Train Your Dragon" are Vikings, so I have made a few attempts to learn/teach about this culture while the student has something to relate it to (versus when you learn stuff helter-skelter without interest or connection).

Let me give props to interlibrary loan. I love it; I use it; and if any institution were to inherit my estate, it would be the library. I found and borrowed a BBC video about the Vikings--at a reasonable 60+ minutes running time. It was in one of our history lessons for this week--and for Madelyn's sake.

Last week, for our winter break, we watched the Lord of the Rings Trilogy. Today, I was looking up what inspired Tolkien and found references to Finnish poetry. He learned Finnish just to read these old myths/epic poems.

While we sat in dim light watching the Viking movie, the narrator spoke of the "giants, dwarves and dragons" of Viking lore. The Vikings were all about their stories--telling them for generations and then finally writing them down (the sagas). BTW, a "saga" means "it was said" or "what was said." The Vikings come from the same Northern countries that generated the stories Tolkien read that inspired his own stories.

Nathan turned to me as the actors rushed the screen with their swords, wearing their helmets and tunics, and said, "Mom, this could be out of Lord of the Rings." When the camera spanned Iceland and Greenland from a bird's view (more a helicopter, but not as poetic), I thought--that's Middle Earth come true: waterfalls, green rolling plains, volcanoes and icebergs.

The coincidence of our pursuing Vikings and having watched LOTR--and that they intersect-- is why I wanted to homeschool. We can make and observe and pursue these connections. This is where it counts.

So it begins.

Our first day of actual-schooling was a success. The kids have checklists on the fridge of their morning chores, their subjects, and a "housework" box, too. They can select a chore for the day from another list. (Is it not obvious that I like lists?)

We did writing, reading, math, and science. We took a mile walk, too. Once their lists were all checked, they had free time. Nate lost his temper and broke a pencil, so he had to repay the pencil by doing another housework job. A website I have found useful is the Charlotte Mason blog. The free e-books about "How to Start Homeschooling," "Smooth and Easy Days", and "Masterly Inactivity" are readable in one sitting. Look to the right margin for those titles.

In summary, the kids learned how to write a detailed letter, how to hyphenate on the syllable, what "awe" and "awesome" mean and how they are over the top in describing everyday objects, how to solve for an unknown (yes, algebra on Day 1), that there are three kinds of muscles in the body, and that losing one's temper has consequences; also, arguing takes up more of your free time than cooperating.

It has been good.

Tangentially, having good toys comes in handy when the kids act out. A few days ago, Nate lost his Macbook  when he swatted his sister. Being a boy driven by gadgetry, he dug out his hand held gamer, the DS. For Christmas he received a Scrabble-type game: Bookworm. This game not only kept  his attention, but it taught him new words. He typed in the letters "S O U" and it told him a "sou" is a type of French coin worth a small amount. There's learning happening, here! There's spelling (!) and vocabulary (!) and hand-eye coordination as he tries to build words before the time expires. Homeschooling sure is swell when it works without my even trying.

Writing in real life

Nathan wrote a thank you note on Sunday, and I am contemplating my own Christmas letter/thank you's. Serendipity awaits! Here is an article on NPR this morning:

http://www.npr.org/2010/12/26/132263637/perfect-thank-you-notes-heartfelt-and-handwritten

I told Nate this type of writing is used in "real life" and is something he needs to practice. Also, getting the envelope properly addressed took two tries (controlling handwriting to make it fit was the issue).

The very lows and the highs of Xmas

It's not Christmas if there's not a meltdown, and yesterday's was mine. Nate woke up griping about going to church. We are not a religious family, but once Rob started drumming for St. John's Lutheran and Center Park Methodist, we went along with him as a show of support. The pastor at Center Park is a kindred spirit, despite her designation of "Christian," so I enjoy going to listen to her talk, to make conversation with other people, and to generally be a part of something that is not work.

Nate resists because he's not a morning person nor does he willingly do anything other than what he-alone loves (like watching Dragon BallZKai or playing his DSi or building a snowfort).So when he woke up too late, complaining, and apparently out of pants, I gave up going to stay home and put him to work. In the process, I had a fit--a bona fide, three year-old, out of control fit. I broke a plate. I threw shoes. I swore. It was ugly. Then I retreated to my room and began to come out of it, rather like a drunk who sobers up and realizes the damage she has done.

I called Nate into the room and repented: "This is completely the wrong way to act...this was a temper tantrum as any little kid would have...this is not how someone with my experience and training is supposed to act." It seemed to relieve him of his own resistance, and we spent the next hour working around the house non-stop. He did everything I asked, and he even offered to help me do my Sunday office cleaning job.

The lesson for this morning was that a family does a lot for one another, and it is a rare thing when that activity is what EVERYONE wants to do. The kids come to yoga class at the gym for my sake. Dad got involved in coaching soccer for Nate's sake. I took Madelyn to horseback riding--and led the horse around a sandy, mucky corral--for her sake. We go to church so that Dad isn't going alone. Etc.The lesson for me to was in being humbled by my own anger. I should have done a handstand rather than throwing shoes. I have a lot of practice ahead of me. Being an adult is not a guarantee against losing one's temper; nor, apparently, is being a yoga teacher.

Just when the afternoon settled down and all left for the day was an evening's Christmas program, the kids ran in screaming. This was panicked screaming, not fighting-screaming or play-screaming. Our most recent adopted cat, Big Orange, was lying dead on the far side of Lover's Lane. Nathan threw himself to the floor, screaming and sobbing; Madelyn stood and wept, shaking, eyes pinched shut.

Big Orange (or, "Big O" or "Bo Cat") had come around occasionally in the summer and fall. He was big...and orange. We speculated that he was May's kittens' father as he was definitely in the area a lot and an un-neutered male. He was wild, too, not letting us get near him. About a month ago, we began to see him almost daily, eating out of May's dish. One day, he emerged from May's plastic bin shelter--the "Hidey Hole." He was settling in. I rustled up two more bins from the basement and made another "hidey hole" for May. Big Orange moved into this new shelter and came out every morning, squeezing his winter fluff and belly fat girth from the narrow circle. After many days, he stopped running away when we opened the door. Then he began to stand nearer and nearer to the person feeding him. The day before he died, his cheek touched my hand as I scooped wet food into his dish. It was either a nudge or a rub, but it was significant. May was put-off at having to defer to this big male, but we enjoyed winning his trust. I had fantasies of being able to stroke his back by spring.

Then the kids ran in, screaming. Rob and I walked across the street scooped him up. Rob carried him with a snow shovel and remarked thrice how "heavy" Big Orange was. We walked past the patio as the kids looked out. I dug a hole in the former garden (unused now as it's in too much shade). Rob laid him in, but still the hole was too short! This was a big cat. I dug out the hole another six inches and covered him in coffee-ground colored soil. Our yard is becoming a pet cemetery.

Finally, the high. We performed in the Center Park Christmas play. Rob played drums and the kids and I all had speaking parts. We sang a lot of Christmas songs and had a light meal afterward, complete with three kinds of jello--requisite eating at most any church dinner. Many people commented on how well Nathan acted his part (he was the grumpy kid who hates Christmas). Madelyn sang out better than I could have as a seven year old or as a seventeen year old. I got to dress up in a flowing skirt, ballet slippers, and  lots of make-up for my gypsy role. Considering that Halloween is my favorite holiday for approximately the same reason, it was the most fun I've had preparing for a Christmas event.

We came home to more knitting, one empty hidey-hole, and for our individual parts, a dose of humility or self-confidence.