Look At ME!

I'm taking a break. I am posting just because I can!

Things here on the official day 2 of school are going okay. I did two loads of laundry today. Served lunch without too much chaos. Cleaned the bathroom sink. Got Ms. Boo a shower (I still wash her hair.) Made butternut squash soup. Completed all of Boo's lessons with her. Built a fort (several times.) And - this is the kicker - all the kids had their teeth brushed today.

Maybe, and I do mean maybe, I can settle in with this schedule. Much of it depends on how willing the Boo is to do her work. Today was better than yesterday. But we've had lots of breaks (read: snacks) worked into the day, so maybe it will be doable.

Ms. Bao has been a little bit difficult. She's still very impatient and can't wait for us to finish part of a lesson if she has decided that she needs me for something. But we are working on it. And she is only getting older, so I take comfort in that. (And any of you out there who want to tell me that the threes are worse than the twos, please don't.)

In the mean time, I'd like to ask you all to pray for Ms. Bao. She has been getting various itchy welts all over her body for over a month now. It calmed down considerably about a week ago, but the last two days have been bad. Huge welts. Her lip has swollen a few times. She scratches so hard that she bleeds.

The initial blood test for all the "regular" allergies came back clear. We are scheduled to see the pediatric allergist on Friday of next week - and she can't have any allergy medication for five days before the testing. If the reaction doesn't calm down soon, it will be a very difficult five days.

Anyway, that's all for now. If any of you have been praying for me as this school year has started, I appreciate it.

Lord, Have Mercy

Seriously. I'm asking for mercy.

I was planning on starting school next week, after Labor Day. Paul returned to his teaching job today, so I thought we'd take this week to settle ourselves in, get ourselves back to "normal," and then start with lessons after we'd all adjusted.

Then Ms. Boo B.E.G.G.E.D. to do some lessons today.

Where is my child, and what is this new one doing in my house?

I didn't want to put her off, since the desire was obviously there.

So I took all three of the kids and sat them at the table. We got out our bins and each of them loaded theirs with their books and their pencils and whatever else they needed for "school." I laid down the rules for "table time," which is what we are calling it... it's optional for Mr. Bug (4) and Ms. Bao (2.) Obviously for Ms. Boo (6), this is not the case.

Things went well. At first.

I did Ms. Boo's first math lesson. Mr. Bug joined in for a while. Even Ms. Bao tried to sing the math song along with us. But then, Bug decided he liked Ms. Bao's tiles better, and joined in with her to play (after I had to disrupt the fight that ensued because, hello, two-year-olds aren't exactly excited about sharing.)

When the math lesson was over, Ms. Boo wanted to play with the tiles too. The end result was not pretty. I don't really want Boo and Bug to just play with the educational manipulatives, but that is about all Bao can do, and when she does, they want to also. So, somewhere along the way, I am going to have to get them used to the idea of using the manipulatives only when mom is giving instructions with them.

Then I tried to make lunch and I burned the grilled cheese.

And forgot to put the cheese in.

So, basically, I employed the most labor-intensive method possible for making toast.

And if you are alarmed by the fact that the authorities within the state of Ohio are entrusting a complete air-head with the education of her three young children, let me reassure you:

They allowed me to teach everybody else's kids too.

In the mean time, the house is completely trashed. The kids' room, which we repainted several weeks ago, needs trim, a closet door, and a regular door (all waiting in the garage for their paint and saws and nails and such.) And the closet needs to be rearranged to hold all of their stuff.

In fact, every closet door in our house needs to be replaced. And we need a new front door too. These are also waiting for us in the garage. (Say a prayer for us, people.) Don't even get me started about the fan in the family room that STILL needs to be replaced.

And the homeschooling area that needs to be completely overhauled.

And the spare room that is now filled with all the stuff we moved OUT of the kids' room (all three of them are now in the same room... don't ask me how this happened, it just did) needs to be packed up, trashed, or relocated.

There really is stuff everywhere, and it sorta feels like I can't even put things away.

And, strangely enough, the laundry and dishes just seem to keep reproducing.

So, what I am telling you is, I might not be blogging again until next summer.

School has started, and I am already behind!

Four Things: The Un-Meme

I am keeping busy. Not harried or anything, just busy. Four things seem to be taking up most of my time lately:

1. My class.

2. Searching for/bidding on used homeschool curricula.

3. Exercising. Shut UP, so much exercising.

4. A photo compilation project. No, this is not just a fancy term for scrapbooking, but if I tell you any more, I will ruin a surprise, so I will leave it at this: I am trying to upload a bunch of digital pictures. On a dial-up connection. Enough said.

And, because you care so deeply about these details of my life, I will now elaborate:

First, the class. Just in case you were wondering, I most certainly did ni some hao on the first exam. (Quiz, actually. There won't be an exam.) I got every question right, including the five bonus questions. This is a good thing because when we went on with class after that quiz, I soon realized that the first quiz will most certainly be the easiest.

I should also mention that I finally figured out (though I had a guess from the context) what Addie's "hen kuai" comment meant. We learned "hen" (very) last week, and this Tuesday we learned "kuai" (fast.) I smiled big when my professor wrote that word. Made me think of my bloggy buddies.

I'm not even going to get into the tones associated with those words. Tones are another story. I'm convinced that my attempts to say something simple like "what is your name" are really coming out as "you look like my big toe." It's all in the tones....

Tone is also a factor in my search for curricula. The general "tone" of homeschooling last year with Ms. Boo was "uuuugh." Not terrible, but not exactly fun. And a little bit tedious. Kudos to the Boo-ster for sticking with the same. routine. every. day.

So, after a lot of thinking and searching, I have decided that we will be doing the following this year: (for those of you who care.)

• Math: Rightstart Level B for Boo, and some Level A with Bug
• Science: Sonlight K/C for Boo, and Bug can join in.
• Language Arts: Sonlight Grade 2 with some review from Grade 1
• Foreign Language: Muzzy - Chinese. (And that's what they call it, so I guess I can too.)
• History/Geography: Christian Liberty's History for Little Pilgrims
• Bible: Yay Christian Liberty for putting out a curriculum that teaches doctrine and not just stories!

And, I swear I didn't plan this: But while we are on the topic of "tone" I would just like to tell you that my arms and legs actually have some. For the first time in I don't know how long. So, I thought I would share with you the list of things I like about losing weight:

• Those skorts that I had to put away last summer because they were WAY. TOO. TIGHT? Well, they are hanging loosely on my hips now.
• My back doesn't hurt.
• My skin looks better.
• I feel less tired
• I feel less cranky
• And I feel like maybe life in the low 130's is possible in the near future.

So, you are all caught up.

I'll see you next year...

Intelligent Confines

I don't talk much about homeschooling on my blog, so it shouldn't come as a big surprise that I (veteran homeschooler that I am... COUGH!) take a more low key approach. By "low key" I don't mean that I don't take it seriously or that I try to make things easy for Ms. Boo. Neither is the case.

But I went to preview some material today with a local rep from a well-known homeschooling company. The rep was nice, but he was, of course, trying to sell me something, so he was talking up the program. The only problem was that what he said played to the part of schooling (home or otherwise) that I hate the most: intelligence worship.

Here's the thing. It is not my goal to have Ms. Boo reading better than anyone else. It is not my goal to have her reading before anyone else. It is not my goal for her to know more vocabulary than anyone else. It is not my goal to have her recite her addition facts faster than anyone else.

It is not my goal to compare her to anyone else at all.

I taught high school for five years. During my second year of teaching, I had a father come in with his daughter for a conference. He had another, younger daughter taking chemistry at the same time, but with another teacher. The younger daughter was bringing home As. The older daughter (the one in my class) wasn't. The father was not pleased.

There were some issues involved that we worked through. She got nervous during tests, etc, etc, so we all agreed to try a few changes and see how things went. I thought that was reasonable.

The girl was respectful and socially mature. She had friends and seemed to enjoy school. She was a gifted musician, and a hard-working student. She struggled in chemistry, but was not even close to failing, and was willing to work hard to get the grades she did. I really didn't have any other concerns.

But her dad did. He launched into a conversation with me which I believe stemmed from GENUINE concern about his daughter. He was very concerned that her grades in my chemistry class were not good enough. WHILE HIS DAUGHTER SAT LISTENING, he went on to say that, getting good grades in band isn't good enough. He couldn't understand how her grades weren't better, given that her sister was getting As. He mentioned something about college. "She needs better grades in math and science. Those are more important than her music."

I was just looking at him, sort of in disbelief over what he'd just said about his daughter, when he asked me, "Right? Don't you think that math and science are so much more important?"

I couldn't think fast enough to form any kind of eloquent answer so, as politely as I could, I just said, "No."

I think he was surprised to hear it. (And I think his daughter was GLAD to hear it.)

Why do parents push so hard? Why do we care so much that our third grader performs better at reading than 95% of all ninth graders? And why do we want to tell people about it? Why do we get angry when they can't read something, or if they don't want to? When they can't recall the capital of Oregon or the answer to 12 x 12?

Tedd Tripp, in his book Shepherding a Child's Heart, lists "Good Education" as an unbiblical goal of parenting. While I think that "Good Education" is important, I think he says it well:

I have met scores of parents whose goal for their chldren was a good education. These parents are driven. They will work with Suzie for hours each night. They coach and prod, they encourage and warn, they will stop at nothing to have their child succeed. Their goal is seeing their child achieve academic awards and scholarly recognition. They are persuaded that education brings success. Unfortunately, scores of disillusioned and broken people are throroughly educated. It is possible to be well-educated and still not understand life.

I think there is a lot to be said for the false connection we make between education and success. If we define "success" as a child who grows up to be good at something they love and were CREATED BY GOD TO DO, then I think that will alleviate a lot of the intelligence worship we tend to engage in. Instead of pushing to get Suzie smarter and better than everyone around her, we start to focus on developing the things that God has made her good at. Sometimes that can be done without an "A" in calculus. Sometimes that can be done without attending college. And it can almost certainly be done even if you don't learn to read until you are in the sixth grade.

Yet parents push. And many parents, unlike the one in my story, push for excellence in EVERYTHING. Their kids are not allowed to be mediocre in anything. I think one reason for this might be because of our own insecurities. We know our kids are a reflection of us and we are so afraid of what people will think of us if our kids are "dumb." What will people think of me if Bobby can't say his alphabet? Or, won't everyone be so impressed with my parenting when they find out how advanced my children are in piano, and Latin, and physics, and ... and... and...? The sad part of this is that children are raised with no concept of what it means to be normal... most people are great at a thing or two, and just okay at the rest (and if we're being totally honest, everyone is downright bad at a few things as well.) And that's FINE!

Worse, for homeschoolers, is the temptation to "prove them wrong;" to stick it to all the people who said that Jane wouldn't get a good education in your home, or who constantly spouted advice because they thought you were "doing it wrong."

Whatever.

My kids are who God made them to be. I truly and honestly want them to read. I want them to read well. I even want them to know what 12 x 12 is.

Someday.

But it may not be any time soon... and that's okay with me.

I refuse to make "comparison" my educational philosophy.

And I refuse to worship intelligence.

Cognitively Speaking

When I was teaching Chem II at my last place of employment, I had one of my "teacher moments" as I was walking my students through a particular lab analysis. It was a titration in which they had to determine the amount of vitamin C in several different kinds of juice.

I wish I could describe this particular class to you. I am not kidding when I say that almost every lesson was directed by their questions. I'd give an assignment, they'd do it - or at least attempt it - then they'd come in the next day and ask questions about whatever they didn't understand. The ability to identify what you do not understand and to formulate the appropriate question is, in my opinion, a mark of intelligence. It might be fair to say that a handful of the twenty students were asking most of the questions, but in simply addressing their questions, the entire group always seemed to stumble upon an understanding of the larger concepts. The big picture. I found that I loved this kind of student-driven learning because it seemed so much more effective than delivering a lecture that addressed what I thought was important.

They were at it again on this particular day of lab analysis. As part of their lab assignment, I asked them to make a simple statement about how the volume of the titrant was related to the amount of vitamin C in the sample. This kind of terminology was familiar to them. We'd spent considerable time the previous year studying the "relatedness" of pressure, temperature, and volume in a gas (the gas laws.)

They easily determined from their data that the titrant and vitamin C concentration were directly related. (In other words, the more titrant they had to use, the more vitamin C was in the sample.)

Then I asked them to write the mathematical formula that described the relationship between the two variables.

Panic.

"I've never heard of a formula for that?"

"Where do we find that formula?"

"No, no, no!" said I. "This formula doesn't exist. You need to figure one out!"

Jaws dropping. Brows furrowing. Eyes widening.

"How do we do that?"

"Well, how are they related?"

"Directly."

"Then write a formula for two variables that are directly related."

"HOW?"

"Think about it. Have you ever heard of other variables that were directly related?"

"Yeah. What was that gas law? Was it pressure divided by temperature, or was it pressure multiplied by temperature?"

"I can't remember a formula from that long ago!"

"Then don't. Why don't you just try something and SEE IF IT ACTUALLY DESCRIBES YOUR DATA."

So they tried one. It didn't work. Then they switched it around and - IT WORKED.

"So we can just MAKE UP a formula?"

"Well, no. You can't just make one up out of thin air. But did you find one that describes your data?"

"Yes."

"Then that's your formula."

This is where I launched into a mini lecture about how every mathematical formula in the history of mankind didn't exist until someone MADE IT UP. And why did they make it up? Because it WORKED to describe their data.

It was like little lightbulbs going off all over the room. "OOOhhh!"
-------
I love this story because it was one of few times where I think I witnessed some kids "getting it." What I hate about this story is that they were juniors and seniors in high school and they were only just coming to this realization: math is a tool.

Someone invented algebra. And trigonometry. And calculus. And differential equations. They invented them because they needed a way to describe the things they were observing in the natural world: People made up math because it helped them describe something.

Math is never solving the quadratic equation 20 times just to see what the answer is. NO! The answer has meaning. Without meaning, there is no reason to do the math in the first place. Teaching math without meaning is one of my biggest complaints about education today. Math in most schools is taught in isolation. The answers have no meaning. This kind of approach to math education results in kids who don't know how to use math. They don't realize they are the master of it. They think the math tells THEM what to do, when in fact real math is the exact opposite!

Most schools are turning out kids who can solve the quadratic equation when you tell them: Solve this problem using the quadratic equation. What is the point of this? (Just out of curiosity, does anyone know someone who sits around solving quadratic equation problems just to see what the answer is? No one does this! The idea is preposterous!) The problem with this is that the natural world never tells you what math to use. It's content to sit around and do its thing. The job of describing the "thing" falls on us, and it requires that we know how to use the tool of math to make accurate description.

My desire is to approach math education a little bit more wholistically. Ms. Boo is currently working through a part of her math curriculum that covers measurement. Part of her lessons the last two days has been to identify the instrument that would be used to measure certain things. (She can chose from ruler, thermometer, measuring cup, or scale.)

So, it bugged me a bit when the book showed her a picture of a bag of flour and gave a scale and a measuring cup as choices. Another example showed a pitcher of water and gave measuring cup and ruler as options. (The implication is that only one of the choices is "correct.")

Is it totally inconceivable that someone would want to measure the weight of flour? People often do this in their own kitchens because it is more accurate than using a measuring cup. Is it unheard of to measure the height of water? Uh, rain guage, anyone?

This kind of "detached" math, where you don't have a reason for answering the question is just another example of teaching math in isolation. Instead of asking "what do I need to know about the flour to solve this problem" we are simply making an exercise of it.

Here is where I will stop, because I have no pretty ending to this rant. Ms. Boo's lessons have brought these thoughts right back to the forefront of my mind. The difference is that now I am in a position where I can do something about it.

Big Time

I bought a pocket chart.

I own sentence strips.

And a classroom calendar is mounted in our kitchen.

Big time, people. BIG time.