Wednesday, June 30, 2010

We Have the Cooties.


Today's activities: none. Yesterday's activities: nada. Monday's activities: zip. It seems like I'm writing more about skipping school these days than about actually homeschooling my child. And we're less than a month in! Blurgh. Oh well, smooth sailing doesn't make for interesting reading. It's the rough patches that provide intrigue. So, for the sake of this blog, my son and I got sick. Did you really want to read more about rice pouring? I jest! I jest! There are no whys or wherefores when it comes to illness. My son and I quite simply caught a cold. The infirmity fairy visits us all from time to time, no matter how much hand sanitizer we use. I know people are always saying this, but I really don't get sick all that often; and when I do, I almost always bounce back quickly. (Don't get me wrong, I used to get sick a lot, but several years ago I discovered the awesome power of actually taking care of myself, physically and mentally. Truly revolutionary: treat yourself well, and your body will treat you well right back! Why it took me nearly thirty years to discover this is another story. And another blog.) This accursed affliction of ours refuses to retreat, and I'm at my wits' end. Precisely because I so rarely get sick, I am horrible at actually being sick. As my grandpa used to say of my grandma, I'm an impatient patient. I want to get back at it, back into the swing of things, back in the saddle. You know, I want to feel better already. And I miss our school.

I very nearly tried to do school today, but if there's one thing necessary for a successful school session, it's patience. And, as I already said, that's the exact trait I'm lacking right now. To add insult to injury (stress to sickness?), I've found myself sort of subconsciously panicking about skipping school (day after day after day!). I know I'm neurotic, but this panicky feeling made me ponder. What's the big deal? My son and I stop school for a few days so that we can give our bodies time to heal. Then I realized what it was: I was reverting back to Student Teacher Megan mode, when the slightest pause in my painstakingly planned out curriculum caused me major anxiety. I was teaching high schoolers U.S. History, and the California state standards for that course (well, for most all courses) are detailed and extensive. (State standards are like lists of lessons you, as a public school teacher, are required to cover during the course of the, well, course.) At the beginning of the school year, I sat down with the seemingly endless outline that enumerated each and every standard and thought to myself, "Aha! Now I know why Devo [my own U.S. History teacher] talked like an auctioneer during class!" Then I took a deep breath and got to work creating a curriculum that crammed all those standards into a single school year, taking into account of course the government holidays and pep rallies and other silly things of that sort. When the school year began, I felt pretty good, on top of it all and in control. Then we had a fire drill, then a quarter of my students simultaneously got sick, then I got sick, then (and again and again) we simply needed to spend more time on a particular lesson plan. Every time something happened, my whole calendar got out of whack and I totally stressed out, scrambling to rearrange all those stupid standards (and their respective lesson plans) so they'd fit in the time allotted again. By the end of the year, June was approaching too fast and I had to choose between teaching the kids about Nixon's resignation and teaching them about the women's lib movement.

This is (one of) the miracles of homeschooling: no unyielding school calendar around which to plan the lessons! Naturally, I have standards I aim to meet and, if we keep going with homeschooling, eventually we'll even have state standards to meet, too. But I won't have to panic if (when) illness descends. We can be flexible, slowing down when we're not feeling well and then speeding up when we're feeling groovy again. Life is nothing if not unpredictable. The moment you think you've got all your ducks in a row, something happens that leaves you scrambling. I definitely hadn't planned on my son and I getting so sick that we'd have to skip a week's worth of school. The again, I also definitely hadn't ever planned on living (not to mention raising a kid) in the Caribbean. The twists and turns can be frustrating, but how boring would life be without them?

Postscript: In case you were wondering, it really sucks being sick when it's hot out. And in the Caribbean, it's always hot out. Ergo, it really sucks being sick in the Caribbean, beautiful sunsets aside.

Friday, June 25, 2010

The Rigors of Routine


TODAY'S ACTIVITIES:
  • Cleaning Surfaces
  • Using Tongs
  • Transferring
  • Sweeping
  • Dusting
  • Hardware Busy Board
  • Using Tongs
It's pretty crazy how the bar just rises and rises and rises when it comes to parenting. I don't know if I'm alone in doing this, but I tend to conduct a mental tally at the end of each day; a sort of "How was my mothering?" reckoning. When my son was an infant, I gave myself a hearty pat on the back at night if he'd nursed, napped and pooped, and a bonus pat if there'd been minimal crying involved. Pretty soon, though, that wasn't enough; I was supposed to give him bouts of tummy time during the day, too. Then, my baby was supposed to be rolling over on a daily basis, then grabbing toys, then sitting up, then crawling, then starting to talk, then walking, then feeding himself... And was I reading books to him everyday, and was I helping him learn his colors and shapes everyday? Was he counting yet? What about socialization? Had I been giving him the opportunity to interact with other children on a daily basis? And making sure he got some exercise on a daily basis? And was he out of diapers yet? And of course I must remember that I'm supposed to be teaching him to mind his manners, to play nice, to not scream and to definitely not throw tantrums, too! Everyday! Was I keeping up? Am I keeping up? PHEW! And my son is only three. Group sports and household chores and after-school jobs and college applications and all that sort of stuff haven't been thrown into the mix. Yet.

I bring this up because my son and I didn't do any school yesterday, and I found myself wracked with guilt about it. It doesn't matter that we had a pretty good, full day otherwise--three square meals mostly consumed, errands run around town, adequate afternoon nap, evening trip to the playground, bath taken, teeth brushed, books read, general happiness, no tantrums. And we accomplished all that despite both of us being pretty sleep-deprived! (Not only had the cat's nocturnal escapades been particularly noisy, but apparently the drunken tourists staying in the vacation rental next door are under the impression that in the Caribbean it's OK to be raucously loud all night long.) But none of it mattered because, in my mind, we skipped school for no good reason (and by "good" I mean tangible, like having a playdate to attend). Three weeks ago, before I started on this homeschooling adventure, I would have considered a day like yesterday a smashing success. Instead, I ended up berating myself because I hadn't forced school to happen. (I did try, but Parker kept saying he was tired, and I was tired, too. So we went to the market and shopped for groceries and took turns pushing the cart and weighed various items on the produce scale.)

The thing is, though, that one of the great benefits of (and arguments for) homeschooling--especially with regard to young children--is that you and your kid(s) don't have to be slaves to routine. Looking back on my own childhood, I can recall plenty of rough mornings with my parents and sisters, struggling to get to work/school on time on the heels of a restless night. Some mornings you're sick, or your kid is, or neither of you slept well, or you both woke up on the wrong side of the bed, or whatever. The point is, some mornings can be rougher than others. Rushing small children in the aim to get them ready and out the door on time poses enough of a challenge as it is. Add in illness and/or grumpiness and your day is almost definitely off to a sorrowfully stressful start. Is sticking to the schedule worth it when it ends up engendering stress and unhappiness (and sometimes even anger and upset)? Obviously, kids need to learn about responsibility, about reliability. We can't just take "personal health" days whenever we want to, and our children should come to understand that. But my son is three. Should I really have disregarded our mutual feelings of fatigue just to do some school, just because "that's what we do?" Parker observes his dad go to work almost everyday, he's with me everyday as I do chores and run errands, there are already nonnegotiable parts of the day, everyday (napping, picking up, bathing, brushing teeth); he's undoubtedly learning about responsibility. The choice--nay, privilege--to homeschool offers the opportunity to make sure my son also learns about prioritizing, about sometimes placing health and happiness above the rigors of routine.

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

I've Created a (Cleaning) Monster


TODAY'S ACTIVITIES:
  • Transferring
  • Using a Dropper
  • Pouring
  • Hardware Puzzles
  • Dusting
Not much new or exciting happened in homeschool today. That's not to say that my son and I didn't enjoy ourselves--scooping beans together was an absolute blast--but we didn't really do anything I'd call newsworthy. And no, I haven't finished the dressing busy board yet...

Although I'm undoubtedly much better at keeping quiet while my son is working than I was at the start of our homeschooling adventure, I still struggle with the need to stay muzzled. I don't speak unless spoken to while Parker's actually working on an activity, but I realized this morning that I have an annoying habit of verbally prodding him whenever he pauses in his endeavors. "How are you doing? Are you finished with this activity? What do you want to do next? Do you want to do the clothespins next?" Blergh. The poor kid is just sitting back for a minute to take a break, maybe even to reflect upon what's been doing. We all do that from time to time while we're working; isn't that what the office water cooler is for? And I, his meddling mother, can't give him a moment's peace. OK, it's not as bad as all that, but still. I need to stop with the interrupting already.

It occurred to me the other day that there is one activity Parker has yet to revisit: folding. I presented it to him on the first day of school, using old washcloths upon which I'd drawn lines to guide him in the folding process. I dutifully bring out the washcloths along with all our other school supplies every time we do school, but they just sit there on the shelves, ignored. Since I'm still struggling to reign in my interventionist tendencies, you can bet that I've encouraged (well, maybe even nagged) my son to try the folding activity again. No dice, he is the opposite of interested. (Probably my repeated prods haven't helped here.) So much for getting a little help with the laundry.

Speaking of getting a little help around the house, you might have noticed that my son does a lot dusting, most often at the end of our "school day." This is not because I'm trying to train him to be my own little Cinderfella. Parker really just loves to dust. I'm pretty sure a big reason why is that I bought him an old school feather duster (made from neon blue feathers, no less)--I didn't think he'd get as much of a kick out of a Swiffer. He probably also enjoys the opportunity to get up and move around, after more than an hour of sitting, doing schoolwork. While he was dusting on Monday, I decided I'd do a little sweeping. (I try to "do school" with him whenever I can, so my son doesn't feel like he's on stage while he's working, performing school activities for my viewing pleasure.) Parker at that point told me that I should really just get the vacuum out; apparently I'd let the floors get so dirty that my preschooler didn't think a broom could get the job done. Today while he was bouncing around the room, dusting stuff, he started commenting about all the dust he was finding. "Even there's dust behind my books, Mommy! Even there's dust under the bookcase, Mommy! Mommy! Even there's dust on the chairs!" Of course, I realize that he's three. He wasn't purposefully criticizing my housekeeping skills; he was merely making observations. But it's not so great to hear your kid tell you how dirty the house is. "Yes, Parker, I know. There's dust everywhere, all the time. Everything's always getting dusty, all day everyday. Even your books. Even the chairs." I don't think I'll point out to Parker the cobwebs on the ceiling, or the lizard poop on the counters.

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

Book Report - Beta Version


TODAY'S ACTIVITIES:
  • Playdate
  • TBD
My son and I had a playdate this morning instead of school. Sometimes you have to be flexible, especially when you (and your kid, of course) haven't seen a particular friend in a while due to scheduling conflicts. We'll take a stab at doing some school this afternoon, post-nap. I'm not sure how successful this will prove, but it's worth a try.

So I'm halfway through Alfie Kohn's Unconditional Parenting, and so far I've found it life-changing. Pretty dramatic description, I know, but true nonetheless. I'm not a big parenting book reader; I tend to rely more on instinct and reflection than advice from "experts." I have friends who are always talking to me (sometimes at me) about the latest and greatest book on disciplining your kid or sleep-training your kid or understanding your kid or training your kid to jump through hoops, and I've even gone so far as to purchase a few of these "You have to read this!" parenting books. The thing is, though, that despite my best intentions, I never really read them. I begin reading them, of course, but invariably find the writing too prescriptive--do this, don't do that. I live in the realm of "shoulds" enough as it is; I'm always telling myself I should eat this and I shouldn't eat that and I should get more exercise and I shouldn't yell at the cat and I should be more patient and I should call my grandmother and I shouldn't watch anymore Real Housewives on TV. I don't need a parenting book telling me what I should do every time my kid loses his temper and shouts at me or my husband. The author doesn't know me or my kid or what led up to the shouting incident in question; how can he or she say for sure how I should respond? Kohn offers a more descriptive technique, discussing in detail the predominant approach to parenting and questioning not only its effectiveness but its long-term effect on our kids. I've got to tell you, even if he didn't cite a ton of studies that back up what he says, I'd agree with Kohn just based upon his use of logic.

Kohn begins the book asking you to describe what type of person you'd like your child to be as an adult. Almost all of us would use the same descriptors: happy, fulfilled, responsible, confident, thoughtful, independent, kind. Then he says to ask yourself, "Are my everyday practices likely to help my child grow into the kind of person I'd like him to be?" When interacting with our kids--especially when they're small--the majority of us focus almost entirely on their behavior. It's all about what they're eating, how much they're sleeping, to what degree they know their colors and numbers and ABCs, whether they're playing nicely with their friends, whether they've picked up their toys, whether they're getting in our way as we try to accomplish things throughout the day. And when we deem their behavior inappropriate or, even worse, bad, we create consequences: we give our kids time-outs or shout at them or withdraw our love and affection for a while. In short, we make our kids feel bad--we punish them--in order to try to control their behavior, usually without ever considering the causes of our kids' inappropriate actions. Kohn's argument is that all this attention we place on our kids' behavior and all the energy we expend trying to control our kids' behavior does not in any way conform to what we assert to be our long-term goals as parents. Do we want them to learn to mindlessly obey authority figures, to only do things (or not do things) out of a fear of punishment? Do we want to teach them that their motives and emotions don't matter, that The Rules must be obeyed... or else? Regardless, Kohn cites a ton of research that shows that punishment doesn't work in the long run. Not only that, rewards (what people sometimes call "positive reinforcement") don't work either. (And remember, praise is just a form of reward!) Look at it this way: most parents have come to accept that the "you must clean your plate" approach to mealtimes is outdated and harmful. Kids need to learn to listen to their bodies, to regulate their own appetites by means of natural feelings of hunger and satiation. Children whose parents control their eating often end up with weight problems and/or eating disorders. Well, the same applies to kids' behavior: if we become dictators, constantly controlling our kids' actions via threats of punishment and/or promises of reward, they never learn to regulate themselves, they never develop their own sense of motivation, of morals, of responsibility. Even worse, independence and initiative is, in a word, stifled.

There's more to this, obviously. I can't sum up everything Kohn says. The one caveat to it all is that you've got to believe your kid is basically good-natured--that kids wouldn't always act badly if they thought they could away with it, that there's almost always a rational explanation for why your kid misbehaved. Maybe they were uncomfortable--physically or psychologically, maybe they were tired or hungry, maybe we were expecting too much from them, given their age. When you enter the kitchen and see a tub of yogurt spilled all over the floor, of course you're going to get upset. But why take it out on your child? He was most likely hungry and trying to get himself something to eat; maybe you were unavailable--in the shower or on the phone--so he thought he'd help himself, instead of interrupting you. Kids' motives are almost always innocuous. I get frustrated when Parker occasionally refuses to pick up his toys; I finally stopped to think about those times he does refuse and it's always when the mess is a big one, with lots of bits and pieces (like LEGOs or Matchbox cars spilled all over, everywhere). It dawned on me that he feels overwhelmed when the mess appears massive. Why wouldn't he? Usually, if I offer to help clean up, he gets moving and the toys are put away in a flash. If I stand there, unyielding, nothing productive occurs, and bad feelings on both our parts become inevitable. The important thing is to never give your child reason to doubt your love. "How we feel about our kids isn't as important as how they experience those feelings and how they regard the way we treat them." Is getting your kid to do exactly as he's told really worth sacrificing his apprehension of your love? If you really do love him unconditionally--even when he has a tantrum or makes a mess or won't let you brush his teeth--then treat him that way.

The second half of the book suggests ways you can guide (not control!) your child's actions--because of course there are times you need to--without using punishments or rewards, without sending the message that your love is conditional upon good behavior. Should be interesting...

Postscript: Kohn also addresses motivation; how we use/abuse rewards (including praise!) in our attempts to encourage our children to "succeed." Basically, the same holds true: by doing so, we're stifling our kids' abilities to motivate themselves and making them feel as though our love is conditional upon them doing well. Extrinsic motivation imposes our own ambitions upon our kids and stifles their instinctual sense of initiative.

Monday, June 21, 2010

Sur la Table!


TODAY'S ACTIVITIES:
  • Using a Dropper
  • Transferring
  • Using Chopsticks
  • Bead Stringing
  • Dusting
My son and I are three weeks into our homeschooling adventure, and we finally have a table upon which he can do schoolwork. It's not the beautiful, well-crafted, small wooden table (with matching chair!) I'd been envisioning, but it'll do. One of the lesser known precepts of the Montessori method is that children should be surrounded by objects that are not only aesthetically pleasing but also finely made. Needless to say, there's not a lot of plastic furniture in most Montessori schools. Of course, I could have paid an arm and a leg to get lovely wooden shelves and a beautiful wooden table and chairs set shipped here to St. John, but I balked at the thought of such exorbitant spending. (I did order a cute Little Tikes plastic table and chairs set from Amazon a month ago; when I called customer service several days ago to ask why the set had yet to be shipped, the Amazon agent informed me that they wouldn't be sending it until mid-July at the earliest. I cancelled the order. At that rate, we most likely wouldn't have received the table set until September.) My husband, my son and I went to St. Thomas to see the new Toy Story movie this past Saturday, and quickly stopped by the Home Depot there on our way back to the car ferry. You can always count on a box store, even in the Virgin Islands: I found a little red plastic table (I think intended as patio furniture) for $8.09. It's not aesthetically pleasing or well-crafted, but it'll do.

I'm feeling a wee bit ho hum about having to spend another week (or more) repeating practical life activities with Parker. I know that he's getting a lot out of the repetition--mastering the materials and becoming more comfortable with the homeschool concept--but doing things like transferring rice and stringing beads doesn't exactly make me fall out of my chair from sheer excitement. As we progress through the Montessori curriculum, school will most definitely stimulate me more and more. Up next are the sensorial set of activities; we'll be experimenting with varying temperatures and textures and sounds. After that, we'll begin working with numbers, then letters. The awesome part about embarking on this education journey with my son is that the sky--no, the universe!--is the limit. Eventually, we'll be learning about physics and biology and geography and geology and cosmology and all sorts of stuff. But we have to start somewhere; Parker needs to figure out the intricacies of daily life before he can tackle the big, abstract concepts. So we'll stick with activities like pouring water for now. We're in no rush.

I was hoping to have completed the dressing busy board (buttoning, buckling, lacing, tying, etc.) by now, but that thing is taking me forever to finish. Since I couldn't introduce a new activity (darn busy board), I looked for other ways to add a little intrigue to school today. I put a drop of food coloring in the water we use for the dropper activity, and I replaced the rice in the transferring activity with a mix of dried beans. (Technically, you're supposed to have your kid do the beans first, then the rice--thereby progressing to transferring smaller, finer objects--but oh well.) Using tongs is another recommended practical life activity, but I'm still awaiting the set of small tongs I ordered (yes, from Amazon). In a moment of inspiration, I broke out the kiddie chopsticks I bought at a Sur la Table store in St. Louis last fall and let Parker have a go at picking up the beans with those.


Postscript: Apparently, in Parker's world, anything that can be poured must be poured, so there's always pouring performed at some point when he's doing the transferring, bead stringing and using a dropper activities. I wondered for the longest time whether I should lay down the law and say, "Hey! No pouring! Only transferring!" I recently decided that I'd rather remain quiet and allow him the freedom to explore the materials. I'm sacrificing structure by doing so, but encouraging initiative. Or something like that.

Thursday, June 17, 2010

Deranged by Decibels



TODAY'S ACTIVITIES:
  • Hardware Busy Board
  • Dusting
  • Transferring
If they hadn't already shown us abundant amounts of kindness and generosity, I'd suspect our neighbors/landlords of a little noise pollution retribution right about now. The Porters' apartment abuts ours and they've been subject to a cacophonous soundtrack of car noises, music shows, animal sounds, cries, shouts, laughs and squeals since we moved in over a year and a half ago, performed by our son (with occasional cameos from his parents). The Porters recently decided to do a little remodeling, and the decibel level in our apartment building has consequently increased so much that our very floors often vibrate due to the din. Demolition of their upstairs bathroom began four days ago. Upon breaking for lunch today, one of the guys doing the remodel told me that he'd finally finished the deafening demo work. That was three hours ago, and it still seems pretty freakin' loud here to me. Ah well, such is life.

Probably due to a combination of his dad being off work (and thus home) this morning and the sanity-shaking remodeling racket, Parker at first didn't seem to have any desire to do school today. He put up a big protest, in response to which I just kept saying, "It's time for school. That's what time it is." I didn't want to engage in any verbal battles; as I've said before, I definitely do not want to develop a habit of pleading with my son to sit down and do school stuff with me. I tried my ask-for-help technique ("Hey, want to help me pull out the shelves?") and then, when that didn't do the trick, proceeded to plop myself down on the sofa. Parker moaned, groaned, trod off to his room and lay down in bed. I stayed seated, trying not to think about the fresh plate of brownies sitting in our fridge. After about seven minutes, Parker strolled out of his room and stated, "Here I am! I'm ready for school!" Things went swimmingly from then on. Well, except for the insane noise emanating from next door, that is.

I was rifling through my jumble of kitchen utensils while getting ready to make brownies this morning (if you want to bake anything in the Caribbean, you MUST do it early in the morning--it's simply too hot to turn on the oven at any other time of day), and came across some old scooping devices hidden in the back of the drawer. I fished them out a little later during school, when Parker pulled out the materials for the transferring activity. He loved the "new" tools and tried out each one repeatedly, scooping up and transferring rice from one container to the other over and over again. I'm sure I've got more stuff lying around the house that could be given new life within the context of our homeschool; I'll just need to get into a MacGyver kind of mind set and start seeking out the unsuspected potential uses in everyday objects.

Wednesday, June 16, 2010

Tattle Prattle



TODAY'S ACTIVITIES:
  • Hardware Busy Board
  • Dusting
  • Bead Stringing
  • Transferring
  • Sweeping
My son and I skipped school yesterday and participated in an impromptu playgroup instead. (This served as a sort of raincheck for last Friday's cancelled playgroup.) Both Parker and I had a pleasant time, he sharing his friends' trucks, me gabbing with the other moms. At the end of the morning, though, I found myself thinking about tattling, pretty much for the first time ever. An extreme prejudice against tattletales exists in our culture. I grew up indoctrinated to believe tattling to be the worst crime you could commit as a school kid. Name-calling? Not nice. Spitting? Gross. Kicking? Mean. Hitting? Hurtful (literally). But tattling? Man oh man, if you were unfortunate enough to get caught tattling, the best you could do was just pick up stakes and transfer to another school. Known tattletales faced a certain destiny of cold shoulders and even colder disdain. And that from the other kids. The teachers seemed to possess even less tolerance for tattling than their charges, turning a deaf ear to any child who so much as hinted at telling on another. Having started school at an extremely early age, I cottoned on to this quick and never let hurt feelings or bodily injury entice me into tattling. As an adult, I've often experienced a gut reaction of disgust upon encountering tattletales, both young and old. It suddenly occurs to me--and it kind of scares me--that I've never really examined this prejudice I instinctually possess. I'm normally not one to go along with an accepted ideology just because it's, well, accepted. So, about this terror of tattling...

The subject comes up because my son approached me a couple of times yesterday morning to say that his friend did this or his friend did that. My initial (unexpressed) reaction was one of irritation; having no desire to abide his tattling, I wanted to tell Parker to deal with the situation himself. When interacting with my son, though, I have started to use a time-delay system, sort of like the FCC's broadcast delay that's meant to catch celebrities' curse words. I don't curse, but my initial response to my son can sometimes be reactionary and self-centered. A ten-second delay is usually enough of a pause for me to remember to take myself out of the equation, so that I can actually listen to my son without a "but how is this going to affect ME?!" bias. Once I could hear Parker objectively, I realized that he wasn't so much tattling as asking me, his parent/teacher, for guidance. If he could have been more eloquent, he would have said, "My friend did such and such. Is this OK? If it's not OK, how should I respond?" I'm 33, and I still at times have social interactions that cause me to ask those questions. Existing within a society can be tricky, especially since we're not always on our best behavior. Preschoolers have notoriously little impulse control, possess a tenuous (at best) grasp of morality and have only just begun to figure out the codes of civility. We should expect them to have a hard time playing nice with their friends, and we should also expect to have to exert some energy ourselves when certain situations arise. One of our most important jobs as parents and educators is to provide young children with a moral framework that will serve them for the rest of their lives. When our kids come up to us and say, "So-and-so did this," they aren't tattling; they're providing us with teaching opportunities. I'm not saying that we should stand up and intervene; angrily shouting, "Hey, Johnny! Stop throwing sand at my kid!" won't teach anybody anything. We should sit down and explain, instead, giving our children the guidance they're seeking. When a child tattles, he's looking for confirmation that something that happened is or isn't OK, and he's asking for help formulating an appropriate response. It's not as easy as waving a dismissing hand and saying, "Work it out between yourselves," but I think it's the more considered course of action.

Monday, June 14, 2010

Monday Moxie


TODAY'S ACTIVITIES:
  • Bead Stringing
  • Hardware Puzzles
  • Clothespins
  • Transferring/Pouring
  • Sweeping
  • Dusting
I loved the renewed vigor my son brought to school this morning. While Mondays find me almost manic, stressing about all the stuff that needs to get done--taking the trash out, refilling our drinking water jugs, folding the laundry, cleaning the floors, prepping school materials--Parker usually seems refreshed and reenergized at the start of the week. I rejoiced when school time rolled around today, happy to get out of my frenetic "multitasking mom" mode and into my "homeschooling mom" mode, completely focused (for the most part, at least) on working with my son. Chores are a bore. School is cool.

I've presented pretty much all of the practical life activities in the Montessori curriculum. I'll introduce a few more over the next two weeks or so, but for the most part we'll just keep revisiting activities. This will allow Parker plenty of time to practice and eventually master the materials. What I'll need to be wary of during this time is any boredom on Parker's part. He should be stimulated by the activities even after they're no longer new to him. We'll move forward with the curriculum when he subconsciously sends me the signal that he's ready.

Friday, June 11, 2010

Unconditional Parenting?




TODAY'S ACTIVITIES:
  • Library "Field Trip"
My son's friends (and my friends, the little boys' moms) couldn't make it to the playground for our weekly get-together this morning, so Parker and I decided to head to the library instead. My cousin, Jill, gave him a Skippyjon Jones book this past Christmas and he's lately become obsessed with it. Since I have started to inwardly groan whenever my son pulls Lost in Spice down from the bookshelf, I thought that, at the very least, we could benefit from borrowing a couple different, "new" Skippyjon books. And if we got out of the house for a little bit and found some other interesting books to borrow, too, that wouldn't be such a bad thing, either. The recently renovated library here on St. John is quite nice and quite cool--they always have the A/C on high there. It's situated in a beautiful old estate house and has a fairly extensive children's books selection. There's a large taxidermied iguana lying directly beneath a display of LEGOs, the placement of which I find a little odd (how about moving the dead lizard away from the colorful, enticing toys to somewhere, oh say, in the adults' section?), but this is the Virgin Islands so I shouldn't be surprised. We met a little boy while we were there who lives on the other side of the island, so I guess we did do some socializing on our day specifically set aside for socializing, after all.

In my last post, I wrote about how I would like to start praising my son's efforts--as opposed to his achievements--in an attempt to teach him to place less emphasis on "success." He already shows some signs of performance anxiety, at times not wanting to try things, uttering, "I can't do that!" I feel like Parker would attempt more, and persevere through challenging tasks more often, if he didn't place so much weight upon doing well. My friend,
Jen S., commented on yesterday's post, recommending that I read Alfie Kohn, an author who advocates "unconditional parenting." I came across an article by Kohn in the New York Times back in September, in which he stated, "Some people who wouldn’t dream of spanking choose instead to discipline their young children by forcibly isolating them, a tactic we prefer to call 'time out.' Conversely, 'positive reinforcement' teaches children that they are loved, and lovable, only when they do whatever we decide is a 'good job.'" Those words gave me pause when I read them last fall. I revisited them this afternoon upon seeing Jen's comment and, again, I had to stop and think. Later on in the article, Kohn said that unconditional parenting should be accompanied by "explaining reasons for requests, maximizing opportunities for the child to participate in making decisions, being encouraging without manipulating, and actively imagining how things look from the child’s point of view." I feel like I do all those things pretty well. What I don't do well is keep mum when my kid does something I find amazing. If I agree with Kohn's assertion that heaping praise upon Parker when he accomplishes something I deem to be great (that is to say, "positive reinforcement") sends him the message that my love is contingent upon what he achieves--and I do tend to agree--then I really need to work on not voicing my judgments. It was so easy to get into the habit of saying, "Wow! Look what you can do!" when Parker was a toddler and just beginning to do things like walk and talk; those were exciting times. Now I'm realizing that my kid doesn't need me to tell him that he's performed well because he can (and should!) judge for himself. This, to a degree, falls in line with the educational philosophy of the Montessori method. The "control of error" included in each Montessori activity lets the child see on his own whether he has made any mistakes; he doesn't need to sit there, waiting to find out whether his teacher will give him a gold star. I think I will read some more Alfie Kohn, starting with his book, Unconditional Parenting. One of the great side effects of this homeschooling experiment is that I'm becoming more mindful of myself as a mother. (Not that I was out to lunch before, but there have been some definite "auto pilot" days.)

Thursday, June 10, 2010

Try, Try, Try


TODAY'S ACTIVITIES:
  • Hardware Busy Board
  • Bead Stringing
  • Transferring
  • Sweeping
It'll be just a short post today. You see, I usually use the quiet that blissfully occurs while my son is napping to think, to write. My skin has been attacked of late by the horrendous heat rash, though, and it had become so bothersome by last night that I wretchedly lay awake, unable to sleep due to extreme levels of discomfort. My sleep-deprived state caught up with me this afternoon when I lay down to put Parker to sleep; within seconds I was in snoozeville. So I'm writing now, post-dinner. Unfortunately, a tired body combined with a full tummy do not facilitate composition. It's nearly 9 PM and, pathetically, my bed is beckoning again.

School went OK this morning, despite my rash-induced discomfort and enervating exhaustion. I'm thinking of creating an OSHA-inspired sign that reads, "Number of Days Without an 'I Can't Do It!' Utterance." Not really. Well, maybe really. Now that we're pretty much past the settling in period--Parker and I both rapidly becoming accustomed to our new school and our new schedule--I'd really like to focus on my son's habit of throwing up his hands at a task and moaning, "I can't do it!" It's crazy because he sometimes says those words right on the heels of having completed the task in question upwards of five times. It's like his capacity to be persistent experiences ebbs and flows. I will need to practice praising Parker's efforts rather than his achievements in order to help him gain the ability to work through his feelings of frustration; this will deter him from attaching an inordinate amount of importance to "success." If, at the end of this homeschool endeavor, my son has learned perseverance above all else, I will feel supremely satisfied.

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

Out of the Frying Pan...


TODAY'S ACTIVITIES:
  • Bead Stringing
  • Hardware Busy Board
  • Using a Dropper
  • Hardware Puzzles
  • Bead Stringing
My son and I walked to the playground yesterday afternoon, post-nap, and stayed there until he said to me, "It's getting really buggy here, Mommy, so I think we need to go home." We took our time on the way back, so it was nearly 6:30 PM when we walked through the front door. I immediately entered into "task mode" and, completely preoccupied with needing to get Parker bathed, fed and in bed by his 7:30 PM bedtime, I almost missed it when he asked me, "Can we do some more school now, Mommy?" A trumpet fanfare sounded in my head upon hearing those sweet words! Hooray! My son likes school! Not that that swayed me from my mission to get him in bed on time, but still... Hooray! Well, since that miraculous moment yesterday evening, Parker has asked for (more like demanded) school thrice more. I've got to tell you, I kind of feel like I've been thrown out of the frying pan and into the fire. (Out of the play dough and into the paste?) We've ended the "But I don't like school!" drama, only to almost immediately begin "I want to do school NOW!" theatrics. I'm hoping that my son will eventually adapt to our new routine and apprehend that school time is a singular occurrence in the day, not something that can be requested. In the meantime, I just keep reminding him ad nauseum that, "We do school after Daddy leaves for work."

Bead work bookended our school session today. No surprise there; Parker hearts his beads. He did the dump truck and roller derby stuff with them again, but he also let me engage him in some stringing and that seemed to captivate him more than it had done previously. Most other parents would have probably figured this out ages ago, but it suddenly dawned on me while watching my son today that he wants to be able to fully interact with the materials--and explore all their possible uses--before he accepts the boundaries I assert (e.g., the beads and shoelaces are for stringing, and only stringing). I present materials that are most often brand new to him, so naturally he has to sate his innate curiosity and investigate them. Only after he's finished doing so can he focus on the task at hand. Duh.

Our new activity this morning was what I'm calling hardware puzzles. While we were at the hardware store shopping for busy board components, my husband and I also found hardware pieces that we used to create "puzzles" that can be taken apart and put back together again repeatedly. Each one engages a practical life skill, plus they look pretty neat. The carabiner and the union will require some practicing for Parker to master, but that's what school is all about, right?

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

Hordes Are a Hoot!



TODAY'S ACTIVITIES:
  • Hardware Busy Board
  • Dusting
  • Bead Stringing
While I was out walking this morning, my husband completed assembling the hardware busy board that you see in the above photo. We also have a more traditional "software" busy board in the works. That one will include buttoning, zipping, tying, buckling, lacing and velcroing apparatuses--standard practical life activity stuff. The hardware version wasn't described in any of the how-to-homeschool books I studied, but my son and I have visited enough hotels, restrooms and hardware stores that I figured he'd really enjoy fiddling with various latches and hasps and other things that open and shut. Mike and I had a grand time at Home Depot picking out pieces to put on the board. (And I'm sure there are at least a zillion other hardware gadgets we could have included.) Hopefully, now that he can open and close slide locks to his heart's content at home, Parker will no longer feel compelled to play with the lock on the stall door while I'm "otherwise occupied" in a public restroom.

Once my son got done exuberantly dancing around the house dusting, I gently prompted him to give bead stringing another try. He'd spent plenty of time--and had plenty of fun--with the beads yesterday, but only a couple of minutes had been devoted to actually stringing beads. The rest of the time, Parker either played dump truck with the beads or "rounded them up" with the "rope" (his terminology). I even broke out some different, smaller beads (along with a thinner shoelace), thinking that maybe one set of big wooden beads hadn't been stimulating enough. Upon sitting down with the bead stringing materials, Parker strung three small beads on the thinner shoelace. Three, out of something like five dozen. This kid does not have jewelry design in his future. He then spent a bit of time experimenting with the different-sized beads and the different-sized shoelaces (i.e., figuring out whether the two laces would work interchangeably with the different-sized beads--they won't). After that, the shoelaces fell by the wayside and his eager little hands fairly dove into the containers of itty-bitty beads.

The books say that school materials should be put away if the child begins to abuse them. Admittedly, no beads were being harmed, but they weren't being used for their intended purpose, either. I was in a bit of a quandary: if I intervened in an attempt to guide my son back to actually stringing beads, the odds were at least 50/50 that a battle would ensue, and I'm way more of a lover than a fighter. Besides, Parker was having a ball, and part of me wanted to let him have another positive school experience so that the dreaded "But I don't like school!" phrase might soon disappear. But I also knew that, in the long run, I wouldn't necessarily be doing myself any favors if I let my son continue to "play" with school materials. ("Unless he is taught that [the materials] are intended for a specific time and purpose, he will lose respect for them as teaching devices." -- Hainstock) In the end, I again chose the path of nonresistance, sitting back to observe while Parker enjoyed free reign with the beads.

My son seems to be mesmerized by multitudes of tiny items. Are all small children? Hardware stores, with their bins full of tiny screws, nuts, bolts and nails, are an endless temptation for Parker. Much to his parents' distress, he seems incapable of stopping himself from rifling through the bins, grabbing miscellaneous pieces of hardware (and rarely replacing them in their correct bins). For five minutes or so, he just picked up handfuls of beads and let them fall through his fingers back into their containers. It seemed to me that he was focused on the sensation of lots of little things in his hands. After that he again played dump truck with the beads, then we went back and forth pouring them into each other's hands. He proceeded to deposit the spherical beads onto the tray and "experiment with entropy" by rolling them all around and watching how they ricocheted off the sides of the tray as well as off each other. (While he was doing that, I completed a couple strands of beads. Why let such pretty wooden beads go to waste? Plus, maybe he'll want to mimic me one of these days.) He eventually threw the little cubed beads onto the tray with the spherical ones, and we discussed how round things roll better than square things. Finally, with a bunch of beads all mixed up on the tray, we practiced sorting, separating the beads and putting them back into their respective containers. The only rule Parker had to follow while he was let loose with the beads was that they had to stay off the actual floor; visions of fishing out myriad little beads from underneath furniture made me shudder. That became a game in itself, with Parker popping up to chase down errant beads whenever one or two slipped out of his hands or off his tray. Fun stuff, I tell you.

Monday, June 7, 2010

School sans Carrots



TODAY'S ACTIVITIES:
  • Dusting
  • Bead Stringing
  • Using a Dropper
  • Clothespins
Over the course of the weekend, the subject of school came up several times during conversations with my son. Without fail, every time he heard the 'S' word my child would petulantly exclaim, "But I don't like school!" (E.g., "What are you doing, Mommy?" "Sewing some button holes." "Why?" "For an activity for our school." "But I don't like school!" "Well, I think school is very fun and I really like learning how to do new things with you in school." "But I don't like school!") So I anticipated school time today with excitement, yes, but also a fair measure of anxiety. I hate having to cajole--or worse yet, battle--my son to do things, and I definitely didn't want to develop a habit of strenuously persuading him each day to sit down and do school stuff with me. I know we've only just begun, but is it too much to ask to please skip the settling in period and just start enjoying ourselves already? I mean, I'm engaging in enough warfare on a daily basis between the battles over brushing teeth, cleaning up toys, getting ready to go (anywhere), bathing and eating; does school necessarily have to constitute a struggle, too?

It appeared at first that my anxiety was justified. With about ten minutes to go, I let Parker know that it was almost time for school. After shouting the obligatory, "But I don't like school!" he ran into his room and lay down in bed. (I was slightly encouraged that he didn't slam his door.) Now, there have already been times in this process when I've been tempted to say to my son, "Want to have a popsicle once you're finished with school?" or "Maybe we could go to the playground after you do some school activities?" or "I will buy you a million new Matchbox cars if you just come out of your room and start acting excited about school!" But the Montessori method is all about instilling initiative in children with regards to their education, and bribery does not beget an enterprising spirit. At the end of the day a child should want to learn for learning's sake, not for the promise of a new toy or an ice cream cone or $20 per 'A' on his report card. So I stifled the urge to stick a proverbial carrot in front of my son, and asked for his help instead. I opened up the closet doors and said, "Gee, these shelves
sure look heavy. Want to help me move them out to the other room? We can do teamwork!" Parker hopped down off his bed and enthusiastically (if a little clumsily) helped me carry the shelves out of the closet they're stored in. After that, his uncontainable curiosity kicked in and he was eager to attack the new activities I'd prepared for today. (I can't say how effective this asking-for-help technique will be when my kid is pubescent, but for the time being it almost always works like a charm. It's even great for clean up time: "Hmm, I don't know where this toy goes. Does it go here? Or here? [giggles from Parker] Will you please help me put it away? I can't remember where it goes!" Lest I abuse the power of asking my preschooler for help, I do it sparingly. I'd hate to lose my ace in the hole!)

Since working with them on the first day of school, Parker had studiously avoided the folding and clothespins activities. At the start of school today, he went so far as to ask me to put the clothespins away, saying, "Those are too hard for me! I can't do them!" Reminding my son that he didn't have to work with them if he didn't want to, I left the clothespins in situ. Well, after exploring and enjoying three new activities this morning, Parker put the basket of clothespins on his tray, carried them to his workspace and started working with them. I think it was my proudest homeschool moment thus far. He really struggled with them last time (partly because his hands are naturally really sweaty and his fingers kept slipping when he tried to squeeze the plastic pins--I should have bought wooden ones) and that upset him. He is somehow already very performance-oriented; one of the lessons I hope he learns in our school is that it's OK to not be able to master something immediately. He approached his second round with the clothespins with more patience and a longer attention span than he did his first, and that proved positive. Soon he was adept enough with them that we were able to throw in a little pattern fun ("Blue, pink, white, blue, pink, white. What comes next?"). He really liked that.

Postscript: Parker found bead stringing kind of blasé, so he spontaneously started "rounding up" the beads within the shoelace. It's funny because later on we will do a grouping (numerial) activity that looks almost exactly like this.