I am a big believer in the Montessori method, and geek out like crazy whenever I "scout ahead" to research all the fun activities my son and I will get to do further down the road in our homeschooling adventure. I had been eagerly anticipating the sensorial chapter of our Montessori-inspired curriculum--who wouldn't want to experiment with textures and scents and colors and temperatures and sounds?--but my son so far has not shared in my enthusiasm. I've thought about this a lot (and worried about it and laughed about it and cried about it and written about it) but all for naught. I'm still not really certain why my son continues to mainly ignore the sensorial activities in favor of transferring rice and pouring water for the (seemingly) thousandth time. I have a some theories, though. He could still be adjusting to the idea of homeschooling (wait, Mommy is my teacher?!?) and its attendant structure; the timing could be wrong (kids learn when they're ready to learn); the myriad distractions of late (DMV stuff, playdates, heat, humidity, his dad's changing work schedule) could be making it difficult for him to concentrate on new concepts. And I have another hypothesis. One that's been nagging at me since we started doing sensorial activities. One that calls into question our very curriculum.
Here's the thing: you can't really homeschool Montessori-style. Not at first, anyway. In traditional Montessori classrooms, all four walls are lined with shelves, each shelf full of materials for myriad activities. There are practical life activities available, and sensorial activities, and language and numerial and geography and science activities. There's usually a reading nook packed with miscellaneous books and often some puzzles as well. The traditional Montessori classroom is a veritable smörgåsbord of educational activities. And (this is key) Montessori students are allowed--nay, encouraged!--to follow their interests; throughout the course of each school day, they choose the activities that most intrigue them. The problem with trying to homeschool in a Montessori sort of way is obvious: I do not have a Montessori classroom (a scholastic smörgåsbord, if you will) contained within my home. Not only that, the books I'm using to guide me in my endeavors (Teach Me to Do It Myself, Teaching Montessori in the Home) advocate presenting the materials in a sequential manner; that is to say, following a set teacher-dictated curriculum (practical life then sensorial then numerial then language, etc.) rather than allowing my child to choose from a wide range of educational activities. Don't get me wrong, my son is still allowed a relatively huge measure of freedom in our homeschool. It's not like I'm sitting across from him with flashcards, saying, "And now we shall practice our letters. Repeat after me." I mean, the kid still hasn't tried folding the washcloths again, three months after his first attempt. And that's fine, it's his choice. But we've been struggling for the past month because he hasn't really wanted to do any of the new (sensorial) activities, and the old (practical life) activities have started to bore him. And I, stubborn, inertial Taurus that I am, have just kept plodding along, dutifully pulling out our school shelves and believing--against ample evidence to the contrary--that my son will suddenly get inspired by sandpaper and fabric and stuff.
Another theory of mine (I call it the scads-of-time-sitting-in-the-baby-carrier theory): Parker's not amazingly excited about our sensorial activities because they feel a little "old hat" to him, and they feel "old hat" because he spent a significant part of the past three years in our Sherpani backpack, like a monkey on my back, as I walked and walked and talked. Allow me to digress for a moment and eulogize the best baby-related product I've ever bought (actually my mom bought it for me, but that's beside the point)... Nevermind, the way I feel about our Sherpani backpack defies description. I'm kind of in denial about the fact that Parker has finally outgrown it. It's still sitting by our front door, next to our shoes, and I'm sure I'll start sobbing uncontrollably when I eventually get around to putting it away. There hasn't been a toy, a book, a crib, a nursing bra or a stuffed animal that has more enhanced my life and my son's life than that backpack. He was nine-months-old when we got it, and for the next almost two-and-a-half years I strapped him in it so that we could take a walk together at least every other day. The thing about a baby carrier backpack (as opposed to a stroller) is that your kid is right there with you, just over your shoulder, seeing (and hearing and smelling and touching) all the same things as you. And, because he's right there, just over your shoulder, you can talk to him. Sure, when we first started out, our conversations were a little one-sided ("Ooh, I see a horse, Parker! A caballo!" Drool drips down my shoulder.), but soon enough we were having grand discussions about everything we were experiencing as we walked around our neighborhood. We talked about (and smelled!) the flowers we passed, we stopped to touch the needles on cacti, we reveled in cool breezes and we mimicked the different traffic sounds we heard. He loved it when I'd purposefully walk under a low-hanging tree branch so that the leaves would brush against his face, and he laughed gleefully whenever I walked along the edge of a trail so that he could reach out and touch tree trunks ("Doesn't the bark feel rough, Parker?"). The aforementioned theory is this: my son was doing sensorial activities pretty much every time we went for a walk together, so the sensorial activities I've recently prepared for school just don't pique his curiosity. He's ready for something new.
One final note: The "something new" is indisputably the alphabet. Parker can't get enough of learning about letters. He spontaneously reaches out to trace letters when we read books together, he asks which letter certain words start with, he walks up to signs he sees around town and identifies the letters he knows. If he were in a traditional Montessori classroom, I'm sure he'd be reaching for the materials to do language activities nine times out of ten. So today, when we were at the beach, we practiced writing letters in the sand, which is similar to a particular Montessori activity. It was fun.
Very good.
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