Schoolless

Homeschooling revelations

The school year is almost over. Our second full year without school. If someone asked me today what our style of homeschooling is, I wouldn't quite know what to say. We use parts of various curricula. We "unschool". We play hooky. We throw our hands up in exasperation.
The lessons that stay with us are not necessarily those we anticipated and planned for. Here are a few I walked away with:

• It's often easier to say "yes". We frequently say "no" out of a sense of duty, obligation, the existence of a previous agenda or expectation. When you stop and think about what matters, at this given moment, a "yes" may come more naturally. Sometimes.
• Yelling is most effective if you burst out laughing immediately afterwards. Go ahead, undermine your own authority. You may gain some when you least expect it.
• It's OK for kids of different ages to learn the same subjects. My older kid can benefit from 2nd grade math review. By the same token, my younger kid gets early exposure to fractions. And who says she can't write a paragraph when she hasn't yet mastered the art of spelling?
• Discussion of mating makes sex education really easy. It's a natural topic of conversation, not a forbidden one shrouded in an aura of mystery.
• You do not have to learn everything in order. However, it is sometimes interesting and effective to learn things with the seasons. We planned to learn about the systems of the human body this spring. That idea went out the window as soon as things started sprouting all around us. Now, we're studying plants.
• An orderly house is incompatible with homeschooling. Click here for an elaboration.
• My parents are more open-minded than I thought. My mom, especially, has  embraced our more natural, interest-led approach to learning. Having read "Dumbing Us Down", my dad, a lifelong teacher, and an engineer with a rigidly scientific mind, now calls institutional education "indoctrination". Never too old to learn.
• My parents trust me more than I thought. Way, way more.
• When I want my kids to concentrate, I let them chose what they want to do. My guess is that many kids with "short attention spans" would surprise their teachers if they were given this option. This works both ways: if you want to concentrate, choose what you want to do. Ditch your "to do's" for "wanna do's". It's a lot harder than you think.
• Nearly everything is educational. And if it isn't, don't assume your kids are not learning.
• Doing more is not more enriching. When we do less, we might discover something about ourselves we didn't know. Time slows down a bit. Kids still grow up too fast, but maybe doing less slows it down just a tad.
• Homeschooling is highly compatible with self employment. At least our version of it. Ironically, being self-employed was the reason I thought homeschooling would not work for our family. And perhaps it would not have in the days when both Chris and I were putting in 12-hour days at the shop. But no one can maintain that level of intensity for many years and keep their sanity. It's interesting that we made the decision to homeschool just as we were learning to pull back from the business, and delegate more to our staff. Homeschooling has given us interesting insights about how to interact with our staff. And vice versa.
• Since we began two years ago, homeschooling has become the center from which all other activities radiate. It informs how I live my life. It has revolutionized how I think about the world. It cannot be tucked away into unused corner of your house: it has assumed a central role and location.
• Homeschooling is consistent with the type of life I've always wanted to live: a little contrarian, always questioning, independent in thought, moving toward self-sufficiency and away from consumerism, quiet, private, free to be you and me. I just didn't know it.

Limitedlessnessibility

"Time out!" I'd say, and as I walked out of the room, my son or daughter would follow me, with strong, persuasive arguments pouring out of their mouths. Tried as I might, I could never get my children to remain in a time-out. Back when I was still convinced about the efficacy of such methods, I consulted friends who successfully kept their children confined.
"Oh, at first he wouldn't stay. I'd just hold him down the first several times, while he struggled and writhed, but eventually, he learned that I wouldn't give up."
"So, how long would you hold him like that?"
"Oh, at least fifteen minutes."
I didn't last sixty seconds. Half way through the exercise, it dawned on me how ridiculous this was from every point of view. What was my child learning? What was I learning? What would anyone say if they saw us thus engaged?! I'd release the tiger from the cage and let him roar.
This brings me to the question of limits and parental authority. Thanks to Summer, I landed on a site where vigorous discussion about the pros and cons of placing limits on children was being waged. I have to admit that I did not have the patience to read through all 93 comments. But I wasn't really interested in coming down on one side or the other.
Here's why.
First of all, I don't believe that there is such a thing as parenting completely without limits, no matter what any authority says. You may not limit your children's video game playing, or what they eat for breakfast. But by virtue of living together as a family, limits, in some fundamental form, are inevitably placed: on how and when you move around town, when you sleep and wake, what faith you belong to, or what other guiding values you use in your life. We limit our children's access to materials and activities that are beyond their age. We shield them from images and information that are painful or damaging, and which they do not yet have the capacity to understand. We stop them from hurting other living creatures. Limits are imposed constantly by our society and our environment.
Secondly, I am less interested in establishing up front which particular things are off-limits, and which are permitted, than I am in having an ongoing discussion with my family members about what is appropriate at a particular time, and how it fits into with what others might have planned, or even what the weather is like. If it is the first 60 degree sunny day after a drearily long winter, I will place strict limits on video games, and toss everyone outside. This may be an unpopular decision, and I never resort to simply saying "because I said, so, that's why." Recently such a decision occasioned a family discussion that lasted close to an hour, but resulted in everyone being on board for the outing. We don't always have the luxury of time, but whenever possible, we don't enforce, we deliberate.
On the other hand, I have frequently bent previously imposed limits because I saw something really cool happening, or for purely selfish reasons, or because I have a soft heart. Sometimes I witness a moment in my kids' imaginative play that is pure magic, and, although I've made other plans, I put them on the back burner to let the magic continue. Other times, I need to get something done, and having my kids otherwise distracted is a win-win situation. This is no different than letting your toddler watch Teletubbies so that you can take a shower. And, yes, there are times when I am persuaded by the "Bambi eyes" and the fluttering eyelashes.
Perhaps with the exception of the very strongly principled few, who either support or disdain limits, I suspect most of us struggle with them on a daily basis. Sometimes we win, sometimes we lose. Though, in truth, it is not about winning and losing. If you treat your children as fully vested human beings, I believe you learn that flexibility is more important than limits. My children are not loud and demanding, but they are strong-willed, stubborn, outspoken, and increasingly able to construct a solid, unshakable argument. My job, as I see it, is to help them place their desires against the context of the needs of family and society, and learn when and how to compromise with grace, and when and how to stand up for themselves with conviction.

Spying on the life of plants

I'm feeling too lazy to write, so please sit back and enjoy this photo essay of sorts on our exploration of seeds.

We put on fuzzy wool socks and gathered some of last year's seeds. We also gathered seeds by hand.

Here are some examples of the seeds we gathered. Some were neat and tidy like these. The big surprise was the cottonwood seedpod, resembling a small bunch of grapes. We had no idea that's what they look like before they burst open.

Other seeds were less cooperative, and made a tangled, spiky, fluttery, fuzzy and tickly mess.

Like these.

And these.

Some landed where they weren't supposed to.

Here is our dissecting lab.

We were especially proud of this beauty.

Its babies look like little bisons, or perhaps mythical horned slugs.

Here we are making a model seed out of a balloon, strips of newspaper and paste.

Finished seed model. Note that this seed is unusual, as two different plants seem to be growing out of it. This is not a result of a genetic mutation, but rather of having to accommodate two different artists with only one balloon in the house.

The end result of our explorations. Pretty, no? But it was all in the process.

Cancer Walk

Sometimes I think I'm one of the lucky few whose life has been relatively little touched by cancer.
And then I think again.

It's true that the tragedy of the disease has not affected me as personally as some people very close to me, and others I know less well. My husband's family, for example. Seventeen years ago, my father-in-law to-be passed away at the age of 59 after a battle with pancreatic cancer, only a few months before his son and I were married. Our nanny died of leukemia after an unsuccessful marrow transplant. She was not yet 21.Then there is a cousin's wife, a woman in her forties, who recently underwent surgery to remove both of her breasts when cancer was discovered. And a step-sister, close to us in age, who battled ovarian cancer. A friend's ex-wife, same age, just learned she has breast cancer. A mother of my son's friend from school, cancer. My former cleaning lady's husband had cancer in so many places, he only lived for two weeks once it was discovered.
When Kim asked people to walk with her in the cancer walk last weekend, I didn't really think of all the people whose lives the disease has changed forever. Seeing some of those people at Grant Park last Sunday, many with photos of their loved ones on their t-shirts, opened my eyes.
And, speaking of t-shirts, how's this for bringing attention to unmentionables, and inserting a dose of levity into an otherwise serious situation?

Just call her Miss Tolstoy

Both my children started uttering intelligible words at the tender age of 9 months. Interestingly, they began with the same word: cat. But while Peter confined himself to the last letter of the word, allowing us to figure out what he meant by pointing to one of our household felines, Nadia enunciated the word clearly and completely from the start. Once she mastered one word, she continued in the same vein, until at eighteen months, she was speaking complete sentences, like when I tried to blow hair out of her eyes: "Mommy, don't blow me, I'm not a balloon!". To balance her brother's tight-lipness, Nadia spoke early, enthusiastically and a lot.

Naturally, we assumed that this verbal precociousness would lead to early reading. In fact, we were puzzled when she showed an interest in writing long before she ever started to read. She didn't really know how to form all the letters, but didn't let that stop her, and composed paragraph upon paragraph of remarkably writing-like... well... writing.

Here she is, at her craft. (Incidentally, my dining room table almost never looks this neat.)

About a year and and a half went by, and Nadia tried everything from active reading instruction, being left to her own device, practicing with emergent reader books, and finally starfall.com. She read street signs and cereal boxes, but was no closer to being a Reader than her brother was at her age.

On her seventh birthday, Nadia received a set of Junie B. books from one of her friends. It took her about three days to get through the first chapter, and another week to get through the second. By the end of the next week, she'd read all of the books, and was ready to move on to an older heroine, Judy Moody.

Throughout all this, she continued to compose voluminous written materials: a diary, a travelogue, picture-books about cats and dogs, and numerous letters to friends. With the discovery of chapter books came new inspiration: she decided to try her hand at writing novels. She already has several manuscripts under her belt. I've found them tucked under her bedcovers, slipped into books, spread all over the rug, and  (her favorite place to compose) on the heater in the front window.

The young author draws heavily on real-life experience (though she changes her friends' identities to protect the innocent) and spices it up with intrigue, betrayals and drama. Her characters display strong emotions, have values, loyalties, a keen sense of fair play, as well as an eye for fashion. What is remarkable about these chapter books (aside from the creative approach to spelling) is the sustained effort she puts into them. Some of the novels are well over twenty pages long, each decorated with handsome illustrations.

Upon learning that I wanted to use her compositions in my blog, Nadia was horrified. It was  only after hours of strenuous persuasion that I got her to reluctantly agree to publish her works. But she wants you to understand that these compositions are still in draft form. So don't judge her too harshly.

Sunset Junque

Up for a day trip?

Just two hours from Chicago, Sunset Junque offers great fodder for anyone's sense of silliness, as well as genuine treasure-hunting opportunities. Architectural salvage, kitchy garden ornaments, lots of rusty metal objects and plain old junk abound.

Whenever our family travels to Michigan, we never miss the opportunity for a little detour to see what the proprietor of Sunset Junque has in store for us. Last weekend, I dragged my friend Mary over there. Well, "dragged" isn't really the right word. She actually went quite willingly. We had driven to New Buffalo to stay at her brother's cottage and enjoy the beach for the day. Since the beach isn't very enjoyable in 50 degree weather with light drizzle, we opted for a little road trip up the coast to the town of Glenn.

The poor lady named Josie manning the establishment was frozen stiff, trying to warm up by the light bulb, the only available heat source in the decrepit and musty shed that serves as Sunset Junque's main office. She wanted nothing more than to go home and curl up with a nice, stiff drink. She demonstrated remarkable patience as Mary and I perused the wares, took our time comparing the various types of aged terra-cotta finials and cast metal garden animals, and the kids ran around using old, rusty farm implements as swords (eeek...). In the end, she gave us generous discounts on two garden bunnies, a flying pig, a pair of those finials, and some miscellaneous metal railing. I'm sure it was with great relief that she bid us adieu as she pushed the gate shut behind us, and went home to enjoy a good book and her hot toddy.

Should you decide to take a trip to Sunset Junque this season, you may want to round out your day with a nice country meal, at Kalico Kitchen, just a few miles north on the Blue Star Highway. Chicken fried steak, cooked greens, corn bread & a tall glass of iced tea. Mmm...

Playing catch-up

It's been that kind of week. Not enough time for anything, yet I can't quite account for what we have done. You have such weeks, don't you? I think they usually happen when outside duties, appointments and obligations intrude on the things that you want to do. And you have to scramble to fit your life around them.
A camera is a great thing to have when you want to chronicle your comings and goings without having to write anything down. So, in reviewing last week's snapshots, I realized that we actually got some things done.

Nadia made necklaces following mathematical patterns.

Peter drew a scale plan of our kitchen, and Nadia helped him decorate it with pictures of our cats, hypothetical mice, not hypothetical ants, and even an anteater.

We made a stab at our family tree using stamps cut out of an eraser. As the above kitchen plan, the family tree included pets, both living and deceased. (Note that we are straight line descendants of Adam and Eve.)

We spent a day at the beach.

We made bone models out of drinking straws, and tested them for strength.

Drinking straw bone models are fun to look through.

Oh, let's see, what else? We also stained our teeth and tongues pink with disclosing tablets while studying teeth and plaque, we dropped out of math class, but we did do a lot of work with fractions while studiously avoiding worksheets, and helped an imaginary but very dull-witted farmer add up the feet and tails of his livestock. The kids also discovered the Klutz window art kit, so we now have beautiful stained glass throughout the house.