Schoolless

Count your blessings, son.

Room service!
Instead of making him get up, make his bed, get dressed, brush teeth, stand up straight and shape up, I indulged him. After all, we don't have anywhere to be this morning.
Did the young man desire a bowl of cereal? Or perhaps some piping hot cream of wheat?

Scrambled eggs with cheese and an English muffin!

Oh yes, that'll do nicely, thank you. And give me my book.

I did draw the line at hot chocolate in bed, but only for the very prosaic reason of there being no place to put it next to Peter's captain-style bed. But the whole morning did make me marvel at the freedom we have to enjoy these unhurried, drawn out mornings, to read for hours at our leisure, to adjust the speed of our waking to the mood and the weather, and to decide together what we want to squeeze out of the day.

"Lesson Planning" with my son

Sorry. No picture in this post.

Where is the camera when I need it?
Last month, I missed a doe tandem nursing her twins across the street from my house.
Today, Peter and I watched, appalled and fascinated at the same time, as a hawk swooped down and went after a sparrow within yards of us. The sparrow hid in the grass, the hawk perched above. Who won this waiting game?

Later, in the car, Peter and I were having the following conversation:

So, how do you most like to learn?
I dunno.
I mean, I know you don't like worksheets, but do you like books? Movies? What?
Well, if I was gonna do worksheets, I might as well be in school.
Right. But what way do you think you'd most like to learn.
Just go out there and see stuff. Like the hawk today. That was cool.
Yeah, wasn't it? But what other kind of stuff would you like to go and see?
I dunno. You just go out there and see. Some days nothing might happen. But other times you might see something cool. But if you don't go out, you won't see it.

The reason I don't have a camera handy for all these "learning opportunities", is that it's impossible to tell when one will come up. As I learned from searching for owl pellets last year, the more you look for owl pellets, the more they will not be there. But if your eyes and mind our open to new discoveries, sooner or later you're bound to find something that will astound you.
Like revelations from your own kid.

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.

How many steps ago was that?

One of my favorite recent acquisitions is a nearly complete set of Brown Paper School Books. Since the weather was cooperating last week, we did a really fun activity from the Big Beast book of dinosaurs. The cool thing about the Brown Paper books is that while the title suggests you may be learning about one thing (in this case, dinosaurs), you're really learning about a whole bunch of other stuff at the same time. I think in this activity, we were able to combine a little writing, math, crafts, PE, geology, history, a break at the park, and practical skills, like a small grocery shopping trip, using an automated check-out clerk.

We started out making ten signs for pivotal periods in the earth's history, including the present, the appearance of first true humans, last dinosaurs, first dinosaurs, first land animals, etc, etc. Each sign included the name of the period, it's chief characteristic (along with an amusing illustration), and the number of steps we would be taking back in time. Each step was to represent a million years. We had some notion of what a million years looked like, because we had also completed an earlier activity comparing our age, represented by about 1/32" on a ruler, to a million years, represented by a football field. So the steps we would be taking were the equivalent of one football field each, or 1,000,000 years. Got that?

We located a suitable field not too far from our house, and started planting signs. We attracted the attention of a Middle-Eastern grandma with two kids, and a gentleman and his dog, but other than that, no one bothered us.

This is what it looked like after Nadia planted the 7th sign (The first two ones are really close together, so they look like one. Believe it or not, only two measly steps separate the civilized creatures that we are today from our early human ancestors.) We continued to plant signs 8 and 9, and celebrate the milestones along the way.

After sign number 9, we only had one more to plant. But it presented a problem:

To go back to the beginning of time would require us to take an additional 4160 steps (about 2 miles?) for the total 4600 required. So, we decided to cheat a bit. We walked an estimated 1500 steps to the local Jewel, bought some snacks, and supplies for the Jello geology project (there is a bad pun in there somewhere), took a few extra steps around the store for good measure, went outside, and planted our sign.

So the beginning of the earth is now officially at the Jewel-Osco at Foster and Pulaski in Chicago.

Thaw

I.
The snow is gone. There are still a few black lumps clinging to the sides of the road here and there, but the white, powdery, fluffy, gorgeous, infuriatingly inconvenient stuff is gone. The sharp early March sun, that we so much looked forward to, came, and exposed the sodden earth in its barren ugliness.

Snowy winter covered up man's excesses in the woods with exuberant flair. Now that she retreated, here they sit, exposed to the naked eye:

Yes, it is, in fact, a dead domestic fowl, stuffed in a box, one of several found along the edge of a residential street in LaBagh woods on a recent walk.

II.
Controlled burns have begun in LaBagh woods. Whereas most area residents who are lucky enough to live in the vicinity of Cook County Forest Preserve embrace active forest management, Sauganash and Edgebrook have a small but vocal (shrill?) contingent of long time residents who vehemently oppose what appear to be sound conservation and management practices. Recently, members of my family elbowed our way through a gauntlet of hackling neighbors as we joined other volunteers in clearing invasive plants from our woods.

III.
As the ice melts, so do our brains.

Someone recently landed on my website as a result of the following search question: "is there math in lego?"

Duh? (I'm sorry, I don't usually say "duh?", but this is too much).

Ready?

Manipulatives (The best! Don't waste your money on any others. Especially since you probably already own these.) Addition. Subtraction. Multiplication (make a table). Division. Value (count the dots; use'm as money). Area. Volume. Fractions. Squares and square roots. Right angles. Parallel lines. Equivalents. Measurement. Triangle numbers. Patterns. Spatial representation. Geometry. Architecture. Problem-solving. Exploring the unknown. Enthusiasm. Joy. Inspiration. Fun. Play. Math?

Yes. Math.

IV.
Nature Awakening notebook.

The ice is melting, but you can still walk on it. It probably goes down a good six to eight inches right here. It held up not just the kids, but me as well.

Where the deer have left their droppings, little pools form under the ice.

You can pretend you are a bird looking for last remnants of food in this barren landscape. Poke a small screwdriver (your "beak") into the loose bark of a fallen tree, and you may find tasty morsels:

Juicy ants.

Beetles. Eeek! This one is alive. Gotta act quick.

Praying mantis cocoon. This one was lucky we weren't really birds. We photographed it, and left it alone.

But we did learn something about finding food in the wild this time of the year.

What if you were a predator, and spotted this nest -- apparently within sight and easy reach?

Well, you might just learn an important lesson about thorny plants. And if you were a homeschooler, you might learn a lesson about using features of your environment to advantage.

V.

The real birds. They yell. We look up, aim, and take our best shot.

You know what this one is. The other one is, I think, a sharp-shinned hawk.

Happy spring.

D**n the consequences!

I think probably the book that was most instrumental in my decision to homeschool my children was Alfie Kohn's Unconditional Parenting. I never could figure out how people got their kids to stay in time-outs, how they kept track of and were consistently able to enforce various consequences, and how, through all this, they managed to remain apparently unmoved and detached.

My own adventures with my kids were much more emotionally charged. When I first cried in sheer exasperation in front of my son, and later worried that I've scarred him for life, my husband said emotions were part of family life, and it was good for kids to see them. When I tried setting limits and consequences in more traditional ways, my mother pulled me aside and whispered: "I think you're breaking his spirit..." I was thinking the same thing.

The idea of imposing consequences never really got a toehold in our house, because, well... I don't believe in them. I've always wanted to treat my children and full-fledged members of the household, capable of speaking for themselves and making their own decisions. The problem is, of course, that children are  children, and they don't always know what they want or what is in their best interest. They're also not that great at keeping and eye on the broader view, like the needs of the whole family, or the personal or professional needs of the parents.

The way most institutions, and indeed, many families, deal with that, is to impose rules and limits of acceptable behaviors, and consequences when the limits are breached.

It's not that I don't believe in the need for any rules and limits. But I feel that for them to be meaningful, they have to to be accepted by all parties involved. And I don't believe that I can get buy-in by imposing consequences for non-compliance. And when you don't have buy-in, are you really getting your kid to understand the true consequences of his actions, or only encouraging him to become better at evading the consequences he knows you'll impose?

I don't have all the answers by any stretch. I often leave a room, and close the door with conviction and finality, only to return a few minutes later waving a white flag. I don't want consequences; I want harmony!

The other day we had a rare afternoon of sunshine. Three out of four household members were enthusiastic about taking a walk. My son was not. One thing led to another, and the idea of a pleasant walk deteriorated into a family argument, door slamming, threats and tears. I pointed out to my son for the nth time, that I couldn't make him do something he didn't want to do, but I could, as a consequence, keep him from doing something he enjoyed. Needless to say, my lecture brought only more unhappiness, more tears, and failed to resolve anything.

In the end, while Chris went for a walk with our daughter, I managed to get Peter out of doors on the condition it would only be around the block. Fine. I'll take what I can get. While climbing the mountains of plowed snow around our neighborhood, we talked about his need for control. Regardless of what I think, Peter complained that he feels he is always told what to do. Interestingly, he was willing to admit that he didn't always know what he ought to be doing, and needed some guidance. We talked quite frankly about his craving to make his own choices throughout the day on the one hand, and on the other, the need for us to accomplish things as a family, as working parents, as a homeschoolers.

Did we solve the problem? No. At least not yet. But, as many times in the past, I feel I have gotten through. I have observed him many times making the kind of argument we make with him: using his reasons, his logic, trying to find a win-win, and to get us to buy-in to whatever ideas he has of his own. Although it often seems we're taking a couple steps forward and a step back, I feel that our open discussions, frankness, and the willingness to include him as a partner in our dialog will pay off in the long run.

I hope.

There is no denying it anymore

This is how I feel...

I have completely succumbed to the winter doldrums, SAD, blue flu, whatever. I've got it all. How I long to shake off this grayish weight, and spin my wing's, as I did in last summer's sunshine!...

(Pssst...  Our kitten Fido has been hanging out under the window air conditioner upstairs. The sparrows have started weaving a nest there.

Shhhh... And keep your fingers crossed!...)

Dad is teaching

I consider myself very lucky, that our family's employment situation allows me to spend plenty of time not only with my children, but also with my husband.

In our nineteen years together, Chris and I have made many plans, and not all of them have worked out exactly as... well... planned. For example, when we decided to open our bike shop, our vision for the business was: "he'll fix'em, I'll sell'em". Two weeks into the enterprise we realized we'd need some reinforcements if we wanted to live to see our thirtieth birthdays (we were 29).

So, too, with homeschooling. Because we enjoy fantastically flexible schedules, and both have the ability to work at home, we planned to share the job of homeschooling pretty much equally.

What happened in reality, is that I spent months poring over homeschooling advice, analyzing homeschool methods, selecting and dismissing various curricula, lugging stacks of library books back and forth, buying books I couldn't find at the library, making detailed plans of activities for upcoming weeks, calling family meetings, creating color-block schedules for everyone to follow, corralling unruly children who had other things on their minds, threatening, cajoling, rejoicing at the freedom from school schedules, crying from frustration and disappointment, enthusing over stimulating organized activities, cursing having to drive all over the place all week, throwing stale ideas out the window, consulting more books, more blogs, more experienced friends, and gradually paving my own crazy stone pathway through the homeschooling wilderness.

Chris stood by. I'm not sure he ever cracked open a homeschooling book. He wouldn't know classical homeschooling from unit studies if it bit him on the nose. The name John Holt means nothing to him. He has watched me flail and flounder through the intricacies of seeing to our children's education at home, and did, well, not much.

Actually, I take that back.

He stepped in and saved many a day, when I withdrew, without a shred of dignity, to our bedroom and vowed to never to do anything with my kids again. His calm (though somewhat patronizing) manner, change of direction, perspective, even change of voice, helped to put things on track, and gave me enough time to compose myself, and try again, with another bit of experience under my belt.

He has taken over, with virtually no notice, when work duties pulled me out of the house for indefinite periods of time. When I returned, I usually found the tea ready and the household harmonious, though perhaps a bit more messy than when I left.

He has never complained about having to watch children, not only ours, but those visiting our house as well, sometimes numbering almost half a dozen. He's also a willing caterer and chauffeur, although he makes it widely known that he would rather be biking.

He has always allowed, indeed, encouraged, me to take time for myself. If I feel a nagging sense of guilt and check the clock while I'm away, that feeling comes from me alone. If I happen to call home and explain why I'm running late, the answer is always: take your time, we're fine.

He has undertaken projects with the kids that I wouldn't touch with a ten foot pole. Like the potato gun. We quickly learned that your plans to construct one wouldn't stay secret for long. The minute you walk into a hardware store and ask for 2" PVC and a gas grill sparker, they are on to you. I would go to twelve different hardware stores wearing a different disguise each time. Not Chris. He pursued the hardware store clerk with tenacity and philosophical calm, and completed the ballistics project with the kids. Salvos were fired from out front yard on New Years Eve.

He relentlessly teaches our children about self reliance and autonomy. While our neighbors shuttle their kids in cars regardless of distance and the weather Chris does his best to get everyone biking to nearby activities. When anyone is too lazy to bike, our daughter now says: come on, you don't want to be a Republican!

Even more relentlessly, he teaches our children to have an open mind, and analyze available information before forming their own views.

Over my feeble protests, he has build a vermicomposter (read: WORMS) in our basement, and offers lessons to anyone who cares to listen. He also maintains a traditional compost heap outside, and shares my love of gardening. He rescues spiders, moths, centipedes crickets, mice, and even an occasional chipmunk from our house, and, whenever possible, lets everyone take a good look at the creature being released.

He takes the kids for walks in the woods, exploring river banks, drainage pipes, spying on turtles, and occasionally acting as snake handler.

He has taught our son to be an accomplished skipper of stones. Our daughter won't be far behind.

Through his interactions with me, with our kids, and with our business accomplices, he's teaching them daily about communication, constructive debate, tolerance and conflict resolution. Also, about feelings, tempers, anger and forgiveness.

Most importantly, he has been my sounding board, allowing me to vent and bounce ideas, listening, asking questions. In our now almost two-decade long conversation, he has helped me solve many problems, sidestep others, and face head-on those I would not dare tackle alone.

I haven't stopped learning.

Front and Center

Several weeks ago, we moved our homeschooling operation into the dining room. Not only is it the first room you enter when you come into our house, it is also, quite literally, the center of our house. We have embraced the homeschooling lifestyle, warts and all.

• No more hiding in the basement. Gone is the fantasy of containing homeschooling in its designated space. Now Lego's can really and truly occupy every corner of the basement.
• No more putting stuff away at the end of the day. If we're working on something, it stays put right in the middle of the house. It's not "messy", it's "scholarly".
• Our dining room, the second largest portion of real estate in the house, is rarely used for actual dining. Now, we get our money's worth here.
• No more running up and down the stairs to get needed books. We're just steps away from all our bookshelves in the living room, right where people usually read.
• Our computers live right here too, providing easy access to the internet when needed.
• We're right next to the kitchen. This offers easier and quicker access to snacks, science and cooking experiments, and additional work surface for projects, arts and crafts.
• Full view of weather conditions, allowing for more spontaneous outdoor breaks.
• The educational flotsam and jetsam tends to impress visitors, and seems to prove our commitment to learning. No more guessing as to what it is we do. We homeschool.

5 things to feel good about on a day like this

1. It's a long time until bikini season.
2. I'm not the only one having a bad hair day.
3. At least it's not icy.
4. Errands? Are you kidding?
5. I'm outta here. Now, pass the tea.