Honestly, I'm not a pumpkin cookie fan. I like a nice pumpkin bar with cream cheese frosting, but that's not too far from cake, which isn't my thing. And I like pumpkin pie, but once I discovered freshly baked pie, I'd take a berry pie over pumpkin pie any day. What's a gal to do during pumpkin season? Well, try THIS fabulous recipe which gets rave reviews each time I serve it to guests. Of course, it's easy as pie - in fact even easier - or it wouldn't get MY thumbs up! So for your eating (and cooking) enjoyment....
Fabulous Pumpkin Dessert
1 large can of pumpkin
6 eggs
scant 2 cups sugar
6 tsp pumpkin pie spice
scant 2 cans of evaporated milk
Blend the above with hand-held mixer 'til smooth and pour into greased 10x15 cake pan. Then, one at a time, dump/pour/sprinkle on top:
1 package of yellow cake mix (yep, just the mix, unmade - the recipe calls for "golden vanilla" but I never have that on hand)
1 1/2 c. walnuts chopped
1 cube melted butter.
Pop all that in the oven and bake at 350 for 50 to 60 minutes or until browning and set in the middle. Cool slightly and serve warm with cool whip.
No tie in to homeschooling this time. Just plain yumminess!
Wednesday, October 29, 2014
Saturday, October 18, 2014
Bad Hair and Homeschooling Days
Nothing is more discouraging than thinking YOU are the only one who can't pull something off, whether it's gorgeous hair or those magical homeschooling days when everything comes together and you feel you've met the needs of each of your children.
When it comes to hair, I had a great mantra that helped me. (Past tense, because now I'm a mom my hair is almost always pulled up and out of the way, and on the rare occasion I make an effort to do anything fancy, the effort is good enough, right?) But back in the days when hair and make-up mattered, I would remember EVERYONE has bad hair days, and then I would say to myself:
Once that ended, there wasn't much else to see or do, so we decided to explore the local town. All the while my kids were probably wondering when the fun would begin. That wondering probably made them anxious, which translated into impatience and griping. We got out of the car near the "town center" to snap a few pictures. The kids kept wanting to run and climb on stuff that wasn't appropriate. I kept trying to engage them with stuff they COULD do, but I didn't find a lot. Finally we discovered an open restaurant and I told them I'd get them a snack.
When it comes to hair, I had a great mantra that helped me. (Past tense, because now I'm a mom my hair is almost always pulled up and out of the way, and on the rare occasion I make an effort to do anything fancy, the effort is good enough, right?) But back in the days when hair and make-up mattered, I would remember EVERYONE has bad hair days, and then I would say to myself:
The best part about BEING beautiful is that you don't have to LOOK beautiful all the time.
Well, I can't think of ANYTHING so snappy and helpful for homeschooling. On those days that have been filled with the ridiculous bickering of little siblings, somehow "The best part about BEING a loving family is that you don't have to ACT like a loving family all the time," just doesn't work! Ha! Nor does, "The best part about BEING a pulled-together mom is that I don't have to pull it together ALL the time." If you have a saying that does work, please share it in the comments below.
In my last post, I DID mention how helpful it is to let go of unrealistic expectations of daily glory. Even the payed professionals at the public schools have off days. When we were kids in school, we probably didn't know that was what was going on - why the lunch room "duty" was so grumpy about us being quiet while we ate one day, or why on another day we watched a random film - but when we look back as adults, we realize the ups and downs, for even the "schoolers" and their educators, are a part of life.
So, as I'm all out of sound-bite wisdom, I thought I'd share my own, recent homeschooling bad hair day. I hope you find the same comfort in it as we all feel looking at the pictures of movie stars without their hair and make-up done.
I decided suddenly this past Thursday morning to take my kids on an adventure. We had had plans filling the morning, but within the space of a few hours the day before, they were all cancelled (or so I thought) so I decided we should squeeze in another field trip. Destination: the Monastery in Huntsville, UT.
It turns out, we weren't the free birds I thought we were. I completely spaced my son's tennis lesson - didn't remember that I had spaced it 'til that evening. But it gets worse than me dropping balls, because honestly, I do THAT on a somewhat frequent basis.
We headed out, me in high spirits, dampened occasionally by some of the bickering I mentioned earlier, and bouts of UN-helpfulness on the part of my kids, but I was determined to press on. I was sure once we got going, things would smooth out. I had filled the car with what snack food we had, which was far from a meal, but it WAS food my kids would eat, and hungry kids on the road are the worst, I'd already discovered from other failed homeschool adventures.
The drive was gorgeous. The Monastery, which I'll review elsewhere, wasn't engaging for the crew, so we took the opportunity to eat some of the food we'd brought while we waited for a chanting session. While eating, my 5 year old kept shouting at the rest of us if we were sitting many yards from her instead of by her side. I kept trying to adjust her volume for the meditative atmosphere around us. And the big three kept attempting to "share" their corn chips by handing each other leaves from the grass, which led to more bickering and frustration. Finally, I declared our make-shift picnic over and put the food back in the car.
We then approached the church. I reminded the crew that inside was a sacred space and that we needed to be quiet and respectful. But inside my 2 year old (age appropriately) just wanted to go places visitors were not allowed, and my 5 year old, though whispering now, could wake the dead with her whisper. I finally just snapped at her, "STOP talking."
The chanting only went for 10 minutes, but my little guy only made it through 5. So I left the big three inside and walked out right in the middle, trying with one hand to clamp his mouth shut.
Once that ended, there wasn't much else to see or do, so we decided to explore the local town. All the while my kids were probably wondering when the fun would begin. That wondering probably made them anxious, which translated into impatience and griping. We got out of the car near the "town center" to snap a few pictures. The kids kept wanting to run and climb on stuff that wasn't appropriate. I kept trying to engage them with stuff they COULD do, but I didn't find a lot. Finally we discovered an open restaurant and I told them I'd get them a snack.
After I'd ordered, I went to pay and discovered I had no money, nor check book, nor cards in my purse. I apologized and took the 5-bight sample I'd already been handed to the table where my children were not-so-quietly waiting. I told them I didn't have any money and we needed to go. They voiced their complaints, which didn't make for a very graceful or swift exit, and then outside proceeded to yell at each other that they didn't get very much of the sample I told them they could share. As if one of them expected to have even a mouthful.
Well, I had hit my limit of resistance. And lacking the funds to make anything more meaningful happen, I loaded them into the car to head home. I was just grateful we had enough gas and enough food to make the return trip comfortably. But my gratitude was NOT shared by my kids. They started protesting all their wants and demands. I tried explaining again that we didn't have ANY money and I wanted to be sure we had enough gas to get home. Then my 8 year old, from the back of the car starts wailing that this was the worst field trip ever!
 |
| My 8 yr. old's posture says it all! |
Well, I had had it with their lack of cooperation and gratitude so I pulled the car over and shouted back to her that if she wanted the worst field trip ever, she had got it and that we wouldn't move from that spot 'til she pulled it together. The sorry's were slow and begrudged. Finally, my 5 year old, who is generally a pretty perceptive thanker told me thanks for taking her on this trip. The older kids managed to dry their tears and thank me too. So we went on our way and came strait home.
OUT of the frustration of the moment, it was pretty big of them to thank me. It MAY have been the worst field trip ever. But it was a trip. I DID try. I probably need to end this post and thank THEM for thanking me for the failed attempt at adventures in learning. I made an effort, and they also made an effort to be content with the less-than-stellar. In the end, all our efforts were less than they might be. But I guess we can learn from that too!
Sunday, October 12, 2014
The Crushing Weight of Lofty Expectations
Maybe if I start a blog post at 9:50 at night, I'll stop eating peanut M&M's....
On Monday, I had been listening to two moms with new babies talk about their stresses - regular homeschooling moms in the thick of raising kids and providing an education for them on top of it. As so many point out, we homeschoolers are an "ambitious" bunch. Well, we are. These moms were no exception, with grand visions of pulling it all off. A few hours of school, one on one time with each child, enriching activities and field trips and extras for everyone depending on their talents and interests, AND healthy food (preferably home grown and canned), AND a clean house, and nursing babies with eco-friendly cloth diapers too. (Okay, they didn't talk about cloth diapers. That's mine for dramatic effect.)
As I listened to the stress they were feeling, I sensed they felt they were failing, and those feelings reflect a host of worries. After all, we often set such lofty expectations for ourselves because we're worried "What if we don't." What if we don't keep up with the pacing of standardized classes? What if we don't teach discipline and structure? While we're worried about that, we may simultaneously worry that our structure is killing the joy and discovery of the learning process. What if one focus might misplace or delay another? And perhaps more than anything, seeing the fabulous potential of a child, what if our actions or lack there of, permanently harm that potential/curiosity/inner drive?
The result of such stress was two maxed out mothers who didn't seem to be having much fun. I wanted to hold the two baby boys for them and tell them to let go, shake all the worries and doubts from their shoulders, figuratively and physically, tell them that they are doing great and important things and that it WILL be hard to do it all AND change diapers, AND NURSE, AND not sleep through the night, but that they don't have to do it all RIGHT NOW.
Such wisdom, right? Well the very next day I was struggling through my own teaching experience, in dance class.
I had a rough class this past week. NOT the fault of my little dancers. They are adorable, good kids, and there is actually great potential in the class too. But that's what got me.
I was thinking about how great they were, how they could do great things if they wanted it and worked hard, and IF they had good help along the way. That would be my part. So I started to stress. Was I helping them enough? Was I helping them so much we lost the fun? Was I emphasizing the right stuff? I feared I was going too slow. I'm pretty sure in the standard classes for dancers their age, the students are learning more steps. I feared I was bogging everyone down in trying to make sure the steps, and all that goes into them is done correctly WITH a correct knowledge of the how and not just dumb luck. I felt torn between teaching more steps and teaching good technique.
Sadly, I think this inner battle was felt by my sweet little dancers. Probably not in any way they could put their fingers on. But our last class was off, and I knew it, and I think they knew it too. I don't remember how the light bulb went on, but I thought of those stressed homeschooling moms and saw them in my ballet teacher self.
I set about taking my own unspoken advice and began to mentally tear down and shake off my crushing expectations. Instead of expecting my students to be as good as or better than their peers, I can expect that I will instruct them to the best of my ability every time we are together and work on exactly what each dancer needs to know to progress. Perhaps most importantly I can detach my ego and identity as a ballet instructor from their dancing. Making the mental shift actually isn't all that difficult. Who cares that what we are working on is different than what might be covered if they were in a standard class? Who cares that they might know fewer steps than their peers? (In fact, the steps DO hardly matter. If you dance well, you can learn steps quickly and prestigious schools and companies will be happy to teach you. If you dance poorly, lots of steps don't make it better.)
Now my challenge will be to remember this shifted focus....
Isn't that a challenge for all of us? How often to our lofty expectations kill relationships? How often are our expectations born from fears of judgement or a desire to feel better about ourselves, our teaching, or our experiences?
Thankfully I had already begun the practice of shedding such burdens. I have learned to expect of my children that we will learn to clean. I don't expect to have a clean home for more than a few minutes at a time. I expect to continue to instruct them many times on good manners and getting along with family members - I don't expect to say, "No fighting with your sister" once and have that be the end of it. And when it comes to school, I expect that I will help my children learn, and more importantly, learn to learn on a regular basis. But I don't expect that each day we will have fabulously planned lessons, or that they will be ahead of their peers at each benchmark.
After shaking off the crushing ballet expectations, I'm excited to get back to my ballet class this week. An expectation that the magic will be back and that we will all have a great time? Yes, I suppose it is. Seems I can't help setting expectations. And I don't think all expectations are wrong or bad. But I'm recommitting to examine which expectations serve me, or help me serve others, and which are just heavy burdens that kill the joy, and rid myself of those. As I tell myself from time to time while wildly waving my arms, injured-ballerina-swan style, "Flap it off, Steff." Join me in the flapping.
On Monday, I had been listening to two moms with new babies talk about their stresses - regular homeschooling moms in the thick of raising kids and providing an education for them on top of it. As so many point out, we homeschoolers are an "ambitious" bunch. Well, we are. These moms were no exception, with grand visions of pulling it all off. A few hours of school, one on one time with each child, enriching activities and field trips and extras for everyone depending on their talents and interests, AND healthy food (preferably home grown and canned), AND a clean house, and nursing babies with eco-friendly cloth diapers too. (Okay, they didn't talk about cloth diapers. That's mine for dramatic effect.)
As I listened to the stress they were feeling, I sensed they felt they were failing, and those feelings reflect a host of worries. After all, we often set such lofty expectations for ourselves because we're worried "What if we don't." What if we don't keep up with the pacing of standardized classes? What if we don't teach discipline and structure? While we're worried about that, we may simultaneously worry that our structure is killing the joy and discovery of the learning process. What if one focus might misplace or delay another? And perhaps more than anything, seeing the fabulous potential of a child, what if our actions or lack there of, permanently harm that potential/curiosity/inner drive?
The result of such stress was two maxed out mothers who didn't seem to be having much fun. I wanted to hold the two baby boys for them and tell them to let go, shake all the worries and doubts from their shoulders, figuratively and physically, tell them that they are doing great and important things and that it WILL be hard to do it all AND change diapers, AND NURSE, AND not sleep through the night, but that they don't have to do it all RIGHT NOW.
Such wisdom, right? Well the very next day I was struggling through my own teaching experience, in dance class.
I had a rough class this past week. NOT the fault of my little dancers. They are adorable, good kids, and there is actually great potential in the class too. But that's what got me.
I was thinking about how great they were, how they could do great things if they wanted it and worked hard, and IF they had good help along the way. That would be my part. So I started to stress. Was I helping them enough? Was I helping them so much we lost the fun? Was I emphasizing the right stuff? I feared I was going too slow. I'm pretty sure in the standard classes for dancers their age, the students are learning more steps. I feared I was bogging everyone down in trying to make sure the steps, and all that goes into them is done correctly WITH a correct knowledge of the how and not just dumb luck. I felt torn between teaching more steps and teaching good technique.
Sadly, I think this inner battle was felt by my sweet little dancers. Probably not in any way they could put their fingers on. But our last class was off, and I knew it, and I think they knew it too. I don't remember how the light bulb went on, but I thought of those stressed homeschooling moms and saw them in my ballet teacher self.
I set about taking my own unspoken advice and began to mentally tear down and shake off my crushing expectations. Instead of expecting my students to be as good as or better than their peers, I can expect that I will instruct them to the best of my ability every time we are together and work on exactly what each dancer needs to know to progress. Perhaps most importantly I can detach my ego and identity as a ballet instructor from their dancing. Making the mental shift actually isn't all that difficult. Who cares that what we are working on is different than what might be covered if they were in a standard class? Who cares that they might know fewer steps than their peers? (In fact, the steps DO hardly matter. If you dance well, you can learn steps quickly and prestigious schools and companies will be happy to teach you. If you dance poorly, lots of steps don't make it better.)
Now my challenge will be to remember this shifted focus....
Isn't that a challenge for all of us? How often to our lofty expectations kill relationships? How often are our expectations born from fears of judgement or a desire to feel better about ourselves, our teaching, or our experiences?
Thankfully I had already begun the practice of shedding such burdens. I have learned to expect of my children that we will learn to clean. I don't expect to have a clean home for more than a few minutes at a time. I expect to continue to instruct them many times on good manners and getting along with family members - I don't expect to say, "No fighting with your sister" once and have that be the end of it. And when it comes to school, I expect that I will help my children learn, and more importantly, learn to learn on a regular basis. But I don't expect that each day we will have fabulously planned lessons, or that they will be ahead of their peers at each benchmark.
After shaking off the crushing ballet expectations, I'm excited to get back to my ballet class this week. An expectation that the magic will be back and that we will all have a great time? Yes, I suppose it is. Seems I can't help setting expectations. And I don't think all expectations are wrong or bad. But I'm recommitting to examine which expectations serve me, or help me serve others, and which are just heavy burdens that kill the joy, and rid myself of those. As I tell myself from time to time while wildly waving my arms, injured-ballerina-swan style, "Flap it off, Steff." Join me in the flapping.
Friday, October 3, 2014
Silver Linings on Sick Days
My little guy has a mild stomach flu. And I have a cold. Which isn't so bad.
When I was a mom of just one child, that child happened to love to snuggle and nap with me. I thought I'd get to enjoy the life of cuddly afternoon naps for all my years of having little ones around. But my second stopped napping before she could walk. And my third, very maturely, wanted to be left alone to sleep. (I didn't know children like that existed. So it came as quite a shock when she settled down and went to sleep once I finally figured out to leave her alone.)
And mostly with my last, he's been like my second, whom he looks nearly exactly like.
But yesterday he and I were under the weather. When he woke up from his rare nap, I was feeling just ready to catch a few winks myself. I invited him to join me, and low and behold, he rested right at my side until both our eyes closed and we were out!
What a rare moment to enjoy, before I dozed off and after I woke up! It took me back to how much I secretly loved when his big sister, generally active and head-strong, would get a little bug and be mild and cuddly. Ah, the strange moments we mothers cherish.
Anyway, getting to be so close for those moments to an otherwise very busy little guy reminded me of the one quote I loved in the article I've been ranting about ever since I read it. (Your can read my direct rants, and link to the article here.) But the quote on the interviewed homeschooling mom's wall says, "When your children are in your arms, they are no longer under foot."
I love this quote! It's so true. And as much as we may sometimes feel the time we give up to be with our kids is so long or great, it flies so quickly, and with some children, time flies even more swiftly than with others. I'm glad I have sick days to remember to cherish my little ones always!
When I was a mom of just one child, that child happened to love to snuggle and nap with me. I thought I'd get to enjoy the life of cuddly afternoon naps for all my years of having little ones around. But my second stopped napping before she could walk. And my third, very maturely, wanted to be left alone to sleep. (I didn't know children like that existed. So it came as quite a shock when she settled down and went to sleep once I finally figured out to leave her alone.)
And mostly with my last, he's been like my second, whom he looks nearly exactly like.
But yesterday he and I were under the weather. When he woke up from his rare nap, I was feeling just ready to catch a few winks myself. I invited him to join me, and low and behold, he rested right at my side until both our eyes closed and we were out!
What a rare moment to enjoy, before I dozed off and after I woke up! It took me back to how much I secretly loved when his big sister, generally active and head-strong, would get a little bug and be mild and cuddly. Ah, the strange moments we mothers cherish.
Anyway, getting to be so close for those moments to an otherwise very busy little guy reminded me of the one quote I loved in the article I've been ranting about ever since I read it. (Your can read my direct rants, and link to the article here.) But the quote on the interviewed homeschooling mom's wall says, "When your children are in your arms, they are no longer under foot."
I love this quote! It's so true. And as much as we may sometimes feel the time we give up to be with our kids is so long or great, it flies so quickly, and with some children, time flies even more swiftly than with others. I'm glad I have sick days to remember to cherish my little ones always!
Wednesday, October 1, 2014
Math Mysteries
Like many homeschoolers, I started the journey envisioning me as the teacher, teaching the things and ways actual school teachers taught to my students, or well behaved children, who would learn everything I "taught" as eagerly as they listened to stories. After all, I was their mother, so I could love them and teach them at the same time, and I knew what eager learning looked like for each of them. School would be school, but a simple extension of our lives and relationships.
As it turned out, my son was not all that eager to sing the ABC song while I pointed to the alphabet I had so faithfully posted in our "school room." When, one day his younger cousin sang the Leap Frog Letter Factory song and knew all the letters AND their sounds - a feat my faithful drilling with my boy had not accomplished - I decided short cuts were acceptable. We ditched my school methods, bought Letter Factory, and after a few times of watching, without quizzing or prodding, my son knew his letters and their sounds too.
Check. Our kindergarten instruction was coming right along. Now for math.
Again, I dutifully purchased flash cards with the numbers AND illustration of how many the numbers were. I found flash cards I thought might seem exciting to him - ones with Super Heroes and Sesame Street characters on them. But he wasn't engaged. He was wiggly. He didn't want to sit in our school room and do flash cards with his mom. To my shame, this annoyed me and I probably communicated that annoyance. "C'mon!" I'm sure I said to him, "We are only working on 5 numbers. This was the same as it was the last time we went through it. Can't you remember 5 numbers?"
Well, it didn't seem that he could, and I noticed that I wasn't acting towards him like the loving mother I wanted to be. So I gave myself permission to wait a bit, and told myself we'd try again later.
We did. He had made some progress without instruction from me. Somewhere he picked up which numbers were which, so we advanced to addition. And hit a wall, again. Why could he not remember that 2 + 2 = 4. Every time. Without counting. It just was what it was. And WAS it so hard to remember? It seemed to be.
By this time, and as a blessing to my ego, he was reading a bit ahead of grade level, so again, I told myself math could wait. I read somewhere kids struggled with abstraction 'til they were about 8 years old. I told myself maybe 2 + 2 was an abstraction (despite my attempts to teach it first in the real world) and we'd try again later.
When he was 8 (or 9) we got around to math again. At that time, a friend had told me about Khan Academy, so I pulled it up and sat him down in front of the computer for some instruction on addition. He was pretty excited about having work to do on the computer. He liked the smiley faces he got when he got an answer right. He seemed happy enough that I thought I'd just leave him to his work. He learned how to pull up Khan on his own and did a bit of "math" everyday. When I checked back in with him, he'd moved from addition, through subtraction, and onto addition and subtraction of bigger numbers. This was a few days, maybe a few weeks later.
Whoa! We'd begun math at kindergarten level. For some reason I assumed it would take him the equivalent of one year to master what the kindergarteners learn. Not only had he learned it in less than a month, but he'd learned it almost entirely on his own AND was enjoying his newly acquired skill.
This experience taught me a few things. First, what and how they teach in schools is not always the best or most important approach for each child. It taught me that much of what kids learn in school when they are young, they might learn OUT of school if given the time and space and freedom. And I learned that so much of the rote repetition in math, but also in English, can be skipped if kids can start later and learn what interests them or when they find a use for it.
Recently, a friend shared the following link about these phenomena in math studies. I want to share it on my blog because it's what I've come to believe from my own experience. I don't plan to do a two month cram session of math (what the article suggests is all it can take) in the future and not touch it 'til my kids beg. In part because my children, in fact, already NEED math in their lives, and beginning now, I can help them master the tools they'd like to use. And partly because I, myself, can never focus on any one thing much past 3 hours, so any plan that requires 6 hours of focus a day on one things sounds like too much... for ME. So we do math, now. For fun. For practice.
But if you or yours are struggling with math, NOT feeling like it IS fun or enjoying the practice, consider waiting. Waiting might not only bless your relationship with your child, but it also may bless his or her relationship with math!
As it turned out, my son was not all that eager to sing the ABC song while I pointed to the alphabet I had so faithfully posted in our "school room." When, one day his younger cousin sang the Leap Frog Letter Factory song and knew all the letters AND their sounds - a feat my faithful drilling with my boy had not accomplished - I decided short cuts were acceptable. We ditched my school methods, bought Letter Factory, and after a few times of watching, without quizzing or prodding, my son knew his letters and their sounds too.
Check. Our kindergarten instruction was coming right along. Now for math.
Again, I dutifully purchased flash cards with the numbers AND illustration of how many the numbers were. I found flash cards I thought might seem exciting to him - ones with Super Heroes and Sesame Street characters on them. But he wasn't engaged. He was wiggly. He didn't want to sit in our school room and do flash cards with his mom. To my shame, this annoyed me and I probably communicated that annoyance. "C'mon!" I'm sure I said to him, "We are only working on 5 numbers. This was the same as it was the last time we went through it. Can't you remember 5 numbers?"
Well, it didn't seem that he could, and I noticed that I wasn't acting towards him like the loving mother I wanted to be. So I gave myself permission to wait a bit, and told myself we'd try again later.
We did. He had made some progress without instruction from me. Somewhere he picked up which numbers were which, so we advanced to addition. And hit a wall, again. Why could he not remember that 2 + 2 = 4. Every time. Without counting. It just was what it was. And WAS it so hard to remember? It seemed to be.
By this time, and as a blessing to my ego, he was reading a bit ahead of grade level, so again, I told myself math could wait. I read somewhere kids struggled with abstraction 'til they were about 8 years old. I told myself maybe 2 + 2 was an abstraction (despite my attempts to teach it first in the real world) and we'd try again later.
When he was 8 (or 9) we got around to math again. At that time, a friend had told me about Khan Academy, so I pulled it up and sat him down in front of the computer for some instruction on addition. He was pretty excited about having work to do on the computer. He liked the smiley faces he got when he got an answer right. He seemed happy enough that I thought I'd just leave him to his work. He learned how to pull up Khan on his own and did a bit of "math" everyday. When I checked back in with him, he'd moved from addition, through subtraction, and onto addition and subtraction of bigger numbers. This was a few days, maybe a few weeks later.
Whoa! We'd begun math at kindergarten level. For some reason I assumed it would take him the equivalent of one year to master what the kindergarteners learn. Not only had he learned it in less than a month, but he'd learned it almost entirely on his own AND was enjoying his newly acquired skill.
This experience taught me a few things. First, what and how they teach in schools is not always the best or most important approach for each child. It taught me that much of what kids learn in school when they are young, they might learn OUT of school if given the time and space and freedom. And I learned that so much of the rote repetition in math, but also in English, can be skipped if kids can start later and learn what interests them or when they find a use for it.
Recently, a friend shared the following link about these phenomena in math studies. I want to share it on my blog because it's what I've come to believe from my own experience. I don't plan to do a two month cram session of math (what the article suggests is all it can take) in the future and not touch it 'til my kids beg. In part because my children, in fact, already NEED math in their lives, and beginning now, I can help them master the tools they'd like to use. And partly because I, myself, can never focus on any one thing much past 3 hours, so any plan that requires 6 hours of focus a day on one things sounds like too much... for ME. So we do math, now. For fun. For practice.
But if you or yours are struggling with math, NOT feeling like it IS fun or enjoying the practice, consider waiting. Waiting might not only bless your relationship with your child, but it also may bless his or her relationship with math!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)