Archive for the ‘Brave Writer Philosophy’ Category

How writing is like sewing

Saturday, June 15th, 2013

Caitrin sews a quilt

A fundamental confusion exists around how to teach writing. I’ve spent two decades looking for just the right metaphor to explain how a parent facilitates writing growth. Then the other day, on the phone, I stumbled upon a perfect metaphor.

Let’s look at learning to sew using a sewing machine.

A sewing machine makes it possible to create all kinds of sewing products—anything from hemming a pair of pants, to constructing a crazy quilt, to producing an evening gown. The machine doesn’t do it for you. You have to know how to use the machine, and you have to develop skills: how to sew straight seams or how to drop in a sleeve or how to gather a drape. You need to learn how to create casings, and how to use the zig zag, and what the tension dial does.

When learning the skills needed for sewing, students start with scrap fabric. They don’t pick a dress pattern and then sit down to the machine. Usually they have to learn how to thread the needle and bobbin, they have to sew lots of straight lines and learn how to turn corners and how to backstitch the end of a seam so that it doesn’t unravel.

No one can learn all she needs to know in one sitting or even one year of sewing. There are levels of skill that are gained over time, as comfort with the machinery, and dexterity, and familiarity with the properties of sewing are internalized and mastered.

But it is possible at each stage of development to introduce a little project. At first, these might be things like bean bags (squares) or a string dress (no pattern, but the dress uses casings). As the student gets comfortable, making an a-line dress for a doll from a pattern becomes possible and a thrill! Producing a doll quilt is the first step toward making one for a bed.

Eventually, the seamstress learns tricks to make the process easier and faster. The student of sewing can size up a pattern to know if it’s too difficult or too easy, and can make changes to make the pattern work.

Sewing is not about the dress patterns or quilts. Sewing is a set of skills that can be applied to patterns.

Let’s drive home the analogy to writing.

In Brave Writer, The Writer’s Jungle is the sewing machine. In that manual are all kinds of functions the student learns about the writing process. These are discovered using scrap language—whatever is in the mouth of the child at the time. The writing is interest-driven and exploratory. The child is gaining facility with the practice of accessing language from within and getting it to the page in a variety of ways (all different styles of “language stitching”). Each week, the parent reads a chapter and then tries the practice with the child. This is how you would teach sewing – try one stitch at a time, try button-holing on scrap fabric, try dropping in a sleeve with a doll dress.

The Arrow or Boomerang (our language arts products that teach the mechanics of writing) would be similar to needle and thread. You learn how to use the machinery of writing in these products. Students learn how to handwrite, punctuate, spell, and manage the mechanical demands of writing. In sewing, the student has to learn to use the machine—how to thread the bobbin, how to control the speed of the pedal, how to backstitch, how to zig zag, how to set up the button holer. These skills enable sewing.

The functional skills needed to run the machinery of writing are spelling, grammar, punctuation, handwriting and/or typing.

The writing assignments (like we offer in Jot it Down! and Partnership Writing, or the ones found in our online classes) are the dress patterns of writing. Now that your student understands how the machine works, now that the student can manage the demands of the machine, it’s time to make a dress!

In writing, once the student knows how to find language within, knows how to get that language to the page and how to handwrite, expand, revise, and edit it, he or she is ready to “make something” – to write a report or letter, to write a poem or a dialog, to write a story or ad copy, to write an essay.

The point is—don’t hand your brand-new-to-writing student the equivalent of an evening gown dress pattern and expect it to turn out right on the first try, just because there are “clear instructions.” Writing is a set of skills practiced independently of assignments, leading up to developmentally appropriate writing projects that reinforce and expand evolving skills.

Cross-posted on facebook.

It’s the writer, not the writing

Monday, May 27th, 2013

UntitledIt’s tempting to see writing as something a person does, as assignments to complete, as skills to acquire for an academic or career purpose.

It’s tempting to evaluate the writing a person does as though it is a set of math problems—measurable, impersonal, external.

It’s tempting to push for completion, because the assignment or project has a due date or has to be done for the end-of-the-year evaluation.

The paradigm shift is this:

Writing is *not* like other subjects. Writing is closely related to the self, no matter what the content. Even mothers sending me email get nervous thinking I will read their questions, and wonder what I will make of them, because they are undressing their minds right in front of me. What will I see? How will I react?

How much more kids feel that way?

Take the “school definition” out of writing.

Focus instead on “writers.”

Tears mean the lesson is over for the day.

Partial work is valuable.

Progress happens through a series of attempts, not through wrestling a single project to the perfected finish.

Self-expression is a risk and needs you to treat it gently.

Support helps—and help is helpful (not damaging, not cheating, not short-cutting).

Academic formats require as much “soul investment” as fan fiction and diaries. You must be just as gentle and curious with an expository essay as you were with the story about your child’s pet gerbil.

Writers express what lives inside them. Writing is the form it is put in. Expression deserves respectful care. Mechanics deserve minimal care. Expression matters the most. Mechanics are marginally important.

Work on the two components separately and teach your writer to take responsibility for editing mechanics and getting someone to help him or her see what he or she can’t see without a second set of eyes.

That’s it. That’s all the attention mechanics deserve. They do not make or break the essence of the writing. They merely punctuate it, so someone else can approximate the tone and meaning the writer intends.

Brave Writer not brave writing.

Image by stevetulk

Love who you are

Wednesday, May 22nd, 2013

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Have you noticed how easy it is to wish away your chief personality features? Do you think to yourself, “I’m the wrong personality for my temperament”? You might wish for a clean, orderly home in your heart, but your personality style is relaxed Bohemian. Or you are the sort who keeps a ship-shape house, but wish you could relax when your kids make big creative messes.

Layered on top of the structured versus unstructured selves we bring to homeschool are our memories of school. We compare what we do at home (even when we don’t want to) to what we experienced as children. We react against it (“I’m not doing *that!”) or we we suffer because of it (“I’m not teaching my kids anything”).

The temptation to overhaul our essential selves is powerful. Advertising everywhere tells us we are one tweak away from being the fantasy person in our heads. We may be able to resist Botox or Coach purses, but the seductress for home educators is any “method” that results in effortless, joyful learning where parents and kids get along all the time.

We hop from one program to the next like frogs on lily pads forgetting to consider which personality is implementing the philosophy!

Let me let you in on a little secret.

There’s no one personality type that is better for homeschooling than another.

Let me drill down further.

There’s no one personality type that is better for parenting, loving, nurturing than another.

Every type has its marvelous strengths, and (darn it all) each type has its blind spots and liabilities.

What you and I need to do is to become self aware people—able to recognize when our personalities are creating the hum of happiness and productivity, and when they are sapping the energy from the room and causing pain.

It isn’t always better to have a messy or a neat house.

Sometimes waking up to a clear kitchen table, fluffed pillows, books easy to access, and a freshly vacuumed carpet is the most nurturing way to start the day. If, however, the process of getting there ended an art project or removed a Robin Hood fort still lingering in the minds of your kids as they went to bed, the same cleared space in the morning may now feel like robbery:

“Where did you put my art project?”

“Do I really have to get out all the blankets again for my fort?”

The question to ask yourself as you move through the day isn’t “How can I be more relaxed?” or “How can I be more productive?”

You want to ask yourself a single question:

“How can I best serve this moment?”

I remember when I went to graduate school, I had just begun our unschooling experiment. It was a study in contrasts. I was being educated by highly trained academics with lectures, a syllabus, reading schedule, essay assignments, and tests. My kids were free to explore the world without any hindrance.

Or so I thought.

Revisions

What became apparent to me after a semester surprised me. I loved graduate school. It felt nurturing to have someone care enough to create lessons, to show me what I should read to get a full view of the subject, to dialog with me from a position of investment and knowledge. I liked having a plan and a schedule. I felt relief. I had studied the subject area for five years on my own, and now I felt this surge of strength that came from guidance and support.

Meanwhile, the structures I had used in homeschool were on hold. I wanted my kids to feel free to learn what they wanted, to investigate any topic to their hearts’ content. A couple of them took off! But two floundered. They felt (strangely enough) unloved. They wouldn’t have used that language but in hindsight that’s what it was. They felt connected to me when I took the time to plan their lessons and guide their education. They lost that connection when I gave them “freedom.”

I spent hours on unschooling lists learning how to create the context, how to support an unschooling lifestyle, how to foster and nurture a rich learning environment. I didn’t “abandon” my kids to doing whatever they wanted unsupervised. Nevertheless, two of my children missed planned lessons and a structure for learning. I understood this because I was having a parallel experience in grad school.

What becomes so difficult to tease apart as a home educator is the idealized vision of learning that dances in our heads like sugar plums and the very real home and family we have. Our job isn’t to be more organized or more relaxed, more structured or completely free of structure.

Our job is to serve the moment—to serve the needs of our families from within the framework of our delightful personalities.

We can do that best when we lean into our strengths.

If you’re an orderly person, create happy order. Avoid the temptation to require everyone to be like you. Resist your tendency to nag or to have your feelings hurt when the rest of your gang is unenthusiastic for kitchen duty or keeping tables cleared. Straighten, file, assemble check lists, keep the sink empty, make the beds, plan the day. Enthusiastically offer your talent for creating a clean, peaceful, orderly, neat space to the family as a gift.

If you’re a relaxed, go-with-the-flow mom, stop pummeling your personality. Your home is cozy, it’s alive with activity, and it supports messes without stress. Keep big containers nearby for quick clean-ups, make a loose routine to follow each day (rather than a schedule), allow your kids who need order to create systems to support you and the family. Smile.

Do not worry that you aren’t getting enough done in either system or style. Focus on this moment. What is happening right now? How can I help it become a good moment? Shall I ease up and let the mess grow? Shall I hunker down and clear the space so something new can be born? Are we getting along and growing?

Above all: no system saves you. You will eventually go back to being who you are. Your job is to be the best you, you can be. Be the you that creates love and learning, not the you that worries and frets or ignores and pretends away.

You can even say to your kids in a moment of frazzledness:

“You know me! I need everything cleaned up before I can think straight. Anyone willing to help me so we get the day off to a good start? My brain is about to fall out of my head when I see shoes scattered everywhere. Cookies to the helpers!”

Or

“You know me! I can’t put a week-long system together for the life of me. Let’s make a quick list for today of things we want to study and do, and then put them in an order. Who wants to make the list with me? If today feels good, we can do it again tomorrow. Let’s eat cookies while we discuss.”

See? The goal isn’t to “reform” who you are and how you are. The goal is to be the best of yourself that you can be, acknowledging that within your strengths and weaknesses is a real human being doing the best she can. Your kids want to help you and they want to be themselves too.

They’ll learn to love who they are in direct proportion to how well you love who you are.

Go forth and love yourself.

Magic in your child’s point of view

Wednesday, May 1st, 2013

BW_Childs Point of View

Enter your child’s world

Wednesday, May 1st, 2013

172/365  I Want to See the World

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Image by martinak15

Sometimes in our eagerness to see our children become independent, we leave them to their interests. We see them happily listening to their favorite musical artists over and over again, we notice them reading an entire series on the universe and star systems, we watch as they perfect a trick in gymnastics or a move in lacrosse, or we try not to be disturbed by how enthusiastically they play an online game.

Sometimes their hobbies and interests create pride in us. For instance, I’ve never met anyone who would be ashamed to see their child mastering chess and entering tournaments, or practicing violin 4-5 hours a day. Kids who learn foreign languages with Rosetta Stone, on their own, because they want to, cause parents to brag about them. Parents are regularly proud of kids whose favorite subject is math, or the history of warfare. They love it when their kids show prowess in “prestige” interests.

Other times, though, our kids get obsessed (our negative word for their passions) with stuff that makes us cringe: Role Playing Games, online video games, fashion, make-up, coloring books, a television series, a popular book series read over and over again to the exclusion of other book series, electric guitar, learning Klingon, decorating a bedroom, rap, talking online to friends at all hours of the day and night, coding new versions of computer games, learning all the statistics for a favorite baseball team…

It’s easy to put a child’s interests into containers (the “good” interest box, and the “bad” interest box). When you do that, your face changes when you talk to your child. You light up when your daughter tells you she learned to play the difficult passage in the concerto, but cringe a little bit when your son tells you he finally beat a level in Halo after hours of playing.

Your response to how your children express their interests generates trust or creates distance between you. For a moment, suspend judgment and think about what your child is learning about learning. We call this “going meta.” The “meta” level of reflection works like this: To have a meta conversation, means you are now talking about talking. To discover the meta-theory means you are developing a theory to discuss theory.

Applied to the idea of learning: the “meta-layer” of learning is examining how learning is happening, not what is being learned. You get up on a high perch, above your child and your child’s interests, looking down at the signs and symptoms of learning rather than the content (what he or she is studying).

When you do this, you begin to see that the features are similar whether studying violin or how to blow away your opponent on a screen. Certainly the skills are different (and we can argue some other time about what is more difficult). But the process—

  • deep immersion,
  • expanded vocabulary in the field,
  • complex sorting of information,
  • discovery of how to apply what one knows to how one practices,
  • sustained interest that leads to achievements when challenges arise,
  • curiosity about tangental skills and facts related to the original field,
  • breakthrough insights about the nature of the field itself, + a sense of prowess and power that comes from expertise and evolving skill,
  • mastery (awareness that this area of interest is now under the learner’s control and that there is unlimited possibility within that sphere)

—can all be gained in any subject area.

When we’re tempted to dismiss a child’s passions, we may be short-circuiting their development as learners! In other words, what matters more than the specific field is the child’s development as a skilled autodidact (self-directed learner).

The skill of learning transfers to any field of endeavor. But it can’t transfer if a person has never experienced the way passionate interest generates sustained growth and commitment to overcome challenges. These are the tools of learning that create lifelong learners (of the sort we all say we want).

To facilitate this growth, it helps if you wade into the waters with your child. You don’t have to become an expert at World of Warcraft or episodes of Dr. Who or even how to play chess. What you need to be is curious about how your child sees the world when immersed in this field. You want to find out if he or she is “good” yet (as far as they can tell), and what “getting good” looks like, and how they measure themselves. You want to understand what compels their interest (how did they get hooked and why?). You want to know who the community is that is invested in this world (and if at all possible, you want to value it!).

The world is a huge place with so much to explore. It’s not surprising that our kids might find passions in places we never thought to look!

Become a part of the conversation—hold back judgment. Go “meta” and look at the skills that are related to being a learner, and validate those (to yourself, especially—your kids already know they are learning, you need to know that too). You also may find out that that world that is so absorbing to them really is as fascinating as they say it is! What a gift to our kids when we can genuinely say about their prowess, “I’m so proud of you!” and mean it.

Cross-posted on facebook.

What’s on your child’s mind?

Monday, April 15th, 2013

 83 / 365 ~ 2013
Image by Tammy Wahl. Used with permission.

Your kids have been pondering, thinking, and imagining their lives. Some of them spend hours daydreaming about the next level they’ll beat on a video game.

Others wish they could sew costumes or paint with watercolors. You might have a child who wants to be in a play or who wants to play an instrument.

Maybe your daughter wants to become the next soccer star of her local team and your son hopes he can take a cake decorating class.

A teen might want to spend hours a day watching the top 100 films listed by Criterion in order.

How will you know, if you don’t ask? Where will those hours of the day come from if they’re already filled with your agenda or your wishes?

Creating space for the pursuit of your children’s daydreams is one of the greatest joys of homeschool. When you care about their desire to beat the next level on a game, they are more likely to trust you when you say that the math page will only take 15 minutes.

Conversely, what if dread of a specific homeschool task fills their minds?

Find out about that. Create space for complaint or anxiety.

In some cases, your kids will have smart thoughts about how to learn the hard subject area. It’s surprising the amount of insight your kids may have about their struggles if you know how to ask them the right kinds of questions.

You might ask things like:

“I know times tables feel hard to do. Does anything help? Do you prefer to hold things in your hand or draw on a chalk board? Does it help to talk to me as you work on them? What’s the hard part for you? Is it the book? Too busy and colorful? Too plain and tedious? Do the Cuisinaire rods hurt or help?”

Don’t punch the questions at your child like a nail gun. Take them slowly, show curiosity. Sometimes a child will say one thing that unlocks the whole thing:

“I don’t get the point of the rods.”

Suddenly you can see that your child is going through the motions without true understanding! More modeling and support, conversation and suggestions can follow. So pay attention and use your maturity and compassion to help you hear where the frustration comes from.

Usually lectures about the value of a specific subject area for their eventual adulthood doesn’t work with kids. What works is breaking down each task to its smallest part and relating it to their immediate world.

If there is no immediate connection, perhaps the work should fall to you to discover one before requiring a child to work that hard on the subject. After all, these are children. They don’t have the same level of fortitude to “do what they should” as you do as an adult. So take time (since you are the grown-up) to find the connection, to uncover the meaning, and to share it with love and support before requiring follow through and effort.

Sandwiched between support for their dreams and help for their struggles is love and trust. Create those through curiosity and care, and you’ll all feel a little happier today.

Cross-posted on facebook.

Reading aloud matters

Wednesday, March 27th, 2013

The-Wind-in-the-Willows-the-wind-in-the-willows-30730319-630-390
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
I spent hours of my adult life nestled in the corner of the sectional, feet tucked under me, with a book in my hands. Sometimes a baby sucked on a bulging breast at the same time, and one of those babies didn’t like to listen to my voice resonating through my chest cavity. Some well-timed nips to the nipples drove home that message. Ouch!

Other times a toddler couldn’t be calmed or a middler would knock over the orange juice onto the carpet and the book would get flung back into the library basket. Reading time over! Waving the white flag.

But those were exceptions. We made it a daily priority to read together for an hour. Read aloud time signaled the start to our homeschool day. It was the “coming together” of all of us of all the ages in all our stages, and it told us: “Yes, we homeschooled today.”

Over hummus and olives one Friday night in my friend’s kitchen (homeschoolers really rock the social scene), a bunch of my mom friends and I became animated as we swapped titles and our various reactions to the children’s novels we had read over nearly 10 years time. Better than a book club! We drank wine, we got misty over Anne of Green Gables, and had a wide variety of reactions to Moccasin Trail and Across Five Aprils. We were a wealth of detail about Rome and Egypt (easily could have talked husbands under the table about ancient history—so schmart were we, aided and abetted by fiction for children).

We also laughed about the books that bored us but that thrilled our kids.

For instance, I have no idea what happens in any Redwall book. I *got through* (operative phrase there) the first one (not as delighted by the woodland feasts and feisty creatures in chain mail as my kidlets), but then somewhere during the second installment, I discovered I could make shopping list, consider the benefits of dying my hair, and respond to angry posters online all in my head while reading, without skipping a sentence. So I’d merrily read along and space out, until that one moment that was sure to give me away at the end of any given chapter:

“Mom what do you think is going to happen next?’

Blink.

“Um…” I scrambled. “I have a hunch the bad guys are preparing to attack the Abbey.”

Yes! That is what they thought! They knew it!

And that, friends, is the correct answer to any question about plot in Redwall. You’re welcome. You may return to kitchen remodeling in your mind.

While in this vigorous conversation about kids’ lit, one of the moms made a remarkable statement:

“I can’t figure out how you all have time to read aloud. We never have time. That’s the one thing we’ve never done in all our years. I just don’t see how it could be fitted in.”

For a tense moment, you could have heard an olive drop to that tiled floor. We were stunned, because what quickly became clear is that there were even a few us (I plead guilty to this charge) who sometimes got little more done in a day than reading aloud. I couldn’t imagine what homeschool would be if you didn’t read books to your kids.

If I had been forced to supervise workbooks all day, every day, for 5 kids, for 17 years without fiction? Without reading Laura Ingalls Wilder? Without discovering Seamus Heaney’s Beowulf or Robert Peck’s Soup? Not getting to read The Shadow Spinner or become enchanted by Toad and Mole and Badger in Wind and the Willows?

My laundry basket of library books, the wide array of reading lists, the hours spent using my voice to share my emotional reactions in real time to the plights and adventures of heroes and heroines I grew to love as my own possession… This was/is the teaching that is/was homeschool to me… to us.

Homeschoolers rightly think reading to our children is about getting them to hear quality language or to learn about history in a story-format or to become familiar with great literature. It is those.

But it’s also this: When you read aloud, your children discover your values and your humanity. They see tears form in the corners of your eyes. They notice the catch in your throat as you describe a tender scene of connection between two estranged characters. They hear you roar with laughter over an inside joke or a cultural touchstone and they want “in” and expect you to help them “get it.”

Big Juicy Conversations

And then you talk. About the book! About that awesome story and your surprise at the ending or how glad you are that it did end well. Forget that odios word “narration” for a moment (it has been used to drub tedious recounting out of children when a Big Juicy Conversation will do so much more).

You talk about who you liked and who you believed and who you rooted for to get what he or she wanted. You talk about the evil stoat or the wicked prince or the confusion that goes with a troubled character who has both admirable qualities and also real flaws. You compare today to then, and here to there. But you do it, filled with emotion and connection, and the sense of your own place in history and on the planet, all in front of your children—showing them a way to interact with each other, with their neighbors, with their fellow country-persons, and even with how they perceive other times and places.

Reading aloud is the chief way in the homeschool you show who you are to your children—and they show themselves to you. It’s the core of education.

I can’t think of any more important practice in the homeschool than the sacred read aloud time.

I’d love you to name titles that stand out in your memory that made good read alouds (include ages they might work for, though I found my kids could listen to virtually anything at any age).

Read to your children every day that you can. You won’t regret it.

“But I’m bored!”

Monday, March 25th, 2013

Headphones and Arthur

Today’s homeschool thought:

There’s a difference between boredom, and the quiet space and time that lead to new activity.

Children are without resources. They come into the world wholly dependent on you to show them the way, to provide for them, to create their environment.

When a child complains, “I’m bored,” it usually means that the current environment appears flat. They can’t see the possibilities any more. They’re used to the furniture, the materials, the toys, the games, the places these are housed. Routine and predictability are good for a smoothly flowing life, but they can be the enemy of creativity.

Rather than abandoning your child to his or her boredom, help your child to reinterpret the space. You don’t need to make suggestions (bored kids are notorious for shooting down each one as tedious, too difficult, not interesting). The suggestions feel coercive to the bored person, and not like they will create the relief being sought.

Rather, boredom can foster creativity if the parent wisely redirects the child into reflection combined with seeing the old with new eyes. Rather than saying, “Go play with your Legos,” you might say, “I wonder how else Legos can be used besides for building things…”

You might offer, “I bet if you hid behind the couch for 15 minutes with your flashlight, you might get some new ideas.”

Sometimes feeding your child helps. You could say, “While you figure out what to do next, have some crackers and cheese.”

You could turn your child loose with a new, more advanced tool.

“Take pictures with my camera while you figure out what you want to do.”

“What if you put on make up to look like (favorite character right now) while you think about what to do next? Use my kit upstairs.”

“Today might be a good day to try out the ax on that tree Dad wants taken down. Maybe an idea will come to you then.”

“If you want to use the mixer (or any appliance) for a new project, let me know and I’ll show you how it’s operated.”

“I find drawing helps me think of things to do. Do you want to borrow my ‘special Mommy markers’ for added magic?”

You can share methods that have helped you conquer your boredom:

“Maybe you will find something to do by clicking around the Internet for 15 minutes.”

“When I get bored, I page through magazines, walk around the block, read a chapter from a book, drink tea, go exercise… Any of those sound good to you?”

And you can do things silently:

  • Put a new hat or scarf on top of the dress-up clothes and move the basket to the middle of the room.
  • Arrange the library books on a coffee table in a stack.
  • Add brand new drawing utensils or decks of cards to the game drawer.
  • Bring the sheets and blankets downstairs out of the linen closet and tell your kids they can use them any way they want.
  • Put the microscope on the table when it’s not scheduled for use.

Your role in facilitating creativity is to help foster an environment that leads to new uses of old things, that awakens curiosity to explore a new function or new pursuit, that relieves the mundane from its tedium. Your job isn’t to solve the boredom with a scripted activity.

If after giving your kids these incentives, they continue to look bored, just know that this is the quiet, evolving space that leads to a new idea. You can offer comfort for the process:

“I bet it’s frustrating when nothing interests you… no matter what! I hope it doesn’t last long. Let me know if you need something from me.”

Then move on.

It won’t be too long before the new interest arises.

Extra-ordinary kids!

Tuesday, March 12th, 2013

DSCN1199.JPG Caitrin and best friend Sarah with handmade lanterns for their Japanese tea party.

Have you read the book about the homeschooled kids who built a canoe in the basement, whittling the wood from felled trees? Or what about the teens who figured out how to cross breed fish in their creek, or built eco-friendly low-cost dwellings in their backyard as practice for working with Habitat for Humanity?

I remember reading about a kid who played with blocks as a child but then went on to write symphonies in college, after mastering the violin, and learning to conduct a symphony. Somehow these were related.

Then there are the kids who’ve read all of the classics and have taught themselves Latin and/or Greek. Others have performed on a Broadway stage, joined a prestigious ballet company, or have tried out to be Olympic athletes. All homeschooled.

Other impressive homeschoolers got into Harvard, or wrote best selling fiction (The Inheritance Series, anyone?), or worked as interns at the state government house!

Meanwhile, you’ve got runny noses, a daughter whose handwriting resembles scrawl, and a son whose main ambition seems to be punching pixels on a screen by thumping a button on a controller. You can’t imagine that your kids, your garden variety kids, will ever be so extraordinary. You feel mildly guilty about that. (I know I did.)

Perhaps your homeschooled children seem “extra” “ordinary” – as in “more ordinary than usual” – to you!

I found myself inspired and discouraged at the same time when I’d read about successful older homeschooled kids. I couldn’t see how my brood would ever get there.

First of all, we were appallingly bad at science (so scratch cross-breeding and habitat building). We had so many kids, I couldn’t imagine being able to afford supporting a lifetime habit of acting or ballet or singing or violin or lacrosse or gymnastics, let alone accommodating all those rehearsal/practice schedules!

And as far as boat-building in basements—I was lucky if we could find the basement floor, let alone make space to build in it.

Yet I plugged away with our books and our homeschool parties, our math pages and our co-op, committed to what I could do—how I could make my home a place where creativity had a chance to flourish, and where ambitions were accommodated as best as we could.

I couldn’t see the seeds being planted. I couldn’t know how they’d take root.

I wasn’t privy to how my children processed our experiences together, and how these memories became anchors of insight that led my kids to aspire to and achieve some of the amazing things they’ve now done. I never saw most of it coming. Truly.

On this side of homeschooling, I want to encourage you not to worry about the outcomes. The smallest acts of enthusiasm, support, and opportunity lead to big choices down the road. Your job isn’t to think of the great things your kids can do or should be doing some day.

Your job is to make sure that today, they have something interesting:

to read,
think about,
observe,
and enjoy.

Or as Charlotte Mason says, ” “Something to love, something to do, and something to think about.”

Find that sweet spot each day, no matter how briefly visited. These collect into a childhood of impressions that shape how they will choose to spend their teen years and eventually, their adulthood. They don’t have to “change the world” or impress anyone. All they need is the freedom to keep making choices that enhance their enthusiasm for being contributing people—human beings who want to share who they are with others using their unique constellation of gifts and passions.

That’s it.

You can do that.

You already are.

Wish-giving

Thursday, February 28th, 2013

MIlesHorse

Today’s love tip:

If you can’t give your child what she wants, you can give it to her in a wish.

For instance, if she tells you she wants her own horse (yet you live in an apartment and don’t have the funds or lifestyle to support a horse), you don’t need to crush the vision with practicalities. Instead, give it to her in a wishful fantasy.

Wouldn’t it be wonderful to own a horse?
What would you name it? Where would you ride it? What would it look like?
Do you know what type of horse you’d want to own? Shall we look them up online and see?
Would you want to show the horse in competitions? Ride the horse over jumps? Learn dressage?
Or would you prefer to ride bareback over hills alone, looking at the sunset?

Of course you don’t simply shoot questions at her as if pulling the trigger to a BB gun. You want to give her the chance to live her fantasy with you for a little emotional vacation. Let her describe the horse’s mane and color, where she would ride, how she would care for the horse, why a horse would be such a dear companion at this stage in her life.

If possible, assist the fantasy with practical possibilities even if they fall short of the ultimate fantasy:

  • Maybe we can ride horses at the local stable this month.
  • How about we check out some good old films about horses and watch those over the next week?
  • Let’s pick a horse to follow in the upcoming series of horse races and get to know its life story.
  • I know there’s a saddle shop in town. Maybe we can learn how they are made, feel the smooth leather with our hands, and ask about local horseback riding while we’re there.
  • I wonder if we can take a family vacation to a dude ranch one year.
  • Our homeschool group may have a family with a horse we can visit. Let’s ask.

The thing about kids is that they enjoy possibilities far more than we do. They aren’t jaded, haven’t had their dreams dashed, don’t manage the checkbook, aren’t limited in their energy. There’s no need to “smack down a dream” before it has a chance to emerge. Give it some breathing room—allow it to manifest in conversation, illustrations, reading, narration, writing, and play. Then find the little pieces of the fantasy that you can support/provide, and find a way to incorporate these into your child’s life.

Sometimes magic happens and the little bit of wind you blow into those sails leads to the fulfillment of the bigger dream, too. Kids have a way of conjuring wonderfulness from nothing, which is one of the reasons we love having them in our lives.

Wishful thinking is a gift, not a thing to be disparaged.