January 2009

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atwitter: january

January 31, 2009 in atwitter, books, from the kitchen, homeschooling, makin' stuff, wordlover | 6 comments

A few things that got me all worked up this month:

A Series of Unfortunate Events. I listened to several of these books on tape with H and Lulu way back when, and have only just started listening again with Mr. T.  I’d forgotten how brilliant they are. They’re hilarious, if you have the warped sense of humor that my family has inherited, for better or for worse. I wouldn’t even consider reading them aloud–not when Tim Curry does it so much better, Mr. Po’s hacking cough and all. And if, like I am, you are a wordlover—a term which here means someone who takes a slightly odd pleasure in the sound and meaning of words–you will appreciate Lemony Snicket’s tendency to employ words and phrases not typically found in children’s books, and also to explain their meanings. You would not believe how these words and phrases managed to creep into Lulu’s vocabulary when she was younger; now I have a seven-year-old son whose conversations are embellished with gems like, “with all due respect” and “dwarfed in comparison”. (Do I recommend these books for other seven-year-olds? No, I do not. As you can see in Mr. T’s drawing, they’re full of death and darkness and malevolent adults. But if you have a seven-year-old with older siblings who is twisted already–enjoy!)

a series of

It’s kumquat season. I love having these beauties sitting in a pretty bowl on the counter, and popping them into my mouth as I pass by. An acquired taste, I suppose, but I find them irresistible.

kumquat season!

Studying India. Such a fascinating culture, and I’m enjoying every minute of it. We were lucky enough to start our explorations just as the fabulous Story of India appeared on PBS–hopefully they’ll replay it if you missed it. The kids have each come up with a project–Lulu is planning to make an Indian dollhouse, inspired by this stunning Frida Kahlo studio dollhouse. And Mr. T is thinking about making a model of a banyan tree out of Model Magic, with creatures in and around it. Should be fun…

Taking a break from an endless knitting project. So I’ve finished the sleeves and the back of my Sweater Coat with Lace Pattern.

sweater coat with lace in progress

I’m generally a ridiculously monogamous knitter, but I’m taking a break to knit myself a pair of Toasty mitts. I’m adding thumb gussets because I think they look nice and adapting the pattern is good for my math brain.

toasty in progress

What’s that you say? It looks like the same yarn as I’m using in the sweater? No, Silly, the sweater is Sublime Kid Mohair, while the mitts’ yarn is Rowan Kid Classic. But it would seem that I’ve fallen into a slate blue, mohair rut and I can’t get out.

Making yogurt. This was my first try, inspired by The River Cottage Family Cookbook. Lacking a pilot light in my oven, I tried to make a “warm place” by putting my crockpot on low, and lining it with several cloth towels. That still seemed to keep the milk too warm, though. The finished yogurt tastes good, but is very runny. My Danish, yarn shop-owning friend–who ought to know a thing about making yogurt–suggested wrapping the warmed milk in towels and just keeping it in a cooler to insulate it while the bacteria develops. I’ll try that with my next batch.

making yogurt

New blogs. A couple of particularly beautiful ones: good + happy day and the habit of being.

So what has you all atwitter this month?

invented spelling

January 27, 2009 in homeschooling, learning | 11 comments

Yesterday Mr. T was illustrating some of his “galaxies”. These are the newest creatures to pop forth from his imagination, based somewhat on facts he knows about real planets and galaxies, and somewhat on the fascinating flotsam that collects in his brain. I asked if he wanted me to write down the galaxies’ names for him.

“Nah, I think I’ll write it myself.”

his galaxies

“That’s a great idea,” I said, and tried to bite my lips shut so I wouldn’t say more and undermine the whole endeavor.

It’s so fantastic when kids are willing to write words their own way, based on the sounds they hear and the letter combinations they remember. Back in my teacher days we called it invented spelling. It’s exciting because it frees kids up to write without the help of an adult–and helps them focus on words and learn conventional spelling more organically.

inventing spelling

I love this photo--you can see him saying aloud the sound he's trying to write.

Kids typically focus on consonant sounds first, and then start working with those baffling vowels. In the picture above you can see his Sombrero Galaxy, which he spelled The Sambro. (And it’s an actual galaxy name–did you know?) I was sitting beside him, and sometimes I helped him say the words slowly, so he could focus on the sounds. But mostly I tried to stay out of it.

Some kids don’t like using invented spelling. H hated it for a long time. He wanted his words to be right. And actually, thinking back, it makes sense. He’s always been a very visual learner. It probably bothered him to look at a word, and recognize that it was wrong.

I’ve also learned, through many years of eating my words, that it’s best not to push invented spelling. You know the theorem: the more you push, the less they want to do something. So I’ll keep biting my lips and only occasionally suggest that Mr. T write on his own. Maybe he’ll do it without any encouragement. But I’ll still take plenty of dictation. I made the mistake with my poor firstborn to assume that once he was proficient with writing, I was off the hook and he could do it on his own. The trouble with that notion is the writing becomes shorter and more limited because the mechanics of writing can be such a chore. Instead, if you’re occasionally willing to take dictation– years after they’re able to write on their own–kids will have the experience of writing the more developed, sophisticated work that their brains and imaginations are capable of.

the galaxies

But for now I’m just enjoying what Mr. T is doing. See that dark, scary creature at the bottom of the page? He’s Karpt, pronounced Corrupt.

I’m not sure which tickles me more–the name, or the spelling.

10,000 hours

January 23, 2009 in creativity, homeschooling, learning | 2 comments

A few weeks ago on Camp Creek –my new favorite blog about project-based homeschooling and authentic art!–Lori wrote an interesting post after reading Malcolm Gladwell’s book Outliers: The Story of Success. In the book, apparently, Gladwell states that to become excellent at something, you need to spend about 10,000 hours at it. 

In her post, Lori considered how homeschooling might play into that theory. If you haven’t already, go read what she wrote instead of a poor summary from me.

Now, here’s something exciting which might seem completely unrelated: right now my 16-year-old is at the Sundance Film Festival for six days. I couldn’t be more thrilled for him.

And I think that fact has an awful lot to do with Gladwell’s 10,000 hours, and Lori’s thoughts on homeschooling. 

But to tie that all together, I’ll have to tell you a little story. Or a long story. (I have to be careful: my oldest doesn’t like me writing about him here. But, I figure, I took his name off the blog. And I just want to share a little about his path; I’ll try not to get too personal. Plus, the kid’s at Sundance–my blog is surely the last thing on his mind.)

Anyway, a couple of years ago, in November 2006, H and I had one of those explosive homeschooling days that made it clear things weren’t working. At that point, he was what a high school would consider a freshman. And since he’d started “high school”, things had changed with our homeschooling. I’d changed things with our homeschooling.

Suddenly, I’d realized that if H planned to go to college, he would need a transcript, and for the first time in our homeschooling lives we needed to account for how he was spending his time. I wanted him to continue as we always had: “covering” less, but letting his learning be more in-depth. Having him choose projects to explore interesting topics, rather than skimming through endless textbooks.

But that transcript kept hovering over my shoulder, and I was suddenly pushing him to cover more. Do it in an interesting way, of course, but cover more…

Well, there isn’t enough time in the day to learn both ways, and H was justified when he told me in no uncertain terms, “I can’t do all this!”

We spent a lot of time talking about what we should do. I could see that learning had become less exciting for him, and it saddened me. But neither of us wanted to completely ignore the fact that eventually colleges would be interested in what he’d done for four years.

We didn’t figure everything out that day, but we decided that he would change his focus. He would “cover” some topics that interested him less more quickly–science, math–and leave time to explore the areas that he liked in more depth–English, history.

And filmmaking.

H had started using the family camcorder to film movies with his friends and siblings that summer. He’d taught himself how to edit with iMovie. It amazed me to see how immersed he became when he was editing a film, how he could spend hours at it, completely focused.

I wanted him to bring that excitement about learning back to his homeschooling. Together, H and I designed a “class” that we could add to his transcript:  Introduction to Filmmaking.

He started with Hitchcock, because back when I was in college, I decided that one ought not to graduate from UCLA without taking a film class, and Hitchcock was the spring quarter offering. So H watched one Hitchcock film after another and read my text from the class: a fantastic set of film-by-film interviews between Hitchcock and Francois Truffaut.

Hitchcock turned out to be a fortuitous introduction, I think. His careful attention to camera angles and shots had an effect on H’s own very visual style.

He read Rebel Without a Crew by Robert Rodriguez and watched his early films with the director’s commentary. He learned a lot about making films as a beginner, with little money.

While studying WWII, he filmed and edited an extended interview with a family member who’d served there.

I helped H load up the Netflix queue. Classic films, newer films, he watched them all. He wrote a few papers. And he spent a lot of time behind our camera and with our computer editing program.

A year or so before, a friend in my homeschooling group had forwarded a link to a free (!) filmmaking program in our city, for kids 15 and up. I’d saved that link–because squirreling away possibilities for our kids is what homeschooling moms do best. When he turned 15, H started attending the program, and it’s been an amazing opportunity for him. He’s been using professional-quality cameras and editing programs for over a year now. He’s made three short films of his own, and done collaborative work on others. He attended a program on an Indian reservation outside Seattle, in which teams of kids had 36 hours to film and edit an adapted scene from one of Native American writer Sherman Alexie’s books. The films were screened at the Seattle International Film Festival, and Sherman Alexie was there.

And now they’re at Sundance.

But back to Lori’s post. What’s interesting is that H decided to go to high school this year as a junior, for his own reasons which I won’t go into here. It’s been a lot of work–I’m not sure he understood entirely what he was getting himself into. But what’s wonderful is that he took on school with the understanding that filmmaking wouldn’t lose its priority in his life. As a homeschooler, H had two years to explore film at his own pace, to let it seep into him and become part of him. And there’s no way he’s going to let a set of required classes stop him from continuing that.

I don’t think he’s come close to his 10,000 hours yet, but they’re clicking by pretty quickly. And I’m so grateful that homeschooling helped him get that clock going.

I love it when they’re bored

January 21, 2009 in creativity, from the kitchen, makin' stuff | 15 comments

Because that’s just when an older sister will say to her younger brother, “Do you want to make a fairy feast?”

And they’ll go into the garden to gather supplies. She’ll get ingredients from the kitchen; he’ll gather fairies and animals from his room.

making a fairy feast

They’ll make a salad, a cake and a tiny tart.  They’ll even bake a pizza and a wee baguette.

the fairy feast

All the animals and fairies and gnomes will find a place. Well, not all of them. There will be some bickering about who should be invited, and who is the most appropriate. The brother will have to do some cajoling to allow the teddy bear a spot.

the fairy feast

And after nearly two hours of efforts, the spread will be divine, enough to impress even a Martha Stewart fairy.

Of course, the brother might have had a better time building a fortress for the fairies, gnomes and their animal friends. He probably would have preferred to have them jump off trees and chase each other under table legs rather than arrange them oh, so elegantly.

But he did like baking those breads and that baguette.

the fairy feast

And really, when your 13-year-old sister is bored and offers to play with you for the afternoon? 

You go with it.

the family is going undercover

January 19, 2009 in wordlover | 3 comments

luchadorito

Back when I started this blog, I asked the family if they wanted me to use their real names. My oldest, never one to be delicate with words, replied, “That’s stupid. Anyone who wants to find out who we are can figure it out.”

True, but what we didn’t consider was the fact that the family surname appears in my web address. Combine that with the kids’ first names in my posts and anyone doing a google search for my kids’ names will get a direct link to Mama’s blog. Not so cool if you’re a teenager.

So, the family is going undercover. 

My oldest is henceforth to be referred to as H because he simply won’t tolerate anything cutesier.

My lovely daughter is now Lulu. When she was at theater camp a few years ago, a director visiting from New York complimented her stage presence–and accidentally called her Lulu. I think of it as her stage name now.

I’ll refer to the little man as Mr. T, since I call him that half the time anyway.

And my charming husband shall now be referred to as My Charming Husband. (Funny: I tried to use a search-and-replace plug-in to change all these names in my past posts. But when I checked back to see if it worked, I saw that every mention of Christmas was now “My Charming Husbandtmas”. Ha! That won’t work! So My Charming Husband will keep his name in all the past posts. I don’t think he’ll mind. He’s not a teenager.)

i dare you

my year of excellent essayists

January 15, 2009 in 100-species-challenge, my year of essayists, writing | 6 comments

my excellent essayists

So I’m beginning this blog project with a bit of trepidation, knowing it may well bore the hand-knit socks off many of you. But I also realize that if the topic bores you, you can quite easily hit your back-button and move along to the next blog in your subscription. And I promise that my next post won’t be so pedantic. (Yep, I used my thesaurus for that one.)

But before I start a new project, I think I should retire another that’s been languishing. That would be the 100-Species Challenge. It’s a fine idea for a project, but I liked the idea of doing it with my kids. And my kids, you may remember, weren’t particularly interested. They’re happy enough to learn plant names, but the photography and the documentation were up to me. And I really didn’t want to put that much effort into something I didn’t need. Because plant names–both common and Latin–are one of the few things that stick in my meager brain.

Plant names and the words to just about every commercial jingle from the 70’s.  Don’t get me going on the Fig Newton song…

So, one project retired, and a new one begun. The idea of studying essayists came to me in late December, when I was reading some writer’s list of favorite writers. And I realized, with plenty of despair and loathing, that although I’ve been reading and writing essays for thirteen years now, I would have a hard time coming up with a list of favorite essayists. I could give you a couple names, but a couple is a set, mere salt and pepper shakers. Not a list.

It isn’t that I haven’t read many essayists. I’ve read hundreds over the years, for classes I’ve taken, for writing inspiration, for sheer entertainment. The trouble is, I haven’t read most of those essayists in depth. I haven’t lingered with them, and studied them.

Well, I did study one essayist. A few years back I became smitten with the work of Adam Gopnik. I read his books with a green highlighter in my hand. I striped his books, you could say. I wrote down lines I liked in my journal, and went so far as to write down why those lines worked, and why they spoke to me.

And guess what? I can tell you a thing or two about Adam Gopnik’s writing. I can tell you that he writes like the valedictorian in your high school class–with smarts that force you to reread sentences, and occasionally make you want to tell him to stop showing off. He writes with a poet’s ear; sometimes his lines sashay and sing. And what I may love most: beneath his considerable brain beats a heart as sappy as a 70’s Kodak commercial (the ones that featured Paul Anka singing “The Times of Your Life.” And yes, I can sing it.) Gopnik wants to impress you with his smarts, but he also wants to knead your heart just a little–and he’ll do it, unfailingly, in the last lines of his last paragraph.

I feel justified listing Gopnik as a favorite because I can verbalize why he’s a favorite. Why he’s an influence. And I’d like to be able to do that with other writers.

My plan is to read the work of one essayist each month, highlighter in hand–or a journal nearby, for library books. I’ll share some admired lines with you, and tell you what I learned from the essayist’s work. Nothing too studied: I don’t want to lose interest in the project because it’s become too consuming, and I certainly don’t want you losing those hand-knit socks.

I’d planned to start off with Virginia Woolf because it seems one ought to have read Virginia Woolf–and I’ve been surprised at how much I’ve enjoyed the few Woolf essays I have read. But then, in a frustrated morning with my own writing I remembered an idea I had for an essay: an essay about parenting with the eyes of Annie Dillard. So Annie Dillard it is–and maybe I’ll even get an essay out of it.

I’m giddy with the notion of a year-long project, giddy like those knitters who vow to knit a sweater a month. (Insanity!) Giddy with the thought that at the end of 2009, I’ll be able to rattle off a list of favorite essayists-with reasons, even. And maybe–no, surely–my own writing will have improved through simple osmosis.

I told you I was an egghead.

Got any essayists to recommend? Any long-term projects to share?

word for the year

January 12, 2009 in learning, wordlover | 3 comments

I first heard about the idea of adopting a word for the year on the Creative Mom Podcast last year, but I never got around to choosing my own. But then I was reminded by this post on Handmade Homeschool. Prairie Poppins has some intriguing musings, photos and links.

I was surprised how quickly a word came to me. It walked right off my blog tagline.

Cultivate.

dirt boy

It fits into so many of my goals for the year.

busy hands

I want to continue trying to cultivate my kids’ interests. I just stumbled upon camp creek, which is a blog all about project-based learning. How is it that none of you mentioned this one to me before? It’s already providing inspiration, since we’re big on project-based learning around here.

baby radicchio

I want to cultivate my garden this year. My garden is one of my favorite places in the world, yet last year it went all but neglected as we had work done on our house. But we had some gorgeous weather here on Saturday, and were able to get out there and make a better start for this year.

two of a kind

I want to cultivate my writing. I’ve already started on My Year of Excellent Essayists. I’ll share that with you soon.

end of the day

Any of you have a word for the year? Care to share?

when your kid wants almost nothing for Christmas

January 8, 2009 in creativity, makin' stuff | 6 comments

Well, Mr. T did want a few things. He wanted a copy of Wall-E, his favorite-ist movie ever—which he got from his grandparents. And he wanted a science kit.

 “I don’t want any toys,” he told me. “I have too many toys and I don’t even play with them all.”

It’s true. He doesn’t play much with toys, although he plays all day long. It’s interesting: when he plays, he becomes immersed in his imaginary world—toys and things are mere props, of secondary importance.  He might whiz a plastic knight around the family room; he might just as likely whiz around a bent paperclip or some Monopoly money. The play isn’t about the thing in his hand; it’s about the world in his mind.

H and Lulu always had vibrant imaginations. Still, if I’m remembering right, it seems like their play was more grounded in what they played with. H was a great builder of Legos, and he played at them for hours. There was always a new set he wanted, come Christmas or birthdays. Lulu had her dolls, her dress-up clothes, her toy kitchen. (Gender-predictable, I know, but that’s what she liked.) And she was always happy to get more.

But as much as you’ve got to love a kid who doesn’t covet more stuff, it did put me in a quandary. Because Mr. T’s seven, and when you’re seven there ought to be something to play with on Christmas morning. And a science kit doesn’t quite make for instantaneous fun.

I thought and I thought. Then I remembered his big bag of clay wads. It’s a mess of mixed-up colors, yet he pulls it out again and again and plays at the kitchen table. He has few discarded Pokemon figures from H and they go into the clay and under the clay and propel out from the clay, with many sound effects. Mr. T cuts the clay into bits with his little-kid scissors, attaches the bits to the Pokemon guys, and, of course, inadvertently scatters them across the kitchen floor.

The clay, I thought! It’s hard and it’s old and it’s been forever since I made Mr. T a batch of play dough. And those old Pokemon figures! A few weeks before, Mr. T and I had brought some of those toys he doesn’t play with to the local consignment shop. Before we left, Mr. T had chosen, for a dollar, a bag of four tiny Digimon figures. Now Mr. T knows nothing about Digimon, but the figures were small and wacky-looking and he lost himself in them for the rest of the day.

Suddenly I knew just what Mr. T needed for Christmas.

I rustled up a set of thirty little Digimon figures. I made a big double batch of play dough. At Thanksgiving, my teacher friend Janet had mentioned the wondrous tip of kneading unsweetened Kool-Aid powder into homemade play dough. Not only did that make the dough into Mr. T’s favorite colors of orange and pink, it also made it smell like yummy, totally fake, Kool-Aidy oranges and cherries. I pulled out a giant plastic canister that I’ve been saving for years from who-knows-what-anymore and built a big pink and orange mountain inside. Then I placed the Digimon figures in their new fruity world.

mr t's world o' fun

And did Mr. T like it? Why yes he did, if playing with it most every day since Christmas counts for anything. Which means that I now have Digimon figures perpetually scattered across my kitchen table, and bits of orange and pink play dough squished into my floor.

his guys, his hands

play dough world

in his own world

But I also have the satisfaction of knowing that I came up with something for the kid who wanted almost nothing.

start as you mean to go on

January 3, 2009 in creativity, writing | 5 comments

start as you mean to go on

I learned that phrase from cast on, one of my favorite knitting podcasts. It was the title of Brenda’s new year’s episode last year, which was a good one–give it a listen. Brenda explained that the phrase is common in Britain. It’s such a good little set of words to keep in mind if you make new year’s resolutions.

I’ve got a few. I always do. Not that it means anything will come of them, but it’s exciting to write a few down and make an attempt at change.

I thought twice about sharing my resolutions here. They’re personal, after all. But I like hearing other people’s resolutions, so why not?  Maybe making them public will make me more likely to stick to them. 

This isn’t all of them, but here are my creative resolutions for 2009:

* Use my morning “writing time” to actually write, at least three days a week. As much as I love blogging, and following blogs and commenting on blogs, I’m afraid those activities have begun to usurp my “real” writing, which worries me. The blogging will have to shoehorn its way into some other time of day. (You know, all that other free time that I have as a homeschooling mother of three.)

* Read and study an essayist each month this year. Ooh, I’m excited about this one, which is only proof of my eggheadedness. (In junior high, a kid named Raul called me an egghead, and I’ve never forgotten it. He was right, of course.) Actually, I’m so excited that I’ve decided to make a blog project of it–My Year of Excellent Essayists. I’ll lay out my plans in another post soon, for any interested eggheads out there.

* Get more of my work published. I’ve got a few things festering in slushpiles already, but I vow to get out more.

*Knit more often. Even if it’s just ten minutes some days. ‘Cause I started a lace sweater coat in September and the end is nowhere in sight. What was I thinking?

* Improve my photography skills. I have a long way to go, but I’ve gotten so much inspiration from other bloggers out there. Here are a few more with photographs that make me sigh: maine momma. cloth.paper.string. abbytryagain.

So I’m starting as I mean to go on–and posting on a Saturday afternoon instead of during my Monday writing time. Now I only have twelve months of keeping this up!

Care to share any of your resolutions? I’d love to hear them.