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season of light

December 16, 2008 in celebrations and traditions, homeschooling | 3 comments

annual fondue feast

That’s a photo of our Advent wreath, taken during our annual raising-of-the-Christmas-tree fondue dinner. Years ago, Chris and I started the tradition of eating fondue on the evening when we put up our Christmas tree. After all the work of decorating the tree, it seemed so easy to slit open a pack of Swiss Knight fondue cheese and squeeze it into the fondue pot. Nowadays we make the fondue from scratch, and there are lots of dippables to cut, so it isn’t particularly easy. But it’s a tradition, and one which Henry and Lily almost always mention when questioned about their favorite family traditions. (Mr. T isn’t so sure. He doesn’t like all that cheese–but he does love the fabulously pokey fondue forks.)

So many cultures celebrate with light during the dark of winter. Candles and lights are an important part of Christmas. They’re also central in solstice celebrations, on St. Lucia Day in Sweden, in Posada processions in Mexico, during Hanukkah, on Diwali in India, during Kwanzaa.

Back when I taught school, my classroom was quite diverse. I had many African-American students, as well as students from Mexico, Guatemala, Afghanistan, India, the Philippines, and Vietnam–to name just a few. Given that diversity, I didn’t feel I should do a lot of Christmas-y activities during December. Instead of dwelling on Christmas in my classroom, we researched the variety of light-centered celebrations that occur around the world during winter. We looked at how those celebrations differ from each other. And how, in many ways, they’re similar.

I liked to culminate our “Season of Light” study with a big potluck lunch in which the students’ families brought food from their own traditions to share. One of the highlights of my teaching experience was seeing the feast that came together from my students and their wonderfully rich backgrounds. We had cornbread and lumpia and a rice dessert from India, and baklava, and chile verde, and–oh, I can’t remember them all.

I do remember the year we had homemade tamales. These came from the family of a Mexican boy in my class. His family was quite poor–as I recall, they lived in a single room. The parents didn’t speak any English, and although I tried to reach out to my Spanish-speaking families with own shaky Spanish, this family seemed too humble to want to bother me. Nevertheless, on the day of the feast this student and his parents brought in two huge trays of tamales. This kid was always a happy kid, but I wish you could have seen him beam as he carried in his tray of tamales. He told me later that his mother had woken up at four o’clock that morning to make those tamales for us.

It’s one of my favorite teaching memories.

This year I’m reading some of the books I read to my students to Theo–and Lily too. And there are so many new ones, sixteen years later! I couldn’t find books on Diwali and Kwanzaa back then. The kids are making some Season of Light accordion books. We’ll learn again what the characters on the dreidel signify, and we’ll play the dreidel game-although we may not get to making latkes this year, with Hanukkah starting so close to Christmas…

Here are a few of the books we’re reading. This certainly doesn’t list all the wonderful books out there; this is just a sampling based on what we own, and what we found at the library.

Children Just Like Me: Celebrations, by Barbara and Anabel Kindersley–beautiful DK book with photos and stories of real children celebrating all the holidays I’ve mentioned (except Kwanzaa), and many others.

The Whole Earth Holiday Book, by Linda Polon and Aileen Cantwell–overview of many holidays celebrated throughout the world.

Las Posadas:

Las Posadas: An Hispanic Christmas Celebration, by Diane Hoyt-Goldsmith–photos and stories of actual families celebrating La Posada.

Pedro, The Angel of Olvera Street, by Leo Politi–sweet picture book about a boy and his Posada. A favorite.

Nine Days to Christmas, A Story of Mexico, by Marie Hall Ets and Aurora Labastida–another classic for younger kids.

The Night of Las Posadas, by Tomie dePaola–nice book which highlights the religious story behind Las Posadas.

Diwali:

The Story of Divaali, retold by Jatinder Verma–beautifully illustrated book retelling the story of Rama and Sita.

(edited to add: After reading this book, Lily and Theo watched the gorgeous 1995 version of A Little Princess, directed by Alfonso Cuaron, which has scenes from the Rama and Sita story interspersed throughout.)

Hanukkah:

(There are lots and lots of Hanukkah books–we read different ones each year. Here’s a list of ten good ones. The Trees of the Dancing Goats sounds wonderful! I’m ordering it from the library…)

Herschel and the Hanukkah Goblins, by Eric A. Kimmel–my boys in particular have always loved this one.

Kwanzaa:

(Another list of 10 great books.)

My First Kwanzaa Book, by Deborah M. Newton Chocolate–nice book for younger kids.

Seven Spools of Thread, by Angela Shelf Medearis–I’m looking forward to reading this one.

Are there any other light-filled celebrations that I’m forgetting? Books you’d recommend? Special ways that light figures into your traditions? I’d love to hear about them in the comments.

on homeschooling and teaching credentials

October 23, 2008 in homeschooling, learning | 4 comments

I’ve had a lovely correspondence with a new blog-friend, Melissa of WhatKnot. (Do stop by her blog and take in her beautiful photos of her kids and her crafts, and her charming way with words.) In an exchange of emails about homeschooling, Melissa pointed out that many people who homeschool (including me) seem to have a background in teaching. She wondered about homeschooling without such a background.

I’ve often said that my background as a teacher has been as much a hindrance as a help to me as a homeschooler. And I mean that.

As a former teacher, I came into homeschooling confident that I could do it. But I also had a whole slew of preconceptions.

Consider just a sampling of what teaching taught me:

  • Students do whatever you ask them to do. (And if they don’t, they’re a discipline problem that you’ll need to attend to.)
  • Teachers do the lesson planning.
  • You should plan lessons carefully ahead of time, and stick to the plan on the page, or you’ll get behind.
  • Students should cover most subjects most days.
  • Students should have written records of what they’re learning, otherwise you can’t be sure they’re learning.
  • Kids learn how to read in first grade, they work on spelling in second grade, learn cursive and multiplication in third grade…

I could go on. Now reread that list and consider how it might work in a homeschool environment. It might work fine if you have a very obedient child who follows your every instruction. I, however, did not. My first child has always had a very strong sense of self and a very strong voice to proclaim it. He would never do anything simply because I told him to; instead he’s questioned everything. Why do we have to read this book if I don’t like it? Why do I have to stop drawing to do science? Why should I write down my thinking on that math problem if I can just tell you how I did it?

Chris and I like to say that Henry’s motto should be “What’s the point of that?”

Why indeed? I had to give him answers, which made me think through his whys. Often I realized I was asking him to do things simply because it was how I’d done it in the classroom. I wanted him to be able to do what I knew school kids did. That seemed reason enough for me, but it wasn’t good enough for Henry. Why, why, why he argued. Oh, we had battles, I can tell you that. He argued; I was stubborn. I was a professional after all! But slowly (very slowly!) I saw that when I forced Henry to do something, he didn’t learn much. Except to despise whatever I was trying to teach.

Slowly I learned to listen, to consider, to shake off many of my teacher-ish beliefs. I learned to focus on helping Henry learn in ways that were meaningful to him.

Disobedient kids can be a blessing. (And I got three of them!) Sometimes I wonder which of us has learned more.

Of course, any parent who has spent time in a classroom may share many of my preconceptions about learning and education. But I’d argue that it’s probably harder for those of us with a background in education to shake those notions. After all, we’ve been trained to believe them.

If you don’t have that training you’ll probably have an easier time easing into homeschooling, just continuing what you’ve done with your kids since birth: pay attention to their needs and do your best to meet them.

Being a teacher did have some positive effects on my role as a homeschooling parent. More on that in my next post…

(Yes, I do still keep a teacher’s plan book. But rather than using it to plan lessons ahead of time, I record instead what the kids have done after the fact. Including all the wonderful learning they do on their own. Being able to look through the book is always encouraging when I start to worry that we’re not doing enough. Plus, record-keeping is one teacher-y part of me that I just can’t shake.)

lessons learned on a homeschool camping trip

September 29, 2008 in homeschooling, out and about | 3 comments

Even cheese-grating can be fun, when you do it with friends.

  • even cheese-grating can be fun, when you do it with friends.
  • a six-year-old can subsist on little more than quesadillas and marshmallows for three days.
  • when a camping coordinator reads the “camping guidelines” aloud during dinner, including the guideline about adults modeling responsible alcohol use, she is bound to have a bottle of beer in her hand.
  • if you tell a group of five to eight-year-olds that they can “fight” with kindling sticks only if they do so in slow motion, they may surprise you by following your instructions.
  • if you tell your twelve-year-old that she must sleep in your family tent, rather than in a tent full of other twelve and thirteen-year-olds, there will be some wrath to deal with at bedtime.
  • you can knit complicated lace patterns while supervising your six-year-old in the Santa Cruz surf.
  • older teens who have spent previous camping trips hiding out in the farthest reaches of campsites may suddenly spend stretches of time alongside the adults, seeming to enjoy themselves.
  • if you put out an expensive hunk of Humboldt Fog truffle-laced goat cheese for your co-chefs to enjoy, an eight-year-old with a sophisticated palate will snarf half the thing down before you notice what is happening.
  • on the other hand, if you leave out a bag of grated jack while making an aforementioned quesadilla, a far-less-sophisticated adult may approach, stick his dirty camping hands into your cheese and do some snarfing of his own.
  • homeschooling mothers outfitted with headlamps will continue knitting long past dark.
  • homeschooling fathers outfitted with guitars and a trumpet, plus one talented 17-year-old with a mandolin, can lead one heck of a hootenanny.
  • if a park ranger approaches on Thursday night to complain about the noise generated by a group of adults talking quietly around a campfire, he will be nowhere to be found on Saturday night during said hootenanny, even considering said trumpet.
  • despite what naysayers may say, eighteen hearts of romaine does not make too much caesar salad for sixty-one hungry campers.
  • you can make a pretty tasty lasagna with a cast iron dutch oven and a bag of briquettes.
  • despite the all the shopping and packing beforehand, and the unpacking and laundering after, the trip will be worth it. And then some.
we *heart* camping

we *heart* camping

digging (to) china

September 9, 2008 in homeschooling, learning | 7 comments

So Lily and Mr. T want to learn about China. Here’s their brainstorming list:

  • learn to write in Chinese with ink
  • read about Chinese goddesses and myths
  • write a Chinese version of an American Fairy tale (Lon Po Po comes to my mind)
  • learn the history of chopsticks
  • research and prepare Chinese food (”Potstickers!” says Mr. T)
  • learn how to speak some Chinese
  • go to China

That last suggestion was from Mr. T.  I explained that such a trip was probably not in the budget this year.

A few more ideas popped into my head:

  • learn about items invented in China (so many!)
  • raise silkworms (if I can find a mulberry tree closer to home than the one in the botanical garden from which I guiltily stole leaves when we did this years ago)
  • make Chinese kites
  • learn how rice is grown (oooh! I found a great website on growing rice as a houseplant! And my neighbor owns one of the seed supply companies mentioned!)
  • learn how tea is grown
  • learn about religion and spirituality in China

Then Lily came up with the Best Idea Ever. She wants to write a fake blog about traveling in China.

This would be her second fake blog. Not long after starting a real blog, she and her friend thought it would be fun to write a fake one together, based on characters they play in a movie they’ve been filming for two years now. No wait, the blog is supposedly written by the fake actresses who play the characters in the movie they’ve been filming. (Are you following this?) Since the actresses are well-paid movie stars, money is no object. They have purebred dogs, which Lily and her friend researched online, of course. I believe one of them has an emu. And a few weeks ago, the two actresses decided to take a trip around the world.

Lily and her friend spent a lovely summer afternoon at the computer, mapping out their trip. They researched how long flights would take, and searched for “quaint little beach villages” on the western coast of Ireland. (How do two young girls use the internet to find quaint beach villages in western Ireland? I have no idea.) They looked for the ritziest hotel possible in Madrid. Lily insisted I come to the computer to check out her suite at the beach resort where they’ll be staying in the French Riviera. She was so pleased with finding the place, you’d think she’d actually be staying there.

Then they started blogging about their trip.

Anyway, when we started talking about Asia, Lily lit up over the idea of writing an Asia travel blog. Or a fake Asia travel blog. This blog won’t be written by a movie actress, mind you; it will be written in the voice of a more lowly, Average Jane. It’s a brilliant idea, if you think of it.  In addition to lots of writing, Lily will incorporate photos–both hers and ones found on the internet. She’ll link to interesting websites. She’ll do all sorts of research on cities and sites in Asia. She’ll be able to take advantage of all the cool features on Google maps and Google Earth. 

And it will be much cheaper than Mr. T’s suggestion of actually going to China.

Got any good recommendations for a study of China? Do leave a comment!

not school

September 3, 2008 in homeschooling | 3 comments

I’m a traditionalist. I don’t believe in not going to school until after Labor Day. So yesterday that’s just what we did.

You following me?

Most mornings my kids and I work together for a few hours. I refuse to call it “school” or “schoolwork”; on the other hand, the routine of it means we can’t call it “unschooling”. I’d love to call it something creative, like “project time” or “studio”, but instead we’ve come to refer to it, rather generically, as “homeschooling time”.

Through years of vacillating in the midlands that lie between unschooling and school-at-home, one practice of ours has remained consistent: having this routine of working together each day. Sometimes I’ve questioned it: is it too forced, too routine to inspire creative learning? But I’ve learned enough about the practice of artists–and my own practice as a writer–to understand how routine can actually support creativity. The act of showing up, of getting your butt in the writing chair, or your hand around the paintbrush day after day conditions you to find your creative mind fairly quickly. And it seems to work with my kids.

Plus, our time together isn’t all about me expecting them to get something done. It’s also about the kids knowing I’m there for them: to read, to play math games, to take story dictation, to brainstorm a new piece of writing. I do my best not to respond to emails, to talk on the phone, to do laundry, or any other assorted mom-sucking responsibilities.

I’ve missed our time together this summer. Our summer schedule scatters us. All day long I’m interrupted to drive someone to some camp, some swim lesson. And while I try to fit in reading aloud, writing down stories, there never seems to be the luxury of a few open endless hours to, well, work together.

So yesterday we got back to it. 

We made plans. Lily and Theo want to learn about Asia. All year. They want to start with China, then move to India, Japan, then all the others. I love this idea. Last year, homeschooling with Henry became a mad dash to prepare him for high school, since that’s what he wanted to do. We had to abandon the progressive math program which he liked in favor of a traditional geometry textbook. We ended up having to fill in other subjects with textbook learning to satisfy the high school. textbooks=boredom=mom nagging=unhappy kid. Not homeschooling at its finest.

So I’m thrilled not to have a high school or a high school transcript hovering over our shoulders this year. Thrilled to go along with what the kids want to do–with a dash of guidance from me. 

What they wanted to do yesterday: Plan our Asia studies. Lily came up with a a brilliant idea for an Asia project and got started on it. (I’ll write more about those plans in my next post. I do tend to go on…) Theo wanted to read about Ms. Frizzle’s adventures in Imperial China. Lily wanted to discuss her options with math; Theo wanted to dictate yet another story. Lily and I brainstormed activities for our mother-daughter group meeting, which we’re hosting this weekend.

And Mr. T and I finally got around to photographing plants for the 100-Species Challenge.

We took photos of several plants, and researched one today. I’ll update our list soon.

It was a routine day; it was a wonderful day. Sometimes nothing satisfies like getting back into old routines.

school

August 26, 2008 in homeschooling, learning | 5 comments

For the first time, one of my kids has started school. Granted, he’s sixteen and more than ready for this. Still, it feels like a big step.

Growing up, Henry was always happy with his status as a homeschooler. He’s a very stubborn willful independent-minded kid, and he liked how homeschooling gave him the freedom to make his own choices. He abhorred the idea of a teacher telling him what to do all day. So when he came to me one morning last November and said he wanted to go to high school, I felt I’d had the wind knocked out of me. I just didn’t see it coming.

But Henry had a lot of reasons that made sense. He didn’t want to go straight to college from homeschooling. He didn’t want to take community college courses, as many of his homeschooling friends have; he wanted to take classes with kids his own age. He wanted to be part of a community of kids, a big community of kids. Our homeschooling support group and his filmmaking workshop weren’t enough for him anymore.

Just weeks before, I’d read these two posts about what teenagers need on Brave Writer’s blog. When I read them, I had no idea how much they’d help me later. I went through a short time of mourning, in a way, for the time I thought we had left together. Then I turned my focus to Henry’s needs and we got busy.

We set about considering schools, visiting schools, making a transcript, applying. A huge process. In the end, there was only one school that Henry wanted to attend, a Catholic high school. It’s a bit less rough than the local public schools; less hardcore-academic than other local private schools. In April he was accepted as a junior transfer.

The school seems like a good fit for Henry. He was able to get into some advanced courses in the areas he’s especially interested in: English and history. And last week, when I met the Vice Principal of Academics at a parent transfer dinner, she asked about Henry’s interests. When I described what he’s been doing with filmmaking, she immediately started considering how to adapt his schedule. She made an arrangement with the Computer Arts teacher for Henry to be instructed independently, so he can work at a more advanced level. I’m impressed to see an administrator take that level of interest in a student, right from the start. (I guess all that tuition we’re paying is good for something…)

Most of my homeschooling friends have been supportive of Henry’s decision. But a few have (unintentionally, I’m sure) conveyed a slight whiff of disapproval, a subtle sense that we have somehow failed, that if we did things differently, Henry would still want to homeschool.

I don’t think so. One of my main reasons for homeschooling was that I wanted my kids’ learning to be meaningful to them; I wanted them to decide how they wanted to learn. And Henry has always had strong opinions on these matters, that’s for sure. His decision to go to school is just one more refinement of his understanding of how he learns best. He’s chosen a path different from those of his friends. That’s taken courage and confidence. I’m glad homeschooling gave those qualities to him.

If you’d asked me last November, after Henry made his announcement to me, I would have been sure this first week of school would be a sad one for me. But you know what? I’m not sad. Instead, I’m excited. Excited to see Henry excited. Excited to see him when he comes home from school, eager to share what he’s learning. (I always hear that school kids don’t want to talk to their parents about school, but so far Henry does.) And I’m excited to see that he’s happy, which he wasn’t so much last year.

Plus, I know the truth: Henry will always be a homeschooler at heart. 

(I took a photo of him walking to the bus with a backpack that made him look like he was off for a five-day trip in the mountains. He didn’t want me to share it here though. It’s a special one, just for me.)

what I love about my local homeschool conference*

August 22, 2008 in homeschooling, learning | 2 comments

1. Watching all the colorful teens gleefully bounding about the hotel like oversized 4-year-olds, not a sullen face among them.

2. Inspiration! Inspiration from new ideas** and new twists on old ideas***.

3. Seeing people of all ages crafting everywhere, with workshops on mosaics, amigurami (small Japanese crocheted animals), artist trading cards and matchbox shrines, to name just a few. Then there was the amazing Swap-o-rama-rama where kids got to take donated clothes, cut them apart, and stitch them into something new. Pure bliss for Lily. She made Henry a trench coat out of old jeans and duct tape.

4. Eating pizza, drinking sangria and laughing with my homeschool homies–otherwise known as my fellow homeschooling parent friends–on a balmy Sacramento night, beneath a full moon.

5. Lots of knitting time during larger keynote sessions.

6. Watching Lily and her equally absurdly-competent friend somehow manage at least 20 kids at a time during their popular Rag Doll-Making workshop.

7. The vendor hall and Recycled Resource Room. I’m not so tempted by curriculum stuff, but I have to restrain myself with all the great books and games. Found a cool computer program on art technique and history that Mr. T adores already, and a brilliant hands-on set for exploring the Pythagorean Theorem.

8. Offering my own workshop for the first time.

I gave a workshop on facilitating writer’s workshops, and it was such a thrill. I’ve been facilitating writer’s workshops for homeschoolers for years now, basically gathering kids together and giving them a chance to to share their writing with one another. I’ve also participated in workshops myself, through adult ed courses and with my beloved writing group. Let me tell you: there’s nothing like a workshop to inspire writing! I could talk all day on the topic! What a joy it was to share this with a roomful of eager folks who seemed truly interested.

(Incidentally, If any of those workshop attendees find your way to this blog, please let me know if you start up a workshop–my email address is on the handout, or leave a comment here! And to anyone who may have bought a CD recording of the workshop, leave a comment here as well, and I will gladly email the handout which I referred to half a zillion times as I spoke. (You must include your email address when you leave a comment, but I’m the only one who will see it. You can even leave a pseudonym like, say, Homeskool Harriet or John Holt, Jr.)

I know people who don’t like this conference, or feel that they’ve attended so long that there’s nothing new to learn. I also know a woman who homeschooled three kids, and has sent two off to college. This year her youngest will attend high school, so her homeschooling life is theoretically ending. Nevertheless, I found her beside me in more than one of the Charlotte Mason workshops. I asked why she was there, since she would no longer be homeschooling. She’ll be tutoring a young boy this year, she explained, and she thought the workshop might be helpful. But mostly, she said that she loves history, and was enjoying hearing about this woman, Charlotte Mason, who had so many innovative ideas, so long ago. My friend attended the workshop, I think, because she’s a curious person who likes to learn. Interestingly, her youngest daughter–who attended my writer’s workshop–is one of the most enthusiastic, eager-to-learn teenagers I know. Coincidence? I don’t think so.

* My local conference is put on by HSC, the HomeSchool Association of California. It takes place in Sacramento the third weekend in August every year. Hard to believe, but last weekend I went for my twelfth year.

** Scott Noelle had some interesting ideas about enjoying parenting, as opposed to being motivated by guilt and a puritanical work ethic. Sheesh, I hadn’t realized what a puritan I am.

*** I’ve read about Charlotte Mason in the past, but it was fun to revisit her ideas via Catherine Levinson. I’m newly intrigued with Charlotte’s ideas about narration as a precursor to developing a writer’s voice; the use of nature journals; and the idea of very short lessons in subjects such as math. (Not that I offer lessons to my kids on anything. But they seem to be teaching me lessons constantly…)

what’s a wonder farm?

July 18, 2008 in homeschooling, wondering | 1 comment

Mr. T helps with the Wonder Farm banner

 

Last year, as I filled out our Private School Affidavit for the California’s Department of Education-the form that allows California homeschoolers to function as small, private schools–I came across a line in the document and realized that our “school” would need a name. I asked the kids what they thought we should call it.

I don’t remember the first names tossed around the kitchen, but I do remember the moment Henry came up with this one:

“Genius Farm!” he called out, with the enthusiasm of a contestant on Name That Tune. “Genius Farm! That’s it! It’s awesome!”

Well…it was funny, I admitted. I liked the image of a farm where geniuses are grown like stalks of Brussels sprouts. I liked the irreverent sass of it. “But this website says homeschoolers should avoid names that are “cutesy”. And I’m not sure we want to have Genius Farm at the top of your transcript when you apply to college.”

By this point, all three kids were chanting aloud, “Genius Farm! Genius Farm!” overpowering, as usual, my objections.

Okay, okay. I assured them that we could refer to our home as the Genius Farm all we wanted, but I needed to come up with something else for the form.

The kids’ minds were made up; I finished the form myself. I filled the “school name” cell with The Workshop instead. I hoped the title might be respectable, but still a little quirky, conveying a place where projects are being undertaken, where things–and ideas–are being created. Still, I don’t like the name nearly as much as Genius Farm.

Not that my kids are geniuses. Well, they are geniuses, in their own idiosyncratic ways, as I think every child is. But they haven’t been raised on flashcards and IQ tests and advanced classes for the gifted. We aren’t really trying to raise geniuses around here.

I like the farm part of the name, though, the idea of a metaphorical place where a family can grow something abstract, intangible. I mused: if I could cultivate anything in our home, in our life as homeschoolers, what would it be? Creativity? Curiosity?

Wonder.

I love the word wonder. It’s a noun as well as a verb. It can mean a miracle, a phenomenon or a state of amazement. It can be the act of marveling or questioning. A wonder is a journey of the mind, lasting maybe a minute, maybe a lifetime.

I hope I help cultivate wonder in my kids. I’d like them look at the world around them and be both awed and confounded, and utterly compelled to know more. And if nothing else, just watching my kids learn and grow prompts a lot of wonder in me.

So while I didn’t put Wonder Farm on that Private School Affidavit, I am putting it at the top of this blog. It isn’t quite a Genius Farm, but I think it will do.