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abundance

November 27, 2008 in celebrations and traditions, learning | 4 comments

I’ve been collecting leaves, cones and seed pods. Every fall I’m struck once again by their abundance. Not only on hiking trails, but on city streets. Outside the library. At the playground. In parking lots. I pick them up and put them in my pockets. The squirrels and I are giddy. Like everyone else, I’m watching my pennies these days; how rewarding to find so many treasures scattered on the ground, free for the taking.

In Carmel a few weeks back I picked up eucalyptus leaves and pods. I was so glad I had them when I happened, for the first time, to Prickly Pear Bloom and read her post on missing the California of her childhood. I couldn’t bring her back, but I could send some fragrant bits of California to Wisconsin. Check out her beautiful photo of the bits in their new home. Even the squirrels can’t transport them that far.

Mr. T and I did a little classifying of our collection. It took some research because there are all sorts of mislabeled photos on the internet.

It occurred to me that our collection might look lovely strewn across our Thanksgiving table. Lily helped me with the artful arrangement. She’s quite adept at artful arrangement.

After reading about Three Girl Pileup’s Thankful Tree, I got the notion to cut little fortune-cookie fortune slips of paper for us and our guests to write down what we’re grateful for. To tuck among the leaves, pods and cones.

I’ve grown so fond of my collection–the pods and cones especially–that now I’m thinking I’ll save them after Thanksgiving, and give them a glossing of fine glitter and glue. For the Christmas tree.

But stop me from getting ahead of myself–for today it’s still fall and Thanksgiving. I hope you have a day abundant with food, family, and friends. And gratitude.

pokemon revisited

November 25, 2008 in creativity, learning, my waldorf guilt | 4 comments

When Henry was six or seven (could it really have been nearly ten years ago?) he was obsessed with Pokemon. Obsessed. He studied the cards constantly, memorized them and then followed me around, asking questions like, “Did you know that Metapod has more hit points than Bulbasaur?” or “Did you know that Tentacruel’s ability is liquid ooze?” (These days when Henry complains about Theo nattering on, telling his imaginary stories, I remind him of his Pokemon days. I don’t think he quite believes that he actually talked like that.)

Of course, as a homeschooling mama I am nothing if not resourceful, so I capitalized on Henry’s obsession. I wrote down his Pokemon stories, helped him make Pokemon books, invented Pokemon word problems with him. By the time Henry finally moved on from that obsession to baseball cards over a year later, I was so tired of Pikachu and all his friends that I was happy to dismiss them from my brain forever.

So imagine my horror at our last homeschooling park day, when I saw Theo sitting with another seven-year-old and his collection of Pokemon cards, studying them for over an hour. Heaven help me, I thought, here we go again…

I was sure Theo would want to rush home and dig out his brother’s thick-as-the-Oxford-English-Dictionary binder of Pokemon cards. But no. Mr. T is not his brother. He doesn’t have a fascination with statistics, nor a mindset that borders on obsessive. He doesn’t even like to follow game rules. What intrigued him wasn’t the Pokemon game itself but the idea of a multitude of imaginary characters. Characters that can evolve into other characters. When I mentioned that Henry once made up his own Pokemon-style characters and cards, which he called Zamblasto cards, Mr. T’s eyes lit up like they’d been sparked by Pikachu’s thunderbolt tail.

He quickly spread himself and his supplies across the kitchen table and began drawing his own characters and their evolutions.

He made up abilities for them, and asked me to write them down. Check them out.

I especially like Surprising Scare in Dark Cave and Crack Open Balls of Power. Sort of like manga meets haiku.

One of my favorite parts of watching Theo draw is witnessing how it’s a process of animating his own imagination. Bringing it to life. He narrates the characters’ words as he draws, then has them interact, with lots of action and sound effects. Sometimes the scene gets so exciting that his very pencil comes to life, and starts zooming through the air, with plenty of “pshoo, pshoo” mouth noises.

Which all brings me back to the idea that sometimes my kids’ most banal interests can spark their best creativity. Which reminds me not to cave so quickly to my Waldorf guilt, and dismiss Bulbasaur, Mario and Luigi and all their compatriots. If that’s what fascinates my kids, so be it. Rather than pretending those characters don’t exist, I can realize their power in my kids’ minds–and I can put my arm around them and try to introduce them to my kids’ creative brains.

Even if it means I’m going to be regaled with hours and hours of stories about characters with abilities like Cannon Do-Dow, Honk-n-Zap and Haunted House Evil Liquid.

these things take time

November 21, 2008 in learning, wondering | 11 comments

I have a problem.

Whenever I take on something new, I want to be good at it right from the start.

Can you relate?

When I started writing, I wanted to be published right away. (Instead it took 17 years.)

When I started knitting, I wanted to knit long, lacy sweater coats like this, from the get-go . (Two and a half years later, I finally have the skill and the gall to take on that project.)

And now blogging. One blog whose name seems to get dropped into my posts on a regular basis is SouleMama. For months I’ve admired her gorgeous photographs, her poignant posts. Then there are all those subscribers, hundreds of them, and what seems like an average of 100 comments per day–over 2,000 for a recent giveaway.

I’d like me a little blog like that.

Instead, I have my blog–a toddler blog on unsteady legs. Long-winded posts, photos that don’t have the depth I desire. And I’d rather not admit how often I check my Blog Stats, hoping to see my readership grow.

But wait, patient Reader! Lest you think I’m throwing a pity party for myself, let me share why I’m writing this. You see, was taught a lovely little lesson the other day, one which gave my perspective a nudge.

In trying to choose a new camera, I started looking at blogs with photographs I admire to see which cameras those bloggers use. Many mention their camera model in About Me sections or in FAQs. Some I could ascertain from Flickr posts. Then I started wondering: were these bloggers always such good photographers?

Which is what took me to SouleMama’s archives, and her very first post on TypePad, back in February 2005. And what did I find there? Sweet photos, but a few that were, dare I say, blurred. Others that were surely taken with a flash. Writing that was charming and chatty, but not evolved to the edited eloquence of Amanda’s current posts. And comments? Well, on one lucky day in February she got four, but on most others she got one or two, or even more often, zero.

Wow. I just sat there looking at my screen and took a deep breath. I’m grateful that Amanda has the grace to keep up those old posts because for a new blogger like me, they offer a whole wicker basketful of hope. They call to mind some old adages, ones that I expect my kids to understand, but forget to apply to myself:

Being good at something takes time. And effort.

It’s important to focus on the process, rather than the product.

I think I need to spend less time clicking on my Blog Stats and spend more time remembering instead the buzz of excitement I get on a run, as I trudge up hills while tinkering with lines for a new post. The fun of playing with my new camera. The thrill I get whenever I hit that Publish button. The joy of reading a comment from a reader who’s taken something I’ve written and added new thoughts to it–making my blog a living thing, a bowl of yeasted dough waiting to be transformed.

That’s a lot. And for now, it should be enough. Blog Stats be damned.

presidential

November 7, 2008 in celebrations and traditions, learning, wordlover | 6 comments

Stole this button from my friend Emily. Cause that’s what friends are for. Check out what she did with it. I’m proud to have friends who do such noble work.

My focus for this blog is learning and creativity. I’ve never planned to discuss politics here. But listening to our next president’s acceptance speech the other night brought to mind some past conversations with my kids.

A few years ago, when we studied the Civil War era, we read speeches and quotes by Lincoln. Oh, I thought then, to have a president who could speak with such wisdom and eloquence! It seemed like something from a bygone time. The kids and I talked about this.

Listening to Obama speak, I remembered our conversations. We’ve elected a president who can move people with his words. He may not be another Abraham Lincoln, but can you listen to him without being stirred? After his speech, as the newscasters yammered on, some talked about his gifts as an orator. They said that in a time of soundbites, he is “bringing back the spoken word”.

Can I tell you how much that excites me?

The history-making reasons for Obama’s election move my heart. But the fact that we’ll have a president who can speak with eloquence thrills my mind. I’m delighted that we’ve elected a president who seems so, well, presidential.

For fellow word-lovers, check out this short yet inspiring post on the power of words in this election.

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.)

button box

October 21, 2008 in learning | 4 comments

Somewhere along the way, I inherited my grandmother’s button box. I don’t think I originally appreciated it as much as I do now. My grandmother (I assume) made it from an old cigar box. She covered it with lots of beautiful buttons, and painted it in matte black paint.

There are buttons missing in spots now, and the cover doesn’t stay on. And there are a couple of buttons on the top with metal trim that have tarnished green through the black paint. (Could they be made with copper?)

It’s not in the best shape, but I love it.

When each of the kids has been about five, six or seven, we’ve done math with the buttons in the box. Last week the box came to mind, and I realized it was Theo’s turn.

We had fun just admiring and playing with the buttons inside. And then he naturally began sorting them, without any prompting from me: buttons with words, buttons that are tiny, buttons in yellow, buttons in shapes other than round.

Today we made Venn diagrams with the buttons. I made two intersecting circles with yarn, and put buttons sharing a particular attribute in one, buttons with another attribute in the other. In the intersection I placed buttons that shared both attributes. Then I asked Theo to guess the rule that sorted them. After he figured it out, he made labels for each section.

Check out that pencil grip. Yes, yes, yes I've tried to get him to change it and no, no, no he doesn't want to.

Then it was his turn.

Don’t you love how kids personify everything? They’re not matching buttons, they’re twins.

When we’re finished playing with the buttons, I’m displaying the box beside my desk, rather than sticking it back in Lily’s closet. Because not only is it full of my grandmother’s history, now it also overflows with memories of playing with buttons with each of my kids.

And because, despite its dilapidated appearance, it’s a beautiful box.

(edited to add: Oops! Mr. T labeled that first diagram wrong. It should say two holes, not four. We were having so much fun that neither of us noticed.)

six weeks

October 1, 2008 in learning, wondering | 5 comments

At the homeschool conference, I went to several sessions with Catherine Levinson, a Charlotte Mason speaker. She had a lot to say about cultivating habits in kids. Apparently Charlotte was a big believer in cultivating habit.

The mother who takes pains to endow her children with good habits secures for herself smooth and easy days.—Charlotte Mason

Levinson thinks we should work on one habit at a time with our kids, gently reminding them to do something just once–no nagging. If we do so, she says, the habit will take within about six weeks.

I have no idea where she gets the six weeks figure. Something Charlotte Mason wrote a century ago? Some scientific study? Personal experience? A random time frame that sounds good?

No matter, I decided to try it. After all, I could use a smooth and easy day every now and again. I decided to see if I could eventually get Mr. T to put his plate next to the sink after a meal, without being reminded. This seemed like a reasonable habit to attempt–it isn’t something that really drives me nuts, so I figured I could restrain my usual nagging.

So I reminded. Gently and only once per meal. (Don’t chalk this up to patience; I was just trying to carry out the experiment scientifically.) Mr. T usually put the plate on the counter after one reminder, but never on his own.

Yesterday morning, when I came downstairs after showering, look what I found:

I calculated. It had been six weeks and one day since I started trying to fix this habit. (Mr. T is not a kid known for obedience–I guess he needed that extra day.) Of course, it might have been nice to have the yogurt container and lid placed in the garbage, just a few feet away…

But I guess that will take another six weeks.

queremos a frida

September 12, 2008 in creativity, learning, out and about | 2 comments

When I told Lily to smile, she said, “No, I’m Frida” (who never smiled in her self-portraits.)

The other day, Lily, Theo and I went to see the Frida Kahlo exhibit at the MOMA in San Francisco. If you’re local and you haven’t seen it, it closes on September 28, so vaya! It’s a big show, with room after room of Kahlo’s work. It’s stunning stuff, and I think all those self-portraits make it compelling for young viewers. (Although there are a handful of disturbing pieces of suicide, murder and miscarriage, with plenty of bloody veins. Mr. T. didn’t seem too bothered by those, although after glancing at one he said, “I don’t want to look at that anymore” and wisely moved on to the next.)

The show was crowded, even on a Tuesday morning. Theo couldn’t see the first painting through the crowd when we entered; when he finally got a glimpse and recognized it as the Luther Burbank portrait we’d seen in this book, he pulled on my hand and called, “Look, Mama, look, there it is!” which drew smiles from several nearby onlookers.

Then he floored me by looking at every single painting in the exhibit. Of course, he bounced and bobbed precariously over the wire that guarded each painting as he talked about what he saw. He recognized Diego Rivera in several paintings, and he talked about what different images might mean and also Kahlo’s use of color. (I can’t believe what he’s learned from that Creativity Express program.) Lily floated around on her own, looking and sketching.

Theo spent a good three minutes studying Moses. This is a mural-like painting, supposedly based on Kahlo’s reading of Sigmund Freud. Theo spotted the guy with the thunderbolts in the upper right corner and said, “Hey, that’s Zeus.” Then he noticed Ra and said, “I think this painting is about gods.” We talked about the painting for another few minutes. Then he said, “I think I’m done here,” and proceeded to act as you would expect a six-year-old in a museum to act, whining about being bored and hungry and wanting to leave right now.

I’ve always been fascinated to watch my kids’ interests unfold. Henry was always captivated by sculpture and three-dimensional models; Lily could sit through a ballet at two. Mr. T seems to have a thing for art, and I’m paying attention. He easily spends an hour each day drawing, a little here, a little there. He doesn’t care much about the product, or having people appreciate what he’s done. For him, it’s all about the process–when he draws he’s in his own world, quietly narrating what he puts to the page.

When he was five, he announced to us over pizza and a big glass of root beer, “Drawing is my life.” Maybe that’s a line to go in the bio at his first gallery show someday. Or maybe it will be something we’ll laugh about, when he turns out to be a car salesman or a stand-up comic.

Another good reason to visit modern art museums: the fantastic photo ops.

A couple of other good Frida books: Frida and Artists in their Time: Frida Kahlo (the second goes into nice depth for older kids.) I never did see the film Frida, but now I’m looking forward to it.

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!

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…)

here we go!

August 16, 2008 in 100-species-challenge, learning | 2 comments

After whining about how one of my children did not share my boundless enthusiasm for the 100-Species Challenge in my last post, I decided it best to proceed on my own. Once I did that, of course, interested family members began to sprout up as quickly as the unnamed plants themselves. Mr. T gladly ate one of our Pink Pearl apples so I could photograph its stunning salmon-colored flesh for my first entry.

And my charming husband, after catching up with my blog at the office, took pity on me and my lack of enthusiastic family members and promised to search out a few species himself.

Hoo ha!

I’ve decided to post our (presumably) growing list as a page in the A Little Background sidebar at right. I won’t share every new species as a blog post-I’m trying real hard not to bore you silly here-but I’ll post occasional, (again, presumably) intriguing entries as posts from time to time. Those posts will be linked under the category 100-species-challenge at right.

I’m following scsours’ Official Rules. With a little tweaking, of course, cause that’s what homeschoolers do best.

A little drumroll please, Mr. Shaffer…

1. Pink Pearl Apple

Latin name: Pyrus Malus

Interesting facts: I chose this tree, even though it’s growing right in our backyard*, because I’m always mixing up it up with the Pink Lady apple. I wanted Mr. T and me to get it right once and for all. We googled to be certain and discovered that the Pink Lady is the one that is pink on the outside; ours with the pink interior is the Pink Pearl.

According to California Eating, Pink Pearls are unique to the West Coast, which makes it all the more interesting to have this tree growing in our yard. They’re also rare in supermarkets because they don’t keep or travel well. I love how California Eating’s author, Amy, calls their color “positively vampy”. She also says the apples “taste of raspberries and lemon custard.” Tempting! Ours are still a bit under-ripe but I’m looking forward to tasting for that lemon custard. Mr. T is impatient; he likes them sour, says they taste like Sour Patch Kids.

And check out the Pink Pearl blossoms pictured in Amy’s post. Our blossoms really are that pink and gorgeous in spring. Positively vampy.

* Not the best photo ever. Our two apple trees are espaliered against a fence, and they have the clean lines and elegance of dancers most of the year. But right now they look as if they’re sprouting limbs from their stomachs because it’s summer and because the sunflower house has stepped right in front of them on the stage and we can’t get to them to give haircuts.

the 100 Species Challenge meets the challenge of raising kids with minds of their own

August 12, 2008 in 100-species-challenge, learning | 3 comments

Okay, so I came across this challenge on Melissa Wiley’s blog. It originated here, when scsours contemplated a quote that most people can’t recognize 100 plant species within a mile of their home. The challenge is to go out and learn the names, and a bit more, of 100 plants in your neighborhood.

Ooh, I loved this idea immediately. I’m pretty good with plant names, especially garden plants, and herbs and other edibles. Many of the Latin names even manage to velcro their way into my brain. I’m sure there are plenty I don’t know, though, especially trees. And wouldn’t it be fun to do with the kids?

Apparently not. When I mentioned it to one of my children, who shall remain nameless, she (ahem) rejected the notion as quickly as I had fallen in love with it. “I don’t want to do that,” she said. “I just want to do life science.”

Oh, life science. Silly me, suggesting plants.

When will I learn that my kids’ desire to do anything is inversely proportional to my suggestions that they do it? In plain English: If Mama thinks it’s a good idea, it must be a bad idea. Sometimes I think they say no simply because I’m suggesting it, without considering the suggestion at all. I guess they’ve spent years having to fight off my Boundless Excitement over Learning Opportunities. Mr. T. is still young enough, at six, that he’s often willing to get caught up in my enthusiasm, but he has such a creative way of looking at the world that he usually veers off my path pretty quickly.

I probably should have quietly started this myself. I could have asked the unnamed child to figure out how to put her camera in macro mode and take a picture for me. I could have looked up a Latin name and researched its meaning in this this cool book. Then I could have casually mentioned it to a nearby child. Latin names are very Harry Potterish, you know, and I think Theo would dig that.

There’s a part of me that hates the notion of having to be sneaky about what I want to share with my kids. But I guess that’s better than being told flat-out that they’d rather do life science.

I see that Sandra Dodd, unschooler extraordinaire, is taking on this challenge. Check out her subtitle: “In Which Sandra Dodd Follows the Lead of Others in Trying to Identify by Name 100 Local Plants”. Notice that no kids are mentioned. This is her quest. I’m sure I could learn something from that.

But I keep thinking how fun it could be to make plant trading cards, you know, Pokemon-style, with Latin names and cool facts…no, no, stop me! Remind me to keep it to myself for now! Remind me to play with the idea of this challenge, think about how I might do it myself–and maybe strew a few enticing crumbs along the way.

If you want to take on this challenge yourself–alone or with kids who are more cooperative than mine–you can read the Official Rules and sign up here.

week of “writing”

July 21, 2008 in learning, writing | 1 comment

Last week I had a five days with all three kids enrolled in various day camps, and me at home alone, able to write for uninterrupted hours on end. Such time alone is rare for a homeschooling parent, as I’m sure you can imagine. It has happened precisely three times in my life as a mother–once last summer and twice (gasp!) this summer.

As you can see from the post title, this was a week to be used, ostensibly, for writing. And I did some of that. I revised an essay about traveling with our kids in Spain, for the zillionth time, and sent it out for a third ride on the rejection merry-go-round. I started a new essay on the self-imposed sanity that I’m calling “homeschooling my MFA”. But what I did, mostly, was get this blog up and running.

Which should have been a simple task, if I had simply gone to wordpress.com and chosen one of their hosted, pre-designed blogs. But no-o-o. I had to decide to design and host my own blog, with my own website and my own server. Why? Because I fixate on superficial things like page layout and font colors.

I’m not sure I would have done it if I’d realized that my learning curve would be as steep as a black diamond ski run. I started this project in April, for heaven’s sake. But this book helped. As did my belief that you can learn anything if you’re tenacious enough to dig through help files and support forums.

I learned a bunch of terms that a few months ago would have made as much sense to me as Swedish. I learned how to edit a CSS style sheet with the proper HTML code on my MySQL database so I could upload it via FTP and then drag it to the theme files of my content folder. I’m astounded that that sentence makes sense to me; even more astounded that I was actually able to do it. And that was simply what it took to make my links appear this particular shade of green.

I’m just glad that you and my kids weren’t here last Wednesday to see me swearing and crying when I tried to upgrade to the newest version of Wordpress, and found myself in the deep end of the pool with the water far over my head. I lost everything and had to start from scratch. But I’ll know how to upgrade next time!

So I didn’t get a lot of writing done last week, but I got this thing up and running. And I think I learned enough to impress my 16-year-old. Maybe.

It feels so good to teach yourself something. It’s one of the best parts of homeschooling. And it isn’t just for the kids.