Sometimes, Uniform Isn't

My three little square pegs are going to have to make their own holes, I'm afraid.

He is actually wearing his uniform in this picture.  He is just wearing it with pajama bottoms, external underwear, and sunglasses.  The sunglasses are tucked in the underwear, in case you missed it.

At the beginning of the school year, I went and outfitted my children with uniforms.  Why?  Because it saved money.  And, time.  And, laundry.  But mostly because they were adorable.  Nothing is cuter than a three-year-old girl in a skort.

I know it is a little silly to have homeschool kids wear uniforms, but it worked for us.  I use the past tense because we haven't really followed through.

The uniforms attracted attention, and, understandably, questions.  Not malicious; just curious.  People wanted to know, "Are they in private school...a club...a cult?"  "No.  They're all mine.  They're homeshooled," was my usual, smiling reply.

Then one day, at the park, a retired gentleman sitting on a bench asked me, "Do you run a special school?"  As I prepared to give some variation of my standard answer, I turned to gaze lovingly at my children.  Jonah was prone in the middle of the play ground with his face pressed against the recycled-atheltic-shoe-rubber matting, because it felt warm.  Sam was trying to ride his scooter backwards, hindered greatly by the Captain America shield he had strapped to the bottom of his foot.  And, Cate was licking the slide.  It occurred to me, maybe the gentleman on the bench was not asking about the uniforms.

But the real down fall of the uniform, was this boy.

The benefits to me did not out weigh the struggle with him.

So now, when you see us in the park, I am indeed running a special school.  But, we won't be wearing uniforms.  Matching clothes just attract unnecessary attention.

Counting by Trillions

How many zeros in a trillion?

 This has nothing to do with the national debt.  It has to do with skip counting: what modern education calls counting by twos, fives, tens, etc.

Jonah, little ball of brilliance though he is, had a really hard time learning to count by twos.  Wailing, rending of garments, gnashing of teeth.  A typical school day, really.  And, as usual, he seemed to think it was my fault, like I invented the idea or something.

He often acts as though the things I teach him aren't really important, just chosen arbitrarily and capriciously by me to torment him. (Like I have time for that.)  Or, maybe he just thinks they are hard, and he needs an excuse for all the dramatics he uses to avoid them.  In an attempt to further his point, he test me.  If this is so important, let's see if Mom knows it. 

"Mom?  Can you count by 2's?"

"Yes.  You know I can.  I have been counting with you all day."

"Can you count by hundred's?"

"Yes."

"Well, do it then."

"100, 200, 300..." and so on, I counted to one thousand.  Thwarted, but not satisfied, he continued.

"Can you count by a trillion?"  It was clearly a dare. 

"One trillion, two trillion, three trillion..."  I began to wonder when I could stop.  What comes after a trillion?  And how many trillions does it take to get there?  What was that going to be like?  "Two hundred million trillion, three hundred million trillion..."  My mind boggled.  I didn't have all day to stand in my kitchen counting by a trillion to prove something to my six year old.  Somewhere around twenty trillion, my counting trailed off.

"Why did you stop?"

"Well, I..."  I started to explain to him, what I just explained to you.  But, I didn't get very far.

"I guess you aren't so smart after all," he said, and he kind of wonder away.

"Maybe not,"  I hollered after him.  "But at least I can skip count by two,"

Okay, no, I didn't.  But I did get to show off my skip counting skills for the rest of the week while we practiced and practiced and practiced, until he was ready to kill me, or get it right.  He got it right.  And, he was so proud of himself.

The hardest won victories are the sweetest. 

Now, onto telling time.  I anticipate more drama...at first.  I"ll let you know how it turns out.

Back To School

We are homeschooling again this year.  Officially, only Jonah is in school.  Hello, first grade!  But, Sam and Cate need some learnin' too.  Sam is pre-kindergarten, and Cate is pre-pre-kindergarten.  We keep each other busy.

Three students ready for the first day of school.  Two of them are even happy about it.

Her very first letter.  Ever!  Don't worry.  She went right back to writing like a two year old and has not written anything legible since. 

The Down Side

One of the down sides of homeschooling?  No one helped my children make cute Mother's Day gifts out of their hand prints.  Well, not this year, anyway.

Another down side?  Very little time to go blog crawling, and leave comments for all of my favorite people.  And,  absolutely no time to write.  I did manage to post every day for two weeks, about two weeks ago.  I guess I wore myself out.  That, and school ends in exactly 7.25 school days.  I need to make sure that all my T-crossing, I-dotting ducks are in a row.  I wouldn't want to repeat Kindergarten on a technicality.

And, I went out of town the weekend before Mother's Day, and am only now catching up with the housework that was un-done while I was gone.

Oh, and did I mention that I am reading a book.  An adult book.  Ooh, wait.  That connotes something I don't mean.  A book for adults?  Well, I'm sure you get the idea.  A book with lots of words and no pictures -- NOT for kindergarteners.  I've sorta been using my spare time for that.  So, maybe it is not all because of school. 

But, whatever.  I'll be back when school gets out.  Or when I finish my book.  Or when I have something to say and the time to say it.  Whichever comes first.  Has anyone even missed me?

The nature of this post brought to you by my allergy medication. 

Math, Homeschool Style

Were you one of those kids who dreaded word problems in elementary school?  Well, you will be happy to know, that they have changed things.  No longer do children freeze up, freak out, or go into a cold sweat at the sight of a word problem.  They're called story problems now.  The name has been changed to protect the weary.  The problem is, the weary graduated like thirty years ago.  Now there are generations of young people quaking in fear of the story problem.  Education can be funny like that.

I was not one of those students, and neither is my son Jonah.  He rather likes story problems.  In his current math class, he gets to write him own.  The book gives him two numbers and asks him to write an addition problem.  For example (an actual example):  "Jonah has three cars.  Sam has two cars.  How many cars do they have all together?"  I suspect the Jonah/Sam/car dynamic will get a lot more play when we get to subtraction.

Last week, his numbers were 3 and 17.  And I quote, "Jonah has three video games to play.  And, Mommy has seventeen dishes to wash.  How many do they have all together?"

Now, if you will excuse me, I have some dishes to wash.  Oh, if it were only seventeen.

The Week in Kids

This week...
(Or sometime in the not too distant past.)

Upon seeing this picture, Sam said, "He has to take off his beard and put on a mouth for dinner."  Perceptive kid.

Also this week...

...was Christmas.

Really, it is mostly a blur.

Also this week...

Cate wore pajamas under her party dress.

Who among us has not wanted to do that?

Also this week...

No Bible sits on the shelf collecting dust in this house.

Also this week...

We made our homeschooling decision final, when these arrived.

Seventy-six pound of kindergarten curriculum in eight boxes.  (The small white one was already ours.)  How can we back out now?

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year everyone!!!

See you next week, and year!

A Few Notes On Christmas and Et Cetera

Jonah and Cate, on Cate's First Christmas (2008)

We had a merry Christmas.  I don't know if there will be any photos posted.  Kids a blur.  Legos and Imaginex pirates everywhere.  Inflatable "cars" for playing Mario Kart.  Toy cowboys.  Cool wooden cars.  A girl sized kitchen which even the boys love.  Family.  Oh, so much family.  Food, oh the food, ugh!

A big thank you to the young man at the auto parts store on Christmas eve who politely pointed of the Honda I was buying wiper blades for (and driving at the time) was an Accord, not a Civic.  Ho. ho. ho.

To the sender of the family-photo Christmas card showing their thirteen-year-old, lolling on the beach in a bikini, with her two little brothers, and sand stuck to her pubescent behind, I say, No. no. no.

To the middle aged man, in the Toys-R-Us parking lot, driving a red Hyundai with a Hello Kitty license plate holder, I say, Thank you for slowing down, if even slightly.

To the Muslim woman buying snow man wrapping paper, I say, This Happy Holidays thing has gotten WAY out of hand.

For those of you who have ever wonder if God is a man (as opposed to a woman), I offer this as conclusive proof, "Mom, God is a boy name."  Thus sayeth Jonah.

Seventy six pounds of kindergarten curriculum is awfully heavy for "online school."  The student doesn't even weigh that much.  Just sayin'.

Now, if you will excuse me...school starts Monday.

And, yes, the "and Et Cetera" in the title is an intentional grammatical error.  You don't have to believe me.  I'm smarter than a kingergartener irregardless.

Let Your Freak Flag Fly, Little Man!

Jonah, aged 14 months, ready to hit the beach in Hawaii.

We're all freaks on the inside, aren't we?  Or, we were.  Or, we felt like we were.  Growing up, finding yourself, coming into your own, is hard. 

In my experience, freaks, those young people who don't feel comfortable in their own skin, either get angry and become bullies, or get knocked down once too often and give up on being themselves.  So much human potential is suffocated under the social pressure exerted by peers similarly situated.

It is for this reason that we have decided to homeschool Jonah for the rest of the school year.

Our decision was not because of religion, or academics, or to have a more flexible schedule; though all of those factored in.  We want to homeschool, so that we can take the sensitive little boy God gave us, and raise him up into the most confident man he can be.  He needs a loving environment in which to discover who he is.  We don't care if he is a barefoot artist, an uptight tax attorney, or a stand-up comedian.  We just want him to walk secure in the knowledge that he is exactly as God made him. 

Then, he will be ready to go out into the world, unfurl his flag, and let it fly, however freaky or boring it may be.

That is our goal.  If homeschooling does not move us toward that goal, we will stop.  If it is detrimental to the rest of the family, we will stop.  If I lose my marbles, we will stop.  And, if I completely screw it up, it is only half a year of kindergarten, right?  Either way, wish us luck.  This going to be an amazing feat of patience and organization.

October Is The New December

 Well, as October comes to a close, I must say...It is about stinking time.  This has been the busiest month of my life.  Yes, I know.  I am prone to hyperbole.  But, I mean it this time.  People talk about how busy the holidays are.  This year, at least as far as I know, they have nothing on October.

We had nine trips to the doctor, two to the dentist, and three to the pharmacy.  Two Fall Festivals, two class parties, and one Trunk-or-Treat event.  Four occasions for which the children were expected to be in costume, and that is not counting Halloween on Sunday.  Two separate cookie dough fund raisers, and two different picture days, for two different schools.  Two food drives, two raffles, and two parties for which donations were given (and willing, too, but they added to the chaos). Two field trips, one I chaperoned.  Two days as class mom.  Two parent teacher conferences; one for good, one for evil.  One letter from the Washington State Bar Examiners (he passed!!).  One date night.  One Church Fellowship Dessert.  And, one Wild Thing named Etsio, (that's him in the picture) hand made by Jonah.

So, to you, Holiday Season, I say, "Bring it!"  You don't scare me.  I lived through October.

Geography, Kindergarten Style

Last week, I had the privilege of working in Jonah's kindergarten class for the day.  He was very excited about this.  So, was I, if truth be told.  It was nice to be involved in that part of his life.

He tried to be with me as much as he could, which was sweet.  But, at recess, he abandoned me for his first love, running around.  I spent recess talking to a very nice young lady named Emma.  She had sandy blond hair, hazel eyes, and affected an under bite when thinking.  She reminded me very much of our Cate.  And that is how I saw her.  Cate in four years.

"My Nana is coming to visit today," she said.  "My Nana lives far away, where there are a lot of cornfields.  Do you know that place?"

"Iowa?" I asked.  Corn as high as an elephants eye.  That's Iowa right?  Or is it Oklahoma, where the wind comes sweeping down the plain?

"No.  That's not it," Emma said.

"Kansas?" I tried again.  Was Kansas a better guess than Oklahoma?  It would help if my knowledge of the plains states extended beyond Rodger and Hammerstein musicals, and John Wayne movies.

"No," she said, and then offered another hint.  "Do you know that place where Disney World is?"

"Florida?"

"Yes," she said excitedly.

"Your Nana lives in Florida?"

"No," she said.  "In a straight line from there.  What is the state next door?"

"Alabama?"  I knew it was Alabama or Mississippi.  I totally guessed.

"No.  The next one?"

Was this some kind of test?

"Mississippi?" 

"Keep going."

"Louisiana?"  This one I knew.

"No, no.  Keep going straight across."

The kid was killing me!  But we were getting closer to home.  I was pretty sure I knew these.

"Texas, New Mexico, Arizona."

"Yeah," she said, with a very mature sigh.  "I have no idea where she lives." 

Then she ran off to play.

It was definitely a test.

Blogger on a Mission

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I Am a Complete Failure As a Mother

I am a complete failure as a mother.  I have a few accomplishments, it's true, but none of them are in this house.

Last year at Catherine's first birthday party, I ran out of room on the memory card in my camera.  I had three pictures.  Of her FIRST birthday!

I am a complete failure as a mother.

As I mentioned, Sam's birthday was yesterday.  Not wanting to repeat this particular failure, I made a point of getting to Wal-mart on Tuesday, to get a CD printed of all of the pictures on my memory card, so that I could erase them, and have room for 220 more pictures on the morning of Sam's birthday.  At the time, this felt like a Mother-of-the-Year worthy accomplishment.  I took a few breakfast pictures (the ones I posted here yesterday) and left the card in my computer.  I showed up at Sam's school at lunch time with two dozen Lightening McQueen cupcakes and no memory card in my camera.

I am a complete failure as a mother.

And, in my eagerness to be on top of every detail of Samuel's birthday, (at which I failed, by the way), I forgot to pack Jonah's water bottle for school.  He had to drink out of the drinking fountain.

Complete failure.

Today, there was no birthday.  No cupcakes or camera required.  I almost forgot to pack Jonah's snack and water bottle, but I didn't.  As we were headed out the door, I put his water bottle in the side pocket of his back pack, and I was about to toss an apple in there, when I remembered that Jonah doesn't really like apples, unless they are cut up.  Not having time for that, I gave the kid a banana.  He loves bananas.  Back in Mother-of-the-Year mode.

Then, on the walk to school, Jonah asks me, "Mom, did you remember my apple?"

"No, hon.  I didn't have time to cut it up , so I gave you a banana instead."

He stopped dead in his tracks.

"What?  Why are you stopping?"

Nothing.  He wouldn't even look out from underneath his hat.

"What!?"

"I can't bring a banana to Johnny Appleseed Day?" he wailed.

Oh, carp (that troublesome fish)!  His class is making applesauce for Johnny Appleseed Day today.  And I forgot.  I completely forgot.  I sent the kid to school with a banana on Johnny Appleseed Day.  He was heartbroken. 

I am a complete failure as a mother.

When we got to class, he didn't ask for a kiss or a hug before going in like he usually does.  He just said, "Bye, Mom,"  and gave me a brokenhearted little wave.

Okay, this is ridiculous, I thought.  He is not going to be the only kid in there without an apple.  I can not be the only complete-failure-as-a-mother there is.  Right?

Right!  Mrs. Whitfield has been teaching kindergarten for two hundred and forty one years.  She taught Johnny Appleseed himself.  She had extra apples, of various varieties.  (Teachers rock!)  The apple-less children, of whom there were many, could take their pick.

I called Jonah over, and explained this to him.  Then I helped him pick out an apple.  I apologized sincerely.  Forgetting his apple was not the biggest mistake I will ever make.  And, not having an apple on Johnny Appleseed Day will not be his biggest disappointment.  But, I was sincerely sorry that I had causes a little emotional drama right before school.  The whole thing might seem ridiculous to us, but these things can be a big deal to kids, and it takes a little time to recover.  What a horrible way to start the school day.

"Can you forgive me?"  I asked.

"Of course, Mom." he said, as he gave me a big hug.  "I can always forgive you.  You know that."

Hmm.   Maybe I'm not a complete failure.

Giraffe Farming

Our son Samuel has a speech delay.  It used to be quite pronounced.  On his third birthday, he couldn't even say "Mommy."  Now, at almost four (this week, in fact), he is a completely different kid.  But, he still sees a speech therapist.  Last week, we had to go meet the new one.

Every time he moves on to a new program, he must be re-evaluated.  So, I schlepped him, and his older brother, and his younger sister, down to the elementary school.  The therapist wanted me to stay, in case Sam became uncomfortable.  The other kids and I waited in an adjacent room.

I listened through the doorway as Sam identified all of his letters and colors and shapes and animals (you should hear him say, "giraffe.") and articles of clothing and foods.  Of course he knows all of his foods.  His first speech therapist kept trying to prompt him with "Cow says mmm...?"  Sam learned to say "pizza" long before he learned to moo.

At some point, I had to focus on the two children in the room with me, and lost track of Sam's progress.  It wasn't a long evaluation this time, and in about thirty minutes the therapist came in to talk to me.

"He is doing really well," she said.  "But..."  She hesitated, like she was afraid to tell me what came next.  He is doing really well, but he is color blind.  He is doing really well, but he has dyslexia.  He is doing really well, but... WHAT?

"He has a hard time telling his farm animals from his zoo animals."

The words hung in the air for a few, long seconds.  The therapist kept one manicured hand to her chest, as if to say, "I am soooo sorry."

"He has a hard time telling his farm animals from his zoo animals."

I let her words sink in.  It was as if something light had been thrown at me, by someone pretending it was very heavy.

"He has a hard time telling his farm animals from his zoo animals."

"Who freaking cares?" I said.

Okay, I didn't say that.  I didn't even have to restrain myself from saying that.  But, I did think it.

"He has a hard time telling his farm animals from his zoo animals."

This was obviously a point of some concern to the woman.  How, as a mother, and a practical human being, was I to respond?

"We have taught him to tell the difference between the pets and the food."

"We don't believe in zoos, as such.  Ask him to separate the animals by continent of origin."

"Try wild versus domesticated."

I simply told her, Sam has not had much experience with either farms or zoos, and that I wasn't too concerned about it.  She accepted my explanation, but she was still concerned, I could tell.

I get the distinct impression that the whole "farm v. zoo" thing is some kind of arbitrary, developmental hoop through which my son must jump.  Maybe he will, maybe he won't. 

We have different hoops here at home.  On Sam's fourth birthday, he can say, "giraffe," and "pizza," and "I love you, Mommy."  We're good.

Year-Round

 Have you ever seen the movie, You've Got Mail with Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan?  In it, they develop an e-mail flirtation in which, on a crisp September day, the Tom Hanks character writes to the Meg Ryan character "Don't you love New York in the fall? It makes me wanna buy school supplies. I would send you a bouquet of newly sharpened pencils if I knew your name and address."

That line makes me tingle.  It just paints such a perfect picture for me, of a world I love.  The first snap in the air of early fall.  The post-Labor Day excitement.  I love the blank notebooks and big pink erasers.  The clear plastic protractor, the scissors with dull, round tips,  the compass with a point so sharp you could impale yourself and often did.  Blank paper and a full schedule.  Ahh.  The promise that is back-to-school.

Yesterday, was Jonah's first day of kindergarten.  But, it is only July.  That is because we live in a "year-round" school district.  At first, I was very disappointed.  And, I will admit, back-to-school in July is just not the same.  There is the raging heat, for one thing.  But it has not been all bad.

I worked up a pretty good level of excitement, as did my junior scholar.  And, the best part.  The local discount stores opened their back-to-school departments two weeks ago!  Last Friday afternoon, Target was packed with moms, and would-be students, and teachers, all visiting over the stacks of binders and book covers.  Reams of paper were stacked in big yellow card board bins.  There were new backpacks waiting for new owners.  Lunch boxes, and pencil boxes, and boxes of crayons.  All new, and fresh, gleaming with the potential of the new school year.  And, the air conditioning was up so high, it almost felt like fall.

So, I am adapting to year-round.

A few of you have asked me, what, exactly, do I mean by "year-round"?  Well, feast your eyes on this my pretties.

This is the district calendar.  Click to enlarge.  Seriously.  It is fascinating.

I have, honestly, spent hours gazing at this thing.  You see, before Jonah entered school, I had to request a "track" and I wanted to make sure I requested the right one.  Because once you are on a track, you are on it for life.  All subsequent students in your family will be on it, too.  It is a big decision.  Not one that could be taken lightly because we are not planning on living in this district forever.  Plans can go awry.  I had to think long term.

There are four tracks, A (green), B (yellow), C (red), and D (blue).  Like most districts, only the elementary  and middle schools follow the track/year-round system.  The high schools, for reasons of competitive sports, go back to a traditional schedule (purple).  Our district has also started using something called a "modified traditional" schedule (orange).   In fact, some of our elementary schools aren't year-round either.  Samuel and Jonah are in different schools this year, and on completely different schedules, though that does not usually happen until one of your kids moves on to high school.

They do this to save money.  They can squeeze more kids into the school this way.  If you look closely, you will see there are only three tracks going on any one day.  I am not quite sure about the classroom logistics, but they tell me it works.

We are B Track, the yellow one.  That's the lingo.  And we go "off track," not on summer vacation.

It's craziness, I know, but it is what I have to work with.  So, like I said above, I am adapting.  I don't see any point in crying on my bouquet of newly sharpened pencils.

First Day of School

Today was Jonah's first day of kindergarten.  Yes, in July.  Our school district is "year-round," but more on that later.

A few weeks ago, I took him to buy a back pack.  He picked a Mario Brothers one, of course.  And, as you can tell from the pictures, to him, it was the biggest thing about the day.

If he caught me trying to take a picture of him from any other angle, he would whip around, like this.

I didn't bring my camera to the school, because I did not want to make a scene.  I needn't have worried.  There were so many other parents (and grand-parents, and aunts and uncles, and second-cousins-once -removed) that any scene I may have made, would have gone unnoticed.  But, I am getting ahead of myself.

We walked to the school together, not too early, not too late.  Jonah talked most of the way.

"I think I am scared to start a new school.  I won't know any one.  I think I was scared when I started pre-school too, but I got over that.  I hope I get over it again, here.  Mom, we should pray to God that I get over being scared right away and that I get to know new people."

So, we prayed while we walked.  And we talked about the bigger kids, and the bigger classes, and the bathroom down the hall.  All things that were going to be different and, therefore, scary.

By the time we arrived, he seemed okay.  Maybe not thrilled, but resigned to change.  A pretty good attitude for a five year old, I thought.

Then we saw Brian, a kid from his pre-school.  Brian won't be in Jonah's class, but in the class next door.  They were both so relieved to see someone they knew, they hugged like old war buddies.

His teacher, Mrs. Whitfield, is sweet, blond, and pleasantly doughy, like a kindergarten teacher should be.  She introduced herself, and gave Jonah a name tag shaped like a crayon.  A good start.

Then we, the parents, were off.  Not allowed in the classroom on the first day.  We had to leave them on the pavement outside, to march into their little futures alone.  Jonah was cool with it.  I was hot, as it was already 85 degrees, and I still had to walk home.  So, we parted with out fan fare.

Besides, Jonah, like his mother, knows there is no point in wasting your drama in a crowd full of drama.  Parents crying and pressing their faces up against the classroom window.  Not for us, thank you.  We'll save our hysterics for September or October when things have calmed down a bit and there is less competition.   :)

Happy First Day of School Little Man!!!!!!