K is for Kathy

Some people just never seem to be grouchy. No hint of a foul mood, no inkling of emotional ungluing going on in the midst of chaos and bedlam. No sarcasm, snide remarks, or sighing that might intimate irritation.

It would be one thing if that person lived alone without a job, health issues, or financial concerns. It's quite another if that person is a grandmother, the mother of six children, (two of whom have Muscular Dystrophy) in a smallish old house, and who directs a homeschool co-op of over 150 people every Thursday for 24 weeks a year plus at least another eight weeks of planning each year. It's beyond amazing that she has done this for many years (I'm not sure how many) and I've never once heard Kathy complain.

In the seven years that I've known Kathy, I have never heard her complain about her aching back, the logistical difficulties of getting from point A to point B with two wheelchairs in her van, or the hassles that inevitably come with an organization comprised of about 40 women and their 124 children (with 12 on the way at any given time, or so it seems). Take away the children and that's still a crazy lot of estrogen to be around for three hours a week! It would be my undoing but Kathy smiles and answers questions and flexes and tends to people and tasks almost acrobatically with what looks like "the greatest of ease." Administration and serving are only two of her gifts and she does them both with affable cheer.

One of the things I have appreciated about Kathy as a teacher in her co-op is that she manages but doesn't micromanage. When I've asked her what I should focus on in my art classes, she leaves it open ended and says, "As long as they are learning and having a good time, do what you want!"

I am not in Kathy's close circle of friends (wish I was) so I can only speak to what I've witnessed in her life in co-0p for several years. Her typical morning consists of getting out the door a little after 7 a.m. in order to get to the church, open it, and set things up before the hurricane of homeschoolers roll in and assault her senses at 8:30ish. Of course she wouldn't use the word "assault" because she thrives in a hectic environment which she has worked hard to pre-organize. Some organized people let you know full well if you're messing up "their system" but not Kathy. She very much conveys the feeling that "this is OUR system. WE are in this together." And yes ,the moms and dad who teach and assist in every capacity certainly do make up the co-op system, but many of them (us) are not nearly as organized and not nearly as cheerful when "our" system gets messed with. (Can I get an "amen"?)

Not only does Kathy direct the co-op, she also directs its spring and Christmas musicals. Do you realize what a feat that is when you have only 12 weeks, one hour a week, to work with (plus several more hours of rehearsal near the end, outside of normal co-op hours)? The grace of God is all over her, as some would put it. It's evident that Kathy spends a lot of time in prayer, calling on God to supply all she needs. Physical strength. Emotional fortitude. Mental clarity. Logistical organization. Money. Patience. Joy.

Her joy is borne of much suffering. Watching her son go into surgery for a spinal fusion at age 13 and come out of it a paraplegic. Watching her daughter, many years later, go in for a similar surgery, wondering, praying, hoping against hope that paralysis would not result for her youngest child. (With much thanks to God, that girl did not suffer the same consequences.)

All the while, every week, each year that I taught, Kathy would come around to each classroom to lock up, and thank each teacher for coming and teaching and doing an "amazing" job. (Her word, not mine. She is effervescent; I am only average as an art teacher.) She complimented my students' work and my creativity and never made me feel like a bother for asking where so-and-so was or if I could spend such-and-such on needed art supplies.

On days when I just didn't feel like getting myself and my able-bodied son out the door on Thursday because it was raining or cold to go teach my two little classes and help with another, I would think of Kathy and all she had to go through to get there. I didn't want to let her down. If she could be faithful in the large things, I could be faithful in the small. If she could be cheerful while responsible for the logistics of 150 people, surely I could handle my 25.

==============

Thank you, Kathy, if you are reading this. Thank you for showing me what genuine joy looks like. Thank you for leaving a legacy of cheerful service to all who know you. And thank you for encouraging me many years ago to step out in faith to do what I never dreamed I would be doing--teaching art and loving it. You are one of my heroes and I love you.

Zo

D is for Diana

I wish I had a picture of Diana. Indeed, I wish I could remember exactly what she looked like, but the more I think upon this theme of legacy , which I've devoted my A-Z April Challenge to, the more I realize the truth that our bodies are but shells of our souls. A person's legacy is not physical at all, like an inheritance of cash, real estate, or jewelry is physical or tangible, and therefore a photo is but a thin and fleeting reminder of one who left us a legacy.

As my pastor said (and I don't know where the quote originated), "A legacy is not something you leave to someone, but something you leave in someone."

Diana left a legacy of vision in me. Her philosophy, her vision, was that every child, every person, is an artist to some degree, and that by being taught and practicing, everyone can improve in their artistry. At the time she said it, I was dubious. For twenty-some years, it was entrenched in my being that only some people are artists and the rest of us were destined to be jealous onlookers, wannabes, or--at best-- simple readers of art history. That sort of inculcation was hard to overcome, but Diana began to envision me with a seed of artistic passion that would take years to germinate. And a few more years to bear fruit.

I was part of a homeschool co-op in the 1990s when I first met Diana. Normally a co-op consists of parents who exchange their teaching expertise in a group of many families. This co-op chose science, geography, and art. One of the moms taught science, and I taught a geography station (cuisine). Diana, however, had no children in the co-op. She had grown kids and was teaching there of her own volition.

Her passion was art, and she had been an elementary art teacher in both public and private schools. I doubt we paid her because we were all struggling financially. Yet she faithfully came to co-op every Thursday morning at 9:00, smelling of cigarette smoke, heavy perfume that filled the whole church in a good way, and coffee breath covered with mints. Every finger of hers wore a ring of sentimental value, and every fingernail was perfectly manicured and painted a bold color. To me, those were an artist's hands! Her hands were a canvas, as was her hair, face, and body. Diana had flair. Spunk. Pizazz. She made it fun for me to see how she'd be dressed every Thursday. Never dull. Always a vision, or at least an attraction.

She loved children and was passionate and gifted at helping them learn not only skills, but how to associate artists with their great works. I hadn't heard of Raphael until college, and couldn't have told you then what he was remembered for, but Diana taught kindergarteners that he was best known for his angels. My Sarah can still get than factoid correct when she plays a game of Masterpiece. Moms of kindergarteners, who sat on the mat and listened during our free time, also learned that Raphael and angels go together. Diana would have them march around, flapping their arms like wings, and chant "We're Raphael's angels. We're Raphael's Renaissance angels!"

She showed them books and told them stories about Raphael, the great Renaissance painter, as if she had just hung out with him at a family reunion over the weekend. (One child, bless her heart, raised her hand and asked, "Miss Diana, do you KNOW Raphael?")

Then Diana would set big, thick sheets of paper in front of them (on large--very large--dropcloths) and hand them brushes. They would "go to town" painting angels, or some of them painting whatever their minds drifted to, which was okay. Diana always encouraged their creativity and praised their efforts.

I remember that she had the gumption to take a bunch of little homeschooling families (or in some cases, BIG families of 8 or 9 kids--I kid you not--) to the National Gallery of Art in Washington ,DC. I sat on the bus right behind her because I enjoyed her company richly and wanted to "pick her brain" about my children's capabilities.

"How do you spot a true artist when they're young, Diana? I mean, are there signs that perhaps a child is really gifted instead of just able?"

Diana thought carefully and nodded, adding her signature "whenever" instead of "when" (a western-Pennsylvania and southern grammatical error).

She said, "Yes. Look to see whenever they close a circle. That's one sign. If they close it, they are aware of shape, they pay attention to detail, and they might have patience. "

Of course I remember this advice whenever I am observing the youngest kids at school or church.
I always have my eyes open whenever I hand them a pencil or crayon. You just never know whenever a God-given artist will walk into your life wearing a Pull-up. Whenever.

Diana's physical presence in my kids' education lasted only two years and they barely remember her except for her heavy perfume, heavy breathing, and heavy encouragement. But I remember her for having not just vision for her own art and her students' art, but for leaving a legacy of vision in me that has encouraged me to do the work of an artist and art teacher with as much enthusiasm as she had.

Images from the Co-op Art Gallery, Grades 4-6

I just love children's art. I also love being an art teacher. I have taught for four years now, and each year gets better and better. This past year I taught grades 4-6 in our homeschool co-op.
Our end-of-year Presentation Night features art, science, and music.

I had 22 students, and allowed each to put up six projects plus their name "placard" done as a lesson in positive and negative space.

For the backdrop (since I've been craving color all winter!) I took two large rolls of colored bulletin board paper, one bright green, one cobalt blue.











My adult helper assisted me in putting up the 4th graders' art. Masking tape loops work; Scotch does not. We found it easier to put up the backdrop paper first, using poster tack. It took two hours for two of us to hang nine students' work. Good thing we hung it up two days in advance!

(These are notes to self, mostly, for future reference.)

The 5th and 6th graders taped up their own work. We finished in about 40 minutes, with 20 minutes left over for a party!

A major advantage to the backdrop paper hung in "strips" is that, at the end of the evening, each student can take down the whole strip, and carry home all their art as a unit.

This year we studied Monet, Van Gogh, Seurat, Homer, and Picasso in the first half of the year.

The second half consisted of various random art forms using a variety of media. Our longest project was the Mother's Day tray. (Separate how-to post in the future.) I used the gift bags from the Mothers' Day bags on the floor for added "pops" of color.

On the first day of class, we created portfolios to keep our art stored together at co-op. These are simple to make, although I would advise using only white posterboard, since it's hard to read names written on other colors..

This year also included some "academic" work because for many of the lessons, I began with a 10-minute "lecture" in art history and appreciation with biographical info on the painters we were studying. The students had to take notes. They had multiple choice, essay, and drawing on their test. They all got A's. I was one happy teacher.

We used oil pastels, chalk pastels, watercolor, and acrylics.
We drew with pencils. We made collages. We used clay one week for fun but didn't make a finished product.

These were the fastest 24 weeks ever. That's what happens when you love what you do and the people you get to share your love with.

Not a Word-less Wednesday

There are some moments in life a mother wants to freeze-frame. This image shows one of them. I wish could hold it in my mind forever. This is the best part of my day--hearing him read scripture to me.

My last-born child.

I study him from crown to sole.
The skin .
The lashes.
The hair.
The arms folded, chin resting on them.
His voice, not yet changed (thank you, God. Please don't rush that.)


I wish he wanted to be kissed as much as I want to kiss him. Sometimes I just sneak up to him and plant one. He wipes it off and says, "Mom, aren't I kind of old for you to be kissing me? What do you think I am, a baby?"

You'll always be my baby. Even when you're full-grown and on your own.


"I'll love you forever,
I'll like you for always.
As long as I'm living
my baby you'll be. " ---Love You Forever

V is for Very Funny

Normally I make my third grade son write his missed spelling words 10 times each, but on one particular day (like many) he needed consequences for some infraction. So I had him write the words 25 times each and then leave his paper on the table for me to check.

He did, but added a drawing before
getting up.

The boy makes me laugh.

That's One Way to Put It

This morning I informed Joel, our 9 year old, that we were going to learn to pray more. The first thing we would do when beginning a prayer is to tell God His attributes. So we started to pray.

"Dear Heavenly Father, we are coming to you to tell you of your great attributes," I began.

"What are attributes?" my son asked, whispering into my ear. " I forgot already."

"Characteristics. Things about Him," I answered, also whispering.

"Oh, okay," he said to me, and then continued praying--loudly, "And dear God, you are bullet-proof!"

Little Hands, Damper Bread

We should do more hands-on stuff like we used to in our home school
We've gotten too workbookish. Blech.
So yesterday I says to m'self, "We're gonna make this here Damper
Bread from this here geography lesson about Australia."

And we did.
Sort of.
The chemistry wasn't right. It called for 6 cups of self-rising flour.
I had only all-purpose, and when I consulted the conversion chart to
see how much baking powder to add for some "rising power," it would've
been something like 9 teaspoons. Can you say hypertension? I nearly had
a stroke reading that .So I did my own thing. Scientist that I am.
Added about 2 tsp baking powder and 9 cups skepticism.

Let's just say the most fun part for me was watching him enjoying the process.
Especially the part where he got to cut a big X in the top. Nothing else mattered.
A mom, a boy, a lot of flour, a hint of science, a bit of Down Under-ing, a heaping of doubt, a floppy result. Unless, of course, it's supposed to turn out Damper in the Middle than Any Other Bread I've Ever Made. Or not rise a'tall, mate.

But that's not really what I meant to write. That's all pretty cerebral stuff. What I was feeling was nostalgia. What happened to the little boy that needed a chair to stand on at the counter? The top of his head now grazes my chin. Where's the little boy who called me Comfy Princess?
Where's the little boy who wasn't allowed near knives, but turned everything into a weapon anyway. (Oh, wait, he still does that.)

Every now and then I'd reach over and caress his whipped-cream cheeks and just smile. Phooey on the baking powder. Who cares? I loved listening to his still-high voice; it'll deepen in a few short years, and so gradually it'll be like waking from a dream. I will want to go back to my dreamy state because I won't remember that voice, as hard as I try. I know I won't remember. I have two grown sons whose bass voices bellow from the shower or just sound so ...manly...on the phone. I'm sobered by the fleeting of time as my adult sons come to my aid in the kitchen to they reach things I can't reach without a chair.

My baby boy one will turn nine years old on Valentine's Day. I remember wanting him for ten years before his birth. Now we are nine years past it? Too soon he will want only his dad's attention. It happens. It's natural. It's sad. It's healthy. Too soon after that he'll want to spend every waking moment possible with a girlfriend, just like those brothers of his. t happens. It's natural. It's not all that sad (a bit scary). Usually healthy.

Too soon I will have what I've always dreaded-- an empty nest.


Talk about putting a damper on our Damper Breadmaking Day!

It Hurts Here

I made my third grade son write his 10 spelling words 10 times each. He did so, but added a drawing and message when he finished.

Which Came First, the Chicken or the Angel?

Lately I've been itching to try every new art medium that tickles my fancy. It doesn't take much of an excuse to be "inspired." Today I was reading to my eight-year-old son, my one and only home school student in the family these days. I was reading from Revelation. That book is chock full of images that are delightful to ponder--and to paint.

So I read a particular verse and told Joel that he and I would use my new acrylic paints to make pictures of the angel in this verse. The vocabulary is quite simple, but the image it evokes is grand.

Then I saw another mighty angel coming down from heaven. He was robed in a cloud, with a rainbow above his head; his face was like the sun, and his legs were like fiery pillars. Rev 10:1

I had hoped my rendering would somehow match the scripture in grandeur.

Excited, I set out paper bags, brushes, water, napkins, and the brand new acrylics.
This would be so good. I was embarking on a new joy: painting the scriptures.

Starting with
an angel
robed in a cloud,
rainbow over his head,
fiery pillars for legs
and a face like the sun.


How colorful! How vibrant.



How pathetic.

Just LOOK at this. Take a good look at my "angel."





Joel took one glance at it and laughed. "Mom! That looks like a little chick being born and saying, "Where am I?'"

I busted out laughing, too. A chicken! That's exactly what it looks like. I decided to paint a singing mouth on him. I could barely hold the brush still, I was laughing so hard.

Stephen came along and added his jokes. Said this hatchling appears to be looking in the mirror, shocked and bewildered. (In Steve's best animated Minnesotan chicky voice): "Nobody TOLD me I'd come out with a RAINbow on my head. This is kinda....kinda....weird!"

I was DYing!

Oh, the humble pie I eat around here.

And then--check this out--I had the nerve to offer Joel some constructive criticism for his painting.



"Why don't you make the legs longer, honey? Pillars are big columns."

To which he said, "Nah. At least mine looks like more like an angel than a chicken."

(Which is true. A parachuting angel with no neck and a unibrow, but an angel no less.)

On the Eve of His Third Grade Year

I want to take time to journal tonight my perspective and feelings about starting homeschool with Joel tomorrow. No, it's not his first year ever doing this; kindergarten was. The following two years we put him in our little Christian school for reasons we sensed were either from God or okay with God. By "okay with God" I don't mean to sound casual, but I mean I don't think God sets in stone words like, "Thou shalt send your child to this school or that school or home school." Rather, he gives us choices and confirmations of those choices, and grace to make changes or accept the imperfections that ultimately accompany any choice in this fallen world.

Normally by mid-August I am starting to feel excited to school, and by late August ready to buy school supplies, organize the bookcases, plan out my year in general and my first few weeks in detail. This year none of that has appealed to me. Tonight I confess we have bought no new supplies; we either have plenty of everything or I'll pick it up when I discover the need. I just have no desire to buy supplies for the sake of "back to school." I have not completely dealt with the school bookcase in the kitchen. Maybe tonight I'll get a burst of energy? In fact, I don't even have all of my books from Amazon. A backorder is really holding things up, but I don't really care. We have the essentials. As for the year plan, I know where we're headed, but I bought a curriculum that makes weekly planning a cinch. All I have to do is write in page numbers for some of the subjects. No trying to figure out how many pages of geography or science each week; someone else has done the thinking and the planning, and for that I think our money for a "packaged curriculum" was well spent. I'm okay with tweaking; I'm not okay with reinventing the proverbial wheel in the name of having a custom curriculum for my child. Been there, done that.

The most accurate feeling I can describe right now is mild depression. I'm neither gung-ho nor sad, neither chomping-at-the-bit nor dragging my heels. I think I've grieved sufficiently for the job I had and loved at the school. I do believe God has called us to homeschool this year. But my heart is just not in it.

Good advice to heed is "Do the actions, and the feelings will follow." That has helped me in a number of practical ways. When I don't "feel like" cleaning but know I must, I pull out the Pine-Sol and wipe down some counters. The smells get my Inner Cleaning Lady revved up. When I don't feel like cooking dinner, I often have to flip through pictures in cookbooks to get me going. And now, since I don't feel like starting homeschool, I will just launch in tomorrow, subject by subject, praying first and trusting God's faithfulness to bring joy to my heart so that school will be a pleasure, and not simply a duty.

I am choosing to pray a benediction, actually, on the eve of this year my baby starts third grade.

Ephesians 3:20-21 Now to Him who is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that ye ask or even think, according the power that works in us, to Him be glory in the church by Jesus Christ to all generations forever and ever. Amen.

Joel's Note-taking Initiative

Joel and I are reading a missionary biography called William Carey: Obliged to Go. We're mostly reading aloud, taking turns. But today he was on his own, I said, because I had read ahead at football practice, and now was too sleepy to listen.

I gave him 30 minutes (and he watches the clock, believe me) and said I would ask him questions about what he read, so as to be sure he was paying attention.

Before I dozed off for my nap, I smiled to see that he had grabbed a small notebook and pencil. Of his own volition! He was sprawled out on the family room floor, taking notes!

I awoke to find this scene, boy gone, precisely 31 minutes later.

Be still, my teaching heart.

Too Old for This

I thought choosing the homeschool curriculum for one third grade boy would be a cakewalk since I have nearly two decades of choosing it for three or more grades at a time.

Wrong! Somebody please hand a box of resources that all go with my teaching style and my child's learning style. I'll hand you $200 and we'll call it even.

Deal?

I Wasn't "Called" to Homeschool

People have always asked how I knew I was "called" to homeschool (back when I was doing it with three kids). My answer? I don't think I was called. The truth of the matter is, I woke up one day to realize my oldest child was about four months away from kindergarten and I wasn't emotionally ready to let him go. When did I blink and realize he was five years old? Oh, yeh! It was when I was busy having other children, wiping their noses and hineys, playing store, and reading books with them. I was not an eyewitness to the earth's revolutions that affected the growth of one Benjamin Paul.

This may surprise some people, but really I am one of those "fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants" kind of gals, waiting till the last minute or eleventh hour to plan. (I've improved out of necessity and painful losses of opportunities, and sheer conviction at times, but my natural tendency is to procrastinate, not to plan way ahead.)

So here it was the spring of 1993 and people were noticing I had a five-year-old and what was I going to do with him for school? Strangers assumed I'd say the local public school (which was hideous in our district). Neighbors, close friends, and extended family thought we'd opt for Christian school (but it was too expensive and smacked of legalism). I had only one option left, but knew only one person who was doing it. Thankfully, she was doing it well and knew others who could advise me also.

So the equation of "I'm not ready to let him go" plus "What could be so hard about teaching kindergarten? I've taught him everything else he knows so far" plus "I'm the adventurous type" plus "my other options have 'Road Closed' signs over them" --all of those equalled "Let's Homeschool."

I hate to admit this, but I didn't put much prayer into it. I didn't ask for much counsel. I even balked Paul who was against it but finally relented to letting me try it for three weeks. (That was my idea: "just give me three weeks and see if it works". )

Well, after Day One, I was sure Paul was right. HE was sure he was right. Homeschool was not for me. It made me whine, cry, and run for the hills from whence cometh my strength. It made me think, "What WAS I thinking? Being smarter than a five-year-old doesn't mean I have a stronger backbone than one!" And I also thought, "Whatever doesn't kill me, makes me stronger." Not exactly Godward, biblical mindsets.

My own competitive nature propelled me into Day Two. I would win the three-week challenge, even if I ended up on Valium. The "I can do this, no matter what anyone thinks!" attitude prevailed. For the record, my parents supported me 100%, and for that I am eternally grateful. I had close friends who politely but judgmentally noted that I didn't have a teaching degree. No, I didn't, but it wasn't necessary for potty-training, so I think I can handle shapes, colors, and single digit addition, thank you very much. Besides, I had a degree in something, which proved to me I could stick with something for at least four years.

The Three Week Challenge went so well, I forgot I was a competitor. Each day got better than the one before (at least in my memory) , especially when I stopped threatening Ben/kidding myself that the Big Yellow School Bus was truly an option.
It wasn't; we lived two blocks from the elementary school. Paul admitted on Day 21 that Ben was actually learning and that it was good stuff.

I was loving the close contact with my children. I loved their questions. I loved the "aha!" moments I got to witness. And most of all, I was right beside Ben when he read his first sentence from Hop on Pop. To me, that's priceless. It's like watching your child take his first steps. I wouldn't miss it for the world.

So was I called? No. At least I didn't hear a "calling." Did God use my sin of procrastination for my good? Yes. Was I patient and loving and kind and organized and all that? No way. Did He forgive me, my children, and my husband for our many sins against one another? Oh, yes. Was I confident that I was in God's will? Yes, once I realized that my hindsight was his foresight.

Homeschool, Day One, 1993: A Memoir

Homeschool, Day One, Take One:

It was in late August of 1993 and we were starting kindergarten for Ben, our firstborn, then five years old, and I had a little pile of preschool books right next to his for Sarah, who was four. Our curly-headed blonde two-year-old, Stephen (whose name Sarah couldn't pronounce, so it was "Fegan,") had toys and books and other things to play with in the living room, so as to not disturb our "classroom." He was not a demanding child at all, so that should have been easy.

But he wanted to be right there at the table with us. Drawing, "reading," being a cute distraction.

I wanted everything to look like a school on Day One. The kids were bathed and in fresh, clean clothes, hair just so, pencils sharpened, books stacked neatly at their places on the dining room table. (Our kitchen was too small for a table.) I had decorated a bulletin board with a fall theme above the stereo cabinet (which held--oh my goodness--LP's and cassettes). There was a bookcase, of course, and a server for art supplies. The piano stood duty along the north wall, begging Stephen to bang on it like a drum. Ah, yes, I can still hear it. I remember thinking, "Lord, I will give him piano lessons, but Heaven help me if he ever begs for drums in the house!"

That right there makes me chuckle. I should have seen it coming, but I digress.

Since it was 1993, homeschooling was still a new thing, a new and odd and seemingly-illicit thing. I felt all eyes on me when people asked where my pint-sized child would be attending school. When I said, timidly, "I'm homeschooling them," it was as if I I had just decided to burn my bra, eat tofu, and grow my own alfalfa. (Wearing a denim jumper while maneuvering stair-step kids through clearance racks didn't help my defense.)

Hippie or pioneer, it doesn't matter; the label is immaterial. Grit and Determination fueled my rookie tank. The problem was, my first child had been born with the same kind of fuel--except his I would have called Stubbornness and Rebellion.

It was Day One, and I was going to be not just an average mom, I was going to be stellar. Ben would start with English grammar in kindergarten, know Latin by third grade, French by fifth, and Greek by graduation. So would I. Somehow.

He would give Einstein a run for his postmortem money. He would sing like a Polish Pavarotti and write like William Shakespeare.

We would sign him up for t-ball, for "socialization and physical exercise," but (in my heart) I said, "God forbid he actually becomes a sports nut."

I would be revered as a mother by my kindergartener. He would rise up every day and called me "Blessed" for all my sacrifices on his behalf, for disciplining him in mind, soul, spirit, and backside. He would thank God every day (over tofu and alfalfa sandwiches) for the privilege of being schooled at home, under my tutelage.

Homeschool Day One, Take Two:

We have prayed to open our day and that we'd do everything to the glory of God. We have turned to the first page of A Beka K Arithmetic. Ben takes his careful time on the first page to write neatly, and declares how easy that was.

Can I go play now?

MAY I go play now? I correct him for the 188th time since last week.

Play? I say. No, honey. We don't play in school. This is work time.

He dropped his pencil on the floor. "Adults work, kids play," he said.

Okay, so maybe there was a greater lesson to be learned than 1+1 = 2.

The morning which I had so romantically inclined my heart to, looked nothing like
I'd fantasized. Ben dropped his pencil no fewer than fourteen times in a half hour, retrieving it each time as if blindfolded and crippled, and he complained that page 2 of math was way too hard (you know the pace A Beka keeps!) and that I should have let him get on the big yellow school bus and go a "real school" and have a "real teacher."

About 45 minutes into it, I was in tears.

I called my dad. That's right, my dad, not his dad. I needed comfort.

"What's the matter, Zo?" he asked.

"Oh, Daddy, I just didn't picture it ever being this way?"
"What way? What?"
"Homeschool. It's only the first day and I want to quit!"

I do believe my dad stifled a laugh. It was so typical of me: Get a notion, run with it, declare defeat at the first sign of trouble.

"How long has Benjamin been sitting still?" he asked.
"Not even an hour," I said.
"Well, that's an awfully long time for a little guy to sit still. I think he needs to get outside and run around."
"Run around?! But Daddy, this is school time, not play time!"
"Zo, a little boy needs to wiggle and run. You send him outside and tell him to run around the house ten times. Then you watch. He'll come in ready to sit still again."

My dad's advice had seldom failed me before. Why doubt him now? I thanked him politely, and told Ben that Pappaw said to run around the house ten times. I really did it so that I wouldn't get social services called on me.


And he did. He ran all right.

But, as he ran circles, in broad daylight, in our Dundalk neighborhood, around the weird Christian/hippie house, he yelled and panted, yelled and panted, "I hate my mother! I hate my mother! I hate my mother!"

A Mom Looks at Education through a Microscope and a Telescope

The school where I've taught for only a year and a half has been around for 30 years, but, because of the economy, the school has to close at the end of this year. Many people are in grief; they've had a long history and thousands of memories with folks at our little institution.

I confess, the news did not shock me, but I cried a bit when we were told. Not a sob fest, but I cried --mostly for the people who had not schooled any other way and were (are) sensing fear with the thoughts, "What next? What are we going to do? This is all we've ever known."

Perhaps the reason I didn't fear is that I had already begun to hear God about schooling differently next year. Emotionally I was missing Joel. Yes, I was glad to see him every day just across the hall from my room. Yes, I always gave him a hug when we saw each other. Yes, we talked about school on the ride home or reviewed his math facts for homework (plus a lot more because he soaks up numbers and numeric concepts). But it wasn't the same as what he and I had at home for kindergarten: leisurely mornings after breakfast, snuggling on the sofa, reading first the Bible and then a book of prose or poetry (Falling Up being his favorite) . I've missed having his company when I decided to bake a dessert in the mid-afternoon. I've missed much conversation. Seven and a half hours a day, times five days a week, times 36 weeks a year. That's a lot of missing his little voice, his blue eyes and soft skin, his wit and laughter. I've missed the spontaneity of being able to take off days when his daddy had a day off, or being able to visit grandparents during the day when they have energy. In short, I've missed him. I have three grown children in my home as living proof of how quickly the time goes! Can I please just sit and enjoy my seven-year-old for a little while longer?

So these past few months I was thinking I don't have to miss him. I can homeschool him again. Granted, he won't have the social life he thrives on, but then again, he won't have the social life that's been spent mainly with equally immature people as himself. I guarantee I won't be playing tackle football with him, but I'm confident he can "tackle" more science, math, and reading when he isn't having to keep a certain pace. I won't have as many other eyes on him in the course of a week to see his growth in godliness (or lack thereof), but I will see him more, and train him with the firstfruits of my energy, not the leftovers. I guess that's my main regret: pouring more of my energies into the education of other peoples' children at the neglect of my own for these past fourteen months or so.

My first three children, who are now between the ages of 18 and 21, were all homeschooled--Ben until his senior year, Sarah all the way, and Stephen through tenth grade. I can honestly say I do not regret those 15 years. (Parts of them, yes-- who doesn't? If you're a sinner, you have regrets.) I think they've all turned out well (because of God, not because of our choice of schooling). They belong to God, they walk with Him, they are ambitious in school and work, they love the church, they have social lives in overdrive, they are respected by peers and adults alike, they get along with each other, they sharpen their dad and me. I don't pine away with thoughts like "I wish I'd spent more time with them."

To the contrary, I have not had enough one-on-one time with Joel. While sending him to school was what we believed right and good for first and second grade, I've been sensing that, regardless of the school's future, Joel and I need more together time during our best hours of each day.

It's been a blessing to see education through both a microscope and a telescope. Both are beneficial; neither is wholly right nor wholly wrong. Just different. As for me, I'm going to miss the telescope of the classroom style of teaching, but I wouldn't regret setting it down. I might easily regret, however, viewing my son and his studies from across the hall--the distance of a telescope.

So, while our decision is not set in stone, I feel God calling me to examine this treasured specimen of DNA under the microscope. When he's 21, he might only be visible with a telescope. And how well I know that the span of years from 7 to 21 feels like just fourteen feet.

For Moms and Teachers

I've mentioned this site before, but in case you are trying to find art ideas for kids without going to the library, please check this out: http://www.artprojectsforkids.org/

Art teacher Kathy Barbro has made templates for wall murals, downloadable to your printer. (Each section of the mural is printed on one page; you color them and then assemble.) These are really big and if you have a large wall or table where your kids could work on it, it's sure to keep them busy and productive for a long time. Templates are $5 and sent by email. Don't worry, there are plenty of free ideas there, too.

Since this upcoming school year I will be teaching world history and geography (slanted, I plan, toward geography) I wanted to incorporate as many art projects from world cultures and artists as I could. I also want to bring in special guest speakers whom I know personally have either lived in or traveled to certain countries. One of these people, Katrine, was born in Belgium. I was tickled when, after asking God to show me a fun art lesson about a Belgian artist, I landed on this site again and immediately found a project called An Eye for Magritte. All you need is a piece of white paper, a CD, and colored pencils. Very cool. Can't wait for Joel to try it.

One more thing: if you're teaching world geography, you might want to request the passport template from Art Projects for Kids. Again, only five bucks. I'm going to do that since we will be travelin' Around the World in 80 Days (Give or Take 50).

IEW Curriculum Gets My Vote

'Tis the season most homeschool parents start perusing the curriculum fairs for next year's picks. Most of the time my "hunts" were successful once I had figured out what I liked, what my kids enjoyed, and what I could stick with from year to year.

A writing curriculum I can highly recommend is Institute for Excellence in Writing. We use it in our school, and the co-op uses it as well (at the high school level, I believe). It comes with videos, writing samples, explanations, and more. As easy and fulfilling as I find writing, it's the hardest subject for me to teach and the one that takes the most time investment to do well.

This curriculum is designed for either the teacher who has a basic idea of how to teach writing or for the one who has no clue. If you know what you're doing, I recommend using a few of IEW's built-in source material but mostly your own. I believe in doing "double duty" with history and writing, or literature and writing, or science and writing. In other words, if you are reading about Louis XIV, find some source material about him to gear the writing assignment toward. (Okay, that was a poor sentence, but I shall go on.) If you're studying about moles (either the rodent or the skin type), it's easy to adapt with IEW.

I recommend previewing the first few DVDs before teaching your kids. Get the material this summer and do it during some down time. Once you get the hang of it, you can simply watch it with them (provided you decide to use the built-in source material).

My two caveats:
1) Don't let your kids become "formula" writers. This curriculum is heavy on 'dress-ups" ("ly" adverbs, who/which clauses, adverbial clauses, preposition openers). That's fine if your kid always starts sentences with nouns or pronouns, but using anyone else's style too much will hinder a development of one's own. I'm all about giving your writing a "voice." Your voice, not your teacher's, not your best friend's, not your favorite author's, and certainly not the voice of everyone else in the same writing class. You want to avoid "ese" of any kind. I also prefer strong verbs over "ly" adverbs. (Which one is better? "She bit her fingernails and tapped her watch as she waited for the 1014?" or "She waited nervously for the bus." ?) I am trying to break my students of the habit of putting an "-ly" adverb before or after every verb. It's overkill, but they've been trained on IEW.

2) Prepare to groan a few times through the video teacher's corny lecture style. I have no room to talk, I know, but have you heard the line from "South Pacific" about being "corny as Kansas in August"? That's Andrew Pudewa.

Check it out. Since you can use it on multi-levels, it's a worthy investment. Since the materials are built-in as well as flexible to your own, it's a double-good investment. As for the humor factor, that might kill the deal for ya.

Funnie from Co-op (A Rerun)

Scrolling through old posts, I came across this one I thought a few of you would enjoy again (or for the first time). I was teaching art in a homeschool art class. My students were very young and quite adorable. I loved what came out of their mouths (most of the time). Here's a sample from last April:



Today I was teaching some more drawing lessons to my kindergarten, first-, and second-graders.

I started each class by asking what tips they remembered that I've taught them in previous classes.

"Don't hold it like this," one boy said, with the sharp point in his palm.

"That's right," I said.

"And don't get it near your eyes," said another boy.

"Oh, no, never," I agreed.

"And don't use the tips to poke someone else," said a third boy.

I was wondering why no one had said things like, "Relax your arm," "Use light strokes," or "Draw what you see, not what you think you see."

"Tips can be dangerous," he said, tapping his index finger on the sharp end of the pencil.

I burst out laughing. "Oh, you guys! That's funny. You thought I meant tips of pencils. I meant what suggestions have you learned from me?" (I almost said pointers, but that wouldn't have helped one bit straighten out the confusion!

Ah, precision in language. I sometimes forget how literal children can be in their thinking.

Art for Kids of all Ages: Great for Homeschool and Classroom

When I need good ideas for art projects for kids, I love the website by the aptly-named blog, Art Projects for Kids. ( The link doesn't seem to be working; here it is to cut-and-paste: http://www.artprojectsforkids.org/.)

A few of the things I like about it:
1) It's categorized by grade level .
2) There are actual student samples, in color. Great to print and put into my planner.
3) Directions are easy to follow.
4) Supplies are easy to find/afford . She recommends the most user-friendly supplies (read: less mess) and will tell you if the cost is worth it. (For some people, less mess is priceless.)
5) It's definitely more art than crafts but does include some crafts. (I tend to shy away from crafts with kids; it's a LOT more prep work for the teacher and usually less creative or educational for kids, but there is a place for it.)
6) I can ask the blogger specific questions in her comment box.
7) She's been teaching a long time. She has the experience to know what projects are worthwhile. I'm still a greenhorn, making copious notes about what to do and NOT do again next time.)

Art Projects for Kids. Check it out. You might find yourself wanting to get artsy tonight. You might find a wonderful project for your homeschool, Sunday School class, co-op, or day school class

Other resources I like:
Discovering Great Artists by MaryAnn Kohl --just got it; browsing it for upcoming paint days)
Drawing with Children by Mona Brooks
Drawing with Older Children and Teens, ibid.
Teaching Art with Books Kids Love (hoping to purchase this one; I use it a lot)

How about you? Any resources I should know about for teaching 3rd-6th grade?

I'm a Believer in Spelling Power

While spelling has always come easily for me, the same is not true of all my children. I had a grown up believing the theory that avid readers made good spellers. All my sisters were bookworms and had no trouble spelling. My parents devoured books and spelled well, even in foreign languages. I also believed good spelling was as genetic as curly hair or blue eyes. My parents could spell well, my sisters could spell well, and so I naturally assumed any offspring of mine would spell well.

Along came my firstborn who kept me thinking that at least part of my reasoning was correct. He was a biological child, had blue eyes, and spelled reasonably well. He disturbed the other part of my theory; he was not an avid reader nor wanted to become one. Give him a baseball, a bat, and a backyard and he was happy. (Backyard optional.) Ben--though he used some phonetic creativity in the first three or four years of school--soon began spelling almost everything passably well by fourth grade. Nothing atrocious. (Did I spell that right?) Nothing alarming. Nothing that made me incorporate spelling drills into my homeschool day. In fact, I secretly thought the mistakes were kind of cute and that he'd outgrow them soon enough.

Then along came Sarah. She shared my genes. My darling little girl who always had a book in one hand and a baby doll in the other. (Is it any wonder she has chosen Early Childhood Education as her major?) Sarah's second home has always been the local library. She would read books about animals, plants, children, families, colors, God, you name it. I have photos of her reading to Stephen on the sofa, their soft, little legs dangling just over the edge of cushions. How surprised I was, then, that her writing did not reflect all the correctly-spelled words she was reading. By fourth grade her inventions were anything but cute. I thought, "She'll never be a good elementary school teacher if she can't spell." I panicked. My daughter's future was so shaky, resting on pitifully strung-together letters she called werds. I mean words.

Nothing was wrong with my daughter. It was my theory about spelling that needed correcting.

That's when I went on an aggressive hunt to find a curriculum that would work. Memorizing lists was not helpful. Sure, she could ace any spelling test, but ask her two weeks later, and we were back to skwair one. Long-term retention was just not there. Giving her a bunch of rules didn't cure her. Scrapping 45 minutes of math in order to do 45 of spelling was torture (for both of us). I prayed more out of desperation than faith.

Enter Spelling Power. It was the talk of the homeschool town at the time. Not written by a Master of Spelling, but by a mom whose own daughter was flunking every test in school and was being emotionally affected by her failures. (Aren't we all?) She became a student of her daughter, pulled her out of school (if I'm remembering correctly) and began teaching her a new way of spelling. The results astounded everyone.

In a nutshell, here's what I remember being the keys to success with Spelling Power.

1) Fifteen minutes a day is all it takes--and all a kid CAN take mentally. Beyond that you get results inversely proportional to the amount of time spent studying words.

2) My way of doing the program worked fine. (I'm not patient about reading 30 pages of teacher helps in the intro. I plunge right in after getting the gist.) I am convinced you can tailor Spelling Power to your child's learning style and your teaching style.

3) You diagnose their level by finding a list they can easily master, and then move on.

4) The book doesn't say "Grade Whatever" on the cover, so no kid in 7th grade feels stupid seeing a big 4 on the front cover. Maybe the words he can master would by typical for a 4th grader, but most words in our everyday vocab are at about that level, so what's the big deal? The program can start with a very young reader and progress till at least 8th grade, I'd say.

5) The way I worked it with my kids was this: Pick a level a little below where I think they are competent. Have them spell the words orally until they start missing a few. Whatever they miss, they write down correctly with my help. When they miss 10, that's their weekly list. (If you think fewer than 10 is better, that's fine. Better a kid spell five words well than 10 poorly, right?)
They spell it by writing it, tracing it, closing their eyes and spelling aloud, and a couple other tricks of the educational trade. Come the next Friday, they are tested from their list. Get it right, it comes off their list. Miss it, and it's repeated the next week. So the list is THEIR own personal list, not some arbitrary one chosen by some nameless, faceless publisher doing a proper scope-and-sequence thingy.

6) Stick with it. If a kid hates to spell because of a mindset that "he can't" or because he'll be laughed at or put down or even hear his mother's exasperated sigh, he'll make up all kinds of excuses. He'll contract chicken pox from his pencil. He'll get hives from his ink pen. He'll come down with a sudden migraine, brought on by the mention of the word "spelling." Mom will feel similar symptoms. Don't buy into it. Stick with the plan. Poor spellers can become decent spellers. I am convinced. My Sarah is living proof. While she still occasionally asks, "How do you spell....?" it is not the norm.

My new theory is: good spelling is a visual thing. Look at a word spelled correctly, meditate on it, trace it, write it, spell it orally, write it again. All the top-notch spellers in the Scripps National Bee will "air write" on the back of their placards. Ever notice that? The word has to "look right" to a good speller.

Trust me on this one. Spelling Power cost me nearly fifty bucks (new) back in the day. It was worth every pene. I mean penny.

As a funny aside, when Joel was four he told me he could spell "cartoon." Really? I doubted him; he spent more time on the laptop than in books (to my shame and Sarah's horror). "Yeah," he announced. It's c-a-r-t-ENTER." (It always worked when he was trying to get to "Cartoon Network" online.)

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For more info (in marketingese, here's something I lifted from a website called Castlemoyer.com.

All New Design!
4^th Edition Spelling Power

This famous, award-winning spelling program by Beverly L. Adams-Gordon just became better. Now featuring 21^st century technology, it still teaches solid back-to-basic spelling skills. Since 1994, Spelling Power has given home educators the perfect way to teach comprehensive spelling skills to their whole family. (See What's New in Spelling Power.)

Your students will use this research proven program to master the 5,000 most frequently used words. These words are divided into 11 levels based on their usage. Each level of Spelling Power’s unique word list is then further organized by phonetic principles and spelling rules.

Additional words that your students needs to master are taken from your student’s own writing errors and added to your Spelling Power program using the provided resources. Your students continue to study each of these words until they have spelled them correctly at least once. Then Spelling Power’s i>spiral curriculum approach of repeated, spaced review assures your students will master every word they study. And your students will master them! Spelling Power’s six levels of built-in review guarantees that every word taught will be mastered.

Multi-sensory study steps, inductive learning activities, interesting skill-building activities and games, and the incorporation of spelling into the rest of your curriculum are integral aspects of Adams-Gordon’s Spelling Power program. Everything you need to teach each of your students spelling skills to the college level is contained in this one easy-to-use, step-by-step curriculum package. You’ll even find everything you need to know to teach them proofreading and dictionary skills.