Check-out girl at grocery store: "Is school out today?"
Logan: "You might get that impression. But let me tell you, school is never out."
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Monday, September 17, 2007
A-ha moment
You're blue to the point that your husband feels like a failure.
You're edgy, and friends are starting to avoid you for fear of pushing you off the brink of whatever you're teetering on.
Joy is fleeting, and hard to catch by its elusive tail as it flits by you on the way to someone else's heart.
And finally, after three months of wondering why the darkness is deepening ...
You realize that this is how long you've been on the prescribed hormonal treatment to correct the fact that your body seems unable to recall exactly how to orchestrate the delicate symphony that is a woman's monthly art.
Praise God for light bulb moments that a) reassure you that you are not going to drop your basket and b) remind you why you steer clear of doctors and their "one-size fits all cures" in general.
Friday, September 14, 2007
TONSILS-B-GONE
Met with the ENT yesterday. Logan participated in the inspection of his throat quite nicely, luxuriating in the big old chair once he was convinced that those scary-looking pokey-tools were not coming anywhere near his delicate membranes. I got to see, via a cool mirror-thingy, parts of my beloved boy I'd never witnessed before. Turns out even the skin covering his enlarged adenoids is cute. :-)
The final diagnosis calls for a tonsillectomy and adenoidectomy. Dh and I are wrestling with this fact (and the inherent parenting fear that it brings to the surface) but are fairly convinced that this is the best route for Logan. Please pray alongside us as we seek discernment and peace.
The final diagnosis calls for a tonsillectomy and adenoidectomy. Dh and I are wrestling with this fact (and the inherent parenting fear that it brings to the surface) but are fairly convinced that this is the best route for Logan. Please pray alongside us as we seek discernment and peace.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Adoption Timeline
For those just tuning in:
July 15, 2006-- Intro class--we make the final decision to adopt through the foster system, and fall in love with our agency and staff.
August, 2006--Fill out application for the agency (we are not working directly with the state), gather financial documents, letters of recommendation, etc. and are accepted.
October 21-23, 2006--The clock "officially" starts ticking as dh and I attend our full weekend, 30-hour PRIDE training session required by the state. The next week, we frantically begin rearranging our schedules to fit in the evening classes that our agency requires before your homestudy can actually begin.
November, 2006--Dh and I work through a massive packet of questions known as "homework." Designed to get us to think through our decision to adopt as well as to tip social workers off to any red flags, the sheer volume of questions is mind-numbing. Dh and I finally complete the paperwork on a flight back from a retreat in San Diego and toast success with watered-down Sprite in plastic airline cups. More classes.
December, 2006--Are frustrated to learn that despite having turned in our pre-homestudy paperwork, we'll have to wait until January to begin the actual interview process due to the holiday vacation schedule.
January & February 2007--Homestudy. Four interviews total are conducted; one with just dh and I, one with dh alone, one with me alone, and one with the entire family. Our social worker says she'll continue to work on whether or not we should pursue foster licensing through the state or through a private Christian agency.
February, 2007--First email from our PRIDE group announcing a successful adoption. The couple, who had already been chosen by a birthmother before they took the class, are understandably ecstatic.
March, 2007--Homestudy is written, and we are referred to the private agency for licensing. A new social worker comes to make a home inspection, gives us a list of "to-do's" and says she'll be back in a month or so to make a final walk-through.
April, 2007--We scurry like rats, trying to gather things like fire ladders and CPR masks to make our home safer for a new child than it previously was for our own bio kids. Have the first state licensing homestudy meeting. Bet you didn't know it takes two homestudies to adopt via foster-care through a private agency, did you? Also, collect immunization records for bio kids, shot record for dog, copy of driving records for dh and I, and more and more documents, ad nauseum.
May, 2007--Our final walk-through is a success, and we have our last homestudy interviews. The homestudy will hopefully be written by the end of May, we are told. Our agency sends out their placement coordinator for our "big" interview--the "what is the right fit for your family" interview.
June, 2007--The final homestudy is not completely written, and we have a mild heart attack when we are told that the laws in our state have recently changed, and if our homestudy is not submitted to the state by June 18, we will have additional hoops to jump through. Blessedly, it is submitted ... on June 16.
July 14, 2007--Dh and I receive copies of our foster license in the mail. We feel official ... and start eyeing the caller ID suspiciously every time the phone rings.
July 24, 2007--I take a call from our agency's placement coordinator asking for permission to submit our homestudy for consideration for a child she had heard about in that morning's presentation symposium. The child is a 6 mo. old Caucasian baby girl. Dh and I pray before eagerly saying yes.
August 3, 2007--We have heard nothing back on the little girl. A state worker calls us and asks if we would be wiling to take placement of a sibling set, boys ages 3.5 and 18 mos. Uncomfortable dealing with the state worker directly, we refer her to our agency.
August 7, 2007--Our agency's placement coordinator says she has heard nothing back from the social worker for the little girl, but suggests hanging in there a little longer. She mentions a different sibling set, a boy age 3 and a girl, 15 mos. and says to pray about them. Dh and I do, but feel no indication that these are our kids.
August 22, 2007--About to lose my mind, I leave a long, whiny message for the placement coordinator begging her to call me back and tell me that she has no information so that I can stop wondering.
August 23, 2007--She calls back and confirms: "I feel like I sent your homestudy into a black hole." Since submitting our stuff, she has learned that this particular worker has a reputation of being difficult to reach and slow in moving. Placement Coordinator suggests that the lack of response may be a blessing, as the headaches of having an unresponsive worker as you move closer to finalization can be hard to bear. Time to move on, she says.
August 28, 2007--Placement Coordinator calls and asks permission to submit our paperwork on another child. This is a baby girl, age 7 mos., Caucasian. We laugh because dh and I have specifically requested Hispanic children and so far,everyone's been white, white, white. Dh and I pray over the situation and call back to confirm that we want to be submitted. The coordinator sounds very positive, because she says that no one else has been submitted as of yet.
September 7, 2007--I call to check in. No news.
July 15, 2006-- Intro class--we make the final decision to adopt through the foster system, and fall in love with our agency and staff.
August, 2006--Fill out application for the agency (we are not working directly with the state), gather financial documents, letters of recommendation, etc. and are accepted.
October 21-23, 2006--The clock "officially" starts ticking as dh and I attend our full weekend, 30-hour PRIDE training session required by the state. The next week, we frantically begin rearranging our schedules to fit in the evening classes that our agency requires before your homestudy can actually begin.
November, 2006--Dh and I work through a massive packet of questions known as "homework." Designed to get us to think through our decision to adopt as well as to tip social workers off to any red flags, the sheer volume of questions is mind-numbing. Dh and I finally complete the paperwork on a flight back from a retreat in San Diego and toast success with watered-down Sprite in plastic airline cups. More classes.
December, 2006--Are frustrated to learn that despite having turned in our pre-homestudy paperwork, we'll have to wait until January to begin the actual interview process due to the holiday vacation schedule.
January & February 2007--Homestudy. Four interviews total are conducted; one with just dh and I, one with dh alone, one with me alone, and one with the entire family. Our social worker says she'll continue to work on whether or not we should pursue foster licensing through the state or through a private Christian agency.
February, 2007--First email from our PRIDE group announcing a successful adoption. The couple, who had already been chosen by a birthmother before they took the class, are understandably ecstatic.
March, 2007--Homestudy is written, and we are referred to the private agency for licensing. A new social worker comes to make a home inspection, gives us a list of "to-do's" and says she'll be back in a month or so to make a final walk-through.
April, 2007--We scurry like rats, trying to gather things like fire ladders and CPR masks to make our home safer for a new child than it previously was for our own bio kids. Have the first state licensing homestudy meeting. Bet you didn't know it takes two homestudies to adopt via foster-care through a private agency, did you? Also, collect immunization records for bio kids, shot record for dog, copy of driving records for dh and I, and more and more documents, ad nauseum.
May, 2007--Our final walk-through is a success, and we have our last homestudy interviews. The homestudy will hopefully be written by the end of May, we are told. Our agency sends out their placement coordinator for our "big" interview--the "what is the right fit for your family" interview.
June, 2007--The final homestudy is not completely written, and we have a mild heart attack when we are told that the laws in our state have recently changed, and if our homestudy is not submitted to the state by June 18, we will have additional hoops to jump through. Blessedly, it is submitted ... on June 16.
July 14, 2007--Dh and I receive copies of our foster license in the mail. We feel official ... and start eyeing the caller ID suspiciously every time the phone rings.
July 24, 2007--I take a call from our agency's placement coordinator asking for permission to submit our homestudy for consideration for a child she had heard about in that morning's presentation symposium. The child is a 6 mo. old Caucasian baby girl. Dh and I pray before eagerly saying yes.
August 3, 2007--We have heard nothing back on the little girl. A state worker calls us and asks if we would be wiling to take placement of a sibling set, boys ages 3.5 and 18 mos. Uncomfortable dealing with the state worker directly, we refer her to our agency.
August 7, 2007--Our agency's placement coordinator says she has heard nothing back from the social worker for the little girl, but suggests hanging in there a little longer. She mentions a different sibling set, a boy age 3 and a girl, 15 mos. and says to pray about them. Dh and I do, but feel no indication that these are our kids.
August 22, 2007--About to lose my mind, I leave a long, whiny message for the placement coordinator begging her to call me back and tell me that she has no information so that I can stop wondering.
August 23, 2007--She calls back and confirms: "I feel like I sent your homestudy into a black hole." Since submitting our stuff, she has learned that this particular worker has a reputation of being difficult to reach and slow in moving. Placement Coordinator suggests that the lack of response may be a blessing, as the headaches of having an unresponsive worker as you move closer to finalization can be hard to bear. Time to move on, she says.
August 28, 2007--Placement Coordinator calls and asks permission to submit our paperwork on another child. This is a baby girl, age 7 mos., Caucasian. We laugh because dh and I have specifically requested Hispanic children and so far,everyone's been white, white, white. Dh and I pray over the situation and call back to confirm that we want to be submitted. The coordinator sounds very positive, because she says that no one else has been submitted as of yet.
September 7, 2007--I call to check in. No news.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
9-11
We've had a lot of discussions about the terrible, awful state of the world in our house. We don't have a t.v., don't subscribe to a newspaper. What we do instead is strain current events from their media-driven source, through our parental filter, and into the minds of our children. Because of our curriculum content our children have an amazing grasp on the history of the world. That makes understanding the horrific events of the age not easier to bear (I'm not sure if anything can accomplish that) but somehow gives them more perspective. I've gotten used to that kind of depth of maturity in our conversations; even Logan nods sadly when he hears someone mention "Temple Mount" or "fighting in Africa." He has something to anchor current events to, and in some small way the fallen state of humanity is explained.
This morning, however, I had one of those moments that saddens me beyond the scope of our normal "the world is truly not our home" conversations. While popping a Jiminy Cricket sticker onto her birthday countdown, I saw Jo pause.
"Today's September 11th, right?"
I got a chill. Of course I did. You can't hear that date and not feel something evil stirring around you.
"Uh-huh."
Long pause as she methodically traced the outline of the little smiling cricket and his umbrella.
"Dad has to go to work today, right? It's not a holiday or anything?"
I started to explain the concept of Patriot's Day, but then I realized that in actuality, what she was saying was that she was afraid. See, the children were are raising live in a world where Sept. 11 has taken on mythic, horrific proportions. You can not insulate them from the images even if they were not among those old enough to remember sitting beside their hysterical mommy in front of the television as she screamed into the phone, "I don't care where the editors are sending you! You will not go near an !@# airport today, do you hear me?" (That would be Jo's memory of the event. Go ahead and deduct fifty points from my overall parenting score.) Even if Jo had never seen the first-hand trauma of that morning, she would forever be able to call to mind the collapsing towers. Even without access to popular media outlets, my 9 year-old has seen more representations, photos and drawings of the scene than I could ever count. The image has bored its way into pop culture ... and along with the actual towers come the devastating fear and insecurities that ride their wake.
Here is the victory in the terrorist effort of that day: six years later, my daughter wonders if maybe today--of all days--daddy might be safer at home.
Dh had to go to work today, of course. He--and millions of other American mommies and daddies--probably kissed his children an extra time or two before he went out the door today. And I bet millions of American children will make a little more noise when they hear the key in the lock as evening comes on. I know I will be among the millions of wives who heave a sigh of relief when I feel his arms around me again. And, in case you think that the bad guys alone can claim victory in the aftermath of 9-11, know this: all the reports that I have seen lately cite a larger-than-usual class of 5 year-olds entering their kindergarten year. Next year's class is expected to be even larger. The birthdates of many of those kids trace back their conception to a very fragile period in American history ... the weeks and months immediately following 9-11-01.
This morning, however, I had one of those moments that saddens me beyond the scope of our normal "the world is truly not our home" conversations. While popping a Jiminy Cricket sticker onto her birthday countdown, I saw Jo pause.
"Today's September 11th, right?"
I got a chill. Of course I did. You can't hear that date and not feel something evil stirring around you.
"Uh-huh."
Long pause as she methodically traced the outline of the little smiling cricket and his umbrella.
"Dad has to go to work today, right? It's not a holiday or anything?"
I started to explain the concept of Patriot's Day, but then I realized that in actuality, what she was saying was that she was afraid. See, the children were are raising live in a world where Sept. 11 has taken on mythic, horrific proportions. You can not insulate them from the images even if they were not among those old enough to remember sitting beside their hysterical mommy in front of the television as she screamed into the phone, "I don't care where the editors are sending you! You will not go near an !@# airport today, do you hear me?" (That would be Jo's memory of the event. Go ahead and deduct fifty points from my overall parenting score.) Even if Jo had never seen the first-hand trauma of that morning, she would forever be able to call to mind the collapsing towers. Even without access to popular media outlets, my 9 year-old has seen more representations, photos and drawings of the scene than I could ever count. The image has bored its way into pop culture ... and along with the actual towers come the devastating fear and insecurities that ride their wake.
Here is the victory in the terrorist effort of that day: six years later, my daughter wonders if maybe today--of all days--daddy might be safer at home.
Dh had to go to work today, of course. He--and millions of other American mommies and daddies--probably kissed his children an extra time or two before he went out the door today. And I bet millions of American children will make a little more noise when they hear the key in the lock as evening comes on. I know I will be among the millions of wives who heave a sigh of relief when I feel his arms around me again. And, in case you think that the bad guys alone can claim victory in the aftermath of 9-11, know this: all the reports that I have seen lately cite a larger-than-usual class of 5 year-olds entering their kindergarten year. Next year's class is expected to be even larger. The birthdates of many of those kids trace back their conception to a very fragile period in American history ... the weeks and months immediately following 9-11-01.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Neither, Nor
Jo is rapidly approaching her tenth birthday. I'd like to believe that this isn't perfectly evident to everyone. I'd like to think that she is growing up in a vacuum where the numbers go up but the way things are remains the same. Most of all, I'd like to think that my beautiful little girl is not going to writhe through those awful emotional growing pains that I remember so clearly.
Of course, none of this is possible.
Jo is growing up. Granted, she is growing into a gentle, thoughtful, kind, responsible, honest young lady. All of these are very good things--the fruits of many, many character training session as well as a fairly willing-to-please personality and a whole lot of grace. I look at all the things she is becoming and I am awed. She is so much more on the cusp of age ten than I was on the cusp of twenty. Good things can be done through this child.
But this doesn't mean that the transition is going easily in her. No, she is still struggling to reconcile within herself the little girl she has been for the past decade with the young woman she will find herself being on the other side of all of this. At times, she surrenders altogether in one direction or the other: pulling off her shoes and digging knee-deep in the muck with a gaggle of little boys, or graciously sacrificing her own plan to serve in a Sunday School class of younger children for the morning. This is the line I see my little girl walking. Am I grown up yet? Oh, tell me I'm still little enough!
Saturday afternoon the whole family made a pit stop at the grocery store to take advantage of a 50¢ per loaf sale on bread. It was a relatively warm day, and we'd been at the soccer field for the better part of the morning. As we stepped on to the curb and started toward the doors, I instinctively reached for the nearest little person hand. It was Jo's. What happened next was so fast that really, I could have misinterpreted it had I not opened my mouth a second later; Jo, seeing me reaching for her hand, folded her arms across her chest and scurried past me to the front of our little pack.
This is where "cool mom" shrugs and says, "Whatever. She's too big to hold my hand in public."
Unfortunately, I am not "cool mom."
"Heeeeey!" I heard myself saying before I even realized it. "I can't hold you hand any more?"
The look Jo shot me was one of clear horror, and I knew the second I saw her face that I had stepped over that carefully drawn line. Yes, I will be your little girl when I am feeling like a little girl. But when I am not, please give me my space.
My husband stepped in to the rescue, making a big show out of how he was quite happy that I now had a free hand, and thanking Jo profusely for allowing him the honor of escorting me through the store. We all laughed and giggled and the moment blew past. Jo even consented to walk alongside me in the store, and I was careful not to tread on her delicate sense of individualism.
But here's the second half of the story:
As we were in the produce section grabbing bananas, I announced that I was going to the restroom. Dh had taken the boys already, so I gave the shout out and then turned to go. Suddenly, Jo let out a howl.
"Mommy, wait for me, please?!" The girl ran up behind me in the fiercest bear hug I've been given in months (and this says a lot, because Logan can really dish 'em). Turns out the idea of me going all the way to the bathroom without her was just too much to bear. She held my hand all the way to the restroom, then played footsie with me under the stalls.
"You're not feeling like you hurt my feelings earlier, are you? Because it's not as if there's anything you need to make up to me here," I reminded her as we walked back to the produce section.
"Nah," she told me, "I can't explain it. But sometimes I just want to be close to you. And sometimes I just want ... I don't know."
((sigh))
I'd do it for her if I could. God, in His wisdom, made that impossible. Each and every little girl has to work out the kinks on her own. She has to feel both gawky and beautiful, both unloved and smothered, both naked and overprotected, both surrounded and alone. If I could, I'd sit down and plot her a course. I'd highlight the smoothest path and lead her there, taking care to avoid the places where it hurts the most. But I can't.
Instead, I have to settle for keeping my Mom-radar carefully attuned to whatever signals she's sending out. I have to draw my own boundaries as she stakes out hers. And together, we'll walk through this mess. And we'll come out on the other side. And chances are good, we'll hold hands as we walk out.
Of course, none of this is possible.
Jo is growing up. Granted, she is growing into a gentle, thoughtful, kind, responsible, honest young lady. All of these are very good things--the fruits of many, many character training session as well as a fairly willing-to-please personality and a whole lot of grace. I look at all the things she is becoming and I am awed. She is so much more on the cusp of age ten than I was on the cusp of twenty. Good things can be done through this child.
But this doesn't mean that the transition is going easily in her. No, she is still struggling to reconcile within herself the little girl she has been for the past decade with the young woman she will find herself being on the other side of all of this. At times, she surrenders altogether in one direction or the other: pulling off her shoes and digging knee-deep in the muck with a gaggle of little boys, or graciously sacrificing her own plan to serve in a Sunday School class of younger children for the morning. This is the line I see my little girl walking. Am I grown up yet? Oh, tell me I'm still little enough!
Saturday afternoon the whole family made a pit stop at the grocery store to take advantage of a 50¢ per loaf sale on bread. It was a relatively warm day, and we'd been at the soccer field for the better part of the morning. As we stepped on to the curb and started toward the doors, I instinctively reached for the nearest little person hand. It was Jo's. What happened next was so fast that really, I could have misinterpreted it had I not opened my mouth a second later; Jo, seeing me reaching for her hand, folded her arms across her chest and scurried past me to the front of our little pack.
This is where "cool mom" shrugs and says, "Whatever. She's too big to hold my hand in public."
Unfortunately, I am not "cool mom."
"Heeeeey!" I heard myself saying before I even realized it. "I can't hold you hand any more?"
The look Jo shot me was one of clear horror, and I knew the second I saw her face that I had stepped over that carefully drawn line. Yes, I will be your little girl when I am feeling like a little girl. But when I am not, please give me my space.
My husband stepped in to the rescue, making a big show out of how he was quite happy that I now had a free hand, and thanking Jo profusely for allowing him the honor of escorting me through the store. We all laughed and giggled and the moment blew past. Jo even consented to walk alongside me in the store, and I was careful not to tread on her delicate sense of individualism.
But here's the second half of the story:
As we were in the produce section grabbing bananas, I announced that I was going to the restroom. Dh had taken the boys already, so I gave the shout out and then turned to go. Suddenly, Jo let out a howl.
"Mommy, wait for me, please?!" The girl ran up behind me in the fiercest bear hug I've been given in months (and this says a lot, because Logan can really dish 'em). Turns out the idea of me going all the way to the bathroom without her was just too much to bear. She held my hand all the way to the restroom, then played footsie with me under the stalls.
"You're not feeling like you hurt my feelings earlier, are you? Because it's not as if there's anything you need to make up to me here," I reminded her as we walked back to the produce section.
"Nah," she told me, "I can't explain it. But sometimes I just want to be close to you. And sometimes I just want ... I don't know."
((sigh))
I'd do it for her if I could. God, in His wisdom, made that impossible. Each and every little girl has to work out the kinks on her own. She has to feel both gawky and beautiful, both unloved and smothered, both naked and overprotected, both surrounded and alone. If I could, I'd sit down and plot her a course. I'd highlight the smoothest path and lead her there, taking care to avoid the places where it hurts the most. But I can't.
Instead, I have to settle for keeping my Mom-radar carefully attuned to whatever signals she's sending out. I have to draw my own boundaries as she stakes out hers. And together, we'll walk through this mess. And we'll come out on the other side. And chances are good, we'll hold hands as we walk out.
Friday, September 7, 2007
Math, You See
Gayle asked weeks ago for a review of Math•U•See, and I'm finally getting around to it. Sorry. Math is really not one of my favorite topics, even when it's combined with writing (which I love). But, because you asked, Gayle, I'll take a stab at it. :-)
First, I have to admit that this is actually our second attempt to use MUS as our math curriculum. About a year and a half ago, my dear cousin (also a homeschooling mom) sent me her copy of the Alpha program after hearing me complain one too many times about how Jo just couldn't get addition facts to stick in her head. Not being a person too shrug off wise counsel (or free curriculum) from those who know better, I dutifully bought a starter set of the blocks and the Student Text and we set to work on seeing just what this math was.
It was a monumental failure, that's what it was.
When confronted with a pile of happily colored little blocks, Jo froze. Her brothers cheerfully built walls and other creations from them as she struggled to remember the corresponding color to number relationships. She could not/would not sort the blocks into the neat little stair steps that our video friend Mr. Demme modeled. She fumbled around with setting up equations with those fun little hands-on manipulatives. And in the end ... I gave up.
We went back to Horizons, which was good enough, I guess, but never the perfect fit for my math phobic dd.
Fast forward to this past spring. Jo undergoes her annual evaluation, as required by the All Knowing Educational Powers That Be. The woman who does the assessment is another one of those people whose wise counsel I would be remiss in dismissing. She goes over a handful of math skills with Jo, then turns to me.
"What are you using with her?"
ME: "Horizons."
"Well, stop. Have you tried Math•U•See?"
((groan))
I explained our problem with MUS, but she didn't back down. "Try it again," she urged, "She just wasn't ready before." I admit that I didn't believe it. But, I went home, pulled out MUS Alpha and started over. And this time, it seems to be working.
Clearly, the difference is in Jo. The program is no different than it was 18 months ago, so it has to be my daughter that's changed.
This go-round, she memorized the block colors in under an hour. She flew through Alpha, memorizing all of the facts with only a couple of burps along the way. Now she's on Beta. She's only 5 lessons in, but she's doing fine. I don't expect any major headaches for her as I look ahead in the text.
I have also placed Atticus and Logan in MUS--mostly just for consistency on my part. Atticus is at the tail end of Alpha, reviewing subtraction facts just long enough to let his older sister improve her confidence by staying a step ahead of him in the Beta book. (Yes, this is a ploy on my part.) Logan is doing Alpha again for mastery. He' finished lesson 6 today, counting to 100. He seems to be loving the math=blocks idea, which is right up his alley.
So, what do I like about MUS? First of all, I love that the pressure is off of me to be the one to initiate the teaching. I am essentially in the "support" role, following up where the very capable Mr. Demme leaves off. If his method doesn't "click," then I get to rework it. But honestly, his teaching style has been very approachable for my kids. I watch the video with the child the first time, then pick up with the examples and games in the teacher's guide. Then we work through the worksheet. The next day, the child watches the video on his or her own, then I sit in and we work through it again. On the third day, I give them the option of watching or not. Usually, they are ready to move on, which means teaching the lesson back to me.
All of this, of course, assumes that it's not a lesson that is covered in one day, which we've had several of since we're using the program remedially.
I also like the number of practice problems given in MUS. Some math programs seem too work-heavy to me. Frankly, if you've got it, you've got it. If you don't, then no matter how many problems you put on a worksheet, you're not going to solve the darn things. MUS allows for a manageable number of equations, then gives you the chance to step back and make sure that the mastery is there. If it is, and one worksheet is all it takes, then fine. if not, they have six sheets for each lesson (plus an online worksheet generator and drill program) that can keep spitting out more.
I also have a healthy appreciation for the blocks now. They are integral to the program, but my biggest fear (that my dc would be reliant on them to do any math of any sort) has not proven true. The manipulatives are an attractive tool, but like training wheels, there comes a point when they are too cumbersome, and the kids willingly set them aside. When they need to "see" concepts, though, the blocks work better than any other manipulative I have used. I can't tell you how many "a-ha!" moments I have personally had while watching a lesson and playing with my own set of blocks!
Yes, I admit--I have learned from MUS.
So what do I not like? The thing that turned me off to the program at first is actually not a drawback to me now. I wanted something that kept reviewing essential skills with Jo, since she seemed particularly hard pressed to keep facts and functions locked into her brain. I have realized, though, that that is something that I shouldn't depend solely on a math curriculum to do--it's something that I should be providing for my children in the way of daily life-application experiences. Since returning to MUS, I've made a point of hauling out more games, teaching my kids to play cards, asking them to calculate things and otherwise engaging them in a steady diet of mathematical thinking.
So there's the review. MUS is not a one-size-fits-all cure for the common math curriculum. But it is a great starting place.
First, I have to admit that this is actually our second attempt to use MUS as our math curriculum. About a year and a half ago, my dear cousin (also a homeschooling mom) sent me her copy of the Alpha program after hearing me complain one too many times about how Jo just couldn't get addition facts to stick in her head. Not being a person too shrug off wise counsel (or free curriculum) from those who know better, I dutifully bought a starter set of the blocks and the Student Text and we set to work on seeing just what this math was.
It was a monumental failure, that's what it was.
When confronted with a pile of happily colored little blocks, Jo froze. Her brothers cheerfully built walls and other creations from them as she struggled to remember the corresponding color to number relationships. She could not/would not sort the blocks into the neat little stair steps that our video friend Mr. Demme modeled. She fumbled around with setting up equations with those fun little hands-on manipulatives. And in the end ... I gave up.
We went back to Horizons, which was good enough, I guess, but never the perfect fit for my math phobic dd.
Fast forward to this past spring. Jo undergoes her annual evaluation, as required by the All Knowing Educational Powers That Be. The woman who does the assessment is another one of those people whose wise counsel I would be remiss in dismissing. She goes over a handful of math skills with Jo, then turns to me.
"What are you using with her?"
ME: "Horizons."
"Well, stop. Have you tried Math•U•See?"
((groan))
I explained our problem with MUS, but she didn't back down. "Try it again," she urged, "She just wasn't ready before." I admit that I didn't believe it. But, I went home, pulled out MUS Alpha and started over. And this time, it seems to be working.
Clearly, the difference is in Jo. The program is no different than it was 18 months ago, so it has to be my daughter that's changed.
This go-round, she memorized the block colors in under an hour. She flew through Alpha, memorizing all of the facts with only a couple of burps along the way. Now she's on Beta. She's only 5 lessons in, but she's doing fine. I don't expect any major headaches for her as I look ahead in the text.
I have also placed Atticus and Logan in MUS--mostly just for consistency on my part. Atticus is at the tail end of Alpha, reviewing subtraction facts just long enough to let his older sister improve her confidence by staying a step ahead of him in the Beta book. (Yes, this is a ploy on my part.) Logan is doing Alpha again for mastery. He' finished lesson 6 today, counting to 100. He seems to be loving the math=blocks idea, which is right up his alley.
So, what do I like about MUS? First of all, I love that the pressure is off of me to be the one to initiate the teaching. I am essentially in the "support" role, following up where the very capable Mr. Demme leaves off. If his method doesn't "click," then I get to rework it. But honestly, his teaching style has been very approachable for my kids. I watch the video with the child the first time, then pick up with the examples and games in the teacher's guide. Then we work through the worksheet. The next day, the child watches the video on his or her own, then I sit in and we work through it again. On the third day, I give them the option of watching or not. Usually, they are ready to move on, which means teaching the lesson back to me.
All of this, of course, assumes that it's not a lesson that is covered in one day, which we've had several of since we're using the program remedially.
I also like the number of practice problems given in MUS. Some math programs seem too work-heavy to me. Frankly, if you've got it, you've got it. If you don't, then no matter how many problems you put on a worksheet, you're not going to solve the darn things. MUS allows for a manageable number of equations, then gives you the chance to step back and make sure that the mastery is there. If it is, and one worksheet is all it takes, then fine. if not, they have six sheets for each lesson (plus an online worksheet generator and drill program) that can keep spitting out more.
I also have a healthy appreciation for the blocks now. They are integral to the program, but my biggest fear (that my dc would be reliant on them to do any math of any sort) has not proven true. The manipulatives are an attractive tool, but like training wheels, there comes a point when they are too cumbersome, and the kids willingly set them aside. When they need to "see" concepts, though, the blocks work better than any other manipulative I have used. I can't tell you how many "a-ha!" moments I have personally had while watching a lesson and playing with my own set of blocks!
Yes, I admit--I have learned from MUS.
So what do I not like? The thing that turned me off to the program at first is actually not a drawback to me now. I wanted something that kept reviewing essential skills with Jo, since she seemed particularly hard pressed to keep facts and functions locked into her brain. I have realized, though, that that is something that I shouldn't depend solely on a math curriculum to do--it's something that I should be providing for my children in the way of daily life-application experiences. Since returning to MUS, I've made a point of hauling out more games, teaching my kids to play cards, asking them to calculate things and otherwise engaging them in a steady diet of mathematical thinking.
So there's the review. MUS is not a one-size-fits-all cure for the common math curriculum. But it is a great starting place.
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