O.k. SOMEBODY wants to know what I use for Language Arts with my little brood. Again. Why? I can't imagine. O.k., wait ... I can. There are definitely bloggers whose selections I take an interest in. I just don't see myself as one of those worthy individuals. Who knew?
Anyhow, you asked ... I'm telling.
Jo-My not-quite 11 year-old has always excelled in Language Arts. I pounded phonics rules into her head in K, but since coming to my senses I have taken a more eclectic and personalized approach. Here are the resources I am currently using with her in this area:
I believe that the main function of teaching grammar is to become a writer capable of self-editing. To that end, I've selected two titles (The Chortling Bard and Editor in Chief) that allow for the honing of that particular skill.
Jo is also required to select a weekly topic, research it and present me a short explanation of some interesting element each Thursday. This can be anything, and I do mean ANYTHING. One week she spent her weekly library time (3 hour block) reading about iambic pentameter and ended the session by handing me a poem she'd written. That counts, as far as I'm concerned.
Atticus--Still in the more "I have to teach you this" stage, 8 year-old Atticus gets some booooooorrring stuff thrown his way, as he will tell you. Selections for Atticus this year are:
He is particularly lukewarm to ABeka Language 3. Say what you will, this program is thorough. If you use it through God's Gift of Language A, I believe that you'll have covered just about any topic your child might actually come up against in real world language. But hey, that's just my two cents.
Atticus also uses Editor in Chief, for editing & application. He likes this far better than the ABeka.
Atticus still does spelling as a curriculum component, as well as cursive writing. Go ahead and laugh--I finally decided that I need to do something about the kid's handwriting. It is atrocious. Not just in a "What does that say?" kind of way, but in a "you're homeschooled?!?!" kind of way ... which I figure is not what the homeschooling community at large needs, based upon the horrified glances I've gotten from Sunday School teachers.
Atticus also writes a brief report for me each week. Again, he gets to select the topic. Because of his personality ("Tell me how much I have to write, and I'll write exactly that much!)" he is required to give me two complete paragraphs. We edit it together and he rewrites it.
Logan--I've mentioned before that Logan is behind where my other children were at this age in the area of language and reading. We've focused on the whole Headsprout thing for the past few weeks, and have finished up (finally!!!) his ABeka Sounds and Letters K. He's ready to move on, and next week will find him digging in to A Beka Language 1. Logan will continue to work through the later episodes of Headsprout, read to me daily, and have plenty of spelling and writing games on hand.
All together now--All three kiddos have daily reading; for Jo & Atticus, it's their SL readers. For Logan, it's something I've pulled to entice him along.
As a group, we
•study etymology
•play games that expand our skills:
Quiddler (hit the link for an online version, but we love the real one, too)
Bookworm
Paint By Idioms
Rooting Out Words
etc.
•tell lots and lots and lots of stories
•and use various means to work on analogies, which I consider part of LA, for some reason.
Finally, all three children continue to publish our family's own private newspaper. This grew out of their own interest in journalism and has flourished into a neat hobby and keepsake all in one. As they've matured, we'll taken the newspaper to different levels. This year, I'll be teaching them how to use a desktop publishing program to make their end product that much more appealing.
So there you have it ... Language Arts a 'la MG. Hope it's not disappointing.
A single jar of jam sitting in my window
My grandmother was released from the hospital this a.m. In talking with her, I shared that I'd just finished my first batch of peach jam this season the other night. There was a long pause.
"Baby, why on earth do you fool with all that mess?"
It was my turn for a long pause as I remembered unbearably hot days sitting at her kitchen table spent breaking beans, scalding beets and yes, slicing peaches. Those were happy times: Mamaw belting out church hymns, the constant hum of the box fan propped in the window, the smell of sugar being liquefied on the stove, the sting of tomato juice on my elbows. My Mamaw would can anything that stood still long enough to be blanched and pressure cooked, and I was right by her side, an apprentice basking in the glow of a Master.
I was caught off guard, so I took the practical approach.
"Wellllll .... so that we can have jam in the winter, Mamaw."
She called me on my bluff.
"A jar of jelly down at the Wal-Mart is cheap. It don't pay to make your own anymore."
I fumbled around with words like recession, economy, fuel costs and cost of living.
"Let me tell you something, Baby. You ain't never had no hard times. A dozen or two jars of peach jam don't put a dent in real hard times."
I know that this is truth, and I know that the mouth that wisdom came from has tasted the bitterness of times so harsh as to leave behind a memory that resonates half a century later. But I also know that seeing a few dozen jars of jam that I have coaxed, with my own hands, out of ripe, fragrant peaches glowing in the sunlight sets my heart singing in a way that few other things can.
I came clean.
"I guess I do it for love, Mamaw. I love that my kids love it. I love that my husband loves it. And it makes me think of you and me, and how much I love you."
A third long pause, this one almost epic in its length.
"You go on and make your jelly. I ain't leavin' you yet, youngin'. Good Lord willing, I ain't leavin' you yet."
And those words are far, far sweeter than all of the jam in the world.
If you haven't already figured it out, I unabashedly adore the curriculum that we use. There are other companies out there that fill a similar niche ... but they just don't compare, in my experience. No--Sonlight is an original. Using Sonlight, I've been able to provide my children with an astoundingly well-rounded education that continues to stretch and challenge our entire family. Could I do this on my own? Yeah, probably. I have access to TWO world-class library systems, the ever-handy internet and a network of adults whose areas of expertise are vast and varied. My resources are about as broad as I want them to be at this point--and I do call on them when I choose to do so. But ... I don't have to. I can spend my time, instead, enjoying the process. Learning alongside my children. And building relationships with our family.
One thing that drew me to SL back in 2002 was its focus on non-Western cultures. As our family has become increasingly involved in worldwide missions, I've found this aspect of the curriculum to be an integral part of the process God has orchestrated of opening our eyes, one step at a time. The scope of a SL education takes you to places I never knew existed. Lest you think I crawled out from under a rock at the turn of the century and am delighting in this newfound place called Namibia, let me set your mind at ease and reassure you in the same tone I used on our postmaster yesterday: "Yes, I meet the minimum requirements in this state to homeschool my children. Actually, despite the fact that our state's qualifications are among the strictest in the nation, I actually exceed them. Thanks for asking. Now, can you kindly mail our letter to the country formerly known as South West Africa?"
This big picture view of God's creation has led us on amazing journeys. As we begin our school year with with Core 5 (Eastern Hemisphere) I anticipate nothing less. Sonlight has never let me down. Indeed, it just continues to amaze me.
So I really shouldn't have been shocked when I opened my mailbox the other day and discovered a letter outlining SL's joint venture with Mission India. Talk about timely (ie, Eastern Hemisphere) ... and real.
Seriously. How many homeschool curriculum providers ask you to come alongside them as they work to fulfill the Great Commission? What kind of a company does that?
The kind I want to give my money to, that's who.
Over the years, Sonlight has given us many, many reasons to feel affirmed in our choice of school materials for our children. Not only have we been blessed with amazing literature and outstanding customer service, we've also been wowed by the little things-like a personal note from Sarita last fall when Logan was recovering from his tonsillectomy. Talk about speaking to a mother's heart! But this newest endeavor warms my heart in ever greater ways. Sonlight shares our goals. It is a company that takes its corporate identity and puts it to work. It's a body of believers moving, like the early church, to create ripples all over the globe. Sonlight is real.
We're all signed up for the rice bag project. We have an ongoing "rice bowl" that we've filled for years in much the same way, allowing the children to take the lead on vetting charities and donating in their own names. This project promises to continue the tradition of learning and doing that we value so much. And who knows? Maybe it will inspire our children to take yet another step. As we watched the Mission India video online this morning, Jo mused that perhaps she ought to let Sonlight know about our nonprofit and see if they would be interested in learning more about the projects we run.
"Have John and Sarita ever been to B*rma?" she asked. "They could use some rice bags!"
Great Commission, here we come.
This is me right now.
O.k., it's not really me. I mean-I have a face. And clothes. But you get the point, right?
The news today has not been good at Casa MG. My grandmother, who has been in the hospital for a week now, is no better off than she was the day she was admitted. Pneumonia has her down for the count ... and it has me on my knees, begging the Lord to save one of the two people in the world that I can honestly say have loved me unconditionally since before I was born.
I also found out that my brother was involved in a serious car accident. He seems to be o.k., but the physical and financial blow scare me for him in the long-term. Like me, he juggles an occasional state of melancholy that can toss him into a tailspin. I'm praying that God holds P. tightly in His hand and protects him from the fall-out of the accident.
And finally, there are a few personal matters crowding my plate that I'd rather not be served right now.
Thank goodness the One who is REALLY carrying the world carries me as well. I don't know how I'd make it through the emotions of a day like today without Him.
Core 5 (+ necessary additions such as math, LA and foreign language) seems to take this family four and a half hours. 270 minutes.
I'm not saying it's not worth it. I mean, hey--if you can spend ten minutes watching hula dances on youtube and call it school, life's not all bad. But ohmygoodnesswe'reonlyonweektwo ... anditwillonlygetmoreinvolved.
Deep breath. Composing myself. O.k. ...
My husband has always been way more interested in our homeschool than most dads seem to be. Few fathers in my circle give more than a passing thought as to what curriculum their wife chooses, what books are being read or what hours are taken up with educational endeavors. I've always counted myself blessed that my dh does, in fact, invest in these things. It's endearing to have a man who takes an interest in the single pursuit that takes up the bulk of your time. And frankly, I really wouldn't want the burden of making all of these potentially large and looming choices by myself. They're our children, after all. Not just mine.
Over the years, dh's role in our homeschool has taken on varying roles according to how much time he can devote to educating the kids alongside me. This, again, is uncommon in my experiences. My dh has always been responsible for reading the SL read-alouds to Jo. This was his first act as a homeschooling dad--claiming that little bit of territory--and he's maintained it throughout the years. Now that Atticus is also able to listen in on many of the read-alouds, he often joins in on the pre-bedtime fun. Poor Logan gets a separate read-aloud with me that is more age-appropriate. He doesn't seem to mind.
Other things that dh has taken on: teaching Jo French. When Jo asserted that she wanted to learn Spanish, French and Portuguese, I was at a loss. Resetta Stone has our back covered on the Spanish end of things, and dh (who is bumblingly semi-fluent in French) swooped to the rescue on the whole French thing. Portuguese ... we'll figure that one out.
There are other things that clearly fall into dh's homeschooling realm. Checker of all things math. Player of many learning games. Builder of many projects. He is the master of many little odds and ends that keep our homeschool exciting and lively.
Dh has always been fairly content with my day-to-day teaching of the children. After helping select the curricula and rallying the troops, he tends to step back and allow me to take the reigns in the educational areas where I generally lead our little army: reading instruction, math drill, geography ... the basics. He asks how it's going. He listens as the kids detail the course of their day. He encourages. He offers a me perspective.
He has his areas. I have mine. And together, we get the job done.
But lately, apparently, he's been worried that I haven't been doing my part to the fullest.
O.k., o.k. Let me say right off the bat that I am glad I have the kind of marriage where my husband can turn to me in the middle of flipping Sunday morning pancakes and ask, "So ... are you getting tired of the whole homeschooling thing?" I mean, if I were actually, growing weary of home education, this would have been a wonderful, gentle opening that allowed me to bow out gracefully. What a man!
But, no. I am not tired of homeschooling. And I thought he knew that. I mean, didn't he know about all of the big plans I was sorting through in my head? Couldn't he see the way I was carefully easing us back in to a semblance of schedule? Wasn't it obvious that I was just waiting to get past this and that and this again, and then we'd be ready for the full swing of fall?
This is what I thought: you can't read my mind? What kind of a man are you?!?
The conversation got long and drawn out, because of course, homeschooling is an emotional thing for me. (Is everyone like this?) The long and short is that what was in my head (see above) looked like this to my husband:
1--I hear her talking about plans, but I don't see any actual evidence that she's doing them.
2--She's been taking things slow for a month. Isn't it time to just get on with it?
3--What is she doing all day anyhow?
Yikes.
I took this all as a huge wake-up call. I spent the evening last night putting together actual, concrete plans for this week and making them accessible to dh. I woke up this morning, got dressed and got moving. All of those things I was waiting to do have suddenly snapped into focus, and I'm moving forward. It feels strangely good.
Part of dh's concerns, I discovered, stem from the fact that Jo is moving at break-neck speed toward high school and eventual higher education. And just like the anxiety he felt when we first began homeschooling, he's fighting off the niggling fear that what she gets here won't be enough. That a private school could do it better. That without careful attention to detail, we might fail her.
Now, he doesn't really believe that. And I don't, either. But, as the primary parent in thie educational adventure, I have to set his fears to rest. I have to show him that the trains can--and will--run on time. I have to stay focused, to shrug off my own "it'll happen ... someday" mentality and to offer her the opportunities she deserves. A tall order!
But at least I know we'll be working toward that goal together. While dh did chide me with a gentle rebuke, he fully reaffirmed his commitment to homeschooling, as well as his faith in me to get the job done in the areas I've accepted responsibility for. Once again, I'm so glad not to be balancing the entire load on my own shoulders.
So ....
So long, lazy days of summer. So long, casual school. It's time to snap back into routine and to actually, satifactually progress.
No doubt you read this post's title and began asking yourself if MG has finally gone so far off her rocker as to be certifiably insane. I regret to inform you that I have actually been certifiable for quite some time, and am now working in my PhD in the area. I'll let you know when the sheepskin arrives.
My children have fallen into a nasty little habit as of late. Of course, I am ashamed to admit that it's gotten to the stage of "habit"; in order for something like that to develop, it has to grow from a tiny little seed, be allowed to blossom and then finally entrench itself. Clearly, I missed quite a few character training moments in this particular area. Most likely, I cruised past the warning signs with my eyes eagerly trained on something I saw as more important. I do that sometimes, I'm sorry to say.
This paticular habit I see my children manifesting is one that's a particular hurt to my mothering heart: tearing Logan down. Igh. Just seeing that in writing makes me cringe. I mean, how do you miss something like that?
The fact is, it's been coming for years. And while I've been trying to navigate the choppy waters of sibling relationships, I'm afraid I completely missed the boat on this one.
The seeds were sewn back when Logan was a toddler. For some reason, each consecutive child in my life has spoken intelligibly at a later date than the one before. Jo was spouting fully-formed, grammatically correct sentences with multiple, appropriate adjectives by one year of age. "Mommy, may I have the fuzzy, yellow duckling, please?" That was Jo. Atticus was somewhat slower to the draw. What set him apart was his vocabulary--apparently, falling asleep to me reading to him from Whitman's Leaves of Grass made an impression. "It's ominous!" he said of an approaching storm one afternoon shortly before his second birthday.
Logan did not speak at one year of age. He muttered little more than his own Logan-speak even as he approached his second birthday. At 30 mos., I sat down with him and made a list of every word he had ever even tried to say. The list stopped at 21 words and consisted mainly of sounds more than
words: "duh" for "ball" and the like. I decided to pursue professional evaluation.
After six months of therapy, some intensive home intervention and a little maturing, Logan began to speak with fair intelligibility. It wouldn't be until he turned five, however, that I would say his speech issues became a moot point.
During those first years, his siblings learned that unless Mom was around, understanding Logan was a fairly taxing exercise. As siblings are wont to do, they often decided that this was a little more involved than they really wanted to be, so they began blocking him out altogether. Logan's response? In true Logan fashion, the reasoning came down like this: "Well, if you're not going to listen to me when I'm nice, I'll make you listen to me when I'm mean!"
I work on this with my older kids to this day. It's not an every day thing at this point, but it's still something I keep my feelers out for. Four years of, "Are you listening to your brother?" Four years of, "Try again, Logan." Four years of, "He's talking to you, Jo."
((sigh))
So that's where this all started. Logan gets ignored. Which has now been translated into, "What Logan says is probably wrong."
Now this jump I really don't get. I suspect that it comes from the fact that I have one very intelligent, dominant firstborn (that would be Jo) and one super-grandé intelligent oldest male (Atticus). And of course, anything they say is, by definition, right. And the opposite of right is ... (follow along with me here!) WRONG.
So if Logan disagrees, he's wrong. The problem is that Logan is no dummy. He's actually just as full of factoids and general knowledge as Jo, though clearly less obsessively detail-oriented as Atticus. As Logan has come into his own and is now a big old first grader, he not only wants to be heard, he wants to be HEARD. But what he gets is often this:
Logan: "If the next president serves two terms, I'll be almost 15 when he leaves office."
Jo: "Two terms is eight years."
Atticus: "You'll be 14."
Logan: "I know! I said almost 15, because the inauguration is in January and my birthday's in May."
Did you catch that? It's really subtle to the casual on-looker. Logan must be wrong, because he is Logan. That's the upshot here.
I know that some people will dismiss this as part and parcel of being a little brother. I'm sorry, but I can't swallow that. It's rude, it's wrong, and above all, it's completely disrespectful. I expect more from my children.
This morning, after hearing the above exchange and watching Logan hunch down in his chair and generally lose a bit of his morning sparkle, I snapped.
"Everyone up!" I announced. The kids looked at me like I was a crazy woman. Didn't I know that there was hot food on the table? This was breakfast time, by golly. A sacred hour in my house. Who gets up at breakfast time?
"Out to the gameroom! I want each of you to build me a Lego wall. Make it 4 big bricks wide and ten bricks tall."
Their eyes still wide, Jo, Atticus and Logan marched out to the gameroom. Ten minutes later, they were back, each carrying a little Lego creation. I instructed them to put the walls in front of their plates and to listen very closely.
"My children, you have fallen into an ugly habit," I began. "The Bible says that a house divided against itself will not stand. And yet, here we are, dividing against ourselves. My children are doing to one another exactly what the world does: pick and pull and hurt. And it's got to stop."
I read to my children from 1 Corinthians 8: We know that we all possess knowledge. Knowledge puffs up, but love builds up. We talked about what we know, what we think we know, and what other people know.
Then we moved on to 1 Thessalonians 5:11: Therefore encourage one another and build one another up. Which would be where our lovely Lego walls come in: today, whenever someone uses their words to correct someone else in any way that uses their knowledge but is ultimately undermining, they will have to physically remove one of that person's bricks. In other words, the intangible from your lips will be made tangible. You will see how you are breaking others down.
I finished up by pointing out that each one of us really and truly is a little wall of Legos. We are our own little structure ... but at the whim of others. The things that break us down can slide so easily off of the tongue as to be almost unnoticed. And there it goes ... another brick from the wall, leaving us less sound, less sure, and less encouraged.
I'll report back on the results ...
