Ally's Dollhouse Desk

We painted Ally's desk. Clean and white, like a doll house table. We followed the instructions on Young House Love, except we used a brush and sanded with very fine grain sand paper between coats. The desk is still not perfect, you can see a few brush streaks.

We think it much improved from the days it belonged to the raccoons, obviously having done a good bit of cleaning and sanding before we took that picture.

Desks

It used to be that my favorite place to do school with the kids was the couch. Not for speed drills, math lessons and copywork, oh no. But any other excuse to snuggle on the couch was enough to lure me. History, memory work, poetry or read alouds were learned best side-by-side. That's the way it used to be, before they grew up.


Now they require quiet and concentration. They require a hard surface for algebra problems. They require space to spread out their science book and study guides. Except one, she requires freedom; she requires the illusion of being one day away from fully grown, that way she doesn't feel small on the couch. And so they all asked for desks.


After two days of reorganizing and re-purposing, measuring all the spare corners and several little fights, we had them settled. Kara at the Ikea desk (with plastic drawers from Walmart - the wood shelf is in use elsewhere). Sam at the desk that was Bryan's when he was a boy. Ally at the table that used to be in the raccoon's house (meaning only the raccoons live there, and as raccoons are rarely so civilized as to pull up a chair, I considered the table free for the taking). The table is all sanded, ready for a coat of paint. It will be much improved. The other two require a few special touches on their desks, things to make the space their own. We'll dream for a bit, make sure this works, then see what we can create.


Arden is the only one who still does school snuggled on the couch. Not to be left out he set up a desk in the front hall, made of plastic bins that hold the Duplos, the car tracks, the train tracks. Two boxes for a desk, one for a chair. Thankfully his studious endeavors there lasted only one day. We put away the toy boxes and outraged he cried, "My desk!" Next morning, without complaint, there he was sounding out phonemes on the couch.

Summer Session

We started school today. Our goal is to fit in four weeks this summer, thereby earning ourselves time off next spring.

These long summer days have bored us to tears. Too hot to go outside - at 108 it's too warm inside as well, days too quiet - all our activities are in the evening: we were bored.

I've never seen my kids so positively giddy to start school. There was a great deal of reorganizing, quick last minute planning, and we began with joy. And one said over and over, "I can't wait to do school again tomorrow."

Too bad this enthusiasm can't last until February.

Summer Goals - When You Are Fourteen

I have noticed that days make themselves wings and fly away. Lazy summer days are an especially flighty sort. A flighty sort that calls for a certain amount of goal setting, lest we miss an open opportunity because we are too busy sitting on the couch. You've been busy in that way too, haven't you?

When I mentioned to Ally that I thought she ought to form some summer goals, she had already made a long list. I was impressed and saw no reason to ask anything more of her. Her summer goals:

• Sew her first quilt, all by hand. (Personally I consider this nothing short of torture, but these are Ally's goals.)
• Type up recipes and organize a recipe notebook.
• Compete in the Bible Bee.
• Read books. A rather extensive reading list, too long to be finished. Beginning, and ending, no doubt with Dickens.
• Fit in 300 hours of drawing.
• Mow the soccer fields with her father and earn a dollar or two.
• Use those hard earned dollars to spend one glorious week visiting old friends.

Today we were out and about in the real world, far from this sleepy, small town. We bought supplies. We stocked up on the stuff goals are made of, and here she is tonight already at work on her first quilt.

The Storymobile

Wednesday when I delivered that bowl of strawberries to my neighbor, we got to talking about the Mennonite nursery out by the swimming lake. Half of our conversations revolve around the garden, so we quickly agreed to go together.

Thursday I hurried the kids through lunch and we piled in the van with our neighbor. Out toward the mountains we drove, out toward the swimming hole. The sign for the nursery was by the road, a crowd of pansies down below. We followed the drive, curving beside perfectly mowed fields. We passed the cattle trailers, perfectly perpendicular. The cattle chutes were gleaming. The greenhouses were small, but clean, perfectly built and maintained. The plants were nodding, happy, in the April sun. Later, I had to confess to Bryan some serious envy in my heart.

The car ride to the nursery, on the prim Mennonite farm, was all stories. Long ago her great-grandfather had fought with Sam Houston in Texas. When the fighting was done, he made his way back up into this river valley and chose a farm at the foot of the mountains. When the country was up at arms, readying for the Civil War, he declared he couldn't fight against his friends. He set his two slaves free, joined a regiment from Ohio and ended running a Union commissary, where the Methodist church now stands, a ten mile wagon ride from home. A niece had lost a husband, then a boyfriend in the fighting, so with two small children, she moved out to his farm and when the war was over they married and had a whole passel of kids. Aunt Em's house used to be right here, but it's fallen now. The wainscoting was waist high. When World War I ended, and they were the only house out there with a phone, someone called on the party-line at one in the morning with the news. Everyone got out of bed, and at two her mother set out across the fields with a lantern, to tell the next farm over. She worried all the way she'd step on a snake.

That is history.

Ambling between the petunias and begonias, I whispered in Sam's ear, "Wasn't it worth it, just to hear the stories?" When we finished, we hopped back in the storymobile and drove home. And Sam reported to Bryan, "She tells great stories."

In the Civil War there was a man who didn't want to fight. He hid up in the mountains, in a cave, just up there on the cliff. When the men from town came looking for him, he couldn't be found. After the danger had gone, his wife would put out the laundry, white sheets, visible on the valley floor from the cliffs up above, and he would make his way home.

And we rattled along in the storymobile. Cliffs to the right. Nursery ahead. Storyteller beside us in the car.

The Count of Monte Cristo

Ally has finished The Count of Monte Cristo. Unabridged. The task took her somewhat less than twenty days. She gushed, over and over, "It's my favorite book." A fourteen year old speaks in italics, most of the time. I sagely nod. It will be her favorite until she has finished her next Dickens novel.

I don't mean to boast. In fact, I wouldn't mention it at all, except I think a word of encouragement is in order.

Patience.

I taught Ally to read when she was four, the over-eager homeschool mom. I was heedless of the simple fact that she had no interest in reading. No problems other than that she just did not care. I was pulling my hair out, trying to exercise great patience as we sounded out word after word.

Ally was a slow reader. There were books the homeschool catalog labeled as appropriate for her grade level. But they weren't and there was no forcing it. She read other books. We read aloud. We adopted a phonics intensive spelling program. We patiently did what we knew was right. For years.

Three years ago Ally's books of choice were still the Boxcar Children series. I thought we should have been through with them years ago. But she loved them. Breathe deep...patience.

I think that is one big secret of homeschooling. This is not an instant enterprise. This is not a better reader in ten short days. This is not one eighty two and home to you. Homeschooling is more like a marathon, or a slog through the trenches. Whatever your trouble: do your best, and keep on doing your best. Pray. Wait. Don't be discouraged. Patience.

I think my patience has been amply rewarded.

First Things First

Arden and I hang out while the older kids do math every morning. We usually have an hour. Sometimes we read books. Sometimes we do a little math. Most days we play games. We play Teddy Mix and Match. We play Sorry. We play Rivers Roads and Rails. We play Little Trackers, Three of a Crime, Candyland, and dominos.

Yesterday Arden brought his Bible downstairs. We gave him a Bible for his birthday; large print and in the same version the rest of the family uses. The Bible was a gift that looked forward to the day he would be able to read it himself. He cannot read it yet, but he carries it around  in the box. He brings it to family Bible time. We read to him from its pages every night before bed. Yesterday he carried his Bible downstairs in the morning.

After we finished family Bible time and chores, the older kids cracked open the Saxon math books. Coffee in hand, I asked Arden, "What will we do?"

"Well," said forcefully and so very matter-of-factly, "we have to read the Bible and play Othello." Aha, never mind that an extra chapter of Bible reading isn't in the routine. And which one first? I let Arden pick. "Let's read the Bible first because it's more important."

We read of King David on his death bed, Adonijah's struggle to be king, and Solomon being anointed for the throne. Then we played a hotly contested game of Othello. Then we hung laundry on the line and read Moccasin Trail aloud, with Kara, outside in the sunshine.

But we had done the most important thing first.

Cake Pops

Our church hosted an Easter Brunch. Kara brought cake pops. When she walked in the door with her display board, the eyes of every little person in the room lit up. Cake pops are crazy fun and crazy cute.

Best of all an eight year old can make them independently. True, Kara will not be the author of the next book on the subject; she will not decorate like a Decorator. But Kara can, and did, make a delicious, appealing treat that everyone loved. All by herself.

If you have a little person who needs something to do, or maybe you yourself need something to do, these are oh-so easy to try. The basic cake pops do not require any equipment that is not already in your kitchen. You will only have to buy the consumables: cake mix (naturally), frosting, lollipop sticks, candy coating and some sprinkles. That's all you need to start. I was feeling generous, I promised Kara if she liked making these we could splurge on a candy mold. We could get serious about this. That will be all of three dollars.

I think a cake pop is a wonderful way to encourage her to try something new, something creative, something that makes others happy. These are all the things I love to encourage in my children. And if we don't like it, we move on. The fringe benefit of a cake pop hobby: free samples for the family.

When Kara came home from the brunch on Sunday, there was joy in those crazy blue eyes. I love to encourage joy.

Look for the book Cake Pops by Bakerella. Try the library. Or, try bakerella.com. I bet you can find all you need to know to make a batch of cake pops.

Hearts of the Children

Bryan, Sam, and I have been watching The World at War. This series on WWII was made for TV in the 1970's. As a result the producers found many people who could tell their own stories for the cameras, both Axis and Allies. Watching episode after episode is brutal and sobering, sometimes inspiring, and certainly not for the younger set.

In an episode on Hitler's Germany there were these words:

When an opponent declares, "I will not come over to your side," I calmly say, "Your child belongs to us already... What are you? You will pass on. Your descendants, however, now stand in the new camp. In a short time they will know nothing else but this new community." Adolf Hitler - Speech November 1933

 The Hitler Youth Movement had 100,000 members in 1933. The Nazi propaganda films show beautiful girls in shorts running, playing ball and tug of war. Boys swim, race and wrestle. One smiling face after another turns toward the cameras, laughing, the sun on their faces. There are shots of them sitting down to eat, served a healthy lentil stew, nourishing a strong and rugged Aryan race. Every image deceptively idyllic. By 1936 there were four million Hitler Youth members, then in 1939 attendance became mandatory and numbers soared. But those numbers don't tell the truth.

I see the smiles and bobbing blond hair over and over again. I also see the tears in the eyes of the mother who refused to let her son join the Hitler Youth. I hear of the ways he was made fun of by his friends, and punished by his teachers. I hear the fear. Yet she was steadfast; steadfast for the heart of her child, steadfast in her conviction of right.

For the youngest children, the Hitler Youth Movement wasn't outright evil, it was outdoor fun and healthy bodies and a subtle tug to capture the hearts of the children. I think about my own children and their activities. This complicates matters. The question becomes far more complex than whether one activity is morally right or wrong, it becomes a question of the heart. Who will influence their heart? And in the end who will own it? Will someone ever turn to me and say "What are you? We already have your children."

Last Week

The box for our seed maze.

We had a lovely week last week. So lovely, in fact, I couldn't be bothered to blog. We took one week off Saxon math and began every day with an hour of Math-It. There were races and two timers going. There was addition and multiplication. And there was mom, begging to move on to the next activity and the kids begging for more math.

We started seeds for our garden. Today we discovered the first seedlings, just peeking above the soil. We converted a box to a plant maze. The kids dreamed of impossibly hard mazes, but aside from my concern for the plants, I was concerned for my own sanity. We have a simple design.

Arden bought wood at Lowe's and built a bedside table with Dad. A very simple woodworking project, but Arden was very proud. Now he can store all his stuff beside his bed.

Then, of course, there were coloring pages and read alouds. There were bike rides and hours of outdoors fun because the weather here has been beautiful. We've been digging in the dirt and raking leaves. We've been to the park.

And we've been falling into bed exhausted every night. A perfect spring.

Love Note on the Wall

We're having internet issues at home. For a week or two I am packing up the computer and working in my husband's office. It is remarkable how my days change when suddenly I can't just pop on and off the internet whenever I feel like it. I think it is good for me. But I hate to admit it.

Here, beside his desk, Bryan has taped up a note from Kara. I am encouraged. She has learned at least one fact in school this year. All of our hours of work and I can claim one success. Here, in unedited glory, is her love note to Daddy:

dad I love you cant wait to see you at Lunch I miss you have a good morning your dear daugter kara

karadrotar

 (Just like Jhon hancock nice and big)

I may not have managed to drill into her head the right use of capital letters. Punctuation seems unknown. Spelling skills, in this student I consider my best speller, have been set aside. I could be tempted to despair.

If nothing else, she has at least learned that John Hancock signed his name with a large hand. And so does she. She signs her name with a big hand. She lives her life the same way.

Revenue of Joy

Where no oxen are, the manger is clean, But much revenue comes by the strength of the ox.

Proverbs 14:4

Tomorrow our kids are participating in a small homeschool science fair. We are preparing four science fair projects, and keeping up with our core school subjects. I am committed to letting my kids make their own display boards for the science fair. Our boards aren't flashy, just card board boxes. Our boards aren't technically amazing. Nor are they works of art. I don't expect to impress anybody, but my kids will have created it by themselves. 

Well, almost by themselves. The kindergartner doesn't write by himself. The third grader needed guidance knowing which topics about comets she should include, and help with the experiment. The sixth grader hemmed and hawed, after an hour of looking at ideas online and days of contemplation; I finally chose a topic for him. But my ninth grader only needed to hear me say, "I think that's a great idea."

Tuesday we had a great day of school. One of those days when everybody was busy. Everybody was working hard. Everybody had a good attitude. There was math on the table. Science papers scattered over every flat surface. Tiny bits of cut paper all over the floor. Books on the couch, and the coffee table and the rug. Half empty hot cocoa cups, abandoned hours ago. I had loads of clean laundry waiting to be folded and dishes stacked beside the sink. It was a great day.

When Bryan came home for dinner I was extolling our day. We got so much done on our science fair projects, we might actually be ready. And the house looked like it: utter chaos. There was a mammoth effort just to clear the table to eat dinner.

Wednesday morning I picked up the placemats, crusty with day old spilled milk. Coffee in hand, breakfast dishes cleared, we began family Bible time and read Proverbs 14. By that time I was ready for a clean manger, a clean house. Instead of perfection and beauty, I had received a revenue. "Too bad kids don't bring in real money," I joked with my family. Sam says, "It's a revenue of joy." So it is! A revenue of joy. I might rephrase the Proverb, Where no little ones are the house is clean, but a revenue of joy comes from children.

These Quiet School Days

 Bryan is out of town. We are waking up each day and doing what we know we must: school work. Sometimes when he leaves we play, proclaim the day a Make and Do Day. Make and Do Days are perfectly valid, but not quite so soon after Christmas break. Now we are quietly doing our duty. A little work here and a little work there yields big results over time.

A board game break after math? Absolutely. Skippity is Arden's new game. I like it more than he does. It's fun! Kind of like Checkers, but you fill the entire colorful board and jump pieces, trying to complete sets with pieces of each color. Then we get back to work. Time for my second cup of coffee and our history read aloud George Washington's World. I always claim the sunny corner of the couch. When we finish Sam looks aghast that I would ask him to write a paper. Two in one week?! He's shocked. We told him that's what we expect. I guess it is the enforcement of it that actually comes as a surprise.

Poor Ally. The rigors of high school require her to miss all the fun. But I can't feel too sorry for a girl who comes down for lunch each day genuinely excited about all she is learning.

Then this afternoon in their free time the three little kids made these animal tree (Styrofoam cup) forts. They're rather clever, but I would have appreciated them more if a fight over the animals didn't immediately follow the completion of the fort. Yup, I am counting down the hours until Bryan is home again.

Satisfaction

It turns out that one cause of sheer exhaustion is impending illness. If yesterday was slow, today was slower. We skipped math and read books in the sunshine. 

Kara and I also made time to put photos of her school year on paper we can add to her year end portfolio. It's an activity I usually save for June, but I had free Snapfish photos about to expire. (My brother was astounded - "You're ordering prints!" We're old school here.)

Kara was so excited she gave me a full oral presentation describing her half of the school year three times. The last time I warned her: I wouldn't be listening to all this again. Next time she'd have to do it for Dad. He has no idea what he's in for!

But I love how proud she is of all she has done and seen and experienced this year. Learning is incredibly satisfying.

One Sum of Two Versus Another

 This was Arden's math lesson, observed throughout by a gallery of "friends." Snake was highly involved in the learning process. Baby Hippo was, perhaps, too young and somewhat left out.

Arden was adding two to a number, using the flashcards from the Saxon 1 textbook. We're intentionally using the workbook less. Fine motor skills don't suit this five year old. Playing with numbers is always fun.

Each pair of cards set up another battle scenario. 5+2 versus 7+2. The casual observer may have thought the opposing forces rather similar, but don't rely on casual observation. It turns out one pack of army men may come in two slightly different shades of green. A five year old boy understands; they are enemies but may reach an uneasy truce and sign a Treaty of Mutual Assistance, when faced with a greater foe.

We worked through the deck of flashcards once, every soldier counted, every battle fought. I fought my own battle with patience. Then we zipped through those cards two more times. Arden knew his facts.

Math is different every day (not for my child plodding through Algebra, but Kindergarten...certainly). Arden usually has his own manipulatives close at hand. Pirates from the pirate ship. Or today, Lord of the Rings Risk pieces playing football. Lord of the Rings/Risk/football became so complicated I could barely keep up (that's how I usually feel at sporting events), but Arden kept on, fearlessly adding one score to another.

Math mastery one plastic soldier or two plastic Orcs at a time.

A Reading Lesson

Fifteen quick minutes of fun.

Arden's reading has now progressed to the point at which we can swap the vowels in and out of one syllable words: hat, het, hit, hot, hut, as you see here. When we come to a non-sense syllable I just tell Arden, this isn't a real word, this is just a silly sound but lets practice saying it. He's five. He knows a lot of silly sounds.

There we were, at the white board. After he read the word hat, I drew the first little green hat on the top of the "h." From then on Arden was busy adding irresistibly cute faces to each vowel, and  hats, because that's what started it all. Then the "u" needed some sort of shelter from the elements, naturally it was a hut. It's so fun to see what he creates once we get started.

Then I was done. Fifteen minutes or less. Stop while he's still interested. In fact, he drew a few more pictures on the board, by himself, before he wandered away. Today I read (in Why Johnny Still Can't Read) that adding pictures to a reading text actually distracts a child from the task at hand, reading, and doesn't add to their comprehension level. There may be no educational advantage to drawing hats and smiley faces in the vowels, but it sure is fun.

Habit Formation

These days a curriculum suggestion makes my eyes roll back in my head. I'll talk books with you all day, I adore books. But curricula has worn me out. Still, I find myself watching homeschool leaders, just waiting for a resource to encourage and excite. Newly found: Simply Charlotte Mason. I downloaded the free e-book Smooth and Easy Days, read it all in two days, made notes in the margins, and picked a new habit to begin forming in my children. Did I like it? Loved it and ordered Laying Down the Rails.

I am familiar with Charlotte Mason. I've read several of her books, and books by people who've read her books. Though I won't be pinned down to any one "type" of educational philosophy, I am rather partial to Charlotte Mason. The pages of Laying Down the Rails aren't strictly new ideas, but the ideas are rearranged and pertinent quotes on one habit gathered into a few short pages. The book is motivational.

The first habit I chose to cultivate is neatness. Thinking of all those clothes on the floor and wrinkled math pages it seemed an excellent first choice. I'm afraid we have rather a hard uphill climb. We fell off the wagon after the first few days. Really, thirty or so days of such concentrated effort is tiring. Then I read all that Sonya Schafer included under that sub-section, and realized I myself have a good bit of work to do.

The idea of habit has suddenly pervaded our days. Kara and I sat down to spelling last week. I had an epiphany, we had fallen into a habit. When I dictate sentences, she spells every word correctly and leaves out every capital letter. I wait; she erases, adds. I may leave a meaningful silence, but, telling: I never mention the capital letters. A habit.

This is not a terribly bad habit, but I think we can change it. I explained my theory. I endured the reproach, "you keep talking about habits these days." I outlined how we will change our approach to spelling. I want her to think about the capital letter at the beginning of the sentence, and the beginning of the name, not later. This will require that she concentrate. If she can't fully concentrate on spelling the spelling lesson will be over. A spelling lesson cut short!

This is why you must know your child. When Ally, who would love a world in which there was no spelling (not just lessons, mind you, simply words that never needed to be spelled), heard the new plan she laughed aloud. "I would have just done the first sentence wrong every day." She would have, and walked away a merry soul. Kara, however, writhes on the floor begging for just one more opportunity and promising greater powers of concentration. I think we have a good chance.

The idea of habit has permeated my days, and I've yet to finish the book. That is the power of an idea.

Reading Board

The littlest one has many teachers. At this moment he and Ally are in the kitchen performing experiments with sound from Exploring Creation with Physical Science. It is, literally, jarring.

Last week, at Rest Time, I heard Sam ask Arden to read to him, before Sam was lost in his own reading. Two brothers, cuddled side by side, reading the easiest Bob Books.

Arden's just beginning to "read,"  though I think much of what he's doing now is memorizing. Simple, three letter, short vowel words. The most impressive reading lesson we had was on the day we were working with "mad" and started making short sentences on the white board. Sam is mad at Arden. Arden is mad at Kara. It was wonderful fun. Things really got out of control when we sounded out: the cat is mad at dad. Hilarious.

And so, Kara created the Reading Board. Snipping construction paper, adding in her earnest scrawl names Arden knows and simple words. The board was the back of a watercolor paper tablet, spaces hastily laid out to build sentences. I'd like to tell you Arden loves it, but truthfully, we haven't used it yet. We'll try it though, because Kara made it for him.

This is not a lesson on how to teach your little one to read. The bickering, arguing, and yelling around here reduce me to deep sighs. But, still, still, they love each other. They enjoy each other. They want each other to succeed, whether it is studying for the GeoBee or sounding out "cat." It's not about reading at all.

Time. Love. Space. Imagination. See what your kids will create.

Vir Means Man

A morning reading, spelling, and grammar lesson held with Kara while we cuddled on the couch, McGuffey's reader open before us, sparked a thought. Virtuous. It seemed, after casual inspection, to be from the Latin word for man, vir. Before lunch I pulled the old college dictionary off the shelf, traced the etymology, and sure enough, virtuous came into the English language through that ancient word for man.
 
Virtuous meaning: morally good; practicing the moral duties, and abstaining from vice. Naoh Webster, in 1828, was quick to add, "The mere performance of virtuous actions does not denominate an agent virtuous." Even a good man needs a Savior.

When I remind Sam to practice his guitar so he can look in teacher in the eye "like a man," I am speaking of the same thing. I'm not expecting a macho, chest thumping, manly pride. I'm expecting a boy with a good conscience and strength of character to have nothing of which to be ashamed before his teacher. Virtuous.

Caterpillar ID

I am a would-be naturalist. I would be one except that every time I try to identify a snake, lizard, or turtle I can't distinguish one brown creature from the next. Though we stock our shelves with field guides, I only find them helpful in learning more about the birds or moths I already know.

Today we found a three inch caterpillar in the grass. Naturally, it's coloring didn't seem to match any other caterpillar we could find pictured on the internet. This is why I can't be a naturalist. Here the caterpillar is, making his way around the old butterfly cage:

Arden first reported that the caterpillar had no eyes. Then Arden returned, laughing, he had been looking at the wrong end. Hilarious.

I immediately thought of tomato horn worms. I have terrible memories of plucking hundreds of tomato horn worms from my garden in Colorado. There's just one problem: this guy isn't really the same color, nor the color of any other cataloged caterpillar.

There is help, even for a naturalist as ignorant as I. We stumbled upon a website by the Alabama Cooperative Extension System designed to help even an idiot identify their child's latest acquisition. If you scroll all the way down the page, there's a simple diagram of a caterpillar followed by a series of questions to identify your specimen, based on how many abdominal prolegs it has. If you're like me, refer back to the drawing once (maybe even twice) to figure out what an abdominal proleg is.

We think, perhaps, our friend is a tobacco hornworm. I can call him our friend. Our garden has been dead for several weeks. And he's moved in with our family. All of the budding naturalists can sleep happy under our roof tonight.