"Learning As Part of their Humanity"

I'm pregnant! And with pregnant comes several months of bone-deep exhaustion. So I spent January through April of this year sleeping and imitating a zombie. But I'm coming back online and feeling my energy rise. In the spirit of being imperfect, I will make my return post a quick stub. This is from a comment I posted in a general online forum where the topic of homeschooling was raised:

I agree wholeheartedly with those who say the biggest requirement for homeschooling your kids is that you have your own love of learning. This is the reason I know homeschooling is a good fit for our family. My husband and I are inquisitive, lifelong learners who model that for our kids. Really, I left school because I love learning so deeply that I couldn't continue trying to learn in that flawed system. This is not about "good" versus "bad" districts and test score-style measurements of institutions. I have no interest in "good" school districts where students all feel pressured and overscheduled so they can try to get into Harvard. My interest is in raising children who own inquiry and learning as part of their humanity while they grow into responsible community members.

A Place in the Community

"What do you want to be when you grow up?" As adults, we often quip that we're still working on the answer to this question. Discussions about career are polarized: Will you do what you love and become a starving artist? Sell out and make big bucks? Or are you one of the lucky few who can do what you love and the money will follow?

Love and money and passion and money chase each other in that framework. People just meeting one another may ask, "What do you do?" And some of us cringe because we don't want to be defined by what we do for money, or we're not doing anything for money, or the thing we do for money isn't what we wish it to be. Some questioners might be networking, or posturing, or judging others by how much money they make. But I suspect that many of us persist in asking the job question because we want to learn a person's interests. And we are blinded by a pervasive (middle class?) myth that a person's paid work is indicative of their interests. I suggest asking the more genuine question: What are your interests?

We ask children what they want to be when they grow up because they are working on their education. We're thinking of vocations and professions that require a specific education, and wondering if they've narrowed anything down. 'Cause it's interesting to explore your interests, but you will have to grow up and pay bills one day. Most of you, anyway.

Children are also asked their favorite subject in school, I suppose as a tactic used in sussing out their interests. The timeline varies by family and community, but at some point the child gets old enough for the adults to turn up the pressure and feed them into the same high-stakes career mill we've entered ourselves: Will your paid work fulfill your passions?

If the answer is yes, it can be quite an exhilarating time. Unless and until you hit some kind of emptiness in trading your passion for money. If the answer is no, life can feel devastating: you are one of those failures giving less than gleaming answers at parties. Worse, if only you had arranged things better, you too could be happily spending all day getting paid to do what you love.

May I suggest an alternative? When our children are old enough to begin thinking outside their immediate families, let's teach them that they will need to find a place in the community. Yes, there are practical considerations: your household has to earn enough money for food and bills and meeting your financial goals, whatever they may be. You will need to do enough work for the community to be paid "enough." Look at your skills and ask what you can do. It doesn't need to be like finding a life partner: one career to fill your heart and satisfy you all the days of your life. That's probably a little sick anyway; that kind of devotion to career seems outsized.

Your place in the community will shift over time. Your place is not only your paid work, but defined by all the relationships you have. When you go out into the world, who are you in relationship to others? As you note this, remember that work doesn't need to be paid to be real. It's the interactions with other people that bring our half-formed dreams into reality. Be a part of the community.

Not So Organized Chaos

Having sort of a crazy feeling morning....Chris needs his flu shot and was looking everywhere for his insurance card. Couldn't find it, wound up taking mine and putting in a request to Cigna for another card. I realized that I'd left two dozen eggs out overnight. Facepalm. Eggs in trash. However, I have like 8 dozen eggs in the fridge right now. I guess my rate of omelet making has gone down drastically! Time to bake some eggs for dinner. And lunch.

Picture me writing the check to the town for the car excise tax while Ladybug pours her water into her cereal. We'd already pulled apart my wallet looking for the insurance card, so that was all over the table too. I took the opportunity to clean out the extra cards I don't need to have in there. They'd have gone in the trash, but I gave them to Bug to play with. So I'll probably be cleaning those up repeatedly before I get sick of it and toss them.

One week to Thanksgiving and my house is almost total chaos. I kept hugging my husband and going, "I don't know why I'm so stressed this morning..." And he's like, "Um, cause it's kinda a zoo in here right now?" Speaking of zoo, I haven't fed the cat yet....But I did apologize to him for being low on the priority list. Not kidding, I patted his head and said, "Sorry Skimble, you're at the bottom of the list right now!"

I did remember to pull the stroller out of the car so that Chris wouldn't take it to work with him and leave us stranded.

While all this is going down Chris and I discussed which of three major purchases should be next: toy closet, chest freezer, or microwave cart. We decided quickly that microwave cart can wait as long as we get the pot rack up soon. Toy closet involves buying me a dresser so my clothes come out of the spare bedroom. Then we buy some shelving so all the toys can live in spare bedroom closet. This is important because Ladybug plays better (happily, independently) if her toys are organized and rotated regularly. As opposed to in a crazy mixed up pile of parts that get coated in that mixture of peanut butter, spit, and oatmeal that is Toddler Goo. Happy toddler = vying for very high priority.

Then there's the chest freezer. The fridge is bursting at the seams. Adding to my stress right now is that it needs to be cleaned out and is currently the source of mysterious ucky smell whenever I go in the kitchen. So gross! I'm not the best housekeeper (by any stretch), but my fridge is not usually full of random gross. I keep opening the freezer and noting that I have next to no extra space. How am I supposed to cook ahead for Thanksgiving, or anything else, if I can't store it properly....Chris says, and I agree, that the chest freezer is the next purchase. Then we launch into the discussion of where in the basement it will live, each mentally sliding furniture around and making our case for best location. Ladybug is gleefully pulling out brooms and mops and strewing them about in positions most likely to lead to tripping. She's doing this because I mentioned that we're going to clean today.

When Chris finally did walk out the door for work, I felt that "I'm here alone in the chaos with no other adults" feeling. I don't remember even feeling that way when he went back to work after our daughter was born! But today, yep.

One week till Thanksgiving. ; )

Two Good Reads for Preschool Halloween

It's almost Halloween again, so our usual favorite Halloween books are out. Ladybug's favorite is still Ghosts in the House! This adorable story involves a witch who takes care of her ghost problem by washing the ghosts in the machine and turning them into useful household linens like curtains and blankets. As a family we've developed a game where Ladybug tosses a blanket over a parent's head, shouting, "Haunted!" Then she yanks the blanket off. Ticklefest follows. I say the game was developed as a family because each parent claims to have invented it. I think Ladybug gets the credit.

The new favorite is Run Home, Little Mouse, which isn't marketed as a Halloween book, so it might be easy to miss. But it's a late fall, spooky nighttime book, making it a great Halloween read. As Little Mouse runs along in the night, he comes across glowing eyes in the darkness, visible through cutout holes in the pages. Turning the page reveals the animals who are peering out at him: fox, owl, weasel, crow, cat, bats, and eventually his own mouse family. This one was an instant hit with Ladybug, who read it repeatedly, recounted the plot to us, and requested it again this morning.

Bonus: we've started the "Spatial Relationships" chapter in math, talking about how things are positioned relative to one another. Bug's favorite is to run up the stairs or the playground ladder and shout, "I'm up above Mama! Mama is down peblow!" While reading Ghosts and Little Mouse, she pointed out the various positions of the ghosts all over the house and talked about how Mouse had to run past all the animals. I love quality book tie-ins that happen spontaneously.

Different Definitions

Parenting is exhausting, but sometimes it's the other grownups making it hard work. Today I went to the town square with Ladybug, who was well behaved and cooperative. On our walk home I began to reflect on my level of emotional exhaustion. I noticed that most of my interactions had been stressful because of assumptions others were making about us.

First we went to the dentist's office to pay a bill. There was a nice elderly gentleman in the waiting room who wanted to interact with Ladybug. He addressed me in Spanish, because my daughter and I have olive skin and dark eyes, so he was hoping there was a cultural connection there. Unfortunately I had to disappoint him (this happens to me a lot). I could have said my husband speaks Spanish, but that's beside the point since Chris is black and didn't learn Spanish because of any family heritage. He also knows some Japanese, Arabic, Latin, and Italian, 'cause he's a language junkie. Not what the elderly man was looking for. Again he asked me (in English) if we were from South America, and I just shook my head and muttered about how we're from here.  I thought briefly about showing the man a picture of our family, which would help him understand why Ladybug is the color that she is, but what is the point? I can't be who he expected me to be. I have no simple way to explain that we're descended from slaves, slave-owners, poor European immigrants, and Native Americans, but (to the best of my knowledge), no one who spoke Spanish. This interaction is one so tired and familiar to me that I shrug it off.

Then the gentleman kindly shakes Ladybug's hand (with my permission) and feels that she's cold. He tells me she's cold, and exclaims that she has no coat. She's actually wearing a sweater and a coat, both with hoods up around her ears. It's 50 degrees outside, and we've just come from the playground. I am not concerned. I try to placate and say we're going in to the library where it will be warm. "She's cold," he says again. I just nod.

In the library, I am reminded that libraries can be more about rules than reading. In the children's room the librarian hears Ladybug's footsteps and without looking up, calls out, "Walk please. No running." Okay, she's not even three. The fact that she isn't eating books and climbing the shelves is a major accomplishment. Her gross motor skills are only just past "toddle." To keep a pace with me she has to move her little legs quickly, but she isn't running wildly through the library. This librarian, as nice as she means to be, is clearly clueless about young children if she thinks barking instructions from behind the desk is any way to achieve results. But just to make sure I'm not one of "those parents" who won't discipline their kids, I kneel down and pull Ladybug close. I explain that the library is a quiet place. It's not a place to run fast like the Ornithomimus. Can we think of a dinosaur that moves slowly instead? She does, but she also doesn't want to go pick books now. She wants to go to the cafe. Score one for reading, Ms. Librarian.

We get to the cafe, and by now I'm tired. So, when asked about Ladybug's age and preschool status, I don't have the heart to tell the nice lady working at the cafe that we are homeschoolers. To delicately explain that I've made a different choice, based on my family's deeply held values, than the one she has made. That I don't judge her for sending her daughter to public school, because she loves her daughter dearly and it isn't my job to parent that girl. But my daughter, my girl, I saw perfectionism in her at only four months old, while she pushed herself to reach milestones her friends (three months older) had attained. Apparently perfectionism is genetic. I wanted to cry for her, watching it. Don't be so hard on yourself, baby. Goodness knows I've put myself through the ringer, and I know it does no good. Go gently. At almost three, she continues to be hard on herself, internalizing everything she can't yet do as if it's a failure. So no, I'm not sending that child to schools where your worth is based on a letter grade and a standardized test score that will be held up against other districts, even other nations.

It's an understatement to say that our family values learning. My husband and I hold it so dearly, that spark of inquiry, the delight in puzzling and discovering. It's as precious to us as any deeply held religious belief. So no, I'm not sending my child to school, which will violate our family's values. I don't want her deciding at age five that she's smart or dumb based on whether the teacher or the curriculum are testing her particular strengths. Frankly, I don't want her worrying about being smart or dumb at all, because those kinds of nonsense ideas are not what learning is about.

I'm tired, and there's no good or short way to say any of that while I'm adding cream to my coffee. So I just say she's not in preschool. The nice lady presses on, about how she's young and maybe next year. I mention how we do play groups, and it's like she didn't hear me. She continues on about preschool, "so that she can be around other children." Never mind the fact that we were at play group yesterday. That another kid snatched the tool Bug was using, and without complaint, without direction from me, Bug found another tool (sitting unused), waited patiently for a younger child to move out of the way, grabbed it, and went back to work. No, my kid clearly won't learn to navigate social situations unless I pay for preschool.

The nice lady means well, and I don't feel like offending her with all my radical thoughts about education. So I lie by omission and nod and smile as she explains that the local elementary school is "good." Whatever that means. Everyone you meet has a different definition.

Everyone you meet has a different definition of a good school. Of running inside. Of what language you ought to be speaking. We ended our outing on the playground, with no other children or adults around. What a relief to simply play with my young child, both of us at home with ourselves and free from concern about these definitions.

Two Favorite Fall Books

Ladybug has been obsessed with Play-Doh for over a week now. It came in handy while her father and I were fighting off a bad cold this weekend. Other than occasionally demanding that a parent roll a dough ball for her, she has stayed occupied for long stretches of time with rolling, cutting, poking, and blending Play-Doh. She had air dry clay too, until we realized that she insists on eating it. She doesn't eat the Play-Doh though, so it's all good.

Did you know that when mixed, hot pink and black Play-Doh make a lovely eggplant purple color? Good times.

As usual, I have a ton of books in the house selected for the season and the concepts I'm focused on. Right now that's fall and describing words. I wanted to mention the two autumn books that Ladybug has really latched on to.

The Little Yellow Leaf is a sweet story about a leaf that isn't quite ready to fall from the tree. Not yet, not yet he keeps repeating. He hangs on even after the first snowfall. But after he makes friends with the scarlet leaf also hanging on tight, they both feel ready to let go and fly off together. It's such a gentle story for a child who is reluctant, slow to transition, and prefers to watch a little before jumping into something new. Or just to validate that it's okay to be where you are and feel how you feel. The book's theme was definitely not lost on my child. Each time she asked for the story, or even saw the cover, she repeated fervently, "He wasn't ready. Not yet." 

The other surprise favorite is Autumn Leaves, which Bug requests by name even if the book is out of sight. It's time for me to stop being surprised by my kid's preference for non-fiction science books. I married a scientist, after all. Autumn Leaves is a book of detailed close-up photographs of the leaves of thirteen different kinds of trees, along with surprisingly nuanced discussions of their variations. It talks about veins, symmetry, shine, shape, and more. Did you know that the compound leaf of the hickory tree is actually made up of five leaflets? My preschooler does, thanks to this book! As Bug would say, "Yeah, dat's right Mom!"

The Educational is Political

I talk with so many people about education, and so often I feel like I haven't managed to communicate why I would want to homeschool. Its hard to do without a three hour conversation. But I want to improve. How about this:

I want for my family far more freedom and self-direction than the system is willing to accommodate.

The educational is so political. Study political science, and you will likely begin with Socrates, whose crime was corrupting the minds of the youth of Athens. What and how we teach our young people is a powerful force to wield.

I recently told a politician I would vote for him because I valued what he had to say about improving public education. I couldn't miss the crestfallen (and maybe confused) look on his face when I said my family would probably homeschool. I'm all contradictions. What I mean is this:  Yes, please improve the public system. Families deserve a quality public option. I want something more radical, but I know most don't.

I know teachers against this awful "ed reform" movement who must think I have drunk the Kool-Aid about how America's public schools are failing. Well, politics makes strange bedfellows. It's finally okay to criticize school. School, which is traditionally associated with apples, kids trotting off with their cute backpacks, young minds growing enlightened as autumnal sunlight beams in their classroom windows.  I had a few days like that in school. But mostly I received damaging messages like: perfection is the goal, the reason to learn is to make money, make sure not to question authority too much, girls usually struggle with math, and my "favorite:" when you are excited about learning you are a nuisance to your teacher and classmates.

For this reason I stand with those who say we don't need ed reform. We need an education revolution. No test, no curriculum adjustment, will solve the problems that are inherent in our current system.

I feel stuck. Do I fight against standardized testing while operating in a system that needs to be fundamentally restructured? Would it be immoral to want free, self-directed education for my child while fighting for something different for other children? Even if it's what they and their families want? I fear the answer is yes, which is why I care so deeply about education yet want nothing to do with a career in schooling.

Critics of some proposed reforms, like vouchers, say that these changes will gut our public schools. Silently, knowing I need a three hour conversation to explain myself, I think: good. We need something new, and there's usually a pile of ashes before a phoenix can rise.