adding up
November 6, 2015 § Leave a comment
Wednesday our daughter lead us through her school, sharing the space of her routines with hands on demonstrations of learning. Student lead and thoughtfully orchestrated by educators and administrators, each classroom presented a unique snapshot of school day experiences. We were able to look at lessons and play classroom games, review work and visit with teachers while our daughter was afforded an opportunity to articulate ownership of her effort.
It was not a time to check in on performance or address concerns; so I was pleasantly surprised when a teacher volunteered a more personal exchange with a meaningful interruption.
At the time, our daughter was bent over the work of a math equation. Her posture was casually confident as she ran through the problem step-by-step in a conscientious execution of mastery. It was while she was working eagerly through a second equation that her teacher paused to offer praise.
It wasn’t the privileged acknowledgment of a child to whom learning comes easily, her teacher offered statements of recognition for the resilience of character and the work of progress. Credit for thoughtful enthusiasm and earnest effort for comprehension; perseverance to establish mastery despite struggle.
My husband and I hadn’t realized that the work our daughter was modeling was a source of accomplishment beyond a correct solution. Our daughter had been flexing a new muscle.
Strong Girl,
When you asked to be dismissed from the supports of special education services, I was proud of your courage; secretly though, I worried you might have leapt prematurely toward independence.
Math and Reading were still areas of concern. Knowing this I asked you to be responsible for seeking help and acknowledged the importance of mastering difficult skills. Then, as all parents must do, I let go.
When you fell apart last week over projects, I worried you were struggling. I inferred need over ability.
Then, this week, you reminded me that progress comes imperfectly; that mistakes and determination add up to strength. Struggle isn’t always cause for concern, sometimes its cause for trust.
Love you.
Mom
summer lessons
June 10, 2015 § 2 Comments
Each summer dawns an uncertain but welcome reprieve from the predictable rhythm of school day routines. Some years our family escapes to adventure and other years we fall into the structure of previously orchestrated distractions. More recently our summers have evolved into an experiment in spontaneity.
In many ways the absence of plans has been freeing, our attentions are driven by whim. We rush towards casual invitations and welcome opportunity. Other days we are tasked to a burden of boredom that forces us to a simpler necessity of creativity. On these occasions I am reminded of my own carefree summer days, unstructured and filled with endless drifting; the chaffing restlessness that grates against rusty daydreams.
There is one small exception.
Over the years I’ve cornered pieces of the day for studies and responsibilities with a language that demands we validate play with work. This summer I am reframing the idea of summer learning.
To my children,
In the past I’ve bought academic books to ration time for skills, this year I want to give you a question or idea each day to wrestle for an answer. There’s something about working off the page that helps us think outside the box. (This was Dad’s idea.)
Rather than demand chores for play, I’d like you to play at helping. Work doesn’t have to be monotonous and play doesn’t have to be an enticement. I want you to manage your time and space with good humor and moderation.
Instead of handing you book titles someone else has deemed of value, I want you to find value in your love of reading. I’m worried less about titles or tracking your time between pages.
Most importantly, I don’t want to account for every minute. Summers were made for getting lost and finding time. Move with the sun and play under the stars, the days are as long as the possibilities are endless. The lessons are everywhere if you’re willing to look at the world with curiosity.
Love, Mom
to my children
February 10, 2015 § Leave a comment
I wish you knew the fullness of the little moments when you are greater siblings for the friendship between you. Last night you tossed yourselves attentively into one another’s company; one needing guidance and the other basking in a sense of purpose. Asking for help and offering assistance, teaching and learning, you were navigating a language of appreciation.
To my son, Your little sister so often bulldozes you with a bossiness you mostly tolerate good-naturedly. She is quieter in her praise, quick in her frustration, but ever thoughtful in her admiration. Yesterday she leapt at the opportunity to study your favorite subject, eager to speak as your equal. Despite the ease of your mastery you were mindful in your manners, patient and respectful as you tempered your knowledge without undermining her ability. For a moment I imagined the father you may one day become in the brother you already are; kind and wise, patient and enthusiastic.
To my daughter, One of the greatest lessons we can offer as a family, is an ability to sound out our uncertainties and accept another’s help. Watching you delight in an opportunity to learn, framing your questions into an eagerness to grow, was a lovely demonstration of trust and respect, vulnerability and honesty. You might have struggled though your answers in a more solitary endeavor and gathered the same information independently, but inviting your brother to share a source of joy was a gift of appreciation that spoke of a gentler personal wisdom. There is no academic standard for character, it is a success measured by the health of our most valuable relationships.
To you both, There will come a time your lives will diverge as your choices lead you to new places and partnerships, may you always look to one another as sounding boards of wisdom and friendship.
Love, Mom
gut truths
January 13, 2015 § Leave a comment
My daughter is a notoriously poor speller. Tender to failure and hesitant in hope, practice is as much an act of self-confidence as it is a pledge to improve.
Last week when school was canceled due to low temperatures, she voluntarily set up a spelling station. Practicing the week’s word list and developing a strategy for success she played at mastery and claimed ownership of her list with creativity. On a tiny index card she outlined the number of letters per word and prompted this guide at the top of her improvised desk. Gone was the hesitation or insecurity, resistance to practice or resignation of inability. Test after test she churned out perfectly placed letters in much the same way she once verbalized letters by dissecting them into steps up and down our hallway. In these non-traditional contexts her instincts are true and her efforts attentive, creating a new equation for individual success.
Returning to school at week’s end I hugged my daughter tightly and reminded her that in practice her gut was true, confident and capable. At day’s end it was an out of place voice of frustration in a moment of happiness that interrupted my thoughts with a discouraged: My gut lied.
Sweet Girl, The truest measure of success is not where you succeed, but how you determine failure. Trying in the face of fear and doubt is a greater gauge of ability than excelling in an area of strength. Each effort is an active exercise in learning, each error an opportunity to do better. Your truest instinct was to try. Love, Mom
unassigned
November 13, 2012 § Leave a comment
Tonight our family dining table was littered with assignments unattended while both children poured over a science text book. My son and daughter’s foreheads rested gently against one another as they uncovered new concepts – reading aloud and exclaiming over their discoveries with each turn of the page. Their minds full of material unrelated to what they must do before morning they eagerly, enthusiastically explored new ideas. A moment of unorchestrated friendship and child-led learning untethered by expectations or interference. I dared not blink for fear of disrupting the moment and breaking the spell.
to my daughter
September 25, 2012 § Leave a comment
Yesterday my phone buzzed with an early morning message from your teacher, eager to celebrate a classroom success. In an area where you often struggle, you had demonstrated mastery. Your accomplishment cast ripples of joy across the day connecting those of us who witness your determined efforts and discouraging challenges.
I want to capture this moment in a snapshot, saving this well-earned success for future reference; to unfold these lessons and write them on the walls of our home. We succeed not because of what we know, but by the way we approach learning. Our strengths are not measured by what comes easily, but how we face that which challenges us. Our accomplishments are a reflection of our choices, not chance.
You, my sweet girl, worked hard for this moment. Hold tightly to this knowledge, the sense of satisfaction and pride that accompany long evenings exercising new concepts. Be comfortable with the discomfort of working through confusion to find clarity. In life these lessons in resilience will bring you strength in the face of adversity. You will do well, not because life is easy, but because you move through your days consciously embracing opportunities to learn.
school & home
January 10, 2012 § Leave a comment
The other day I had a profound moment of uncertain, certainty. I carried my thoughts carefully tucked away in my mind, weighing if I should give them a voice. At day’s end, the house quiet, I told my husband I needed him to listen without questioning my sanity or nudging me into action.
With a deep breath and full heart, I said: I want to teach our son from home. Maybe. My husband, whatever his initial thoughts, honored my wish and kept silent. I unraveled my concerns and hopes measuring them each against possibility. The core truth: I’m not sure a traditional school setting is right for our son.
Earlier the same evening I had sifted through old pictures of both children with my daughter, noting the happy dimpled little boy of days gone by. In each picture my son was peaceful, whole. There were no worried lines on his face, no sadness in his eyes. Most school days I cannot see his smile and his spirit feels buried beneath sadness and anger. An eternally curious child he used to beg to attend school, eager to learn and make friends. Now he hides behind individual interests, his footsteps heavy with resistance as he finds his way to school. I paused in sorrow wondering, are we suffocating the joy from learning?
I still do not have an answer. I have new questions. Would I be facilitating my son’s escape from a traditional school setting that might better prepare him for life? Am I capable of providing a balanced, structured education that would prepare my son for a limitless future? Do I then keep my daughter home? Does she have the same option as her brother? Where do I begin and how do I know if it is the right fit for our family? What if I become ill, we move, the Earth slips off its axis; what then? What next?
This is what I know. Both of my children are fortunate to have teachers who are passionate about teaching and compassionate when faced with challenges, who see my children as individuals and communicate openly with me. Of course, we also live in a competitive environment where our children are measured endlessly against themselves, classmates, and nameless others. Teachers are forced to teach in preparation for tests and not all subjects are weighted equally. Our school days are short and our school years fragmented with oddly spaced vacations. There are gaps in my children’s education that I as their mother am obligated to fill; pockets of potential, natural resources overlooked.
I wonder if there is a way to draft a lifelong education plan that truly inspires independent learners. Is there a way to nurture learning and educate from home in celebration of the joy of learning while preparing our children to become contributing members of society? Do I continue to work with the school, outlining my son’s unique needs and partnering with his teachers to navigate this experience together? If my daughter is happy, is contentment acceptable or do I insist she be inspired?
I cast my worries to the wind and wonder what answers I might find.
graffiti
May 2, 2011 § 1 Comment
Stepping in to the shower I tugged the curtain back exposing a colorful explosion of words and numbers scrawled in the markedly flamboyant and determined hand of my daughter. 12345six78910… the numbers chasing one another across the tiles in brilliant blues, bold reds, and burnt orange; her tally stretching to 100 with six continually spelled out neatly amidst the numeric symbols, a simple nod to my daughter’s age. Words plucked from labels of shampoo and body wash bottles accompany her numbers; marketing and accounting scribbled in a child’s hand.
My daughter’s reading and math skills were slow to blossom, but her energy and determination ever-present. She captures words and numbers on papers and walls, with pen, chalk, paint and now bathtub markers. She pulls these ideas from around her, trapping each concept and making them her own; like a firefly nestled in a mason jar gifting light and admiration to those wishing for a glimmer of illumination.
I love her spontaneous sharing and for a moment I am delightfully lost to the unexpected graffiti in my shower; absorbing the light her joy brings to my days.
scribblechic 