Personal Goals

Goal-making around unschooling is a natural and delightful process for us. And, yes, we do it in September, right after Labor Day. Swimming days are over. Neighborhood kids are boarding buses. The weather is chillier (sometimes). Back-to-school advertisements are in every newspaper, magazine, and storefront window. Outgrown clothes are sorted and taken to Goodwill, arms and legs are measured for “new” clothes. Vegetables are harvested. Excitement is in the air. We celebrate, too.

“What do you want to learn this fall?” is the big question at our family meeting. The question is for all of us. Last year, when I said, “I want to learn to make gluten-free bakery,” it took me 3 days to start, after a year of shying away from the daunting task. By November, I was happily baking every other day. Impressive, what saying our goals aloud can do for us.

Here are my 5 year old Fire Girl’s goals for this fall. She came up with every one of them on her own:

1. Listen to a lot of fairy tales

2. Learn some rhymes and clap-games

3. Learn to read

4. Learn to jump rope

5. Sing in choir

6. Go to library

7. Take art and dance classes

8. Learn how to make fairy crowns

 

And here are my 9 year old Water Boy’s:

1. Finish chemistry curriculum

2. Finish Story of the World 1 and start 2

3. Learn more about food science (this is the third year he has made this a goal, and he is beyond what I can teach him; we had to make a list of resources this year)

4. Take robotics classes

5. Play 30 games of Magic: The Gathering with people who are really good

6. Complete requirements for Webelos year

7. Sing in choir

8. Read science fiction

9. “I wish for a steel drum and steel drum lessons.”

Every morning, we dedicate time to working toward these goals. We don’t always look at the list, but usually we end up in the direction of one or two of the goals, anyway.

The other day, getting ready to do some work, Water Boy surprised me by becoming sad and expressing anxiety that he was perhaps not “on level” with other kids his age. In reality, according to last year’s standardized testing results, he is far above (up to college) grade level in some areas, and slightly behind (up to 6 months) in others, and right on target in yet others. If you want to measure intelligence this way, there you are. We don’t measure intelligence that way, and rarely talk about standardized tests or grade levels.

Anyway, I didn’t try to squash his fears. I just asked him what he wanted to do to help relieve that anxiety. He said that he wanted more structure to his learning; he wanted me to “make sure” he was covering 4 subjects a day. We already utilize our morning hours to learn in whichever way my children choose, but he was asking for more. This is who he is- responsibility and conscientiousness are just parts of his personality. He was noticeably relieved when I told him that of course we could do that if he wanted.

Here is a brief intermission to break some things down: Water Boy has Pervasive Developmental Delays and some sensory needs. He struggles in school-like environments. His body and mind start to “crash down” when he feels overwhelmed by work, too many expectations thrown at him at once, or when he is in high-stimulus environments. When he was younger, preschool settings- even very low pressure ones- were not working for him. He was melting down frequently; yet at home, he was happy, calm and content to do hard work. He likes to put extreme focus into whatever he is thinking about, and has a hard time with the stop/go routines of school, and all the interruptions to his work. This is one major reason we homeschool.

In cyber school, Water Boy still resisted the busywork he didn’t want to do. I didn’t blame him, as the work was mundane and unchallenging. I tried to make him do it anyway, but I didn’t like who I was or who he was in those forcing scenarios. We decided we could do better without the cyber school, and we have. Since then, I have seen more and more that- given freedom and support- both my children can be in charge of their education, as evidenced by their goals above.

So, now, when Water Boy asked me to help him be more disciplined about his structure, he was in fact having a crisis. The crisis he went through at the age of 9 is one that I went through at the age of 22: am I willing to work toward my goals even when there are distractions, so I can end up with the result I want? He is choosing yes. He is also asking me to make sure that when he chooses yes, I back that up.

I am proud of him, but also have a bit of a conflict with this, because it means that “unschooling” is now, “hey remember you said you wanted me to make SURE you did this every day…please do it.” But if we see unschooling as honoring our children’s choices, this is what I am doing. If we pay attention, we will find our children are “telling us” whatever it is they need: more or less structure, less ambiguity, more choices, more attention, or whatever. We will know by their goals what they want, and by their willingness to work how badly they want it.

For a few days after this conversation, my son needed no reminders. Then, he needed a reminder. And my feelings were hurt when he sulked about it. I said, “hey you can do whatever you want. I’m just asking you to remember what you said you wanted.” He went upstairs for about 4 minutes, and then came back to finish his subject work, with no attitude or resentment. I hadn’t really expected him to come back so quickly, but then I realized that this was something I had never really experienced as a kid, this level of choice. He had remembered he was free, and responsible for his outcomes. He chose to complete his personal commitment for the day.

That was a hard day all around for me, for a variety of reasons. I ended it not feeling great about it at all. There were many things I would literally have liked to quit right then, because of a sense of overwhelm and exasperation. I was reminded however, of my son’s predicament earlier that morning. I had to ask myself, “is it worth it in the end?”  I went to my room for a bit longer than 4 minutes, and cried a lot. I resolved to not quit anything just then. The next day, I put my whole free self into the work ahead of me, and I enjoyed it immensely. It was indeed worth the frustration of the day before. I offered a prayer of thanks, that even though I may be a late bloomer in the arena of Choice and Freedom, my kids are already figuring out how to make these decisions for themselves, and follow through.

Magic Math

Image

This is a picture of my son. His eyes are bright. There is a half-smile on his face. He’s thinking about math. This didn’t used to happen.

I was playing a game of Magic: The Gathering with him tonight, when I started to become perturbed and pout like an angry 10 year old that he hadn’t put enough Mana in the deck I was using. (In Magic, you can build your own decks, which is a whole other lesson I may talk about in another post.) Mana are land cards you need to be able to DO ANYTHING in the game. I had pulled 2 Mana in 14 turns. I had a handful of destruction, and no means to use any of it. BRAHHH, frustration. Then, I calmed down and asked him, “how many Mana are in this deck?”

“Twenty-four,” he answered promptly. The experts suggest 25 Mana in a deck of 60. But this deck looked bigger.

“How many cards are in this deck, altogether?” I asked.

He hesitated. I counted. Seventy.

I honestly had to do the math myself to try to think of how many Mana should go into a deck of 70, if 25 go into a deck of 60. Maybe that is silly of me, but I don’t know exactly the number off the top of my head. So I showed my Water Boy how to do the math to figure out the answer.

It wasn’t easy math. There were algebraic functions, fractions, decimals and multiplication, division, subtraction…on and on the lesson seemed to go because every time I got to a new step of this (sort of) simple algebraic problem, I had to show him what I was doing and why. A lot of the work he had never seen before. He was intrigued. He did some of it for me. We ended up with the answer 28. We were 4 Mana short. He went upstairs to retrieve 4 Mana to make his pout-faced mother happy.

The game went on, and he eventually kicked my butt. As we were cleaning up, he had his own question. The card protectors are sold in packs of 50. Decks are supposed to be about 60. He said, “why don’t they just sell packs of 60 card protectors?” Then he grabbed the pencil and scratch paper and began to figure out, one step at a time, how much money a pack of 60 would cost, if a pack of 50 was $3.00. And he did it.

He asked me for reminders of the steps of short division (because there are a lot of steps!) and what to do when he got the answer of approximately $0.16 per card protector, but other than that, he did great figuring out (with no formal algebraic lesson) how to get to answer x.

All this about 10 minutes before his usual sleeping hour, and after a long day.

From now on, when people say to me, “but if you let them do what they want, wouldn’t they just play games all day?” I think I am just going to say, “yes.”

Bottle Caps

This morning I was making some yerba mate, thinking about how I had gotten a later start on the day than I had wanted to, about the way summer keeps melting into autumn, and how I’m really going to have to get a handle on structuring our days…generally the kind of thoughts that make me feel like a loser of a parent. From the room next door, I can hear my little Fire Girl, just-turned-five, scraping bottle caps from last night’s party on the kitchen table. (So maybe you’re agreeing with me now that I am, in fact, a loser of a parent. But wait.)

Here is where the magic of unschooling happens. I hear this monologue:

1- 2- 3- 4- 5- 6- 7- 8- 9- 10- 11- 12

There are  four of this black kind for me, three of this black kind for him. So wait, we don’t need that extra one for me, so…okay put it over here. (Pause)

And, look. There are three of this yellow kind for me, and…wait only two of this yellow kind for him.

I can’t make it even. 1.2.3.4.5. and 1.2.3.4.5.6.

OK, I know! I’ll get the extra black bottle cap from over there (pause) and now! Now we each have 1.2.3.4.5.6. And he won’t mind having four black and two yellow, and I’ll have three of each.

I say, casually, still making myself busy in the kitchen: cool, honey. So how many are altogether?

She counts again. 12. Six and six…or three and three and four and two. Can you please get our collection jars for me to put them in?

Yes, ma’am. Yes, I can do that much for you. Mind if I take one picture of those first?

Later at the chiropractor, the receptionist asks me brightly, so you’re still homeschooling?…I could never do that…I just don’t have the discipline or patience it takes….