Recently, I spent some time with a woman musing about homeschooling.  She’s teacher in the public schools, and she feels certain she wants something different for her children, who are still several years away from school-aged.  So she’s considering homeschooling and wanted to pick the brain of someone who was walking that path.  Given the ages of her kids (three and one), her questions wisely aren’t about curriculum.  They’re about surviving, and they cause me to think.

One of her first was, “Do you ever want to kill your kids?”  This is the less-subtle version of, “I could never do this.  It would drive me crazy.”  I answered as I always do to that line of questioning:  ”I haven’t eaten my children yet.”  This extreme question and its equally eyebrow-raising response address what is at the heart of what many fear about homeschooling.

I didn’t set out to homeschool my kids.  Four months after my first was born, I returned to work as a physician assistant, although at 20 hours a week.  Honestly, I was desperate to return.  Yes, I liked my job.  And, yes, I loved my son.  But having worked up until the day prior to his birth, the world of the at-home mother overwhelmed me.  Lonely, unconnected, and caught in the time warp common to mothers of their first child, I knew I’d be a better mom if I returned to work. So until my younger was born, four years later, my then-husband and I walked the tightrope between work and home, and we did it fairly well.

But by the time my younger was born, I’d had enough of juggling an often sick child and unrelenting, family-unfriendly jobs.  So I stayed home, with plans to work evenings and weekends when my second got a bit older.  Then, I intended to find suitable schools, return to regular work, and lead a “normal” life.  But life didn’t agree, and for reasons of poor fit and parental fatigue with schools, we came home in the middle of my older son’s second grade year.  My younger son, a challenging three-year-old was in public preschool two mornings a week, which was also a poor fit but allowed me some time alone with my older.

And I didn’t eat my young.  Yes, I told this young mother, I yell sometimes.  Yes, I lose it.  Yes, there are days when the routine of a work day seems far preferable to the relative chaos of homeschooling.  But, no, I’ve never really looked back and wished I’d never begun.

“What if I don’t like it?” she asks. “What if I want them to go back to school?  I don’t want to fail.”

I explained that we reassess the situation each year, with a sincere reminder that school is fine, if that is what a child wants.  I also confessed that I’d threatened a return to school on many occasions, generally saying something like, “If you refuse to learn here, then I am breaking the law having you home, and you’ll have to go to school.”  Tears ensue, first the child’s then, generally in the privacy of my room, mine.  Those moments are far more a statement about my reluctance to shift my plans when those plans aren’t working than they are about my children’s desire to learn.

But return to school isn’t failure.  It’s merely an adjustment in course.  School isn’t bad.  Bad educational fits are bad, and homeschooling can be a bad fit just as school can be.  When I’ve played the return-to-school card at home, it’s almost always out of fear that somehow I am failing — failing them, ruining their future, scarring them for life.  In contrast, when I ask my honest annual “do you want to go to school in the Fall” question, it’s not out of fear at all but out of a desire to respect for their desires for their education.

And what if I should decide, for whatever reason, that I can’t do this anymore?  Then they’d go back.  It has to work for both sides.  It’s a line I often give as a La Leche League leader when talking to an unhappy (usually sleep-deprived) new mom:  if it’s not working for both of you, something probably needs to change. For some families, return to school come junior high or high school is the desired result.  Entry to school is far from homeschool failure.  Being miserable while homeschooling indicates a need for change.

“But will I lose myself if I homeschool them?” this young mother asks.

“That’s up to you,” I reply.  I certainly know moms who lose themselves.  They struggle to find who they are as small, needy people grow in independence and reach out further into the world.  But I’ve seen the same for at-home moms who don’t homeschool, women who struggle for their identity once the youngest is in school all day, or perhaps once that youngest reaches middle school, where parental assistance at school is less welcome.  In other words, it’s not a uniquely homeschooling issue

I told her how I kept my identity (as more than mom) in plain view: I volunteer via La Leche League, I work (very) part-time (making return to work later far easier), I write, I knit, I make time and space to be without my lovely children.  I take time alone, and I make sure I’m still comfortable with the person I find during that time.  Yes, being a homeschooling parent is part of my identity, but it’s not the whole shebang.

This young mother asked other questions about finding similarly minded community, managing financially, and losing one’s career, which are also important issues to families considering the homeschooling lifestyle, although their answers are much more specific to the individual.   All of her questions are far more important before setting out on a homeschooling odyssey than questions about curriculum, record-keeping, and pedagogy.  Those latter concerns have their place, and they are likely ninety percent of what more homeschooling books, blogs, and article are about.  This young mother’s questions, instead, were the ones of the heart, the ones that can keep us up at night and fill us with worry and doubt before we even begin.  They are the important questions for all of us, wherever we are along our homeschooling path.

After posting that the process of turning my son’s  novel from NaNoWriMo 2011 into an e-book was either too pricey (via CreateSpace) or too much labor on my part, I took an hour and a half yesterday morning and got the job done.  Almost all of that time was spent reformatting, which is tedious work, but it’s done.  Only hours later, Grand River Hotel became available in Kindle edition, available to borrow for Amazon Prime members or for purchase for $0.99.  Kindle Direct Publishing lacks some of the hand-holding that CreateSpace does, but it is still an easy way to move a printed work to market quickly and for my favorite price — free.

Will his book become the next best-seller in children’s fiction?  No, and that’s not the point.  It’s powerful to see your name in print, to hold a volume of your work in your hands. It reinforces that thoughts and ideas can become a reality, even if in a small way.  It’s proof that hard work can yield tangible results.  And the process has been a learning opportunity for both of us:  he’s learned to polish a work, and I’ve learned how to navigate a bit of the self-publishing world.  The fruits of these labors reach far beyond this first book.

(Part I recalls the start of his writing process, moving from reluctant writer to willing novelist.  Part II discusses the editing process.  Part III.V covers e-book publication.)

He’s published.  My ten-year-old son self-published his NaNoWriMo novel through CreateSpace just a month and a half after finishing is 12,000 word book.  It took an intense month of writing followed by a challenging month of rewriting and editing, but Grand River Hotel is available in paperback at Amazon.

I’m obscenely proud of him.  He’s pleased and quite modest, although he likes to remind me he’s the first in our house to be published.  CreateSpace proved to be relatively simple to use, taking us from his story on the computer (originally written on Google Docs for greater portability from laptop to Mac to Dad’s house) to print with minimum pain and wailing on my part. CreateSpace offered a host of cover designs and art, templates for Microsoft Word, and decent support along the way.  (He did all the writing work and cover design and text.  I did the data transfer from Google Docs to Microsoft Word then to their layout software.  It wasn’t tricky, but each edit once it was in their format took a few somewhat tedious steps.)

Anyway, it’s done.  Five free copies are on their way, thanks to a NaNoWriMo code he received for meeting his writing goal, although we’ll likely order a few more for unsuspecting relatives.  I’d like to report it’s available in e-book formation, but the price point for doing that was a bit steep via CreateSpace and the reformatting a bit much for me via Kindle Direct Publishing, at least now.  His biggest thrill?  Having he own ISBN number.  He’s proud of his accomplishment – writing a novel and surviving a few edits – but that number seems to bring the greatest satisfaction.

His next project?  The next book in the Grand River Hotel series is underway, but the author is otherwise occupied lately.  With the rush of NaNoWriMo gone, he’s moved on to a deep study of the Revolutionary War, including daily private re-enactments in the living room (so private, my older son and I are not welcome to enter).  I’ve hinted that he may want to try a piece of historical fiction, and he’s mulling that over.  Whatever he decides, he’s gained significantly from the writing, editing, and self-publishing process over the last three months.  Now it’s time for his mom to catch up.

Some behaviors are less clear.  Breakdowns during lessons require more detective work and rarely related to the assigned work.  When he becomes teary during a page of math problems, fatigue and anxiety are often to blame.  The anxiety may be about an upcoming flu shot, global warming, or his birthday.  Even fun stuff causes anxiety, since it also entails change. But his behavior for all is pretty much the same — teariness for assignments he generally manages well and resistance to all demands.  In the last year, thanks to growth, good therapy, and low-dose medication, with prompting he’s often able to identify the problem and work through.   We didn’t have this a year ago, but not just because he was struggling to express himself.

I wasn’t listening as well then.  I was listening for words, words in response to, “What’s wrong?”  I was watching for body language that matched his words, and the match wasn’t there.  I wasn’t considering the behaviors themselves to be communication.  Oh, I knew that certain behaviors meant he was distressed.  But the tantrums and all tended to overwhelm me, making it hard for me to really listen to what his behavior was saying.  I saw the meltdown, the chewing, the foot tapping, and I just felt frustrated.  Frustrated that I didn’t know what was wrong.  Frustrated at the behavior, which was often loud and large. Frustrated at the interruption in our lives, which occurred nearly every day.

When I can remember that behavior is communication, I can respond initially to what is being communicated, not to the behavior.  No, I don’t tolerate violent acts to people or property.  And yes, behavior does have consequences.  But we do the best around here when I listen to what he’s really communicating.  When I recognize the anxiety, fear, anger, or sorrow behind the behavior, I can respond to that. When he identifies the emotions behind his behavior (which often takes help), he’s more likely to shift away from more problematic behaviors.    Also, there are some behaviors best let be.  I’m delighted my son has found ways to calm himself, even if one of those ways is chewing his shirts to pieces.  He spent more than half of his life without any of those independent mechanisms, requiring me to soothe him.  I still do help him out, cuddling or just being near when needed, but finding ways to manage that oneself is a task of growing up.

Behavior is communication.  This holds true for my older son.  At fourteen, he has plenty of ability to express his feelings, but, whether due to gender, age, or temperament, he often doesn’t say much.  He speaks volumes when he retreats to his room to read –again.  Even missed assignments and failed tests give me information as to his state of mind and mood.  It’s harder for me to see his behavior as communication, perhaps because, in general, he communicates his feelings in words more readily than his brother.  But his behavior towards his academic work or music studies are a window into his heart and mind, one that as a mom to a teen, I’m glad to have available.  As with my younger, I try to verify my understanding of a behavior.  Did he not finish work because it was too hard, because he was bored, or because he has bigger matters on his mind?  This isn’t an out to assignments he doesn’t want to do — life requires us to do plenty that we’d rather avoid.  (My examples to my boys include cleaning toilets, cooking meals each day, and showing up for work on time.)

It’s far too easy to jump on the behavior — the tantrum, the late or sloppy work, the retreat to a room — rather than to examine the communication behind the behavior.  It takes a fair amount of self-restraint to block the initial (often negative) reaction to the behavior and think for a moment and ask aloud what’s going on. It takes some patience to help a child sort through their hearts and minds, but it’s worth it.

The more I try to see behavior as communication, the less conflict we have around here.  It decreases my yelling and their whining.  And, to my delight, it increases their ability to identify and share their feelings before they wash over into their behavior.  That makes for a more peaceful home, which we all appreciate.

Secret:  This works with adults, too, but adults tend to be more guarded about their emotions and have stronger ego-defenses.  Strong reactions and grownup tantrums are rarely about anyone but the one having the snit. At least remembering that can help you de-escalate and keep your own behavior in check.

The following letter was written in response to a situation unfolding at my high-school-age daughter’s school.  In short, a group of parents are trying to remove several books from an Advanced Placement Literature class, despite the class being voluntary and parents being provided with a detailed syllabus prior to the start of the year.  After a few outspoken parents protested, a committee meeting was held, at which the parents protesting had the opportunity to speak.  This meeting, held at the curious time of 5:00PM (prohibitively early for me to attend, and, I assume, many other working parents), did not allow parents with opposing viewpoints to address the committee.  Teachers were allowed the opportunity to defend their curricula, however, and other parents were allowed to submit written opinions.

Sadly, this drama is all-too familiar.  Books such as Vonnegut’s “Slaughterhouse-Five,” Salinger’s “Catcher in the Rye” and Orwell’s “1984″ faced similar such efforts over the years… and have rightfully, in time, become classics of American literature.  But even now, there remain those who would rather choose censorship rather than expose their high-school-age adolescents to new ideas, challenging views, and the latest generations’ emerging classics. (Yancy)

As a homeschooling parent, all curriculum has to pass through just one set of eyes:  mine. No committees, no superintendents, no teachers. Just me. Like many homeschooling parents, I make dozens of bigger curriculum choices a year, often including mid-course corrections when my carefully laid plans bomb by December.  I’ve rejected curriculum because it was too boring, not challenging enough, too challenging, or not helping us enough to bother.  I’ve let curriculum go that didn’t include what I’d like it to (evolution, for example) and that included too much of what wasn’t well-edited and well-researched.

What I’ve never done in fourteen years of parenting and eight years of homeschooling is ban a piece of fiction.   Now, that may not be a big deal in a house where nonfiction was the preferred reading material for much of their (to date) reading experience.  And no, I don’t present them with exceptionally racy or violent fiction, prodding them to read it. (That would, however assure they’d reject it on the spot.)

I did hand my older son Judy Blume’s Then Again, Maybe I Won’t when he was eleven or twelve, recalling that was the age I devoured whatever titles Blume had to offer. (Adult titles were yet to come.)  He’d delighted in  Fudge books when much younger, but didn’t care for this coming of age title, starting it then soon stopping. Between ten and twelve, he also rejected My Brother Sam is Dead and Johnny Tremain based on the back cover summary alone, while managing to finish Call of the Wild with my support and guidance.  He’s a sensitive child, and violence especially wasn’t palatable for him.  In contrast, my younger was ready for such material far younger, seeing the book as a whole far younger than his brother good.  Temperaments vary, and I respect that.

By thirteen, my older was no less sensitive but had grown more able to read fiction without it consuming him.  He read To Kill a Mockingbird.  So did his brother, then nine.  I discussed rape and racism to the levels each was able to comprehend it.  It was similar to how their father and I handled Tom Sawyer (age 6 for each) and Huckleberry Finn, many years earlier:  we put the language and situations in the context of the times of the book.  As my boys mature, so do the themes in their reading.  Both pick their own fiction have yet to have their values overturned by the process. Over the years, they’ll continue to run into the sometimes ugly underside of humanity.  At least when it happens in fiction, events can be set at some distance, discussed, and thought over in the safety of one’s own home with one’s family.  Unfortunately, much of what scares us is at a much closer distance.

Fiction is the ideal venue for exploring the world of ideas, places, and happening that aren’t part of our everyday lives.  Good literature transports us to another time, another world, or at least another set of shoes.  Literature either removes the mundane allowing us to focus on the extraordinary or brings the mundane into focus, forcing us to see what commonalities we all as human hold.

So what place violence, sex, difficult ideas, and four-letter words in our literature, much less our children’s literature?  Because they are part of our lives.  I’m not talking about gratuitous sex and violence, the kind that fills so much of prime time and the movies (and I do censor that). But sex and violence are part of the human condition.  So are hunger, fear, pain, loneliness, and a host of painful experiences.  Love, too, falls on the continuum of our experience, as does courage, tenacity, bravery, and compassion. Literature brings us all of this, while taking us to places that our pocketbooks cannot afford and to times that physics will not allow.  Literature brings us beyond our singular human experience and shows us what was, what is, and what could be.

So when I hear a local, generally well-regarded public high school in the area is holding meetings regarding removal of two of the books in their AP Literature course for high school juniors and seniors, I worry.  This school provided a list of books for the course before the course began, giving time for parents to voice concerns beforehand rather than midway through a rigorous class where each book was selected to demonstrate a particular literary element or theme. (Let me add that if a child was deeply disturbed by an element in a book, I’d back allowing the child to skip that element, if putting it into context didn’t reduce the tension.)

Why does a homeschooling parent care about banning books in public school?  Heck, I can choose anything I want for my kids, meaning I can leaving anything out, too.  I don’t have to let them in on racism, genocide, rape, environmental disasters, political ideas that differ from mine, or the like.  It is, after all, an approval committee of one.

I care because my children are better served by exposure to ideas that don’t just come from me.  They’re better, more completely educated by hearing and reading about more than what I believe, for that would be limiting indeed. Challenged with ideas within the safety of literature is an ideal place to start this pondering.  Reading allows time for reflection — putting a book down to think for a moment, a day, a week is a luxury we do not have in the immediacy of live interaction or even the movie theater.  Reading knowing you have parents, friends, mentors, or teachers available with whom to ponder aloud provides opportunities to sort through the difficult or even upsetting material most quality literature presents.  I can’t think of a better way than through reading literature for most challenging materials to be presented.

I care what the public schools do because those kids are part of the world in which my children will life.  They are my sons’ future colleagues and companions, as well as their generation’s leaders.  They should start now, in the safety of their youth, exploring what is hard, what discomforts them and turns the warmth of their world on its head.  They should read what they wouldn’t have discovered on their own, what might take guidance to understand, even what makes their parents a bit uncomfortable.  That’s what starts making their world bigger.  That’s what leads to understanding more than what they see in their homes, their community, their church.  It leads to a better understanding of humanity.

That’s what I want for my children.  I want them to know the world they live in, not just the sanitized parts that make me the most comfortable.  I want their beliefs in compassion, kindness, and inclusiveness to be stretched to include those who are hard to love and include.  I want them to read the literature of the past and of today, where sometimes the elements of it are disturbing, where characters are imperfect, and where not all endings are happy.  By the time they head to college, they’ll have begun to grapple with all of this, and they’ll be better prepared to deal with the literature — and world — that confronts them in academia and beyond.

Top Ten Most Frequently Challenged Books of 2010 (ALA)

Banned Books Week

I had no need, until this year.  My younger is a hair away from the end of Singapore 6B and doing just fine, but for an assortment of reasons that deserve their own post, I’d like to delay a full, rigorous Algebra program.  He’s fairly mathematically talented but not terribly interested, and since we’re not in a race, I thought we’d take the scenic path to the Big Four (Algebra, Geometry, Trig/Pre-calculus, and Calculus). He also has the Algebra jitters, and I’d like to see him more confident before launching into one of my favorite classes.

So after considering a variety of choices and hearing so many accolades for Stanley Schmidt’s Life of Fred series, I secured copies of Life of Fred Pre-algebra I and II.  My ten-year old was thrilled.  We’d snuggled on the couch enjoying The Adventures of Penrose, the Mathematical Cat by Theoni Pappas, and he was certain more math on the couch with Mom and Fred would be equally delightful.  So we settled into the first volume.

Life of Fred is math told in story form.  Each chapter at this level is a few pages of story/biology or economics/math followed by about three to ten problems and questions in the section “Your Turn to Play.”  Answers immediately follow the questions, and we found covering them with an index card kept one from taking in the answers while working the problems.  After seven or eight chapters, a set of five tests of sorts (“The Bridge”) appears.  According to the book, the student should continue to attempt these ten-question tests until mastering one with an 80%.  Then the student can move on to the next section.  Looking back for assistance on all of the tests is encouraged.  At the end of the book, are five “Final Bridge” exams, with twenty-one questions each.

All the books tell the story of Fred.  Fred is a five-year-old mathematical genius who teaches at KITTENS University and sleeps under his desk.  In Pre-algebra I, the story revolves around gardening (in Fred’s office) and a scandalous, swindling shopping mall owner.  The story is interspersed with brief descriptions of sets, volumes of various solids, the five kingdoms of living thing, a smattering of genetics, a bit of algebraic equations, and more.  Evolution in not on the topic list (and the author points that out in the introduction).  Far more biology surfaces in this book than math, although most of the problems to work are mathematical.

No risk that I’ll give away the ending of Pre-algebra I.  We lost interest midway through. Actually, I lost interest in Chapter 3, but my son hung in until the halfway point.  The science is sound, if rather scattered and incomplete. The story was far from compelling, at least to the two of us.  I’ve heard from those who’ve used Fred for the preceding Fractions and Decimals books that those earlier volumes are far more focused and interesting.  And while I’ve read on message boards that some families manage to make Life of Fred their entire math curriculum, for many folks it seems to be a supplement.  If my son had enjoyed it, I suppose we’d have stuck with it as supplement, a way to vamp a bit before Algebra — The Real Thing.

But he didn’t enjoy it, so we stopped.  Perhaps our problem stemmed from not having used prior volumes of Fred. Not that I felt we were missing parts of the story, but the scattershot of math and biology often left me explaining details the author omitted.  I understood that issue when set theory tripped him up (none of that in the elementary Singapore) — that was some of why I decided to try the series.  Sets, a bit of probability, and those sorts of odds and ends are what we need.  Unfortunately, there was precious little of that math — or any math — to be found in Pre-Algebra 1.  The biology was sound, but it’s largely vocabulary (solipsism, proprioceptors, hexaploid, pleotropic genes) amongst interesting biological facts, not ground-up biology that will provide a strong base for future studies.

Yes, I was disappointed.  I was disappointed four years back when my older tried Life of Fred Advanced Algebra.  I can’t recall all the details of that break-up with that piece of curriculum, but I do know my older son’s learning style did not jibe with the series either.  Perhaps it’s just us.  Life of Fred is designed to be self-taught, and we just don’t do that with math.  I have two mathematically talented kids, but they like interaction with a human for math.  I like it that way.  Math deserves conversation. Certainly one could do that with Life of Fred, but it is definitely a sit-and-read kind of series, not a work-at-the-white-board one.

Life of Fred offers books for an ever-expanding range of ages, now starting with early elementary math and reaching to Calculus and Linear Algebra.  Obviously Schmidt is doing something right with this unique approach to math.  But it’s not for us.  We’ll continue to take our time at this point of my younger son’s math education, but instead of Fred we’ll reach for Zaccaro’s Challenge Math (and later Real-Life Algebra), more from Theoni Pappas, and other diversions yet to be discovered.

That's my score on the right, making for three losses in row.

“Aren’t you proud of how well your children play Quiddler?” my older asked this morning.  

“Sure,” I replied while losing again to his ten-year-old brother.  Admittedly, I agreed through gritted teeth, since I like to win just as much as I like to be right.  However, my sons’ growing prowess with words delights me, wordsmith that I am.  At the start of our homeschooling experience, science and math ruled the house. Looking back, I can see they dominated our plans and energy at home mostly because they weren’t as easily available in school.  For years, science, math, and history were our subjects of focus.  I worked language arts into the edges for many years. However, in the last year, there’s been a swing toward all things wordy.  My younger took up writing and discovered a love of literature, vocabulary, and grammar.  My older has embraced crossword puzzles, Scrabble, and Quiddler. While he’s not as naturally inclined to enjoy vocabulary study, he’s made some gains in that department via these games.

Quiddler, by SET Enterprises, is a card game of word creation.  Played in eight rounds with two players or more, the goal is to use all the cards in your hand to make words.  Speed is not a requirement, and neither is a vocabulary of long words.  A larger vocabulary helps, as does knowledge of large number of two letter words, but a word master may find herself at the mercy of a ten-year old with a fine vocabulary and a good ability to anagram.  It’s happened to me three times this morning. We play with the Scrabble dictionary on the table.  Consulting the dictionary to confirm that your word is indeed a word is legal in our game.  Dictionary delving (searching endlessly for the best word) is verboten, mostly because it slows the game down for everyone.

Scrabble is another favorite around here.  Soon after Facebook entered my life, I discovered the joys of online Scrabble.  I was not the best speller, and live, in-person Scrabble just emphasized my spelling woes.  I’d played some as a child, but this was my first go at the game as an adult.  In  addition to boasting an online dictionary and two-letter-word list, the online version won’t let you play a word that isn’t a word.  Now we’re talking.  My older son soon found a new reason to stand behind me at the computer, and he discovered he had a talent for word placement and seven-letter word finding.  When he was old enough to have his own account, he started playing with my friends online.  He’s good, but he forgets to play, sometimes for weeks at a time, or just loses interest.  He prefers to swoop into my games and save the day.  I’m good with that.

Scrabble played on a real Scrabble board occurs in fits and spurts around here.  My younger took to the game a few years back, at a time when his spelling was, well, unconventional.  Competing was out of the question, so we tallied our scores together, creating one giant score that we tried to best as a team.  He learned some spelling and vocabulary.  I learned a good deal of patience.  We both had fun.  My older and I played as well, although with individual scores.  He was spelling-challenged at that time, too, so I allowed dictionary checks.  I also permitted a fair amount of dictionary delving, which taught him plenty of new words but substantially lengthened the game. (I’d read, check the laundry, or check my email between turns.) While my younger’s lost interest in Scrabble now, my older enjoys playing, especially with a larger group. As he’s become a stronger player, I’ve insisted on less dictionary involvement (and none if the rest of the group nixes it).

There’s more going on to our word games than just words.  Plenty of kids struggle when playing game.  Losing is a risk of playing most games, and while my younger and I circumvented that minefield with combined scores in our early Scrabble games, at some point, it has to be faced.  Winning can be just as problematic for some, with gloating and showboating hardly the behaviors parents want their children to exhibit when they meet success.  Around here, however, are fairly gracious winners.  Losing?  Well, we’ve come a long way.  I’ve not seen tears with a game loss in some time, although tension mounts when reaching the end of some games.  More and more, my younger is managing the losses with a moderate amount of grace.  It’s a skill well worth learning.

Rule following is another skill honed in game playing.  My Aspie ten-year-old loves rules.  They anchor his life and provide comfort in a shifting, unpredictable world.  I’ve always cursed the rule writers of children’s games instructing that the youngest player go first (note games for adults NEVER mention age when indicating order of play).  He extrapolated that rule to include all games for all time, a pattern that does NOT go over well with groups of kids.  As he’s matured, he’s less likely to pull the “youngest first” card, but unless the rules to a game mention a specific way to determine order of play, he feels strongly he should go first.  We’re working on that

Before my rule lover came along, I never realized how much is omitted in the instructions of many games.  ”Show me that in the rules!” is a famous battle cry at our house.  Often, the questioner is my younger son, and just as undoubtedly, the rules are silent about a matter at hand.

Often, I’ll refer to precedent.  ”This is the way we do it in game X and Y,”  I’ll explain.  Yeah, like that’s going to work.  This is obviously not game X or Y, so why would that matter, his expression reads. In the interest of raising a child who can be flexible when losing (far more rule questions are raised by this child when he’s not winning), I hold pretty tightly to written and implied rules.  I’ll wonder sometimes if I should lighten up, letting him make the call, but in the interest of fairness all around, I tend to be a bit on the rigid side.  Sometimes, upon a rule-read, we discover we’ve both been forgetting a rule.  On those occasions, we generally make the adjustment on the next game.  Overall, rule adherence is improving, so between my coaching and his maturing, something must be going right.

Vocabulary expansion, spelling improvement, rule adherence, flexible thinking, game manners.  These are just the start of what we’ve gained on our word game binges.  Most importantly, we’ve having a whole lo of fun.

Following Directions:  This is as obvious as the math lessons learned in math, but recipe following requires a different set of skills than assembling an IKEA bookshelf (a skill my older has mastered).  On a recent baking spree, my older successfully baked peanut butter cookies and creme de menthe bars.  As with most tasks, he’s inclined to read the directions as he goes, often reading only the step he’s on.  This works fine for the bookshelves but  not so well for cooking. I’ve many times been thwarted by my line-by-line read only to reach a step that then says, “While the custard is cooking, prepare the crust so it is ready as soon as the custard is complete” or some such phrase.  Ouch.  So on his last baking day, I was fairly persistent that he read the directions in their entirety before starting. Read ahead, making sure you know what’s coming next.  Be prepared.  He was grumbly about my reminders, but he was generally independent in the process, which yielded delicious results.

Improvising:  Directions are great, but I’m a seat-of-my-pants kind of cook.  After years of following recipes, I learned, like many of us do, what I liked and how to substitute what I had for what was called for in a recipe.  I use recipe as a starting place, veering off where I please and sticking close when I’m in uncharted territory.  For baking, I’m apt to stick to the recipe more tightly, although I still feel free to wander.  My younger embraces this flexibility, designing soups with whatever sounds good to him.  Yeah, we’ve had some, um, interesting soups as a result.  But he’s learned from them.  Given his general inflexibility (“I only do the quizzes for my grammar class on Tuesdays.”), I embrace this willingness to take chances and veer from the set path.  Much of life is improvising, making do with what one has and following one’s intuition.  The kitchen is a fine place to practice that skill.

Using tools safely:  A few years back, my older son took an interest in carpentry, acquiring tools of all sorts and the knowledge to use them with minimal risk of amputation.   In Montessori, they learned how to safely cut cheese and pickles with a paring knife.   How to safely remove something from the oven and hold the grater so you don’t add too much of yourself into the macaroni and cheese are just a few of the safe tool use lessons of the kitchen.   My older son has dysgraphia, a writing disability. The fine motor challenges writing presents also make some other coordinated small movements difficult, so I’ve had to teach some of these basic skills quite explicitly and repetitively.  I’ve corrected a precarious grip on many a hot pan and taught how to spread substances of different consistencies literally dozens of times.  The same child plays the piano with skill far beyond his years and types far faster than I, but grading pressure with those smaller muscles of the hand and numerous other tasks I take for granted are serious struggles.  Sure, I could send him back to occupational therapy (to whom I’m forever indebted for teaching him to tie his shoes and use a knife when eating), but kitchen time seems more practical and is far more affordable.

Cleaning up: “Yes, you have to clean the outside of the mixing bowl as well as the inside.”  ”No, that can’t go in the dishwasher.”  ”Come back!  There’s a crumbly something adhering itself to the sink.  Please wash it down.”  Dishes, sinks, and sticky spots on the floor don’t clean themselves.  I’d love to report that my children always clean up immediately after baking or eating, but unfortunately, that’s not true.  Cleaning up is part of the process, and it’s more complicated that those of us with decades in that room might realize.  I’m glad to offer plenty of guidance about when to pick the sponge and when to use the dishcloth and whether to a pan soak or not.  Their roommates and partners may reap more of the benefits of these lessons than I, but with luck, they’ll soon see a recently emptied dish and rush to wash it (with the dishcloth, please).

Persisting in the face of disaster:  Or at least not giving up after a batch of cookies burns or a cake fails to rise.  My most recent cooking faux pas was tonight’s dinner.  Seems leaving the chicken in the crock pot on low for the afternoon did not yield a finished chicken.  I continued with the rest of my plan (veggies and roasted sweet potatoes) and made eggs.  No tragedy, and that’s an important lesson for kids.  Sometimes things don’t work out as we planned.  It’s fine to take what worked and leave the rest (in this case, for a few hours later on high), learning something for next time.

(Part I explains how my reluctant writer turned novelist.  Part III and III.V cover the sometimes painful editing and publishing process.)

November 30th came and went without much fanfare.  My younger son met his 10,000 word goal for National Novel Writing Month’s Young Writer’s Program on the 29th, so we’d hoorayed and back-patted a day earlier.  It was the 30th when he actually finished his story, which turned out to be 11,007 words.  We cheered that accomplishment, too, but meeting his word and being declared a winner on the site was the joy of the 29th.

What to do next?  Create Space, a self-publishing company owned by Amazon, offers each winner (any writer than meets their goal is a winner, although the bar is set firmly at 50,000 words for adults) five free paperback copies of his or her book. This offered an additional goal: to create a (somewhat) polished piece.  It also demanded additional work, and I admit some stomach clenching on my part at the thought of walking this child through the editing process.

I’ve often read that a manuscript of great length should be set aside for a month before editing.  This allows the writer some distance from the work, increasing the chance of looking at it objectively.  My son was determined that these copies of his book would be his holiday gifts for his parents and grandparents and refused to afford himself thirty days.  We’d have to work fast.  After a few days away from the piece, he turned it over to me for a first read and marking up.  I took up my red pen and set to work, a process that took far longer than the 15  minutes he felt was reasonable.  Specifically, it took me three days, not because I’m that slow of a reader but because there are only so many red marks I can make on one person’s work in one day.  Especially if that person is my ten-year old son.

So after three days of inking it up, I returned the draft to him.  He looked over the more bloody pages and began to argue. This is where the thirty days of space away from the book would have helped.  With the story so fresh from his mind and heart, it’s hard for him to see that much could be improved upon, aside from punctuation, grammar, and spelling.  Today, day two of editing, he softened at points.  Generally, my comments regarded clarity.  He has a complicated story, full of back story the reader needs to understand the present and complex relationships between characters.  Over these two days, I’ve repeated the same phrases:  I need to know more to understand what this character is thinking or how he/she is acting.  Don’t make your reader work so hard to understand what’s going on.

In truth, it’s a great story, especially from a chid who’s written only one short story before and very few works longer than a few paragraphs.  It has fairly well-formed characters, with some growing in character throughout the story, a definite plot line with subplots along the way, and a conclusion that leads the reader to understand that the battle is over… but only for now.  He has a series planned, and would rather be starting the next word than polishing this first installment.  This work is heavily weighted with dialogue, and many of my comments concern the fleshing out of scenes with more description.  He’s a highly verbal kid, trusting words beyond what he sees or touches.  The dialogue is much like his own speech:  formal and somewhat pedantic.  He’s working on that, adding some contractions and cutting a bit of the formality.  He’s worked hard to explain why the characters think what they do, a challenge for a child who has trouble understanding the minds of the people around him.  I keep reminding him that, at least in this case, he gets to make up what others are thinking.

One exciting finding upon reading this first draft was how his writing developed as he went along.  Initially, the first two chapters or so were all dialogue.  By the end of the book, he included plenty of descriptive paragraphs, which make for an easier, more enjoyable read.  Better yet, he noticed he was improving.  Also, while for the first week, he needed reminders to write each day, by mid-month, he was sitting down on his own each day, keeping track of his word count (a bit obsessively) and logging his progress onto the NaNoWriMo YWP site.  Generally, he found he wrote best first thing in the morning, although he enjoyed  two writing stints at Barnes and Noble with our less-than-reliable laptop.  Nothing like writing in a bookstore with a snack nearby.

Will he do it again?  He’s positive. He’s also certain he’ll write before then.  This self-imposed project shaped his sense of self as writer.  A year ago, getting him to write or type anything was painful for all.  Today, he composes with confidence and ease.  And while for this project, he wants to do the editing to prepare it for those five bound copies, he’s just as free to write a draft and leave it there.  This is his creative process, and I’ll enter only when invited.  Thank you, NaNoWriMo, for serving as the catalyst for this transformation.  Thank you, from both of us.

My younger son plans to release his novel on his blog, Bertram’s Blog, in the next several weeks, after editing is done.  

CPO Science offers secular courses in Earth, Physical, and Life sciences at the middle school level and physical science (with or without some earth science) at the high school level.  We’re using the Middle School Earth Science text and teacher’s manual, both also available on Amazon, Ebay, and a host of used book distributors.  While there is an Investigations guide available, it’s not necessary, since the teacher’s guide comes with a few investigations per chapter and the website contains free files of the student portion of those investigations (labeled student record sheets on the website). I purchased the two hardcover books for about $60 after a fair amount of searching.

My initial reaction to the text-book was that it looked a bit childish, with a larger font and more white space than I expected at this level.  A closer look proved me wrong — the content is strong and the layout aids learning. CPO science books are bound in landscape format: think picture book style — width greater than height.   This allows any sidebars, images, or definitions to fit on the same page as the material covered in the text.  The layout of the text strongly supports the reader, with each section broken into smaller parts that span one or two pages and never require turning a page to finish.  From a practical standpoint, this allows the reader to focus on the topic on the page without further distraction.  The images on the page, any vocabulary (in the right margin in a blue box), charts, etc., all support that topic.  The right hand margin lists the main topic of each paragraph on the page, again supporting the reader and easing the reader when searching back through the chapter after reading it.  Parents of ADHD kids, rejoice.  This set-up greatly aids the easily distracted reader (got two of those).

Each of the nineteen chapters consists of two to four subsections, each followed by a section review with concept, critical thinking, and mathematical questions.  My son and I do these aloud, as they provide a time to discuss the material and make connections.  Some require paper and pencil for math calculations.  We’ve found a few that don’t have an answer within the chapter and a few where the Teacher’s Guide contains the wrong answer, although the latter has not occurred at a higher rate than any other materials we’ve used.  Following the last section is a two-page spread that extends an idea in the chapter, sometimes connecting to another science, and a few more questions to discuss.  A chapter activity, different from the investigations, allows another opportunity for hand-on practice of the material.  Each chapter ends with an assessment, including questions on vocabulary (fill in the blank), concept questions, a section on math and writing skills, and  a chapter project.  For now, we’re doing most of that section aloud and ignoring the research project. I’d like to move some of that work to written assignments, but that’s yet to happen.

The teacher’s guide is not an annotated text.  It supplies the answers to all the questions, instructions for the investigations, extensions, and additional information.  Most chapters start with a demonstration or investigation, designed to be completed before the chapter is read.  We’ve done some of these and omitted the ones where set-up outweighs learning benefit or where my son clearly already understands the point being made. The investigation later in the chapter ties together the portions of the learned material.  Both have a measure of inquiry built in, with learners thinking through plans and results throughout the investigation.  Students to discover information as they go.  These inquiries and investigations make up a large amount of the value of the CPO series, and while we’ve left out some, most are on our schedule to complete.  CPO sells a supply kit for a rather exorbitant price, but we’ve chosen to piece together our own materials.  Notable necessary and potentially pricey items are a stream table and a Geobox.  We’ve made our own of both, as illustrated at the end of this post. Overall, the labs are quite manageable, large amounts of wet sand aside. (Our table is way too big to be practical.  Wet sand is very heavy. Very heavy. For a more manageable at-home stream table, visit  Now is the Best Time.)

The CPO website holds more than just the printable files for the investigations.  For each chapter, CPO supplies printable graphic organizers (very basic) for key concepts of the chapter.  These have served as a bridge to note taking for my ten-year old, who really doesn’t want to ever use a pencil.  After filling out the chart for the layers of the atmosphere, he admitted he learned quite a bit completing the work.  That’s a major victory for all in this house.  Also available for free printing are skills and practice sheets.  These are not regurgitate the fact worksheets or word searches.  For example, in the second section of the book, the sheets include internet research techniques and evaluation of sources, dimensional analysis, line graphing practice, a groundwater modeling project, biographies on two scientists (with research questions), an introduction to graphing with spreadsheets, and more.  We don’t manage all those pages, but there’s plenty from which to choose, and the materials are high quality extensions to the text.

So a fourth of the way through the book, we’re hooked.  With easy-to-read text, a teacher’s manual that adds greatly to the text, and plenty of free, online supports, CPO Middle School Earth Science is a favorite of my son and I. I do supplement with Discovery Streaming and BrainPop videos and some of the readings suggested in the text (each chapter lists supplements on three reading levels).  Pair that with outside videos and curiosity-led web searches and we have a fine Earth Science year in progress.

Our high-tech Geobox, made from a lettuce box and two plastic cups that vent the box.

Our totally too-big stream table. The spigots are from a brewery, with one attached to the top bucket and another at the foot of the table, available for draining the table.

Disclosure:  I’ve received no compensation in money or materials for this review.