Math manipulation

I love the medieval era. Actually, I could probably say that about any number of historical eras. What I really love is history. I love it almost as much as I love Saturdays, that day when we can always find a book sale somewhere to peruse. My mother was relieved when I assured her today that we also donate books to book sales, we're not just hoarding them all on our shelves. What I failed to mention is that the incoming volume probably far outweighs the outgoing. At least for right now. I didn't take a picture of today's finds, but I was really excited to bring home an illustrated hardcover of The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, and a copy of the classic Pinocchio as illustrated by Roberto Innocenti in library binding. I love library binding almost as much as I love Saturdays, history, and the medieval era.

When we got back from our morning out there was a box waiting for us on the front porch. If you've ever seen Christmas Vacation maybe you remember the ringing of the doorbell, each echo sinking further and further into the deep notes of doom. I heard that sound in my head the minute I saw what I knew to be a box containing curriculum on our front porch. Last weekend Jon and I went to a homeschooling book fair to visit Math-u-See, and check out their math manipulatives. I have no intention of starting a rigid curriculum of any kind with Calvin at this age, and after listening to the rep lecture us about having to take tests after each section, having to complete each section in order, yadda yadda, I was internally screaming "No! No! This rigidness is exactly what we are trying to avoid!" But I really liked the manipulatives so we ordered them, and, because another part of my inner self was crying out "I don't know how to do this!", we also ordered the primer book and teaching guide for me to read through.

My intention had been to read through the books and make my own plans for how to use the manipulatives to fit our needs, but now that Calvin can read the instructions for himself he is free to make some of those decisions on his own, too. His excitement over this stuff kind of surprised me, although I'm sure it shouldn't have. The moment I unpacked it he was sorting the blocks, and then, while I was cataloging and putting away our new book sale books, he launched right into the primer. He finished the first nine lessons (mainly number recognition) before he moved on and I breathed a sigh of relief.

And then, like a good child should, he played with the packaging, which is something I'm much, much more comfortable with.

I still have no intention of officially starting Calvin on this stuff. I balk at the mention of tests or curriculum, but I'm nervous about teaching math concepts without a little guidance. It's not that I'm uncomfortable with math, just that I'm unsure of my ability to teach it. What a terrible thing for a homeschooler to say! How many times have I told the doubters that anyone can teach, and learn, anything? But while I may not use the math curriculum, for some reason I feel better having that guidance available, and I really like the manipulatives. I'll get back to you on the rest of it.

A legacy in the making

We finished the castle today. After a week in the making it was a glorious moment followed by much castle play.

We also went to a stage performance of Peter Rabbit that was fun, but didn't catch Calvin's imagination the way previous plays have done. That's okay with me; Peter isn't one of my favorite characters or stories anyhow.

Then, all week Calvin has looked forward to my dad's retirement party, and tonight it was finally here. Being at Gandy Dancer he got two chances to see trains going by right outside the window, and even though we were there for hours he was happily entranced by the puzzles, books, and art materials we brought for his entertainment, as well as by the the people who spoke to him and the slide show of his Grampa, shown over and over again. I was proud of him. That's what parents do, isn't it? Feel proud of their children.

All of my life my parents have continually reminded me of how proud they are of me. Children take their parents for granted, and as I watch Calvin I know that's exactly the way it should be, but tonight, watching the slide show and hearing others talk about my dad was a different view. I never thought much about him in his job. He has always been my dad—I knew what he did for a living and knew he was good at it, but at home he was my dad and that was what counted. To me. To so many others it was his integrity at work that counted, and the quality of his working years was obvious in the joy of memories, and sorrow at loss, of those present tonight. It wasn't news to me, but rather a spotlight on the previously un-noted, and it was my turn to be proud of him.

At the end of the evening, as we stood in the foyer waiting for our car, Calvin chatted lightly with one of the greeters about trains and dinner while he donned his sweater for the ride home. I wasn't paying much attention, but I heard her ask him his age and tell him that she had a two year old boy at home. On our way out the door she said to me "He's adorable, so healthy." I thanked her and said goodnight, but it wasn't until we were almost all the way home that I realized exactly what she had said to me, and recognized the immense compliment. "Healthy." It still rings in my ears as a resounding commendation. Full time mom's don't have regular performance reviews, something I often lament to my fully understanding mother.

But then my father has often commented to me that very few people ever leave behind legacies in their place of work, that if we wish to leave a lasting mark on the world that mark must be made in our children, and in our children's children. Tonight we saw the legacy my father leaves at work—and he is likely to be one of the few who is not quickly forgotten—and that other legacy, the one we are all creating, who is now a healthy, inquisitive four year old boy.

There's a connective fiber somewhere in here, a strong thread about pride, families, and legacies, but though I started with it in mind I can't seem to find the end again in order to tie it up. It's leaving me with an unfinished feeling; no witty wrap-up, no full circle comment. Or maybe that's the metaphor in and of itself.

We made a castle this morning.

Under a frigid blue sky (but inside)

Twenty degrees this morning, and winter is back. The puddles in our backyard were all frozen over this morning and the deck was covered in a thin layer of ice. As so many of the coldest days are, though, it was sunny with a frigid blue sky. If we hadn't had to get to the store and back we might (only might) have gone out for a short walk. Instead, after planning meals for the week, we shopped for good foods then spent the rest of the day immersed either in books or in art projects. The castle continues to grow daily, and he finished work on his knight's shield just to start work on his knight's helmet. I'm sure there will be jousting soon.

Exciting

Today was full of exciting.

It didn't start that way. We woke up and spent some dreary moments staring out the window at a cold, gray morning, puddles filling every depression in the lawn and garden. We cuddled in the reading chair and read for a while. We both practiced the piano. We straightened some of the house, though not as much as it could use. We almost started lunch, but then Calvin remembered his previous excitement over a middle ages and renaissance experience and decided instead that he wanted to read a little in a book that we'd brought home from the book sale a few weeks ago about King Arthur. That's when exciting started. We read the opening page to King Arthur's Knight Quest, and it was over an hour before we actually got to lunch. The book is a hidden pictures sort, with a lot of rich illustrations depicting the costumes and outfittings of the knights and the story and backdrop of the fantastical world of King Arthur. Because Calvin views every book now as a full life experience we ended up starting work on suit of armor, beginning with the shield. Each page is a new part of the quest, and each page means finding (thus making) a new part of the armor, among a host of other things. There will be a lot more to our quest this week, and that's exciting.

At lunch, to continue his exploration of the middle ages, Calvin wanted to read Cowardly Clyde to me. And he did. I am still blown away by his reading progress, and that's exciting for me.

And exciting was Calvin composing music. He started it this morning after we practiced, playing around with the damper pedal. He continued in the afternoon, then he got some help from his dad in writing it down. Discovery is a very exciting thing.

Then, of course, there's the castle, which is growing and changing slowly, one addition at a time. It's another project that has been and will continue to be ongoing this week. Calvin is teaching me the exciting lesson of coming and going, the ebbing and flowing of creative energy.

And that's exciting.

Books, Oprah, and dalmatians

It's cold and rainy again, and while I'd revel in the fact that it is rain instead of snow, we're under a winter storm warning through tomorrow morning that might mean ice, and that's worse. Nothing like being reminded by nature not to get too flippant. Calvin has asked to go for a walk, but now that we're back from the morning's swimming lessons the rain and hail are keeping us in. Instead we've set up a box castle, played Mammoth Hunt, tried out some chess, read a lot of books. It's a warm, warm feeling when he reads to me instead of the other way around. I've waited years for that feeling. A lifetime, to be exact, although not my own.

Make believe play is rampant in the house today. We have Oz in the sitting room and knights and dragons in the kitchen. Since I'm in the middle of cataloging our books there are piles everywhere you look, delicious piles of literary art with a few cheap flings on the side, and Calvin careening in, out, and around the landscape of my slow progress. As I reshelve, do I section them by genre? Or do I go by centuries instead? I'd rather go with a rainbow display, but most of our books are rather drab in color. Then, as the knight comes swinging through, riding on the Woozy from Oz, the tallest pile finally loses its grip and succumbs to gravity.

As an aside, it occurs to me that Oprah's Book Club has done for many books what the 101 Dalmatians movie did to the spotted dog. For years after the movie was re-released animal shelters everywhere were flooded with dalmatians being given up by parents who hadn't really wanted them in the first place but couldn't resist their begging children. I figure that the flood of classic books sporting the Oprah stamp given up to the book sale each month, most with completely unbroken spines, are suffering that same unwanted fate. I am reminded of this as I restack, along with the rest of the collapsed pile, my newly acquired sale room treats, copies of Anna Karenina, One Hundred Years of Solitude, and The Good Earth, all nearly brand new and decorated with the Oprah seal, all rescued from the sale room recycling bin because there were just too many of them to shelve, even for a sale. They wouldn't be my first choice as far as book collecting goes, but they needed new homes, and we all know what happens when I am faced with unwanted things that need new homes.

And when the tallest stack has been re-built as two smaller ones, my knight and I ride into the kitchen to share a snack, finish making dinner, and read another book. I am done with piles now for the day, though I am sure they will be waiting for us tomorrow which we are likely to spend inside again, reminded by a frigid rain that spring has only a tentative foothold as yet.