Teaching Like a Ninja

That's right.  I karate (pronounced "kah-RAH-tay") chop my children into submissively learning from me every day.  Not really.  But what I have found with Eva in just this short week's (I actually started teaching here at home on Tuesday, so I do have an almost full week under my belt.) foray into homeschooling is that she learns best when she doesn't know it's coming.   I have to be stealthy, fast and more than a bit sly to get her to actually participate.  Memory work is best learned when a game is involved.  Bribery of any kind is an effective tool when teaching reading (taffy) or her timeline (punching holes in paper, making muffins or cookies, art projects, etc.).  Oddly enough, I don't mind this "popcorn" style of teaching all that much.  It seems to coincide quite nicely with our lives at the moment and I'm sure, when she's older and has a much longer attention span, it will look different.

We got some valuable memory work in by having her answer my questions and if she answered them she got to run across the playroom at the futon, full tilt, and crash into it.  Behavior not usually condone by myself, mind you, but I'm pretty desperate at this point.  The boys enjoyed this very much, as well.

The idealist in me had greatly desired for more idyllic moments in the morning.  The boys would sit quietly in the living room, soaking up letters and numbers while Sesame Street soothed them into a semi-laconic state, thereby making it easier, of course, for me to mold their minds at a later date.  Satisfied that the boys were nearing a coma, I would then sit next to Eva at a small table, in a corner of the house illumined by the gentle, yet mentally invigorating, morning sun, and we would cheerfully review memory work, practice some writing, and then decide if we felt like reviewing reading or doing a little math.  These tasks, all the while, would each be met with a cheerful heart and willing attitude that made life worth living --a veritable banquet of joy and delight, if you will. 

In fact, most mornings this week went something like this:

"Eva, what do you want for breakfast?  Granola?  Let's chop-chop so we can do some school work."

"Nothing!  I'm not hungry.  (A few minutes of introspection.) I'M THIRSTY!"

"Well, I'd be happy to get you something to drink as soon as you ask me nicely and you NEED to eat so you may choose between granola and toast with a banana. If you don't choose now, I will choose for you."

"FINE! I'll have granola.  I'm THIRSTY!"

(This is the part where I start to sound like a broken record. So I'll just cut to the good part.)

Cut to actual "school time":

"Okay, Eva, let's practice our reading."

"Why?!?  I don't want to!  I already know a lot!  I don't need to know that!"



Well, at least she LOOKS like she's ready to read.


"Well, honey, reading is pretty foundational.  (I'm mentally cringing at myself for using a big word she doesn't know.  This is where I backtrack and try to bring it back to her level.)  I mean, we need to be able to read to learn and we're ALWAYS learning, even if you think you know a lot already.  Mommy and Daddy are still learning things and we're much, much (sob) older than you."

"Well, I don't want to!"

"Okay, well, if you do what I ask you may have some taffy at the end of the lesson."

Lots of impressive nodding and agreement follow.  The lesson, however, is still fraught with tension and more opposition than I'd like and, if I try to do it in the morning instead of after I've tucked the boys away for quiet time, imagine their feisty little bodies whirling, flying and cavorting around us like wild monkeys.  It makes for quality learning time, let me tell ya.   

I opted to save the reading for the beginning of quiet time for the sake of my sanity and this is how our little lesson went:

"Okay, Eva, let's start here... 'man, can, fan...'

She makes it to the beginning of the next line which starts with "map" and says, "Man."  She's done this quite a few times in the last week and I'm sure I did it, too, when I was learning to read.  It's much easier to guess than do the work.  I just wish I could share with her that funny saying for the word "assume."  Another time, perhaps....

I look at her, clearly frustrated at this classic blunder and tell her to look at ALL the letters in the word and sound them out.  This is when she tells me she wishes she didn't have to do this part to be able to read a book.  I, then, in what I consider to be a moment of sheer teaching genius (It doesn't take much for me to feel that way at this stage of the game, keep in mind.), tell her that learning how to sound out these little words is very important if she wants to read a book someday.  I explain that it would be much like trying to drive a car that had no wheels.  (This makes her giggle.)  "You need the wheels to be able to drive the car, right?" I ask her.  She nods and giggles some more and, encouraged greatly, I continue, "Learning these words is like putting the wheels on your reading car.  Once you get them on there, you can read books!"  She seems satisfied with this explanation and continues our lesson happily for another full 30 seconds.  Reminders of taffy were the only thing keeping this boat afloat.

This example is nothing like the tantrum I was met with on Wednesday that led to a good portion of Eva's morning being spent in the bathroom for some lengthy time-outs where crying and all manner of screaming ensued.  I was worried the neighbors were going to call the cops and I nearly called the local school district to see how quickly I could get her started.  It's a good thing I'm almost embarrassingly persistent (Or is it stubborn?) when it comes to doing something I believe in.

I can picture myself trying to teach only Eva.  I can see myself with her as the only child and me suffering through these sessions with the patience of a grizzly bear.  I thank God that I have more than one child.  That I have 3.3 reasons to have my patience tried, stretched and grown deeper and wider everyday.  If not for them, this would not be happening.  It seems strange to me that it should work that way, but the fact of the matter is, I wouldn't appreciate alone time with each of my beautiful blessings if not for the times when I have them all together.  It just wouldn't be possible. 

As much as I quake in my boots at the thought of being a mother to four children and, not just their mother, but the person responsible for their education (That should be true even if your kids are in public school!), I know that God has given me and my husband charge over them not just for their health, safety and betterment, but for our personal and spiritual growth as well.  I might be the conduit for their learning, but I KNOW, without a doubt, they are the conduit for mine and I praise God for that.