Kindergarten

Wednesday, September 7, 2011, 6:30 A.M. I woke up my five-year-old with a gentle hug. “Rise and shine. It’s time to get ready for school.”

She had been looking forward to this day for a few years now, as she watched her siblings leave for school and come back every day. Now it was the dog’s turn to watch the kids all leave, forlorn, wishing she could go wherever they went all day.

She was so sweet and cheery all morning as she got ready. She wanted me in the same room with her as she got dressed, had breakfast, and brushed her teeth, although she needed no help doing those things. Yet she seemed to have no problem leaving me for the day.

Fortunately for all of us, she has two of her older siblings on the same bus with her, as they all attend the same Catholic school this year. So I had no concerns about her being on the bus by herself. The bus driver seemed like a very kind woman. Her older sister held her hand as she got on the bus. She helped her to buckle her seat belt, something we never had on the bus when I was little. She looked out the window at me, smiling, as the bus pulled away. I stood there, waving, until the bus disappeared down the block.

And I smiled. I never cried when my other kids went to school for the first time; I was always too busy with other little ones. I had thought I would be a little sad when my youngest one went, but I felt content. Not giddy, as in, “Oh I’m so happy to get rid of the kids so I can have some peace and quiet,” but satisfied that things were as they should be.

I really like how the Catholic schools start off the first week with half days. It really gives both the parents and the kids time to adjust to the new schedule. For me, I think it really made that first day a breeze.

I went inside, had my coffee and breakfast, then for a brief moment said to myself, “Now what?” Not that I didn’t have a ton of chores to tackle – I didn’t know where to start. “First things first,” I answered myself, and started by cleaning the floor. I proceeded to the most obvious things, and before I knew it I was rushing to finish up what I had started before the bus came back.

My husband missed her – as did the dog. Honey moped around the house, roaming from room to room, aimlessly going in and out the back door.

My eighth grader has a phone now, and she texted me so that I knew when to come outside and wait for the bus. My littlest one came back off the bus, smiling. The dog went crazy, jumping happily inside at the sight of the children.

I laugh when I think of the nosy cashier at King Kullen who commented last spring, “You’re not going to know what to do with yourself when she goes to Kindergarten.”I responded back to her, “I was thinking about taking up golf,” facetiously.I didn’t feel I needed to justify to her what I really was planning to do with my time: write full time, get the house in order, and do some home improvements.

Now we are almost done with September and I didn’t even notice when autumn had officially begun. Time just has a way of filling itself up, especially when you juggle multiple children, sports, volunteer activities, and freelance work. I have been in the kindergarten a few times, and am happy to see how well she is adjusting socially, emotionally, and academically to her new environment.

My life is full. My heart is full. My cup runneth over. To everything there is a season.

Those of you who would like to become a Kindergarten teacher can learn about classes for an online masters in education via this resource.

"The Overachievers: The Secret Lives of Driven Kids" by Alexandra Robbins

If you have a college-bound teen in your house, then “The Overachievers: The Secret Lives of Driven Kids” (Hyperion, 2006) is a must-read for you. In this 448-page book, Alexandra Robbins delves into the lives of several high school students to disclose what parents need to know about the pressures kids are under today to get into prestigious colleges.

Robbins went back to her alma mater, Walt Whitman High School, and followed several students as they went through the college application process. She detailed their heavy schedules and included portions of their personal diaries and online discussions with friends. She talked about how much (actually, how little) sleep they got and how their interactions were with their friends and family.

The author followed the applications as they went through the hands of high school counselors and college administrators. She went into New York City pre-Kindergartens and revealed the shocking imbalance of supply and demand and the effect it has on parents bent on getting their youngsters into the right pre-K program. Finally, she spoke to students of other schools around the country to make sure the experiences were not based on one school or area.

Some of Robbins’ points include: the need for teens to get more sleep; the stress of having too many activities; and the dangers of being too focused on entrance to a school based on its name. She claims there are many excellent schools out there where the students are happier overall and have equal success in life with those who graduate from Ivy League schools. And she reveals the way statistics are twisted so that the top colleges stay on top of the charts year after year.

The research that went into this book is obvious, and the evidence to back her conclusions well-documented.

I picked up this book because I was amused by the picture. My ninth-grader balances school cross-country/track and travel softball as well as a few advanced courses. Missing from our picture is music: although we have a piano, we never had time for me to give her lessons and she lost interest. I thought she had enough activities and that she was happy and well-balanced.

One of the reasons I opted for public over Catholic school is I noticed how much pressure I thought many of the parents put on their children to be perfect on paper. Some of the kids would cry if they came home with a 99 on an exam. I was criticized for putting sports over academics. In the end, she came out in the top of her class with several scholarship offers from local Catholic schools. I turned them down and so far we are both happy with this decision. Reading this book clinched that for me.

While Robbins was focused on academics and school sports, I have been part of the world of travel softball as well, and could write a whole book on the politics of this sport. Girls now play four seasons per year, with games in indoor sports domes in the winter. Elite softball teams abound, promising college commitments to their top girls. We turned down the elite teams in favor of a small, local team that has talented girls who play for fun. Reading this book made me happier about that decision.

I am glad I read this book because it made me more aware of the dangers of putting too much on a kid’s plate and forcing them to live up to expectations that will not help them with their personal goals.

For the author’s website visit http://www.alexandrarobbins.com/

To order from Amazon click here.

I obtained this book from my local public library and as of this writing have had no correspondence with the author.

High Demand

As the kids continue to grow older and more independent, I have had more time to spend on other projects. While I avoided volunteer work during the newborn stage, I started last year to start saying “yes” to more things, and to sometimes even throw my hat in the ring just because I knew my kind of talent was needed. I always make sure I am putting my time into an interest that will also benefit my children – teaching their religion class, coaching their sport, or putting my organizational skills to work in their sports organization.

For the first time, I allowed my children to take part in winter sports this year, and I am still wondering if that was a good idea. I always liked to take a little time off from all that running around; to enjoy Advent, and my daughter’s birthday, which falls around Christmas. I usually read a nice long book in January, and then do some serious writing. This year I have not had the leisure to either read or write at any great length.

Although we have quite a busy schedule, when we are all together in the house sometimes it feels like I am no longer needed by them in a direct manner. Then suddenly one of them comes to me for help and I am very pleased. The only problem is that this always seems to happen to all the kids at the very same time.

Today my eldest daughter, who practically taught herself while we were homeschooling and catches on to math skills quite easily, came to me for help with her algebraic inequalities. It took about an hour to explain things to her. During this hour, my three-year old daughter continually came asking for me to play a game for her; my eight-year-old son kept asking for advice on a picture he was working on; and my eleven-year-old started crying for no apparent reason.

Done with the primary task at hand, I went on to my second daughter, asking yes or no questions to try to get at the cause of her crying. I finally got at it – she had come home with a C on a test about primes and composites and was afraid to tell me. Note that this is the same teacher who had not properly explained things to my older daughter. So I explained to her that if she didn’t get the math concept it wasn’t her fault, and we worked on understanding the test together.

My son didn’t really need my help; he was just responding to the high needs of everyone else around him and demanding his own piece of me. My three-year-old gets more than her fair share of my attention and needs to learn to wait her turn.

During this time, somebody ate all of my husband’s oatmeal cookies and all of the apples that were supposed to go with the lunches for tomorrow. My husband arrived home, ate the dinner plate I had prepared for him, and asked how I could allow that to happen!

“I don’t know. It’s my writing night,” I replied, and took my laptop upstairs to write this little piece.

Psalms
Chapter 131
1
A song of ascents. Of David. LORD, my heart is not proud; nor are my eyes haughty. I do not busy myself with great matters, with things too sublime for me.
2
Rather, I have stilled my soul, hushed it like a weaned child. Like a weaned child on its mother's lap, so is my soul within me.
3
Israel, hope in the LORD, now and forever.

Painting above: “Lotte (Werther’s Leiden)” by Wilhelm Von Kaulbach

A Half Snow Day

“It’s gonna snow tomorrow!”

“School’s gonna be canceled!”

The kids all came home yesterday carrying notes to the effect that a school closing was highly probably today.

“Should we bother making lunches?”

My eleven–year-old applied Murphy’s Law. “If we make lunches, it will snow and school will be canceled. If we don’t make lunches, it won’t snow and we’ll need them.”

“Hmm,” I responded, “You’d better make the lunches then.”

So they made the lunches. I promised to wake up at 5:00 to check the news for school closings. I did, flipping from channel to channel as our county was continually left out. The forecast now called for snow to start mid-morning. From the weather maps, it looked like Long Island was going to be spared much snowfall. I told the kids to pack their snow boots.

“What for?” they wanted to know.

“You’re probably going to have early dismissal because the snow is going to start after you get to school. Buckle up on the school bus and be careful!”

I warned my husband to try to get out early to get some work done. He is self-employed and works on the road. I also tried to get him to take a hat and gloves, but he did not believe that they would be needed. I’ll be kind and not say “I told you so” when he gets home. I am sure he can hear me saying it in his head right now.

By mid-morning, my toddler was excited to see a nice fluffy snow falling. She can now pronounce all of her syllables. “Snow,” she can say, replacing her former “No”. (No also used to mean “nose”, as well as No, which demonstrates the importance of context in listening to a toddler.)

She lifted up her Minnie Mouse to see out the window. “Snow car,” she says, meaning that the snow was starting to cover the car.

Having faith in more to come, I took out some butter and eggs to soften. We will make some chocolate chip cookies together.

I got a telephone call from the school nurse, letting me know that early dismissal was underway. She wasn’t exactly sure of the time, but she wanted to make sure we knew.

I can just see all the kids in their classes now, looking out the windows, letting words bounce off their ears. I hope the teachers are nice enough to keep the blinds open. When I was teaching, the principal said to close the blinds so the kids would not be distracted by the snow. How mean!

I’m excused from cleaning the floor today. Soon the kids will be tracking snow in and out of the house. Coats, scarves, wet mittens, and boots will be strewn all over the kitchen and laundry room.

The high school kids are home already. I see one on a skateboard, hitching a ride in the back of a car. Those fool kids!

It looks like it’s going to be a white Christmas for most folks this year. Especially in tough times, what a welcome treat that will be for all.

Above is a picture of the snow falling on the trees in my backyard at 1:00 this afternoon.

“All Textbooks Must Be Covered”

The first year my children went to a traditional school, I almost passed out upon reading these words: “All textbooks must be covered.” When referring to guidelines for Individual Educational Plans to be submitted to our local district for approval prior to a year of homeschooling, for a textbook to be listed we were expected to “cover” 90% of the material in the book. So when I saw this, I was thinking we were expected to actually read the textbooks over the summer.

Parochial school students who borrow their required textbooks from the school district are expected to pick up their books from BOCES in Hampton Bays. This is just one of the minor inconveniences shouldered by private school students. We pay the taxes for these books, whether we use them or not. We are expected to do all the running around. We receive a postcard that states our textbooks are ready. At that time, we bring in the old ones and pick up the new ones.

That first year, the postcard stated that I was expected to pick up the books the week of July 24-28. My due date was upon me and I asked a friend to drive us out there on July 24.

Now in retrospect, I believe I started to go into early stages of labor on July 23. That was our 13th wedding anniversary. My in-laws came out to baby-sit while we went out for a beautiful lunch at a first-class brunch buffet. (That is the last time we went out to eat together, if you don’t count the two weddings we went to this summer.) They had fresh fruit, scrumptious desserts, and freshly squeezed juices of the day.

My favorite was the omelet station, where the chef would put in any of the many ingredients that were on display. I boldly requested an omelet with the works. My husband could not believe the amount of food I was able to put down. You literally could have rolled me out of there. I did not feel able to walk to the car, and I asked him to get the car and pick me up at the door. I started having contractions in the car from being so full. When I got home, I fell asleep for a good three hours.

On the morning of July 24, I was feeling really uncomfortable. I could feel the baby’s head pressing down on my pelvis. I said not a word to my friend, but was not very talkative. I was a little aggravated with the young ladies at BOCES, who impatiently waited for me to waddle from desk to desk, signing for the books. I carried not a single one, but piled them all in my children’s backpacks and made them carry them to the car.

My friend gave me a refresher course in covering textbooks, old-school-style. I had saved lots of paper bags from the grocery store. The task seemed to me to be a gargantuan one. One of the grades required workbooks be covered as well. We guessed that we were supposed to cut out pieces of cardboard from cereal boxes to support the paper covers. This was pretty tricky work. I put the piles of books in the dining room, alongside the store-bought supplies that I had picked up as soon as Walmart had them stocked the first week of July. I was so relieved that I had all of them before the baby had come.

My sister came to help out the third week after the baby came. She covered each and every book for me, decorating the covers with whimsical curly-cues and flowers. I thought of her appreciatively as I covered the books by myself this year, a three-night chore. I finally discovered that contact paper was the cover of choice for workbooks; I went through a 24-foot roll.

They are all set now, neatly stacked as in years past. New sneakers are sitting pristinely white in their boxes. Supplies are in their boxes, entrusted to my little ones to keep safe in their rooms. Hairs have been cut. 75% of the reading and written summer work has been completed, without much nudging from me. What was a mystery that first year has become an efficient system for preparing for school.

Aah, I am so happy that covering textbooks does not require that we actually pre-read them!

The Resume of My Married Life

Last night Kevin and I celebrated our 15th wedding anniversary. When I think of all the major life changes we have been through in such a relatively short time, it is amazing. I have touched on some of these lightly and expounded on others throughout my blog entries. Here is a short resume of what we have accomplished together…

1993-1995
I finished my Masters’ Degree.

1995-1996
We moved to North Carolina for a year.
We moved back to Long Island.

1996-1997
I worked as a teacher for a year.

1997
We bought our first house (and quite possibly our last).
We had our first baby.

1998
We had our second baby.

2001
We had our third baby.
We started homeschooling.

2006
We had our fourth baby.
We enrolled our children in Catholic school.

The different periods of our lives seem to be defined by these life-altering events of births, moves, and schooling and career moments. I look at the above list and I think, “What happened between 1998 and 2001, between 2001 and 2006, between 2006 and 2008?”

Indeed, if I was handing a job resume to a prospective employer, that is the first question he or she would ask.

As someone recently said so poignantly, “You couldn’t possibly write about every single thing that happens to you in the course of a day.” Indeed, many days I cannot make it to the computer to write about all the things that have happened in that time. And when I do, I must leave out so much because otherwise I would be writing non-stop. (Possibly a seemingly noble goal for a writer, but only truly feasible for such writers as Dostoyevsky who composed his masterpieces while sitting in a Russian prison for many years.)

Those years are composed of hundreds of days, which in turn are comprised of thousands of minor moments which truly define our lives. And those moments are so important that our Creator keeps count of every one of them. I look at the blank years of our resume and remind myself that every thing I do, every thing I think, every thing I say has an effect on the building of our lives together.

“But do not ignore this one fact, beloved, that with the Lord one day is like a thousand years and a thousand years like one day.”
2 Peter 3:8

Painting above: The Sundial Garden by Simon Burtall

All Right, But Done the Wrong Way

“Who do you think your teacher is, me or your mother?” the math teacher yelled at my sixth grader today.

I somehow doubt she would have tread those waters had she known my daughter had been homeschooled through fourth grade.

The skill being taught was the addition and subtraction of negative and positive integers. The multi-step method taught yesterday was not abundantly clear to my daughter, and I could see she did not know what she was doing. I asked her why she was circling all the signs and what she thought she was supposed to do with them. She did not know.

“Look here,” I said, erasing her little circles.

“But the teacher said - ”

“Never mind that. You don’t remember what she said, and I don’t know what she said, so I’ll make it simple for you.”

I circled the two negatives and put a positive sign over them. “Two negatives make a positive, just like in grammar. Now add.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

The light bulb had gone on, and within five minutes the worksheet was done.

She got them all right, but that was not good enough. She had not followed directions.

I could definitely see from where the teacher was coming. However, if she had not explained the process in an understandable way, what was wrong with coming at it from a different direction? And once the work gets set home, isn’t that my territory?

I obviously was a bit miffed at my daughter’s being chastised for listening to her mother. But for me to say anything would be to make it worse. So I’ll let it be – and hope this doesn’t repeat itself too many more times in the next three years.

I seem to remember having a similar problem with my high school teacher, coming to a solution through a thought-process in reverse from what she had taught. But she knew there was “more than one way to skin a cat” (no offense meant to cat lovers here – it was a saying used often in my childhood), and as long as I could show my work there would be no points taken off.

My eldest daughter’s mind works so much like mine – we often complete each other’s sentences. Teaching her math was always a breeze. If I explained the numbers the way they sorted themselves out in my mind, she would catch on quite quickly. Teachers’ editions never worked for me – just give me the problem and let’s solve it.

Not so with Salvation. Jesus was quite clear that there was only One Way to the Father. He may speak in mysteries but they have a mathematical, logical undercurrent.

“Thomas said to him, ‘Master, we do not know where you are going;
how can we know the way?’
Jesus said to him, ‘I am the way, the truth and the life.
No one comes to the Father except through me.
If you know me, then you will also know my Father.
From now on you do know him and have seen him.’”
John 14:5-7

Painting above:
"The Professor is Out"
by Luigi Bechi

How Pro-Life are you?

Elitism and hypocrisy are alive and well in America.

There is a topic I have avoided since the start of writing this blog, although it is quite close to my heart. Indeed, the novel I have been slaving over has to do with this very subject. I wanted my blog to be uplifting to all mothers and focus on the positives.

I pray daily for the victims of abortion: the children, the mothers, the fathers, the grandparents, and society in general. With a conservative estimate of one-third of today’s women having at least one abortion, whether you like it or not, the reality is that out of your three best friends, one of them probably has had one. These women will have a life-long need of healing from the consequences of this choice.

I heard something today that truly incensed me. That is the ugly truth that young girls in our Catholic High Schools are being taken by their parents to commit abortions. In my head echoed a homily spoken a few years ago in my parish. The deacon challenged his listeners: How pro-Life are you, really? What would you do if you found out your teenage daughter was pregnant? Would you put your money where your mouth is?

Do these parents know that they are putting on their daughters a life sentence of guilt, as well as the physical consequences to their still-developing reproductive systems? If they think the child is too young to take care of a child, what about the emotional and spiritual weight of the act of voiding an innocent life?

This completely relates to the elitism that has long bothered me: first in the homeschooling world, then in the circle of Catholic School parents. It is the us-them mentality. The idea that our precious children would be corrupted by interacting with public schooled children.

I have known homeschooling parents who refused to allow their children to socialize with non-homeschoolers; now I have heard many Catholic School parents say that the public school children in their neighborhood would have a bad influence on their children. No wonder the public school parents seem to think of both homeschooling and private school parents, “What, the public school isn’t good enough for their children?” They think we think that way, because many of us do.

The primary reason I homeschooled first, and now send my children to Catholic school, has to do with the Culture in the classroom. I want my children to be in an atmosphere in which God permeates every subject. When not spoken of explicitly, there is the implicit assumption that God is present. In Science, He comes in as the Creator of the beautiful laws of the universe. In History, He is the one who has always been and always will be; who guides men’s hearts and actions. In Mathematics, He is the Ultimate Rule of Logic. In English, He is The Word.

There is a danger in assuming that our children will be shielded from bad behavior because the parents of the other children are willing to shell out $x to send them to the same school. I wonder now, what is worse: a high school in which pregnant teens proudly waddle down the halls, or one in which we pretend at innocence while hiding ugly truths?

No matter what schools our children attend, the responsibility for teaching the Theology of the Body lies with us, the parents. From the moment of birth, they learn that you value the bond of motherhood as God’s Divine Gift. It starts there, and “The Conversation” is not just one talk about “the birds and the bees”, but many, as you gently respond to their questions, letting them know they are encouraged to ask, begging them to come back for more. Movies, books, television, events in the life of their friends all can act as prompts for a continuation of this dialogue.

Please click on the advertisement of “Bella”, a pro-life movie that promises to be one you can take your daughter to and explore this topic together.

The Legacy of Conversation

“NEVER did I ever imagine that the genes in our bodies would take you into my brain and that of Pop's. As I get older, I see the specific genes at work in my children...and as my children age they are becoming aware that the forwardness of our genes are determined to "show-up" as they are called upon. This is true in not only thoughts and physicality but in the issues we defend or deplore. It is a wonder if we allow our minds to be open to the truth of how we feel, think, and look at the human spirit within us it shines through.”

These were the thoughts recently written by Dale Nagy, my grandmother (belovedly called “Nanna”), in reaction to my blog.

I was not surprised that my Nanna would see her own thoughts reflected in my writings. Ours was a family that never ceased talking. The television – there was only one in the house, down in the basement – was rarely on. We were busy doing things together, reading, and/or talking. Family stories were repeated over and over again until they felt like they were part of our own experiences. “Tell me again about the time when you and my aunt ran into the bee’s nest,” I would ask. I can really see that scene play out in my head, although it happened long before I was born.

Although I was not homeschooled and my parents were not involved in the school parent-teacher association, they truly were a part of my education. When I got home from school, they would ask me questions about my day. Not just general questions like “How was your day?”, but specific ones. “What did you learn new today? Tell me about your teacher. What are your friends’ names? What about the other kids?” When a problem arose, they would role-play with me so I could be better prepared with dealing with that situation on my own.

“Don’t they give you a summer reading list?” my father complained, “When I was in school I was learning Latin and reading great books like The Old Man and the Sea and Moby Dick…” He made those classics seem so important to a child’s development that I made sure to read them. Many years later we would compile a list of must-read-books for the good of my teenage brother. And I am still trying to learn a bit of Latin and Greek roots, along with the kids.

During the summer I would often spend a week or two with my Nanna and Poppop. I would take long walk with Poppop and his little hotdog-dog, Penny. “You’re funny,” I would tell him, and he would say, “No, you are.” Nanna would bake with me and play games with me. The whole time was spent sharing stories.

When parents and older relatives share their experiences with young ones, they might sometimes wonder if the kids are listening. Even if they tune out some of them, you can be sure most of it is getting through. Through a repetition of themes and values, the stories become a lesson on how things are in the world, how one can deal with problems that arise, the constancy of morals and how following them ultimately works out for the good.

The good of talking can also make possible that your values are infiltrating their thinking and actions, even when you are not there. Even if you must work long hours, do not volunteer at the school, or are only able to visit the grandchildren once a year, you can have a long-lasting influence on those who truly need it.

"Raise up a child in the way he should go;
And when is old, he will not depart from it.”
Proverbs 22:6

Picture of me with Nanna at my first daughter's First Communion in May 2005.

Back to School Shopping

Yesterday morning the newspaper had an article about all the last minute shoppers. Good thing I had thought ahead, I thought smugly! I had all my supplies early – really I did. Yet I am drafting this blog in my trustee memo pad with a felt pen, whilst standing on a line after 9 PM the night before school starts.

Just this weekend I had told the cashier at the food store that I was thankful my kids wore uniforms and I was spared a big clothes shopping trip. “Just new shoes I guess?” she assumed. Uh oh. I hadn’t thought of that. I pushed it to the back of my mind.

After a day at the beach, I asked the kids to try on their uniforms. My eldest found her shoes under the bed and started coloring in the scuff marks with a black permanent marker. I had a flashback to a scene from the movie “Bridge to Terabithia”. She needed new shoes, and it was too late to take them all out. I waited until my husband got home, saw that they were tucked in bed at 8 PM, and took off for the store.

So here I am, just like everyone else. While in the store I realized that my son required a belt for first grade. I see young children in the store, rubbing their eyes. Shouldn’t they be home in bed? But I shouldn’t judge. Who knows why, like me, they were called out at the last minute, and had no one to leave the kids with. The loudspeaker is announcing the time is 9:15 and the store closes in 45 minutes. Hopefully I’ll be checked out by then (sigh).

End of Summer

The school year is fast approaching. It makes me feel sad. Since August 1, I’ve been feeling like something happy and wonderful is now more than half over.

I have heard people saying, “I can’t wait for school to start.” I don’t know what they mean. I think it’s horrible.

These years go by so quickly. I look at my one-year-old and think how it’s like yesterday my ten-year-old was that size. Now she’s becoming a young lady sparkling with personality and an internal beauty that shines.

I’ve been able to “let go” enough to send them to school. After having given them a solid basis for thinking on their own, I have seen them blossom in their newfound independence. This is why God gave them to me – to help them to grow up. But every moment I have with them is as precious as gold.

“When I was a child,
I used to talk as a child,
Think as a child,
Reason as a child;
When I became a man,
I put aside childish things.”
I Corinthians 13:11

Painting: “Beach Friends”, by Rick Mundy