Teaching Letters to Young Children

My children as toddlers, in their first burst of language acquisition, have loved to learn the names of animals and the sounds they make. When Karina, my oldest, turned two, my mother suggested I teach her the letters as well. She said that in her experience it was easier to teach children letters as toddlers when they are enthusiastically labeling everything in their environment than it is to wait until they are four or five years old. When we were children she taught my brothers, my sisters and me our letter sounds at two years old; we learned the letter names later. I decided to teach my children both the names and sounds at the same time, reasoning that if they knew that a cow says moo, they could learn that "m" says mmmm.

I agree with Shinichi Suzuki that education begins at birth and that we tend to underestimate what young children are capable of learning. My daughter Helena, 18 months, has reminded me of the enormous potential in every human being this week. Yesterday after eating a banana, she carried the peel to the garbage can by herself. At dinner when I asked someone to pass the milk, she pushed the milk carton towards me. These are simultaneously ordinary and miraculous accomplishments to me, ordinary because every normal child seems to blossom at this age, suddenly understanding and doing things they have been absorbing since birth, miraculous because of the explosion of latent ability that I always underestimate until it emerges. I consider throwing trash away a miracle, in part because I frequently wish my older children did it more consistently. I also sometimes sit patiently at the table pleasantly repeating, "please pass the milk" for a few minutes, then becoming less patient and pleasant when everyone ignores me.

"Human ability will not exist if it is ignored when in the seedling stage," Suzuki wrote in Ability Development from Age Zero. Children will only observe and learn those things that have been a part of their environment, and the most crucial part of this environment is the people in it. Parents and siblings need to spend time interacting with infants, toddlers, and preschoolers, consciously trying to model good character. In this way, "inspiration and interest are acquired involuntarily by an infant from everything he sees and hears, like a seed that is planted. This is what molds--forms--the character . . . . It is a frightening fact. By no means only words or music, but everything, good or bad, is absorbed" (Shinichi Suzuki, Nurtured by Love).

In a few minutes a day, children can learn their letters. None of my children have considered this to be work or pressure because I have approached it like a game, and they have frequently asked to do their letters. One fun and methodical way to teach letters I discovered when my second child was two. A friend of mine told me about the way her daughter's kindergarten taught letters with sounds and actions. I loved the idea, copied it, and over the years my mother, sisters and I have adapted and changed it. You can find the method and the flash cards explained more fully on my mother's blog. My favorite is the letter O, singing opera. We always sing the short o sound to a passage from Mozart's The Magic Flute where the Queen of the Night is singing.

Because I believe in exposing my children to "whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report" (Philippians 4:8), I have some favorite alphabet books that incorporate beautiful art. The first is Museum ABC, which also comes as a board book, My First ABC, published by the Metropolitan Museum of Art (I own both versions). I appreciate the fact that all the examples for vowels utilize the short sounds. I try not to confuse my children with vowels when they are very young, so I teach them the name and as the sound I teach only the short sound. I find it easier to pretend that it only has one sound. When they are older, I explain that it sometimes says its name. Another book I like that is illustrated with fine art is Tigers and Sails and ABC Tales, but the vowel sounds are not as consistent. Sometimes with alphabet books I skip the pages with vowels if they use the long sound.


Flash cards, actions, sounds, books: what else is there? I also like letters that children can manipulate, especially the magnetic ones from Melissa and Doug. They come in both uppercase and lowercase. We use these to play games like "help the mommy M find the baby m" or "which one says sssss?" The more contexts children discover letters in and the more they use them, the more automatic that knowledge will be when time to learn to read arrives.

 "Inspiration and interest," acquired by a positive environment, are the foundation for all education, especially in the seedling stage. Whole-language enthusiasts are right when they say children reared in a print-rich home acquire literacy readily. Early childhood education, when approached in a positive, patient way, lays the foundation for a lifetime of enthusiasm for learning. I believe this is best done in the home, which by nature should be less stressful and competitive than a school. As a mother, I can appreciate three-year-old Luke handing me a piece of paper last week on which he wrote "L l."

"Oh, it says "LLLLL," I said.

"No, it says Luke loves Mommy."

Somehow, I don't think a teacher would retain that forever in her heart as I will.

A Cake on a Pedestal

I inhaled a sweet lemon-coconut-butter scent as I opened the oven door. Golden brown, risen to the top of the bundt pan, the cake seemed perfect to me as I poked a skewer in the middle to see if it was done. Only a couple of crumbs clung to the skewer--done but not overbaked to the point of dryness. As I placed it on a cooling rack, I thought with anticipation of the gorgeous and delicious cake I would be taking to the reception after my children's piano recital later in the afternoon.

After mixing together powdered sugar and lemon juice for a glaze, I prepared to flip the cake onto a cooling rack. It's easy: simply put the rack on top of the pan, then flip in one motion while holding everything together. I've done it hundreds of times. But this time partway through the turn, the pan slid and the cake slipped, disintegrating into a pile of crumbs on the counter. I desperately tried to retrieve at least a portion of the cake until I noticed that the biggest chunk was only as big as about two pieces of cake. The cake definitely had a delicate, tender crumb.

Crackers and cheese were now the only food I had to take to the recital. My children didn't mind. Within two minutes all six of them were shouting with glee as they descended on the cake like vultures, tearing off bits, pouring glaze over the crumbs, and devouring all of it.

I went outside to help Eric with the yard work. He had no sympathy either. "Good," he said. "You don't need everything to be perfect."

My life in my mind is fully organized, never running late, as perfect as a centerpiece cake, beautifully building expectation until the moment when it is cut with ceremony and delicately eaten with forks and china. My real life consists mainly of cakes so delicate they become a pile of crumbs on contact, then get shoved greedily but joyfully into six mouths followed by twelve feet smashing crumbs and tracking sticky glaze across my kitchen floor that I have to mop up one hour later, two hours later, and the next morning. Today I can't help thinking, though, that the unveiled enthusiasm of that moment is a life I should cherish in my mind because a cake on a pedestal will never match it.

Harmony Between Sisters

Six hands at a single keyboard played Debussy's Clair de Lune, the pianists three sisters seated side by side. The gossamer melody wove tranquil threads and their hands crossed and uncrossed with perfect coordination; I couldn't always tell whose hand played which notes. While watching them I felt suspended in a web of music, cooperation, harmony, and peace within my reach, glistening like beads of dew on the silken strands. With sudden clarity I knew that this piece now represented for me the benefits of a strong family.

We went as a family to see the 5 Browns in Tacoma Saturday night. These five Mormon siblings, who all attended Juilliard simultaneously and now perform and record together, play orchestral pieces arranged for five pianos as well as duets, trios and solos. They engage audience members of all ages both by the way they play and by their quirky introductions for each piece that are personal and educational. While I loved the music, what I gained most was a sense of the worth of family, siblings especially. They performed together in a united way that I feel only siblings could, people who shared a childhood, parents, toys and everything else in the years identity and individuality emerge and begin to cement.

I have never played a piece at one piano with my two sisters. I do not play the piano as well as the 5 Browns and never will. I have, however, felt cooperation, harmony, and peace while working in the kitchen with my sisters. Tatiana and I spent one Thanksgiving morning baking an apple pie that had a top crust consisting of overlapping, individually cut out and etched pastry leaves. Another year at Christmas time we made chicken tamales. For her daughter's first birthday, Johanna and I wrapped individual chunks of cake in fondant, decorating them to look like alphabet blocks.

A couple of years later for her next daughter's birthday, we wreathed a cake with flower petals to look like a sunflower.

My sisters and I also share a dedication to home education. They (and my mother) are my greatest homeschooling resource because I still prefer a live person I can engage in conversation to any online support. We each have our individual approach. I am amazed by Tatiana's commitment to speaking only Spanish in her house a few days a week, resulting in a bilingual family. Johanna has a balanced, moderate approach I learn from as I struggle with my tendency to either try for the ultimate or do nothing. Even though our homes dot the west coast--Southern California, Northern California, Washington state--I feel that even now we share our lives in a way no one else can. We do not always get along perfectly (although it's been at least two decades since I can remember any friction with Johanna, who I know deserves all the credit for this feat). However, my memories of our time together are like an inviting porch welcoming me home, a place where I'm capable, understood, and loved.

I decided to have six children in part because I felt my daughters deserved to have two sisters. My own two sisters are irreplaceable, as we are three women with a shared childhood culture who are now mothers contributing to the culture of a new generation of children. As a group I might work with all my brothers and sisters as the 5 Browns did on five separate pianos, each playing their part and contributing to an orchestra of one instrument. It is a greater unity I visualize with my sisters and I as a trio harmonizing on one piano, our hands crossing each other, reaching towards the same goal. For our next family reunion I plan to suggest that we play a trio.

To see video clips from a 5 Browns concert, including Debussy's "Clair de Lune," visit their home page, http://www.the5browns.com/.

How Much Is Enough?

"Do no homeschooling parents worry if their children are doing enough?" This question, asked yesterday by a mom on an email support group, has stubbornly stayed in my mind every spare minute. I may not be able to speak for anyone other than myself, but I can declare that I have worried about doing enough every week of my life since I began educating my children. I am grateful for my concerns because they ensure that I am always striving to do better rather than being satisfied with where I am.

The first place I look when I wonder how much I should be doing is the people around me. However, comparisons are fraught with difficulties, so this should be the last place I look. I suspect that most people do not exactly give the truth when asked how much they do, and not because they are intentionally dishonest. I too am guilty of this, as I find myself relating what we do in an ideal week, when the ideal rarely happens. My plans mix with the actual in my enthusiasm for homeschooling, and I express my idealistic wishes even though they float on the air like dandelion seeds until finally settling and taking root in the hard dirt of reality. Then somehow when I listen to other moms telling me what they do, I forget all this, compare my weaknesses to their strengths, and wind up feeling inadequate. I do this with my sister Johanna all the time, who fortunately always reassures me that I am actually doing more than I think.

How do I decide if I'm doing enough? In public school jargon, students with learning difficulties have IEPs, or Individualized Education Programs. I consider it unfortunate that they are not a component of the education of each student. The best education would naturally consider the strengths, interests, and challenges of each student, a virtual impossibility for a large school system but something I hope lies within my grasp as a mother and educator. These are the factors I consider as I decide how much each of my children should do:

• The amount of material I intend to cover
• My personal priorities
• The age of my child
• My child's ability to concentrate
• My child's progression
• My child's interests
• What I can handle

I start with how much I intend to cover. For some subjects, the answer comes easily. If I intend my child to finish one math book during the course of the year, I figure out how much needs to be completed each day to reach that goal. These objectives are not set in stone. One of my daughters has found it extremely difficult to finish her math assignments each day, so I have decided that finishing the book over the summer or next fall is appropriate in her case. On the other hand, my 7-year-old son Jack finds math easy and fun. He has skipped ahead some and will end up completing two books this year. It is also not necessary for the child to complete every problem on every page, but they should demonstrate mastery of the material. I also like to give myself wiggle room, so I schedule the year so we only have to do four days of math a week, and then we try to do five days anyway. Homeschooling without some kind of target feels aimless to me, so I always try to schedule out the school year and operate backwards from that deadline rather than just considering the individual days.

For elementary-age children, I prioritize the three R's over all other subjects. As long as we spend time on reading, writing, and math each day, I consider it adequate. This is because an older child who has strong skills in these areas will be able to compensate for deficient knowledge in things like history or science and "catch up," but a person weak in these areas will continue to suffer. People who can read well can teach themselves practically anything. Mathematical problem solving is necessary for understanding personal finance and science. Of the three R's, though, I consider writing to be the capstone. Expressing thoughts in writing is a complex endeavor that is part of most careers. Elementary school practice in the physical mechanics of writing and familiarity with the structure of our language lays the foundation for more involved writing projects later.

The amount of schoolwork my children do varies greatly by age. My 3-year-old son spends about half an hour doing "schoolwork" with me, which mostly consists of games involving letters, numbers, and reading. My 7-year-old son spends about 2-3 hours a day on math, writing in his journal, practicing the piano, and reading, while my 10-year-old son also does some Spanish, practices the cello, and history, about an additional hour. At the high end, my 12 and 14-year-old daughters spend about 8 hours a day doing schoolwork that includes grammar, vocabulary, literature, math, biology, history, Spanish, music practice, and writing. Finally, my 17-month-old daughter spends every waking minute interfering with everyone's ability to concentrate.

Shinichi Suzuki said, "when the child looks up, the lesson is over." I try to gauge my children's ability to concentrate and stop at a point where they are not overly tired or distracted. This increases with time. All of my children, when they began playing the piano, could only practice for about 5 or 10 minutes at one sitting. As their ability to play increased, so did their ability to concentrate, and we could practice longer. My goal is to help them gain the skill of concentration, and I try to be persistent but not rushed in our efforts.

If my children are progressing and improving academically, I consider that a sign that we are doing enough. I consider part of progress to be enthusiasm for learning that grows rather than decreases with time because they will continue to learn throughout their lives with a positive attitude and a good foundation.

When a child displays an affinity for a particular subject, pursuing it with more vigor should be the natural result. We all have to choose because no one can become an expert in everything. These individual differences are one of the reasons why comparing one child or family to others doesn't usually help.

Finally, I remember that I shouldn't run faster than I have strength. I have to admit that the dirt of reality might be hard and unpleasant, but seeds don't take root and grow in the air. I have to accept myself and my current limitations, but I do allow myself to work hard and continue to watch my dreams float off into the air.