Remember Your Manners

Remember your manners: last year I decided this was something I couldn't ask my kids to do because I wasn't sure if I had ever taught them enough about manners for them to know them to begin with, much less remember them later. Because I happened to remember this fact while Christmas shopping, the result was a gift to the Leonard family of the book 365 Manners Kids Should Know: Games, Activities, and Other Fun Ways to Help Children Learn Etiquette by Sheryl Eberly. It has been a simple and straightforward way to incorporate manners lessons into our daily family life. For each calendar day of the year, the book discusses one aspect of manners in approximately two to three paragraphs. So far we have completed units entitled "A Great Beginning," "Family Time," "Getting Along with Other Kids," "Introductions," "Telephone Talk," and are partway through "You Are What You Say." I read selectively from each day's portion at the breakfast table, and then we discuss it.

The book is not without flaws. Some topics seem misplaced on the calendar, like February 16, which discusses rules for using friends' or neighbors' swimming pools. It must have been a challenge to decide on 365 mini-topics that fit into larger units, but some of them seem trivial, like "Frightening Others" (January 24),while others I don't even consider part of manners, like "Allowance" (January 30), which we don't pay in our family. At times we disagree somewhat with Eberly's advice, but the lessons have generated meaningful conversation.

Occasionally the lessons include activities. My children are looking forward to May with the beginning of table manners and an activity almost every day. I have promised them that we will eat all of the different foods specifically discussed after we learn how to handle them properly. So far my favorite morning has been February 28, "Remembering names." The activity was to come up with a rhyming word for everyone in our family's name so we could practice inventing mnemonics for people's names. Karina suggested we come up with alliterative phrases instead, so soon we were all "Terrific Tommy from Tacoma" or "Little Luke from Louisiana."

Ultimately, my favorite outcome from our breakfast manners class has not been my newfound ability to say "remember your manners" and indicate something specific we've read. Instead it has been the days that Tommy and Jack have opened the door for me on the way into church after the "Opening doors" lesson or last week when Tommy introduced his friend Taylor to his piano teacher exactly like the book describes. My children's manners aren't perfect, and the book keeps showing me that mine need quite a bit of improvement as well. Of course! That's why we need it.

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.

Kindling the Flame of Motivation

"No, your left hand's too loud. Play finger 4!" We had piano lessons in a few hours, and I wanted Katie's piano teacher to hear a definite improvement in the way she played her newest piece, a Sonatina by Clementi. "Do it again!"

"I hate this piece!" Katie shouted.

"Why?"

"Because you always get mad at me when I play it."

At that point, I belatedly realized my mistake. In my anxious, not entirely misguided hope to impress piano teacher Margie with the results of our effort, I was squelching Katie's desire to learn. The parent's duty, according to Shinichi Suzuki, is to "create motivation in the child." Both last night and this morning I had barked out orders and created rebellion and frustration rather than a love for music and a desire to succeed.

In his book The Schools our Children Deserve, Alfie Kohn discusses the impossibility of directly motivating another person. He writes, "First, while you can often make someone else do something--in effect buying a behavior with a bribe or threat--you can never make him or her want to do something, which is that 'motivation' means. The best you can do is create the kind of setting and offer the kind of tasks that will tap and nourish people's own motivation" (Kohn 125). I think Suzuki understood this. Many of his statements appear to me somewhat cryptic because I have found wisdom in them as I have learned not too interpret them too literally. Parents may need to create motivation in their child, but this is done through creating the right environment and exerting the "right kind of effort," not through directly ordering our child to want to do something.

All children from birth had a natural motivation to learn. The inner drive to walk and talk persists no matter how many times they mispronounce their first words or stumble and fall as they take their first steps. Deborah Meier said, "a passion for learning . . . isn't something you have to inspire [kids] with; it's something you have to keep from extinguishing" (Kohn 125). If, as Plutarch wrote, "the mind is a fire to be kindled, not a vessel to be filled," this week I have unfortunately been the fire extinguisher rather than the match.

The downside of this is that I've been doing the opposite of what I should be. Luckily for me, there is an upside. It is:

1. I can change.
2. I have not completely killed Katie's desire to play the piano, just subdued part of it.
3. I know what I should be doing.

In my experience, skills that come less naturally to people than speaking and walking require more extensive efforts to kindle the flame of motivation into a blaze. Like playing an instrument, reading is not a developmental skill, one that people naturally learn as a part of growth into adulthood. The parent teacher can help by making the process interesting and rewarding even when it is at its most tedious.
This week, I have been successful at kindling the flame of reading in my 3-year-old son Luke even though I have smothered the flame of piano playing in Katie. He is at the earliest stage of learning to read, when it has little intrinsic reward. Reading lists of words, sounding them out slowly, without the fluency to enjoy a story or get useful information, is a difficult enterprise. I have discovered many ways to shelter and encourage these first sparks of reading.
I stuck with words that had the short "a" sound in our first reading lesson. They also all rhymed with "at." Luke knows his letter names and their sounds thoroughly, a necessary foundation to keep reading from being too challenging. We accompanied each word he read with an activity to add fun and variety. When he read "cat" we pretended to be cats; when he read "bat" he pretended to fly like a bat; when he read "fat" we talked about how Santa Claus is fat and pretended to be Santa; when we read "hat" he pretended to put a hat on his head. This made it into a game. Then I allowed him to reread the same words several times on different days before introducing new ones. Finally, after practicing these words, he read them for grandma, and a couple of days later, for his dad, giving him an opportunity to show off what he could do.
As I continue to help Katie practice the piano, I need to follow these same principles.

1. Make sure she has a solid foundation in the basics of the piece before progressing to more difficult things. In this case, practice just the right hand and left hand a lot before playing the piece with both hands.
2. Take baby steps as we move forward. We can take two notes, three notes or a measure at a time rather than trying to play the entire piece at once.
3. Find a way to add fun, variety or make it a game. We agreed with her piano teacher to see how many times in a row she could play each of the ending cadences correctly on one of her pieces. Each day we will see if we can do more repetitions than the day before.
4. Share our small successes with others. We need to celebrate our progress and share it with brothers and sisters, Dad and Grandma.

At times I have snuffed out my own motivation to work with my children because of the guilt I feel for my many mistakes. At these times, I remind myself of my successes so my failures don't overwhelm me. This week I can celebrate my progress with my niece. As I have taught her literature and writing, I have seen her motivation grow from a birthday candle to a bonfire. This week she asked, "Can you give us two writing assignments this week? I really like it when we get to do more than one."
Katie, please remember that I am human, I make more mistakes than I would like, but I love music and I love you. I hope to kindle your already fiery spirit into a greater enthusiasm for learning, not to douse it.

Why We Study Shakespeare

"Shakespeare one gets acquainted with without knowing how. It is part of an Englishman's constitution. His thoughts and beauties are so spread abroad that one touches them everywhere; one is intimate with him by instinct." Jane Austen, Mansfield Park

Friday evening my Shakespeare students and their families had a party at my house. The students performed monologues and displayed projects and papers they completed, and then I announced the cast of our upcoming performance of As You Like It. As the evening drew to a close, I felt proud of all my students and what they achieved this semester.

After they left my daughter Karina and I had a discussion about some things she'd learned. In Shakespeare we finished up the semester by reading King Henry V, which deals with themes of war and power as King Henry engages in a successful war against France. Karina told me:

"I've never liked war. When I think of war, I think of the monologue I memorized from King Henry V. It says:
'Then should the warlike Harry, like himself,
Assume the Port of Mars, and at his heels
(Leashed in, like hounds,) should famine, sword, and fire
Crouch for employment.'
"War is like that. Famine, sword, and fire always follow it closely."

She understood that war, justifiable or not, always results in some tragedy. Hearing her say this crowned my evening with one perfect moment. I find happiness by acknowledging that most of life is mundane, punctuated by difficult moments I need to find the humor in and perfect moments I need to treasure. When I get discouraged, I can search through my trove of moments to find the one that will keep me motivated. Realizing that Karina has internalized some of the thoughts and beauties of Shakespeare makes homeschooling worthwhile.

Above all, this reminds me that I am not the teacher, which takes the pressure off of me. Suzuki used to tell his students that he was not really their teacher. As part of the method, Suzuki students listen to recordings of great performers playing the pieces they learn. According to him, these artists were their true teachers. When students read, memorize, and perform Shakespeare, he becomes their teacher. They develop a relationship with him and his work. "Education is the science of relations" was one of the 20 principles of the educator Charlotte Mason. She meant that education occurs as each of us discover the way we relate to the world, to other people, and to ideas. The educator merely facilitates the formation of these relationships.

My younger brother once said, "Homeschooling is easy. All you have to do is teach kids to read and then feed them books." As a mother I only have to feed my children living books, keep from interfering with their relationship with the truth and beauty they discover, and occasionally reap the reward of discussing ideas with them. I can't think of many better teachers than the Bard. That's why we study Shakespeare.