Painting summer

We crossed off another bucket list item today (yes, I totally add them retroactively): Homemade chalk paint! If I stretch it a little bit I could also call this a science and art lesson. Have you ever tried mixing cornstarch and water? It turns into something that's not quite liquid but not quite solid, and even though it's wet it dries instantly on the paintbrush. It was so neat that I sat on the driveway and painted long after the kids have given up. And once they started trying to splatter the paint I brought up Jackson Pollock. Catherine spent more than a few minutes debating how to tear her splatter creation off the pavement so she could sell it for a million dollars. 

Swim, kids, swim!

We are two swim meets into the season and making vast improvements (and by that I mean I am no longer on tenterhooks praying they don't drown). Catherine especially has become a little fish with whirlwind freestyling arms. If Vincent could keep his goggles on I suspect he might be winning blue ribbons instead of green participant ones.

Just Vincent swam this week (Catherine was sick). So here are pictures of his spectacular jump, Vincent and me mugging for the camera, and Vincent during team cheers ("I will not CHEER! I am not a GIRL!).

Pickling our dream life at the farmers' market

Once again, Roger proved that he is a proficient pack mule, Dominic proved that he is the boy-of-a-thousand-grimaces, and I proved that any chore can be made fun (case-in-point: corn-shucking) if you pretend reluctance to let the kids join in, when we descended like a swarm of locusts on the farmers' market.

This is why it's helpful to have a summer bucket list: So that when a lazy Saturday morning presents itself and the kids demand, "Whatarewedoingtodayhuhhuhuh???" while you're still in bed, you can tell them to go pick something from the bucket list... and then lock the door after they clamor out.

It's surprising how much fun you can have at the farmers' market -- the kids love counting out peaches and cucumbers, finding just the right tomatoes, sampling everything. And I love seeing that connection of farm-to-table: Dirt still clings to the fresh-dug potatoes, morning dew still shines on the crisp lettuce leaves. And I love that Kroger, a wax coating, and slick packaging don't come between the grower and the consumer. That's how it should be.

Catherine and I have a plan: Someday we will own a farm with goats and chickens (me) and horses and rabbits (her). We will ride horses every morning, make jam and cheese in the afternoons, and sew quilts in the evening. Vincent and Daddy can live next door. Monica, who is forever a baby in Catherine's fantasy, will live with us and will actually sleep through the night. Dommie can live down the street. His farm will be filled with old firetrucks.

I like her fantasy.

We're starting small, though, before we transition to our self-sufficient Little-House-on-the-Prairie lifestyle. For now, Catherine attempts to snare rabbits every time we take a walk by dropping carrot bits in front of bushes. She sews tiny quilts for her Playmobil people. The other night she sneaked out of bed to watch me make strawberry jam. Today we are pickling cucumbers. And when I decide to reopen the closed subject of getting chickens, Roger's sweet little daughter will play a prime role in the begging.

Our summer bucket list

Because we homeschool and thus aren't bound to a calendar, this time of year I get a lot of questions about whether we are schooling through the summer. A month ago that answer was a decisive "Yes." My reasoning was that 1) the kids need the structure, and 2) if we took any time off spelling we'd need two months in the fall to remember that "qu" says "kw."

Now, though, when people ask me if we're still doing school, I'd be more honest in saying, "Yeah. Sure. It's just that we've taken the 'sch' and replaced it with a 'p.'"

At least they are finally learning to correctly spell "water."

So what we did, to have some sort of aim this summer, is create a family summer bucket list -- a list of things, both large and small, that we want to accomplish this summer. I'm copying the list to a separate page of this blog (here) and as we cross items off I'll update the list.

1. Go horseback riding.

2. Make carrot cake.

3. Go apple-picking.

4. Have lunch at the pool.

5. Go cherry-picking.

6. Go to Sylvan Heights Waterfowl Center.

7. Do a sewing project.

8. Make cherry pie for a friend.

9. Have Asian food.

10. Watch a sunrise.

11. Wade in a creek.

12. Make ice cream.

13. Make popsicles.

14. Go on a picnic.

15. Take a full-moon walk.

16. Make s'mores.

17. Build a fort outside.

18. Hang out laundry.

19. Make fresh jam.

20. Visit farmers' market.

21. Read a book under a tree.

22. Throw water balloons.

23. Ride bikes.

24. Make trail mix.

25. Take a long hike.

26. Make mud pies.

27. Play in the rain.

28. Roast hot dogs.

29. Fly a kite.

30. Hunt for a four-leaf clover.

31. Make lemonade.

32. Make chocolate milkshakes.

33. Go camping at Jordan Lake. 

34. Go strawberry-picking.

Looking for talents

Because Catherine and Vincent could both sing their ABCs by age 2, lately I have been asking Dominic to sing them. He is, after all, almost 4. I get one of two responses: Either he scowls and snarls, "I HATE dat wong!" or he gives me some uninspired muttering like "1-2-3-4-5-x-y-z, I want a cookie now."

It's hard not to compare children. It's hard not to remember that by 15 months Catherine had a pretty developed vocabulary, while at the same age Monica's only verbal proficiency is "night-night." Or that Vincent was writing his name by 3, while when I give Dommie a marker he covers pages in bright red as he makes fire-engine noises.

For the summer we have the older two doing an online math program that assesses their ability and challenges them accordingly. According to the program, Catherine is working at a mid-second-grade level. Vincent, who would have just finished kindergarten, is working at the exact same level.

Comparing children can be dangerous. It means you are setting a certain marker -- singing the ABCs, for instance, or doing double-digit subtraction -- and using that as the baseline for judging the others. When you do that, you run the risk of forgetting to look for talents unique to the child you have just put on the chopping block for comparison.

A few weeks ago we finished standardized testing for Catherine, which is a requirement for homeschoolers in North Carolina. I was dreading it, because it would be the first real reflection on my merit as a teacher. Was I teaching the kids what they needed to know? What would it mean if Catherine flubbed the math portion? Do we spend too much time outside and too little with our math books? Should I focus more on making them memorize spelling lists? After five days of testing, I sent the tests off for grading feeling like the sword of Damocles was hanging over my head in judgment.

Which is pretty much how I feel when I tell Dommie to sing his ABCs and I get, "1-2-3-4-5." I wonder what I'm doing wrong. How can I have failed in teaching him something so basic -- something the other kids mastered so early?

The test results arrived the other day. I almost didn't look at them. I read them over breakfast, listening to the kids chatter at the breakfast table about the birds outside. I took a deep breath and glanced at Spelling, which I was sure had rated an atrocious grade.

"Look at that crow," Vincent was saying. "It has something in its mouth."

Spelling: 99%.

"Dat is not a crow," Dommie told him while I double-checked the name on the test. "It is too small."

Verbal reasoning: 99%.

"And it has a yellow beak. Crows have black beaks. It is a starling."

Mathematical computation: 99%.

I looked out the window. Dommie was absolutely right: It was not a crow. It was a European starling, its black iridescent feathers shining purple in the morning sunlight.

And the standardized testing grades? Just numbers. Affirmation. We are doing just fine in our little homeschool. We will stay the course. Maybe spend more time outside, now that I can relax.

Since then, I have paid more attention to Dommie's interest in nature. I've realized that if there is a bug in the vicinity, he will find it and identify it. Shield bugs, crickets, roly-polys. He knows the difference between a millipede and a centipede. He recognizes every bird in our yard. He collects rocks -- and correctly tells me when a rock is a composite of quartz and shale. He frequently interrupts conversations to excitedly report, "Hey guys! Did you know that a spider's web is as a strong as STEEL?" or "Hey guys! Did you know a baby kangaroo is the size of my thumb?"

So what if his talent is not singing the ABCs? He can pick up a slug without squishing it and relocate it to a shady, damp spot, understanding that the sun will dry it out if it remains in the street. Yesterday on a walk he noticed a black spider scurrying across the path and yelled out, "Hey guys! It is a black widow!" I caught a glimpse of the red hourglass on the spider's back just as it dashed into the bushes. Whenever he sees a monarch butterfly he reminds us that monarchs are poisonous to birds. And when we raised caterpillars and they turned into butterflies that resembled monarchs, he said, "I bet that's to make predators think they are poisonous."

He is right.

Sometimes, as a mother, I fail to remember that my kids are unique. I take the standards set by the world -- ABCs by a certain age, ability to read chapter books, standardized testing -- and apply them to my kids. I apply them to myself.

The truth, though, is that God created each child unique and wonderful. He chose their talents; he made them special.

Yesterday we had just finished a family run at the Tobacco Trail. We happened to encounter a friend of Roger's who owns an extermination company. We mentioned Dommie's interest in bugs, and he immediately offered to have the kids come to his business and check out their collection of bugs using a special microscope. Yes, please!

For me, the encounter was confirmation -- or perhaps a gentle reminder -- that every child is uniquely created. God didn't invent standardized testing. Nor did he make the ABCs or dictate that every child should know them by age 2. God instills in all children special talents, and it is our duty as parents to figure out just what makes our kids special, and then to nurture that interest or ability. We can best do that, I think, when we stop judging them -- and ourselves -- by the standards of the world.