In some ways, summer is behind us already. Last week Spencer and Lexi began school again in earnest, and I must admit that I ventured into this new year with no small amount of trepidation. Afterall, until now I have only had Lexi at home and, while that seemed daunting enough that first year, it was much like tutoring. I taught, she learned, and the year rolled along pretty smoothly. Ok, there were plenty of bumps, but still, we had managed and I had started to get the hang of Lexi's learning style: highly verbal, easily engaged by discussion and questioning, adept at memorizing all things except math facts, and prone to grand emotional swings. Got it.
Spencer, on the other hand, couldn't be more different. At his comprehensive developmental evaluation earlier this summer (where they told me that he is highly intelligent, ADHD-NOS, and struggles with language recall, usage, and organization) the kindly doctors who evaluated him all expressed their relief that he was to be home-schooled for one stark reason: Spencer should be taught one-on-one in a structured, quiet environment. Oh, and he's a visual learner and may struggle with the language and writing portions of his education. No, they didn't have any good advice for where to get help or services for the language-based challenges. (And yes, we are still looking.)
In the mean time, I needed to find a way to teach this very bright but very distractable, language-challenged child a first-grade curriculum in a way that would keep him engaged and help him to progress successfully....while also building a third grade curriculum for my very bright, hyper-focused and super-verbal daughter which would accomplish the same thing. Super.
As school approached I was starting to lose some sleep over school. It seems normal for home schooling moms to occasionally second-guess themselves and their choices for education. Wait. I think that's a parenting plight in general, but I digress. I had questioned myself and my abilities as a teacher before now, but suddenly I was gripped by fear. I am not a professional! I don't have the training for this! I'm not even the most structured or detailed person on the planet! Heck, I have been known to space on a therapy session for Ellie, forget important business phone calls, and make a trip downstairs to retrieve a new roll of paper towels three times before actually retrieving it. I may have made a horrible, horrible mistake.
And yet, when I imagined Spencer in a public school class with 20 or 30 other kids I shuddered. Physically shuddered. Because I saw him struggle in a class with only 8 other students. I saw him so distracted and lost in the chaos that he began to act-out. And I know that the doctors were right about the kind of environment he needs to learn.
So week one arrived. Ready or not, it was time to learn! My mom heroically voluneetered to help out for those first dicey days as we all got our sea-legs, and with her help we dove in. And as expected, there were some ups and downs. The first day, after I had done everything I could think of to make things exciting and dynamic, Spencer informed me that "school is boring." Ouch. And then, on the fourth day, in the middle of a lesson, that same boy leaned over and told me "I love home school with you, Mom!" Win! And so it went. Some things worked. Others failed miserably. We adjusted and adjusted again. But by the end of the week, my newest student had made two things clear: 1) he loved Science and wanted to do it every day and 2) he hated History. There was too much "story" in history, apparently.
So this week, as we approached History again, I decided to take a different tack. This time, we would do History early in the day while he was still fresh. I would go slower, act more out, and look for the places that he was lighting up--and there we would go, whatever direction that was.
Apparently, the thing that excited him about hunter-gatherer societies was the hunting. Spear hunting, to be exact. While I had visions of trying to build a hut or fashioning a fishing trap of some sort, Spencer wanted a spear. So, as soon as the rest of the day's work was done, we headed into the yard with a tree limber and a pocket knife, and we made spears. We talked about how straight and how strong it would have to be, and how we might cut and sharpen it if we were hunters and gatherers without pocket knives. We talked about the dangers of getting close enough to a big, wild animal to stab it with a spear, and what it would probably do when you did stab it. And yes, we made two spears because Lexi wanted in on the pointy-stick action. Finally, we set about making a target to practice spear hunting. And my boy who can't be bothered to color things in? He painted it all himself.
Who knew that a pointy stick and a target were all that was necessary to make History exciting? The two little barbarians proceded to run headlong, yelling their gutteral, hunting yells, across the yard to jab their spears into the cardboard target again and again. In no time, our target was peppered with holes, the center nearly perforated to oblivian, and two kids were grinning and panting with joy.
"Hey, Spencer," I asked. "Do you still hate History?"
"I LOVE HISTORY!" he cried, and you know, I think he meant it.
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