Month: November 2011

Patch’s Multiplication

By / November 15, 2011

Third grade means memorizing multiplication tables. This has been true since my own schooling. It was true for my three older kids. Now it is true for Patch. This particular scholastic challenge has been hard for him. He’s in a more academic program than my other kids were at his age. The measurement of this skill is very results-focused, five-minute tests of 80 problems each. Patch’s teacher offered a new set of markers as a prize for anyone who makes their way to 12s before Christmas break. Unfortunately Patch got stuck at threes for several tests in a row. He lost confidence and began to feel bad about himself and about school. He alternately declared that markers didn’t matter and cried because he didn’t believe he could earn them.

Presented with this situation, I had several choices:
1. Confront Patch’s teacher about her expectations, be angry with the requirements that were making my son feel sad and reject the system that imposed them.
2. Negotiate with Patch’s teacher to lower the bar so that he didn’t have to struggle so hard.
3. Step up my game and Patch’s practice to help him pass the requirements.

A conference with Patch’s teacher resulted in a combination of two and three. She would give him a little bit of extra time and a few extra mistakes allowed. I would work with him every day to help him be prepared.

We start with flash cards. This is a fairly standard method for teaching multiplication facts to kids. As I held up cards for Patch and he sometimes struggled for answers, I pondered how complex this seemingly simple task actually is. Patch looks at a card and his visual centers interpret the reflected light into an image. The language center of his brain translates that image into symbols which have concepts attached. Patch then has to access his memory to find the correct answer to go with the presented symbols. This memory then has to be translated into words so that Patch can speak the answer. All of this must occur in mere seconds in order to get through 80 problems.

I realized that we were practicing verbal answers, but that the test was written. We needed to be practicing that final translation step both written and spoken. I devised a writing game where instead of answering out loud, Patch wrote the answers on a white board. Then we printed out math facts practice sheets so he could take practice tests. I sat next to him as he wrote, glancing from timer to his pencil. Patch cruised along smoothly until the moment when his brain did not instantly supply an answer. Patch shifted in his seat, rubbed his eye, tapped his pencil. It was as if he was attempting to jog loose the memory by physical action. Sometimes these fidgets led to longer distractions. I once watched him spend a full minute with his pencil poised over a single problem because his mind went off on some tangent of thought.

It was so very tempting to switch to the angry option. We worked and Patch struggled. Threes forever. In the middle of one practice, Patch declared he hated school. My heart sank. I fumed at the seeming arbitrary measure of 80 problems in five minutes. I groused a bit to Howard outside of Patch’s hearing and he pointed out that the speed of recall was in indicator that the facts were stored in a permanent and easily accessible memory location. This was the point of memorizing the problems at all. I swallowed my grumbles and faced the next practice session.

It was that next practice session when everything clicked. Patch, who had routinely only been completing 40-70 problems in five minutes, sat down and rocketed through 80 in under four. “Wow!” I said and gave him a high five.
Patch smiled back at me. “I just found the right way to set my brain. I just told myself I could do it.”

Far more important than storing math facts in memory, Patch learned how to focus his mind. Someday there will be something he wants very much and getting it will be easier because he knows how to focus and persevere. The pattern continued through fours, fives, and sixes. We practice, practice, practice, it seems impossible and then click. It is easy. But even during the impossible-seeming parts we know that it will eventually work. Patch still does not rejoice when I declare practice time, but he heads off to school happy each day because he knows he can succeed even when the task is difficult.

In the Space after Midnight

By / November 14, 2011

My eyes were open, measuring the various darknesses of the room. When last I’d looked at the clock it had told me 12:45. Moments had ticked past since then, enough that I suspected the clock of reading 1 am. Howard shifted next to me. Gleek sniffled from the small kid bed on the floor. Her hand pulled my arm fractionally further over the edge of the bed. I was not the only one who’d had trouble with sleep. A transfer to my room and my hand to hold were enough to secure a ten year old into sleep. Unconsciousness was more elusive for me.

Gleek’s hand was rough against my palm. Hers was a hand much used for monkey bars and tree climbing. I’d felt the strength of her fingers when she first gripped my hand in the darkness. The grip became loose as drowsiness claimed her. In a moment I could let go, my final parental duty of the night complete. I held on for just a minute longer. Her hand was almost the size of my own. Some wisp of memory reminded me of the time when her hands were small and soft. It was long ago and while the memory of that little hand carried tenderness, I had no desire to re-traverse all the years and challenges which had led to her hand being strong. I let her hand slide softly through my fingers and rolled over to contemplate my ceiling. The lights had been out long enough that the glow in the dark stars had faded. All our bedrooms have stars on them, now aged to the point that many of them fly free of their own accord. It is not unusual for me to step through a darkened bedroom and spot fallen stars on the carpet. A stubborn few still stick to the ceiling, or so I assumed. I squinted my eyes, imagining that a few spots still held a faint glow.

Mostly I lay with my eyes closed and follow the tracks of the thoughts in my brain. They ran over the pre-order of calendars and financial calculations based upon quantities ordered. There were side tracks into Patch’s multiplication memorization, Kiki’s art project, and Gleek’s colony report. Their homework was not mine to do or to track. Yet I did. I was not sure how to stop myself from mentally marking when these things should be done and nudging my children if I thought the work should be progressing. Then, of course, I worried that my habit of unconsciously organizing would mean that they never learned to organize for themselves. I could spend days spinning myself in circles of parental failure. I was supposed to be sleeping. Drifting to sleep would land me on the shores of morning with more energy and a mind ready to tackle the challenges of the day. Sleep did not come.

I swung my feet softly over the edge of the bed and placed them carefully on the floor, off to one side of Gleek. I wrapped my robe around my shoulders and padded my way through the house. Our cat had indicated a desire to go outdoors just as everyone went to bed. Perhaps she was ready to come back in. I opened the front door quietly. The bolt clacked loudly in the quiet and then the hinges creaked.
“Kitty?” I called, my breath misting in the nigh frozen air. I pitched my voice low, wanting the cat to hear me, not wanting to disturb any human inhabitants of my house and cul de sac. All was still in the light of the street lamp. Only the glitter of frost on the fallen leaves seemed to lend motion to the tableau. I clacked the door closed and returned to my kitchen.

If not for knowing I was needed in the morning, I would have relished the silence of post-midnight. My people were present, nearby and safe, but they didn’t need anything from me. I’d assigned nothing to myself for that hour. Assignments wouldn’t return until 6:45 am. Part of me longed to just stay awake, to expand into the quiet, read a book, watch a movie. Instead I stretched my limbs, grabbed a snack, and returned to the warmth of bed. Sleep waited for me there.

Kiki’s Church Talk

By / November 13, 2011 / 2 Comments

The phone call came on an afternoon early in the week. Kiki was asleep when I poked her awake and handed her the phone. Then I stood there and listened because any time I serve as a telephone delivery service I figure I get to know whats going on. The shape of Kiki’s semi mumbled answers indicated that she’d been asked to speak in church. She’s had this type of assignment before and public speaking is not something that scares her, so when she handed back the phone we both proceeded through the rest of the week without giving it a second thought. It didn’t even get second thoughts it should have had. The next time we thought of it was when Kiki was greeted with “So, you ready to give your talk?”

I arrived in the chapel to see Kiki hunched over with her hands covering her face. She was mortified. This piled on top of other stresses in her life and seemed to show, once again, that she was doomed to fail in all her endeavors. The meeting conductor assured her it was fine and that she could just speak some other week. All Kiki could do was nod and try to hide her tears.

I watched her down the bench. The prelude music still played. We had two hymns, announcements, and a sacrament service between us and the moment when she was assigned to speak. Kiki probably had 20 minutes to prepare, if she could focus on preparation instead of mortification. As my daughter’s parent, I had choices. I could tell her that she would be speaking and had better scramble something together. I could tell her to let it go so that she could be properly prepared on some other day. Or, I could take the less active path, the one where I did not declare what she ought to do. I knew what I hoped she would do, what I thought would be best for everyone concerned. I hoped that she would, of her own accord, find the courage to scramble a three minute talk together from a scripture and the thoughts in her head. I wanted that for her, because to pull success out of apparent failure is a triumph. It is the sort of triumph which grants future strength and can never be taken away. I wanted so much for her to reach out and grab that triumph, but all I could do was point out that if she chose, there was still time.

The meeting began. Kiki still surreptitiously wiped tears as the opening announcements were read. During the first hymn I watched out of the corner of my eye as she opened a book and began to sing. I could not tell what thoughts were churning through her mind. I could not know what story she was making from the events of the day. Was she telling a story of victim hood: “why does this always happen to me?” Was she pounding out a story of failure: “I always forget things, why can’t I be better?” I hoped that her rigid posture was because she intended to seize her chance. During the sacrament service she opened her scriptures. I closed my eyes. Please let her have the courage to speak. Please give her the words to say.

The moment came. Kiki stood and walked to the front of the chapel to take her place on the stand. She spoke and her thoughts formed a coherent, amusing, uplifting talk. She spoke about things she’d learned in her seminary class. She touched on the assigned topic. She brought in an example from her own life. In the moment of crisis all these little preparations came together and combined to be the words she needed. It was a talk for which she thought she had been unprepared, but for which she was completely ready. In less than four minutes she was once again seated. This time she had her head high and was smiling.

After the meeting was over she came and hugged me. I hugged her back. She had found courage to reach for triumph. I’d found the strength to stand out of the way without knowing what the result would be. Both of us are more confident in the brightness of the future. It is well.

Middlish sort of day

By / November 12, 2011 / 2 Comments

I like days where I am high energy and focused. I also like days that are drifty and somewhat formless. I’m not so fond of days like today, where I have a vague awareness that I really want to be getting lots of things done, but somehow the hours escape me without any sort of measurable progress. I did manage to arrange for the freezer to be moved from our downstairs pantry into the garage, but then instead of pursuing the project by setting up shelving for the food storage, I…sort of wandered off to click my way through the internet a couple more times. I did locate some ideas that I may want to apply when remodeling my office, none of which are immediately useful. I read a couple of articles with interesting science information. I have no current applications for this information. I felt some vague guilt that my kids seemed to have breathed in the same unambitious air. They had a mythbusters marathon. I sometimes felt like I ought make them do something active, but the weather was cold, windy, wet. Gleek felt under the weather. Link had just returned from an overnight fishing trip. Most of all I couldn’t seem to find the necessary focus to insist on something else.

I wanted to be energetic today. I wanted to get projects done and clean my house. I wanted to make everything ready for the week that is coming. Alternately it would have been nice to have a truly relaxed vacation day, something refreshing and rejuvenating. I didn’t really have either one. It wasn’t a bad day. Nothing in particular went wrong. I just felt like I squandered the potential of the day I was given and I’m not sure why. Hopefully I can be more energetic tomorrow.

Brain too full

By / November 10, 2011

I’ve scribbled notes for at least three good blog entries in the last two days. Unfortunately every time I found a space of time which could contain writing, I arrived there with my brain all used up. Oh well. At least the postcards are done, the week’s homework is under control, and all the pieces for opening orders on Monday are in place. Onward.

Merchandise and Gratitude

By / November 8, 2011 / 4 Comments

For the last three weeks Howard and I have spent half our business meetings discussing merchandise ideas, merchandise pricing, probable merchandise sales, and sources for the right merchandise. These meetings were followed by fast email exchanges to refine designs and make orders. This week I can feel things shifting. The design and ordering is still ongoing, but now we’ve moved into the stage where merchandise is beginning to arrive. We have patches and mugs in our hands. Our re-order of dice arrived today, as did our annual thank you post card. Tomorrow we’re expecting some t-shirts. By Thursday we hope to open up ordering on all of these things. We want to allow people to bundle their purchases together and plenty of time for those over seas to get their stuff before the holidays. My next few weeks are all going to be about order management and shipping.

This afternoon I printed out the labels for our thank you postcards. We send one to every single address which ordered merchandise from us during the year. There were over 50 pages of labels with 30 labels to a page. This means that I have more than 1600 people to thank for the fact that we are able to pay for car repairs, medical bills, mortgage payments, and cartons of ice cream. Sometimes when I think about how dependent our income is on the good will of others I get stressed and scared. I can’t control how or when people choose to order from us. When I see this list of names, and start placing labels onto postcards, I begin to see names which have become familiar. Most of them have never spoken with me, nor I with them, but they still are a part of my life. I love the familiarity of recognizing names on the list year after year. Other names are new. Then I know that somewhere during the year someone found the comic and joined us on our adventure. These names make me happy too. Sticker by sticker, stamp by stamp, I move the postcards into the to-be-mailed pile. By Thursday I’ll hand them over to the postal service and they will begin to disperse to the far corners of the world. Cards from my hands are going to people in my town and to people in India, Croatia, Germany, Australia, Abu Dhabi, France, Spain, Canada, Italy, and every state in the United States. They will travel far, expanding my gratitude so that it has enough lift to carry me where ever I need to go. I love sending the thank you cards. It makes me happy.

Things Which Help Me Be Happy

By / November 7, 2011 / 1 Comment

Based on the experimental evidence from the last month there are some things I need to make a more regular part of my life to increase my happiness.

Spend more time with people who are glad to see me. This past weekend I got to see several people whom I like very much, but whom I have not seen in a long time. Each of them lit up and faced me with a smile to greet me. Spending hours talking over everything small and large was truly enjoyable, but that instantaneous glad-to-see-you reaction was an instant mood lifter. I could hear it in the voice of a friend I talked to on the phone as well. It made the self doubting voices scatter and find somewhere else to be.

Seek out more new things. Going to Antelope Island was marvelous. Going to the art museum with Kiki gave my brain all sorts of new thoughts to think. Even the trip to the dump was interesting and sparked new trains of thought. New experiences engage my brain and feed my creativity.

Teach more often. I’ve taught some art lessons in kids’ classes as part of a volunteer program. Preparing was fun, teaching was fun, and I walked out feeling energized. A local conference has invited me to teach next spring. My brain has been happily percolating plans to make those classes the best ever. I love teaching. I love the moment when I look out at the audience and can tell that my words have been interesting or useful.

Embrace my organizational talents. I plan and organize almost reflexively. Even when something is clearly not my responsibility or not my problem some part of my brain will latch onto it and think through how it could be solved or done better. This is valuable and essential in our business. Yet somehow I wanted to discount this gift. I wanted to be appreciated for my creative efforts not my administration. But pulling organization out of chaos is a huge creative act. When I see my organization as creative it becomes a soul-filling activity rather than a draining one.

Save money to fund dreams, not just fend off bills. I’m not really sure how I forgot this one. I used to do it all the time. In our early marriage every spare bit of money was put away so that some day we could afford for Howard to quit his corporate job. Then that dream arrived and all the money went toward making sure we could keep it. We have kept it, but I lost the habit of stashing money into savings. This meant that when an unexpected expense came finding the money to cover it required juggling and stress. Three months ago I decided I wanted to fund a family trip next summer. I started stashing money away for it. Last month I raided that stash completely dry to pay a medical bill and was grateful that dreaming had preserved funds which otherwise would have disappeared somewhere less important. Today I stashed away money for that trip again. I honestly don’t know if we’ll get to take the trip, but saving for it makes me happy. Having a financial buffer to pull from makes me happy. Either way I am less stressed. Saving money is a good thing.

Snuggle and hug the kids. I sometimes forget the power of touch. When I hug my children regularly fights are less frequent and less severe. Snuggling little kids is instinctive, it is easy to fall out of the habit when they get bigger, particularly when they are bigger than me. I can’t snuggle my teens, but I can pat a shoulder as I walk by. I can hug them before bed. I can remember to focus my attention on them when they need something. All of these things remind me that being with my kids is fun, not just a series of challenges which need to be tackled.

I’m not going to try to organize a systematic plan to fit all of these things into my life. Instead I’ve written them on a page in my River Song journal. Since I’m thumbing through that book at least a couple of times per week, I’ll keep running across the list. Bit by bit I’ll absorb and internalize these thoughts. Then they will naturally express themselves in my actions. I’m also watching to see what other things I’ve missed observing that make me happy. It is like a scavenger hunt where I compile the list as I go.

My Closet and the Clothes in it

By / November 6, 2011

After my post about Red Shoes and Wishing, someone pointed out that what I was trying to accomplish with a wish list might work better as a Pinterest board. So now I have a Pinterest account and I’ve begun slowly populating my pin boards with appropriate images. I’m not sure how I’ll use the site yet. I’m still in the being-confused-by-new-social-media-site stage. Fortunately that stage is now a familiar one and I’m confident that it’ll begin making sense as I use it.

One of the pin boards I created is called “wearing beauty.” I’ll be filling it with clothing I own, clothing I admire, and clothing I hope to own some day. It allows me to collect images of fashion in a way that lets me survey it at a glance. The red shoes go there, for example. It is already apparent to me that the board gives the impression that I dress elegantly every day, which is simply not true. Most days I’m wearing what I affectionately call my “mom uniform.” It consists of a pair of jeans, a solid color knit shirt, and either bare feet or socks. The shirt usually has stains or spills on it. My hair may or may not have been brushed that day. On cold days I accessorize with an old red terry cloth bathrobe and bright yellow fuzzy socks. When I’m headed out to run errands or do other out-of-the-house things, I’ll upscale to an unstained shirt, brushed hair, and shoes. These clothes are not fashionable, but they are supremely suited for their task. While wearing them I am able to get stuff done without fussing over my clothing. There is a beauty in utility. If I have some spare creative time I may see if I can find a way to represent my mom uniform on the Pinterest board.

For years the mom uniform was the only clothes I owned. Even my church clothes had a heavy emphasis on wash-ability, move-ability, and adjust-ability so that they did not interfere with the management of young children in an environment not particularly suited to them. But then I started having to make professional appearances. I was able to let that part of myself which enjoyed fashion wake up and start collecting pieces. These days I’ve got clothing ranging from formal wear to paint-spattered work clothes. Each category of clothing is useful to me, but I am constantly winnowing to make sure that the various clothing types stay in balance. Sometimes clothes which are too worn for professional clothes get moved over to the nice mom clothes. Nice mom clothes gradually become stained mom clothes. Some items get culled completely as they are no longer useful. The culling is critical to make sure that I don’t run out of space in the closet.

I do have a special category of clothes called “project clothes.” These are clothes which are not yet what they could be. Sometimes they need mending or adjusting, but other times I intend them as the basis for a full creative project. I can’t have very many of these, they take up space and are not currently useful. However project clothes are the hardest category for me to cull. I have to let go of how I imagine they could be. Sometimes I have to let go of a shiny possibility in order to make room for a useful necessity.

All of this makes it sound like I spend lots of time and money considering my clothes. I don’t. I buy new things a couple of times per year and most of my “new” things are second hand via a thrift store. Usually these shopping expeditions occur in the the nerotic pre-public-appearance stressful time where I become convinced that everything I own looks horrible. A couple of new items can stave off that feeling for about half a year. Hopefully my new Pinterest board will not prompt me to be more spendy, but will instead help me have a clear picture of how to spend money carefully on things I really want and can use instead of a closet full of project clothes which I have no time to fix.

Video games are the new Saturday morning cartoons

By / November 5, 2011

When I was ten I would hop out of bed on Saturday mornings and race to go watch cartoons with my siblings. My parents slept late and we scrounged our own cereal for breakfast. These days I’m the one sleeping late, but my kids are turning on video games instead of cartoons. Usually it is a multi-player game like Kirby Air Ride. They laugh and play together for hours. It makes me happy that while the specifics of their Saturday mornings are different, the shape is an echo of something which gave me happiness in my own childhood.

Kindle Update: Why I Still Buy Paper Books

By / November 5, 2011 / 15 Comments

I have had a Kindle since January. My husband has had an iPad for about the same length of time. Having an e-reading device has revitalized his love for reading. He buys books and reads them often. The only reason he will buy paper any more is if he is at the book signing of a friend and wants to show support. He’ll bring home the paper book and then buy an e-version for reading. We buy all the books on one account, so when he buys an e-book I can also read it. It is kind of nice to not have to negotiate over first turn. I really liked reading the Hugo voter samples on my Kindle. However we’ve noticed some troubles.

Howard bought the latest Pratchett book and began to read it. I then downloaded it to my Kindle, which helpfully assumed that I’d want to start in the same place where Howard had been reading. I began reading on chapter three without realizing I was doing it. Another problem also manifested with this particular book. Pratchett loves to do footnotes. I love to read his footnotes. On an iPad you tap, read the footnote, tap, and are back to your place. On the Kindle I have to push up-up-up-up-up-up-up-up-up-up-up-up-up-up-over-over-over–over-over-over-over-over-select to get to the footnote. Then I push back to return to reading. It is a significant disruption to the flow of reading. Between these two frustrations, I am currently reading some paper books I got from the library instead of reading the new Pratchett book. I’ll eventually read it on Howard’s iPad, but am waiting until there is a period of time when I can have unfettered access to the device. Or perhaps I’ll just buy the book on paper.

I still find reading on an electronic device to be a touch distracting. It takes awhile for my brain to settle into the story because I associate electronic devices with internet and work. When I am stressed and need to disengage, I pick paper over electronic unless there happens to be a book that Howard bought electronically that I really want to read. Most of my reading is still on paper.

I know it is possible to borrow e-books from my local library. I don’t want to learn how. I want to read, not learn a new electronic-based skill. I certainly do not want to have to troubleshoot a loaning system. Electronic devices invariably have snags, errors, crashes, and annoyances. All of these can be recovered from, but all of them can steal my small space of relaxation and kill my good mood. About the only frustration a paper book can supply is being lost.

I regularly loan books to a long-time out-of-work neighbor. He has no money for cable television or to buy an expensive e-reader. Getting to the public library costs him money either in gas or bus fees, but he can come raid my library easily. If all my books were electronic he would be out of luck.

We are still buying kids books on paper only. I do so for the following reasons:

I can hand a child a $7 paper back and not have to police the treatment of the book. Books end up in bathrooms, spattered with snack food, left on floors, buried under piles of clothing, stepped on, shelved, stacked, and read. I could not do the same with a device costing over $100. I would have to keep track of it and spend time training my kids to treat it correctly. This is not just a kid problem either. I constantly have to remind myself not to leave my Kindle laying where it could get knocked off, stepped on, or other wise smashed. That little bit of extra required attention can be wearisome when I’m stressed or tired.

I have four kids. I want them all to be reading, sometimes simultaneously. I don’t want to spend $400-$700 to get enough reading devices for everyone to read at the same time. Additionally we have a house policy that a child can have an electronic device when they care enough to buy it with their own money. This way they have an emotional stake in taking care of the device. If my kids save up $150, they’ll buy an iPod or a 3DS, not an e-reader. They regularly spend $3-$15 buying books for themselves.

One of the best ways to get kids to choose reading is to have books laying around where the covers can catch their interest. Many moments of boredom have resulted in hours of reading because book was laying nearby. This does not happen if all the books are neatly filed on my Kindle.

Physically taking my kids to the library addresses reading in a new way. The kids are able to speak with a librarian and really think about what they are looking for in a book. Then sometimes their favorite books are ones that happen to be shelved near the one that the librarian was showing them. Involving a librarian in the book selection process means a new perspective and opens up new possibilities for the kids.

Owning a physical book and shelving it with their possessions is one of the ways my kids begin to form their identity. Different kids will latch on to different books or series of books. Then they loan them to each other. There is power in being the one who loans or recommends a book. If all the books are organized in the same electronic library my kids will not feel the same sense of ownership.

My children spend a lot of time playing computer and video games. Sitting down with a paper book gives their brains a break from the flicker of screens. It encourages them to switch over into a relaxed way of thinking. I’ve had them read things on my Kindle or Howard’s iPad, they read for shorter lengths of time because the presence of the electronic device is a constant reminder that there are video games in the world and that those video games might be more fun than reading.

When my Kindle was new, I had three children taking turns with it reading the same book. The process for bookmarking and unbookmarking was button-press intensive. As a result, they only book marked, never unmarking. This meant that we always spent at least a minute, sometimes as much as five, trying to figure out which of the bookmarks belonged to the child whose turn it was to read.

In summary: Paper books are still useful to me in ways that e-books have not yet managed to replicate.