On Marketing

As soon as we walked into Sea World (FREE TICKETS! WOOT!), Starboy noticed the obviously-for-kids Sesame themed area.  The "flying fish" ride was visible well over the hedge. All he knows about Sesame Street is what he's picked up from Grandma's Fisher Price people (ca. 1976?)...he knows there's a Cookie Monster (but does not know the fantastic way in which he gobbles cookies), a Mr. Hooper and a Gordon (though Grandma never gets Gordon's name right). There's a Susan, but Grandma doesn't really know that she's part of the set. The rest of the set seems to be missing. He hasn't seen Sesame on TV or computer, and other than walking by (but not stopping to study) toys in stores, he doesn't really know what it is.

So he sees all of this branding. [Branding that might be illegal in Sweden, Norway and Quebec, I think to myself, sighing.]

And he says: "Look Mama!"

And I say, flatly, "Uh huh. A lot of monsters." Then, brightly: "Let's go find the whale show."

Starboy says, "I like the red monster."

What?!

"Really." (With no expression, hopefully.) "Why do you like the red one best?"

"I 'unno. I just like him."

"Do you know what he does?"

(He makes something up. He doesn't know anything about what Elmo does. Or even that his name is Elmo. So at least we have that.)


We managed to avoid the Sesame area all day, until we were walking out, and the flying fish were spotted over the hedge again. "I want to go on the FISH," he said. My son. The one who won't ride-on toys, won't try a balance bike, hates the swings, won't play on the spin-y structure at the park, and avoids anything with any vestibular stimulation whatsoever.

"There's a long line, and we're going to have to wait," I said, thinking, And you are so overstimulated already after six hours in the park you could melt down any second, and I have no idea how I'm going to get you to the car if that happens.

"I want to WAIT."

So. His first "Ride" was "Elmo's Flying Fish." (All of the cars are Elmo as a cat fish, a pig fish, a dog fish, etc." And before it came to a stop, he said, "I want to go AGAIN, with DADDY. I went with you Mommy and now I want to go with DADDY."

And he waited again. And luckily, did NOT melt down when we steered him away from a THIRD turn.

"Were you wanting to ride on the flying fish ALL DAY? Did you see them when we first came in?"

"Yeah."

On: the joys of learning to read

Starboy is checking out his kids' meal at the San Diego Zoo. The mac and cheese came with several bags of not-great, but not-too-terrible, over-processed snacky things. (Including already-sliced apples with a sell-by date at least a week away. Yech.)

"What are these, Mama?" he asks, holding up a very kid-friendly black package.

"What do you think they are?"

"I think they are animal cookies!" Big smile.

"Why do you think they are animal cookies?"

"Well," he reasons. "The picture is animals, and I see here a /k/ for 'cookies.'" He points to the "c" at the beginning of the word.

We're doomed.

Boundaries

 Starboy has just started paying attention to filling the edges and corners of his paintings in art class. Miss Molly says this is a developmental milestone, that aligns with the child learning about his own space bubble: where he ends, and where the rest of the world begins.

Which is also why there is a lot of boundary pushing at three (um...and beyond). I'm sure some of it has to do with some of the meltdowns we've been having as well.

But it's fun to see his growth as the artwork progresses.

Sun Moon Clock

Techman said, "We're one step away from putting him to bed with a laser light show...and, like, fog."

Earlier this week, my Moms Club asked me to participate in a panel discussion on kids and sleep. What a riot! When the mail came in, I was already into 90 minutes of post-bedtime-routine negotiation with Starboy. We've tried a lot of things: earlier bedtimes, the "right" bedtime, wearing him out, star light (above), Mr. Sun/Moon clock (pictured), routines, stories, songs, yelling (totally ineffective, duh), baby gates, shutting the door (trauma-inducing), homeopathics, and I don't know what else.

We don't do cry-it-out, because...we just don't. It's not in my beliefs. The teen years are hard enough without planting the seed that no one's got your back when you feel really lonely. In the end, the things that have worked the best for him are: Looking for his needs, soothing him even when it seems ridiculous, trying to hit the magic "tired window," and just waiting (ugh, brutal) until his body is simply ready to do it. We co-sleep, which is great, and occasionally not great (but surely would be great-er with a king-sized mattress and a room big enough to fit it in.).

Starboy was two before I got a proper night's sleep, and by "proper" I mean five hours of sleep in a row—he was only waking up two or three times, instead of eight or 10. He is so afraid of missing out on the action. That, for sure, didn't come from Techman's side of the family, where pretty much the whole party is sacked out about the living room by 9:30, mouths agape, snoring in symphony. (Whereas, when we woke up after Thanksgiving with my family, we discovered my dad and his friend had been up until 4:00 a.m., partying it up)

I also discovered recently that Starboy has a lip tie, that I'm fairly certain affected his ease of breastfeeding and therefore his sleep (and mine. And Techman's). It was a real heartbreaker to discover—oh, if we'd known! The sleep deprivation causes so much frustration and stress. But somehow everyone on our granola team missed it, or didn't know. Starboy gained weight so quickly, it didn't seem to be an issue (except for the frequent feedings, the pain, and the sleeplessness, but whatever. He was plump and otherwise happy). But in hindsight, I'll bet having it clipped would have been a real game-changer. 

Our bottle-fed culture is having to re-learn obvious natural signs that grandmas had known for generations—midwives used to keep a fingernail sharpened for a quick frenulum snip. There are some kinds of progress that aren't always an improvement, are there? It's a thing to think about in these fast-paced times.

The panel discussion went fine, and since all three of us had creative comprehensive handouts on our own experiences, I felt really good that, regardless of what was discussed, the other moms had a lot of ideas to take home and try, to pick and choose. That's not the research-based way to do it, exactly, but that's pretty much what most of parenting is, isn't at? Except for the times when you are so fed up you manage to pull something genius out of the clear blue, just out of desperation.

Daily rhythms

Waldorf has such nice ideas about rhythm and routine for children. When kids know how and when things are going to happen, they can spend their energy growing, rather than worrying what's coming next, the theory goes. From a Montessori perspective, a chart can allow a child to become more independent. And I would have to think there are mathematical benefits to learning a one-to-one correspondence between the task item on the board and the task you have to do—and not to mention language arts benefits about sequencing and storytelling: first, next, last.

I love this idea of simple rhythms, but have been too undisciplined so far to really follow it. Even though I know Starboy really would benefit. So, to get started, I decided to try a daily chore chart. I got inspiration from Play at Home Mom, Homeschool Harmony, A Kid's Day, Playful Learning, and more. If you don't feel crafty enough to create your own chart, check these out (and Google more), as some of them are downloadable or for sale.

Morning tasks: Brush teeth, get dressed, eat breakfast (pic is of eggs), potty

I wanted to make this interactive using magnetic morning birds and evening stars, but the chart was becoming too big. I'd have to find a place to store all five birds (I have to add "take vitamins"), and seven stars at the bottom of the wood board, before moving them into place when the task was completed, and I couldn't make it work on this small board. So I decided not to let "perfect" be the enemy of "good." They all are glued in place.

Evening tasks: Put dirty clothes in hamper, set out clean clothes for tomorrow, take a bath

The stars are wooden and the birds are chipboard. All have scrapbooking "stacks" paper glued on with white glue/water, and are shellacked with the same glue. The drawings were done with a fine Sharpie. The board is a wooden craft board with scrapbook paper glued on and shellacked with white glue/water. A string handle allows us to hang the chart on his bedroom door.

Right after I hung the chart up, I remembered I was going to make a vertical tree, so that the chart would not stick out the side of the door. So. Consider yourself warned, you non-planners.

Evening tasks: Put on PJs, brush teeth, potty, bedtime stories and songs

Now when we talk about getting ready in the morning, I ask Starboy, "Have you done all of your birds? We can't leave until we do all the birds." At night, we "do our stars." Sounds so much better than "chores," or "grooming." And it is helping a little with getting out the door.

A day in the life of the growing Frontal Lobe

How do you wear your rose-colored glasses?

I just about peed my pants reading Jason Good's essay 46 Reasons My Three Year Old Might be Freaking Out (sample: "A balloon he got six months ago is missing."). There are literally 500 comments, and some of them are even funnier than the original post, beginning with the grandma "Omabird," who wrote, "Perhaps it is why God, in his great love and mercy, made old people deaf."

A related Slate article reveals the brain science that routinely changes your three-year-old into Sybil. If your child is three, or ready to turn three, I implore you to read this article, and post it on your fridge. This simple story has offered new levels of patience to me that are literally saving my bacon. It seems that an undeveloped frontal lobe (no sense of time, planning, logic or patience), a constant fear that their parents will abandon them, and under-stimulation from the natural world all conspire to create meltdowns where you least need them, according to the article by Melinda Wenner Moyer. And let me add: Fatigue. God help you if you push the window at 4pm on a no-nap day in store.

Doesn't that sound a lot more reasonable than, "OMG he just freaked out over nothing!"

I'm a fairly paitient person, but the constant meltdown/negotiation/resolution process has been wearing  a bit. I mean, really? Does every effing thing require a full, screaming meltdown? Especially from my usually calm, reasonable boy? A couple of days ago Starboy had a freakout at the fabric store that involved crying, hitting, flinging his shoes in different directions, taking off running (with other shoppers quietly pointing out where he was for me), and crawling around on the filthy floor. Ultimately I had to carry him out (and then back in again, and out again, because they didn't validate my parking. $%@!).

Why the high drama?  Because he did not want the mice printed on the fabric to be separated when our yardage was cut. He wanted the mice all to stay together smoothly on the bolt.

Yeah.

And that's what I get for fabric shopping at 4pm on a no-nap day. And parking in a lot with a one-hour free parking limit, at a store with glacial customer service.

Inspired by my utter misunderstandings of the Age Three Experience, I kept track of a day's worth Starboy's issues on a recent low-meltdown day. That's right, this was one of the easier days lately. Each instance resulted in some amount of crying or drama, up to kicking and boneless body-planting in place (and most involved some level of negotiation/problem-solving to resolve):

Wants another half bagel for breakfast.

Wants both bagel halves on the plate at the same time.

Doesn't want water to drink.

Doesn't want to rinse jam from bagels off hands.

Wants to hear a Martin and Sylvia audio story, not Junkyard Tales.

Doesn't want to leave art class, which has ended.

Wants a "special" food (read: a sweet or a muffin) before leaving art class.

Wants a "special" toy (read: new, or one saved for restaurants) to hold on the way home.

Doesn't want to get out of the car at home.

Wants orange melon (which Techman and I had finished b/c he didn't want any).

Wants to eat his snack in back yard, not front yard.

Doesn't want "only cheese" for his snack (hardboiled egg is on plate with "only cheese").

Wants to wash hands at the kitchen sink, not the bathroom sink.

Wants me to flush the toilet together with him.

Did not want me to actually flush with him when we counted to three.

Wants Daddy to help him in the bathroom, not mommy.


There have been few times in my life that I have reached 9:30 in the morning and thought to myself, "You know, a beer would be pretty good about now." I don't even really like beer. Of course, at this rate, I'd be drinking a six a day, so I've been keeping it to root beer and Cokes. But I may be moving on to earplugs.

What hard-to-understand logic has your preschooler offered up lately? What helps you get through it, and keeps your child feeling secure?

Some Corduroy for Corduroy

We had a freakishly normal weather day recently, when it threatened to actually behave like Autumn, instead of offering 90˚ temps. I put Starboy in some pants (!) and explained that they were made of corduroy, and that usually we would call them "cords."

A few minutes later he said he needed his corduroy shirt.

How the hell does he remember he has a corduroy shirt? He wore it maybe twice, and that was months ago.

So I got him the corduroy shirt, and he said, "Now I can be Corduroy."

Well, of course.

So we got out his bear hat, and I wrote a note for his pocket that said "Corduroy," so he could be like the bear in the story. And he was, all day.

I asked him whether I could be Lisa, so I could say, "There you are, you rascal!"

And Starboy said, "No."

On: being specific

Starboy enjoys clearing his dishes to the kitchen after he's finished eating, and recently has discovered Helping Mommy Load the Dishwasher.

I've told him it's fine for him to put his drinking glasses in there when he's clearing his place, and he does so well with direction that it never occurred to me that my instructions weren't complete.

So he wouldn't, maybe, understand that to clean the glasses, they need to go upside-down in the dishwasher rack...

From the mind of a toddler

I swear Starboy's not OCD. But I love finding these results of intense study.

Reading Roundup

Here are some things I've been reading this week.

This is my favorite thing I've read in a long time: The Terrible Tragedy of the Healthy Eater. Northwest Edible Life (Aug. 1, 2012). A very hilarious snapshot of life right now.

LA City Hall has a breastfeeding room now. LA Daily News (Aug. 14, 2012)

The new book Bullied is out. It started here.

Gluten and why it makes you fat. (File under: I'm doomed.) Huffington Post. (Feb. 18, 2012)

Women are taking back natural birth in Brazil. MSNBC

GMOs and food safety. (File under: We're all doomed.) Deliciously Organic (Aug. 12, 2012)

Sherpas, K2 and a new book, "Buried in the Sky." Extraordinary rescue of a Sherpa by a Sherpa. The Madeleine Brand Show (Aug. 14, 2012)

Doodling improves information retention. Smashing Magazine (Aug. 3, 2012)

City of Needles sets world record for hottest rain: 115 degrees. Pete Thomas (Agu. 15, 2012)

Never turn your back on an open box of packing peanuts

From the mind of a toddler

Independent creative play.

Animals on the move

Bedroom beltway

It's already happening

Years ago, when I began teaching, I ran across a sharply written allegory about the No Child Left Behind Law. Called No Dentist Left Behind, the essay hears out the reactions of a dentist whose skills will be judged by the number of cavities in his clients' teeth.

"Don't you see that dentists don't all work with the same clientele; so much depends on things we can't control?"For example," the dentist said, "I work in a rural area with a high percentage of patients from deprived homes, while some of my colleagues work in upper-middle class neighborhoods. Many of the parents I work with don't bring their children to see me until there is some kind of problem and I don't get to do much preventive work."

The dentist and the narrator go back and forth, outlining the arguments for North Carolina's education accountability law, which parallels NCLB. The dentist sums up:

"You don't get it," he said. "Doing this would be like grading schools and teachers on an average score on a test of children's progress without regard to influences outside the school — the home, the community served and stuff like that. Why would they do something so unfair to dentists? No one would ever think of doing that to schools."

Ho, ho, ho. That was 2002 when the ball was just rolling. Now, 10 years later, teachers are being evaluated according to students' standardized test scores, with Colorado, New York and Washington State most recently passing laws that tie testing to teacher reviews. Not coincidentally, the changes help the states qualify for hundreds of millions of dollars in "Race to the Top" federal funding.

To be clear, we're not just making changes to drive out good teachers, compromise our children's educational content, and reduce the professionalism of teaching, we are in a race to do it.

Already education, educators and students are suffering under the test score / evaluation process. Stories this week have the arc you would expect, but since I stumbled upon so many of them in a few days, I thought it was worth noting here. Of course, there are others, and I hope if you find some good ones, you'll post links in the comments.

• A "bad" teacher "confesses" in the opinion section of the Sunday NYT that by hopping-to whatever his principal instructed him to do during evaluations, his special education students suffered.

• Teacher Tom shows frustration that politics seems to win over common sense in education policy, and he doesn't mince words:

I used to think we were just dealing with misguided crusaders and dilettantes, well-intended folks striving to give back, but no longer. There are powerful, wealthy people who want our children to be less well-educated, more obedient, and less likely to question; they are looking to our schools to create a citizenry that is so hard at work keeping their heads above water that they don't have the time, let alone the ability or knowledge, to speak for themselves.

• The New York Times' Schoolbook blog quotes E.B. White in an anecdote about how teaching to the test doesn't necessarily yield a series of correct answers.

• Diane Ravitch commented recently in the New York Review of Books blog:

No incompetent teacher should be allowed to remain in the classroom. Those who can’t teach and can’t improve should be fired. But the current frenzy of blaming teachers for low scores smacks of a witch-hunt, the search for a scapegoat, someone to blame for a faltering economy, for the growing levels of poverty, for widening income inequality.

Hmmm....and something like 76-82 percent of teachers are female, and 52 percent hold a master's degree or higher. Now there's a Ph.D. thesis for another day.

• And not as recently, Anthony Cody, on an Education Week blog, challenges the notion that teachers could elevate one in four students from poverty (through standardized tests, which prove how good the teacher is):

Teachers have already chosen to put our shoulders to the wheel of inequality. Those of us who work with children in poverty are making tremendous sacrifices to meet their needs. The reason child poverty has expanded over the past two decades has nothing to do with "bad teachers," and everything to do with the huge concentration of wealth, and the devastation of America's manufacturing base, as millions of jobs have been shipped overseas in pursuit of higher profits.
The drive to get rid of bad teachers for the benefit of the poor is a phony crusade. The use of test scores for this purpose ensures that students in high poverty schools will continue to wallow in year-round test preparation...

The interesting part here, is that the the LAUSD evaluation process ("STULL") that has been so soundly attacked, in my experience very closely resembles his description of what a strong process should be — if the principal follows it. Which takes me back to: Where are the principals in all of this? As the managers of the teachers, why aren't they being held accountable to their number one role of supporting teachers? How come there aren't more out there like Clarita Zeppie?

• Cody also addresses the role test scores should play in a teacher's evaluation:

We must have evaluation that is sensitive to the composition of each class. You will not get this from a spreadsheet. You cannot get here with data tools. We are dealing with human beings here. We need the skill and judgment of compassionate experts. And that is what we want every teacher to be with his or her students -- a compassionate expert, able to give specific feedback, encouragement, and create a good learning environment. A school is like a classroom in this way. A good principal is a strong instructional leader, and works with his or her staff as a community of learners. What we want is for the doors in that school to be open, for the principal to be circulating, for teachers to be circulating as well, observing and learning from one another, and solving problems together. When the starting point for teacher evaluation reform is "we have far too many bad teachers, and we need to start using data to expose and drive them out," the entire process is sabotaged from the start.

How does this happen?

It's up to citizens to get schooled in the politics, the process and some details about child development, to make a difference here. We will have to vote with our feet, our voices and at the polls. But the voting will not be significant without educating ourselves about the real needs in the classroom. 

Find a teacher you know and love, today. Ask her what she thinks. Find a way to support her, and her work: locally, today...and in the big picture with your government. It is our understanding that will make a difference.