One of the (late-coming) presents we got for Yo-Yo’s birthday was a book called The Dangerous Book For Boys, by Con Iggulden and Hal Iggulden.

He also got walkie-talkies, the Big Shebang Gift, the gift that inspired the jumping up and down happy dance and spontaneous bear hugs. But after a couple days of walking and talking, interest in the battery-powered objects faded a bit and the new book started getting more face time.

The book has rapidly become a prized possession. There’s crafty fun (the kids have made water bombs out of paper and the world’s best paper airplane, and it really is good), directions for games, and tons of useful facts and information, including first aid of which Yo-Yo has already tried out on himself after ripping off a scab on his foot while he was in the shower. (Unfortunately all the blood didn’t stay in the shower.)

“You know how I stopped the blood? he asked. “I pressed down on my leg right above the wound to cut off the flow and it stopped real fast. I learned that in my book, and it worked!”

So now, thanks to this book, when my kids interrupt me on the phone, instead of my standard screening question of Is anyone bleeding or dying? I’ll be able to say, If you’re bleeding, take care of it. If you’re dying, let me know.

The kids got (fresh) inspiration for a treehouse from the book.

For two days now, they’ve been loading up the wagon with old wood, nails, and hammers, and tromping down through the field to the construction site. It entertains them for hours.

It’s fun to watch Yo-Yo. He gets fully engrossed in his work.

He whistles when he’s happy, and while building, he whistles constantly. He only leaves off the pucker flute to pause, take stock of what he’s doing, and make disgusted statements such as, “That board is seven inches off!”

And then the whistling resumes.

It cracks me up, this focus that washes over him when he’s in possession of a hammer and some nails. He’s totally his papa’s son.

(Though Mr. Handsome is not a whistler and I’m sure he’d like me to inform you that he is never ever off seven inches of anything. Ever.)

This same time, years previous: chicken and white bean chili and peanut butter cream pie

I’ve been reevaluating my homeschool methods. Putting my practices and theories under a microscope. Nitpicking my decisions. Streeeeetching my mind.

See, I’ve had an epiphany. I’ve done a pretty good job at tossing institutionalized/organized learning and its markers to the wind…up until my kids reach the ripe old age of about ten. At that point my happy-go-lucky, “they’ll learn when they’re ready” theories mysteriously evaporate and I suddenly find myself exasperated, irritated, frustrated, and, most humiliating of all, feeling worried because my kids aren’t reading/spelling/multiplying according to my time schedule.

Thanks to my dear children, my hypocrisy has been forced into the light. See, my kids aren’t learning how I think they should be learning by now. For Yo-Yo, learning to read did not automatically translate into learning how to write (or spell or multiply or close his dresser drawers). For Miss Beccaboo, well, reading still hasn’t clicked.

When kids learn at (or before) grade level, it’s easy to spout off about different learning timetables and staying relaxed and trusting the child and yadda-yadda-yadda. But when you’ve got a couple late learners on your hands, it’s not quite as easy to stay relaxed.

My children, it appears, don’t have any interest in making my life easy or relaxing. Which is quite unfortunate for me since I have a hard time relaxing under normal conditions.

There is a lesson here and it appears the teacher is the one who has to learn it.

It’s not that my methods aren’t working so much as I’m not sure I enjoy my methods. After wallowing in mediocrity for awhile, I decided it was time for a week-long experiment.

Which I’ll get to in just a minute. But first, let me share some ideas I’ve gleaned from friends, magazines, and good ol’ self-analysis (because when I find myself floundering I talk, read, and think, and in that order, too).

*To effectively learn, there has to be a true-blue desire and need. Trying to replicate that need is (mostly? always?) superfluous—it has to come on its own.
*Math memorization is very different from thinking mathematically. The latter can be had without the former and vice versa, but the “vice versa” is not all that great. Follow? (I fall more in the category of the bad “vice versa.”) (Thank you, Cindy Lind of the September-October 2010 issue of Home Education Magazine.)
*In regards to education and learning, I’ve fallen victim to mainstream thinking more than I care to admit.
*Playing is super important, more important than I give it credit for. When a person plays, they are learning out the wazoo. (Odyssey Magazine, Iforgetwhichissue.)
*I need to learn to trust more.
*College readiness has almost nothing to do with academics and almost everything to do with: a) knowing how to seek help, b) the ability to work in groups, c) flexibility, d) critical thinking skills, e) the ability to understand one’s own cognitive processes, f) time management, g) inquisitiveness, h) a passion for learning, i) intentionality, and j) the desire to contribute to society. (Kudos to Karen Kirkwood, another author in the most awesome September-October 2010 issue of Home Education Magazine.)
*My children (so far, and in as much as I can tell) are not of scholarly ilk. I am. Sometimes I get confused because of these differences. That’s understandable.
*Finding joy in my life and in my children is perhaps the biggest gift I can give them. Here, extravagance is key.

So now, I’m sure you are itching to find out what it is I’m doing differently.

Because of my personal limitations/traits—namely, that I don’t have an abundance of scholarly information buzzing around in my head with which to enlighten my children at the least provocation (because I was a student who passed classes by memorization and not by actual learning) and because my favorite times of the day are when I’m doing my own thing away from my children—I decided to actively engage with my kids over something other than lessons. And because I do not have the energy (or desire) to “do fun stuff” and direct their studies; therefore, the studies get nixed. It’s as easy as that.

For Day One we played a rousing game of Farmopoly. In which, for those of you (me included?) who need to see results, Nickel learned to count, Sweetsie started to figure out the concept of money, Miss Beccaboo did some wicked addition and subtraction and was benevolent towards her siblings, and Yo-Yo managed the bank (counting out money accurately but quite differently than how I do it) and learned about sportsmanship and flexibility.

Day Two involved a discussion revolving around writing and performing our own play and several rounds of Uno.

I have no idea what Day Three will bring. But that’s okay because I feel more present and peaceful than I have in a long time (even with a wicked case of PMS, so that’s saying a lot).

I know myself well enough to recognize that this method will not be The Answer (and I did say this is just a week-long experiment, after all). I’ll continue adapting, experimenting, and tweaking, depending on where the kids are at and what level of energy I possess. But either way, I bask in my freedom to try new things. This freedom to self-direct is one of the biggest privileges of homeschooling, a privilege for which I am most grateful.

And, in case you’re concerned, I’m not a lone reed blowin’ in the wind. The members of my inner circle rigorously challenge and question my ideas and motives, but ultimately, they back me one hundred percent. These people are to me what principals are to regular school teachers. They give me the strength to get up and do what needs to be done (them and the powdered milk biscuits), like Farmopoly.

Ready? (Rattles dice.)

Set? (Tosses dice.)

GROW! (Onward ho!)

(And don’t forget to collect two hundred dollars!)

This same time, years previous: brown sugar icing, sausage quiche with potato crust

After writing that last post and slurping down a thermal mug of coffee, I dug into the Halloween candy (Mr. Handsome hadn’t taken it with him to work that day), and, thus fortified, stepped into my kitchen where I proceeded to debone two chickens and turn their bones into a thick broth, trim and steam three heads of broccoli, cook a big pot of sausage and beans, whip up some cornbread, and make these cookies.

I got the recipe for these cinnamon cookies from a cookbook I checked out from the library. I was flipping through the pages on a leisurely, rainy (sick and miserable) afternoon, searching for cookie inspiration, when these cookies jumped right out at me and stuck a wooden spoon in my hand.

I don’t consider myself a huge cinnamon fan. I am fond of buttered toast with cinnamon sugar on top, but beyond that, baked goods that try to replicate that flavor have always fallen short—either the cinnamon flavor is peripheral or the cookie isn’t buttery enough.

These cookies, however, do not fall short. Quite the contrary. In this case, o happy day, Buttery, Snappy-Crisp marries Cinnamon Sumptuousness and they live happily ever after.

For about 12 whole seconds before they go—wheeeee!—down the hatch.

Crispy Cinnamon Cookies
Adapted from Great Cookies: Secrets to Sensational Sweets by Carol Walter

That there is no salt or leavening is not a typo.

1 cup butter
1 cup sugar
1 egg, separated
1 3/4 cups flour
1 tablespoon cinnamon
Demerara sugar, or sparkling white sugar, for garnish

Cream the butter. Add the sugar and beat some more. Add the egg yolk and mix well. Add the cinnamon and flour and mix to combine.

Chill the dough for about an hour before rolling into small balls and placing, well spaced, on lightly greased cookie sheets. Using the smooth bottom of a drinking glass, smoosh the dough balls flat. You may need to dip the bottom of the glass in flour to keep it from sticking to the dough.

Mix the egg white with 2 tablespoons of cold water and brush it on top of each of the cookies before sprinkling liberally with coarse sugar. (Regular granular sugar will work fine—it just won’t provide as much of a crunch.)

Bake the cookies at 350 degrees for 9-11 minutes, or until the edges begin to turn golden brown. Allow the cookies to rest on the hot baking sheet for a couple minutes (to set up) before transferring them to the cooling rack. As they cool, the cookies will crisp up.

Store the cookies in an airtight container for a couple days, or transfer them to the freezer for longer term storage.

Yield: about four dozen cookies, give or take a couple dozen depending on the size of your dough balls.

This same time, years previous: homeschoolers have it tough