Homeschooling.
A huge, all encompassing, life-changing endeavor. Often it means the family has to live on reduced income, rendering the family's life style far different than that of friends and relatives. It can be lonely, in many respects. Some people will never stop questioning. And many will "quiz" your kids, possibly without your knowledge, trying to decide if they're learning anything.
Why bother? And how do you help your husband understand why it might be important? Try this website. Statistics clearly show how difficult it is for students to remain faithful to Jesus after leaving the public school system, as young adults. Teachers are liberal, for the most part. The exact percentage will vary of course, depending on which area of the country you're in. Education is indoctrination to a large extent, although it's distasteful to think of it that way.
I taught first grade in the northern part of San Bernardino County (CA), which happens to have a large percentage of born-again Christians. The teaching staff at my school included a lot of Christians, who helped lead me to God, resulting in my becoming a Christian in my fifth year of teaching. God can orchestrate amazing things, no matter where we live. GOD IS GOD--always bigger than the most hopeless-seeming circumstance!
Anyhow, I spent five minutes telling my husband about the statistics I learned from the above site, and he was strongly convicted, as the spiritual leader of our home. He remains extremely committed to our homeschooling endeavor.
It isn't for everyone. And I do think--and statistics back this up--that if a father is acting as the spiritual leader of a home, than it is far more likely the children will follow Jesus when they are on their own, regardless of where they went to school. The father's spiritual lead is the most important thing. It can take many forms, but mainly the father needs to spend time weekly (not necessarily daily) teaching his children about Jesus. Spending this time, and leading family prayer, drives home to the children that Dad is a man of God. That real men do love Jesus.
Often mothers are more spiritual by nature, but when Dad demonstrates that nothing is more important than God, it can mean all the difference later, when the children are in the world. Being in the world too early doesn't equip children to solidify their belief system, or develop a personal relationship with God. It dilutes the good that home and church are doing, in those early years. Dad and Mom have to then work much harder to drive home, and live out, spiritual truths--all with a time crunch, because there are so few hours at home before bedtime.
If the mother is the only believer in the home, and Dad is against homeschooling, Jesus can apply grace to that mother, and to those children. And Mom's fervent, unceasing prayers can change things, despite what the statistics state. The Bible tells us that her respect for her husband, and her godly character, will win over her husband's heart. (1 Peter 3:1-4. Click on the red to see this verse.) In this, as in all other things, "trust the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding".
Amy has a post up about homeschooling today, which prompted me to sit down and pound the keys, in the middle of the school day even. Nothing is more important than the salvation of our children. Nothing. Don't wait for the know how. Go forward with faith. God will do the rest. Really. Trust me on that.
If you have come to a different conclusion in your own life, don't be offended by this post. God certainly might have reason for your children to be in public school. Trust what He is telling you.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Is there room for Momma?
Tonight, I told him to go to the playroom and read a book. Lo and behold, he did. Gladly. He went through the library books first thing, looking for this fairy-tale story book.
We could all hear him reading aloud to himself.
I knew this day would come, when my children would just sit and read--not needing help with the words. Although the boys have been reading for awhile, this is a new feeling for me. I'm used to sitting right there with them, or near them, making sure they complete their assignment fully.
I can't quite describe this new feeling. Not pride, so much. More of a deep-down contentedness, coupled with a sadness that their wee childhood has passed away...never to return.
When a child sits alone with a book, he connects with the author, not with Momma or Daddy. It's a very grown up pastime....a very independent thing.
He may or may not share with me what he's reading, or how it makes him feel. When we read together in a chair, I know how he feels. When the story is tender, he says to me, "I don't want to cry. I don't." Meanwhile, I'm already crying over the story.
He doesn't need me to sit with him anymore. He never will again. Shortly, he'll stop subvocalizing, and start reading silently, without even realizing it.
I need to blow him a kiss, and say "Have fun, Son, on your adventures." (So long as I know something about what he's reading, of course.)
I must do this...this letting go. But what I really want, is to say,
"Can I come along, Son? Is there room for Momma?"
It's the same feeling with the nursing. Baby Beth isn't always interested in a gratuitous afternoon nursing session. She's not tired, and there are adventures outside of Momma's arms, waiting to be had. And I want to say,
"Can I come along, Darling? Is there room for Momma?"
As I sit here, crying through this post, I really don't know how to endure this.
Why is this so hard...this letting go? It feels like the hardest thing I've ever had to do.
And I want to do it well. Gracefully. But I don't know if I can. I'm usually pregnant by now, when the youngest is about fourteen months.
Dear Lord, thank you. Thank you for these precious babies to love, to hold, to nurture. I can't solve all their problems, or cushion all their falls, or smooth out all their faults. But I can point them to you. Help me to do that. Help me to show them how to live in continuous connection with you. And please fill this void in my heart, created by their growing independence. Only you can fill it. I know that. In your name, Amen.
Friday, February 19, 2010
notes and blessings
Notes and Blessings for Friday
- My husband passed an important computer certification exam last weekend! No time to relax around here though--he has another one next week. The exams are very difficult and most people barely pass. Students are nervous going into the exams and much relieved after passing.
- I had a good heart to heart with my pediatrician about the psychiatry visit. He said he gets this same diagnosis a lot from this particular psychiatrist, and he is always skeptical. However, recently he learned that one of his patients, who had autistic-like symptoms, really benefited from the vision and occupational therapies he received on the advice of this psychiatrist. Since autistic kids have a lot of sensory issues, it made sense to me that these therapies would prove beneficial to them, or to a child whose symptoms were borderline autistic.
That aside, the pediatrician said he tended to agree with me--that Peter has ADHD. He offered to refer me to a different psychiatrist. At first that seemed appealing, so that we could get a second opinion on the auditory and visual processing disorders that were mentioned. But after researching both disorders, I'm convinced they don't match up with how I see Peter perform. So, we're leaning toward dealing with Peter's ADHD and anxiety without help--just using our instincts. We'll reevaluate it when he's about ten. That can be a turning point for ADHD symptoms, with sufferers becoming more aggressive and manipulative.
- My 14 month-old Beth has dropped down to one nap a day--about 11 a.m. to 2 p.m. My 38 month-old Mary has dropped her nap, making it prudent and convenient to put the two girls down at 7 p.m., giving me plenty of time to read chapter books to the boys, until their bedtime at 8:30 p.m. This is going to be so much easier, as long as I can get dinner on the table earlier--like 5 p.m. I'll still try to get Beth to settle down for an afternoon nursing though. I don't want her to drop that feeding entirely.
- We will no longer try to get Peter to go to children's church. Instead, we'll allow him to stay with us in the sanctuary. He'll get bored eventually, and may come up with the courage to go to class without a parent. The goal of therapy is to face one's fears. If we sit outside the class so that he gets the teaching and social interaction, he isn't having to face his fears. Better to let him decide when he's ready to do that, so that the entire family is less impacted by the weekly anxiety struggle. Just dealing with the ADHD thing can be draining enough. And besides, children's church is a new phenomena. Kids used to always attend church with their parents. I'm sure Peter will glean something from being in the sanctuary, even though Pastor is on the intellectual side, delivering rather complicated (but good) sermons.
- Like many others in snow-covered, cloudy states, I've got a bit of the winter blues. I can't think of a single thing to say, beyond these updates.
So....time to sign off. Have a great weekend!
- My husband passed an important computer certification exam last weekend! No time to relax around here though--he has another one next week. The exams are very difficult and most people barely pass. Students are nervous going into the exams and much relieved after passing.
- I had a good heart to heart with my pediatrician about the psychiatry visit. He said he gets this same diagnosis a lot from this particular psychiatrist, and he is always skeptical. However, recently he learned that one of his patients, who had autistic-like symptoms, really benefited from the vision and occupational therapies he received on the advice of this psychiatrist. Since autistic kids have a lot of sensory issues, it made sense to me that these therapies would prove beneficial to them, or to a child whose symptoms were borderline autistic.
That aside, the pediatrician said he tended to agree with me--that Peter has ADHD. He offered to refer me to a different psychiatrist. At first that seemed appealing, so that we could get a second opinion on the auditory and visual processing disorders that were mentioned. But after researching both disorders, I'm convinced they don't match up with how I see Peter perform. So, we're leaning toward dealing with Peter's ADHD and anxiety without help--just using our instincts. We'll reevaluate it when he's about ten. That can be a turning point for ADHD symptoms, with sufferers becoming more aggressive and manipulative.
- My 14 month-old Beth has dropped down to one nap a day--about 11 a.m. to 2 p.m. My 38 month-old Mary has dropped her nap, making it prudent and convenient to put the two girls down at 7 p.m., giving me plenty of time to read chapter books to the boys, until their bedtime at 8:30 p.m. This is going to be so much easier, as long as I can get dinner on the table earlier--like 5 p.m. I'll still try to get Beth to settle down for an afternoon nursing though. I don't want her to drop that feeding entirely.
- We will no longer try to get Peter to go to children's church. Instead, we'll allow him to stay with us in the sanctuary. He'll get bored eventually, and may come up with the courage to go to class without a parent. The goal of therapy is to face one's fears. If we sit outside the class so that he gets the teaching and social interaction, he isn't having to face his fears. Better to let him decide when he's ready to do that, so that the entire family is less impacted by the weekly anxiety struggle. Just dealing with the ADHD thing can be draining enough. And besides, children's church is a new phenomena. Kids used to always attend church with their parents. I'm sure Peter will glean something from being in the sanctuary, even though Pastor is on the intellectual side, delivering rather complicated (but good) sermons.
- Like many others in snow-covered, cloudy states, I've got a bit of the winter blues. I can't think of a single thing to say, beyond these updates.
So....time to sign off. Have a great weekend!
Thursday, February 18, 2010
the professionals
You'd never guess.
Peter and I went to his very first psychiatry appointment yesterday. Me thinks it might be our last.
The doctor took a history from me, and asked about symptoms. Then, after spending ten minutes with my beloved son, the woman calls me back in and says these things:
- no ADHD
- she suspects Sensory Integration Disorder (not an accepted psychiatric diagnosis--no evidence that the "therapies" work, considered quackery by many in neurological field, pediatric field, and psychiatry field. Is gaining acceptance in school districts, however.)
- she suspects auditory processing disorder
- she suspects visual processing disorder
- tells me he is probably sensitive to milk protein, and wheat gluten (even though no food allergies in nuclear family, and no sign of GI symptoms).
She gave me a huge stack of stuff to read, and suggested some vitamin supplements that run $70.00/bottle, with a three-pill-a-day dose.
She gave me a prescription for a speech/language evaluation, a sensory integration evaluation, and a specialized vision evaluation.
I told her we had already made the switch to whole foods (no additives/dyes), so she spared me that lecture. She feels too many kids are being diagnosed with ADHD and autism, when the real problem is toxins in the environment, coupled with genetic sensitivities (or allergies). The toxins cause, in essence, brain damage--leading to sensory issues and later, behavior and learning issues.
It didn't matter to her that my son wasn't having any problems in school (okay, he is a lousy speller, but Daddy kinda is too). Usually, a learning disability translates (by eight years old) into problems grasping new concepts, or in retaining new information. I never spend more than two days on a new concept. He gets it by day two.
He displays an awful lot of ADHD symptoms when not kept busy, but of all the sensory integration symptoms, I could only pick out a couple that seemed a good match--the fact that he chews on his sleeves, that he's hyperactive, and that he gets hot and bothered easily. That's overwhelming evidence, wouldn't you say?
While we were in her office, Peter complained about his loose tooth. She immediately picked up on that, and said that kids with sensory integration disorder frequently have more trouble with loose teeth.
Okay, I didn't laugh at that. But I wanted to. As a former first-grade teacher, I can tell you that EVERY CHILD IS BOTHERED BY LOOSE TEETH. They are obsessed until the tooth comes out--driving their teachers and parents nuts. They rarely stop either trying to twist it out, or worrying about it hurting when it comes out, or accidentally swallowing it when it comes out. Am I wrong here, Moms?
The thought of his fairly serious anxiety disorder just suddenly disappearing after giving up all milk products, or all gluten products, seems laughable to me. Yes, that is her answer to his anxiety. It is related to sensory integration, and with diet changes, it will probably go away.
The therapist (an intern) he is seeing for his anxiety disorder isn't helping either. He is supposed to think happy thoughts, so the anxious thoughts will go away. Or he is supposed to work on relaxation breathing. Or tell himself to STOP as soon as the scary thoughts begin. All this is well and good, truly--except that none of it is working. He still won't go to children's church unless one of us sits within view. Then, he keeps looking at us, to make sure we haven't betrayed him and left without his knowledge (we don't ever leave).
He starts worrying about Sunday church by Wednesday, and Wednesday AWANA by Sunday night. Nothing has changed, even though he's been off of the Strattera at least three weeks.
Truly, I think he will get over this separation anxiety. The more time that passes since last summer's VBS mishap (my husband forgot Mary in the church nursery, and came home without her, only to drive immediately back to get her) the more likely he is to quit dwelling on it. It might be a year or two, but he will get over it.
This problem will likely be replaced by something else that unduly bothers him, but that too, will eventually pass. Over time he will learn coping skills, with our help and the Lord's help. I'm not sure going to all these appointments is doing us a bit of good.
The whole thing yesterday reminded me of the time last spring when I took Mary for a speech evaluation. The therapist spent about ten minutes with her, and then decided she had apraxia, which is a fairly serious speech disorder, much like what happens after someone has a stroke and has trouble speaking, only it is not from trauma, but present from birth usually.
Mary started talking at 27 months, and has developed a beautiful vocabulary with long sentences, using words (correctly in context) like obviously, miraculous, delectable, terrible, horrible, magnificent, and actually. She does not have a language disorder, although her articulation isn't entirely clear yet to strangers.
At age two, at least 50% of a child's speech should be correctly understood by strangers; at age 3, 75% should, and at age 4, 100% of the child's speech should be understood by strangers. Mary, at age 3 years, two months, makes herself understood at a rate of 65-70% (for strangers), so she is lagging a bit in articulation, but I suspect that is due to her pacifier use past age one. Peter also used a pacifier past age one, and he also has articulation problems (th and l), which we are working to correct at home.
Sadly, when I was in the educational system, I believed wholeheartedly in the wisdom of professionals, rather than in parents. Now, it's quite the opposite.
My son is very hard to raise. I'm left with that. He makes me shout out to the Lord often, for various reasons. Today, for example, he didn't stop talking the entire day. I'm emotionally exhausted, and dread doing the dishes, or anything else tonight.
But he is also a fantastic kid--full of life and love and ideas.
He'll be just fine, and I love him just the way he is.
I guess it took a visit to some arrogant "professional" to make me realize that I know my child, and what he needs, and what works for him.
Of course I do.
Why did I ever think (again) that some "professional" could tell me what my child needed?
Professionals can be a wonderful resource. But that's all--just a resource. Not the answer.
Peter and I went to his very first psychiatry appointment yesterday. Me thinks it might be our last.
The doctor took a history from me, and asked about symptoms. Then, after spending ten minutes with my beloved son, the woman calls me back in and says these things:
- no ADHD
- she suspects Sensory Integration Disorder (not an accepted psychiatric diagnosis--no evidence that the "therapies" work, considered quackery by many in neurological field, pediatric field, and psychiatry field. Is gaining acceptance in school districts, however.)
- she suspects auditory processing disorder
- she suspects visual processing disorder
- tells me he is probably sensitive to milk protein, and wheat gluten (even though no food allergies in nuclear family, and no sign of GI symptoms).
She gave me a huge stack of stuff to read, and suggested some vitamin supplements that run $70.00/bottle, with a three-pill-a-day dose.
She gave me a prescription for a speech/language evaluation, a sensory integration evaluation, and a specialized vision evaluation.
I told her we had already made the switch to whole foods (no additives/dyes), so she spared me that lecture. She feels too many kids are being diagnosed with ADHD and autism, when the real problem is toxins in the environment, coupled with genetic sensitivities (or allergies). The toxins cause, in essence, brain damage--leading to sensory issues and later, behavior and learning issues.
It didn't matter to her that my son wasn't having any problems in school (okay, he is a lousy speller, but Daddy kinda is too). Usually, a learning disability translates (by eight years old) into problems grasping new concepts, or in retaining new information. I never spend more than two days on a new concept. He gets it by day two.
He displays an awful lot of ADHD symptoms when not kept busy, but of all the sensory integration symptoms, I could only pick out a couple that seemed a good match--the fact that he chews on his sleeves, that he's hyperactive, and that he gets hot and bothered easily. That's overwhelming evidence, wouldn't you say?
While we were in her office, Peter complained about his loose tooth. She immediately picked up on that, and said that kids with sensory integration disorder frequently have more trouble with loose teeth.
Okay, I didn't laugh at that. But I wanted to. As a former first-grade teacher, I can tell you that EVERY CHILD IS BOTHERED BY LOOSE TEETH. They are obsessed until the tooth comes out--driving their teachers and parents nuts. They rarely stop either trying to twist it out, or worrying about it hurting when it comes out, or accidentally swallowing it when it comes out. Am I wrong here, Moms?
The thought of his fairly serious anxiety disorder just suddenly disappearing after giving up all milk products, or all gluten products, seems laughable to me. Yes, that is her answer to his anxiety. It is related to sensory integration, and with diet changes, it will probably go away.
The therapist (an intern) he is seeing for his anxiety disorder isn't helping either. He is supposed to think happy thoughts, so the anxious thoughts will go away. Or he is supposed to work on relaxation breathing. Or tell himself to STOP as soon as the scary thoughts begin. All this is well and good, truly--except that none of it is working. He still won't go to children's church unless one of us sits within view. Then, he keeps looking at us, to make sure we haven't betrayed him and left without his knowledge (we don't ever leave).
He starts worrying about Sunday church by Wednesday, and Wednesday AWANA by Sunday night. Nothing has changed, even though he's been off of the Strattera at least three weeks.
Truly, I think he will get over this separation anxiety. The more time that passes since last summer's VBS mishap (my husband forgot Mary in the church nursery, and came home without her, only to drive immediately back to get her) the more likely he is to quit dwelling on it. It might be a year or two, but he will get over it.
This problem will likely be replaced by something else that unduly bothers him, but that too, will eventually pass. Over time he will learn coping skills, with our help and the Lord's help. I'm not sure going to all these appointments is doing us a bit of good.
The whole thing yesterday reminded me of the time last spring when I took Mary for a speech evaluation. The therapist spent about ten minutes with her, and then decided she had apraxia, which is a fairly serious speech disorder, much like what happens after someone has a stroke and has trouble speaking, only it is not from trauma, but present from birth usually.
Mary started talking at 27 months, and has developed a beautiful vocabulary with long sentences, using words (correctly in context) like obviously, miraculous, delectable, terrible, horrible, magnificent, and actually. She does not have a language disorder, although her articulation isn't entirely clear yet to strangers.
At age two, at least 50% of a child's speech should be correctly understood by strangers; at age 3, 75% should, and at age 4, 100% of the child's speech should be understood by strangers. Mary, at age 3 years, two months, makes herself understood at a rate of 65-70% (for strangers), so she is lagging a bit in articulation, but I suspect that is due to her pacifier use past age one. Peter also used a pacifier past age one, and he also has articulation problems (th and l), which we are working to correct at home.
Sadly, when I was in the educational system, I believed wholeheartedly in the wisdom of professionals, rather than in parents. Now, it's quite the opposite.
My son is very hard to raise. I'm left with that. He makes me shout out to the Lord often, for various reasons. Today, for example, he didn't stop talking the entire day. I'm emotionally exhausted, and dread doing the dishes, or anything else tonight.
But he is also a fantastic kid--full of life and love and ideas.
He'll be just fine, and I love him just the way he is.
I guess it took a visit to some arrogant "professional" to make me realize that I know my child, and what he needs, and what works for him.
Of course I do.
Why did I ever think (again) that some "professional" could tell me what my child needed?
Professionals can be a wonderful resource. But that's all--just a resource. Not the answer.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
aspirations of grandeur
As a young girl I sang along to the Carpenters, Peter, Paul and Mary, and Bread. There were others, too, I'm sure.
And do you know, I wanted to be a singer so badly. So strong was the desire that my heart ached at times.
Because I had a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad voice. My sister and my cousin told me so. Once. And they laughed at my tears.
So I became a teacher instead of a singer. And I was happy.
Then along came Brandon, a tall, blond first grader, who decided to inform me that Mrs. Colosky, his kindergarten teacher, sang A LOT BETTER THAN ME.
Oh, the ache.
Now last year my beloved Paul looked me straight in the eye, cupped my face in his hands, and said, "I love the way you sing." The song was "Hush Little Baby", and I've sung it hundreds of times. That's apparently how long it takes for me to sound good.
Anyway, I also really want to be a good cook. Very badly. But the thing is, once again, I'm pretty horrible at it.
No one but me spends ninety minutes, while fighting sheer exhaustion, looking at different recipes for homemade chicken broth--learning about all the intricacies. I hate touching chicken, but my hubby thankfully does that part--he's the meat lover and I'd just as soon never buy meat again. Unfortunately, all our children take after him--real carnivores.
I may have to practice a good year or more, but by golly, someday....
Someday....I am going to make chicken broth worth commenting on.
And someone will cup my face in their hands, look me in the eye, and say, "I really love the way you make chicken broth."
The End
And do you know, I wanted to be a singer so badly. So strong was the desire that my heart ached at times.
Because I had a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad voice. My sister and my cousin told me so. Once. And they laughed at my tears.
So I became a teacher instead of a singer. And I was happy.
Then along came Brandon, a tall, blond first grader, who decided to inform me that Mrs. Colosky, his kindergarten teacher, sang A LOT BETTER THAN ME.
Oh, the ache.
Now last year my beloved Paul looked me straight in the eye, cupped my face in his hands, and said, "I love the way you sing." The song was "Hush Little Baby", and I've sung it hundreds of times. That's apparently how long it takes for me to sound good.
Anyway, I also really want to be a good cook. Very badly. But the thing is, once again, I'm pretty horrible at it.
No one but me spends ninety minutes, while fighting sheer exhaustion, looking at different recipes for homemade chicken broth--learning about all the intricacies. I hate touching chicken, but my hubby thankfully does that part--he's the meat lover and I'd just as soon never buy meat again. Unfortunately, all our children take after him--real carnivores.
I may have to practice a good year or more, but by golly, someday....
Someday....I am going to make chicken broth worth commenting on.
And someone will cup my face in their hands, look me in the eye, and say, "I really love the way you make chicken broth."
The End
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