Back in the (student) saddle again...

I got to thinking about my professional history, and I wondered just how long I have been a teacher. So I did the math. I taught my first language class somewhere around 2000, which means that I have been a language teacher for 12 years or more. Seriously?  I had to pause a moment. Take in the shock. 12 years? Really? It doesn’t feel that long. Wow. 

As a teacher, the classroom is place of expertise. Of authority. You make the syllabus. You make the rules. You lead the pack. Well… at least you try. When you first get started, you are somewhat like a new driver; feeling like the car is driving you. As you get more practice, however, you grab the steering wheel and drive more confidently. Drive a little faster.  Amazing what a little bit of practice can achieve. 

What I believe to be even more relevant, however, is that as the teacher of the class, you are already in control of the material you are teaching. Even if you’re not an expert on all elements of it, you probably had access to the textbook in advance and have had the opportunity to prep. If you gave yourself sufficient time, then you had the time to make yourself expert enough to pull off a good show.  It means that in information exchange, you are the GIVER while the students are the RECEIVERS.  And you make the tests. That’s always a good start.

As the student, however, none of this is true. Most students enter the classroom with little to no background knowledge (at least at the intro level of classes) and rely heavily on the teacher to supply what they need for success. How the teacher provides said information is a high priority to the student. 

Why is this all coming up now? I’m so glad you asked. 

 I recently attended my first Korean class. Korean 101. Yup, little old me. And oh, the emphasis on the “old”. When the kid next to me commented on his upcoming high school graduation, I felt like a dinosaur. Sigh. My 20 year reunion is approaching. 

Day 1 of class is always a bit lacking in fluidity, even with the best of teachers. Fluidity requires routine and no routine has been established yet. The students are mostly strangers to each other and the teacher is busy ironing out the bugs.  The silence is sort of uncomfortable, but very common. Sitting at the desk in the silent room, I felt it from the student perspective for the first time in a long time. 

And then class got started.

Most of you probably know that Korean is based upon a totally different set of characters. Listening to the teacher, taking notes and copying down the brand new characters took every brain cell I have and many of these brain cells have been blissfully dormant for quite some time. I left that class tired… but in a great way. Like the body ache of a good gym workout. 

The coolest part, though, is that I had fun doing the homework. We are told to copy a symbol chart five times, for practice. I took pauses between copies to try and memorize. Then, just to improve my odd, I made flashcards and have been quizzing myself on and off for 2 days. I’m getting pretty good at it. At least at recognizing. Writing on command will come next. 

My kids are 4 now, and they are learning to write letters in preschool. They aren’t bad at it, to be totally honest. It’s not surprising. They adore their books and have started to become truly aware of the way their world is laden with words. Street signs, business names, labels on packages in stores. You name it, they notice it. And I am reminded that there is nothing intuitive about the shape our letters, connecting them to the sound they make. It’s simple memorization. Why should a shape like “A” contain inherent connection to an ahhhhh sound? Because we said so, that’s why. 

I’ll have to remember that, as my kids start the process of pre-reading, gain independence with their books.

Maybe I’ll learn to read Korean as they are learning English. Wouldn’t that be ironic?

How to give a 4 year old boy a haircut

Parenting 201: How to give a haircut to a tired and somewhat uncooperative 4 year old boy. 

We used to take my son to the hairdresser for haircuts, but there are some situations that should never be public. For my son, a haircut is one of them. When he was younger, it was downright terrifying. When it takes two full grown adults to hold him down, you begin to wonder if the haircut was really needed in the first place. Couldn’t we just dress him in a tie dye t-shirt and call him a hippie? 

My husband and I strategized and came up with plan B. Cut his hair at home, keep the insanity private. Talk about wisdom. We bought a 20$ hair buzzer, only slightly more expensive than one haircut.

 At first the only problem was cleaning up. And by that, I mean the kid and the surrounding area. During the warm weather months, outside was feasible. When it’s cold out, however, not so much. And you have no idea how much hair sticks to a sweaty and hyperventilating child. It’s pretty disgusting. 

As he gets older, he is getting significantly better at tolerating haircuts, which is a huge relief for everyone. That said, why pay when you can get it for free at home? Oh, and no audience. Everyone wins. 

The list below is a blow by blow recount of our most recent haircut. My husband accused me of exaggerating when I read it to him and he’s right. But it’s more fun with a little drama… so here you go. 

1. Locate child
2. Inform child of plans for a haircut
3. Chase child in frantic circles and detain them before they can squeeze into a space too small for an adult. (Note: You may not achieve success on your first try. Second attempt may be necessary.)
4. Obtain “fun size” packet of M&M’s. Taunt child with them. Uhm, I meant, show them to the child. Right. Uh huh.
5. Give child one M&M to stop crying.
6. Carry child upstairs, despite their being almost 40 pounds and not entirely cooperative.
7. Undress child and put them in a dry bathtub.
8. Fetch hair cutter/buzzer.
9. Convince child to climb back into bathtub. Bribe may be necessary.
10. Give child one M&M.
11. Begin hair removal process.
12. Mentally plan for the Tylenol you are going to take after said haircut, as the high pitched crying is already making your head throb.
13. Give child one M&M
14. Cut some more…
15. Give child one M&M
16. Console statue like child wailing “all done with the haircut!”
17. Sigh deeply.
18. Finish cutting and congratulate child on job well done.
19. Hug child, transforming yourself into a shedding golden retriever.
20. Wash hair down the drain.
21. Unclog drain.
22. Draw a bath…

Toddlers and the love of the climb!

My kids had their first real experience with rock scrambling this Christmas. The site was close to where my in-laws live and my husband and I had been there before. You know, BF. Before kids. One of the most fantastic parts of this particular “rock park” (for lack of better term) is the vast variation in difficulty. There is a flat path that curves around the base of the rock structures that would even support a stroller if needed and provides access to every part of the park. There are easy (or easier) paths up the rock and there are harder climbs that take you to cliffs of decent elevation and that require focus for safety. Technical climbers could also find a few spots to play. 

My kids have never been physically adventurous.  I have continued to encourage them, but I haven’t pushed too hard. And I certainly haven’t worried about it. I figured they would 1) outgrow it- in which case the worry was unnecessary. 2) Learn to work through it- in which case our worry would actually hinder their willingness to do the work happily or 3) Not get past it- in which they would become physically cautious adults. Oh well. 

But I digress. 

So, my kids are now 4 and rock scrambling is not something that they are hugely familiar with. We packed their winter boots, water proof and with good traction, in case of snow. But we also thought about their worth for this adventure. Wow, that was good planning. They would have lasted 2 minutes in their sneakers.

They were fabulous. They climbed through crevices and splashed in big muddy puddles. They evaluated points of escalation to determine the best route, calmly and methodically. They slid down wet and muddy rocks are their butts when the drop was too high. They grinned and bounced, reaching their hands up for support when needed and plodding along confidently when they felt secure. The pictures were amazing. My daughter even smiled for pictures, something she doesn’t do all that often these days. We were thrilled.

Did they care that it was cold, with a heavy and rainy mist in the air? Nope… not for a second. Did they care that they were so filthy; they had to be stripped before getting into their car seats? Nope… not at all. (They actually thought it was funny that we were stripping and redressing them in the back of the car.) They enjoyed their hot chocolates and snacks at the little snack stand, but they never complained. And when we returned a few days later for a repeat of the fun, they ran for the rocks excitedly, eager to get started. 

It made my heart soar. 

In the literal sense, I could not care less that my kids excel at climbing rocks. But I do care in the metaphorical sense. 

I care, quite deeply, that my children see challenges instead of walls. I care that, when presented with a problem, they are able to stop and evaluate their next choice with intelligence and maturity. I care that they are not afraid to ask for help when they need it, but don’t always jump to the assumption that they can’t finish independently.  I care that aren’t afraid to get a litte, or a lot, dirty in the process. And I REALLY care that they approach challenge with a smile and a sense of adventure. The love of the climb. 

I am so proud of my kids.