Reading and the single mom redux

Upon reading my last blog about the whiz kid in my son's class who was practically reading "War and Peace" off the art museum wall like it was "Cat in the Hat," I got a couple of comments from well meaning friends and family seeking to placate my evident distress over the situation.

My mom first suggested that perhaps that child had been to the exhibit before and already learned about Charlie Parker playing be bop. Perhaps. But then what about the different kid who read "Sourpuss and Sweetie Pie"? If she'd previously been to the art museum too, then my failing has gone from not teaching my child to read appropriately to not exposing him to any culture whatsoever (unless the children's museum and occasional library outings count). I don't feel better.

My father, taking a similar but slightly different tack, suggested that if I had whispered "Charlie Parker played be bop" in my son's ear before that other mother did, there'd be another blog bouncing around the virtual world right now waxing less-than-poetically about my son's amazing accomplishment and their child's relative shortcoming. Alas, theory #2 is also kaput. That child was sitting next to no one but other children. And I find it no measure of solace if another kid whispered the answer to him. I still don't feel better.

However, the one thing I do take heart in is an article I read just today indicating that it's completely normal for kids to begin reading anywhere between ages 4 and 7. The precocious readers seem to just pick it up before they ever set foot in a school. Some kids, who turn out to be perfectly intelligent and competent, aren't able to put the abstract concepts together until nearly 2nd grade. It's all a matter of brain maturity. The basics can be taught, but the whole deal can't be forced or rushed.

Whew! Now that makes me feel better.

Reading and the single mom

Like most kindergartners across the country right now, my son is learning to read.


And he's loving it. He loves the painstaking process of sounding out words: c-a-t. kkkk-aaaa-ttttt. Cat! He's so proud of himself with it all, as well he should be.


He tries to read signs as we drive down the road. He tries to read labels on food in the house. He tried just the other day to read the "Do not remove" tag from my hair dryer.


But realistically what he can read is limited to simple, single-syllable words. At this point, they're teaching only the short sounds of all the vowels (think "o" in "hop," not "hope." And don't even think about crazy things like "hoop."). The silent "e" has not made an appearance, and letter combinations like "sh," "th" and "nt" are just beginning to crop up. Vowel combinations like "ou," "io" or "ei" are light years off.

Just last night he read every word of a little phonics primer book from school. Granted, the sentences go something like "Del got Jon wet. Jon is mad. Jon runs to get Del. Del falls in a big tub. Del is wet." Still, it's quite an accomplishment to sound it all out himself.

And sound it all out he did. It was a painstaking process for nearly every word. "Ddd-eee-llll. Del. Ggg-ooo-ttt. Got. Jjj-ooo-nnn. Jon. Www-eee-ttt. Wet. Del got Jon wet." You get the picture. We were there for a while.

But I was so impressed. When he started school a few short months ago, he couldn't read a word, barely knew all his letters and maybe a handful of letter sounds, and now he's sounding things out and learning a few words by sight (the, and, was, etc.). He's eager and excited about reading, and I'm just bursting with pride.

So imagine my feeling of defeat yesterday when, on a field trip to the art museum, I learned that my son isn't quite the star reader I think he is. During the tour, the docent asked the students if they could read the words on the wall of one exhibit.

I was sitting in the back of the group, veritably rolling my eyes at this joker. "These are kindergartners, man. No, they can't read that," I was thinking.

And no sooner did that thought cross my mind than one little hand shot up from the assembled group on the floor and the eager little boy piped up with, "Charlie Parker played be bop."

My jaw practically hit my knees. Yep, that's exactly what was written on the wall. "Charlie Parker played be bop." And this kid didn't stumble or pause his way through the words, the way my son does through even simple constructions like "chin" or "ball."

Just "Charlie Parker played be bop," just as fast as you're hearing it in your head right now while reading. I was flabbergasted. How, when, where did he learn to do that? What have I been failing to teach my son? How can a 5-year-old pull off words like "Charlie" and "played"? Do you have any idea how many phonetic principles (and the exceptions thereto) it takes to understand words like that? Silent "e." Consonant combinations. Consonant and vowel combos. An "i" that's neither long nor short . The whole conundrum of the letter "y". How in the freaking world?

A few moments later another child proudly read "Sourpuss and Sweetie Pie" from another part of the exhibit. They're killing me here, absolutely killing me.

I've read before that children generally aren't ready to read before age 6 and that forcing it before then does them no favors developmentally. I'm trying to chant that to myself while fighting the sinking feeling that my son is the class dolt. I'm still so proud of him for reading like he is, of course, and I think he's smart as a whip. But perhaps I should start breaking out "War and Peace" a little earlier than I had planned.

A new look on parenthood for all moms... and dads

Today I want to share a rather funny article I came across recently that equates parenthood with addiction. It's actually a compelling, if somewhat tongue-in-cheek argument.

A fair warning: if you're at all touchy or defensive about being a parent, don't read it. If, on the other hand, you've got a good sense of humor about the real-life travails of being a parent, you'll get a kick out of this.

Oh, and you new moms (yeah, I'm talking to you, Becky), don't even bother. You're still honeymooning as far as I'm concerned.

http://www.slate.com/id/2274721/

The letter "T" and the single mom

My son brought home an activity sheet for homework the other day. They're studying the letter "T" in his class right now, and this particular sheet required him to cut out pictures, choose which ones begin with "T" and glue them on a big turkey.

He had no problem with toothbrush or truck or towel. He easily discarded doll and cat. But then he held up one picture toward me and said, "Mommy, what is this?"

I nearly choked on my own laughter as I said, "Son, that's a typewriter."

What granny is sitting around in a windowless office in an academic press somewhere churning out activity sheets for today's 5 year olds? A typewriter? Really? I'm not sure my son has ever laid eyes on a typewriter, much less the kind of old manual contraption depicted in this picture. It's 2010, people. Pick it up.

After he had finished gluing on all the "T" words, though, he still had one empty tail feather on the turkey where another "T" picture should go. I asked him to look back over the ones he had set aside and try again to find the missing piece.

"Doll. No, that's D," he said. "Cat. That's C."

Then he picked up the final picture and said, "Phone. That's F."

With a slight shake of my head, I informed him that the whole word is actually "telephone."

But, really, who uses the full word "telephone" anymore? It's at least less archaic than "typewriter" but still not necessarily reflective of a modern child's experience.

I say forget the old standbys. The "T" pictures should be things like Taylor Swift, Toy Story and Twitter. They'd have that whole pesky alphabet thing down in no time like that.

Not one, but two 5 year olds and the single mom

Yes, yes, I know it's been ages since I wrote. I have no good excuse. I'm lazy and I'm a procrastinator. Deal with it.

I had an interesting experience recently. A good friend of mine wanted to take his older son on a backpacking excursion, one that would be too long and grueling for the younger son to tag along for, so I volunteered to keep him. We'll call him "M."

M is the same age as my son -- only about four months separate them -- so they're quite the dynamic duo when they're together. And by "dynamic," I, of course, mean "destructive force of nature."

In order to corral their abundant energies and point them in a more productive direction (i.e. more productive than converting the stairs in my house to a makeshift sledding ramp or something), I took them to the Children's Museum on Saturday. They played and explored in general merriment all afternoon with minimal friction between them. Sunday, I took them to a local park with a great playground for a little more fun and games (and hopefully energy drainage).

By mid-Sunday afternoon, we'd had about 28 hours of time together, and the boys were starting to be a little worse for wear. And this is where one of the differences between them started to show. My son is an only child and is quite accustomed to and adept at playing alone. M, on the other hand, is a younger brother who has had a built-in playmate his entire life.

They had been playing upstairs in my son's room when I heard a clamor and came to the stairs, only to find M on his way downstairs crying over something and my son at the top of the stairs loudly proclaming his innocence and flinging accusations of his own at M. In an effort to defuse the situation, I asked if they'd rather play alone for a few minutes until everyone calmed down and we could get along again.

They answered in unison.

"No," M said.

"Yes," my son said.

I bribed M with a video gameto distract him until my son was ready to play again, and that seemed to placate everyone. M happily played the game while my son stayed in his room doing whatever he wanted to for a while. My son came downstairs a little while later and announced that he was ready to play with M again, which they scampered off to do with little conflict for the rest of the afternoon.

What I took away from the situation, though, was A) amused observation of the difference between a child who often plays alone and is thus completely content to have some time to himself and a boy who's never had that luxury of alone time and would rather not get along with his playmate than be on his own and B) a sense of some accomplishment that my son was able to recognize his own need for a little "time out" from playing together, take a few minutes to gather himself and then be ready to resume the fun. That's a handle on his needs and emotions that most adults haven't mastered. Not too shabby.