Friday, Sept. 4, 1987
It’s the first day of school! The kids are so excited!
With school and kindergarten hyped by every adult they meet, the kids have been so looking forward to starting school.
Never mind that Mindy, age 5, lives here, and that Camille, age 5, has been coming over here several days a week most of her life, on account of her mother’s job. Never mind that Lindsey, age 3, not only lives here but is supposedly in “pre-school,” not kindergarten.
Never mind that I am Mom to two of them and Auntie Cathy (babysitter extraordinaire) to one of them.
Never mind all that. This is the first day of homeschooling, and the girls are bound and determined to do school. They all sit down in front of me and stare at me.
Okay.
I can play school as well as the next mom:
I give a lesson on the letter “D.”
I slowly draw various objects on a mini-chalkboard, letting the girls guess what it is that I am drawing. “It starts with the sound d-d-d-,” I say, “and the letter D.”
“Dinosaur!” Camille calls out.
I start another drawing.
“Door!” Lindsey proclaims.
The next item is a bit harder. I am only partly done drawing when Camille says, “Cookie.”
“No, cookie starts with the sound k-k-k and the letter C,” I answer. “This word starts with the sound d-d-d and the letter D.”
I draw the hole in the middle, and Mindy asks, “Doughnut?”
“”Yep.”
Soon the kids are asking for the written word for dinosaur. I write it on the little chalkboard, and the kids do the very important school-type activity of copying the word down on lined paper.
This takes a good long while. I contemplate starting the dishes, but I am supposed to be playing a role…
Finally the girls are done, and they all look up at me expectantly. “What now, teacher?” Mindy asks.
“It’s time for drawing,” I say in my most teacherish voice. “Each of you must draw one thing that begins with the letter D.” I solemnly hand out art materials—markers, crayons, and paper.
Camille asks if she can draw on the chalkboard. “Yes, you may,” I tell her, handing over the chalk and eraser.
Mindy watches her friend erase everything I’d drawn and written that morning. “I want to keep my picture,” she decides, “so I’ll use paper.”
Camille begins to draw a dinosaur on the chalkboard. I know it’s a dinosaur because she says, “I’m drawing a dinosaur.”
Mindy begins to draw a dinosaur on the lined paper on which she had earlier painstakingly written the word DINOSAUR.
Lindsey has already covered her first paper with exuberant red scribbles. Now she is onto a multi-colored scribble on a fresh sheet of paper.
Camille’s very original dinosaur seems to be coming out of an egg.
“Is that an egg?” I ask Camille.
“Yes.”
“I am drawing an egg in my picture, too,” Mindy says, and sure enough, soon there is an odd-shaped egg near her dinosaur.
Lindsey gets up and moves to the magnetic board. There is a plastic pail full of colorful letters. She begins to pick through the letters, looking for “her” special letter, L.
Mindy: Mom, how do you spell egg?
Me: E – G – G.
Mindy: [Writes EGG next to DINOSAUR.]
Camille: What else should I have in my picture?
Mindy: A turtle and a lake.
Lindsey: [Halfway done spelling her name in magnetic letters.] Mom, I have the letter D in my name.
Me: Yes, you do!
Mindy: I’m done with my drawing.
[She has added another egg to the drawing. Now she gets up and joins her sister at the magnetic board.]
Still Mindy: You put letters over there, Lindsey, and I’ll put numbers over here.
Camille finishes her drawing—it’s hard to tell, but I think she’s added suggested items, a turtle and a lake—and she watches Mindy and Lindsey arranging magnetic letters and numbers on the board.
Then she grabs our “Learning Keys” computer gameboard and starts using it in the “Discovery” mode. She pushes a letter box, and a picture of an object that starts with that letter appears. There is a little sound ditty to accompany the picture. She pushes another letter, looks at the accompanying picture, and then says, “Auntie Cathy, I want to do the quiz.”
In the “Quiz” mode, a picture appears, and Camille has to press the letter that it starts with. This mode keeps Camille interested for quite a while, and she gets almost all of the initial letters right on the first try. She is stumped by the picture of the walrus, though.
“Auntie Cathy, what does walrus start with?” she asks.
I’m surprised that she hasn’t even tried one letter, but I answer her question: “W.”
Soon there is one of those collaborative moments when everyone decides to start a new activity, together. Somehow, wordlessly, they all stop what they’re doing and look around as if they are wondering, “What now?”
“Let’s play Candyland,” Mindy suggests.
Everyone agrees. We all sit down around the colorful board.
Camille isn’t familiar with the game but easily picks up the simple rules. Still, she never seems to know whose turn it is. Lindsey, much younger, is similarly clueless. Mindy directs everyone else (and, luckily, doesn’t upset the others in doing so):
“It’s your turn, Camille.”
“Now it’s your turn, Lindsey. Pick a card.”
I am playing, too (and I don’t even need Mindy’s coaching!), so I know that it’s just luck that allows Mindy to speed over the board and win by a Candyland mile (26 squares).
Nobody seems to notice. Mindy doesn’t seem excited in the least. Nobody uses the word win (nor the word lose). I wonder if they even realize that the game is over—but they must, because Lindsey is pulling the game box over to me, asking, “Mom, can you read us the story?”
Sure, I can do that.
Printed on the inside of the box is the Legend of Candyland. I read to the girls about King Kandy and Queen Frostine and the bad guy, Lord Licorice. Camille and Mindy sit nicely, with crossed legs, but Lindsey bounces around while I read. I know from experience, though, that moving actually helps her to pay attention to what I’m reading.
It’s not long before the story is over. Camille asks, “Is it noon?”
Sounds like she’s either hungry or she could use a break.
Come to think of it, I wanted a break, too. (A wash-the-dishes, straighten-the-kitchen break.)
I get up and check the clock.
It’s only 9 a.m.!
I’m amazed and a little dismayed. Camille won’t be picked up for hours! And I’m already kind of tired of playing school!
“It’s not noon,” I say. “But it’s recess.”
“Yeah!”
The three girls run off, happy, healthy, active kids. I dive into my kitchen chores.
A few minutes later, they race past me, running from the bedrooms to the patio playhouse. Something Lindsey screams as they run attracts my attention, and I poke my head out the slider a moment to listen.
Queen Frostine? Lord Licorice?
The kids are playing Candyland, a kids’ game, in perhaps the truest kid way: no competition, no board, no cards, tons of imagination.
After a nice, long time of indoor / outdoor play, the kids troop in to have a snack. I suggest that they fix their snack for themselves. They are delighted.
Each girl carefully counts out crackers into small-size paper cups. They decide to add string cheese and apple juice to the snack. I have to help a bit with removal of the plastic wrap, and I insist on pouring the juice, since the jug is huge and full.
After the snack, the girls say, “Cleanup time.” This is something they got from Mommy-and-me class. They each throw away their own cups and napkins.
I like this playing-school business!
“What now, teacher?” Camille asks.
I start to suggest that we paint dinosaurs, but then I remember my role-playing duties and turn it into a teacherish order.
The kids eagerly dive into tempera and watercolor painting. They use the dinosaur stencils, tracing the outlines and then filling in with color. They add volcanoes, lakes, footprints.
“Cleanup time!” someone says. I look up from writing this journal. They all seem to agree that they’re done, and they split up the “work” of cleanup without any discussion. Camille washes the brushes, Mindy washes the paint cups, and Lindsey wipes the table. I watch in amazement at how careful Lindsey is being. (She’s only three.)
Hey, I really like this playing-school business!
Lindsey goes back to the magnetic letters, which nobody has cleaned up, and takes all the letters and numbers off the board—dropping them all onto the floor! (Oh, well, she’s only three.)
Then she begins to build a new arrangement. Mindy joins in. Camille starts to play with the number balance, but after a couple of minutes, she joins the other two at the magnetic board.
I realize that this time the girls are arranging the letters on the board in ABC order. When they get done with one alphabet, Lindsey suggests that we sing the ABC song. I start them off. While we sing, the girls start finding and arranging another magnetic letter alphabet.
We’re done with the song. Mindy says, “Let’s sing the Janet and Judy ABC song.” I sing along the whole time, since the song is less familiar, but the kids sing this version with twice as much enthusiasm.
Afterwards, the kids run off for some free play. I notice with a smile that they forget ask the “teacher” for permission.
I don’t have to do anything about this, though. Thank goodness, we aren’t really a school.
I start some laundry. I try to keep my ears peeled to see what the kids are playing. They start with Tiger Attack (isn’t that a lovely game?), which somehow effortlessly evolves into playing Indians.
One of the girls must’ve remembered that they’re “in school,” because all three kids are back in front of me, asking the day’s question, “What now, teacher?”
“It’s story time,” I say. I read Digging Up Dinosaurs, by Aliki, and Dinosaurs—A Pop-Up Book, by Dot and Sy Barlowe.
Then we take a nature walk. At the end of the walk, Lindsey decides that she wants to climb up the ivy-covered hill to the Secret Passage, which is a place where the overhanging plants make a kind of green tunnel over a bit of the lawn. She seems nervous to do it by herself, but she does it.
Afterwards, she is obviously empowered by her success. She leads the two big girls up the hill and into the Secret Passage. Then she leads us all into the garden in the backyard, where we pick tomatoes.
Time for lunch, I decree. I put out some healthy food—yogurt, fruit, juice, tomatoes, and sandwich supplies.
Sadly, it appears that the kids are going to starve. They eat a little, tiny bit of food and then start playing. They do the dinosaur-placemat mazes. Camille quickly puts together a number-rod puzzle. Lindsey and Mindy arrange another magnetic-letter alphabet.
They start doing balancing feats and other tricks in the living room.
I clean up and put away all the uneaten food.
Camille’s aunt and cousins arrive for swimming in our backyard pool. Eric is older than the girls, and Kiki (Enrique) is close to their age. We all jump into the pool and have fun.
All three girls had taken swimming lessons this summer, and I notice that, away from the lessons, there has been a sizable regression for Mindy and Camille. Not so much for Lindsey, who seems to be part fish. Both the older girls still put their faces in the water and occasionally venture out to the deep end of the pool.
Mindy has the advantage of daily swimming and joins her sister in going down the slide, swimming on her back, and swimming underwater.
Most important, they all have a good time.
After swimming, the kids clamor for a snack. I take out all the uneaten lunch food, and the kids devour yogurt and sandwiches. Camille eats two entire containers of yogurt and a sandwich!
I guess they won’t starve, after all!
With Eric and Kiki there, the whole playing-school thing seems to have ended, but the kids do many of the same sorts of things they have been doing all day, anyway. They play with a top, they do games on the computer (Eric spearheads a lot of this), and they do some pretend play.
When Maria comes to pick up Camille, she visits with her sister and nephews, reads the journal, and listens to the kids recount their day. I bet she’s jealous that I got to pretend to be a teacher when she was stuck being a real, true school librarian.
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