The kids are out of school and I love this time of year. I am the kind of person that over does it. I say yes to all requests the kids have during the school year and in the summer I get a break. No projects, not as many volunteer at the concession stand days, and no need to make something “for the whole class.”

As I was reveling in the prospect of a more relaxed schedule I was reminded that there’s summer band, weight lifting, conditioning, and all the laundry to be done before we can go on our vacation trip. Relaxed apparently is just a state of mind and not an actual condition of family life. Is it that way at your house? 

Oh and did I mention there’s a mole running around in my backyard. The minute we think we know where he’s digging a new tunnel forms! So are lives have turned into some sort of Looney Tunes Cartoon where the mole is constantly outsmarting us and foiling our plans. Look. Evidence.

And two quick thank yous to pass along; THANK YOU to the Bedford Junior High for inviting me to speak at 8th Grade Recognition this year. I was honored to be there and so impressed by the accomplishments of the kids. Also THANK YOU to all the people who continue to visit this blog even though I’m so sporadic with posting.

So welcome to summer I’d appreciate any advice on this mole situation and also what are your plans for vacation?

I hope you get a chance to relax.. even if it is just a state of mind.

This story appeared in The Toledo Blade on Friday it came from a New York Times article.  But here’s the deal, it explains how story problems in math classes don’t really teach kids anything. They don’ t really help students learn math. I think this falls under the category of we could have told them this. Right? Anyone with me?

As an adult I am reasonably awful at math but that wasn’t always the case. I took honors math all the way through 10th grade. But when I finished the math requirement I was out of there.. no more math for me. Back then I HATED story problems or word problems. I could do the standard abstract math fine and then they’d ask me to calculate when the train was going to ram into the station or how many orange slices the train could cut an apple into and I’d be stumped.

The theory used to be that the “real world” applications of cutting an apple in half and giving it to 3/4 of a person would help you learn math concepts. But it was fine, I graduated high school and college and my story problem days were over. Plus I’m a journalist, no math to worry about whatsoever careerwise this was a smart move for me: math-free journalism.

Then of course the minute you think you’re free of story problems you become a parent of a fourth grade child who needs help with the math homework. My husband took that area of parenting over after he saw me grab chunks of my hair and yell “IF YOU WANT TO KNOW WHEN THE TRAIN IS SUPPOSE TO LEAVE AND ARRIVE AT THE STATION GET A SCHEDULE AND LOOK IT UP MRS. CRABAPPLE!!!” I was yelling this to an innocent worksheet mind you.

Now according to the New York Times article and researchers at Ohio State it turns out the theory of using real world applications is just that, a theory. People thought it would help you learn math. They didn’t have proof of this when they inserted it into math curriculums back in the free-wheeling 1960s.  And after some research… it doesn’t! Recent data shows story problems just confuse the issue. Researcher found that kids are sitting in class pondering what color the trains are and forgetting how to do the actual math.

The study even says the benefits of things like “manipulatives” are also un tested when it comes to teaching the smallest kids begining math. Again, didn’t you already suspect this when you had a kid in first grade?

One of my kids spent the entire first grade stacking little blocks and then drawing them and then coloring them. We called it “art math.” This was all in an effort to learn addition.  On one test the teacher asked the students to explain how they arrived at the answer to the problem 8-2=6.  My child responded, “My brain told me it was the right answer.” Although the math problem was answered correctly the kid only received half credit because the explaination was deemed wrong.

And teachers I’m not criticizing you! These were and are the accepted theories and a teacher  has to do SO MUCH when it comes to helping a kid get math. Any person who has the patience to spend hours and hours with 9 year olds and can inspire them succeed in math has my admiration. Most of the teachers we have encountered are real heroes to me and the kids. I couldn’t do it.  So remember it’s not the teachers I’m kvetching about here, it’s the story problems and manipulatives. We just don’t get along.

The study doesn’t say get rid of story problems or “manipulatives” when it comes to learning it just says there isn’t any real research to suggest those actually help teach math. Cleary the study comes too late for my children and me but maybe if I’m lucky enough to become a grandparent I won’t have to help the little tykes figure out how to cut appples with a train that leaves the station traveling at 45 mph.

And by the way just a hello from the AWOL me. I am working a different schedule to fill in for Kristian Brown during her maternity leave. This is leaving me less time to blog but I do appreciate people checking in here as I juggle this little change.

         

A recent assignment from one of my kid’s science teacher was to build a device. The contraption had to travel 8 feet on its own power, it had to be totally home-made, it had to carry a can of beans, and at some point the thing had to obliterate an egg. The restrictions: Students couldn’t use compressed air to power it nor the Internet to get “ideas.” You had to use RAW MATERIALS and not manufactured parts. Students were permitted to have help from an adult. Unfortunately the only help my poor kid had available was me, as my husband, who usually helps tackle this type of Mission Impossible, was out of town.

I’ve been a mom for a long time. It’s not like I’m a neophyte. We know from projects around here. And I don’t DO the projects but even teachers know that when they assign projects - make no mistake - parents are involved. Even if you don’t lift a marker or scissors someone has to go to the craft store/butcher shop/hardware store and get the stuff. 

Over the years my kids have been assigned some of the following school projects: 

Fill a can with objects that describe you
Fill a shoebox that embodies “Greece”
Create a prairie habitat diorama complete with predators, prey and weather system
Create a video extolling the benefits of hockey, a poster about the benefits of calcium, and countless representations of why drugs are bad.
Illustrate each chapter of a novel and bind it with lunch bags and tape.

I can not draw and my crafting skills hover at about a 4th grade level. My children have inherited my art impairment. Projects involving any artistic skill at all make us break out in a cold sweat. But we forge ahead and they always learn something. Of course often times it’s not exactly what the teacher intended. (The box representing “Greece” included a lesson about what happens to garlic stuffed olives inside an eleven year-old’s backpack.) But this project was WAY beyond my advisory capabilities.

So again, you’ve got to get something to GO on its own. While it’s going it has to hold a can of beans and then break an egg. Huh? Seeing as you were allowed help from an adult my child did as I advised and called my dad. Bob’s a mechanical engineer by education, he then called my Uncle Tom, who most recently worked at Ford Maumee Stamping. I left my child and the two retirees to their own devices to come up with a device.

The picture above is the result. A string lifts the bean can.. then gravity brings down the can which propels the wheels, then the can smashes the egg. It’s genius. The kid and the retirees produced something unique and something I couldn’t have even imagined.

From all accounts the students did great on this project. I’ve heard some kids used mouse traps as an energy source and sling shots to catapult the egg. Cool. And as always my kid learned quite a lot from this assignment such as:

Mom panics when the words “raw materials” are bandied about
Retired men are the PERFECT people to ask when you’ve got invent a device
Uncle Tom is a genius
Gravity is a source of stored energy
Mom knows who to call in a jam
You break a lot of eggs while innovating

So it’s probably not exactly what the science teacher had in mind but the kid did learn.

(oh and the photos were taken with a camera phone despite my recent pledge to take nicer photos - it just seemed like a project)

There’s one thing I don’t do….Christmas Cards. Well I don’t sew or speak Finnish either but I’m really keeping in the realm of the holiday traditions for today.  At this time of year I decorate, bake, host get-togethers, shop, wrap, gain weight and scream at my family. In that way I’m not too much different than your average woman.

What? You don’t do extra screaming at your family for the holiday season? I think its how my family knows it’s that special time of year. “Oh, mom’s extra screamy.  Let’s get a tree!”

I go all out with the tree. They’re real and they’re spectacular. One year I made dozens of silver bows, another time I made popcorn garland. I wouldn’t recommend the popcorn string. It’s painful and bloody. It looks nice though.

But back to the Christmas cards. When I first got married my mother gave me some advice regarding the holidays. “Never send Christmas cards,” said mom.

Why shouldn’t I? She always did. My mother favored simple cards, silhouettes of things like The Star of David with metallic accents or red line drawings of holly and berries on a stark white background. She didn’t go for winter scenes or flowers or holiday letters. Her cards were elegant. So why shouldn’t I try to duplicate this touch of class?

“Because it’s a trap, first family, then friends, and then the work people, and then the new work people when you or your husband changes jobs. And then the children of the cousins, it gets out of control,” declared mom. Mostly my mom is definitive. She rarely vacillates. What she knows she knows.

“Plus,” she added. “If you send cards every year and then one year you can’t, or don’t feel like it, or you have pneumonia everyone will wonder why. There’s bad blood. Just don’t start. You will regret it. Don’t do it. Don’t send Christmas Cards.”        

As a young wife those many years ago I listened to my mother and I don’t send Christmas Cards.

Now I love the cards we receive from family, friends, work people, people from the jobs we used to have. I love to see the pictures of their kids. There’s even a cousin whose holiday letter wins as the coolest family every year. This particular family recounts their adventurous outdoor life in a yearly newsletter and never sounds pretentious.

I hope they don’t mind I’ve never sent cards but frankly, it’s just one less thing. And my mother gets an A+ for this pearl of motherly wisdom. She knew that at the holidays I’d be so busy that I’d barely have enough time get all my Yuletide screaming done!

Some of the people who read this are young and so I pass it on to you. Holiday Cards, just don’t start. Further, it’s also been my experience that you don’t need to know how to speak Finnish either.[1]      
 

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[1] According to Wikipedia Finland has a population of 5,300,362 people and 94.5% speak Finnish. I’ve never run into even one.

Anyone else have advice on what to eliminate at the holidays?

Welcome.. thank you so much for clicking over.  You can find out about me in the About section or check out the Please Stand By Post. For my first post I thought I’d throw my hat into the ring for “Mother of the Year!” Here’s a Blonde Highlight for you. I realize it’s a long post. But it’s my first official blog. I’m excited.

       When I was a teenager I taught a bunch of chicks how to drive a stick shift in my powder blue Volkswagen Beetle. I was cool. 
        I was such a good teacher that all my friends chose me over actual adults to teach ‘em how to shift gears.  I understood the perils of this rite of passage because when my dad taught me he’d sit in the passenger seat and chant dontpoptheclutchdontpoptheclutch… DO NOT POP THE!”   
       The car would lurch forward and stall. Oops.
       “Why did you pop the clutch?” My dad, getting grayer by the mile, would ask this question more to the sky than to me.
         I told my dad to relax. I was cool.
        Because I was cool at sixteen (teaching other sixteen-year-olds how to drive), I, at 38, was now looking forward to driving with my sixteen-year-old son. He’s completed Drivers Ed classes and has to drive with his parents for 50 hours in order to move to the next “independent” level.
       “Well son, here’s the keys.” I get in the passenger seat. My son sits behind the wheel for the first time. I feel like the cool mom, and am sure that my guidance will be benevolent. I will gently guide him. I will encourage and instill confidence. My coolness will ease him into mastery of this new driving responsibility.  My assured directives will ensure his safe passage.  I am the Zen at the center of my son’s initiation into vehicular adulthood.
      This is a classic case of me not knowing myself. At all. (Here’s where it gets ugly so turn away if you’re a sensitve type.)
     The Son pulls out into traffic and I scream “SHOLY HIT!!!!” (Letters inverted for your protection.) The kid slams on the break.
      “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! YOU CAN’T STOP IN THE MIDDLE OF A TURN!” I’m shrieking now. He begins again.
      “TURN THE WHEEL. MORE! YOU’RE GOING TO HIT THE MAILBOX.” Did they not teach the concept of staying in your lane?
      “Mom, I’m not going to…” he calmly reasons with me. At this point I grab the wheel. I gasp, grab and scream — a dozen more times until we get home.
  The next time, the boy’s father has a go.  Let him handle it.
      “So, how did he do?” I ask smugly, as my husband returns calm and nonchalant.
      “Fine.  He did well.”
      “How many times did you have to grab the wheel?” I ask, giving my husband a knowing nod.
      “What? None. Why are you grabbing the wheel?” He couldn’t believe it.
       So…  for the next outing The Son drives the car, the husband relaxes in the passenger seat, and I am relegated to the back.
     “HE’S GOING TO GO IN THE DITCH!” I scream while shaking my husband’s headrest. 
      Son and Husband look back at me from the front seats as if I have blurted something ridiculous like, “I LOVE THAT SQUIRREL’S PAJAMA PANTS!”
      “He’s fine. You need to simmer down,” my husband shoots back at me. The two re-focus on the task of driving us to the movie rental place.   “AGH” I gasp. This time, I am sure he is going to swerve into oncoming traffic. But again my son and husband show no signs of distress or recognition of impending doom.
     Apparently, I’m the only one with a clear-eyed grasp of mortality.
     So a few days go by and we’re out, once again, on the highway. They put me in the backseat with a scarf over my head and my fingers jammed in my ears.  I am instructed to hum.  I do.
      The Son does just fine on the highway. We arrive at our destination surprisingly alive. As I understand, it had been a peaceful drive.  But — as I remained in my makeshift sensory deprivation tank, we might have plowed through a legion of squirrels in pajamas for all I know.
      If anyone knows where we can buy a “Student Rider” sticker to tape over my mouth, let me know.  And if you see me riding around town bound and gagged in the backseat, don’t worry, I’m cool.

What do you think? I know too long right? Please feel free to give me any advice you might have for riding with teenagers. I’m oviously in need.