Friday, October 10, 2008

EdPhil: Draft document, please comment!

"The parent of every child of compulsory school age shall cause him to receive efficient full-time education suitable to his age ability and aptitude and to any special needs he may have either by regular attendance at school or otherwise."

Educational Philosophy

(1) Children are born learners. They learn to self-feed, to walk, to talk, with no teaching at all - all that's needed is example and opportunity to practice.

(2) People remember the things they wanted to learn, the things which interested them. Someone whose Bachelors degree was in mathematics might have difficulty with simple arithmetic (as far as I can tell, they all use calculators), but be happy with complex equations, and cheerfully able to rattle off the time and location of the world's most impressive stegosaurus fossil finds.

(3) People learn what they want to learn and what they need to learn. Many adults leave home and learn to manage a washing machine, write a CV, balance a budget, ask for and decline social or sexual favours, all without being told how by a teacher or parent - when it becomes necessary, they teach themselves to do it.

(4) People acquire skills at different ages and different stages. Some people learn to negotiate social boundaries first, others learn to multiply fractions first. Some people learn to sing before they learn to compose rhyming couplets, others can't hold a tune until long after they can recite their own poetry for hours on end. Some skills are never acquired by some people. Some are usually acquired by most.

(5) "Skills to be learned" is a very broad category. "Being friendly" is a skill. "Self-knowledge" is a skill. Literacy, hopscotch, numeracy, representational drawing, an eye for colour, plumbing, horse-riding, poetry recital, poetry composition, playing a musical instrument, designing a spaceship, washing the dust of ages from recently-uncovered bone combs, guaging the colour of the grass the cattle are eating and choosing whether to move them on or not, cooking, house-cleaning, grocery shopping, tying bootlaces, ballet, typing, handwriting, sign-painting, pottery, accountancy, graphic design, computer programming, rugby, goalkeeping, teaching - all skills. All learnable. Very few people have them all.

(6) Information to be absorbed is usually absorbed as part of skill acquisition or from sheer delight in the information itself.

(7) Who my child wants to be and who I hoped she'd be before she existed are not the same person. She is her own person. I do not own her. I have responsibilities towards her. These are not the same thing.

(8) My responsibilities towards my child are to provide her with the opportunity to learn what she wants and needs to learn (usually the same thing), to facilitate her learning when she cannot do that herself (which may include taking her places, finding classes or groups, acquiring equipment, etc) and to teach her when she needs me to. An important responsibility is to leave her time and space to just get on with things when she needs to do that.

(9) If the plan doesn't work, we can always change the plan.

Saturday, October 04, 2008

Fools in old-time hats and coats

Well, it was all my own issue. Linnea was quiet and attentive during the description of killing and eating deer, then more involved - active - something - for the description of building and using a smokehouse. The part which really disturbed me, as a child, is the pig-butchering, and that's coming up soon. We Shall See.

Linnea is very pleased that they had a dog to protect them from the wolves.

Friday, October 03, 2008

Growing accustomed

The children around us are getting used to being at school six hours a day. I'm not, but they are settling down ok.

And we're working out what is best for us, too. We need to go out less, I think; my children want to spend hours at home playing with lego and reading books and dancing.

I'm trying to make a handy to-read pile for the four-year-old as we can get through fairly large chunks in one go. Someone else I know is reading "Little House In The Big Woods" to a much younger child and I am going to flick through it to see how bad the butchering / beestings incidents are, because Linnea will notice if I skip whole chapters. She tends to hand me the book open at the page we were last on (presumably using the numbers?) when it's time to start reading again.

Edit: On page four she looks out her window to see two dead deer, and the butchering goes from there to the end of the pig bit, on and off. Now, she knows about meat-eating animals, and that people are made of meat, but me and my ex-vegetarian sensibilities are a little concerned that she'll react more or less like I did when I learned where meat comes from. I was a terrible, tedious bore, but at least I could eat dairy products. A vegetarian four-year-old would really complicate things on us here.

On the other hand, looking at the very first illustration, a Garth Whatsisname one of Laura skipping along waving her bonnet, and Mary walking primly along with an armful of flowers, I
see that I was set up from the very beginning to want to hit Mary in the face with a lump of green, stringy, slimy seaweed and stuff some crabs down her dress.

Friday, September 19, 2008

School is starting

My eldest child is four years, four months and three weeks old. The babies who were "in" our antenatal class have all started school - some of them are two months older but they are all about her age.

And this week many of them are on full days.


That's thirty hours a week.

Half days were exhausting enough - one child was too tired to play with us after her second or third week of half-days at school. She was tired and cranky and cried with disappointment. Full days mean thirty hours a week.

Today my eldest daughter slept until 10 am. I have no idea why she slept so long. She just did. If she'd been at school, I'd have had to wake her a full two hours earlier to have any hope of getting there on time. She'd have been cranky and uncooperative - she is, when she's woken up rather than allowed to wake naturally - and we'd have been late. And then, because she's tired, she'd find it harder to get to sleep in the evening and be worse the next day.

And all this just as the sun comes out during the day - we had a miserable summer - and the mornings are getting darker and the evenings are drawing in.

I am so glad we'd already made this decision because I think I'd have made it in a hurry this autumn otherwise, and wouldn't be so comfortable with it.

We're hoping to go to Oxford to a museum on Thursday. Assuming I can work out how to get there. It's cheaper than train tickets to London.

Thursday, September 18, 2008

Looks like summer!

The weather is warmer and drier than it's been for weeks. So on Friday Linnea ran out of ERAPA to head to the bus-stop, looked at the leaves on the ground, and said "LOOK, Mum, it's AUTUMN!"

I love autumn, I truly do, but I wanted summer.


Since then, however, the weather has been lovely and warm and bright and dry, and not only have I done a ton of laundry but we've played outdoors (even me!) and had a picnic and
done all sorts of things.


We're planning a museum visit. The days are filling up. September still feels like a beginning to me, even though I haven't been in a school for um. 13 years? More?

Sunday, August 31, 2008

Well, I certainly didn't teach her THAT!

We were negotiating pocketmoney. I said, "How many is twenty?"

She held up her hands, fingers spread out, looked at them, and said, "Two tens."


Sometime, I will scan in the diagram she drew for us to make her a baby brother. I think my favourite bit is the pubic hair; her father really likes the egg in one colour with the swirls of a contrasting colour around it to symbolise the baby growing bigger and bigger.


She likes to write her name and her sister's name, in secret. She doesn't like doing it when I suggest it. That seems reasonable...

Thursday, August 07, 2008

Motivation

My daughter has absolutely ZERO motivation to write her own name. Her friend's name? THAT she needs to learn.

So there you go.

Book larnin

I realised as I was updating my livejournal that today contained a wealth of education which looks like education, rather than the usual kinds which don't. Linnea is 4 years old. I quote and paraphrase:

On the bus, Linnea was quite verbose about threading the various parts of Reading together, which streets go where and lead to where and what happened in which buildings. She doesn't often talk to me about what's going on in her mind so that was lovely. She also has a better grasp of the geography of the other side of town than I knew.

This morning both girls did sticking and gluing. Linnea also dictated a postcard inviting a friend over, so I wrote that out (and later Rob posted it). After lunch I needed to go to hospital for a blood test. Linnea decided she did not want to come and watch me having blood taken; she at first said she would cover her eyes but I asked if she would prefer to wait in the waiting room and that was a much better option for her, so I checked with staff and that's what we did. And she gave me a little lecture on not leaving rubbish lying around and made sure to put her drink and packet in the buggy when she was finished with them, for whatever reason.

On the way home we went to a cafe with a layered jigsaw of boy - clothes, muscles, internal organs, skeleton - and we talked about what kidneys are and how they are connected to the bits she already knows about (bladder, wee, tubes, etc). She found it strange that they are easier to feel at the back than the front.

And then very late in the day there was a complicated conversation about time, and how we can't make it go faster than it does. We have friends arriving in four days. This is not the day after tomorrow, no matter what we do. How sad :(

Sunday, July 20, 2008

All about...

Dinosaurs. We are all about dinosaurs at the moment. Rob and Linnea both know 67 times more than I do about them. I don't think either of them would be terribly impressed by the cardboard pterodactyl costume in which I once incarcerated my sister.

And Linnea still swears up and down that she cannot read. Nope. Can't. I don't mind much since she has conceded that she can keep her underwear dry all day and all night. The whole reading thing is so emotionally loaded - it's like I have a responsibility, as an early-reading bright parent, to have an early-reading and bright child; early reading is in fact often used as evidence of brightness, and its lack implies... Hmph.

I do realise that number two daughter is getting far less art input than number one daughter, presumably because I have less time to keep the house clear enough - hopefully the new wipe-clean flooring (replacing, of all things, acrylic-mix beige fitted carpet!) will help me allow them more messy art. Though I will never become reconciled to washable (hah!) markers.

Monday, June 09, 2008

Outgrowing Nursery: A Very Negative Child

Well! We were ill the week before half term and then it was half term, so L was away from her two-days-a-week nursery for two weeks. The change was striking. She relaxed. She started to admit to knowledge again. She got really interested in dinosaurs and boasted about her knowledge. She started to draw again, and draw well, not at the peculiar regressive standard she had been at for a few months. She asked me to help her with a complicate dinosaur collage.

So the first Monday of the new term rolled around and she said she didn't want to go, so I phoned the nursery and asked to speak to her key worker, because I wasn't sure nursery was still the best place for her. I ended up speaking to someone I don't know at all whom I was assured was The Manager. She told me that Linnea doesn't do anything she's asked to do, doesn't use any of the offered opportunities, doesn't join in the group activities, doesn't socialise, and "is very negative - I don't know if she gets it from you."

That seemed fairly clear cut. The child I live with is outgoing, sociable, friendly, and definitely not negative unless provoked.

So she hasn't been to nursery and she's thriving on it. She's doing her maths book and reading to herself and generally being lovely. She's friendlier and less stressed. And I'm happier, too.

It's sad, because I really liked that nursery and I loved her key worker, but she outgrew it quite quickly, I think, and it wasn't good for her any more.

I'm so pleased the L I love is living with us again. And that we have so much more free unscheduled time. We've been painting again!

Sunday, May 25, 2008

Doubts

Since she's four, I've been hearing more and more than she ought to be at nursery. And that shemust start school soon. More and more and more. And I'm also hearing about friends' children who are reading, writing, hang-gliding etc, at the same age and younger.


It's hard to remember that Linnea responds badly to being tested and prefers to keep anything she's ever been tested on a secret. I know she can read because she's done both word recognition and letter sounding out - but she swears now she can't do it. And it seems to be true. Part of me thinks I've failed and part of me thinks she's working on some new skill to do with reading, where before she did rote shape-recognition and guesswork, she's now trying to figure it out from individual letters and she doesn't quite like it as well because she can see the bits she doesn't understand.

Praise is hard to navigate. It makes her fail on purpose.

All of this makes me think school would be a bad idea for her. But also that I'm a total failure, because goodness, a four-year-old who can't read! I could read at four. Loads of my acquaintances children can and do read at four. Where have I gone wrong?

And let's not discuss bladder control.

Thursday, April 17, 2008

Chuffa chuffa chuffa CHOOO CHOOOOOO

For the last, oh, ages - months and months - Oisín has been following an almost exclusively locomotive-based curriculum. It's been wall-to-wall railways - often literally, in fact, in our living room. Last week he watched Michael Palin's Great Railway Journeys on DVD perhaps ten times. His father got him some model rail magazines a while ago, and we've all been drafted in to read him the text and help him recreate layouts from the photographs. Last month we travelled to Kerry (and back) on Iarnród Éireann, which sparked a fierce interest in real railways (as opposed to bloody Thomas). Since then, he and his father have been on two Luas adventures, where they saw Heuston Station and the tram depot at the Red Cow Roundabout.

The complexity of his track layouts has developed hugely following these trips - rather than being pleasing routes for his toy trains to run on, they now tend either to reflect what he's seen in real life (e.g. parallel tracks with trains that pass each other in opposite directions, or a station layout with a bundle of lines feeding into a complex junction cluster) or to show that he's thinking about questions of structure and pattern (beautiful symmetrical arrangements of loops and junctions).

He can speak knowledgeably about most of the Irish rail network (including main lines, the Enterprise service, local lines such as the Dart and Luas (including proposed extensions), bog lines, and defunct lines such as the Lartigue Monorail and the Tralee & Dingle line) and can tell you the difference between a commuter train and an Intercity; he also has views on transport policy. (Why are there fewer goods trains in these days? Lorries are worse for the environment!)

He's very interested in foreign trains - the Eurostar, the Trans-Siberian railway, the Japanese bullet train, the Amsterdam light rail system, and so on - which has got him into geography in a big way. Many of his layouts and games now feature tracks running from (e.g.) Killarney to Berlin, or Dublin to Africa (or to North America, which is populated exclusively by dinosaurs). The other day he had a game featuring railway journeys to countries called Buffleteen and Shuffleteen, which he pointed out to me on the globe (they were unaccountably mislabelled Singapore and Borneo); they are very hot countries because they're at the equator. Rail travel between continents will be greatly facilitated by his plans for a bridge over the Atlantic Ocean. (Today, mind you, this was a pedestrian bridge, made out of Lego-equivalent. But it didn't have lifts, so I had to carry the buggy up the steps when I used it.) He's careful to specify whether he's talking about Heuston Station in Dublin or Euston Station in London.

The distinction between steam-, diesel-, and electric-powered trains has led him a little way into history (aka "the olding days"). He was interested to learn that we still use buildings that were built in the olding days, such as Killarney Station. He's looking at buildings quite carefully now, noting how many entrances and exits they have, asking about their structure. Famous old trains like the Flying Scotsman and the lesser-known City of Truro feature commonly in his games, as does the Rail Museum in York, where we plan to go in August. (His interest in history isn't confined to trains, by any means, but like everything else at the moment, it's connected.)

It's brilliant to see it all working the way I felt it would. And he's only three - I suspect it'll be even more fun when he's older.

************************

In non-train news, it appears he can add a bit. Biscuits, anyway. This afternoon I gave him three gingerbread biscuits (the ones made of oats and apple juice and stuff); he ate them and then asked for two alphabet biscuits.
"How many will that make?" he asked, semi-automatically.
"How many?" I countered, suddenly curious. "Do you know how to work it out?"
*eyeroll, sigh* "Fiiiive."
OK, OK, point taken. He's not partial to being tested. I got him the biscuits.

Monday, April 07, 2008

Me and My Big Ideas, part 3

OK, last one. Promise. (I originally meant to make these posts at decorous intervals, but that was back in November before I had my baby, and he's asleep now, so, well, I'm carping diem.)

This final post was written in response to someone who asked what values homeschoolers were so afraid of having their kids exposed to in school.

In case it needs to be spelled out, I speak from my experience (based on having served fourteen years in the Irish school system (1978-1992), and on what I know about that system now from teacher friends, other parents, and the media), and from my feelings relating to school ("feelings", specifically, since the question mentions "afraid").

What I'm "so afraid of" is not a set of pernicious personal values that I fear a given teacher might hold (e.g. homophobia, violent nationalism, ultra-Catholicism) - children encounter people all the time whose values conflict with each other's and with those of their immediate circle: it's part of life. Instead, I'm afraid of a set of values that I feel are, sadly, implicit in a system wherein large(ish) groups of children are taught by (at any one time) a single adult, and where children do not have any genuine power. I am not in any way suggesting that these values are deliberately asserted in the school system, but I believe that (in Ireland, at least) they are rooted very deeply. Teachers within the system cannot totally avoid working within these value frameworks, whatever their own convictions might be.

In no particular order, then, here are some lessons that I would quite like my children not to have to learn - or at least, not at the impressionable age at which I learnt them:

* What you are interested in at this moment is less important than what I am instructing you to focus on.

* You are powerless; the rules are the rules; the adults in charge here have essentially arbitrary authority over you. (Corollary: might is right.)

* Your passions are irrelevant to your education; they must be indulged either furtively (risking punishment) or only after your school duties have been discharged.

* If a teacher tells you to do something, no matter how absurd or pointless it may seem, you must do it or face punishment.

* Conform. It's safer.

* Boredom and fear (chiefly of adult retribution or disapproval) are part of the package, not something you are entitled to do anything about. If you are bored and attempt to alleviate this state, expect trouble.

* Mistakes are bad.

* Proving to someone else that you can do something is more important than doing it to a level that you find satisfactory (e.g. sufficient to accomplish a related personal goal).

* In general, the measurable takes precedence over the unmeasurable.

I could go on, but I suspect you get the gist. Please don't anyone take this as a personal attack!

Me and My Big Ideas, part 2

More from the discussion I mentioned in my last post: a description of unschooling, written for a broadly skeptical audience.

The basic premise of unschooling is that children - indeed, all people - are naturally curious, and that if they are allowed to pursue their (often intense) desires to acquire information and master skills, they will, if you like, "arrange" to learn everything they need. Adherents of unschooling believe that learning in the context of an immediate desire - often to do something, i.e. to apply the knowledge acquired - is most likely to be effective and lasting.

The key point of contention here, obviously, is in that phrase "everything they need". Unschooling is a child-centred approach, based on granting intellectual autonomy even to very young people. The idea is to refrain from disrupting the course of a person's curiosity-driven exploration of the world through the imposition of a curriculum, a timetable, and a schedule of academic milestones. Instead, unschooling families facilitate that exploration by providing a stimulating intellectual, social, and cultural environment - and, indeed, by providing or arranging for any formal instruction that the child requests.

That's where I'll have lost a lot of you, I suspect. Most people believe that there are certain things that all children must be taught. But opponents of non-traditional education models, in my (limited) experience, have a tendency to beg the question of whether it is, in fact, possible to define a set of information and skills to which it is desirable that all members of a society be exposed before a given (and ascertainable) age. They further beg the question of whether teaching methods arising from the traditional school model are, in fact, the best way to achieve this aim. [I repeat my plea from my previous post: if you know of any writing addressing these questions from first principles, please point me at it!]

I'm neither a logician nor a trained educator (though my parents are both academics, as are my aunt, my uncle, and many more living relatives, as were three grandparents, a step-grandparent, and at least one great-grandparent, so I'm pretty familiar with the education world, at least in Ireland), but my reading and observation have led me to conclude that there is another way of looking at it. In the first place, if it is indeed essential to know something, can we in fact avoid exposure to it - or at least to its importance? If we could trust children to identify what skills and knowledge are important to them, and facilitate them in acquiring these, would they not necessarily cover all the genuinely essential material?

In the second place, even if we agree that there is such a set of knowledge and skills, how can we be sure that traditionally based teaching methods are the only/best way of making sure that everyone gets it? Let's leave aside the fact that a proportion of children, despite attending school, never acquire basic literacy and numeracy - which I think most people would agree are about as "essential" as it gets. That's a clear social problem, to which some fairly clear remedies can be applied after the fact. But more subtly, I believe that many, many children leave school without in truth having mastered the curriculum. I'm not talking about failing exams - that's the obvious example - I'm contending that a significant proportion of students in a traditional school environment will tend to acquire not the skills and knowledge on the curriculum, but rather a set of more or less effective strategies for passing the various scrutinies and tests and getting out of there. (This applies less to students whose personal interests mesh well with the curriculum on offer, but as one of those students, I can testify that it's a factor.) These students, having passed the tests, are considered to be successfully educated. If you pause to consider your least favourite subject at school, and ask yourself what proportion of what you learnt during those classes has stayed learnt, you may get what I mean.

(A personal example: I was reasonably "good" at maths. I took Honours maths in the Leaving Certificate, which (certainly at the time, and I believe still) is generally considered one of the "hardest" subjects. I did well at it - better than I expected. However, I had only the sketchiest understanding of complex maths, then or now. I rote-learned enough to be able to approach most exam questions and left it at that. Maths, as an intellectual field, wasn't where my interest lay. Meanwhile, I have a very good grasp of the "simpler" subdivisions of maths, most of which I learnt by osmosis while indulging my passion for needlecraft: creating sewing, embroidery, patchwork and knitting patterns from scratch, which I did obsessively from the age of 6 or so, involves a fair bit of tricky calculation, percentages, geometry, as well as spatial awareness, technical drawing, and so on. Point is, if I were into, I don't know, aerodynamics - designing the perfect paper aeroplane, say - I'd probably have absorbed and retained more calculus.)

So, if for the sake of argument we were to propose that neither (a) a pre-ordained curriculum nor (b) curriculum-based, age-segregated, timetabled, scheduled, regularly tested instruction is necessarily the best way of a given child's acquiring an adequate education, well ... what's the alternative?

To which I say, go and read your John Holt and unschooling.info and the essays on the Sudbury Valley School site, and then get back to me if you have any questions :-)

I fully accept that there are people for whom the "guided" curricular experience is a positive one - one poster to [this discussion] spoke of being grateful that she was "forced" to read ... was it Shakespeare? That's not my personal experience: I viscerally resent what school did to me both intellectually and emotionally (there - cards on the table time - but please bear in mind that this is the Irish education system in the 1980s/90s - of which terms like "monolithic", "lockstep", "one size fits all", etc. are, I'd argue, ENTIRELY appropriate!). Further, the unschooling approach clearly works best when parents are educated and committed themselves. As I said in my previous post, there are surely children for whom the traditional school system is the best option available. It seems to me, though, that rather than engaging in holy war over pedagogical principles, we should be striving to ensure that each child has an opportunity to access the optimal educational model for that child.

There's also the question of parental values. Frankly, I can't see my husband and myself being able to be "good", supportive traditional-school parents, given how we feel about traditional school (again, please note, this is the Irish system I'm talking about: your mileage almost definitely varies). Children pick up on these things, and it couldn't but cause tension, which wouldn't be fair. If there were a Sudbury-model school in Dublin, we'd have enrolled our foetuses. As it stands, we'll be unschooling them (um ... not the foetuses ... you know what I mean) unless and until they ask for a different model, and we'll be trusting them to know what works best for them.

So (if anyone's still with me), how does unschooling work in practice?

Well, take reading, for instance - which is usually one of the first topics to come up in discussions of unschooling. It is the case that children frequently learn to read without ever being formally taught. The way it usually works is that either they realise at a certain point that the ability to read would be of enormous benefit to them generally, or they encounter a specific obstacle to their pursuit of another passion that would be solved by knowing how to read. Either way, they become passionate about acquiring the skill. (Supporters of unschooling, as I've said, argue that the point at which that passion strikes the child is the time at which learning will be most effective. Anyone who's watched a very young child really working at a new skill must give at least some credence to the effectiveness of this approach.) Children use several strategies to acquire the skill of reading, ranging from asking someone to teach them to picking up clues from context and working out what a handful of words mean, then building it up from there.

Oisín, our [43]-month-old, has learnt, by himself and by asking questions, to read most letters and numbers up to about [10] or so. (We had a long discussion about zero at the dinner table one evening, which quickly got very complicated.) He can read some words - the Google logo on Niall's T-shirts, for instance, his own name, and the names of some characters from Thomas the Tank Engine. I suspect he can read more than I'm aware of, but as I have no investment in his learning to read at this point (except inasmuch as it'll mean I don't have to read the Reverend W. Awdry's turgid and reactionary oeuvre!), I've no desire to test his skills. I don't know how I'd feel if I had one of those children who don't decide to apply themselves to reading until they're nine or ten. That might be trickier.

Unschooled children - certainly the younger ones - don't generally study traditional subjects, on the grounds that the world is not divided into discrete packages. Instead, an eight-year-old's interest in (say) knights and castles might lead to explorations in social history (how Medieval people lived), archaeology/palaeography (how we know about these things), politics (feudalism vs. democracy), architecture/engineering/military strategy (how they built for optimal defensibility), and so on. Meanwhile, her six-year-old brother might be into gardening - exploring botany, crop rotation, common local insects, and flower arranging (not to mention getting gloriously mucky).

As children mature, of course, their interests and desires for knowledge become more and more complex. In later years, organised learning, classes, curricula, etc. become more appropriate - provided the child can access them freely. Children who want to attend university can arrange to take the necessary tests - there are plenty of correspondence courses available, for instance.

It's noteworthy to me that most of the people who hold that children need guided instruction, timetables, etc. deal virtually exclusively with "schooled" children. Many adherents of unschooling believe that it's possible to "kill", or at least seriously derail, a child's natural curiosity and love of learning, through injudicious application of traditional teaching methods (e.g. the implicit demonisation of mistakes and failure - see John Holt on this). If that's true, then it very possibly follows that the children these people encounter do require such traditional approaches if they are to learn anything useful. But I'm not convinced that they are the only way.

I have no conclusion [...] but I hope I've provided some handle on the subject of unschooling and managed to avoid offence or overweening intellectual arrogance. None of either was intended, I assure you.

Me and My Big Ideas, part 1

This is a post about me. A while ago, I participated in a lively discussion elsewhere online about home-education, and someone asked about unschooling. I found I had ... quite a lot to say on the subject, and I've decided to repost some of my thoughts here.

This first post is about why I have reservations about the mainstream school model.

I was traditionally schooled, and according to the traditional paradigm I was a very successful student. For complex reasons, though, I wasn't great at fitting in socially. Unfortunately, I didn't complain about this situation. Instead, it's not exaggerating to say that I more or less "removed" myself from school, emotionally, at the age of around eight, and thereafter participated only to the extent required to wring optimal academic approval from the authorities. Because I was consistently top of the class at most things, and not too bad at faking what passes for "normal" peer interaction in the peculiar atmosphere of the school day, nobody - as far as I know - attempted to address what was, in retrospect, really quite a serious psychological/social problem.

In recent years I've read Ivan Illich (Deschooling Society) and John Holt (How Children Fail and How Children Learn), among others, and I've become enthusiastic about the Unschooling movement (see this Wikipedia article for an overview, or the unschooling.info site for some rather more polemical approaches).

I don't dismiss school out of hand - for many children, in many contexts, it may present the best available opportunity to learn - but certain fundamentals of the currently mainstream model simply don't make pedagogical sense to me. Segregation by age, rigid timetabling, imposed curricula (as opposed to curricula negotiated between learners and teachers), a schedule of academic milestones: all of these things carry clear logistical advantages, given the spoken and unspoken goals of the institution, but I can't see that they are in the best interests of a person's education, per se. I can't make a case for it actually mattering if a person understands quadratic equations before or after memorising the principal rivers of South America, or reads Hamlet before or after discussing the causes of the First World War. And yet, in the context of school, it is made to matter. That strikes me as twisted.

(I like Ivan Illich's phrase "irrational consistency". You take a shaky premise - e.g., "it is vital that every seven-year-old can subtract" - and you behave as though it is true, and you make it a rule, with consequences for breaching it, and you do this over and over again with different premises, and gradually, you drift away from any kind of reality-based moorings. And you don't allow the powerless subjects of this experiment to make any kind of effective complaint about the situation; instead, you make it clear to them, whether explicitly or implicitly, that this is the only way things can be, and that mental pain, fear, intense boredom and OH GOD the GUT-SCRUNCHING waste of TIME are just part of the deal, so get used to it. *pant, pant, froth* Excuse me, am I ranting?)

For many people, these factors are not deal-breakers (and let me say, I have enormous respect for anyone who enters the system with eyes open and a mission to change it for the better). For me and my husband, for all sorts of reasons related to our own negative experiences in school, they are. We won't be sending our children to school as a matter of course, and we are (well, I am) seriously considering trying to set up a school on a radically alternative model - something along the lines of Sudbury Valley (my goodness, that's a spiffier site than the one that blew my mind open in late 2000!) - which, given the homogeneity of the Irish education system, will be no small undertaking.

All that said, I'm a naturally equivocal person, and I'm oddly uneasy about holding such a one-sided opinion. Therefore, if you read the above screed and thought, "How can she say that? She'd never say that if she'd read X!", can you please let me know what X is?

(For completeness of this record, I'll add that a participant in the discussion I'm referring to directed people's attention to the Framework of Educational Standards and Learning Opportunities in the state of Vermont. My initial response: I don't necessarily dispute the value of such standards in principle, but I'm very antsy about the likely institutional response to a child who fails to meet them to the desired schedule. If I learn (for example) to describe words in terms of categories when I am three, not six, I am likely to be bored and switched off in English class; if I don't learn it until I am seven, I am likely to sense from the adults around me that there is a problem - to experience "failure" where no failure actually exists, and possibly to identify myself as "bad at English". I realise it's not as simple as that, and that educators may even have thought about this issue and developed strategies to address it , but both of these negative outcomes seem to me, nonetheless, a clear risk inherent in the system as it stands.)

Tuesday, March 25, 2008

They teach each other

Emer is learning make-believe much faster than Linnea did, and it's because she watches Linnea doing it. She copies what Linnea does - hard-legged plastic animals prickle their way up my shin and down my thigh and across the vast plain of my abdomen. Emer says her animals stop for mama milk; Linnea tells me to stop talking and be a lake.

Emer went from half a dozen words in daily use to thirty or more in less than a fortnight. She's experimenting with little two-word sentences. She has hauled out all her old words (she used to learn a word, use it for a week or so, then put it away while she learned a new one) and is working on some more.

Linnea likes to read signs, when we're out, and responds incredibly badly to criticism - correction or criticism (sometimes it's hard to work out which I've perpetrated) can result in a total lockdown and refusal to attempt further academic-type work.

Emer doesn't always want to learn what Linnea wants to teach. Linnea is learning to cope with this.

Friday, January 11, 2008

I don't WANT holes in my eyes

[crossposted from elsewhere because I initially forgot this existed]
Today I had to make Linnea a model of the human eyeball and demonstrate pupil dilation in different light levels. I made a ring of my hands and showed how the iris works, and looked at "the dark inside my hands" and the light outside the window so she could see different pupil sizes. She was interested, made her own models, drew some diagrams, and said she didn't WANT a pupil any more because she wanted eyes with no holes in.

Right.

Wednesday, October 31, 2007

Nursery school

I have a difficult attitude to school, it seems. Recently we visited the local Montessori nursery
and it was so gorgeous that I decided to let Linnea go for her free place, one afternoon a week. We sorted out all the paperwork and after the half-term break, she had her first day.

That was Monday - it's Wednesday now.

First, I was afraid we were going to be late, so I chivvied her along. Then I was afraid we were too early, until I saw some other mothers. Then I was worried I'd done something wrong, like hung her coat on the wrong hook, and then I didn't know how to say goodbye appropriately.

Luckily, none of this fazed her in the least.

Then when it was time to pick her up I had to phone ahead to make sure I had the right time, and when I did pick her up I was anxious about going to fetch her from wherever she was.


She enjoyed herself enormously, I think, and everything is fine. But I need to work on my issues. I called my mother, and she says she felt the same when we were in school.

Sunday, September 23, 2007

Not yet, we need a 3 first!

We were adding up - I must get workbooks soon, I am running out of ideas - and suddenly Linnea decided to stop using the little Cuisenaire blocks and skip straight to writing the numbers in, filling the blocks in afterwards.

She finds it frustrating that she can't write her numbers accurately enough.

I think I need to design or obtain worksheets with dot-to-dot numbers and letters, and do something about worksheets for doing sums. As I was drawing little boxes for her to fill in I vaguely remembered having something similar for school but I'm not sure where to get it; none of what I've seen in high street stores hereabouts is appropriate.

Twenty-five minutes of solid sums is as much as she wanted to do today. That seemed like a lot to me - I was getting tired of facilitating her.

Monday, September 03, 2007

Bounded

It's easy to see from the three-year-old's behaviour that she's happy with firm, reliable rules, clear boundaries, and regular mealtimes.

And now the one-year-old is getting in on the act; she visibly tests boundaries, is confused when they're not enforced, and depends on their being there for her physical safety (stairgates, for one).

The kids need reliability, it seems. And freedom. And boundaries. And open spaces.

And sometimes, a mother who will just close her eyes, wait, and quietly go grey while they learn something new, like how to climb the swing-set without dropping the teddy or the carton of juice, or how to get down an 18-inch precipice hands-first.

Monday, August 06, 2007

Make me another number game!

So, real live schooly learning is happening, but we haven't called it that yet. It's playing numbers. Me and my new laminator are making worksheets with number games; I'm going to rope Daddy in for the shapes one. Counting, writing numbers, reading numbers, linking counted items to written numbers, place value...

I can't work out how to do place value without some tools. Rods, bricks, that sort of thing. I must find a source.

Oh - and the name of the number 0 is "Zero-nothing." I find this almost as cute as "The dark is brilliant, isn't it, Mammy?"

Saturday, August 04, 2007

Teaching moments

Without my meaning to, O and I seem to have picked up the habit of teacher/learner-style interactions. I'm not entirely certain where the impetus comes from, but my feeling is that it's from him. I'm running with it (though trying to avoid being too teachery - rereading How Children Learn at the moment).

O is really into facts. He loves geographical stuff, placenames, where people live, looking at maps, his globe, and so on. His obsession with farms and animals has given way to an equally intense interest in trains (thanks, Thomas and Friends). He asks questions constantly when we're reading, and just randomly when things occur to him. I think he's realised (a) that there's an awful lot of interesting information out there, and (b) that one of the most efficient means of accessing it is to ask us. "Look it up on the Internet!" he's taken to saying.

So, in the past couple of days, I've looked up beavers (carefully!), planets, "do pigs have chins?" and "what do mice eat?" (he wasn't at all interested in the results of the first two searches, I think because too much time elapsed between his request and the first opportunity to get to a computer). At bedtime tonight I agreed that we'd look up hot air balloons tomorrow, and possibly Mount Rushmore as well. (We were being the stone faces of George Washington (him) and Thomas Jefferson (me) at the time. There is a perfectly reasonable explanation for this.)

It's not all one-way information. Yesterday we had a discussion at dinner about the distinction between pasta and noodles, during which we found Italy and east Asia on the globe. Regarding Asia, and how far away it is from Ireland, he remarked, "Aeroplanes can fly anywhere, so you could use an aeroplane to go there."

I think I'm recording this because it seems to be a new phase, and one that's closer to what the mainstream might think of as "learning" than most of what's gone before. I can see the shape of an unschooling life more clearly from here.

It looks good to me.

Saturday, June 09, 2007

All the big kids go to school

This morning, Linnea informed Rob that Ernest and Buttercup go to school. No, they don't. But she's sure that all Big Kids do, and they are both bigger'n she is, so...

Thing is, they're our main contact with the Home Education community! Also an excellent source of childcare and isopropanol.

There's a lot out there about school.

Thursday, June 07, 2007

Lately, I 'ave mostly been...

Learning, obv.

Mainly, learning stuff I didn't know my kid could do. Like rearranging the jumbled letters of words to get the right spellings. She did "apple" for a friend recently.

And she counts. And plays complicated role-play games with numbers. And draws eyes with pupils, irises, and lashes. She repeats words accurately when asking strangers to explain themselves (today's word was "concentrating" as in "Look! Look at my am concentrating!") and likes to help women dress and undress their (usually sleeping) babies.

The baby kid - minnaun, máis é do thoil é - is learning to signal aye and nay, and said "Hello" to me today. It's a word she hears often enough, I suppose.

Saturday, March 24, 2007

Restraint

I'm thoroughly committed to unschooling, but my own upbringing (academic household, interaction with children very focussed on teaching and testing - though I doubt they'd put it in precisely that way) and rampant perfectionism (working on that) occasionally undermine my practice. Over the past few weeks I've been finding it hard to ignore the Oyster's latest phase in pronunciation, whereby he speaks much less clearly than he was doing a couple of months ago. He swallows syllables, drops consonants and homogenises vowels. We still understand him (most of the time), and so I don't consider it defensible to try to persuade him to speak more distinctly.

Defensible or not, however, I've cracked a few times. For instance, "tell a story about..." is currently pronounced (approximately) dalladawbow, and I've once or twice found myself trying to pretend I don't understand, or stalling over starting the story until he says it "properly".

Doesn't work. It doesn't achieve its (ostensible) primary aim, which is to make him realise that he's speaking indistinctly and correct himself; it also doesn't achieve its (ostensible) secondary aim, which is to make me feel better. Instead, he gets frustrated, and I concede that I know what he's saying. Oh well.

(I'm reminded of an incident from my mother's childhood, when at the age of six or so she suddenly developed a lisp. My grandmother - not the world's most laid-back parent - was terribly worried by this, and had my mother Seen At Once by the finest speech specialist in the land. Whereupon it turned out that a girl in her class had a lisp, and she thought it was really cool.)

Anyway. At dinner this evening, we had a genuine misunderstanding. We'd been talking about a book, and the Oyster, at a pause in the conversation, said, "Mama help O. with vweeding."

"Yes, I'll help you with reading when you're going to bed," I said.

A few minutes later, he repeated, "Mama help O. with vweeding."

This time, I wasn't so sure that I knew what he meant. I asked him if he meant "reading", and he said, "No, vweeding."

Then I got it. "Oh, feeding! Sorry, love, I thought you meant reading."

"Feeding," he said - perfectly enunciated. It was the first time I'd heard him do a successful initial "f".

So I fed him a few forkfuls of not very cohesive quiche.

Then at bedtime, we were settling down to read The Snail and the Whale, and the Oyster remarked, "O. says ’nail."

"Yes, that's right," I said. "You find it easier to say ’nail than snail."

"Snail," he said. "Snail." He grinned, clearly very pleased. We congratulated him.

I'll be interested to see how this one unfolds.

Propaganda

We've joined the Irish Home Education Network, and I was sitting on the sofa today reading an article in the newsletter that was making me unexpectedly rageous about the idiocies of mainstream schooling.1 I came to the end of the article, and N. caught my eye and raised an eyebrow, and I said, "So, school, yeah? It's all bad."

Whereupon the Oyster, who is two and seven months, exclaimed, "School is not all bad!"

Radzer: OK, no, it's not all bad, all the time, but I don't like school.
Oyster: Mama doesn't like school. N. likes school.
Radzer: No, N. doesn't like school either.
Oyster: He does.
Radzer: N., do you like school?
N. (who happens to be the most equivocal person in the history of humankind; expecting him to make a definitive statement - much less a condemnation - is a non-starter): Hmmm. Well, I'd have to say that, on the whole, I find myself unable to enjoy a positive relationship with it in all its aspects.
Radzer: That means he doesn't like school.
Oyster: Tell a story about O. was on the school bus with all the other children, and Eddie was driving it!

So I did.

I wouldn't mind,2 only this is a boy who watches next to no TV, and whose pro-school book collection is (as far as I know - there have been a few grandmother imports recently) limited to I Am Too Absolutely Small for School (featuring Charlie and Lola), which makes me gnash somewhat because it's about the older male teaching the younger female that she's All Wrong, so I don't read it much.

And yet somehow, the propaganda has found a way in. Already. Sigh.

1 It was about a trip by a group of home-educated children to an exhibition called "Planet Aqua", where the staff spiel was clearly designed to disguise the educational material so that the children would learn something in spite of themselves, and about how this view - that you need to trick children if you want them to learn - is endemic and unquestioned in our society. Full of anecdotes about people saying "X is great - they don't even realise it's educational". Nothing startling or new, but it pushed my buttons in a big way.
2 Lie.

Thursday, March 22, 2007

What did you learn on the Beeb today, dear little child of mine?

"There was food in the kitchen of our rocket, and there was plates, and a table, and a bathroom, and a other room, and a dining room. Oh no! You agotten your space boots! There! Now, Emer's space boots. There! There. That's a only thing for a frog."

Dressed in saggy, soggy nappy, and a sleeveless vest (undershirt for Americans): "You watcha me do my ballet?" Then she held her arms out in fourth position and her legs were - well, sort of like a plie from second position but with the left foot raised, very Indian Dance looking. Then she did roly-poly arms, then a drumming move. "My have two - three moves!" she declared.

We cruelly made her have a new nappy anyway.

In The Night Garden is a new CBeebies TV show, made by Ragdoll, who also made the Teletubbies. It is entirely incomprehensible, impenetrable, and dreamlike, and Linnea adores it so much that I have managed to find time to have her watch it four times in a day. Twice.

It contains the phrase "Isn't that a pip?" which is apparently good, though in my lexicon to give someone the pip is bad.

Saturday, March 17, 2007

Growing Girls

We are teaching Linnea femininity. Not quite the submissive, learn-to-be-a-devoted-wife-and-helpmeet kind of femininity, but she's definitely keen on being a girl and on all things girlish.

It's all about hair. She doesn't have a great deal of hair - she has almost none, in fact, three years old at the end of April and never a haircut needed - but what she has she wants girlified. Her cousins have blonde curls in bunches, wispy fringes held out of their eyes with clips, cute and feminine and utterly impossible for Linnea.

I got her some little snappy clips, but they slid out of her fringe. I got her some smaller ones which worked a little better. I figured out how to achieve bunches that last long enough for her to admire them in the mirror - twizzle the hair into a bunch over her ear by swirling my finger in it, then use toothed, bulldog-style clips (with little flowers on) to hold them in place. Cute.

Today she had a birthday party to go to, so I tried one last thing. I got her a narrow little hairband, the horseshoe-shaped kind covered in fabric.

Frankly, it looks dreadful. But she feels so girly!

Friday, March 16, 2007

Home education as distinct from home-schooling

I don't like the phrase "home-schooling" because I don't like the verb school unless it's applied to fish. I don't much like "training" either, applied to children.

I home-educate. That is, I offer my children opportunities for learning, and sure enough they learn. Linnea finds opportunities to learn that I hadn't seen coming; that's what being two is all about! I provide a safe environment, up to a point, and plenty of interactions with people who are not exactly the same as us. We have books, a kitchen, a garden, and pets. We have television and radio and art materials.

When my two-years-ten-months-old daughter, just the other day, walked into the room with a sippy cup of water, with the lid on, I asked my guest "Did you fill that for her?"

No, he hadn't.

Later she walked in with some bread and butter. The butter was not exactly spread, more daubed; we discovered that that was because there were no knives readily available and she used the handle of a teaspoon.

I am so proud I might die.

Wednesday, March 14, 2007

Elastics

I learned to play elastics at school. We had two games: infants played "England, Ireland, Scotland, Wales, inside, outside, off the rails" and older children played "Frenchies," which had no rhyme but a series of jumps up to ten. Both were played on two parallel elastics, usually made by having a child stand legs-apart at each end of a loop.

One: Straddle the nearest elastic. Do not jump off. This is the only number where you don't jump off afterwards.
Two: Jump in place (one) then straddle the other elastic (two).
Three: Both feet in the middle, both feet on an elastic, both feet outside.

Four: One foot on the nearest one, one foot on the other one, both in the middle, both outside.

Five: First jump onto the nearest elastic so that your right foot is underneath and your left foot is standing on the elastic. Then jump forwards to the other elastic, left foot underneath and right foot standing on the elastic. That's one and two. Jump back (three), forwards (four), and back again (five).

Six: Straddle the near elastic. Jump up and cross your legs and land. Turn without raising your feet. Repeat on the other elastic. This one has a mini-rhyme; it's "hot cross buns."

Seven: Stand with your back to the elastics. Put your right leg back, hooking the near elastic with your ankle so that as you step back it slides up to your knee. Put your right foot behind the other elastic, so one is behind your knee and the other is in front of your ankle. That's one. Now jump and swap legs repeatedly for two 'til seven.

Eight: As for three, it's centre, on top, outside - each jump to the centre is counted. NO pausing allowed.

Nine: As five, start by jumping to the near elastic with right foot under, left foot over. Jump to the far elastic while turning 180 degrees, but you'll be glad to know that you don't also have to swap feet. Always jumping in the same direction, do nine of 'em! Pausing is frowned upon.

Ten: Looks very simple. Straddle the near elastic, then jump 180 degrees to straddle it again. Count ten jumps, either always jumping in the same direction or changing direction after 3, 6, and 9.

We used to play these alone, too, using chairlegs to hold the elastics. And there were degres of difficulty; the elastics moved up from ankles to knees to thighs - even waists for some people - and then started again at ankles on a narrower guage.

If anyone over 12 can do them all, please let me know.

Sunday, March 04, 2007

Square-Eyes

She's been watching "A Bug's Life" over and over and over - sometimes twice a day. She talks about it, in little snatches. She refuses to let me skip the scary parts. We discuss them as best we can later on, never in the middle of the night when she wakes homesick and ill, but often in the daytime when we're out walking or indoors playing or reading or doing boring household stuff.

It's got some pretty big themes; it's fairly obviously about The Oppressed Majority, which is nice because I've been reading various books about South Africa lately, and my aunt has just come back from Zimbabwe. There's also a little bit about small weak children growing up into big strong adults; she's not sure she wants Emer to get big but she's intermittently keen on the idea that she will herself. And she likes it when the grasshoppers (oppressive minority) get their come-uppance but doesn't like the grasshopper-on-grasshopper violence one leetle bit. She'd prefer honour among thieves.

The biggest thing, of course, is violent death - squishing and being eaten by birds. I'm never sure how I feel about her watching things with or about explicit death.

It's strange that something I feel so guilty about - parking her in front of a screen for hours so that I can cope with the rest of life - is so obviously interesting and stretching for her.

Thursday, February 01, 2007

Small narcoleptic

I heard a sad story recently. Some friends of ours - part of my husband's old college gang - have a five-year-old daughter, who went to school last September. At a party, I asked her mother how it was going, and got a long and worried response.

I don't know this child well at all, but I gather she's always been extremely shy. Indeed, her parents decided, for this reason, to wait until she turned five to send her to school. She has a more outgoing younger brother, and in situations like playgroup she's been able to rely on him, to some extent, to get by socially.

Now she's at a standard-model school. Academically, she's fine. But a few months into the term, the teacher came to her parents, worried. Every time the class is asked to do less structured group activities, such as art or PE, she falls asleep. Her parents had noticed that she seemed more than usually tired, all right, and prone to sleeping during the day. But they'd put it down to the big change, and they hadn't realised that it had become so frequent at school.

And what are they to do? It's genuine sleep, not put on. Her mother, telling me about it, used language like "it took us a while to figure out what she was up to" - apparently thinking of it as a trick, more or less. She didn't have a solution.

I said vague things about being sure that it would sort itself out eventually, and how actually, when you think about it, it's a perfectly natural reaction to an overwhelming situation, and how she obviously isn't comfortable with full-on peer-group interaction, and really what you'd need would be a very small class, where she might be better able to get used to it at her own pace, but sure, where would you find something like that, and so forth.

It seems obvious to me that a mainstream, age-segregated, thirty-strong class is the wrong place for this child - and equally obvious that it would take a lot more than strategic sleepiness to make her parents consider any alternative. All I can think is that she's come up with a strikingly intelligent short-term response to her problem. Falling asleep is such a total, personal withdrawal - and such an (essentially) unobjectionable thing for a small child to do. But of course it will do her no good at all in the long term, because of the situation in which she has been placed. She will just have to learn to cope, somehow. I'm sure she will. But I wish she didn't have to.

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

Secret Skills: Games

One of the things that really makes me believe in child-led education is how much stuff she knows that I haven't taught her and was unaware she knew. The reading is one thing (she's never let me catch her at it again but has occasionally known things I only knew because I read, eg, a sign) and another is playing Jenga.

Yup, my 2-years-9-months-old plays Jenga, removing bricks from low down on the stack and putting them carefully on top in order. She's quite good at it. She also plays Snap, but doesn't believe that the Ace of Hearts and the Ace of Diamonds are a pair. She thought the Ace and Two of Hearts might be, but wasn't happy about it. Perhaps we'll stick to her TV character cards in future.

Jigsaws are, of course, old hat, but we haven't allowed her to try Rob's World's Most Difficult Jigsaw Puzzle (Clownfish) yet. She lost interest in Snakes and Ladders quite quickly, so a really tough jigsaw mightn't be her style. She's keen on Mousetrap. I often find traces of complicated games set up - she makes gardens of her Lego and builds animals and people to live in them, for example, or buildings.

And then there are the voices. She has several, enough for a whole host of characters, and she doesn't do any of them if she knows I'm listening.

Secrets!

Saturday, December 30, 2006

Books to investigate: Máire Mullarney

My mother remembered her name, we searched Amazon, and lo and behold we have a copy of Anything School Can Do You Can Do Better (The story of a family who learned at home) (ISBN 0006369316) which I am reading with great interest. She used a lot of Montessori stuff - I really must investigate Montessori at some point - but found that her children were too far ahead to take advantage of Montessori schools when they were old enough to attend them.

(Another interesting thing that happened recently is that Linnea was spotted by Radegund reading aloud from a book of Oyster's. Apparently she was slowly reading the common words, a repeated phrase along the lines of "Yes, if you're not too [loud, hoppy]" etc. Now I need to replicate this somewhere I can observe it myself, but preliminary questioning indicates that no-one had read the book to Linnea in the time, so it does seem like she recognises some words, at least.

She'll be three in only four months' time.

Friday, October 20, 2006

But is it Art?

My daughter is a genius. No, really! Not only is her new word "Brilliant!" (as in, oddly, "The dark is brilliant, isn't it Mummy?") but she can draw with remarkable anatomical accuracy, as evidenced by this amazing chalk-on-blackboard representation of a giant:

Note the pointy head, eyes, mouth, central body, arms with hands, and you can't see the legs with feet.

Clearly I should have sent her to nursery so she could develop to her full potential. She's not quite two and a half, after all.

Thursday, September 28, 2006

Deixis

Set-up 1: The Oyster has been a little gorilla for much of the afternoon. Mama and K (his grandmother) are big gorillas. Great satisfaction is had from making statements such as "big gorilla putting little gorilla's wellies on", "big gorilla using a rake and little gorilla using a spade" (yes, we're still up to our ears in the garden project).

Set-up 2: The Oyster is beginning to use possessive adjectives, but he hasn't figured out deixis yet, so he tends to use "my" to refer to things that belong to the person he's talking to ("put it on my plate - no, MY plate" [points at Mama's plate]).

Oyster: Unny put the stone in my bucket.
Mama: Yes, that's right, you put it in your bucket.
Oyster: No, my bucket!
Mama: Yes, but the thing is, if you say "my bucket", I say "your bucket" - because thaaaaat's deixis, boy!
Oyster: Daa-day-igah-g'illa!
Mama: My apologies. You're right, of course. That's deixis, gorilla.

You've got to get these things right, you know.

Tuesday, September 26, 2006

Cooking With Knives

My daughter, today, is two years, 4 months, 27 days old. She is learning with knives.

She's in the kitchen with Rob right now. I think she expressed an interest in peeling potatoes but he might have offered. The potato peeler is a bit blunt, but she sat on a high stool in front of the sink and had a go. The potatoes were very slippery, mind. She said so.

Then they chopped and rinsed broccoli.

Now they're peeling the leaves and silk off the sweetcorn.

She's have a fabulous time, she's out of my hair, it's not slowing him down much...

Last night, she and I made Bara Brith in 15 minutes (er, plus 90 minutes baking time, but you can't have everything). It hasn't been cut yet but it looks fabulous.

She sees no difference between this and the games she plays with her plastic animals, except that for this she has company and for the animals she does all the voices herself. If anything, she likes this far, far more.

Monday, September 25, 2006

Sort of an introduction

Hi, I'm Radegund, another contributor to this blog. Ailbhe invited me to join ages ago, and I've been meaning to start posting ever since. Champion procrastinator, me. I have a two-year-old son, whom I'd very much like to continue educating at home once he reaches schoolgoing age. (Actually, now that I think of it, "at home" is a pretty reductive phrase to describe where his education will happen. "Not at school" is more accurate.)

I first became interested in non-traditional education in 2000, when a passing mention on an e-mail discussion list pointed me to the website of the Sudbury Valley School, Massachussetts, US. (Wow. That site is quite a bit slicker now than it was then.) From the moment I began to read, I was electrified by the idea of child-led learning.

Later, I read about unschooling (e.g. the Wikipedia entry and Unschooling.info) and found myself to be in visceral accord with it as an educational philosophy. The principles of respecting a child's time, of facilitating learning rather than coercing memorisation, of providing a stimulating, physically safe environment and then getting out of the way unless asked to help - these make so much sense to me that I can (still) barely articulate my opinions on the subject without becoming emotional.

I read John Holt's How Children Fail and How Children Learn (see this post for a list of his books) when my son was a baby, and came to the slightly heartstopping realisation that I was serious about this: I wanted to act on my beliefs and not send him to school. My husband and I have reached a loose agreement that we'll work something out, but the details are still hazy. Soon, I think, I'll try to get in touch with other home educators in our area and see if there's some kind of ready-made community I can join.

I don't ... necessarily ... think that traditional schooling is equally bad for all children. I think there may be some for whom (for whatever temperamental or circumstantial reasons) it provides more benefits than it imposes constraints. But the more I read and experience, the more I'm convinced that an alternative model is essential. I'd love child-led learning to be an option genuinely available to more people. Actual "home education", which fairly inevitably entails parents forgoing household income (as well as professional fulfilment, etc.), is a realistic (not to mention appealing) choice for, I would imagine, comparatively few. One day, when the time is right, I want to start a school on the Sudbury Valley model in Ireland. Until then, I'll work with what I have and try to ensure that my own children (the born and the hoped-for!) have access to whatever educational model is most suited to them.

Wednesday, September 20, 2006

Read Me

Today we were in town with friends, sitting in a cafe, reading books and drinking overpriced trendy beverages. Linnea's OTB was an "innocent" brand pure-fruit smoothie, and she read the label aloud to me for my entertainment.

"There was a Nea who went on a train a-day and with her Mammy and -"

And my friend interrupted her to say "I don't think it says that, Nea, does it?"

To which I can only respond (hours later, of course, because that's how it works): "I can't imagine how anyone would think she did think that. And if she did, I can't fathom why anyone would feel a need to correct her. She's two-and-a-third-years-old."

But this particular friend does correct. I remember when Nea was 14 months old she pointed out a triangle ("chi-angle") to me. I was delighted. My friend corrected her. "No, it's a cone."

Why?

Friday, September 15, 2006

ERAPA Reopens

We puttered off to ERAPA again today. Met people, re-met people, Linnea vanished off on her own for long periods, and played with other kids, mainly with one child her own age (as in, really truly her own age, only 20 days older) whom she addresses as "Poor little Pandy."

I met people who had genuinely enjoyed school for years on end. Not often that happens.

It was a learning experience for me, too. Travelling with an adult who has very little experience of travelling on public transport with one child, let alone with two, is hard work. Managing an infant in a sling is less difficult than managing a pregnant bump in a heatwave, as far as keeping track of the toddler is concerned. I have no idea at all how to talk to people and always feel like I'm taking over and turning a conversation into a monologue (particularly when people bring up birth and/or birth trauma!) or incredibly stilted and boring - or worse, bored. Clearly I need to go to Finishing School.

I also learned that there's a cool kind of paper airplane thing the kids make from a straw and two rings of paper, and I intend to make them with Linnea very shortly.

Thursday, August 31, 2006

Yay school!

Recently, Linnea has seen a lot about school on telly. She's been watching a lot of telly because I had a baby by cesarean section 16 days ago, and there's been a lot about school on it because schools in this country are reopening for the new school year within the next week, in general.

She's dying to get into one.

"I go a school wiv you?"

"Nea and Mammy go a school on a TRAIN!"

"We go visit a school a morrow?"

And so on. We will apparently do painting in school, and playing with the childrens, and the Jumping Dance, and rollerskating.

I don't know what to do. Hope the TV-induced phase passes? Hope that ERAPA gatherings of the Home Ed group fill whatever unfilled need she has? Or find a school which has a preschool that will take someone aged 2⅓ and send her there?

Her drawings are now about what I'd expect from a four year old; faces with eyes and mouth all within the outlines of the face. Eyes with pupils. Bodies and legs and arms approximately in the right places. She decides what to draw first, and then does it. That's all good.

What will happen to her in school? I keep thinking of the song...

The little boy went first day of school
He got some crayons and started to draw
He put colors all over the paper
For colors was what he saw
And the teacher said.. What you doin' young man
I'm paintin' flowers he said
She said... It's not the time for art young man
And anyway flowers are green and red
There's a time for everything young man
And a way it should be done
You've got to show concern for everyone else
For you're not the only one

Wednesday, August 30, 2006

Speech and language

I pootle off into hospital for a few days and suddenly her speech becomes clearer, her sentences are more grammatical, and her vocabulary expands. Clearly I am holding her back.

No, but seriously, I'm very impressed. She started off by telling me, when I spoke to her from recovery after the c-section, "You have a baby Emer there!" and later when she came to see me she wanted to see "My bruvva" and "My sista" interchangably. It took a few days of no correction for her to change to "my sister" exclusively, but she still uses the masculine third person pronouns for her, in spite of mild correction. Presumably that, too, will sort itself out.

"Where's your baby?" the midwife asked her today. "My baby a called my sister," she replied. "Oh, what's your sister's name?" she was asked. "Emer!"

She now asks to have "Baby Emer's Milk" instead of just milk. She accepts that rice milk and breastmilk are ok but Nea and Mammy can't have cow milk, only Nana and Daddy can have cow milk. She has learned to distinguish between muesli and other cold cereals.

I'd love to guess at the extent of her vocabulary but I can't imagine how I'd begin to do it.

Thursday, August 03, 2006

As sure as eggs is eggs!

I know for sure that Linnea learned something, from me, today. It's not often I can point at something and say "This she has learned from her mother!" but today she learned that eggs are runny inside their shells sometimes (though as far as I know they still default to hard-boiled).

A week or two ago she started asking to peel her own hard-boiled eggs at lunchtime, which of course I proudly permitted, and today she was about to help me make scrambled eggs by cracking the eggs open exactly as she does for hard-boiled ones. I snatched one from her tender infant grasp and cracked it myself, to demonstrate, and then she agreed to be more careful. She was intrigued by the runniness ("Is very juicy!") and enjoyed whisking them.

Unusually, she wasn't interested in stirring them in the pan, but she did watch them cooking.

Monday, July 31, 2006

They have to learn!

I'm reading John Holt's How Children Fail again, and noticing this time the stories about parents and teachers who think that it's necessary to teach children to endure being bored and unhappy. Parents who told Holt that yes, little Jonnie was learning much more than he ever had before, but they were worried that he was having too much fun in school. People who believe that school ought to be disciplined, dull, and not particularly happy, because "it will teach them about real life."

If that's what my school thought they were doing, it didn't bloody work. My real life has never been as pointless, boring, or miserable as school was.

In my own family, I learned about a year ago that Rob played a robot in a primary school play, and was haunted thereafter by the name "Robbie the Robot." The story was being told while his parents were visiting, and I said, aghast, "Oh, god, they didn't keep calling you Robbie the Robot, did they?" and he said "Only for the rest of the time I was in school," or similar. His father chimed in with "Well, you have to learn to give and take that kind of thing, don't you?"

His father, who is very very fond of his children, really quite protective, would never see them suffer financial discomfort, helps with such minor household tasks as loft conversions and supporting wall strengthening, or the occasional fitted kitchen, thinks that it is necessary to learn to give and receive minor bullying.

I walked out of the room, saying "Rob would never give anyone that kind of crap," which is true. He's far too nice to deliberately hurt someone for no reason other than the pleasure of hurting them, even a little. I'm not, of course, and I wasn't as a child - but I've never claimed to be as nice a person as Rob is. For a start, I was angry enough to say "crap" in front of my parents in law, which is a level of obscenity to which I would not normally stoop in front of "grown-ups".

It seems to me a matter of common sense that children will learn to deal with nastiness in their own ways in their own time, and that encouraging them to learn this earlier than absolutely necessary can't help anyone. Teaching them that it's normal and acceptable does nothing whatsoever to make the world a better place, any more than teaching them to solve their problems by hitting the child who has a coveted toy will.

I leave you with something my mother had up on the wall in her house when I was a child.

If a child lives with criticism
He learns to condemn.

If a child lives with hostility
He learns to fight.

If a child lives with ridicule
He learns to be shy.

If a child lives with jealousy
He learns to feel guilty.

But if a child lives with tolerance
He learns to be patient.

If a child lives with encouragement
He learns self-confidence.

If a child lives with praise
He learns to appreciate.

If a child lives with fairness
He learns justice.

If a child lives with approval
He learns to like himself.

If a child lives with security
He learns to have faith.

If a child lives with acceptance and friendship
He learns to find love in the world.

Sunday, July 30, 2006

Books to investigate: John Holt

Books by John Holt, according to the most official John Holt website I can find:

How Children Fail. Pitman 1964, revised edition Delacorte 1982, Perseus, 1995.
(My library has the revised edition, Penguin, 1990, which I have read)(Buy on Amazon)

How Children Learn. Pitman 1967, revised edition Delacorte 1983, Perseus, 1995.
(My library has the revised edition, Penguin, 1991, which I thought I'd read before but apparently haven't. When I read it, I'll let you know.)(buy on Amazon)

The Underachieving School. Pitman,1969.
(Amazon UK have a 2005 Sentient Publications edition.)(buy on Amazon)

What Do I Do Monday? Dutton, 1970, Heinemann, 1995.
(Amazon UK can source a 1995 Boynton/Cook (US) edition in 4-6 weeks.)

Freedom and Beyond. Dutton, 1972, Heinemann, 1995.
(Amazon UK can source a 1995 Boynton/Cook (US) edition in 4-6 weeks.)

Escape from Childhood: The Needs and Rights of Children. Dutton, 1974, Holt Associates 1981.
(Amazon UK can't even source one, though some are available second-hand.)

Instead of Education: Ways to Help People Do Things Better. Dutton, 1976, Sentient, 2003.
(Amazon UK have a 2004 Sentient Publications edition.)

Never Too Late: My Musical Life Story.. Delacorte. 1978, Perseus, 1991.
(Amazon UK have a 1992 Lighthouse books edition.)

Teach Your Own: A Hopeful Path for Education. Delacorte, 1981, revised and updated by Patrick Farenga as Teach Your Own: The John Holt Book of Homeschooling, Perseus 2003
(My library has the Lighthouse Books edition, 1981, which I have read.)(Buy on Amazon)

Learning All the Time: How small children begin to read. write, count, and investigate the world, without begin taught. Addison-Wesley 1989. Perseus, 1990. (Buy on Amazon)

I will get these at some stage, and own them. I already know that the library can't source any more; even my pet assistant librarian who is an elite crack-squad of catalogue searchers all on her own can't find more than she's slready found for me. I must print the list off and take it to the local Waterstones; they're the most reliable bookfinders I know of in the area, and might well find things more cheaply than Amazon would.

Saturday, July 29, 2006

Daycare Schooling

I've been wondering - while talking to my mother, which is always inspiring - how true it is that schools are mainly for daycare.

There are breakfast clubs, after school clubs, and I've heard rumours of supper clubs but I have no references for those. It's obvious to me that these would solve a serious daycare problem for families where all the available adults work regular office hours... but it bothers me, too.

I already think that most of the school day is dead time, nothing-time, filler-in-time. It's presumably valuable for children without alternatives, just like the daycare clubs, but I can't see how it's useful to most of the others. I can remember sitting around waiting a lot, in school, while the teacher prepped something or corrected something or while some people were finishing off whatever task we had been set - and it only got worse in secondary school, when moving from class to class and settling in and finishing up ate chunks out of every lesson; it could easily take 5 minutes to change classes, 5 to settle down, and 5 to finish up.

There's no answer springing handily to mind, which is a shame, because I could make a fortune if there was. I do think that the problem is that non-family activities take more time and are given higher priority by The Universe At Large than family activities, which is why Rob has worked unpaid overtime every day this week including a few minutes today, and expects to do so again next week or give up an entire weekend day, and isn't likely to be "allowed" to take his time off in lieu - in spite of being grossly underslept and not having spent much in the way of Quality Time with his two-year-old, let alone with his 8-months-pregnant wife.

Work is such a high priority, in this age of the Leisure Industry, that everyone assumes it's more important than personal lives. So the schools need to provide daycare, at least as much as education.

It smells all wrong.

Friday, July 28, 2006

Not Teaching

I mentioned earlier today that I was talking to my mother about not teaching. Apparently a number of teachers believe that teaching itself doesn't work in small groups - that the class size is important to create the class dynamic. I assume, on the basis of no information whatsoever, that this means that in teaching college they are taught to deal with groups of children of a certain size in a specific way, and the size of group never drops below a norm of some kind.

But it seems trivially obvious to me that in general, more teaching and learning will happen in a situation that allows for a lot of individual variation, individual attention, and individual autonomy on the part of the educatee (assuming that education is something done to or for children by adults, which is a common enough assumption).

Certainly Linnea has learned more about several Core Subjects as written about by nursery staff in the tiny tots' report books ("Today Jemima had three dirty and seventeen wet nappies, learned to hold her own spoon, and enjoyed gluing sequins to her ears" etc) than her peers in nurseries with qualified childcare practitioners. And I haven't taught her a damn thing, as far as I know.

I mean, I know I taught her to speak - that's what talking to children does. So her vocabulary is largely down to me, since I'm the person who speaks to her the most. And I assume I taught her to count; certainly I remember the day she asked me to count the numbers larger than ten, using the men on the back of a Mister Men book to illustrate. Presumably I also taught her her colours. But I never taught her to mix colours, and she has been doing that for ages now, especially making orange and green from the primary colours. I never taught her to string beads, or to recite her reading books, or to whisk an egg, all of which she does very competently.

Today she washed a window, including using the black rubber scrapy thing to scrape the foam off.

Surely there's nothing to be gained by teaching her anything? I can't imagine how one could even accelerate a learning process that appears to be rattling along fast enough to raise steam from the tracks as it is.

I'll leave well enough alone, I think.

Other people's children

I was talking to a friend of mine who happens to be a secondary-school teacher. We met in the library. In the course of normal conversation (she's off to Prague at the weekend), I mentioned that the Tadpole will need a passport form signed, and that the list of people allowed to sign Irish passport forms is very short and doesn't include teachers, and she talked about a student whose British passport form she had been asked to sign. Only the form wanted her to sign a statement that she knew the child's parents, and she didn't, because they never, ever came to parents' evenings.

Ever.

I made a remark along the lines of "What hope does he have?" and she said that yes, he is constantly in trouble, and his parents are often summoned to meetings with the head or the year-head or whoever.

The parent of every child of compulsory school age shall
cause him to receive efficient full-time education suitable
(a) to his age, ability and aptitude, and
(b) to any special educational needs he may have, either
by regular attendance at school or otherwise.


I quoted that to her, and she didn't get it. I clarified: "It's the parents' responsibility to ensure the child gets an education, even if they get someone else to do it." She didn't seem to see how that tied in to the child's behaviour, though.

I was and remain baffled. It's obvious to me that this child's parents have seriously damaged his/her chances of ending up either educated or in a position to educate him/herself. Is this really so obscure?

I'm not a teacher

I was talking to my mother a few hours ago, about home education and home schooling and school-based education, and I realised I'd never asked her before how she feels about me not teaching Linnea. Turns out she's perfectly happy with it, but I wasn't sure.

Because Linnea doesn't need any teaching. She does all her own stuff. She can empty the dishwasher, wash windows, count, paint, set the table for dinner, and check that I'm ok when I say Ow. She asks when she wants to know something (frequently, "Mammy, what you doing?") and will sit and figure things out herself for hours.

She likes to read her books back to herself. I have no idea how or when I will know that she's really reading. I'm sort of interested to see when I start to care.

Monday, July 24, 2006

Lovely morning

I went to bed about 11 last night, got to sleep about 12:30. Tadpole is lively. Then Linnea woke shortly after six. So we were all up earlier than we'd like. However, it was cooler than last week at breaskfast time, which was a relief.

About 9:30 it became obvious that Linnea was exhausted, and we went to bed in my room. In the end we got about an hour's sleep from 10-11. I feel fabulous and Linnea is transformed.

She enjoyed her weekend away. Didn't miss me a bit, which means we must be doing something right, and was pleased to see me when she got back, but not as pleased as she was to see the trike. Her sentences are clearer than they were on Friday - she's grown some more grammar. And on Friday we were having salad, and she said "I can't eat the rice."

"It's not rice, it's couscous."

"I can't eat the couscous eeether."

I thought that was impressive, but I'm not sure why. I think it was the use of "either" but I have no idea what that development represents. Anyway, she has also started answering "How are you?" with "My's fine," which is cute and useful, because a huge number of adults randomly ask toddlers the social non-question "How are you?" and I've seen Linnea and other toddlers hopelessly confused by it. I'm sure I've asked it myself, inflicting needless bewilderment on toddlers talking to me on the phone or whatever.

On Friday we did gluing and sellotaping with boxes and lollipop sticks. She's not keen on sellotape; it's more difficult to use than glue, though it does produce more instant results. She has expressed some interest in making things for the baby, or for Dave, but never follows through :)

Today I think we mainly need to assemble all the library books she took out the other week and get the bus to the library. I can't wait until I can walk again. By the end of the day, seperating my knees enough to climb the stairs hurts like bejeepers (what useful swearwords I know when I try!) and lying down doesn't help much. "Mammy take a baby out a you tummy now!" as Nea says.

Friday, July 21, 2006

A day off, apparently

Linnea seems to be having a day off. She woke in a good mood, but refused to eat even the breakfast foods she asked for, having milk instead (incidentally, I like sitting beside the jasmine in the morning cloud-filtered sunshine feeding a toddler who is getting visible comfort from it and who can say "thank you" afterwards. We must trim the jasmine more often so it flowers more). She was then a bit whiny and subdued, but refused bread and butter, bread and jam, porridge, bananas - all her usual foods, nu-uh. I suggested television, and she was pleased by that; she's sitting quietly watching telly now.

Soon I'll try to feed her some solid food again, and take her to the co-op and the library on the bus. We need to swap books over, and I want her to have another go at buying something; she's done handing-over-money-and-giving-me-the-change only once before, as far as we know. She seemed to enjoy it. She also likes giving the librarian the books to get checked out, though actually letting go of the books can pose problems.

I'm hoping that the time vegetating in front of the telly will rejuvenate her enough to go out. It's very unusual behaviour for her unless she's ill. Normally if she wants quiet she'll take cuddles or drawing or reading or being read to. Still, it's about a week since she last watched TV so perhaps she just wanted to. Who knows?

She has started choosing wordier books from the library, and she tends to learn them off by heart after only one or two readings, where it used to take a lot of repetition. She still mainly reads to herself, except for bedtime and occasional cuddly reading sessions. If I want to read to her I need to produce a book she hasn't seen before :)

Saturday, July 15, 2006

ERAPA

Today we went to the Home Ed group by bus, which was fine; interesting, but fine. We rode upstairs and Linnea hugely enjoyed looking out the windows. She was also extremely good about coming carefully down the stairs to disembark.

When we got there, Linnea seemed mainly to want to play on her own, for most of three hours. She did intermittently try playing with other people but she spent a lot of time sitting with a group if children reading to herself, or playing alone in the sandpit outside. That was fine; I spent a lot of time sitting listening to other peoples' conversations and drinking tea.

It was interesting though, because many people assume that the reason I go to this group is to provide Linnea with a social group, much the way nurseries and preschools do for other children. And that's broadly true, but it's access to a social group I'm providing. I want her to choose whether or not, and when, to socialise. And with whom, from a hopefully broad range of people. She doesn't get on well with the large group activities such as Storytime, or Singing, or whatever; we've even stopped going to the library's Rhyme Time sessions entirely because Linnea actively dislikes them half the time. She almost never sits through the story and song at Tigglers Togglers. Group behaviour appears not to be her thing.

But oh, does she like people or what! She loves them all. She hates leaving them. She remembers them and talks about them after they're gone, or we're gone, or whatever. She just... likes to be able to choose whether or not to interact with them. On her own terms.

My goodness me, I appear to have produced my daughter.

(More elsewhere, perhaps, on tomorrow's Social Dilemma).

Wednesday, July 12, 2006

Report-writing

Today Linnea further developed her understanding of cooperative play, sharing, putting your toys away, storytelling, showing other children how to do something, arguing for a compromise, putting on and taking off shoes, socks, and sandals, and giving an adult precise instructions to get her needs met. She also demonstrated her ability to undress and give a nappy change to a doll, and to negotiate chair-ownership with a cat.

Thursday, July 06, 2006

Home Education in the papers

I received an article in this morning's post from A Well-Wisher about Home Education. It's the one that was in the Sunday Times this weekend, which many of you who are already reading all the Home Ed mailing lists and communities will know all about :)

What it boils down to, as usual, is that people who think formal schooling is the best way for everyone think that many home-educated children are at a serious disadvantage, and that people who think that formal schooling is always unhealthy think that all home-educated children who are not in abusive situations are better off than schooled children, and some fuzzy thinkers in the middle think maybe there's no One True Way, but they think it much more quietly than the other two groups.

And what I boil down to is that different ways of doing things will suit different families and, importantly, different individual children. I think home education as I believe my family is able to offer it (since we live where and how we do) can offer my children everything they're able to take with both hands. We have a lot of personal and social resources available to us. But I also believe that if my children - individually - express a desire to go to school, we'll send them. I find it hard to believe that they'd choose it long-term, but they might, and as long as they're ok at school, we'll work around it.

It probably helps that this is my heart's desire. I may have to start my own Plumfield once I run out of kids of my own to raise.

Monday, July 03, 2006

School is not compulsory

We joined Education Otherwise, the UK's home education charity organisation support network thing, on Friday night, filling in an online form. The members' pack arrived today. It's a very good pack; I was impressed. We have a membership card, a list of local contacts, a list of national venues that give discounts to home educators similar to the discounts they give to schools, the newest edition of School Is Not Compulsory, a little handbook about the law and useful information for dealing with Local Education Authorities (where "dealing with" doesn't mean "being unnecessarily confrontational towards" but covers everything from "being benignly ignored by" through "working with" and on up to "fighting in the courts") and other stuff, and a newsletter - with a whole section by and for children.

That was a very very fast turnaround, I think. Mind you, the person in question processed our application at 00:42 on Saturday, so perhaps she got it posted Saturday morning.

So! Now we have a support network in place, which is nice, and I can get familiar with it before I actually need it much, and also we got a free book.

(On the other hand, we're not going anywhere today, because I overdid it at the weekend and caused my knees to swell up, my shoulders and chest to get sunburnt, and I think I strained my eyes in the sunshine. Linnea seems quite content to practice her Independent Play in the cool, dark indoors, though; all the windows and curtains are closed against the heat, due to get up to 32C today, and we're usually hotter here than the local forecast predicts).

Wednesday, June 07, 2006

East Reading Adventure Playground (ERAPA)

Play hall includes a soft playroom,craftroom and music/library room. Outside structures accessible to wheelchairs including roundabout and swing. Special needs groups welcome. Please book. Outside has 24 hour access. Playgroup and tooddler group. Youth club.Use for childrens' parties.


(None of those typos are mine, they're from the council website).Anyway, that's where we were today - the Berkshire Home Educators group hires it on Friday afternoons for get-togethers and we went and had a go. It was great. From 12:30 to 4 pm Linnea played with kids of all ages (up to about 14, I think) and a wide variety of backgrounds, in a safe, challenging environment. she took to it immediately, much more enthusiastically than the groups of kids her own age we usually go to, though she does enjoy those as well and we won't be skipping them for a while yet.

The downsides... their electric equipment is regularly safety checked and the kettle didn't pass this month, so we had to use an urn for hot water. The fold-down changing mat in the disabled loo is too high for people as short as I am. It was hard to choose which tea to drink because there were so many options. Not all of the children were lovely all of the time. Man, life is tough.

The upsides... the children were incredibly well-behaved and sensible, and the adults were lovely, and everyone was welcoming and pleasant. They had decaf Earl Grey tea. I can cycle there in 40 minutes the long way along the river. We saw a heron, and loads of swans and geese and ducks and cygnets and goslings and ducklings. Neither Linnea nor I got sunstroke.

We're going to go again, I think.

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