Category Archives: education

{PBH} Identifying Interests

My daughter was very direct in saying she wanted to learn about mummies (and I do have more to show you on that project), but I’d observed her interest in maps and, in fact, jotted that down as a possible project topic before she informed me she’d be studying mummies. As you saw, her map-making interest found its way into her mummy project (her 3-dimensional map of Egypt in this post). I think–but am not sure–that we may be winding down on Egypt here. Meanwhile, my daughter has been drawing maps.

Map by G, age 3

Her maps are of her pretend park; she has been playing a “park game” with our blue rug as a pond and the play tent as her camp site.

Map by G, age 3

(I can’t help it–I adore the trees.) I think this interest in map-making is quite common at this age; at least, all my children have drawn make-believe maps. Because this interest of hers has been present for a while now, I am doing my own research at the moment, seeking ways to encourage and support it. To start, I borrowed Mapmaking With Children by David Sobel from the local university library. I’ve requested a couple of children’s books relating to maps from our local library, to simply have around and share. I’ve only just begun reading the Sobel book, but it’s fascinating. I’ll keep you posted!

So how and why am I focusing on her interest in maps? After all, she has told me she wants to learn about space, dinosaurs, fish, the sun…really, she has jumped on this “project” idea and wants to take advantage of it! And she has not told me she wants to learn about maps. However, maps is what she does. She draws them, she looks at them, she asks about them. It’s where she is quietly focused–her attention is already there, and that’s why I feel it’s a deeper interest that can support deeper investigation. I am watching what she does, rather than just listening to what she says. When presented with the whole wide world to learn about, she’s listing everything in sight, and no wonder. It’s all so interesting. But I want to brush away the surface and see where she places her focus. That’s the best I can do in explaining how to identify an interest that will support a deeper project.

{PBL} Claywork in the Egypt Project

I hope I can do this morning’s project time justice in this post. Way back when at the start of this project, my eight-year-old, who internalized a different meaning of “project” from school, decided he’d make a pyramid. I worried he’d jumped to this, that he was approaching this backwards, and we talked about it some, but I also figured I’d let this ride. We picked out some air dry clay and he worked with it a bit to get a feel for it. We talked about how he might want to make a model of a pyramid to make sure the different pieces fit together. (Ok, I talked. A little.) We continued to read about Egypt and the other topics he’d mentioned besides pyramids–King Tut, gods and goddesses–and we visited the MFA, which sparked more interests.

Earlier this week, I hung up the hieroglyphs poster I purchased in the museum gift shop and left out the hieroglyph stencil on the art table. My son was excited to come across this and immediately drew his name in his project notebook and surrounded it with an oval to make a cartouche. This morning he decided to use the air-dry clay to do the same thing.

Using the stencil in clay.

Using the stencil in clay.

Here is his full name, before he cut out the oval:

hieroglyphics in clay

Knowing his interest in the gods and goddesses of Ancient Egypt, I made sure to point out the statuettes when we came across them in the museum. I wondered if he’d want to try to make one out of clay? I hadn’t taken pictures of any of the statuettes, but we do have several books on Egyptian mythology out from the library, and he looked through those for pictures. He decided he wanted to try to make a cat statuette.

Cat statuette in clay, drying.

Cat statuette in clay, drying.

Although he has played around with this clay before–just exploring, to see what it does–this is the first time he’s tried to make something like this, with different parts. He began by trying to carve out from a chunk of it, then switched to making pieces separately and joining them. I showed him how to scratch the surface of the clay at the join and moisten it, but I’m not sure how well this will hold together. I probably would have worked more of it in a piece, but we’ll see how it goes as it dries. I made sure to tell him: we have plenty of clay. If this first attempt doesn’t end up the way you’d hoped, you can try again, using different methods. That’s how you’ll learn how to get the clay to do what you want.

While all this was going on, my daughter was working with Model Magic, which is what she’d picked out when we went shopping for clay-type stuff. She’s been cutting out pyramid pieces for her mummy (which I haven’t even posted about yet!), but they weren’t dry yet–not that I think Model Magic gets really dry, not like the clay, but it was definitely still not-dry. So she began, rather without much notice from me, to work on…something. I figured she was just, you know, playing with the Model Magic. Occasionally she’d ask my help in cutting a chunk off or she’d ask for a certain tool. I was playing with a water-soluble graphite stick in my notebook and puttering around the studio area, not really paying attention. And this is what she ended up with:

G's map of Lower Egypt in Model Magic.

G’s map of Lower Egypt in Model Magic.

She made a map of Lower Egypt out of Model Magic. Now, you probably can’t see it, but it doesn’t matter. What matters is she sees it. She pointed out the Nile River, and a boat on a hill, ready to sail. She made a couple of small mummies and put them near a statue of a dead person who is not a mummy, probably influenced by a statue we sketched at the MFA. She worked on this for at least an hour. I’ve already noted her interest in maps and mapping and had considered it as a possible project area before she informed me she’d be studying mummies. Lately she’s been asking me to point out Egypt on our wall map of the world, and she’s seen the map of Ancient Egypt plenty of times in books. Now I am thinking I need to find a larger map of Ancient Egypt that I can hang up for her.

In some ways, when these convergences happen, when the kids are following their own interests and clearly doing such deep work, I’m tempted to think that project-based homeschooling is almost cheating on my part. It seems so easy! Then I remind myself that I am doing quite a bit of work documenting, paying attention, providing materials, connecting dots, reminding the kids what they wanted to work on (more so with my son, who is still deschooling; my daughter tells me all the time what she wants to learn next and what she needs from me, step on it, Mama!). I write myself lists so I don’t forget what I need to do. And I still feel like I’m not keeping up.

But a morning like this? So, so sweet.

Field Trip: MFA Boston

This post is not really about what we did at the MFA Boston. It’s more about how we ended up there. You see, in project-based learning, the child is leading the way. The adult is mentoring. My job is to help the kids get where they want to go, not by drawing the map and marking the trail but by helping them draw their own map. I’m not picking a theme and setting up activities. They’re picking the theme, and they are figuring out what they want to do to support their learning. Right now my kids’ projects are overlapping. My eight-year-old hasn’t quite settled on one topic right now; he is researching various topics with Ancient Egypt that interest him. I’m keeping track of what he mentions and reminding him of what he’s said he wants to do or learn. My daughter has been diving into mummies, mummification, and Ancient Egypt’s ideas of the afterlife and the importance of mummification to these ideas. So in this regard, field trips are simpler because they’re bound, at this point, to apply to both projects.

However, it’s not my job to plan the field trips. No!! I simply make sure the kids know that I am able and willing to take them places to support their research. My son got onto the computer a couple of weeks ago to research real-life Ancient Egypt resources.

(All photos in the post are small cell phone photos, because that’s how I take project documentation photos, so I can upload them into Evernote. Right now, this is my method because it is convenient and easy and thus more liable to get done.)

After quite a bit of research, he had a list (which I wrote down for him) of places he’d like to go to support his study. This list isn’t constrained by distance or budget; everything is allowed.

It might be hard to read; it says: King Tut’s treasure, Egypt, Oriental Institute-Chicago, Yale Museum-New Haven, Met Museum of Art-New York (Sphinx of Hatsheput), RISD Museum, MFA Boston. I told him that three of these destinations were reasonable day trips for us: New Haven, Boston, and RISD (which is in Providence). He’s been to RISD many times before, actually; it’s the closest. We brought the Egyptian collections at all three museums on the computer, and he compared them to decide where he wanted to visit first.

He originally thought he’d want to go to New Haven, because he’s never been to that city, but after viewing collections online, he decided to visit the MFA in Boston first. (Link to their Egyptian collection page.) The next decision was how to get there–we could drive or take the commuter train, which is newly present near to us. It only runs all the way down here on weekdays, though, so that factored in.

He definitely wanted to take the train (as did his sister), so the next step was to figure out how to read a train schedule, which I showed him. Which stop did we need to get off at in Boston? I suggested that the MFA’s site might have that information for us. Together, we navigated the site to find out all he needed to know; he needed less and less of my guidance, and eventually he knew where we had to go, what time the trains came, whether we could sketch in the museum (yes), with what materials (just pencils), if we could bring in a backpack (no), a stroller (yes, but we didn’t), and if there was a place to leave our lunch bag while we toured the museum (yep). Together, we talked about which days of the week were possibilities given our other commitments, and he decided upon a day. Finally, he emailed his dad at work to see whether he could take the day off and come with us and/or be available to meet his brother’s school bus if his brother decided he’d rather go to school than come with us.

Eventually, it was decided the whole family would go. My daughter was elated about the train ride.

The MFA has an entire room of mummies–my daughter was quite pleased. My son, who has a strong interest in rocks (so much so that geology was a possible project topic, too) was thrilled to see alabaster in person. I suspect this will open up a further area of study and his interests might converge to provide that focus that’s been missing. He’s also interested in the gods and goddesses, though, and brought a list of names with him to the museum. We saw many statuettes of gods and goddesses, and we’ve talked about using our air-dry clay to try to make some.

Because he’s mentioned hieroglyphs, I purchased a poster of hieroglyphs and a hieroglyph stencil in the gift shop (along with all the postcards of Egyptian pieces they had–only four, alas). Tonight he mentioned making a cartouche with the clay. And we came across something in the museum that we hadn’t in our books–false doors, which allowed the ka to pass through. This will surely lead to further research.

In other words, our trip to view the Egyptian galleries at the MFA Boston was not the culminating event. It is part of the process of the kids’ research, and we came home with more interests to pursue, more leads to follow. And most importantly, this field trip wasn’t something presented to them, already planned, already decided. They both had a hand in planning it (my son more than my daughter, but she was involved as well). They have ownership of this learning.

I have so much more to share about their projects, but I’m not always able to blog by the end of the day. But I’ll do my best, because how else to get across how amazing this type of learning is to witness?

{PBL} This is Serious Play

Last week, I received a strong signal that we are on the right track with project-based learning. My kids transformed the living room into an Egyptian tomb, using their imaginations and materials at hand, and then spent a goodly amount of time using it as a set and spark for dramatic play. I’m used to finding elaborate set-ups in the common areas of the house (such as this). And this isn’t the first time the kids have incorporated what they’re learning into such a set-up.

For a long time, my middle child was fascinated with Mt. Everest, and to some extent, he still is. (I don’t think a strong interest like that will ever really go away.) The Top of the World became his guidebook as he planned his own trip to climb Mt. Everest. He would gather his tools, making them (with preschool-sized Legos; he was that young) if necessary. He’d pack the tools in a bag, explaining to me each tool and its purpose, and he’d set up base camp in the middle of the living room, making sure to visit the monkey temple first. In thinking about this post, I realized that this interest in Mt. Everest could be considered a project, and I could have done more to extend and deepen it. But instead of beating myself up over that, I’m choosing to acknowledge the things I instinctively did right: I didn’t take it over. I didn’t seize upon this interest to impose an adult-led “teaching moment.” I didn’t search the Internets over to find a child-size play set of mountain climbing tools–which would have taken away all of his joy in searching the house for equivalents and building them when necessary out of what was at hand. It’s important, as we try to embrace a new way of thinking and learning, to acknowledge what we are doing and have done right.

So, back to the Egyptian tomb. My daughter is a mummy here.

representation of Egyptian tomb

They’ve created a tomb wall, and the play silks and blankets represent the different wrappings and coffins. All this was explained to me. The box in the back with a handle, which is the kids’ treasure chest, is representing (obviously!) treasure. Later they added toys and books to use in the afterlife, just as the ancient Egyptians buried themselves with items to use in their afterlife.

books + toys for afterlife

The stuffed cat to the left in the photo is representing a cat mummy. (Cat Mummies is one of our library finds, and we’d just read it.) They told me they tried to cover our real cat with a play silk to represent a mummy, but he didn’t cooperate. (Which is strange, because all he does is sleep anyway.) Eventually, my daughter reported that her ka had found her again–her ka, she told me, recognized her by the clothes she was wearing–and she was able to play with her afterlife books and toys.

I can’t think of a more powerful expression of deep understanding–as well as the desire to deeply understand–than incorporating learning into play such as this. Creating a world and then acting within it, distilling what has been learned and processing it through play–it is amazing to witness, and powerful for me, too, to recognize it for what it was: serious play, child-led, and an authentic demonstration of deep interest and learning.

Beginnings: Project-Based Learning

In her book, Lori says that preschool age is the ideal time to introduce project-based learning. This might seem counterintuitive–aren’t older kids more capable of more extensive work?–but so far, the experience in my house is falling right in line with this advice. My daughter, who is almost four (!), has taken right to the idea of learning and expressing. My son, at eight, is struggling a bit more, but I chalk this up as much to the way in which his school used these same terms to mean very different things as I do to his age.

I have to admit right up front that my grasp of project-based learning is still–not shaky, but not firm, either. Our environment could be better organized. My documentation could be better. But we’re beginning where we are, and even with small steps, big things are happening. You just need to know where to look.

We started with a trip to the library.

We’re beginning history at the beginning, and my son mentioned several aspects of Egyptian history he’d like to learn about. (We’ve since added to this stack through interlibrary loan.) He also, though, has a strong interest in geology and thought that might be a possible project topic, too. I wrote down everything he mentioned so I could remind him about them later.

My daughter wants to learn about mummies. Now that she understands the general plan, she has a huge list of things she wants to learn about, but the mummies seems to be a deep interest, tied in with an overall interest in death and dying and what happens to people when they die. Not too long ago, she made the connection between “dead” and “never coming back” and melted down completely about not wanting to die, ever. It was heartwrenching and one of those unexpected epiphanies that occurred as we drove past a cemetery–nothing planned, with no precipitating event. I suspect the interest in mummies may be tied into this mulling over about death that has been going on in her mind.

Once we had the books, we read. My son read to himself, and I read out loud to both of them. He decided to focus in on pyramids, although I reminded him of his other initial interests. He does not see “project” as the entire process–learning, documenting, and sharing. He connects the term “project” with a thing, something tangible that has been constructed: a model, a poster, a diorama. I’d recognized this over the summer and had intended to call our projects “investigations,” but the word project slipped through anyway, and he is, at the moment, a bit hung up on the doing. His former school purportedly has a project-based curriculum, but we are using many of the same words in completely different ways. I explained to him: “I am not going to tell you your topic, what you have to learn about it, and how you have to share that information (which is how “projects” seemed to be handled in his classroom last year). You get to choose the topic, you get to learn what you want, and you share it how you want. My job is to make sure you have the resources you need, help you figure out how to find out what you want to know, and get any materials for you.”

So it comes back around to what Lori was saying–to my daughter, who has spent her entire life soaking things up like a sponge (that is what babies and toddlers and preschoolers do), it’s entirely natural to explore a new subject in exactly the same way. My son needs to relearn to trust his natural curiosity. I could tell we were making progress when I told him that he wasn’t going to have a set amount of time, like in school, to finish a project. He could take as long as he needed to learn what he wanted to know.

“So if it takes me five months, that’s okay? Five months on the same thing?”

“If that’s what you need, that’s what we’ll do,” I told him.

In an upcoming post–because I realized this post would be super long if I included it all here!–I’ll share more photos of how our reading transformed our living room and how my daughter distilled some of what she’s learning into her first representation.

Easing In

It’s hard to set a start point for homeschooling, because the way I view it, we have a certain family culture that encourages curiosity, exploration, independent play, projects…all the things that could also fall under the heading of “homeschooling.” I don’t worry at all about the “summer slide” (what else is summer for, after all?), but on the other hand, especially when my big kids’ time is taken up with school for so much of the year, summer is our time to do things together–the sorts of things I just don’t have time for during the school year. We take day trips, we explore local habitats because we want to, we visit the library often and read, read, read–the quietest times in my house this summer were the afternoons after returning from a library trip, when all three kids–even the one who can’t read yet–were sprawled around the living room, absorbed in a new book. The kids had projects that didn’t involve me at all (that pile of cardboard in the corner of the living room), and we did things together, too.

Even so, a few more items will be introduced as part of officially homeschooling my eight-year-old, and my plan was to ease these in gradually this week and next, even though my ten-year-old began school this past week. Adjusting to his schedule and the change in dynamic was enough all on its own. I was much more tired than I expected–I’m only getting up about a half hour earlier, but apparently that half hour is crucial. And we’re getting used to the absence of the older brother, which also gives my younger son the chance to be the oldest child for a good chunk of the day.

And yet, we have already added in more than I thought we would. My eight-year-old is excited. (He was also glad to see that my homeschooling to-do list was much longer than his.) We’re continuing with a chapter of Fred per day. We’ve begun history; we’ve started with science experiments and how to write a lab report. We have time to play in the yard and finger paint on the deck and dive into the stash of washi tape with wild abandon. (Thank goodness Target sells some too, a less expensive yet still fun option.) So even though my son is telling anyone who asks that he’s not really homeschooling yet because Mama doesn’t believe school should start until after Labor Day, I know better.

A Plan, of Sorts

[Insert your own metaphor here] The other day at the beach, it was so clear we had a great view of Block Island offshore. But this is rare.

As I described in the last post, I’m not one to plan the learning step by step. But I’m not unschooling, either. That’s where I thought I’d fall, when I started homeschooling way long ago. The reality, though, was that my oldest wanted and needed a bit more structure. He liked workbooks. (Me? They give me hives.) He liked seeing tangible progress of work completed. He was five. I adjusted. I even bought a complete curriculum for his first grade year, but I ended up changing and adding so much that I was going to take a completely different approach the next year, except then he began school.

This time around, with my younger son, I’ve gathered some books and I’m keeping it loose, with a very short list of items that need to be completed daily. Because three years of school has him convinced he hates math, I started him with Life of Fred over the summer. The addition in the early books is below his current ability, but those books have reinforced some items that just didn’t stick at school, such as telling time and the order of the days of the week and months of the year. My only math requirement to begin the year is a chapter of Fred a day. I know without a doubt that math will be included in all the other subjects we do, in his daily life, and in his project work. This child needs to see the practical use of something; he’s not going to learn anything just because somebody tells him to. (And I don’t think he will ever be asking for workbooks.)

My state doesn’t even require we teach history, just geography and civics. Perhaps this is why he apparently learned no history through second grade. (My older son had a completely different–and better, in my opinion–second grade experience at the same school with a different teacher, but that was before they revamped the second grade. He did learn history, though. We’d already covered many of the same topics in our first grade homeschool, but still.) Nevertheless, I asked him if he’d like to start at the beginning, in the ancient world. He’s very enthusiastic about learning more about the ancient Egyptians. I bought the first volume of Story of the World to help us tie everything together in historical context, something I was having a hard time doing myself with books that focused just on Egypt. I’m not using the activity books, though, since having somebody else decide what to do takes all the fun out of it! We’ll be supplementing and going more in depth with library books, the local art museum (which has a wonderful collection of ancient art), and whatever related projects my son decides he wants to pursue. We’ll move on when he’s ready.

He also asked to do chemistry experiments. We’ll be using Adventures with Atoms and Molecules, Amazing Kitchen Chemistry Projects You Can Build Yourself, and library resources (including a science dictionary for any terms that need to be looked up).

And finally, we’ll be incorporating project time.

I’m keeping the extras light. I think he needs to unwind from school and rediscover how much he likes learning things when he has a choice of what to learn. His knee-jerk response to anything schoolish is “I hate it” and “it’s boring.” After years of struggling to get him up and on a bus, I don’t plan on spending most of our homeschooling time trying to get him in a car on time. We have one co-op day, and I’m really excited to be part of a great group. We are planning on enrolling him in karate; we think this might be a very good fit for our intense, oppositional child. (Team sports? He can’t stand them.) And that’s about it, at least to start the year.

We will begin where we are and see what develops, maintaining flexibility at all times. That’s the main gist of any plan I’m making.

“But You’re Supposed To Know Everything!”

I’ve been (sort of) planning the two classes I’ll be teaching at our homeschool co-op this fall, which has led me to realize that I basically evolved my teaching style by instinct and default almost 20 years ago. Most of my paid jobs—and several unpaid ones—have been in what I think is still called “nonformal education,” that is, education that doesn’t take place in a school setting. Summer camps, environmental education programs, Girl Scout programs, after-school programs, urban outreach…I did lots of that sort of thing, usually creating my own program rather than following somebody else’s script.

I began planning my own programs primarily while working in environmental education, and I think that contributed to how I planned. Firstly, I was the sort of “teacher” who liked to plan more activities than I’d need, so I could tailor what we did to the group and circumstances. I also liked to leave room and space for the unexpected discovery and the emergent interests of the group. Right from the beginning, it seemed backwards to strictly plan everything without an important component: the kids. (Or, sometimes, adults.) Instinctually, I wanted the learning to be a group-tailored activity, not a top-down affair.

Sea star: Ruthless carnivore

Secondly, by default, I couldn’t be afraid of saying “I don’t know.” I was never going to be an ace naturalist, who could identify every native tree, shrub, wildflower and weed, every track, every sign, every fleeting bird call. My greatest strength as a group leader was my enthusiasm. This world is amazing! The wonder and drama and beauties—both minute and grand—of the natural world still thrill me. It never got old, no matter how many times I hauled my touch-tank of local marine life into an after school program and told the gripping story of how a sea star wears down its bivalve prey until it cracks open the shell just enough to slip its stomach—just its stomach!—inside the shell and digest the clam or scallop or mussel in its own home before slurping it out again. How is that not fascinating? My genuine passion is my strength.

Knowing everything, though? I never even thought I could. One of my favorite stories about my nonformal “teaching” is from a summer I spent as the nature director at a day camp run by a prestigious private school. Many of the campers and counselors were students at the school. One day two girls, about 10 or 11 years old, came to find me and asked, “If only the female mosquitoes bite us, what do boy mosquitoes eat?”

“That’s a good question,” I said. “I don’t know, but let me show you my shelf of guide books…”

“But you’re the teacher!” one of them exclaimed. “Yeah, you’re supposed to know everything!” her friend chimed in.

I wondered if that was really what they were learning at their expensive private school, that teachers knew everything? “Nobody knows everything,” I told them, “but I know how you can find out.” I walked them to my storage area, showed them the shelf of resource books, suggested a couple that might have the answer, and left them to it. Not too long afterwards, they came to me with a book. (This, of course, was in the days before 11-year-olds carried the Internet in their pockets.)

“Male mosquitoes suck nectar, like butterflies!” they told me. I’ve never, ever forgotten that. I hope they haven’t either. I could teach a kid what boy mosquitoes eat and answer one day’s question, or I can teach a kid how to find out the answer for herself and enable her to answer anything. Oh, and I only lasted one summer at that nature director job. I thought wandering through the woods overturning rocks was a fine way to spend some time during the summer, even on more than one afternoon. The camp director felt I wasn’t imparting enough facts and I repeated the same activities too much—I had a tendency to let the kids enjoy themselves and just be in the woods (on summer vacation!). We mutually agreed that our education philosophies didn’t match.

I’ve held onto to those two basic tenets of “teaching” all the way throughout all those nonformal education jobs and into parenting as well: leave space for the group’s interests and the unexpected, and don’t be afraid to say “I don’t know, but here’s how we can find out” (or “let’s try it,” or any variation thereof). It’s why I can’t really plan more than a basic outline of ideas and supplies for those co-op classes. I’m just there to guide the discovery; the ultimate path is up to all of us together.

Project-Based Homeschooling {Book Review}

I’m so happy Lori Pickert of Camp Creek Blog has returned to the Internets this summer. She took a break, understandably, while she was writing a book. Now the book, Project-Based Homeschooling, is finished and available and she’s back with a new website. The blog is back, the forums are back, and I couldn’t wait to read her book, too.

During my first stint of homeschooling, Lori’s blog and ideas really inspired me. I kept reading even when we enrolled the boys in a local charter school, because there is plenty to delve into there whether you’re homeschooling or not. Anyone who considers themselves the ultimate guardian of their children’s education—and I never felt I relinquished that role just because they went to school—will find ideas to think about and act upon. Now that I’ll be officially homeschooling at least one child this academic year, I’m excited to really dive into project-based learning.

In fact, one of the reasons I felt like I could adjust to schooling the boys is because the school stated it had a project-based curriculum. Unfortunately, over the past three years I’ve realized that schools and individual teachers within schools may define that term very differently. Ultimately, I don’t feel that my children were experiencing true project-based learning. I feel I was completely misled, and I’ll leave it at that.

Because this particular blog began as a documentation of parent/child explorations of open-ended, process-oriented art activities, the quote I want to share with you from Lori’s book pertains to art:

Draw and paint and create alongside your child if the spirit moves you. Don’t worry about being “better” than he is. Art skills are no different from skills like reading, writing, cooking, or driving. You aren’t afraid your superior reading skills will make your child reluctant to read…Draw and paint together. Enjoy each other’s company. Your competence will inspire, not inhibit him, especially if you communicate your confidence that he’ll steadily grow as an artist, designer, and builder.

I was so thrilled to read this that I emailed Lori to thank her for writing it (and the book as a whole, too). That’s another thing about Lori—she is entirely accessible as a mentor. At any rate, this entire blog was built upon the idea that my children and I were being creative together. At a time in my life when I was not finding time to be creative on my own because of the needs of my children, being creative alongside them saved me in so many ways. I would read (online, usually) how parents mustn’t draw the same things as their children, mustn’t let them see our work while they were still working, lest we harm their fragile self-esteems or unduly influence their natural development of artistic skills by tempting them to copy our styles…that sort of thing.

That never felt right to me. While my kids and I were enjoying drawing or painting together, we were all of us, from the toddler right on up to me, inspiring each other, giving each other new ideas, marveling at each other’s own unique ways of seeing the world.  It only ever felt good, for all of us. I consider myself very in tune with my children, and not once did I feel I was doing them any sort of harm by sharing the joy of making art alongside them. It became a wonderful family activity, actually.

Art-making is only one part of Lori’s book, which is all about how, at home, to implement project-based learning—the deep investigation of a subject of the child’s choosing, with support from an adult mentor who walks the fine line of supporting without directing, encouraging without coercing. I am so excited to make this type of learning part of our home education.

{As always, I bought the book myself and my opinions—and biases—are all my own.}