Velveteen Mind

An Experiment and Proposal on Hope

Did you know that you can burn snack chips as kindling if you need to start a fire and can't find any twigs or brush? You can and I can tell you that Ruffles Sour Cream & Cheddar make the best choice, as they have the longest burning and most consistent flame.

You know, just in case you are on your way to a Super Bowl party and get trapped in a blizzard.

I know this because this was the experiment Quinn, my nine year old, chose for his science fair project this year.

Like many of you, we knew about the science fair project for a long time but put it off. On the eve of the deadline to submit a project idea, I heard him standing in the kitchen with his dad, poking around for inspiration for a project.

"What about burning nuts?" he said, while popping a peanut in his mouth.

Before he could finish the thought, I jumped up from the couch in the living room and announced, "You can use Doritos as fire kindling! You should totally burn chips and see which one is the best." 

Quinn loved the idea and immediately starting jotting down materials and his proposed process. When it came time to fill out the project proposal, I ran the "stuck in a blizzard on the way to a Super Bowl party" storyline by him, suggesting that a hook would capture the reviewer's imagination, but to no avail. 

"This is science, Mom. Not storytelling. This isn't what you do."

Well.

A box on the form asked if he wanted to enter his science project in the actual science fair or just do it for the class grade. Quinn didn't hesitate when he checked the box for just the class grade. When asked, he said he had absolutely no interest in entering the science fair, in part because this was his first science project.

Jump to a few weeks later. It's the day the science project is due. With glue still drying, I drop him off at school and wish him luck, knowing he'll ace it because he checked and double-checked the grading rubric and completed all requirements.

By the time I pulled into our driveway less than a mile from the elementary school, I had the following text from Quinn's teacher:

"Are you sure Quinn doesn't want to enter his project into the science fair? It is so cool! I asked him if he wanted to because I thought it was awesome and he said yeah. Is that okay with you?"

Well, hell.

Encouragement Photobomb

I’m just going to blurt it out: We found out that Quinn is gifted.

There. I am officially a braggart parent, albeit a reluctant one.

But we have no intention of telling him.

Quinn started testing for his elementary school’s gifted program last year during 1st grade. We rarely heard about the testing procedures unless he mentioned it offhand. “Oh yeah, I had testing with Ms. [Holds My Fate In Her Hands] today. Hm? Oh, it went fine.” (commence hunt for after-school snacks as thoroughly interested mother looks on)

Final testing happened this summer, though, and immediately jockeyed for prominence in my mind’s attention queue. It’s pretty heavy-handed to say that qualifying for the gifted program would really have much to do with the fate of our son’s successes, but still. What can I say? I wanted it for him.

When he came out of final testing, the clinician held out her hand for the self-addressed stamped envelope I completed while I waited. I had been watching those damn clinicians. They always came out all smiles and joking. Not ours. Quinn breezed passed her, nodded over his shoulder, and she gave me little more than a smile and a nod herself.

Crap.

Walking through the parking lot, Quinn balanced between parking level banisters and my nonchalant questions.

Mom:  How did it go?

Quinn:  Fine.

Mom:  What kind of questions did they ask?

Quinn:  “What doesn’t go/ what comes next” stuff.

Mom:  I’m really proud of you, you know… So… How did you do?

Quinn:  I did fine. I think I missed two.

Mom:  How do you know? And, um, really? Just two?

Quinn:  Because she said, “Do you want to try again?” two times. I know. (shrugs) Let’s eat!

Two months passed without hearing a word about results. Finally, a week before school, we received a form letter in that SASE that stated, “Your child, __Quinn__,   _does__  qualify.” Hot damn.

Qualifying for the gifted program doesn’t necessarily mean, well, it doesn’t guarantee… honestly, I have no idea what it means or doesn’t mean. All I knew was that we were proud of him, wanted to encourage him, but had no intention of telling him.

A week later, we were sure we would not tell him.

A few days after school started, my husband sat down with the gifted program leader to discuss what the program would entail, as well as to review Quinn’s test results. Well. His test results illustrated that Quinn tested in the top 1% in the nation. Top 1% of gifted children in the nation.

Hm.

The program leader called in another representative to explain to my husband what this could mean for our son and why it is remarkable that, particularly as a boy, he tested so well. In short, his academic skills were unquestionably strong, but it was his social skills that were remarkable. Boys his age aren’t usually so adept at reading social cues, anticipating responses, and finding social ease.
(That’s Quinn in the white shirt, finding social ease.)

But if we don’t stay vigilant, he could grow impatient with school, with his friends, and “take his toys and go home.” It would be our job to be mindful and encourage him at home, in turn making his days at school more productive.

As you know, I have partnered with Hallmark through the end of the year on their Life Is A Special Occasion campaign. This month’s sponsored theme is “encouragement” and, honestly, if it weren’t for this writing challenge I don’t think I would even try to work this development out in words. We all know how foolish it is to merely bite our lips, squint our eyes, and then hope our questions work themselves out. But I need to talk about this. Work it out.

I can’t pretend that I know what I’m doing here. Absolutely, it is awesome. We are crazy proud of him. Crazy proud. I just know that my gut it telling me that we don’t tell our son anything about this “gifted” business. Rather, we learn ways to encourage him on the sly. An encouragement “photobomb,” if you will, when and where he least expects it.

In the video I shared with you in my previous post on encouragement, I prattled on about how we have made it a habit to praise our kids for their efforts rather than their innate abilities. The theory is that a day will come when they struggle with something that previously came easy to them and it’s at that point that we don’t want them to be paralyzed by self-doubt.

If we have always told them how smart they are, then they might view their stumbling blocks as results of not being smart enough. Instead, we focus on how hard they work. We encourage their effort. Our hope is that when they find themselves stumbling, they won’t throw up their hands and sigh, “I’m just not smart enough.” Our hope is that they will say to themselves, “I won’t give up. I just have to keep trying.”

If we can encourage perseverance in our family, then we will all be soundly gifted.

• • •

Hallmark is a sponsor of VelveteenMind.com through the end of 2011. 
Sign up for their newsletter for discounts and tips on how you can celebrate everyday moments as a special occasion. Did I mention discounts?
Opinions are always my own, usually long-founded and stubborn.  ;)

 

• • •

PS- Quinn’s godmother, Laura, recommended I read NurtureShock: New Thinking About Children by Po Bronson and Ashley Merryman. It apparently touches on very much the same themes of encouragement of effort vs. innate ability. Have any of you read it?

PPS-  In case you don't want to click on the dictionary link, a "photobomb" is when someone hops into a picture right as it's taken, usually making some crazy face in the background, to the utter ignorance of the subjects of the photo. They sort of rock.

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Mother of All Accomplishments: First Day of School

{Audioblog} Download 'Mother of All Accomplishments' read by the author

...

I wake up at 6:00 a.m. every morning now.  I used to wake up at 7:18 a.m.  Don’t bother telling me that the “:18” isn’t significant to share.  It was.

Welcome to the first week of the rest of my life.  We are now beholden to a school district’s schedule.  Forever.  For. eh. vah.

At least it feels that way.

Q, just turned five, started kindergarten last Wednesday.  Let me not moan and wail to you about “Whatever happened to summers that lasted 3 months?!”  It won’t be pretty.  Goose, just turned three, returned to pre-K the same day, beginning a Monday/ Wednesday/ Friday schedule.

Mere months ago, I was bemoaning the fact that our new baby girl would eliminate my few free days each week to myself.  Now I am rolling around on the ground, crying out that I have a few free days each week to myself until the baby is born. 

Though it comes out sounding more like, “The school has stolen my babies!”

Picture the school dressed like a dingo and you’ll have a fair idea of what I look like emotionally these days.

Fortunately, I am alone in my distress.  The boys are doing fabulously well.  Nary a tear has fallen from eyes first opened this decade.

They are proud.

As parents, we often want to shield our children from pain and difficult challenges, but in doing so, we shield them from pride.

Goose announced this morning that, while Q is very brave at his new school, Goose would not be going to school any longer.  He was very much, “Eh, I’m over it.”  I said that this sounded like an interesting idea and discussed it further with him as I helped him navigate the complicated landscape that is shoes and socks.

Goose:  I not go to school today.

Megan:  I hear ya.  Let’s talk about it in the car on the way to school.

Goose:  Okay, but I not want to go to school any more.

Megan:  I know, I know.  But it’s good for you to go.  It’ll make you stronger.

Goose:  I’m already strong.

Megan:  I know.  I can see that.  But sometimes when we do something we don’t want to do, it makes us stronger.  How ‘bout this:  From now on, we’ll say, “I don’t want to go to school, but…  (and then you take a deep breath and say) I’m going to go anyway because it will make me stronger.”

Goose:  I don’t want to go to school, but…  testing out the über cool deep breathing…  I’m going anyway and it’ll make me stronger.

And then he smiled.  His interest in becoming strong like his dad won out over his interest in hanging out with his mom.

As we crossed the railroad tracks off the beach, the point that always signals that there is no turning back, I heard him chant his mantra from the backseat.  “I don’t want to go to school, but…  enthusiastically deep breathing…  I go and make me strong.”

And then he smiled.  To himself.  Because he was proud of his mission.

I may want to cry.  I may insist on secretly pouting.  But allowing my boys to accomplish a difficult lifestyle change without engaging in a lot of drama is only going to make them stronger.

The easiest way to make life hard on your children is to make it soft for them.  This applies far beyond school.  It starts much earlier than school, as well.  Remember this when you are sleep-training them.  (Assuming your goal is not to co-sleep.)  Yes, it is easier to just let them sleep with you, but those easy fixes may be doing long-term damage.  Sure, you’ll all lose sleep for the few days it takes to establish sleeping in your own beds, but sooner than you’d expect you’ll all be sleeping better. 

Then, unexpectedly, you’ll witness a toddler wandering into the kitchen the next morning, sporting a new acquisition:  pride.

It hurts to see them struggle, particularly when you can end their pain so easily.  However, it is invaluable to recognize that what you are ultimately protecting them from is confidence.

Pride in your mothering is one thing.  Pride in your children’s self-assuredness and confident self-reliance is the mother of all accomplishments, though.

Q’s school recommends that parents of kindergartners walk their children to class the first week.  After that, they strongly suggest that you simply drop them off at the door.  They value self-reliance and know that it starts early.  They recognize that the choice is yours.

The whole reason we chose the pre-K Montessori that both Q and Goose have attended is because their core tenet is teaching self-reliance.  If their students can learn to self-direct, not wait on a teacher’s guidance or assistance, then they can flourish in any environment.  They will be neither slowed by fellow students that take longer than themselves nor lost among students that catch on more quickly.  They learn to set their jaw and forge ahead.  Problem solve before assistance-bail.

As I watched Q stroll down the blue hallway line that leads the way to the kindergarten hall this morning, with not so much as a glance over his shoulder at my “Where the hell is my goodbye hug?” face, I knew that he had found his own way. 

In more ways than one.

~~~

*Updated to point out (thanks to the comments)...  This post is not about your family and your family's choice to co-sleep.  That's why I said "Assuming..."  There are endless pros and cons to both sides, none of which I am interested in for this post.  But let me assure you, if you have chosen not to co-sleep and then end up co-sleeping, it can most definitely add some hassle to your nights....  So says the person writing this blog about said person's family.  Trust me. 

The example about co-sleeping has everything to do with sticking to your guns once you've made a decision.  It has nothing to do with your choice to co-sleep/ breastfeed/ go organic/ teach your baby to sign while sitting in the lotus position.  Ya dig? 

And if ya'll insist that I dumb these posts down to the lowest-common denominator, you are going to start hating my writing.  It will be twice as long and three times as dull, just so everything is spelled out to the nth degree so as not to offend even those reading with half their brains tied behind their backs.  Sound like fun?  Yeah.  No.

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