tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8620126866184810312024-02-08T02:42:51.412-08:00Bringing Up The BeanLisa Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11398540572208770073noreply@blogger.comBlogger3125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-862012686618481031.post-68583134731889925512013-02-16T05:55:00.001-08:002013-02-18T15:15:10.913-08:00Why the Bean is a Preschool Dropout<!--StartFragment-->
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">This post was
originally written over a year ago.</i></div>
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Last Sunday I finally picked up my son’s stuff from the
preschool he attended for only a few weeks in the fall. There was a plastic bag
of extra clothes I’d sent with him, including some Super Grover underwear that
would be too small now anyway. I wondered if they would have had to squeeze him
into them at some point. There was a binder filled with a few pages of work he’d
done at school: some directed finger painting activities, some letter-tracing
worksheets. An “All About Me” sheet had been filled in by his teacher in the
first week; it said “I’m special because <u>I like to play with Mommy</u>. Seeing
that he was talking about me, thinking about me, while we were apart made my
heart break a little. What made my heart completely break was the picture in
the front of the binder. Taken on his first day of school, the picture shows a
child in total distress, forehead scrunched, mouth open in a wail, eyes red.
His face is off-center and the image is blurry, as though he were trying to
make a break for it, and he probably was. </div>
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I agonized over the decision to pull the Bean out of
preschool. I’m a stay-at-home mom, a breastfeeding, co-sleeping, attachment
sort of parent. I’m strongly considering homeschooling. I’m still not entirely
sure why I thought he needed to go to preschool at all. I think I just enrolled
him because everyone else does it, which is a seriously foolish way to parent.
I expected tears at the beginning but assumed he would adjust, and everyone
seems to think separation should be forced at some point. Three is late for
forced separation, to most people. To me it’s entirely too early. The Bean had
some fun at school, sure. It was only three hours, two days a week. One of his
best buddies was in his class. The school is at our church, so he was familiar
with his surroundings. But every morning, the first question he asked upon
waking was this: “Do I not have to go to school today?” Then followed a long
session of begging me to stay home. After a few weeks, I decided to stop
putting him through the anxiety. </div>
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In the Bean’s binder I found a picture of Noah’s Ark that he
had colored and a copy of the Lord’s Prayer, which the children sing every day.
Because the preschool is connected to a church, the teachers include Bible
lessons and incorporate religious material as often as possible. I’m not completely
opposed to this, but I learned that the teachers were exposing the kids to some
of the less pleasant aspects of the Bible: people being sold into slavery,
Jesus dying on the cross, etc. I understand that Jesus’s death and resurrection
are important, but do preschoolers really need to hear about the bloody stuff?</div>
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Every week the Bean brought home a folder filled with
worksheets on which he’d traced capital and lower-case letters. I have no
problem with my son tracing letters, but the idea of him sitting at a desk and
being forced to complete worksheets alongside other children just doesn’t work
for me. Not at three. In addition, the teachers assigned “homework” each week,
which was supposedly optional, with the warning that in the four-year-old
program it would be mandatory. I’m not even sure homework is good for high
school kids; I’m completely certain it’s absurd for a preschooler.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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On Thursdays at this preschool, the teachers get out the
“treasure box,” which is filled with cheap toys and prizes that students are
allowed to pick from, but only if they’ve been “good” all week. I don’t like
the idea of three-year-olds standing by and watching sadly while their friends
pick out a toy, particularly since they’re too young to understand what’s going
on. They don’t remember the behavior they’re being punished for if it was
earlier in the week, so they can’t connect it to the punishment. In addition,
the director told me that the Bean and his buddy often had to be separated at
circle time because they got too excited. I understand the logistical need for
this but it troubled me. I want my son to be excited and have fun. He’s three,
for God’s sake.</div>
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I had plenty of reasons for pulling the Bean out of
preschool, least of all the simple fact that I’m hoping to homeschool him
anyway and I don’t believe he needs forced learning at any age, let alone at
three. He learns a ton at home and out in the world, simply through playing and
exploring. But the only reason I really need to pull him out of school is
presented quite clearly for me in that sad picture from his first day. I know
most kids have trouble separating from their parents, and tears can’t always be
a dealbreaker or we’d never allow our kids to experience anything. However, I’m
not so sure that a three-year-old needs to separate from his mother yet.
Preschool can be wonderful when it’s play-based and when the child is <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">ready</i> to separate. Coerced learning, completing
worksheets alongside children who may be six months older and more advanced,
worrying about homework, being forced to do show-and-tell, and learning about
bloody death on a cross: these things can wait. Or perhaps they never have to
happen at all. </div>
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Lisa Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11398540572208770073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-862012686618481031.post-39128351634154661512013-02-15T03:47:00.006-08:002013-02-15T04:39:50.253-08:00A Good Kid<!--StartFragment-->
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Lately I’ve been seeing this quote on Facebook and
Pinterest:</div>
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<b><i>“Don’t let yourself become so concerned with raising a good
kid that you forget you already have one.”</i> </b>Glennon Melton, momastery.com.</div>
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I didn’t give the quote much thought when I repinned it to
my own “Inspiration” board. I see things like this on the internet all the
time, after all. But this one came back to me a day or two later, as my son
illustrated its truth right in front of me. </div>
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I already knew I had a good kid, but as I watched him
participate in his gymnastics class this past Wednesday I had a moment to
reflect on his goodness. He struggled across the monkey bars, his most
difficult challenge in class, and dropped to the ground in the middle. Then he
went back to the beginning and waited in line to start again. I had watched the
previous week as a child pushed the Bean out of the way to restart the monkey
bars. I’m not saying that was a “bad” kid – that kid was doing something
perfectly normal and I wouldn’t be surprised to see my own child do the same.
But the more I pay attention to what the Bean does on his own, without being
told, the more I realize that all this worry I have over character building
might be misplaced. Character seems to come naturally to him. He waits in line,
he steps back and lets others take the lead when necessary (but not always; he
does assert himself when needed), and he works hard. After class, one of his
coaches took a moment to tell me that the Bean is doing great because he works
hard, does what he’s told, and always tries to please. Something inside me
cringed at that last part, because I don’t want him to pursue excellence just
to please someone else, but I don’t think that’s what is happening here. He
wants to do what his coaches ask, and he’s having fun doing it at the same
time. I’ll keep a close eye, however, to make sure it stays fun.</div>
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Yesterday morning was Valentine’s Day, so I woke the Bean up
with a couple of presents. “Mommy, I still love you even if you don’t give me
presents,” he said, quelling my fears that all of his <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">stuff</i> is making him into a spoiled consumer. </div>
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Yesterday afternoon he played at the park with a crowd of
rowdy boys, and he was as rowdy as the rest of them. But when an altercation
started, he hung back a bit. He told me not to look at what they were doing,
which admittedly is not ideal, but then he proceeded to tell me exactly what
happened. Frequently, the Bean has been in a situation where his friend has
wanted to do something he’s not supposed to (at four, this is never anything
really bad), and I’ve watched as he said, “I’m not going to do that. You’re not
supposed to.” </div>
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I want my child to be assertive and bold and to take risks.
I want him to rush forward sometimes instead of always hanging back. But I’m
thankful that he’s cautious, that he thinks about things before jumping in and
doing whatever his friends are doing. I can’t say he <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">always</i> thinks first. He’s four, after all. But I’m starting to
notice that all the qualities I’ve been hoping my child will develop are
already there.</div>
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What I like about that quote is its implication that all
kids are good; we just have to recognize their goodness. Even the rowdy boys
who would lead my kid into trouble – they’re good, too. I’ve always hated
calling a child “good” or “bad,” anyway. “Is he a good baby?” people asked when
the Bean was new. If they were asking if he slept through the night, the answer
was and still is no. If they were asking if he never cried, the answer was and
still is no. If they were asking if he never had tantrums or big feelings that
were tough for both of us to deal with, the answer was and still is no. But he
is good by any definition. </div>
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Lisa Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11398540572208770073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-862012686618481031.post-6351458327458646902013-02-08T14:16:00.001-08:002013-02-08T14:16:08.537-08:00Who is the Bean?The Bean is my son, who sits beside me now playing a silly game on the iPad that he's currently addicted to. The Bean is my life, despite the fact that a woman is not supposed to make her children her identity. The Bean is a boy I waited forever to meet, and now that he's here I spend every moment possible with him, even if it sometimes drives me crazy.<br />
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The Bean is four years old, on the verge of reading, obsessed with numbers, fanatical about superheroes, skilled with Lego Duplos. The Bean doesn't go to preschool like other children his age. He won't be registered for kindergarten this fall along with his best buddy. He doesn't have timeouts. His parents don't count 1 - 2 - 3 at him when he does something they don't like. He doesn't know what a spanking is, and he will never experience one. The Bean is cherished every moment, even when his mommy and daddy are frustrated. He is loved unconditionally.<br />
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<br />Lisa Jhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11398540572208770073noreply@blogger.com0