Progress at Kinder

Had a chat with Beth's teacher last week and was relieved to learn that:

a. She feels Beth is ready for Prep
b. She has no issues with Beth's academic/intellectual progress
c. She would like to work with Beth on her sociability factor.

In all, I didn't learn anything I didn't already know, just a validation of what I've already observed.

I'm reminded of Howard Gardner's work on Multiple Intelligences, and having experienced the stress of winging it on the strength of just my academic intelligence, I know I want Beth to develop her other intelligences so she grows to be a well-rounded, well-adjusted individual.

Flustered and angry

This evening, The Girls knocked on the door to ask if Beth was allowed out to play.

I'm afraid Beth has a runny nose and isn't allowed out, said I.

The Girls talked a little bit about school schedules and what time they go to bed and asked if Beth might come out tomorrow. I said it depended on how she was feeling.

Not long after I'd shut the door and gone back to my PC, the doorbell rang.

Open door. No one outside. Hmm, must be the doorbell acting up again. It's happened before.

Go back to work.

Doorbell rang again. Get up, go to the door, no one outside.

This went on a few more times. By this time, it was pitch dark and we couldn't see a thing. But we knew it wasn't the doorbell (or Barney, whom we like to "blame" whenever the unexplained occurs) because Beth spied a little hand on the window pane, we could hear the girls somewhere nearby and Scottie was barking furiously.

I told Beth to ignore any future attempts to make us open the door. We then sat down on her bed to read a story.

Then came a sharp rap at Beth's bedroom window.

Ignore it, maybe they'll go away.

But the culprit was a persistent one.

The next time there was such a loud cracking sound on the glass that we jumped.

This time I was furious. What if they cracked the window pane? What would our landlord think?

I opened the door and peered out into the darkness. Under the faint glow of the street lamp across the road I could see some figures cycling around the vacant plot.

D, the youngest, walked over when I called out in my you've-had-it-this-time tone.

"Who threw something at my window?" I demanded.

She looked a bit frightened, and said, "It wasn't me. It was C (her sister). We were just talking about how to get you to open the door."

I told her I believed her, but I was very busy with the baby and had no time to keep coming to the door only to find nobody outside each time. I then gave her an earful (loud enough for all 3 of them to hear) about how it was not nice to throw things at people's windows, and if I heard another such assault on my window, I would have to go over and have a word with her mum.

At this point, the 2 older girls cycled over, but they kept their distance and stayed on the edge of the driveway. D duly relayed my message and was met with a stony silence from the rest. I stood there framed in the light from my hallway, Baby J in my arms, and watched the drama. I thought it might be a decent thing for them to come over and apologize, but they didn't, and I decided I didn't want to summon them over. After all, I'm not their mum, and I'd made my point.

I still wonder if I could have dealt with it better. Perhaps I could have resorted to patient humour or appealed to their nobler nature (in the time-honoured Dale Carnegie fashion) instead of unleashing my temper.

Let's see how things go tomorrow.

Book Review: No One Walks On My Father's Moon by Chara M Curtis

I read this book which Beth borrowed from the library, and it's so touching and so mind-opening that I must share it with you.

It's about a Turkish boy who runs home excitedly after school one day to tell his father that the Americans have sent a man to the moon. The boy's father, who reads only the Quran because that is the only source of wisdom and truth he trusts - is furious and accuses his son of lying, tells him he has sinned, and gives him a ferocious beating when he refuses to apologize and retract his words. Hurt, angry and confused, the boy seeks answers from his teacher, and is told "in truth is the many in one". By the end of the book, the boy realizes that his father is just as entitled to his own view and they are reconciled.

It's a story about the inter-generation gap, about faith, about different ways of seeing the same thing. Most of all, it teaches respect for others' views. Schools could use a book like this to teach students acceptance, tolerance and respect for one another.

My favourite part is how the boy's teacher handles the situation when the boy returns to school after a few days and the teacher finds out what happened to him.

The teacher looked with love into the boy's tear-filled eyes. "I am sorry for your pain," he said.

When the boy asks, "Teacher, is it possible there is more than one moon?", the teacher takes the time to give a considered reply.

His teacher was surprised to hear such a question. Surely the answer was obvious. Yet he had never considered the question before, so he placed it in his heart and bowed his head. Soon a smile of gratitude came upon his lips, and he answered the boy saying:

"There is only one moon that revolves around this Earth, yet it is a different moon for each one that sees it.

One who never cares to look up into the night sky will never see it. For this one the moon does not exist.

One who gazes upon its beauty only when it is full will know the moon only as a silvery disk.

Another might view its splendor only as it rises during the harvest. For this one the moon is an immense golden ball.

Yet another might study the moon with a telescope through all its phases, in shadow and in light. For this one it is mountains, craters and valleys, and oceans that flow with moondust.

The answer to your question is both yes and no, for in truth is the many in one."

Some thoughts:

The teacher has a central role in the development of a school-going child. If he is lacking in empathy and compassion, he might break the child's spirit and stifle his eagerness to learn. If he underestimates the spiritual hunger of the child who is earnestly seeking, he might give an unhelpful answer and inadvertently lead him astray. If he allows himself to become jaded and to assume that all he knows is all there is to know, he deprives himself of a new way of looking at life, and the child is deprived of a satisfactory answer.

No wonder the New Testament says teachers are to be held to a higher standard than other workers.

Sleep With Me Mummy

Beth is having sleep issues.

First, she insisted on sleeping with us. So for a time, there were 4 of us squashed into a queen bed in a very exact configuration. The slightest change could mean someone was being deprived of their allotment of sleep space.

Then, when we managed to get her to sleep in her room, she wanted Daddy to be with her....the whole night!

Lately, she's developed a new pattern. It's called "Can you sleep with me Mummy?"

The routine doesn't end at reading a Bible story.

I have to lie down with her, make sure she's sound asleep, then slip out of the room, go back to my room to attend to Baby J (who wakes 3x a night for feeds), and crash for a few hours, only to be awakened in the wee hours of the morning by a distressed Beth trying to drag me back to her room.

School's Boring!

This was the shocking revelation from Beth recently, after she (again) skipped kinder because she couldn't wake up on time.

The cold weather and 15-minute trek don't help either.

The quickest short-term solution would be if Mummy drove her to kinder.

What we're trying to unearth, though, is whether "School's boring" is an excuse for some other issue such as inability to get along with peers.

So hubby took Tue off and we sat in on her kinder session to observe.

I was really nervous when Beth's teacher roped me in to help out. Kids, especially other people's kids, make me nervous. I never know what to say to them and wonder if they'll think I'm this dumb, boring adult trying to talk down to their level.

Thankfully, preschoolers are a sweet bunch, eager to learn, anxious to be heard, and bursting with pent-up zeal when they realize they've got your attention 1-on-1.

I don't know if it was any fun for them that day as we played tag, raced round the playground (I know I'm overdue for a fitness check when playing tag with a 5 y.o. gets me out of breath!), played hide-and-seek, cheered a line of 4 and 5 y.o.s tumbling off the high beam etc.

Now that we're fairly certain school's not THAT boring, I'll be making an appointment with Beth's teacher to talk about her progress and behaviour at school, and to see if she has any ideas for dealing constructively with this.

I'm also trying to get a healthy perspective on things and reminding myself that all this is just a blip on the horizon. No one's gonna say in 10 years,"You let your child skip 10 sessions of kinder? How could you??"

What's Faster Than Writing?

Beth is learning Victorian pre-cursive script.

I never knew there was something preceding cursive script, but that's just me. She came home one day from kinder with a printed sheet of A-Z in upper and lower (cursive) case, which is what will be taught in Prep next year.

So, like any kiasu S'porean mum, I decided to get her started on learning to write it.

However, we have since been overtaken by something even more fun - TYPING!

Beth has been saying she wants to learn to type like me (she sees me on the computer all day long :-p), and Daddy went and borrowed a Jump Start Typing Tutorial CD-ROM from the City Library. We tried it out yesterday and today, after very minimal supervision from me on the placement of fingers, Beth was off and running, following the simple exercises on the screen!

Since computers are going to figure largely in her school life, I reckon it makes sense for her to be adept at both typing and writing well.

What Does Death Mean?

Was quite perturbed to find after our latest library visit that Beth has borrowed not 1, but 3, books on the subject of death.

When Dinosaurs Die
Saying Goodbye To A Parent
Saying Goodbye To Daddy

When I asked her what prompted her to borrow them, she couldn't quite say.

What was worse is that she made me READ to her. I got a few pages into Saying Goodbye To A Parent and became so upset I couldn't continue.

Beth, in her usual confident and slightly impatient voice, said, "It's alright Mum. You can carry on reading."

That night, I showed the books to hubby and his response was: "Maybe she has a premonition." And went on to joke that he was going to "go first".


I read Saying Goodbye To Daddy and it totally freaked me out. Burst into sobs halfway. Hubby reassured me that God would take care of the family if anything happened to him.

Which is all good and fine when things are going well and you're feeling strong and confident. Not when you're suddenly hit by the horrible idea that things could just go very wrong any moment and you won't have one bit of say over when and how. All you can do is feel overwhelmed by a sick feeling and a sense that the world is closing in on you.

I just don't want to be tested that way, know what I mean?