Life Among the Gifted

Often families who are beginning to homeschool feel nervous about making sure they cover the school curriculum, state standards, and courses that will prepare their children for college. This is especially worrisome for parents of children who are in middle or high school and just beginning to homeschool.

I work with these families to help develop curriculum that will allay parental fears, while still allowing their child to follow his or her passions. I try to reassure parents that the state standards and school curriculum are irrelevant to their child’s success. The main goal of homeschooling is giving their child the time, space, and support to pursue their burning interests.

As parents, we want to make sure our children know how to function in society, translate their passions into a workable career, be a good citizen of the world, and find love and happiness. There is no standard curriculum for that.

Here’s what I recommend:

• Talk to your children about what is happening in the world today. Help them relate current events to historical foundations. Use books like Howard Zinn’s “Young People’s History of the United States” or Chris Harman’s “A People’s History of the World: From the Stone Age to the New Millennium,” which tell history from multiple perspectives, including those which are traditionally overlooked.

• Support them in the areas they excel, help them pursue their passions, whatever they may be. Facilitate exposure to experts in the field, find ways for them to experience hands-on opportunities, support them unconditionally. You don’t know where their passion will take them or how they will connect to that energy. George Lucas literally dreamed the plot of the star wars saga, figured out characters from writing long lists of sci fi names, and fleshed out details through drawing fantasy pictures.

• Teach them how to convey their thoughts coherently. Don’t worry about handwriting or even typing speed. Get them a voice recognition program and let them speak their minds.

• Read a wide variety of work. Let them learn to be good writers through reading work by talented writers of all genres.

• Get involved in something that matters. Model for them what enthusiasm for social justice, a green planet, well cared for animals, food for every child, a non-toxic world, slow food…reconnect to whatever moves you to action.

• If math is not their passion, let them use math authentically, integrate it into their real world projects. Let them play with math, an amazing amount of math can be learned through playing and exploring with games like Lego and materials like Magnatiles.

• If science isn’t their chief interest in life, make sure they get to explore nature, experiment with physics or chemistry at a science museum, see a planetarium show, and know how their bodies work.

• Show them how to pursue a question, originate a thought, create something new.

• Teach them how to organize themselves, how to break big projects into manageable pieces, and schedule their time and energy.

• Help them learn to collaborate, to be both a leader and a follower, as needs be.

• Show them how to persuade, debate, and argue democratically.

• Give them the freedom to decide their path. We cannot know what their world will require of them or how they might contribute to that future. I think Kahlil Gibran sums it up perfectly in the first two stanzas of his poem, “On Children”

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

My daughter sees herself as a survivalist, not a creepy, guns-in-the-woods kind of survivalist; but rather the preparedness and planning kind. The other night we were watching “Brad Meltzer’s Decoded” and they were discussing the apocalyptic scenarios attached to 2012. My daughter has always had a fascination with end of the world predictions. She has studied the Mayan long count calendar, Leonardo da Vinci’s flood prophecies, and Nostradomas’ quatrains. We have watched many programs on end of the world scenarios and she has never been freaked out, just quietly determined to prepare. We may be one of the few households in our neighborhood that have Survival Straws (for water purification) and ThyroSafe Potassium Iodide Tablets (to be used in the event of nuclear fallout). I have helped her put together a great earthquake kit, complete with medical supplies. We have back up water storage, extra warm clothing, sleeping bags, and kits for the cars. All this preparation has helped her feel secure. That is, until we watched “Decoded.” This program sent her into a panic. Perhaps it got to her because she respects the three investigators on this program. They are skeptics who don’t substantiate theories without plenty of evidence.

This particular “Decoded” focused on what has been happening with the world’s weather in the past couple of years: droughts, floods, hurricanes, tsunamis, melting ice caps, and so on. The investigators interviewed scientists who said that basically, we have already done irreparable damage and what we are seeing now is just the tip of the iceberg, so to speak. Coupled with this dire news was the investigators’ report on NASA’s solar storm warning for 2012 and the possibility of life without electricity for many months. Oh, and for good measure they threw in the highlights of the past years’ global financial meltdown, political upheaval, and ongoing wars. They capped it all off with survival experts discussing how people “go animal” after four days without food and water. All in all, a pretty grim picture.

At the end of the program my daughter turned to me and said, “Mom, I don’t want to be 11 when I die.” I want to hug her tight and tell her not to worry about a thing; that I will protect her and keep her safe, but I can’t. You can’t use platitudes and parental omnipotence with our kids. They know better. I try to explain that throughout history, even in the most horrific scenarios, sometimes human kindness shines through. I tell her that maybe her generation will figure out a way to stabilize our world. I even tell her that there are things worse than death. I am scrambling to comfort her but failing miserably, because I feel the same way she does. I want to run away screaming. We have messed things up pretty badly and her generation will bear the brunt of ancestral sins. It is times like this that I wish my kids weren’t so smart. I would like her to experience the bliss of ignorance. Childhood shouldn’t be filled with worries about the end of the world.

I could have kept her from watching “Decoded” and we might have avoided this pain, but short of living in a bubble, I don’t think there is any way to keep our kids from finding things out. They are dangerously curious. Even something as seemingly innocent as a trip to the Academy of Sciences or reading Stephen and Lucy Hawkings children’s book, George’s Secret Key to the Universe, is loaded with potentially frightening information. Their advanced intellectual state drives them to discover things their not-so-advanced emotional state can’t handle. It is a perpetual worry. How to help them balance their insatiable desire to learn with the responsibility of knowing? I would be so relieved if the toughest questions I had to field were, “Where do babies come from?” or “How does Santa fly around the whole world in one night?” We have lived in the land of lost innocence for a very long time. They know I don’t have all the answers; but I sure wish I did.

There is no shortage of quizzing and questioning at our house. Living with my son is like being trapped with a maniacal game show host. His greatest joy is finding obscure questions to stump us.

“What is the name of the intersection of Interstates 25 and 70 in Denver?”

“Who were the youngest and oldest Chess Grand Masters to ever compete against each other?”

“Which country consumes 40% of all the eggs produced in the world?”

“What is 1, 2 base 5 divided by 3 base five?”

“What was the original number assigned to the Devil?”

“How many queens can you put on a chessboard without any two attacking each other?”

I feel like I am perpetually trapped on a really hard version of Cash Cab.

My daughter fires questions at us regularly too, but hers aren’t rhetorical. She really wants us to ponder along with her. She wonders constantly. She is the mini guru of the family. You can’t just plod along with her around. She will question you out of your complacency.

“If time is different for each person, do you think we could develop the ability to control our own time?”

“Mom, if something happened to one of us when you weren’t here, do you think you would know the instant it happened?”

“Are humans the only mammals that kiss to show affection? Why is kissing a sign of affection?”

“What really determines whether or not you are living a good life?”

“Why do they call sinks, “sinks?”

“Why is an eighteen year old considered an adult?”

I am suffering from question overload. I find myself automatically responding with, “Hmm, I don’t know,” more often than I should. The other day in class, my professor asked me a question and “I don’t know” popped out of my mouth before I had a chance to think about it. By the end of most days, my head is swimming and I can’t wait for the quiet, off switch that comes with sleep.

On the upside, I don’t need to buy any hand-held devices to keep my brain active. If daily mind exercises help stave off Alzheimer’s, I shouldn’t have to worry about that affliction. And, if we ever actually find ourselves jumping into the Cash Cab, we would win big.

I received the following response to my “Oral Hygiene” blog from someone I will call Walt. Walt had the following advice for me:

“Where is this boy’s father?  The problem is clear in your post and it has nothing to do with Giftedness – the boy is not being properly socialized.  A father or grandfather can do that for him.  On top of that your treatment of him is making his behavior worse. There’s so much wrong with this story I can’t go through everything. 

You need to assert your dominance as the leader and make the boy comply.  He relies on you for his survival and he needs to know you are in charge.  Instead you’re letting the boy run wild.  This is bad not only because he is running wild but also because your lack of control is freighting him.  If you cannot show leadership that he is forced to follow then you are letting him know that the person he relies on for survival is not up to doing the job of keeping him alive.

Do not baby your boy too much. He needs to learn to be a boy. Do not over-protect him. He needs to explore and learn to be independent. You do not want to raise a flighty, paranoid child. When he acts afraid of something that he should not be afraid of, do not pick him up and ooh and ahh over him. Simply tell him it is okay, and show him the object, person, etc. Your confidence will make him a confident and dependable child. If you feed his fears, he will become a snappy and untrustworthy boy. He’s already showing signs of responding to fear with aggression.

Knock out the bad behavior now else things will only get worse when he is a teen.”

While my first impulse was to bang my head against my computer screen and scream, “Why doesn’t anybody get
it!?!” I maintained control and wrote a nice reply back to Walt. I hope he has many wonderful experiences in life, including the chance to parent or grandparent a 2E kid.

Actually, I am grateful for Walt’s comments, because they perfectly illustrate most of the wrong-headed notions people have about our kids. But I’m not being entirely honest, what I really wanted to say to him is the following:

(Warning: If you are expecting a professional, advice-filled column, don’t read this. It is a reactive rant that reflects the week I’ve had.)

1. Our kids are shrieking and flailing about at any given public event because we have not asserted our dominance/control over them. They are just wild children of lazy parents who have not put forth the time or effort it takes to properly raise their child.
2. Our children do not give or reciprocate the correct social reponses because we have not socialized them. Again, apparently we just can’t be bothered with teaching our children. We would much prefer to be constantly embarrassed in public, have a very restricted social life, and be bombarded with advice on how to be a more effective parent by people who have no idea what they are talking about.
3. Our children’s behavior has nothing to do with Giftedness. Really?!? Oh wait, maybe it is our parenting; after all, we created these little monsters with our lazy, no good ways. If we attended the Walt School of Parenting our children would be model citizens, gifted or not.
4. You can “make the boy comply” in the middle of a shrieking and flailing episode. Short of netting and darting him, I’m not sure how. I really have tried every sort of threat, bribery, and physical hold. Prompt removal from the situation has been the most effective so far, and I have the bruises to prove it.
5. Your children will behave if you just show leadership and force them to follow you. Hee, hee, hee, haaa, haaaaa, haaaaa…stop, stop my sides are hurting.
6. Our children are freaking out because they think that their parents, who they rely on for their survival, are not capable of doing the “job of keeping him alive.” I only wish Walt could see what we really have to do to keep these kids alive…special and complicated diets, various expensive therapies, careful planning of activities, heroic efforts to get them to sleep, endless answering of questions, extreme watchfulness when they are out in public, extreme watchfulness when they are at home doing stupid things…actually, we should get extra credit for not killing them ourselves.
7. “When he acts afraid of something that he should not be afraid of, do not pick him up and ooh and ahh over him. Simply tell him it is okay, and show him the object, person, etc.” ROTFL! If only I could just simply tell him it is okay and have him snap out of it. Oh Walt, if you had any idea of what we have tried.
8. We baby and overprotect our children thus creating a “flighty, paranoid child.” Hmmm, I wonder if I could just give him a magic potion that would instantly give him power over bullies, mean excluding kids, rude misguided adults, bewildering situations, and shame.
9. That we are feeding our kids’ fears…why would we do that!?! They come up with plenty of fears all on their own. They don’t need us to feed and multiply them.
10.  Screaming and flailing are an aggressive act designed to inflict harm. Does Walt know how hard it is for our kids to cope with a staggeringly misfit world? I wonder how Walt would react if we dropped him into a maze filled with his worst fears, made sure he didn’t quite understand any of the facial, body, or verbal communication directed at him, and told him at any moment something awful might come around
    the corner. Add to that self-shame of knowing he is doing something wrong, but can’t quite understand what it is or how to cope with it. Then we will make sure that know-it-all, busy-bodies are constantly haranguing him with their good advice. Let’s see if Walt becomes “a snappy and untrustworthy boy.”
11. That we should “Knock out the bad behavior now else things will only get worse when he is a teen.” How can we do that? I am assuming Walt didn’t mean to actually physically knock out the behavior. I’m pretty sure that regular beatings would not produce a trustworthy, socialized, well-balanced child. So if beating is out of the question, what does one do to knock out bad behavior? Sure wish I knew. I’ve tried every restriction and currency known to man (or boy) and he just doesn’t care. Take away his computer, okay he’ll play chess. Take away his chess, okay he’ll read. Take away his books, okay he’ll do math. Take away math, okay he’ll lay there and think. Take away thinking…oh wait, I can’t do that.
12. That it takes a father or grandfather to socialize a boy. (Take a deep breath) While I am fully versed in the developmental needs of children and would be the first in line to make sure boys get a chance to interact regularly with loving, dedicated adult males, I must strongly disagree that an opposite sex parent/grandparent/relative/friend cannot properly socialize a child. It takes love, patience, understanding, and mutual accountability; all things I think a woman could provide to a boy. I believe Walt thinks that we are coddling, overprotective mothers who won’t let our children explore and learn to be independent. He must not know the women I know. Everyone in my village is fervently working towards, and waiting for, the day when their kid is independent. When I can set my boy out into the world, knowing I have given him every tool in my arsenal (to the point of utter and complete depletion), and he can successfully and independently live a happy and fulfilling life…HALLELUJAH!

So to all the Walt’s out there, thanks for your well meaning advice; but next time, please walk a mile in my heavily weighted corrective shoes before you pass judgment.

I had to buy my daughter real bras a few weeks ago. As I stood in line at the cashier, I felt suddenly unready for this phase of her life.

She is cycling into womanhood as I am cycling out. This girl who has always been so intellectually and emotionally mature, now her body is catching up with her soul. Her development hints at the woman she will become. There will be powerful influences on her as she navigates life. How will I help her, protect her, encourage her, and let her go? The ghost of her childhood is beginning to drift away from her; I clasp at it and come up empty handed. I have to learn to be with who she is now.

I am not ready to let the childish spirit go. She represents what I longed for in my own childhood. She is the joyful realization of a dream. She is the essence of carefree happiness. My own battered soul longs to protect her from all that she will face in life; but I know she would reject my efforts. I am forced to look inward, to anticipate my next cycle and all it will bring. I want to weep for the death of what was, to mourn and thrash at the change that is forced upon me.

Yet, I also celebrate who we might become. The next few years will bring unimagined opportunities for both of us. I cling to the idea that she and I might be friends. I anticipate adventures we might share. I think I might learn a great deal from her as she grows. I want to hold her close enough to share her life without intruding. I want to shield the invisible cord that binds us, make it time and distance proof.

Many of my friends have teenage daughters and as I listen to their stories of angst and indifference, I am steeling myself for that phase. I don’t want to be at best an annoyance, at worst an adversary. I weep at the thought of my girl rejecting me or turning on me in disgust. Can it be prevented? Should it? Do I, in my greater age and wisdom, look at her battle with understanding and remember what it felt like to break through that barrier? How can I help her navigate that path and emerge as a woman without bruising the two of us too painfully?

For now I will hold her close. I will inhale those moments of pure sweetness that are still given. I will solemnly promise to be her greatest champion and ally. I will tearfully help her pack her bags for her journey and then I will let her go.

My son does not believe in oral hygiene. Even though he has an intellectual understanding of the necessity, on some gut level, it is something that he thinks should just be eliminated. His interpretation of the nightly routine is an agonizing session of sensory overload. When he was two we let him pick his toothbrush, toothpaste and allowed him to brush however he desired. When he got to the point that was not overwhelming we started brushing his teeth a bit ourselves, with just a regular toothbrush. Finally at four we began touching the electric toothbrush to his teeth for a second or two and gradually building up to a minute of brushing. I am now able to brush and floss his teeth every night, even though flossing creates white knuckles and facial expressions that are usually only seen on torture victims. He will brush his own teeth in the morning, but only with a manual toothbrush.

Trips to the dentist have been an exercise in extreme patience on the part of the dental staff. When my son was younger, he usually refused to open his mouth, let alone submit to a cleaning and exam. The hygienist would wait and wait as I tried all my tricks to get him to submit. At one point my dentist suggested we might want to go to a pediatric specialist that could put him out to do the exams and X-rays. I decided not to go that route. Instead, I increased my efforts to help him be comfortable with the process. We played dentist. When I brushed his teeth, I had him lay down and I gave him fake exams and hygienist cleanings. He finally got to the point where he would willingly sit in the chair and open his mouth for an exam, but I had to sit next to him and hold his hands so he wouldn’t grab or push the hygienist’s hands away. As he got older, the check-ups got better, he would open his mouth and let them do a quick cleaning, but X-rays were still problematic. He flat out refused because he felt that they were dangerous. Last year, for the first time, he agreed to let the hygienist do X-rays, until she actually tried to put the too large, uncomfortable contraption in his mouth. After several tries, my son burst into tears and jumped out of the chair. I decided the X-ray wasn’t worth it and we opted to go another year without an X-ray.

Consequently, I wasn’t prepared for the problem that appeared at the next visit. I had a moment of pure dread when our dentist proclaimed that my son had a tooth that needed to be extracted. It had cracked, (nightly anxiety induced teeth grinding I suspect.) The new tooth was ready to come in, but the cracked one wasn’t loose enough to come out on its own yet. So she recommended we make an appointment to have it extracted. My son told the dentist he would pull it himself.  She told him that he could try wiggling it every night and see what happened; but her parting words to me were, “Don’t let it go too long. If it abscesses, it could get ugly.” On the way home I told him that the dentist was concerned that the tooth could abscess if it didn’t come out pretty soon. I casually suggested that we should just go ahead and get his tooth pulled. Armed with our dentist’s suggestion that this could be a DIY project, he replied, “No Mom, I’m not doing that, I’ll pull my own tooth out.” I started to work up my arguments but, in truth, I didn’t want to go through an extraction either. So he wiggled and I waited.

In the vain hope that he would actually pull it off, I let it go too long. Two months later, while brushing his teeth I discovered the dreaded abscess. Filled with guilt and worry, I dug out the referral to the oral surgeon.  They agreed to see us first thing the next morning for an emergency extraction. I spent that evening trying to prepare my son for the visit. I explained to him how dangerous an abscess can be, what they would need to do, and that it would be over pretty quickly. We researched on-line about abscesses and tooth extractions. I tried to reassure him the best I could, given the circumstances. He was nervous but seemed to understand the necessity and was willing to get it done. When we arrived the next morning, I pulled the doctor aside and gave him a quick run-down of my son’s issues. The doctor reassured me that he had lots of experience with kids like my son. “Don’t worry, everything will be just fine.” I had my doubts, but I was willing to give him the benefit of positive thinking.

His twin sister and I followed him back into an exam room. The nurse was able to successfully talk him through standing still for a panoramic X-ray! Hurray, we were off to a great start. Then they took my son to another room next door. I left his sister to wait and went with my son. The doctor sat my son down in the chair and proceeded to explain everything they needed to do. He was kind and reassuring. He told my son that the extraction would take less than a minute and wouldn’t hurt because the nerve would be deadened. Viola! My son opened his mouth, everything was looking good. Then the doctor told me I could go back and wait with my daughter. My first reaction was that I should stay, but the other room was right next door and I knew his sister was worried. I told my son that I would just be right outside and the nurse would come and get me if he needed me.

About a minute later the nurse came and got me. I walked into the exam room to find my son wild-eyed with panic, a male nurse holding his hands, and the doctor with a very large shot needle hidden behind his back. When he saw me, my son tore his hands loose, ripped the cotton packing from his mouth, and jumped out of the chair. “I don’t want a shot!” he shouted. I hugged him and tried to calm him down. I reassured him that the shot is just a quick pinch and it would deaden the nerve so it wouldn’t hurt when they pulled the tooth. I tried to get him to sit back in the chair. I promised I would hold his hand and stay with him. He wasn’t having any of it. I could tell the doctor was getting impatient. Finally the doctor asked me to step outside. He told me that he had other patients waiting and wouldn’t have time to do anything more that day. He said he wanted to put my son on antibiotics for the weekend and then reschedule on Monday. His plan was to give my son a sedative he could drink, and once he was semi-conscious they would give him the shot and pull the tooth. I asked the doctor to tell me everything they would do, step-by-step, so I could prepare my son and give him time to process it all.

On the way home I told him everything the doctor had told me. I reassured him how easy Monday would be. He would come in, drink some medicine, get sleepy, and when he woke up it would all be over. My son just kept repeating that he wasn’t ready. I’m ashamed to say that I scolded him. I was frustrated that we weren’t able to just get it taken care of that morning and afraid of what the abscess might do. I was worried about the extra expense of another visit and prescription. I told him that he was old enough to take responsibility for his health and that sometimes we have to do scary things to make sure we stay healthy. My son started to cry and said he would cooperate on Monday. He said he hadn’t been able to do it that morning because everything was unfamiliar and happened too fast. Then I felt even worse. I had let my own fears and frustrations get us into a situation that was doomed from the start. I added to the problem by not following my instincts and staying with him. When we got home, I gave him a hug and told him I was sorry for being cranky. I reassured him that we had all weekend to prepare and by Monday we would be ready.

Finally, Monday morning arrived. Despite the early wake up and not having food or drink for 8 hours, my son seemed remarkably calm. My stomach was in knots and my head was pounding, but I hid it well as we drove to the doctor’s office. We had a nice discussion with the receptionist about the merits of various chess moves and then headed back to the exam room. My son seemed ready to go. I was even starting to feel my blood pressure decline. Then the doctor walked in with a shot needle in his hand. He turned to me and said, “You know, I have been thinking about this all morning and I really feel he would do better with a shot of ketamine.” My son shot out of the chair, “I thought I was going to drink something to make me sleepy,” he shouted, panic rising. I stepped toward him, “We have to do this, your tooth is abscessed and it can be really dangerous if we don’t get the infection cleared up!” Too late for reason, he bolted for the door. I grabbed him and tried to pull him back into the room. By now he was wild-eyed and struggling like a trapped animal. No amount of calming or comfort was going to help.

The doctor motioned to a bed in the hallway and I dragged my son to it. A nurse helped hold my wild boy down while the doctor quickly administered the shot. As the medication began to take hold, his fighting slowed and he began to droop. I rocked him and fought back the tears. “I’m sorry we had to hold you down, but you have to get this done,” I told him. He looked at me with panic in his eyes, fighting the anesthesia. The doctor patted me on the shoulder, “Don’t worry about it thing. It will all be just fine.” I wanted to shout at him, “No, it won’t be just fine! I have betrayed my son’s trust. I will be dealing with the fall-out from this for a long time!” Instead, I smiled numbly and nodded. While we waited for the anesthesia to take effect, I tried to comfort my son. The doctor told me that he was in a dissociative state and even though he seemed conscious, he really didn’t understand what was going on, “He’s not really hearing anything you say. You can go to the waiting room, this won’t take a minute.”

“But I promised him I would stay with him,” I told the doctor.

“I’m sorry, I don’t operate with parents in the room,” he replied as he firmly escorted me out the door.

I sat in the waiting room feeling sick about my role in this mess and sad for what my son was going through. About fifteen minutes later, the nurse came to get me. The smiling doctor came out of the operating room and told me that everything had gone very well. “Don’t worry about a thing, he won’t remember any of it,” he assured me.

I brought my groggy, nauseous boy home and put him to bed. After a few hours sleep he woke up, glared at me and said, “I was conscious and I remember everything.” He then proceeded to give me a blow-by-blow account of the entire episode. His recitation ended with the heart wrenching words, “You are my Mom, you are supposed to protect me!” He was conscious and he did remember everything. I wished I had a video of that conversation to show to the doctor. I want to tell him that he should really listen to the concerns of parents with special needs kids. We know our kids better than anyone else and we work very hard to try to ensure a successful outcome. I’m quite certain that from the doctor’s point of view it was a successful surgery.  I‘m sure within a few days he will have forgotten the incident. However, I doubt my son will ever forget it!

I’m writing this on Mother’s Day, a week late due to a Disneyland trip, two emergency vet visits, and a major flood in our kitchen due to a burst pipe. I’ve recovered enough to enjoy a day of reflection and happiness that I can celebrate this day as a Mom. We tried for fifteen years to have a baby. I never believed it would happen; but after three years of intensive infertility treatments (which are more expensive than a daily crack habit) we got two for the price of one.

My daughter jumped into bed this morning, hugged me tight and wished me a Happy Mother’s Day. She has been super affectionate and loving today. She gave me a handmade coupon for a “movie out with a friend,” helped her Dad and our next door neighbors put on a lovely Mother’s Day meal (complete with a cool table centerpiece made of little animal moms and babies), and took over many chores so I had time to read, relax, and even take a nap. She is a lovely child.

My son did not wish me Happy Mother’s Day, give me anything, hug me, or give me any extra help (in fact he had to be forced to help his sister clear the table.) What he did was spend half the day creating a special Game of Life pattern to show me, follow me around the house telling me all about his best Scrabble words, most interesting 4-D theories, and recent math formulas (completely oblivious to the fact that I was trying to read and relax.) But every moment he sat by me talking non-stop and tapping a pattern on my leg, I was filled with happiness. This complicated boy is also a lovely child.

My husband put their birth picture as wall paper on the computer today. I am looking at that moment and remembering how I was hoping and praying they would be okay. After a risky, frightening, hospitalized pregnancy, they were finally here. My son is scrunched up, eyes tightly shut, and obviously trying to avoid this new loud, bright place. My daughter (all three pounds of her) is wide-eyed and taking in the sight of this exciting outside world. That snapshot captured their personalities pretty accurately. My son is still cautious and prefers to avoid the outside world. He loves his little boy-cave cocoon, the safety of his home, and the loving protection of his family. My daughter can’t wait to get out into the world, commune with everyone she meets, and experience LIFE.

Here we are ten years later, time has simply evaporated. I can’t believe we have already been parents for a decade! As I watch my half grown children mature into unique individuals, I think the world is lucky to have them. I don’t know what the future will bring, but I am grateful every day for the chance to experience life with my kids.

My son can, and does, talk about math for hours. Hiking through the woods he will discuss the Fibonacci sequence versus the Lucas sequence in nature. Driving in the car he will lecture on speed and velocity. While fixing dinner I get quizzed on prime factorization. Math is what turns him on. Out of love for my son and respect for his passion, I make sincere efforts to participate. My son is good at explaining what he is thinking and calculating, so I can usually follow his basic train of thought. But at some point, as I struggle to keep up my end of the conversation, I invariably experience brain freeze.

It is an understatement to say that I have an aversion to math. I know that somewhere in me is the ability to understand and love math, but it was drilled out of me in school. I have bad memories associated with math. I was not able to keep up in math. I just didn’t understand most of it, no matter how many times it was explained. The fear stays with me to this day. As I embark on my doctoral program, I am not the least bit intimidated at the idea of writing hundreds of pages of dissertation; but I am terrified of taking the requisite statistics class.

My husband is more comfortable with math and can generally hold up his end of the conversation better than I can. However, when our son launches into his understanding of some recent math theory he’s reading about, it goes over my husband’s head too. A few years ago, we realized that we needed help.

That’s when our Super Math Shero swooped in to save the day! By a true stroke of luck, we found Professor Sue VanHattum through a homeschool network. About two years ago we heard of a monthly math salon and decided to check it out. We arrived at Sue’s house to find all sorts of cool math games and activities laid out, yummy snacks, and a warm and welcoming host. My son immediately began to play, explore, and talk. He warmed right up to Sue. He was among his people.

After a couple of math salons, I could see that Sue would be the perfect math mentor for my son. She was comfortable with his free flowing learning style, shared his passion for math, and was fun to be around. I asked her if she might be interested in tutoring my son. She happily agreed and a wonderful partnership was formed.

It is a joy to watch her interact with my son. When he is doing math with Sue, he is lit from within. I am humbled and amazed to see her kindness and skill in teaching my son how to apply his knowledge and test his theories. She gets him to let go of his perfectionism, to challenge his thinking, and to find elegant solutions. Sue calls him Professor Hayes and truly treats him as an equal math mind. My son loves her. I love her! Thank you Professor VanHattum, you are a true friend and mentor.

Sue’s wonderfully fun and highly informative blog can be seen at
www.mathmamawrites.blogspot.com