It's 10:30 at night, and I can't get J (6 1/2) to go to bed. He insisted that he's starving, so I gave him some toast and milk. He told me that by squeezing his cheeks, he was compressing the milk. When I told him that you can't compress liquids, he was absolutely incredulous! He just couldn't believe it. He began talking about water bottles and air pressure. When I told him that the molecules in liquids are just too close together already, he said, "that is extremely weird!"
After going on about it for a while, he went upstairs to ask his dad. I'm not sure he really believed me. How could it be that liquids can't be compressed!!! I just listened in on their conversation about how baby brother L drinks his bottle and has to let air in, about pumping up bike tires, etc. And then J offered his own example, about scuba divers breathing compressed air.
It's hard for me to send him to bed when he's obviously enjoying the mental stimulation, but last night he couldn't sleep until 1 am! I can't handle that kind of schedule, and all-day First Grade is going to kick his butt in just two weeks.
His pediatrician recommended Melatonin to help him sleep, but so far, it's not helping at all!
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Espionage!
Today, J told me that his "persona has been sabotaged!"
After a little probing, I discovered that he doesn't actually know what either word means, exactly, but wow, he knows those words!
He thinks sabotaged means "ruined completely," and "persona" was referring to Firefox Personas, which are themes to decorate your browser.
After a little probing, I discovered that he doesn't actually know what either word means, exactly, but wow, he knows those words!
He thinks sabotaged means "ruined completely," and "persona" was referring to Firefox Personas, which are themes to decorate your browser.
To Tell, or Not To Tell?
That is the question!
I used to think it was obvious, but now I'm wavering.
I didn't know I was gifted when I was growing up. I remember getting tested, I think in 5th grade, and I remember going to G.A.T.E. stuff, but I never really knew what that meant.
I was genuinely surprised when I went to a "regular" English class in 9th grade and they were looking things up in a dictionary.
I was genuinely surprised when I got straight A's the one and only time (Math always kicked my butt--or so I thought. I was still ahead of most students, but I got B's in my higher classes.)
I was flattered when I was inundated with college pamphlets and even scholarship offers. I was flabbergasted when my one and only BYU (there was never any question of where I would go) send me a Christmas card, a tee-shirt, and an invitation to be in a special Freshman program.
I really had no idea.
And I didn't realize that I had no idea about any of this until my son was a few years old and flabbergasting us daily. And then he started telling everyone how smart he is.
Of course, I wanted to teach him that even the smartest cookies in the jar shouldn't go bragging about it all the time. I mentioned this to my mother, and she said, "Stop telling him he's smart."
That moment was an awakening for me. I realized that she'd done that very same thing to me. She'd kept my smarts a secret from me. And I had just assumed I was average, regular. I don't know how I like that approach.
I can see how it could be beneficial. I appreciate the fact that I'm not cocky, nor was I an outcast because I thought myself intellectually superior to my peers (saying phrases like that is sure to make you an outcast!) On the other hand, feeling average, I did average things. I could have done so much more! I should have done so much more. "Where much is given, much is required," and I feel like more should have been required of me. I feel like more was required of me, but I was ignorant of exactly how much I had been given.
So I'm in a quandry about how to approach this with my own smarty-pants children. I tried not telling J that he's smart, but, well, it's so obvious that everyone comments on it. And while I just traipsed through life in my own little world, not comparing myself to anyone else, J already knows he's quite different. How could he not notice, when he's reading 6th grade books while his "very bright" classmates are learning to read? He feels different, like so many gifted children do. Apparently, I did not. At least not much.
So I have talked frankly with J about his giftedness. Not long after the conversation with my mom, we started telling him that being smart just means that God gave him an extra good brain, and it doesn't mean he's better than anyone else. It just means that it's easier for him to learn things, so that means he needs to learn even more than everyone else. I hope that properly instills in him some humility and sense of duty to use his gifts.
I hope I'm doing this the right way!
I used to think it was obvious, but now I'm wavering.
I didn't know I was gifted when I was growing up. I remember getting tested, I think in 5th grade, and I remember going to G.A.T.E. stuff, but I never really knew what that meant.
I was genuinely surprised when I went to a "regular" English class in 9th grade and they were looking things up in a dictionary.
I was genuinely surprised when I got straight A's the one and only time (Math always kicked my butt--or so I thought. I was still ahead of most students, but I got B's in my higher classes.)
I was flattered when I was inundated with college pamphlets and even scholarship offers. I was flabbergasted when my one and only BYU (there was never any question of where I would go) send me a Christmas card, a tee-shirt, and an invitation to be in a special Freshman program.
I really had no idea.
And I didn't realize that I had no idea about any of this until my son was a few years old and flabbergasting us daily. And then he started telling everyone how smart he is.
Of course, I wanted to teach him that even the smartest cookies in the jar shouldn't go bragging about it all the time. I mentioned this to my mother, and she said, "Stop telling him he's smart."
That moment was an awakening for me. I realized that she'd done that very same thing to me. She'd kept my smarts a secret from me. And I had just assumed I was average, regular. I don't know how I like that approach.
I can see how it could be beneficial. I appreciate the fact that I'm not cocky, nor was I an outcast because I thought myself intellectually superior to my peers (saying phrases like that is sure to make you an outcast!) On the other hand, feeling average, I did average things. I could have done so much more! I should have done so much more. "Where much is given, much is required," and I feel like more should have been required of me. I feel like more was required of me, but I was ignorant of exactly how much I had been given.
So I'm in a quandry about how to approach this with my own smarty-pants children. I tried not telling J that he's smart, but, well, it's so obvious that everyone comments on it. And while I just traipsed through life in my own little world, not comparing myself to anyone else, J already knows he's quite different. How could he not notice, when he's reading 6th grade books while his "very bright" classmates are learning to read? He feels different, like so many gifted children do. Apparently, I did not. At least not much.
So I have talked frankly with J about his giftedness. Not long after the conversation with my mom, we started telling him that being smart just means that God gave him an extra good brain, and it doesn't mean he's better than anyone else. It just means that it's easier for him to learn things, so that means he needs to learn even more than everyone else. I hope that properly instills in him some humility and sense of duty to use his gifts.
I hope I'm doing this the right way!
Thursday, June 10, 2010
An Elephant
Our first real inkling of J's amazing-ness was when he remembered what he got in his Easter basket the previous year, and he had just turned 2.
Today, he amazed me again.
He had made a little craft, the kind with plastic beads that you set on a peg board, then use the iron to melt the beads together on one side. He was admiring his work, saying how he liked that it was the same front and back, and even if you flipped it side to side. I asked him, "Do you know what an axis of symmetry is?"
"No," he replied.
I gave a brief explanation.
"So this smiley face has one axis of symmetry, right here," and he karate chopped his crafty creation right down the middle.
"Yup! Very good!" We had talked about axes of symmetry extensively when he was 3. He was always very good at it, and I was happy that he'd picked it up again.
Moments later, I mentioned that I'd taught him about symmetry before. He recalled, "yeah, I remember you cut out a man, and an airplane, out of paper and I folded them along their axis of symmetry. And then you tried to trick me by cutting out a cow spot, and it had no axis of symmetry."
Wow. He is exactly right! That was three years ago, give or take a month or so. Half of his lifetime.
Today, he amazed me again.
He had made a little craft, the kind with plastic beads that you set on a peg board, then use the iron to melt the beads together on one side. He was admiring his work, saying how he liked that it was the same front and back, and even if you flipped it side to side. I asked him, "Do you know what an axis of symmetry is?"
"No," he replied.
I gave a brief explanation.
"So this smiley face has one axis of symmetry, right here," and he karate chopped his crafty creation right down the middle.
"Yup! Very good!" We had talked about axes of symmetry extensively when he was 3. He was always very good at it, and I was happy that he'd picked it up again.
Moments later, I mentioned that I'd taught him about symmetry before. He recalled, "yeah, I remember you cut out a man, and an airplane, out of paper and I folded them along their axis of symmetry. And then you tried to trick me by cutting out a cow spot, and it had no axis of symmetry."
Wow. He is exactly right! That was three years ago, give or take a month or so. Half of his lifetime.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
More books
We haven't been to the library in quite some time. J decided to read the Chronicles of Narnia. He's on The Horse and his Boy right now. He says that The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe is still his favorite.
More Books
J seems to have left Magic Treehouse behind. He doesn't seem so interested in finishing the few he hasn't read. He's on to much bigger books!
At the end of April, Z had a seizure in the car as I was pulling to pick J up from school. There was lots of drama. I left J in the car with little L (the baby) and carried a non-responsive Z in to the school nurse. I didn't know what was wrong with him at the time. While the school nurse called 911, I ran back out to the car to get J and L. I found that J had grabbed a book to read while he waited for me. And the book he'd grabbed was the book I'd just finished reading, and was planning to return to the library on the way home (yeah, that didn't happen. We went to the ER instead).
He read Book of a Thousand Days by Shannon Hale. It's quite a good book, although an easy read for me. J loves to claim that he has read a grown-up book. Technically, it was in the Young Adult section. But that's pretty grown-up to him. I just looked up the grade equivalent. Here are the stats on the book.
At the end of April, Z had a seizure in the car as I was pulling to pick J up from school. There was lots of drama. I left J in the car with little L (the baby) and carried a non-responsive Z in to the school nurse. I didn't know what was wrong with him at the time. While the school nurse called 911, I ran back out to the car to get J and L. I found that J had grabbed a book to read while he waited for me. And the book he'd grabbed was the book I'd just finished reading, and was planning to return to the library on the way home (yeah, that didn't happen. We went to the ER instead).
He read Book of a Thousand Days by Shannon Hale. It's quite a good book, although an easy read for me. J loves to claim that he has read a grown-up book. Technically, it was in the Young Adult section. But that's pretty grown-up to him. I just looked up the grade equivalent. Here are the stats on the book.
- Grade Level: from 7
- Pages: 306
- Age Level: 12-17
Handwriting?
Today was J's kindergarten end-of-the-year "celebration." It was cute, with all the kindergarten kids (all four classes) getting up on choir stands and singing some fun songs. One was to the tune of "New York, New York," only the words New York were replaced with "First Grade."
Then the teachers handed out awards. Each child got one, of course, and I wondered what J would get. Some kids got awards for being able to sound out any word put in front of them. Some were for being good at math. Some were for building with Legos. Never in a million years would I have guessed that he'd get an award for "Heavenly Handwriting!"
I think his handwriting is pretty good for a kindergartner, but it's his teacher's previous comments that have me stymied. In our last parent-teacher conference (here's the blog post about it), she referenced his poor hand-writing to prove that he still needed to work on things. As if I thought that 6 months of school would have him ready for the working world ;)
I got the email address of the lady in charge of all things gifted at J's school. I'm trying to figure out the best way to ask for J to be tested early. I'm not too optimistic about that. But in his school district, they don't test until the end of first grade! A friend of mine paid to have her daughter tested after HUGE problems with her in a regular first grade class room. They switched her to a different district, which tests at the end of kindergarten. Oh, I wish I'd known all of this before we bought a house! The other district is only a mile or so East of here!
Then the teachers handed out awards. Each child got one, of course, and I wondered what J would get. Some kids got awards for being able to sound out any word put in front of them. Some were for being good at math. Some were for building with Legos. Never in a million years would I have guessed that he'd get an award for "Heavenly Handwriting!"
I think his handwriting is pretty good for a kindergartner, but it's his teacher's previous comments that have me stymied. In our last parent-teacher conference (here's the blog post about it), she referenced his poor hand-writing to prove that he still needed to work on things. As if I thought that 6 months of school would have him ready for the working world ;)
I got the email address of the lady in charge of all things gifted at J's school. I'm trying to figure out the best way to ask for J to be tested early. I'm not too optimistic about that. But in his school district, they don't test until the end of first grade! A friend of mine paid to have her daughter tested after HUGE problems with her in a regular first grade class room. They switched her to a different district, which tests at the end of kindergarten. Oh, I wish I'd known all of this before we bought a house! The other district is only a mile or so East of here!
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