The Word Eight

Today was our first official day of homeschool. I have three children–Isabella is almost 7 doing first grader stuff, Anya is 3 1/2 doing pre-school related activities and Roman is one; he is watching his sisters and, well, being a one-year old. I’m 31 and my plan is to learn and relearn absolutely anything I can during this process. Today, after it was all said and done–after the princess counting game, after the fairy tales and the trampoline time and the water play, after we explored the natural environment in our backyard and made homemade macaroni and cheese, my favorite lesson was the least intentional of all.

I asked Isabella if she would write out the words for the numbers as high as she could go. Confidently she began her assignment. Meanwhile, I began unloading the dishwasher as I did not want to hover. I could hear her pencil squeaking and sliding across the paper, occasionally stopping and flipping for some erasing action. Then the pencil stopped all together. I could feel her–stumped–so, I turned around to face her.

“Mom,” she said without glancing up, “how do you spell ‘eight’? Does it start with an ‘E’ or an ‘A’?”

“That’s a great question, but I want you to do this part all on your own.” I already knew what was coming next. Isabella has perfectionist tendencies and she can not stand to knowingly do things incorrectly.

“But Mom…I can’t do it. I just don’t know. I don’t know the right way.” Her frustration was building.

I smiled. “Just write what makes sense to you. There is no wrong or right right now. Just do your best–that’s all that matters today.” I hoped that would satisfy her, but it didn’t.

Her pencil fell from her fingers as she stared at her paper; her chin landed in her hands, squishing her cheeks up which, in turn, made her eyes all squinty. I think she did this intentionally trying to control the tears that were on their way.

“Oh! I can’t do it I just don’t know! It’s so confusing!” She was sobbing at this point.

I walked over and sat next to her. I felt for her. She had been labeled a “perfect student” at school by the time she finished kindergarten. She was used as an example for good behavior and outstanding academics. It had become her student identity–such a heavy load for a 6-year old and seeing her sob at the kitchen table over possibly writing the word “eight” incorrectly reconfirmed how utterly important it was for her relearn how to learn–really learn.

“Isabella,” I said lifting her chin up with my index finger so I could look into her eyes, “I’m not testing you. I’m not judging you–no one is. You are welcome to make mistakes at this school. How can you expect to learn new things if you don’t allow yourself not to know it in the first place?” Her eyes softened, she gave a little sniff and picked up her pencil. Still you would have thought that if she spelled “eight” incorrectly the house was going to blow up or something.

I turned away and felt her just go for it.

“Is this how you spell it?” She said timidly.

I turned as she held her paper out for me.

E-A-E-E-T-E

“No. That’s not how I spell it. In fact I don’t think anyone has ever spelled it quite like that.”
“Ooooohhhhh–” her worst fear had come true. She misspelled the word “eight”!

“Wait, wait, wait!” I said, “I’m not finished! Do you know that the English language is one of the most ridiculous things in the world?” Of course she had no idea what on Earth I was talking about in that moment. “Here, I’m going to show you something.” I took a piece of paper and wrote E-I-G-H-T.

“Look at this mess!” I said. She started cracking up. “THIS is how some genius decided to spell the word ‘eight’!

“Oh, brother!” She said smiling.

“I mean how would you read this word phonetically? ‘eh-i-guh-huh-tuh’?” That really got her cracking up! “Now read your word phonetically– ‘eh-ay-eet’ Did we get a vote in this? No! If we did, I would have voted for yours, but it’s just the way it is and the only way to know it is to learn it–or memorize it at this point!”

She smiled and nodded like she got it! I knew she got it.

“When you don’t know something, Bella, own it! Then you’ll be completely open to learn it.”

I stood up and walked back to the dishwasher kind of proudly–like, wow–way to go Mom! But the best part was yet to come.

I heard her pick up her pencil and let out a sigh. Then before she launched into the word ‘nine’ she blurted out “I am Isabella Tarasova and I embrace the fact that I don’t know how to spell the word ‘eight’!” And off she went!

N-I-E

T-E-N

E-L-E-V-I-N

T-W-E-V

T-H-T-E-E-N

F-O-U-R-T-E-E-N

F-I-T-H-T-E-E-N

S-I-X-T-E-E-N

S-E-E-V-N-T-E-E-N

and of course

E-A-E-E-T-E-T-E-E-N.

August 14, 2011. Uncategorized.