alternate title: get in losers, we’re creating new synapses with only 10 to 20 repetitions
alternate alternate title: stressed brains don’t learn, take 100
alternate alternate alternate title: “yes and”-ing
Prerequisite: Grades don’t measure learning, grades are one small representation, grades are fake.
My kid that has had the most difficulty and trauma surrounding school has been having the most difficulty around Lexia (which admittedly, I too have genuine beef with Lexia. It is mind-numbingly boring and it just goes on and on and on).
Lexia is a big part of his language arts grade, which has plummeted because he won’t do it.
Which is cool and fine in and of itself. I don’t care about his grades and no one else will either. He’s in fifth grade. I was 4.0-ing graduate school and nobody cares about that, so I’m not worried anyone is ever going to care about his fifth grade language arts grade. (IT’S FINE. IT’S FINE. I just graduated with highest honors but it’s FINE).
AND while it is cool and fine, it’s also a signal that something is going on, and if I know anything, and I do know some things, I know that there’s always a reason, and I know my kid very, very well, and I know it often takes literally minutes to identify and find a workaround to bypass that reason (Which, holy crap, can we stop there for a minute because that is such a huge win. This was not the case three years ago).
I am insatiably, insufferably curious. I have the privilege and unique perspective of not being a teacher responsible for entirely too much. I am only responsible for two kids.
To his teacher, so much sympathy. I am here, ready and willing to help, because what worked is not possible in a classroom setting and also it was borderline not school appropriate.
But to the system, in your face. You want to “Mom” me? “Mom this” or “Mom that?” “Mom” has been to hell and back with this kid, “Mom” is standing here holding the keys to disarm all of the ~behaviors~ you want to complain about, Mom can solve this with 10 to 20 Karyn Purvis approved repetitions and yes that is a flex because I have worked so damn hard to get here. And it is still so hard. But this is my payday.
(AND YOU CAN TOO. Two can have a sales boat!)
I called my kid to me. I called him away from Roblox. I said, I want to figure out what’s going on with you and Lexia so we can try and make it better for you. He flopped around a little, no no, whine whine. Just give me a couple minutes. Just a couple minutes so I can see what’s going on.
(And I can ask for that. This is my payday).
I handed him my Macbook. We went through the opening “warm up.”
“That looks terrible,” I said, because it looked terrible. “Do you do this on a laptop like this at school? Or do you have a real mouse?”
“Not a real mouse. Like this thing.”
“A touchpad? That seems miserable. Do you think a real mouse would help make it easier?”
“No. It wouldn’t make it easier.”
“Okay. Because I thought we could try.”
“It wouldn’t make it easier. I want to try one though.”
🙃 Okay.
We moved on to the selection of games.
Me: Which one of these do you hate?
Him: There’s all different ones.
Me: Is one worse?
Him: No.
Me: Do you just choose one?
Him: Yes.
Me: *just chooses one*
You have to move the words around to make a sentence. I am crushingly, debilitatingly hyperlexic. I think wordplay is top tier hilarious.
“THE STUCK THE MUD IS BOY IN!” It is COMEDY GOLD. I read it out loud and he SHRIEKS with laughter.
Under two minutes in, he screams, “I LOVE THIS!” He is giggling and shrieking. He can’t breathe. We move the words around and read the ridiculous sentences in ridiculous voices, which most often sound like Strong Bad. I extrapolate probably beyond his comprehension. He has collapsed into a giggling, shrieky, flailing puddle of endorphins beside me on the couch. It took less than three minutes.
“TWO CAN HAVE A SAILS BOAT,” says Lexia. NO LIES DETECTED. Two can have a sails/sales boat. I tell him I wish I could change spelling. A sales boat could make sales calls. I talk about Dunder Mifflin, which he doesn’t understand but finds hilarious. I have the most indulgent audience for my nonsense.
When he was 7 or 8, I bought Star Wars writing workbooks. We attempted them one day, and it was like pulling teeth until he asked if he could write the wrong word bank words in the sentences. Uh, of course? Because the point is that you practice handwriting, which that task unquestionably accomplishes, and that you discern the right answer, which you have to do if you’re trying to deliberately put the wrong answer. That’s absolutely, completely fine, because it accomplishes the same exact learning objective. If that’s what it takes, that’s what it takes. You can’t purposefully break the rules for the sole purpose of being funny without knowing them.
When there is very little in my life that is easy, I will celebrate this EXCESSIVELY, because it really is that easy. It’s so easy. Lord knows nothing else is, but this part is pure joy.
Stressed brains don’t learn. Switching boring sentences around so that THE MUD saves a boy from his murderous dad is hilarious. (This is, obviously, only funny because we were being very clearly unserious and my kid has no past trauma at all along these lines. We also made up an ending where the kid got sucked into quicksand and drowned. Because I read a book once years ago about memory/mind palace stuff and how it sticks better in your head if it’s borderline inappropriate, violent, sexual, etc., and I figured it was fair to translate that in kid appropriate ways into “shocking” 10 year old content, like, 👹 THE MUD ATE THE BOY 👹, for my Goosebumps-loving kid).
Again, the schools. I’m here! I’m ready and waiting to do full improv routines derived from Lexia. Help me help you. Because if it lessens my kid’s stress around school, it is a WIN. It is going to pay off exponentially.
It’s not parents vs. teachers. It’s not fun vs. learning. It’s not either/or. Because TWO can have a sales boat!