The Rite of Writing Right

Fourth of July Weekend -- we've got a bit of a rhythm going. It's a busy rhythm, but it's a rhythm nonetheless.

R is working on his writing, and adapting to life without ADD meds. He's taking some naturopathic substances, but generally going without hardcore meds. It's been pretty okay, all things considered. He's squirrelly, but he's ALSO very present more attentive, and highly interactive. He's also just a wee bit more impulsive in the sense that he acts annoyingly, but he's actually aware of this trend and how others respond. So he's working on it. Paradoxically, he writes more prolifically when he's not on his meds. I have to consider that for some time...

R is dancing at ballet intensives three days a week. Then she works on her writing, too. I don't ask her to write; she just writes as it is. She picked her own project - a fictional story about a nine year old girl and her pet cat. This dynamic duo are secret superheroes with incredible ninja powers. The story will be all their amazing adventures together.

C has been painting tables. Some for our personal use and decoration. At least one for sale. She's been writing some, too. Specifically, ad copy for her items for sale.

All-in-all, there's a lot of writing going on in the house. This has the effect of subconsciously helping R realize that writing is a normal daily process. But it does have some unintended side-effects.

Like yesterday, July 5th. I was sitting in the living room toward the end of the afternoon. Dinner was cooking away in the oven, and all family members were nearby. C was in the home office, near the front door, writing on her laptop. M was at the kitchen nook table, writing a story on her laptop. R was lounging on the living room loveseat, just across from me, writing on HIS laptop. Me? I'm trying to read the Balloon Pilot Handbook.

An important detail to this story is to point out that I'm a pretty darned good speller. The rest of my family? Not so much. R and M are about age appropriate; C is admittedly weak at spelling, but that doesn't stop a good writer. So it doesn't stop her. Anyway, about every two minutes, M would call out, "Dad, how do you spell _____". And I'd answer by spelling the word for her. R, was doing exactly the same thing - every couple minutes, he'd ask for help spelling a word, and I'd help. Well, darned if C wasn't playing the same game. Except, in her case, the questions were more along the lines of "Hey, N, the sentence is 'don't put it there'... which spelling of 'there' do I use?"

Three writers each asking one spelling question of ME every couple minutes.... that pretty much averaged out to me spending 20 seconds out of every 40 answering their question and spelling the word.

From the office....."Hey, N? do I apostrophize ....."

"yes, in that instance you use an apostrophe.", then I glance down at my page to relocate my spot.

Then, from the loveseat ... "how do you spell 'species'?"

"S-P-E-C-I-E-S.", then I try to find my place again.

Then, from the kitchen nook .... "Dad, if declawed is a word, then is reclawed?"

"hmm... spell it R-E-dash-C-L-A-W-E-D." look for my place....

Then, from the love seat ... "how do I spell 'biosphere'?"

"B-I-O-S-P" he cuts me off..

"Right That's how I spelled it, but the spell checker doesn't like it."

"Oh, that's okay. 'biosphere' may not be in the dictionary for your word processor yet."

"Oh, Okay." he responds as I glance back at my page. My eyes don't even get focused before I hear from the office, ... "do you spell 'tempera paint' T-E-M-P-U-R-A?"

"No, not unless you're dipping it in rice flour and deep-frying it."

and around and around it went. I read the same page 20 times.

After a good 45 minutes of this, I lovingly but firmly said out-loud to all my family members:

"Okay. I'm glad to help with spelling, but I've done nothing but answer spelling questions in turn for 45 minutes. It's time for my family members to stop leaning on Dad as the spelling crutch. I can help, but this has been ridiculous."

There were sheepish looks on the two kids, and a sheepishly nervous chuckle from the office, as the three realized what they'd been doing. They must have all realized that they needed to pay Dad back, because almost simultaneously, they all said:

"hey, do you want to read what I've written so far?"

I wasn't that upset... my family was writing. All of them. Writing their own things. R had no problem staying on task because he was surrounded by writing. I think he sensed that others help each other write, and that - in its own way - writing can be a social activity.

We broke up the writing workshop and quickly shared each others work. A spirit of collaboration popped up from that. Again, the boy struggling to write saw that we could all contribute to making our respective writing better.

That was a much-needed lesson. For us all.