Tuesday, September 24, 2013


I don't hate spelling.

I don't have many memories of learning how to spell. My teachers must have taught it to me in school, right? My parents must have practiced with me at home, correct? Yet, I have so few memories of the process of learning to spell. Is it hard for everyone?

I have some rules memorized, a sure sign that I was taught them some where along the way.
     1. i before e, except after c.
     2. if a verb ends in a consonant, double it before adding -ing.

There must be others rules.

I have memories of going to write a word and thinking, "how come I can never remember how to spell this word?" Is it ...congratulations or contradulations?  Oh, well, I'll just write "good for you" instead.

But here I am ... the mother of a seven-year-old who finds spelling excruciatingly difficult. And the same child uses words I don't know how to spell or define. Just the other morning he was chanting, "Stand up for your rights, Trog-lo-dytes".

I wasn't thinking about helping him learn to spell when I decided French Immersion would be a good idea. I am struggling with the vocabulary in his "primers" that are Level J and he is on Level N. My dilemma (thanks spell check for the help with that word) is multifaceted.

So, for now, I have found something easier for me to help him with. I am going to focus on writing stories. Writing them in English. Don't get me wrong. I most certainly don't think writing is easy. I just think it will be easier for me to help my son with writing than with spelling.

Hard to type without a, s, and d working consistently.
Here's my first attempt at a quick write. I didn't realize just yet how broken my son's keyboard was until I used it and the words came out very wrong. The keys a, s and d do not work. The second paragraph is just the first, retyped on a computer. I am going to type it here in case the pictures is too small for you to read:  "Last week I bought groceries for lunch.  I drove home.  I told David to carry in the groceries.  He attacked me with a cucumber.  Lucky there were two, so I could fight back.  I won the fight.  I hit him in the belly.  But my lunch was yucky.  It was mushy.  The end."

David pointed out that the story is incorrect. He had a carrot that was 18 inches long and I had a cucumber.

Also, I started the fight, not him.

I told him I didn't want to tell the truth. But I will tell the truth here on the blog. The truth is, we had a great battle, until David poked me in the butt with the carrot. I reacted more strongly than I would have liked to. Next thing I knew, he was getting up from the floor with tears in his eyes. I kept asking what was wrong. I had no clue. He couldn't talk.

Huddled into my arms, he asked why I had pushed him right onto the floor.


What could I say? "No one wants a carrot up their butt?"

                     I don't want to write.

1 comment:

  1. i don't know wherre to start... this is the best post ever. hahaha