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.|
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?"