On problem-based learning in primary school

I watched a passionate TED talk about problem-based learning in primary schools.

The university I went to followed this model religiously. 2/3 of our time was spent on semester-long projects. It works. The average time to complete a comp.sci. master's degree at this university was 5.0 years, where the average in other traditional universities in Denmark was > 8 years when I last looked at the numbers.

Besides the benefits mentioned by the speaker in the above video, there can also be a strong social aspect in being divided into small, tightly-knit groups where people would help, motivate and look after each other - and learn how to forget their egos in the name of making the project work.

Consumerism and alienation

Came across this quote, which is really one of the reasons my children are in the Waldorf kindergarten and school system:
“The relatively new trouble with mass society is perhaps even more serious, but not because of the masses themselves, but because this society is essentially a consumers’ society where leisure time is used no longer for self-perfection or acquisition of more social status, but for more and more consumption and more and more entertainment…To believe that such a society will become more “cultured” as time goes on and education has done its work, is, I think, a fatal mistake. The point is that a consumers’ society cannot possibly know how to take care of a world and the things which belong exclusively to the space of worldly appearances, because its central attitude toward all objects, the attitude of consumption, spells ruin to everything it touches.”

― Hannah Arendt, Between Past and Future

I don't think consumption itself is a problem. The problem is the attitude - if there is no thoughts about production, no consideration at all, then the result is a complete alienation towards the world. It is like existing in a prison, getting everything spoon-fed.

What a dumb thing to say

Have you ever witnessed a stranger remark something and thought it to be a dumb thing to say?

I sometimes ponder that kind of sayings years later and realize that I was wrong: I was in fact the dumb one.

I couldn't see why it made sense at the time, either because I was not experienced enough, or because I was stuck in a certain mindset, or just didn't give it enough thought.

The world is beautiful

These days, realizations like these make me incredibly happy - the world suddenly grows more beautiful. 

And it can off-hand remarks, not intended to be deep, but just a reflection of a large sum of experiences.

For instance, one of the adults in the kindergarten my children attend once explained to me that you cannot really change the children in the kindergarten. They are who they are. But you can help them be the best version of themselves.

That really stuck with me. I think it sums up how to approach other people - we should always help them be the best version of themselves. Imagine a world where your partner, colleagues, managers, customers, students, shop assistants, everyone had the aim of helping you be the best version you could be in a given situation.

That's beautiful.

And the ability to see this is truly one of the gifts of growing older. I can understand things I couldn't understand before.

And when I get surprised by people who I believe should think better saying something that does not seem right, I try to spend my brain cycles on why they'd reach that conclusion rather than how wrong they are.

I'm finding that works really well when trying to come to terms with politics. Today I'm more interested in the politician than the party.

Internet culture

I love reading, I guess I am really a curious person. The internet is full of forums with people discussing all sorts of things, in great detail, donating their personal time to illuminate the rest of the world with their arguments and experiences, from a point of view that is hard to reproduce. For instance, I don't know how it's like to be an 18 year old girl. Or an investment banker.

But seeing things from their perspective is valuable. And I have participated myself too. Over the years, I must have written several thousands of posts here and there.

The interesting thing is that for me, replying makes the man-that's-dumb mistake harder. I don't like being wrong, so once I start a reply, somewhere an unconscious part of me starts wondering if I am really right, or whether there could perhaps be meaning somewhere in the words that seem so dumb.

In the end I often end up not clicking the submit button.

In some cases I have gone ahead, only to realize months later, to my great agony, that I was in fact the dumb one.

But when I then go back and look at the discussion thread again, I can see that often, it's not really a case of two people being stupid to each other, but more a resolvable failure of communication.

As I grow older and start condensing hard-earned truths myself, I'm starting to experience it from the other end - people who obviously think what I say is dumb because they do not appreciate the context. It can be really annoying if it's people I care about.

I need to work on my communication.

The reverse situation

In some sense, the reverse situation is much worse. I and everyone else think something sounds profound and correct and smart, only to realize, years later, that it is in fact pretty dumb.

When I do that myself, I'm somewhat happy that I can now see my mistake. But honestly, seeing other people do it makes me depressed.

When five becomes six

Janne woke me up saying she thought now was the time. But she wasn't sure. She had a few false starts, keeping her frem sleeping.

She did sound so as if this was different, though, so I started calling for help. She also called the midwives at the hospital who apparently didn't quite believe she was going to give birth yet.

Just before the help arrives, Lys woke up, so I had to comfort her. When I get up, Janne is weird - apparently she's less and less sure. But the rest of us think it's better if we just go, so we arrive at the hospital 15 minutes later where the midwife examines her and concludes that she's ready to give birth as soon as the water breaks. Not long after, our fourth child is born, a son.

He's a bit blue but alright.

Unfortunately, Janne's uterus doesn't contract itself properly, so she looses too much blood, almost 1.5 liter they think, so there's a little emergency until the staff manages to get it to stop, partly by medication, partly by pushing down on her stomach.

They then kept her for a day for observation before releasing her and the child. That's now just about four weeks ago.

We're going to call him Dag - "day" in English.

Accepting

Tonight, as I was dual-wielding my 1-year old daughter Lys as she was supposed to fall asleep, yes, I was holding both of her hands, at her request, I suppose it gives that extra 60% of comfort or something, I got thinking about the transformative experience it is to have small children.

I think that the experience eventually wears off, although I would assume some residuals are always left. But I can't say for sure yet. Lys will be 2 years old this February but she isn't our latest child, unless you only count born children.

For me, the transformation is mostly about accept, of my own situation and that of my children.

For instance, I can't control even basic necessities in my life - like sleep. Not if I am to take care of my children. The moment I might need sleep the most, I may not sleep well for next week if one of them is ill. That's just the way it is.

But that part is sort of trivial. Much more interesting is the uncontrollable human situation.

Hurting

An example is hurting people. Let me start with myself: as I held my daughters hands tonight, it struck me that I'm inadvertently hurting my children all the time. Why?

Well, it's just impossible not to. Physically, it's like a human in an elephant house in a zoo, the difference in size is just so big that the small party is going to take a hit sometimes. I going to trample a toe or scratch an arm when I swing them around giggling.

But also emotionally, it's just so hard to understand where small children are, and I don't always have the time or concentration or mood to even try to be there. And as is obvious with three children, sometimes someone has to let it go. We can discuss and think about priorities and what's the greater good when we find ourselves in a conflict, but in the end someone must chose a path. That's just the way it is.

Being mean

But it gets worse. There are so many ways to hurt other people, to be mean to them. I have yet to see a child who doesn't occasionally try out most of the obvious ones. And despite my children being, in my opinion, generally lovely, lively and relatively reasonable, they have too.

I try not to let them get away with it, but I don't control them. You can't control other people, and my children are definitely, albeit still in a small manner, people. Nor should I. Talk is cheap, leading by example is not. They need to understand and choose for themselves.

So, as I parent, I will watch them be mean to each other and to other children and vice versa. That's just the way it is.

Accepting

For me, the transformative part comes about because of force. Before being a parent, there are many aspects in life where I could maintain an idea of how things should be, possibly an illusion, but still. But it's no longer about me, only, and I find myself being forced into accepting things that I don't, at the outset, like.

In this accept, I've started to see some things that I haven't understood before, not only in small people.

You can't accept something without putting preconceived notions or what I think of as morality aside. Morality, even if well-founded, like the pretty obvious idea that you should never hurt others, is really one-sided in its emotional nature. Once morality enters, it calls for an immediate action, clouding cool judgement. So X hit Y. Shame on X!

Now my examples may have been somewhat dramatic, but honestly I don't think those are terribly deep. I may witness a child of mine being mean, but I'm not going to like it and will try to find a reason behind and do something about that.

What I have accepted is that this is human nature. And this accept of the human nature has opened some doors for me in much deeper territory.

I'm finding it easier to read about politics (and send an occasional email to a party), to understand and learn from the Waldorf kindergarten and school that we've ended up sending our children to, to work with people.

How much is visible from the outside, I don't know, probably I'm just tired and grumpy. But it feels different.

Lys' vuggevise/lullaby

Despite not having blogged much for the past years, or rather, not writing down many blog posts, because I do in fact have had a lot of blogs composed inside my head, I sometimes wish I had a Danish blog for stuff that only makes sense in Danish or for Danes.

This is one of them. For reference, here's someone singing an original version, with gestures (apparently the text is by Oskar Schlichtkrull and music by Finn Høfding). Obviously, when trying to get your baby daughter to sleep, you don't do any gestures.

Lys' vuggevise v. 3
Gentle, deep voice

Jeg har en flyvemaskine,
den har vinger på.
Du kan tro at de er fine,
for de er malet blå.

Og når jeg flyver om natten,
så tager jeg lygter på.
Der er ingen der kan ta' dem,
for hvem kan himlen nå?

Min mor, hun sidder og strikker,
og hun har lovet mig:
Den dag der ik' er flere masker,
flyver hun og jeg.

Min far, han ligger og læser.
Men han har sagt til mig:
En dag hvor vinden rigtig blæser,
flyver han og jeg.

Min kat den sidder og spinder,
for jeg har lovet den:
En dag hvor solen rigtig skinner,
flyver vi afsted.

Jeg flyver hen over havet,
jeg flyver over land.
Propellen har jeg selv lavet,
den kør' så hurtigt som den kan.

Og mens min motor den brummer,
så kigger jeg op og ned,
for at se om der er andre folk der flyver,
så'en en dag hvor solen bare bli'r ved...

Here's a rough translation:

I have a flying machine,
it has wings on.
You can believe they're so fine,
because they're colored orange.

And when I fly at night,
I put the lights on.
There is noone who can take them,
because who can reach the sky?

My mum is sitting and knitting,
and she has said to me:
The day she's out of stitches,
she and I will fly.

My dad is on the couch and reading.
But he has promised me:
A day where the wind is really blowing,
he and I will fly.

My cat is in the window purring,
because I've promised it.
A day the sun is really shining,
we will fly away.

I'm flying over the ocean,
I'm flying over land.
The propeller is one of my invention,
turning as fast as it can.

And while my engine is humming,
I'm looking up and down,
to see if other people are out flying,
such a day where the sun is high...

When four becomes five

We're now a family of five. Since last week.

Now, there's a history of quick births. Last time we arrived at the hospital in an ambulance.

This time Janne woke me up at around 2:40 in the night. At that point, there was plenty of time. So we called the grand parents.

By the time they got here, maybe half an hour later, Janne wasn't sure there was still plenty of time, so we hurried of, arrived at hospital safely thanks to my father, and half an hour later, it was all over, Janne had given birth to a little girl.

They wanted to keep Janne around for while because she'd lost a bit more blood than they liked, but changed their mind later the same day after having tested her hemoglobin level. By five o'clock in the afternoon, we were all together again.

So for the past week and a half, we've been taken care of a little baby, once again. Rewarding in some ways, demanding in other ways. She's got a nice loud scream for when she's not happy.

When three becomes four

It's now a little over three months ago that Janne gave birth to Nor.

Nor, Storm and me a few hours after the birth

He was born almost on time, and slightly disappointingly, he wasn't quite as done as Storm - more wrinkles and odd baby skin.

The birth itself went fast. Despite being warned last time by the midwives, Janne didn't think the birth was actually starting until quite late, so in the end an ambulance came to pick up us and went through the morning traffic with blinking lights and sirens on. A young female apprentice ambulance driver sailed us through the red traffic lights as if nothing was on.

After delivering us at the hospital, everything went pretty smooth and calm, though. Janne is good a giving birth, and in many ways the perfect mother too. I don't think most people think of that when they pick their partner. But I guess some of us are lucky.

I managed to ask the assistant midwife for some help so didn't faint this time either. I swear they turn up the heating every time we're there - this time a technician even came to try to fix it afterwards.

Nor is turning out well and is day-by-day developing the muscles and skills that make us those human beings we are. Keeping the head up and smiling.

When two becomes three

The evening before, when Janne and I were going to bed, at around 11, she complained about a pain in the stomach and got up to take a bath. I was mildly suspicious, but the last couple of weeks she'd had some painful practice contractions and trouble with the back. I was exhausted, having slept poorly the previous week, told myself that if true labor contractions had started, she would tell me, and continued to try to sleep poorly.

At around 6:00 in the morning, I finally wake up to a meak yell from the bath room - Ole, I think we need to hurry up. As I later discover, the light of my life has been in labour all night long, not thinking it was a big deal until she can feel the water break and the baby's head coming down. She gets out of the bath room, calls the hospital, they agree to see her at 7:00. As we later learns, she should have made clearer how far she was and they would have sent an ambulance.

Instead, on her request, I then call my parents who live nearby and get an awake and triumphant mother in the other end at the first ring; she had a bet with my sister on the birth being this very day. My father will come to pick up us. At this point, noone but Janne has any idea how far she is. Yet, my father hurries through the dark empty Sunday morning streets of Aalborg and we reach the hospital safely.

There we're greeted by first an assistant and then a midwife whose shift is ending. She decides to have a look at J. anyway and finds out the cervix is fully open, declares her the most tough and calm woman in labor she's seen so far and immediately walks her to the nearest delivery room.

Lots of pressing, sweating, leg-pulling (the midwife recommends a birth on the side so one leg has to be pulled up during contractions by J. and finally me) and about an hour later at 8:45, our son is fully born. Near the end, when the head is just out, there's a funny episode where the three non-labouring women in the room, the mid-wife, assistant and midwife student are rejoicing over the fine baby head and trying to persuade it into not breathing, which isn't possible as the torso is still not out and compressed by J.

But it is over. Janne gets the child, I cut the umbilical cord, we get to see the placenta and Janne gets some stitches while the midwife try to distract her by talking about breastfeeding.

The midwife assistant was kind enough to give us a good pull at the foot so we got all the mucus screamed out of the throat

One happy new mother a couple of hours after the birth (and some breakfast) - if the little guy looks somewhat baked, that's because somebody forgot to tell the new father who was ordered to dress him that he was supposed to turn off the heating lamp in the box after giving the boy outdoor clothes on, oops - this was after the father nearly managed to burn his own hair by sticking it into the heating lamp

Apple, Google, beware - they had a magic tablet, when we got in they wrote our names on it, and by magic, when the birth was over there were happy flags and everything on it, I swear I never saw anyone get near it (the text is "first child, fine boy :), pregnant for 41+0 [weeks/days], congratulations with him")

Afterwards, we were kindly allowed to stay for four days at a patient hotel as a special service for new parents. Four days of getting to know the little guy, the three of us alone, apart from occasional visitors, getting help from midwifes to get breastfeeding going (whoever said the nipple is the only intuitive interface obviously wasn't a mother), and lots of good food. It was fantastic!

One happy, and somewhat tired, new father

The little guy in a transportable cradle we used to get him to the hotel restaurant - the book of hypnosis is used to pacify him temporarily

It's 12 days ago today. We've already learned a lot, all three of us. He's now looking around, taking in the world, folding his little fingers, trying to use his limbs, practicing looking angry, smiling, grinning.

One thing that really surprised me, in addition to the enormous wave of happiness which so far has steered us through sleep deprivation, occasional moments of angry, nerve-wrecking screaming; what really surprised me is how funny such a little guy can be. For instance, at one critical moment in the middle of the night we both hold our breath at a pause in the crying, looking at him, his eye brows pulled together, mouth turned downwards, will he accept our attempt at comforting him? And then he farts loudly, gives us a quick happy grin and falls asleep.

Closeup of the little guy 6 days later, the red marks above the eyes are now fading, they probably come from J. who gave him a good squeeze when the head was half-way out (the midwife ordered a pause)

One of these days we're going to give him his first bath. And I can't wait to see what he will do.