Sandra Lafferty

Writer ~ Educator ~ Mental Health Advocate


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Lessons From Grandma’s Button Box

The Great Depression taught my parents and grandparents to save. They saved pennies, broken things with usable parts … and buttons.

A Button Box Moment

The button box held a wide array of closures from garments worn beyond repair.  If a shirt or coat could not be passed along to another wearer, the buttons were salvaged and stashed in the button box. Searching through the button box hoping to find a ‘matchie’ for replacing a lost dress button gave me the opportunity to listen to stories of need that my grandmother saw as bounty, anecdotes my mother remembered from her childhood, and the occasional fashion history lesson.

The button box was always a favorite with my own children as well. It has survived the generations, gaining and losing buttons along the way. There are history, math and sensory lessons hidden within the colorful assortment.  The tactile experience as they run through a child’s fingers and the sound of the buttons toppling down upon one another inside the box has delighted every child who shared in the treasure that now belongs to me.

Over the years I’ve gone beyond sharing the family history and incorporated Grandma’s button box into lesson plans and spontaneous learning moments. What does it feel like to squeeze a handful of buttons? Can you find the one that is made from a sea shell?  I try to keep the “planned” learning short and simple so that I don’t encroach on the exploration.  Chances are if I sit back and just share the moment I’ll be answering instead of asking questions. Little minds are always full of questions.

We sort by color, number of holes, size and shape. We match them to the clothing we’re wearing and giggle when they look silly. We search out buttons, huge and wooden, that went on coats. We find small white buttons like the ones on Grandpa’s shirt. We wonder how long rectangular buttons got through their button holes. We rub our fingers on leather covered buttons without any holes at all.  All the while we’re bumping into accidental learning.

Even ADHD kiddos seem to stay focused when using the special buttons as manipulatives for math or arranging into letter shapes for phonics.

Counting, addition and subtraction can easily be hidden in button play for those who don’t relate to flash cards and rote learning.

Autistic children don’t connect well to the interpersonal world but thrive in the button box collection. Often collectors themselves, seeing my collection gives us a touch point to join our worlds.  And isn’t that what life is all about?

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From time to time I will be writing about educational moments you can share with the children in your life. Children of all abilities. Some will involve modern technology and others will need only the magic of creativity like the lessons found in Grandma’s button box.


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Do I need a pocket protector to go with my copy of the DSM-5?

I kept my excitement under wraps when the DSM-5 went into editorial review but now that it’s publication date has been announced I’m ready to press my nose to a bookstore window and quiver.   DSM-IV_092DSC_0791

Admittedly, that’s a little outside the norm on two levels. One, that I still prefer brick and mortar bookstores, and two, that it’s an odd book choice since I’m not a psychiatrist, psychologist, social worker, or attorney working with the mentally ill. Truth is I’ve had some edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual, a guide to mental disorders published by the American Psychiatric Association, on my bookshelf for many years.

Yep. Throw a log on the fire, pour a cup of tea, and curl up with the DSM – the perfect evening.  That officially makes me some sort of nerd I suppose. However, nerd conjures up images of tortoise shell glasses, tailored shirts, high-rise trousers and plastic pocket protectors.

Oh….

I think I’m only missing the pocket protector. Kind of an embarrassing image when you consider that I’m a middle-America soccer mom.

Nonetheless, as someone who has morphed from a psychiatric research wannabe to a special ed teacher-in-training to a stay-at-home professional parent, I have an intrinsic interest in mental and educational challenges.   From the day a psychiatrist and room full of social workers told me to choose another child because the one I’d selected had deficiencies and should be institutionalized instead of adopted, I’ve been fighting to make a difference in the lives of differently-abled and at-risk children.  It’s never been wise to tell me something can’t be done.  I have this annoying habit of replying “watch me.”

So, if you see someone in the reference isle of a bookstore snatching up editions on educational methodologies or mental health topics with all the enthusiasm of an avid yard-sale shopper, please overlook the yellow highlighter stain on my shirt.  I don’t have a pocket protector.