For me, there’s just something about them.
So old-fashioned. So completely a part of my childhood elementary-school-aged memories.
They make me think of my mom and dad, doing flashcards with me while dinner cooked in the oven, and my little brothers played nearby. They remind me of a few years later than that, when I was the reluctant flashcard turner for my brothers, helping them learn their math facts, while Mom cooked dinner with a toddler at her feet.
Flashcards haven’t much been a part of my boys’ education, as math is just taught differently most of the time now, but I’ve had them in our house for years. I picked them up on clearance somewhere long ago, and we’ve used them off and on the past couple of years.
But I was actually excited last week when Luke brought home news, in his assignment notebook, that he needed to do flashcards for multiplication practice. Weird, I know. But it makes me think of my childhood home, and how my boys will hopefully have fond memories of their childhood home.
Though I’ll understand if flashcards don’t someday make them feel warm and fuzzy.