Happy New Year and some writing stuff

Starting anything new makes my stomach twist like wringing out a wet rag.  It’s an uncomfortable sensation, but also oddly satisfying.  I feel this way with any new endeavor, and the stronger the wringing sensation, the more I know I’m getting into something good.
I committed to posting on my blog at least once a week for the entirety of 2016, but I felt like I needed a boot camp of sorts, so I joined Think Kit—a group of bloggers that wanted to flex their blogging muscles. Each day this January, Think Kit will provide a writing prompt for the group to use to get the creative juices flowing.  I will post each day here using the prompt (or one of the “lifeline” alternative prompts.) This is exciting and a little scary—so I must be doing something right!  Geronimo!
Today’s prompt is:

First Line

Pretend you're writing your autobiography. Give us your first line, a first chapter, or even just an image. What's the story of you?
Socks.  I think about them quite a bit, because I absolutely must change my socks three or four times a day. I carry clean socks in my gym bag (naturally) but also in my purse, in the console of my car, and even in my coat pockets. I don’t consider myself an obsessive-compulsive personality. In fact, I’m pretty fast and loose with housecleaning and hairstyles and noise and just about everything else, but in order to feel right with the world, I must be wearing clean, dry, comfortable socks.

This post is part of Think Kit by SmallBox.

Defensive?

*The subject matter in this post may be touchy for some. And my handling of it is probably clunky, because I’m still sorting my thoughts and how best to articulate them, while attempting to preserve the dignity of the people discussed. Please note it was written in a spirit of self-reflection following a Facebook conversation with my friend Chad.  He graciously agreed to allow me to use his name and post our original exchange, which you will find in it’s entirety at the end of the post.

About a week ago, my friend Chad posted the following picture on Facebook:

I don’t typically get into it with people over politics or their stances on social issues, but I in this case, I felt I had something to contribute, so I commented on my friend’s post:

 

What followed was an exchange that left me a bit exasperated with my friend, and in looking at it with the distance of a week or so, it appears to me that Chad and I really, fundamentally believe many of the same things (in this case, that ALL lives do indeed matter.) Where our communication breaks down is that I feel the All Lives Matter slogan is a defensive and reactionary response to an actual and necessary social movement (#BlackLivesMatter) and is dismissive of the fact that many Black people feel their lives DON’T matter as much as others’.

When I first saw #BlackLivesMatter, I understood it was a response to the apparent uptick in wrongful deaths of Black people by White police and others, but because I live in a fairly white-bread, insular community, at first, it was barely on my radar.  However, it kept popping up in all my social media, so I started paying close attention to it and the concerns and fears and the stories of the people who were hashtagging it.  I started reading articles, reaching outside of my own social and media circle, following Black bloggers, and transracial and adoptive families with the intent to understand—to listen—to their experiences.

As I listen, I’m learning.  #BlackLivesMatter is not just a group of people “pulling the race card” as I’ve heard it called. They are people who are calling out actual problems and real injustices happening to people because of the color of their skin.

Throughout my discussion with Chad, I had been trying to point out that it is important to LISTEN to and try to understand WHY #BlackLivesMatter does not mean that other lives don’t—and I felt he was missing my point.  To me, he seemed defensive and shut down, not even open to listening to people’s experience with racism and the need for a social movement to change the systemic and structural racism in our society.  I asked him why he felt so defensive and if he had read the links to articles I had posted for his perusal. Rather than answer my questions, he returned it to me—“Why are you so defensive?”

At that point, frustration set in heavily for me. My goal in the discussion with Chad was to open him up to the idea to GIVE EAR AND THOUGHT TO OTHER PEOPLE WHO DON’T SHARE HIS EXPERIENCE so he could see why THEY feel a need for #BlackLivesMatter.  Unfortunately,I don’t think I succeeded, because Chad didn’t answer my questions. I have no idea if he read the links I included in our exchange, because he didn’t indicate he did, though he did tell me that he understands that minorities have struggles as well as strengths.

I feel it is crucial to LISTEN to people who feel dehumanized and devalued, whether or not I agree that they are such. My feelings are not theirs. My experiences are not theirs, so I don’t get to decide how THEY feel. And once I’ve listened, I must try to understand. And then I must work for change, so that they feel secure that their lives matter as much as anyone else’s. THEN will #AllLivesMatter. So, when Chad turned my question “Why are you so defensive?” back on me, I felt I should walk that talk, and honestly consider the question in the spirit of believing that Chad really wanted to know my thoughts and feelings, rather than using it as a volley to evade my questions and suggestions for reading.

So, was I defensive? Yes. I get defensive when I don’t feel heard, when my questions don’t get answered, when I have spent hours poring over an issue, approaching it from as many angles as I can possibly find in an effort to understand and find the Truth (with a capital T), and am dismissed when trying to share what I’ve learned.

It is not a bad thing to question a system, even if it appears to be working for you.  It is not a bad thing to take the time to listen to the experiences of others, and to conscientiously consider their beliefs, even if they are markedly different than your own

It frightens me when someone makes negative blanket statements about a group of people—any group of people—based on race, gender, politics, or religion.  Doing so diminishes the humanity of that group, and as Ann Voskamp puts it, “It’s when we dehumanize anyone, that we can legitimize anything.” That is a terrifying truth that history has played out time and time again. .

As for #BlackLivesMatter, I feel it is (unfortunately) a necessary social movement. If we truly believe that all lives matter, we will not blow off Black people as playing the race card when they call out injustices. We will listen and work until they feel heard, understood, and safe. If we truly believe that All Lives matter, we will do the work to ensure it, even if it is uncomfortable, messy, and awkward.

I came away from my discussion with Chad feeling that even though we were both talking English and both have a heart for making the world a better place, we were speaking different languages and I am still frustrated that I haven’t figured out how to bridge the gap. 

In the meantime, here’s our exchange, as food for thought—both on #BlackLivesMatter and an example of how (or how not?) to discuss tinderbox subjects with friends on social media:

And So We Begin….Again!

I had originally planned to homeschool year round—it seemed more organic that way, or something.  Maybe I thought I would need to teach year round so my kids wouldn’t get “behind.”  But alas, I have taken to a pretty traditional school year schedule. 
Frankly, it’s hard to “do school” when all the neighbor kids are out for the summer and knocking on your door/peering in your window/laughing and squealing as they run through the sprinklers and play on the trampoline and eat popsicles.  My kids just cannot focus through that!  So---we bagged school for the summer.
What I love about starting up in the fall, is that because “everyone else” is also going back to school, there’s a thrum of energy in the air---a sense of new beginnings---and new school supplies!  I like to capitalize on that energy---we hit the school supply sales, replace back packs (yes, homeschoolers need them, too,) pick up dozens of packages of paper, crayons, colored pencils, etc.  We stock the school room (I have a school room this year!  Woohoo!) and I spend a couple of weeks in panic mode planning lessons and going through our curricula.
This year, I have four kids “in” school.  Last year, I was still trying to figure out how to do THREE, so I knew I’d have to be really on the ball this year.  We’ve just completed our first week and a half and I have to admit, it’s going pretty well.
The hardest part so far has been figuring out our dynamics. Gloria (7) and Blythe (5) are NOT keen on doing anything academic—they’d rather play with toys and bicker with each other.  I was totally stressed about how to get them to do anything remotely academic---but we discovered over the summer that reading together is FUN (it helps to have the prizes and treats from the library’s summer reading program to dangle in front of them!) so I thought when school-time came, I’d start there—with reading to the “middles.” 
So far, so good.  Even the baby gets in on the action.  After we’ve read, I take Blythe upstairs to work on handwriting, math, and grammar.  This takes about forty-five minutes—then he’s free to play with the math manipulatives or look at books. 
On to Gloria’s turn---  We do math, spelling, and grammar (which includes a lot of handwriting practice.)
While all this is going on, the baby is wandering around or I have one of the big kids tag-team keeping an eye on her while also working on their own projects---namely practicing the piano, or working on their assignments in math, Spanish, and writing. 
When Gloria is through, she’s free to go play and I bring the big kids up for grammar and spelling and to check their math and reading. 
We usually break for lunch between 12:30 and 1:00.  After lunch, we finish up anything that didn’t get done before lunch (including chores) and then head out for our extra-curricular activities (dance, karate, etc.)
This has worked out so far, but this week, we start back with our homeschool co-op. We meet with six other families twice a week for a “one room school house” approach to history (ancient history through the fall of Rome, this year,) geography, science, and math games.  And once a week at co-op, we’ll have an art class (I’m teaching that one.)
I’m excited about co-op.  Ours is really focused on academic subjects, and the moms take turns teaching the classes. (I’m helping with science this year.)  It’s nice to be able to “share the burden” of teaching with other moms—it adds some variety to the kids’ school experience, and co-op offers them a chance to spend time with their friends. 
But, since co-op will take up two days out of our week, I need to figure out how to fit the other stuff we need to get done (namely, piano, Spanish, and their regular math assignments, and for my little kids—handwriting and reading.)  That’s where the “how do I figure the dynamics?” comes into play.  Co-op will go from 11 AM to maybe 1:30, 2:00-ish—not including the once a week art class.  By the time we get home—it will be about 3:00—just enough time to grab a snack, change clothes, and head out to whatever activity is going on (dance, karate, choir, etc.)
I’m thinking we’ll have to get up earlier in the morning—and by “we,” I mean “me,” because my kids are all up by 7 AM in order to watch PBS until Mom gets up between 8:30 and 9.  I expect my kids to be dressed, combed, fed, and have their chores done by 9:30 AM, so we can start school.  I like this arrangement, because then I can be leisurely about getting up and getting ready.  Or, when I’m feeling ambitious, I can get a half-decent jog in before my shower. 
Getting up earlier does not thrill me—but neither does allowing the kids to stay up later to get their work done.  I love my kids and I love homeschooling, but by 9:30 PM my brain shuts down and the only noise it can tolerate is whatever TV show my husband and I have decided to watch.
I’m also trying to figure out how to deal with the inordinate amount of time we’ll spend on the road in the afternoons and evenings.  We live on the outskirts of a tiny town in the boonies now, and while I LOVE my house and my neighborhood, we are at least 30 minutes away from civilization.  I realize that some readers may be playing the world’s tiniest violins at that statement, but when you consider I moved from town, where everything was literally within ten minutes—that extra 20 on either end of a drive adds up.  I need to find a way to occupy that time—besides mindlessly listening to the radio and making threats to the kids about “If you don’t stop fighting back there…!”
Also—food.  Mealtimes and snacks---hmmm.  On co-op days, we’ll need to bring lunch—the idea of packing a lunch for six people twice a week makes me shudder.  It’s not so much the packing of the lunches, but trying to decide what to put IN the lunches.  My kids have this crazy notion that they CAN’T eat PBJs every. single. day.  Life would be so much easier if they did.  Of course, I would hate to eat PBJs every day, too—but I’m not very original or creative, so I will have to do some research to find easily packable, varied items for lunches.  I'm sure this is probably the great dilemma for anyone in school.
Another dilemma is what to do for dinner each night.  Except for Monday nights and weekends, we are on the go from about 4:00 to 8:00.  I don’t love this—but I think it’s just the stage we’re in.  I need to figure out how to feed everyone---either on the road, or at home (but if we eat at home, which is preferable, it needs to food that is already cooked and ready to go---so the house can be tidied and kids in bed before my brain turns to mush at 9:30.)  I suppose I’ll have to look into crockpot stuff and freezer meals. And I’ll have to do it quick, because those run-around evenings are HERE!
Okay—so this was more rambly than I thought—but whatever—I think better when I write stuff down.  I’ll update as we go along.  My goal is to function with more structure and purpose this school year—and I think so far, so good.  (But does anyone want to be my personal chef?)

Burnout: Part Deux

I was hoping to be able to post all the awesome stuff I gathered from the Mother’s Meeting that I had anticipated in my last post.  Unfortunately, there wasn’t much in the way of awesome advice about what to do about feeling burnt out.  Most of the moms who attended this time are mothers to older kids and teenagers---the big topic of the night ended up being about how to motivate their older kids to take their education into their own hands—so there’d be less nagging on mom’s part.
I suppose I should have paid better attention, so when my kids are pre-teens and teens, I’ll have some ideas, but I was just sort of disappointed that we weren’t going to talk about dealing with the homeschool blahs. 
At the end of the meeting, however, I threw my concerns out and asked for advice.  One mom of ten told me that my feelings of burn out and disinterest will pass—probably well after my baby is born, and that if my other kids didn’t get any formal academics for six months to a year, they’d still turn out okay.  It sounds kind of flippant to write it here, but I was actually comforted by that statement.  This mom of ten is a woman I consider my homeschooling and parenting mentor.  She’s given me a lot of practical advice since before I started homeschooling, so I trust her.  She’s also got a very wry sense of humor and isn’t one of those Pollyanna types that tries to gloss over the hard stuff.  She’s upbeat, don’t get me wrong, but she’s very REAL about her triumphs and failures.
So, I’ve been giving it some thought.  Six months with no school?  A year?  For real? We haven’t done any formal academics for about six weeks.  I have a baby coming sometime (God willing) in the next week, and I can’t imagine I’m going to feel up to hitting the books really hard for at least a few weeks after that.  I don’t want to whine or anything, but I’m feeling pretty miserable physically.  Standing hurts, walking hurts, bending over is nigh unto impossible—I’m exhausted after taking a shower and getting dressed.  So, I’ve been doing a lot of just sitting around.  I’m too tired to read, I just fall asleep—so yes—I have resorted to letting the kids entertain themselves with the TV and with the Wii.
But, I have discovered that the kids can only tolerate so much of that before they are restless and discontent.  They are brunt out on burnout.
  For the last few days, They’ve been asking me what we’re going to do today.  Something?  Anything? So I’ve given them chores.  I’ve let them cook (yikes!)  I’ve let them get out whatever messy craft project they want.  And, as I’ve watched them discover the satisfaction and order of a cleaned room, the joys of a successful cooking experience, or the lesson in perseverance when the project doesn’t turn out they they were hoping initially, I’ve begun to feel a glimmer of motivation and interest.
A spark of Phoenix fire.  But that’s the next post.

Burnout!

Oh yes, it has arrived. I admit, here and now, I have entered the Apathy Stage.  Revel in it with me for a moment.  The entire household has been down for the last couple of weeks with intermittent occurrences of head-colds, stomach bugs, and in my case, epic pregnancy-induced heartburn.  For the last little bit we’ve been foraging instead of having regular meals, living off saltine crackers and suspicious looking leftovers.  Dishes and laundry are piling up. Half my kids have been running around in pajamas, the other half, undies and T shirts that haven’t been changed in a few days.  I think I’m the only one who has bothered to shower in nearly a week.  I may not feel good, but I insist on smelling good.  As for the others, I’ve ordered them to stay downwind. 
We (but especially me) are officially suffering from burnout.  With everything.  School, chores, church, interpersonal communication, hygiene…(I warned you I was keeping things real here.) Even TV has lost it’s mind-numbing charm.  Consequently, the house is in chaos and the bickering between the kids has increased.  I’ve been tempted to put hazard tape up across the front door. It is NOT pretty here.
However, before I’ve completely depressed you, I will say that I know this is temporary.  I know as soon as I start feeling better, things will improve, by virtue of the fact that I’ll care about the state of the kitchen and general housekeeping again.  I’ll go back to insisting on daily bathing rituals.  I’ll get excited about using the copy machine to run off math lessons.  Right now, the kids are on the upswing, meaning they have tons more energy than I do—but they’re all young enough to still need a lot of hand holding to help with chores and still need considerable one-on-one time for schoolwork.  They are bored and I can only boss them around from my prone position on the couch for so long before they revolt and run screaming into the backyard half naked.
Sometimes, when you feel crummy and don’t want to face the day, I think it really is best to surrender to that and hide under the covers as long as the kids will allow.  I’ve heard crashes and clunks and screechings as I’ve been buried in blankets, and when no one comes in bleeding or on fire, I manage to quell the concern over what’s happening by reminding myself that everything in the house is cleanable or replaceable.  Wow, I’ve really sunk low.

Burnout is a part of life—and it often seems to hit me and my family when we’ve been under the weather or had some major change in the family or our environment.  I used to stress about those “blah-I’d-rather-be-doing-anything-but-this” times, thinking I was shortchanging my kids’ education.  I mean, what if they get “behind?”  What if I get SO burned out I can never get out of feeling this way?  But now, I know that this kind of thing is cyclical.  Sometimes, you can force yourself out of it by changing your routine, or taking a couple of days off.  Other times, you just have to ride out the ugliness. When things are good, they’re great.  When they aren’t, they aren’t—and it only makes things worse when you stress out.
I’ve found that having friends to talk to helps a lot.  I meet up once every month or so with a group of other homeschooling moms—we call our meetings “Mother’s Meeting.”  No kids are allowed (except nursing babies) and we meet at someone’s house for a couple of hours to talk about whatever’s going on in our lives.  Our meetings generally have themes or topics and each mom is asked to come prepared to talk about whatever the topic is.  Questions and concerns are encouraged and “what works for you” ideas are even more so.  I find these meetings inspiring—it’s nice to see I’m not the only one dealing with balancing housework with homework, and it’s fun to rejoice in each other’s triumphs.  It’s comforting to share each other’s burdens and concerns.  We laugh, we cry, we encourage each other. Oh, and we generally have treats.  Always an upper, in my opinion.

This month’s meeting is in a week or so, and fittingly, our topic is “Burnout—when does it hit and what do you do?”  I’m looking forward to this meeting because I SO need it.  I’ll post what I learn/gain here on this blog afterward.
Now, back to the couch and the ginger ale.

Some Questions Answered

Recently, one of my favorite cousins emailed me with some questions about how I handle this school thing and requested I post about it.  They were good questions, so here goes:
Q: What did you do personally to prepare for homeschooling?
A: I did (and still do) A LOT of praying.  Seriously.  I mean, we’re talking about the lives and intellectual growth of my kids here!  I need all the divine guidance I can get!  Beyond that, I attended conferences and “mother’s meetings” sponsored by the Deseret Homeschool Association (a local LDS homeschool support group.) and took copious notes. I found and hounded other homeschool parents about their methods and curriculum. I wrote out my goals to use as a reference. I did not attend any official “teacher training” courses.  I surveyed curricula. I read books on educational theory and I researched the teaching methods and models other people used. These are some of the books and websites I used: (I’m including links so you can see them, too.)
The Original Homeschooling Series by Charlotte Mason
A Charlotte Mason Companion by Karen Andreola
www.tjed.org
A Thomas Jefferson Education by Oliver Van Demille
The Well Trained Mind by Susan Wise Bauer and Jessie Wise
CHOIS (Christian Homeschoolers of Idaho State)
Idaho State Department of Education (I found the state standards and each grade’s scope and sequence outlined here)
The Core Knowledge Foundation
I also checked out various homeschooling books and periodicals in my local library (most of which are out of print now, but still chock full of practical advice on every aspect of homeschooling you can imagine.)
After doing a lot of reading and asking a lot of questions, I started forming my own ideas about what an education should be and how to implement it.  Initially, I was very drawn to the philosophies and methods presented in the book A Thomas Jefferson Education. That book pretty much guided me through my first year as a homeschool teacher.  I returned to that book and the TJEd website and forums frequently for reassurance and guidance.
As I got more comfortable with my role as home educator, I turned to the book The Well Trained Mind, which offered a different philosophy and more rigorous practices than the Thomas Jefferson book.  It also offers curricula reviews and suggestions.  I’ve taken most of our curriculum from what was suggested in TWTM—namely our math, spelling, language arts, and history curricula.
Q: What has been the hardest part about teaching?
A: I’m tempted here to say, “Every part!” but the truth is, certain aspects of teaching have been harder at times than others. The hardest part initially was dealing with the crushing weight of responsibility for my kids’ entire education.  I was terrified of screwing up, so I modeled my teaching and “classroom management” after what I remembered from my own experiences in public school.  And it was a FLOP.  You cannot duplicate public school at home. It’s impossible.  But, impossible as it was, I couldn’t let go of my public school mindset and I was frustrated when things didn’t go according to plan (which was pretty much all the time.)  My kids were miserable, I was miserable.  It was only after the experiencing the WORST homeschool day ever, that I realized my expectations and my methods were WRONG. (I’ll post about it soon, I promise—it’s a great story, now that I can laugh about it.)
After that day, the hardest part about teaching became being consistent about having school at all.  (Okay, seriously, my next post will be about the WORST day ever, because it illustrates how drastically things changed.)
Right now, the hardest part about teaching is still being consistent and insisting all the work (mine and the kids’) be done in a timely and excellent manner.  I am not an organized or structured person by nature, so following lesson plans and staying on task are my biggest challenges.  I’m easily distracted, and there are a LOT of distractions in a homeschool.  There are screaming toddlers, laundry, phone calls, people coming to the door, chores, bickering kids, Facebook (yes, I am slightly addicted), and a slew of other things.  I have to work hard to keep to a schedule and eliminate (or ignore) the distractions.  Some days go better than others, but I’m proud to say the good days now consistently outnumber the bad.
Q: What have you learned along the way about your skills as a teacher?
A: I’ve learned:

• I am really good at getting people excited about things.
• I have a tendency to want to fizzle out after the initial enthusiasm wears off.
• I’m the “wrong” kind of perfectionist and have had to learn to be the “right” kind. (We can debate whether perfectionism is okay in the first place, later.)
• I vacillate from being rigid to flighty.
• There’s a HUGE difference in knowing how to do something and knowing how to teach it. (Stay tuned for an upcoming post about math.)
• Fear can be crippling if I let it be. 
• To ask for help. (Again, look for the upcoming math post.)
• Before I can teach anything, I have to have the students’ attention and respect.
• Sounding upbeat and positive sets the tone for the day (so fake it ‘til you make it, baby!) 
• I’m drawn to the rigors of drills and memorization but don’t always like to implement them. (The kids feel the same way.) 
• My students are more interested in learning when I treat them like individuals rather than a herd.
• How to correct the kids without getting upset ( overcoming the perfectionism thing, and a “these kids and their actions are a reflection of ME!” thing) 
• The value and timing of using incentives and the importance of being clear, concise, and consistent.
• I am surprisingly tenacious and resourceful.
• Practice makes permanent.
• I have a lot to learn! (Some days this is exciting, other’s it’s daunting!)

I hope this answers your questions, Cuz.  Thanks for suggesting I tackle these in a post. If you or any of my readers have more questions you’d like to see addressed, let me know and I’ll get going on them!

Socialization

To be honest, I’m not exactly sure how to start this post.  Before I started homeschooling, I was extremely worried about my kids appearing strange or backward to other people.  I worried that the kids would lose friends and not make new ones.  I worried they wouldn’t be able to relate to other kids.  I worried what other adults would think of my kids.  I was terrified the kids would be labeled “weird.”
These worries and fears actually prevented me from starting homeschooling AFTER my husband and I had come to the conclusion that homeschooling would be the BEST thing for our family.  I’m not sure I could articulate what “being socialized” meant, but by golly, I couldn’t bear to have my kids be labeled “unsocialized.”
I had to examine what I thought “being socialized” meant.  To me, a well socialized person is:

• able to recognize and react appropriately to social cues like body language and tone of voice
  
• comfortable initiating conversations
  
• self aware
  
• able to put others at ease
  
• polite and respectful by default
  
• diplomatic
  
• able to listen attentively to others
  
• friendly
  
• genuinely interested in other people
  
• able to handle criticism and praise graciously
  
• confident
  
• emotionally stable
  
• kind
  
• optimistic
  
• familiar with current events, pop culture (to some degree, anyway), and social trends

A well socialized person also:

• knows how to politely extricate him/herself from unpleasant or inappropriate conversations and situations
• can work well as part of a team
• dresses appropriately for any given situation and is clean in body, mind, and speech

All of these things can (should!) be learned at home. Of course, to fine tune these skills, one needs some social interaction beyond the immediate family.  Homeschool families have to work a little harder to find social outlets for the kids (and the parents!—but that’s a whole other post!)
At first, we all felt rather isolated.  The kids still played with their public school friends, but after school hours only. We didn’t know too many homeschoolers when we started, but we joined a local LDS homeschool network, The Deseret Home School Association. Throughout our first year, we went to just about every party and field trip they put on, wherever an event was held —even if it meant driving out to Caldwell (some 45 minutes away!) 
The kids are involved in tae kwon do lessons, violin and piano lessons, choir, Boy Scouts, Activity Days, and church.  These also provide “socialization” opportunities.  Also, the kids go to the home of an elderly neighbor once a week to play board games with her and some other homeschooled kids.  Also, I have an elderly friend that has “adopted” the kids and we get together frequently. The kids do just fine, and I’m not afraid to ask anyone for their take on how my kids are handling things.
But what about when they’re older? What about school dances, clubs, sports?  I used to fret that my girls would miss out on going to things like prom or that my boys wouldn’t get to play football or basketball, or that the kids wouldn’t have the opportunity to be in the junior Kiwanis club or drama club or whatever because they aren’t in public school.  I got over it.  For one thing—I may or may not be homeschooling the kids when they get to high school.  I would LOVE to, but at this point, I think I’ll give them the option of continuing with homeschool or letting them go the traditional public route for high school.  For another, if my kids decide to continue to be homeschooled, there are SO MANY community and homeschool-network sponsored clubs and sports teams to choose from year round. Also, the homeschool community in Boise is thriving and many homeschool organizations in the area sponsor parties and formal dances for high school aged kids.  These events are organized, advertised, and funded by the students who attend, which not only gives the kids a great social outlet, they learn what all goes into planning and executing a large social event!
So, with all that, I think we’re set.  Of course, I do still worry about socialization, especially when I catch the kids picking their noses or chattering on incessantly to someone at the doctor’s office—but kids will be kids.  As a homeschooling mom, I sometimes feel pressure to be hyper-vigilant about how the kids present themselves to others, but I’ve also learned that kids are kids, and they’re LEARNING.  They’ll go through annoying phases and occasionally exhibit undesirable behaviors and attitudes.  There will be embarrassing moments, social gaffes, and misunderstandings.  That’s just part of the process.  I figure as long as I’m making an effort to teach them proper social behavior and giving them opportunities to practice it, they’ll be fine.

A Typical Day

I could argue that there’s no such thing—especially when we first started out with the whole homeschooling thing.  Each day was quite literally something to fly through by the seat of our pants. But—after almost two years, I can actually look back and see that we’ve developed a pretty steady routine.  Here’s a general outline of any given school day:
5:45 AM—my hubby gets up and goes to the gym.  I roll over in bed and keep sleeping.
6:30ish—my four year old and eight year old boys wake up and come jump on my head.  I order them downstairs to feed themselves and stare at the TV until their dad gets back from working out. Breakfast options are: cold cereal, instant oatmeal, toast, or yogurt and fruit—all of which the eight year old is capable of fixing for himself and his little bro.  TV choices consist of PBS or mom-approved videos.
8:00—hubby is home and showered. He wakes up anyone still sleeping (generally me and my 6 and 10 year old girls) and we all pile on the bed for “devotional.” Devotional consists of reading one verse of scripture, a brief explanation of what it means or how it applies to us in daily life, and then we have a family prayer—most days I manage to stay awake through all this.
8:15—hugs and kisses as we send Daddy off to work.  Children are reminded that the TV goes off at 8:30. Girls are told to feed themselves, and all children are reminded to get dressed and ready for the day, and to do their chores.  I shower and dress (unless I find we’re out of clean clothes—in which case, I have to do a couple loads of laundry before we can get ready!), eat breakfast, and start gathering materials for the school day.  I also check e-mail and peek in on Facebook, help the little ones with getting dressed, and do the girls’ hair.
9:00—if everyone is on their A-game, we start school.  If not, we start closer to 9:30. Ellen (10) and Calvin (8 ) practice the piano and violin (they both play both instruments, so one starts on the piano, the other one takes the violin, then they switch.)  I read stories to Gloria (6 ) and Blythe (4).  I also give Gloria her reading/grammar and handwriting lessons.  Blythe sometimes plays quietly during the lesson, sometimes he bops around.
Somewhere between 9:45 and 10:00—Calvin and Gloria work on math while  Ellen works on writing and grammar.  Math lessons for the big kids last about 20 minutes, so when Calvin is done, it’s Ellen’s turn for math and Calvin’s turn for writing and grammar.  Gloria’s math lesson takes 5 to 10 minutes. Blythe continues to bop around. 
10:30—history and geography for all—Blythe is still bopping—unless there’s a messy art/craft project included in our lesson—then he gets messy with us.
11:30—we take a break—the kids play outside with the neighbors (also homeschooled), or work on chores that didn’t get done earlier, or I read aloud to the kids—it’s basically free time (unless there are chores) and the kids can do whatever they want.  If the little kids feel inclined to play, rather than sit still for stories, I catch up on e-mail, make phone calls, prepare the next day’s lessons, tidy up from the morning, or whatever.
12:00 lunch time.  Usually, I have one of the kids help me make lunch.
12:30—recess.  It’s kind of dumb to call it that, considering right before lunch we’re already sort of goofing off, but after lunch I insist the kids go run around outside (no matter the weather.)
12:45—”science”—we are not currently following an “official” science curriculum, but the kids love to do “experiments” in the kitchen (under close supervision!) or read about animals and plants.  This is also the time they look after their pets—feed and water them, clean cages, play with the animals, etc. Once a week we go to the library and run errands.
2:00—The big kids get their writing assignments—usually journal writing and/or book reports with specific requirements and due dates.  The little kids get more story/play time.
2:30 to 4:00 PM—NAPTIME (for the two little kids).  Depending what day of the week it is, the big kids have music lessons (both the piano and violin teachers live in the neighborhood, so that makes transportation fast and easy), play board games with an elderly neighbor, or have quiet time at home in their rooms.  Ellen also has another 20 minute math session.  This is my time to write, nap, clean the house, read, study, or work on personal projects.  (Lately, napping has been my activity of choice!)
4:00—back to real life AND snack time!
4:30—usually by this time, we’re on the road--headed for tae kwon do classes, Boy Scouts, Activity Days, or choir practice.
6:30—back home, making dinner, and working on evening chores.
7:00—dinner and Spanish lesson.  My hubby is a native Spanish speaker, so this is his gig.  Oh, and the Spanish lesson is very informal---we talk through dinner, talk about our day, learn or review vocabulary, etc. This is also a good time for my kids to review/clarify their math stuff with their Daddy.
8:00—get ready for bed, family prayer, personal prayers for the kids, cuddle and story time—hubby takes the two younger kids and reads to them or plays with them while the big kids and I sprawl on my bed and read a chapter out of a novel together or just chat.
8:30—little kids put to bed.  Big kids get time with Daddy.
9:00—all kids in bed—they can read or play quietly until LIGHTS OUT at 9:30.  Meanwhile, the hubby and I are catching up with each other.
Somewhere between 10:30 and 11 PM—we grown ups hit the sack.
Of course, this schedule is not set in stone—sometimes lessons go faster or slower than anticipated, sometimes we take field trips, or take days off.  Some days I declare it Pajama Day and we don’t bother getting dressed.  Those days tend to be very relaxed and we focus on art projects and other creative pursuits, rather than academics.  We had a lot of pajama days during our first year, but we finally got to the point where we all craved more structure and more intellectual stimulation.  I knew we were ready to kick it up a few notches when the kids started asking for math worksheets.  (YESSSSSS!)
On the first Monday of each month, I have what I call “Teacher Inservice Day.”  I have a meeting with the kids to review what we’ve done for the past month, introduce what we’ll be working on in the new month, and dole out the rewards for meeting/exceeding expectations.  Inservice Day is also the time I introduce new incentives and programs (if any) and rearrange our schedule.  We take stock of what worked and what didn’t, review our goals, and set new ones.  After meeting with the kids and getting their feedback, I can better plan for the next few weeks.  I make meal plans (that I end up never really following), set up play dates and field trips, and then we deep clean the house (well, I deep clean  the house—after a month of “kid-quality” cleaning, it’s time for the place to have a good scrub-down, ya know?)  We don’t have formal lessons on Inservice Days.  It’s a great way to help keep us from burning out with the same old routine and gets us excited about the coming weeks.
Occasionally, a “regular” day will be disrupted to the point that we don’t bother with or quit the formal lessons.  (Think illness, emergencies, or “Murphy’s Law” days.) In those rare cases, we pick up the slack on the weekends, dividing up the missed day’s work between Saturday and Sunday.  I hate when it happens, but sometimes it does, and I’m glad we have the flexibility to ride out the bad days and pick up later.

Topics to post about in the future: a list

It’s probably not very professional to brainstorm on a public blog, but you know what, I don’t care.  I actually spend a lot of time thinking about what I’d like to write about on this blog—but I get bogged down with real life and my limited writing skills.  So. Just so I can dump the stuff from my brain, here’s a list of things I want to “talk” about here (in no particular order—because I don’t work neatly or tidily.)

• curriculum choices and how I waded through it all (and how you can too, if you so desire.)
• staying sane in the midst of the inevitable chaos (It’s possible.  I think.)
• the legitimate and illegitimate concerns over “socialization”
• school schedules and what to do when you’ve got multiple children in different grades/levels
• helpful/not so helpful books and resources
• support networks
• FREE STUFF and how to find it
• My issue with “Christian” homeschooling
• America-centric homeschooling and how I think this is a bad thing (but that doesn’t make me anti-American!)
• finding mentors for yourself and your kids
• preserving “me” in a kid centered universe
• preserving “us, as a couple” in a kid centered universe
• on being open minded
• operating on less than 100 percent
• how to homeschool if you’re completely disorganized (like me!)
• homeschooling and housework (hahahahaahahahaha!)
• field trips
• homeschooling older kids while dealing with infants and toddlers
• extra curricular activities
• definitions of education
• creating your (my—because I’m not trying to convert you) list/letter about why you want to homeschool and what you want to accomplish
• dealing with less-than-supportive family/friends/community
• my favorite homeschooling materials and resources
• goals and reality
• burn out!

There.  That’s a good start.  Anything you want me to soliloquize on?  Let me know and I’ll add it to the list!

The wheels start to turn...

In my last post, I left you hanging with how I wanted to know more about homeschooling, but wasn’t yet convinced it was the right thing for my family.  I wanted more information, so I started with the legalities.  I learned that Idaho’s laws concerning education are pretty liberal.  According to the state constitution, parents are responsible for providing their children with an adequate education—either through the public school system or an “equivalent.” Parents are not required to register their homeschools with the state, rely on state educational resources, and they are not required to have a college degree in order to teach their own children.  They do not have to provide the state with attendance or curriculum records.  Homeschooled students in Idaho are not required to take standardized tests.  Of course, if a parent signs on with one of the many “distance learning” programs offered through the public school system, they ARE required to register, keep records, and have their kids take standardized tests and be evaluated regularly by state certified teachers.  (As an aside, people who choose to register with the state and use public school-designed “homeschool” programs are not legally considered homeschoolers, but more on that in a future post.)
So I had to think about that. IF I were to homeschool, would I want to be aligned with a public school curriculum, or would I want to “freelance”?  There are advantages and disadvantages to both.  On the pro-side of going with a public school curriculum, I would have a teacher assigned to my family to assist us in choosing text books, organizing our academic schedule, and I would be reimbursed for much of the costs associated with teaching (money for books, field trips, supplies, even some extra-curricular activities.)  On the con-side, I’d have to keep meticulous records regarding attendance, lesson plans, grades, maintain a portfolio for each child enrolled, and follow the scope and sequence for any given grade. The curriculum would be set and I’d have to work within it’s parameters.
On the pro-side of “freelancing”, I could avoid all paperwork and testing, aside from what I choose to do.  I could choose whatever curriculum I wanted and implement it any way I desired.  I would not be beholden to the state for anything.  (God bless Idaho for trusting me to take responsibility for my kids’ education!) On the con-side, I would have to pay for EVERYTHING, I’d have to wade unguided through the sea of homeschool curricula and make my own decisions—hoping they were the right ones and would work for each kid.  I would not have access to a state-certified teacher to keep me pointed in the right direction and keep me on task—and I had no idea where to start! 
Despite this, I decided IF I homeschooled, I wanted to “freelance.”  Call me masochistic, but I was looking for a challenge.  I wanted to know what all went into creating a full curriculum.  And to be honest, I was a little afraid of the “official” programs offered through the public school.  Finally, I thought if I had the freedom to do whatever I wanted, I should take full advantage of that!

No, really. Why???

If you read my last post, you might think that I decided to homeschool solely because I was picked on during my own school years and somehow never recovered.  I admit, I think I was pretty traumatized, but as I grew up and got away from the middle school and high school mentality, I began to put my faith back in the system.  And I decided when my own kids got to school, I’d be really involved as a parent volunteer, so I could be on the alert for problems and prevent my kids from going through what I did.
About a year before my oldest kid started school, there was a local frenzy about charter schools.  An “arts and leadership” charter school was starting up in our school district just a few blocks away.  I went to the information meeting and got very excited about the idea of having my children in a school where the “three R’s” would be taught through the arts, rather than through whatever the normal methods were at the regular elementary school.  Then I learned that enrollment for the first year would be available only to those who helped get the school up and running.  After that, enrollment would be determined by lottery.  Since my daughter was still over a year away from starting kindergarten, I knew there was no hope for her to get in “on the ground floor.”  We’d have to put her name in the lottery in the spring and cross our fingers.  So we did.  And she didn’t get in.
I enrolled her in the regular elementary school, and she wound up with an amazing teacher and had a fabulous kindergarten year. But I was still concerned about getting her into the charter school. It was the “right” place to have your kids go to school.  Somehow, you weren’t “cool” and your kids weren’t getting a quality education if they didn’t get into the charter school.  Never mind that getting into the school wasn’t based on merit—never mind it was just the luck of the draw—somehow, the charter school kids were “better” because the school was “better.”
This rankled me, because as a brand new charter school, there was no real benchmark for achievement. I resented the implication that my kid was getting an inferior education—and we couldn’t do anything about it except hope she got into the charter school NEXT year.
We played the enrollment lottery again for first grade and lost. And my daughter again got a great teacher at her school.  This should have made me reconsider my desperate desire to get her into the charter school, but it didn’t.
The same thing happened the next year. At that point, I was tired of feeling jealous about the charter school kids and decided to count my blessings.  My daughter was in a fine school and had consistently gotten dedicated, intelligent, kind teachers.  She was ahead of the game academically, and was doing just fine socially.
My son started kindergarten that year, and I had high hopes for his teacher and his class.  Unfortunately, his teacher had just come from teaching middle school and didn’t seem to know how to handle the needier kindergarteners.  She also split her time between two schools and always seemed frantic and busy.  This bothered me, but my boy did fine in school. When he started, he could already read and form his letters, and knew some basic addition. He was eager to please his teacher—and she loved him for it.  I decided this teacher was just getting her “sea legs” for kindergarten and decided to let go of my worries.  I gave up on trying to get the kids into the charter school. 
About that time some friends of mine announced they had pulled their kids (fifth and first graders) out of their schools and were going to homeschool instead.  Kimberly and Warren were great people with great kids, but I was shocked.  They were a very social family and Kimberly had openly admitted she wasn’t academically inclined.  They loved their kids, but were pretty vocal about how much they enjoyed and how much they needed AWAY time from their kids. I couldn’t imagine how they would manage being home all the time, doing schoolwork with their kids all the time. What I hadn’t seen was the research and thought they had put into making their decision.  They had a plan, there was nothing slap-dash about it.
In the ensuing months, I noticed a couple of things.  One: my life and my family’s life were getting out of control.  We were always in a hurry, always late for things, I was always stressed out and yelling at the kids to move faster, get their chores done, quit bickering, etc.  I wasn’t happy and I was starting to hate motherhood.  Two: Warren and Kimberly’s lives (and those of their children) seemed to slow down, get calmer, move more smoothly.  They seemed happy and centered.  They were constantly talking about how much they were learning (the adults, as well as the kids) and it was clear they loved being around each other. And it all stemmed from their decision to homeschool.
I began asking them questions.  Warren gave me several books to borrow—most of them on educational philosophies. I’ll write about them in a future post. I began to read---as a skeptic—and found myself intrigued.  Homeschooling began to sound and look less weird and more desirable.  Kimberly invited me to a homeschool conference put on by the Deseret Homeschool Association, a local support network for LDS homeschooling families.  I went, mostly out of curiosity to see how many people attending were obvious weirdos or religious/political fundamentalists. (Can you see some of the prejudices I was carrying around?)
To my surprise (and relief), the conference was full of very normal looking people.  I listened to several talks and presentations and then had dinner (it was included in the conference) so I got to meet and talk with other homeschoolers.  I prepared myself for the barrage of “homeschool or die!” sentiments I was convinced I was going to get..but they didn’t come.  When I admitted I wasn’t homeschooling but was just sort of, maybe, kinda looking into it, I expected to be hit with tons of reasons to “convert.”  Instead, I got a lot of sympathy and zero pressure.  Most people wished me luck in my research and many said “It’s a big decision—a very different lifestyle.” that sounded less like a warning and more like they’d been in my shoes and understood where I was coming from.
I left the conference changed.  I had such a good, deep in the bones/down in the gut feeling about homeschooling.  I started to think maybe I wanted to do it.  I was scared out of my mind at the thought—immediately thinking of all the reasons I shouldn’t or couldn’t homeschool.  But I couldn’t shake the good feeling I got from attending the conference.  I went home and told my husband about my experience.  He looked at me sideways, and I assured him I wasn’t going to go pull the kids out of school tomorrow. But I did tell him I wanted to look more deeply into the possibility of homeschooling.  If it turned out to be a lousy idea, then okay.  But I wanted to know more…

Why????

This is the most oft asked question I get when people learn that I homeschool.  Some people who ask this are hoping to hear some dramatic story of a knock-down-drag-out issue my husband and I had with the public school the kids were previously attending. Some others assume our kids have something wrong with them—socially, intellectually, mentally, emotionally, whatever.  Others wonder if we’ve just plain lost our minds or are gluttons for punishment. Sometimes we get the question from people who are considering homeschooling their children and want to know really and truly what led us to our decision.

When I’m asked “Why?”, I find myself assessing the questioner.  What are they really looking for?  Do I just give a glib answer or do I really go into the many reasons? Which ones?  How much time do we have?  How well do I know this person?  Does it matter to me what they think about my response?
I have a lot of answers to “Why?” and, the longer I homeschool those little precious little punks of mine, the more answers I find.  Some are very serious and personal, others are optimistic and hopeful. Some were apparent to me right from the start. Others evolved as we've gone along. Some are selfless. Some are selfish.  All are valid.

To begin to answer the question, I have to start with some personal history.  I was raised going to public school. Elementary school was great, until about the fourth grade, when I started getting teased and the little girl-cliques were forming.  Things got progressively worse through middle school.  Verbal jibes turned to pushing, shoving, and tripping.  Pushing and shoving turned to scratching and stabbing—with fingernails, metal compasses, writing utensils.  I was even bitten, and grabbed in places no one had a right to touch. I was scared, I felt alone, I didn’t feel safe.

When I told the adults in my life what was going on, I was encouraged to ignore what I could, be pleasant no matter what, and ultimately I was brushed off:

“Kids are just mean at this age.”
“Don’t act like a victim and you won’t be treated like one.”
“Things will get better as you get older.”
“Just keep your head down and try not to attract any attention.”

I followed all the advice, putting faith in the adults’ perspective, but it did little good—if anything, my “turning the other cheek” only escalated the abuse.

I started thinking about suicide. I started thinking about hurting the ones who hurt me.  I prayed nearly every night that either I would die, or the ones hurting me would.  Every day, when I got off the bus, I walked past the wheels and thought about crouching down and letting them roll over me.  These thoughts pretty well consumed me until an incident in eighth grade that involved me getting hit over the head repeatedly with a belt buckle by a girl in my speech class.  We were actually IN class when this occurred.  Terrified of being permanently injured, enraged that no one--not even the teacher--seemed to notice or care, I came unglued.

A classmate was up giving a speech.  I leaped out of my seat and stood up in front of the class, interrupting the girl.  My teacher demanded to know what I was doing and threatened to fail me. I showed her the lump on my head and pointed out the girl who had given it to me and how she’d done it.  The teacher questioned the girl, who denied it.  The teacher asked the kids around where I’d been sitting what was going on.  For a long time, no one said anything.  Finally, one girl acknowledged what had happened.  The teacher chewed out my tormentor, and then scolded the class.  Then, she asked if I had anything to say. 

I let the class have it.  All the anger, fear, hurt, sadness, and injustice I felt. I shouted.  I swore.  I told the class exactly what I thought of them and where they could all go.  Bullies and those who stand by and let other people be bullies are the same thing.  And that’s what they all were—except for the girl who finally spoke up for me.  I thanked her for being brave enough to say something and then I burst into tears.  I ran from the class and hid in the bathroom for the rest of the period.

I was sure I would be expelled by the school authorities and lynched by the other students.  I was sure I had sealed my doom—I wouldn’t be allowed to call students and even teachers the horrible things I had called them.  I decided to kill myself that day and I’d do it on the way home, I’d just walk into oncoming traffic—no, I’d RUN.

I came out of the bathroom expecting the worst.  Instead, the girl who had verified the belt buckle accusation came to me; my books and backpack in her hands.  She told me after I left, the teacher had lit into the class again and lectured the kids until the bell rang.  I wanted to feel happy about this, but I only felt worse, and more determined to put myself out of my own misery. I accepted my things from her and proceeded to my next class.

I remember I was given wide berth for the rest of the day.  I don’t remember why I didn’t run into traffic and kill myself.  I suppose I was as shocked by my blow-up in speech class as everyone else.  I wanted to think about it.  I wanted to see if it would mean anything.

After that, things improved—slightly.  It helped that I moved three times in the next four years. It helped that I knew if it came to it, I could fight back—or at least make a lot of noise.  But I wasn’t able to relax.  I still dealt with anxiety and fear and depression. School was not a place of learning for me.  It was a place of fear, wariness, and mistrust.  Academics and social life came way, way behind self preservation.

I’m happy to say that by the time I was a senior in high school, I had overcome most of that.  I had a great senior year, but my grades were shot.  It was a wonder I even got into college. I don’t know that I gained much academically from school, but I suppose I learned some important social lessons:

If you don’t fit in, you should be destroyed.
It’s safer to cower in anonymity than defend the persecuted.  You might become a target yourself.
Creative thinking and original ideas must be shot down or shut up.
Kids are mean and there’s nothing we can do about it.
Don’t ask for help because you won’t get it.
If no one else acknowledges something bad, it didn’t really happen.

That’s what public school taught me.  What a great legacy for our children, eh?  That’s what I want my kids to learn.  That’ll prepare them for the real world. That will make them good, responsible citizens. That will help them realize their potential as intellectual, creative, spiritual beings. Right?

Wrong.  Dead wrong.

Now, I realize that this post is rather heavy. I also realize it makes me sound a little like I might be trying to overprotect my kids—maybe you’re thinking—”Well, you can’t shield them from everything.  Eventually, they’ll have to go out into the big, bad world.  If they’re too sheltered, they’ll never make it in the real world.”
My response to that is—“Duh.”  I’m not trying to protect them from everything.  In fact, if you ask my kids, they have life pretty hard.  They are frequently disappointed, have their feelings hurt, and I know they’ve felt helpless and alone.  They’ve felt pain and injustice—because I make sure they have plenty of opportunities to experience the “real world.” But I also make sure they have plenty of opportunities to learn how to cope:

To turn to God and to people who can help them
To trust their instincts
To treat people with respect and dignity and expect the same from others
To recognize the value of creative, independent thought
To stand up for the right things and to be brave enough to deal with the consequences
To realize they are not alone.

I want my kids to learn these life lessons and I think I’m better equipped to teach my kids these positive, soul-affirming lessons than the public school experience could ever be.  But I didn't come to that conclusion right away.

When I first began looking into homeschooling, it was purely for the academic benefits for my kids. My oldest two were already happily enrolled in the local elementary school and I had already decided that my kids would never have the school experience I had because we live in a small community where I know most of the kids' classmates and their parents, I know the teachers, and frankly, I'm pretty optimistic and willing to hope for the best.  People are nice and the schools are good. I'm pretty sure I was already raising my kids to know how to deal with the unpleasantries of life.  It wasn't until after I'd been homeschooling for awhile, and had been asked to teach the 12 and 13 year old girls at church that I really got thinking about the significance of the events from my middle school years and I became more mindful about "socialization" and how to help my kids get proactively and positively through adolescence.

There are other reasons why I chose to homeschool, and I'm tempted to say this is the first and most significant reason, but that wouldn't be accurate. This is just the reason I was thinking about tonight when I sat down to write.