In Homeschool Land, This Earns You an 'A' (Like we give grades)

The Glamour Life of a Homeschool Mom

Friday night happenings...

It's a glamorous life and someone has to live it.

Homeschooling Young Children: Let Them Be

One of the strange things about homeschooling is this notion of young children. I see mention of this species everywhere. When I read it, I automatically think, oh, they must mean those small and loud people that go to colorful rooms called preschool where they paint with their fingers and sing songs about an old Scottish farmer who had a lot of different animals. That's small children! I got it!

Except I don't get it.

I skim read this part of the book, because honestly, what does this have to do with me? I don't have small children. There is no need to read this section thoroughly, please get to the part where it talks of big children and their big capabilities, thank you.

Then a word or three jumps out during all this skim reading of young children. Words like, "ten years old" or "eight to eleven years old." They are using those words to define young children and I'm beginning to wonder if I have undiagnosed reading comprehension problems.

What are they talking about? Eight-, nine-, ten-year-old children are not young. They are....I don't know what they are, but they aren't young!

Then I realize what has been lost during our five years spent in government education and it makes me incredibly sad.

My five-year-old kindergartner was never a five-year-old kindergarten. He wasn't expected to act his age. He was expected to act older and be prepared for first grade, which is really like second grade. My kindergartener was expected to be a near second-grader.

My third grader was never a nine-year old. He had to prepare for a state-wide standardized writing exam in the fifth grade while in the third grade. My third grader was expected to be something akin to a fifth grader.

Since I pulled my boys out of government schools in 2nd and 4th grades, I don't know where it stops. I know 5th graders are expected to be middle schoolers, because I heard about prepping kids for middle school in the 4th grade. I don't know why that mentality would change for middle schoolers, who I imagine are expected to be like high schoolers and high schoolers are expected to be like college students?

And so I read these homeschooling books and articles and see them refer to children as something other than miniature adults. This notion still strikes me as something new, even though I work every damn day to peel away the layers of preconceived notions I have of children and how they learn best. It's so easy to slip back to those old ideas, familiar and ingrained as they are.

The challenge is not to get my 10-year-old to write 3-5 paragraph essays.

The real challenge is to hold onto that deeper wisdom that knows sooner is not always better.

They are young children. Let them be.

10 Regrets I Have About Homeschooling

Some of the people who read my blog aren't homeschoolers (they're infidels instead), so they may not be aware that it's very popular to post a 10 (insert whatever things) About Homeschooling on your homeschool-related blog. This is what counts for creative content when all of your creative energy goes into educating your children, which also explains why I rarely write anymore.

And since I rarely write anymore, I have no recollection of how to transition into a list. So let's just jump right into the 10 Regrets I Have About Homeschooling and pretend I transitioned that very smoothly.

1. I regret that I rarely write anymore. Did I mention that already? My creative energy is spent going through our colonial history curriculum, paring up each lesson with the perfect, most interesting library book ever written on the subject and a fascinating living history field trip and/or project. By the time I finish those mental Olympics, all I can write is "a;hd ghaie"

2. I regret that I have moral objections to imbibing in drunkedness and duct tape in the presence of kids. Because some homeschool days? Damn, y'all.

3. I regret that my parenting high horse died. It was almost 12 years ago the day it happened. Payton absolutely refused to breastfeed as a brand-new newborn and I had to flash my engorged boobs to several perfect strangers and my next door neighbor, all in attempt to get that baby boy to LATCH-ON, for the love of god! That's the day my parenting high horse died, which is sad since it was only with us about 3 days. I really miss that horse, because if I had him now I could be one of those sanctimonious homeschoolers whose kids never ever bicker, all due to our perfect family culture and the Bible. Amen.

4. I regret the time I spent trying to find cheaper curriculums. Spend the money on quality curriculums. It's worth every penny.

5. I regret the time I spend trying to find quality materials. Sort of. Of course I think my kids deserve the best quality materials. I just wish I didn't have to wade through so many crappy programs to find the gems.

I see your school uniform and raise you one individuality

6. I regret that I don't have a school janitor. Hey, boy bathrooms stink, even with just two boys in the home! Also someone makes repeated messes in the kitchen and calls it "chemistry experiments." I don't know who does it, but when I catch him I'm going to do something very heinous and punitive, like force him to look at the Land's End's school uniform catalog.

7. I regret that someone hasn't figured out how to bottle up patience and sell that shit at Target. Not only I could become a better homeschooler, but I could scope out the clearance aisles all at the same time. Until then I guess I'll keep eating Ghirardelli chocolate chips in place of a patience potion.

Where are the Pottery Barn baskets when you need them?

8. I regret that I don't own stock in Usborne and DK Eyewitness books. I should be a stockholder with the amount I buy.

9. I regret that I don't have a Pottery Barn magazine house, because, Jesus, where am I supposed to store all of these books?! It's like we're a learned household or something.

10. I regret that we didn't start homeschooling sooner. Seriously, I wish we had and I regret I spent over four years being too scared to take the leap, even though the signs were knocking me upside the head every single week we were in the public system. I wish I had believed more in myself and my kids, because we are having the best damn time.

There's an educational lesson in this photo, I just don't know what it is yet.

Embrace the Feminine

If it isn't bad enough I'm subjected to farting play-wrestling with the knowledge that my neighbors can hear my sons' primordial screeches of flatulence domination, just 45 minutes later I was forced to watch testosterone-overdose shows, like Myth Busters.

What the hell, people? We have two T.V.s in this house. I don't know how I always end up having to watch this male stuff on the bigger T.V.  Except there's some ideal called "democracy" that's deeply rooted in our culture and these primordial farting heathens take advantage of it. Damn all that homeschooling and learning shit. I refuse to watch TV from the bunk beds in the children's room. It's only 720 dpi, for god's sake!

I've had some physical problems lately.  I hate to mention it since I don't like to give attention to such things, but it's been odd pains, like in my breasts and shoulder and back. I researched it a bit, and if you're one of those kooky types that believe pains and illness have a psychological root (and I totally am one of those kooks), the pains are related to me not expressing my femininity.

Well, no duh.  How am I to express femininity when I can only watch half of a chick flick once every six weeks when they all go for a hair cut?

I decided I had to take a stand. For my health. Enough is enough, and it's my boobs we're talking about.

Wally and I spent an afternoon landscaping our backyard. Since it required digging up 740 cubic feet of grass and dirt, it was obviously labor-intensive and not the kind of labor-intensive that sounds very feminine, if you ask me. So when Wally turned to me, wondering aloud when I was going to have a turn with the shovel, I told him I was embracing my femininity at the moment. Since this decision also allowed Wally to embrace his masculinity, it killed two birds with one stone, so I don't know why he rolled his eyes at me and muttered unintelligible things under his breath.

And then a fire ant got into my bra and bit me on the boob during this landscape work.

What is the Universe trying to tell me now?

And You Think Employers Wanting Your Facebook Password Is Bad

There are many benefits of living along the Gulf Coast, and one of them is the short time frame of warm but not yet scorching temperatures during March and April. It's those fleeting days when you can leave your doors and windows open all day long, enjoying the fresh breeze and lack of sweaty armpits all at the same time.

However.

When your two sons begin play wrestling and yelling back and forth as loudly as they can, "No face farting!" and "I just farted!" and "I just farted and it STINKS!", you begin to wonder what your neighbors think of you.

Maybe open windows aren't so great after all, no matter how beautiful the weather.  There is no way to be your every day uncouth self yet still keep up appearances to outsiders.

Ghirardelli Would Have Sponsored This Post Except I Talked About Goat Shit.

I was at a party this past Sunday when someone told me how much they liked reading my old blog.  And that made me remember, oh yeah, I have a different blog now and I should write something on it.

I made it all the way to the sitting down part. And I had a some idea of what to blog about but now all I can think about is getting up and eating more chocolate chips straight from the baking bag....

Wait, I have to go get a few more....

Okay, so this time I brought the entire bag with me, to hell with this getting up and walking to the kitchen multiple times to gorge on more Ghirardelli (which, I'm sorry, is the ONLY brand to buy, people. All you Nestle people get the hell off my blog.) chocolate chips.

Back to this party where someone mentions my old blog. It's very strange, remembering I was capable of writing funny things that people recall over a year after I stopped.  I think of myself then and who I am now and wonder, who in the hell was that masked bandit?

I scraped goat shit out of three pairs of shoes today, people. GOAT SHIT. I just looked down at my hand and saw this green stuff dried on my finger and thought, Jesus, did I miss some GOAT SHIT on my finger!?!? That is unbelievably disgusting! Then I realized, oh no, that's just leaf juice on my finger from arranging cut flowers.

I don't know why I told you that, except to ask who the fuck has taken over my body? Goat shit and flower arranging?

Payton's latest obsession is dog breeding. Is this hormone-related or something? He's a tween now, should I be worried? I can't figure it out, yet it appears to be contagious.  When contemplating whether to make myself sit down and write or not, I temporarily entertained the idea of not and reading his library book on the history of dog breeds instead. I don't even like dogs nor care about how these breeds were created. Except it's a book and I think my love affair with books has tipped from a healthy appreciation over to some kind of human relationship replacement.

I miss my friends.  And not necessarily those "real-life" ones, because I never had that many to begin with. I mean those whose back and forth reply-all emails made me laugh so hard and kept my wits on its toes.

I miss my ability to see the funny little stories within the folds of every day life.

And I'm shutting up right here, because this is turning into a pity party, and worse than that, I ran out of chocolate.

Just to let you know how things are going in homeschool land (and because I refuse to end this on a pity party note), I came across a blog carnival with a school idea for a DIY paper bag book. This is where you turn paper bags into a book. And then paint each page. You know, for your kid's literacy.

I'm pretty sure that particular blogging carnival is sponsored by neurosurgeons in attempt to bring in new lobotomy customers.

Elderly Farting Torture

I have an old cat, very old. We adopted her back in our pre-parenting years when pets were cute and adorable and you found yourself thinking in that naive and childless way, why, no I don't mind cleaning up the piss and poo of another living thing, bring it on!

I now have two young and loud male beings that some people call "sons". Do I need to tell you the implications of having these sons and an old cat confined in a 1500 sf space almost 24/7? Well, I'm going to tell you anyway. The implication is something you might call TORTURE OF THE ELDERLY IS MY FAVORITE PASTIME!

Good lord, who is responsible for raising these heathens?

This elderly torture pastime has gotten out of hand lately, with all of the LET'S SIT ON THE OLD CAT and LET'S CHASE THE OLD CAT AROUND THE HOUSE and LET'S TRAP THE CAT UNDER THE LAUNDRY BASKET AND MAKE HER CRY and then back to LET'S SIT ON THE OLD CAT again. It was time for those boys to come to The Jesus.

Look, boys, this cat here? Do you know how old she is? She's over 14 years old. That means she's 98 years old in human years. So when you think you're "playing around" when you sit on her or chase her around the house, that would be like you sitting on and chasing a 98-year-old woman. If that's how you plan to treat me when I'm elderly, I'll just leave all of my riches to a cat shelter instead of you!* Keep that in mind next time you feel the heathen-istic need to sit on this poor cat.

That gave the boys a new perspective, relating this poor cat to a 98-year-old elderly person, and their treatment of the cat improved. But change is slow. Or my children are learning impaired, because the lesson didn't stick.

Not a week later I caught one of my sons not just trying to sit on this elderly cat but trying to sit on her so he could fart on her. I immediately yelled, "STOP TRYING TO FART ON THE ELDERLY, MY GOD, WHY ARE YOU SUCH A HEATHEN?"

For some reason this sent the farting offender into a fit of giggles. And then I heard my other son yell from the den...

"IS PAYTON TRYING TO FART ON YOU, MOM?"

What the hell?

My nine-year-old thinks I'm elderly.

That's it. No inheritance for him.





*Riches to inherit? Ha! Good things we haven't shared our Great Recession 401(k) statement with the boys or else lies like that might not fool them.

Teaching Elementary U. S. History Without Textbooks - Early Native Americans

In case you can't tell from the obscure title of this post, I'm going to talk about teaching United States history without textbooks. Not that I have anything against textbooks. Except I do. They are boring with a capital Stab Me In The Ear and End My Misery.  I know this because I attempted to teach U. S. history with a textbook and my children tried to stab me in the ear. With their whining and complaining. Needless to say, I gave up on the book rather quickly.

My next step, once the textbook was demoted to the pile of books I use as a tripod for my camera, was to search ALL OVER Homeschool Internet Land for the perfect one-stop U. S. history book. This experience was much like getting stuck in a Hall of Mirrors, confused by all the distortions. There were problems, to say the least, and it went beyond the obvious challenge of the sheer volume of selection.

I didn't want anything with the words "God's plan for the U. S. as shown through history!" because, quite frankly, I find that idea a bit arrogant. And it's more than a bit slanted to the Christian viewpoint. So I narrowed the hunt down to secular history books, which is more challenging to do in Homeschool Land than you might think. But then I came across one that started off sort of like this....

Think back to the time before the earth was formed, when everything was a black void and.....

Just stop right there. What? You want me to think back to before the earth was formed? That's not even possible. And you want to call that history?  Uh huh. If they had only changed "think" to "imagine" I would object less, because then the author's theory of what it was like at that time wouldn't be presented as a fact. I intend to raise critical thinkers here, people, and that type of text doesn't help. 

I gave up the attempt to find one all-encompassing book to teach elementary level U. S. History. Instead, I spent hours and hour and hours and hours honing those latent over-achieving tendencies as I poured through our library and Amazon, looking for topic-specific history books. Did I mention the hours I spent doing this? HOURS. (More proof that you never fully recover from over-achievement addiction.) I may no longer hand-decorate 3-tiered birthday cakes, but by god I research the hell out of curriculum!  By the time I finish planning just this part of history, I'll have spent so much time at the library that I might as well set up camp in the children's department with a Goblet of Fire-esque tent (of course!) and mooch off of the library's free internet and bathrooms I don't have to clean. I still have the Revolution to plan too! Might as well move in.

I actually had a couple of goals in mind when creating our own history curriculum, which is unlike me. I'm very goalophobic, after all. But this time I actually had some sort of plan. It's like I'm becoming an real adult or something. Weird. But here is what I had in mind when planning our history...

• No boring books
• Hands-on learning
• Challenge the superficial white European beliefs about our history - i.e. that the Indians were a sparsely populated, primitive people running around in loin cloths and bird feathers, at the whim of Mother Nature with no way to influence their environment, making them the type of people who really should have been invaded for their own good. And it was God's plan to kill them off with small pox so we pilgrims could steal their left-behind supplies. That kind of stuff.
• Basically, I'm not concerned with the memorization of facts but more focused on my boys understanding the ideas at the root of our national history. 

Here I'm going to list out all of the books I found to teach Native American history. Doing this is risky because you could look at this book list and say, "Shit, Heather, you spent all of that time and this is all you came up with? You suck!" And maybe I do suck. I don't know. You probably shouldn't listen to anything I say about homeschooling. I don't know why you're still reading this.

Starting off American history with who came here first and how.

Who Discovered America
Start here. At the back of this book. I'm not kidding, start at the back. This book fits more into the explorers section of U. S. history than early Native American, but the end of the book talks about the latest archeological evidence of the very first people to come to America. (Spoiler alert! It may not have been across the Bering Strait.) (Spoiler #2! I'll use this book again for the explorer unit.)

If you have an advanced reader who is super interested in more details, I recommend Before Columbus: The Americas of 1491 by Charles Mann.  If you are interested, read it yourself or 1491 by the same author.

American History Interactive 3-D maps
This book has a 3-D map you can make that demonstrates the Bering Strait immigration theory (to the left there), along with maps to other major events in history.

The boys and I talked briefly about Central and South American natives - the Aztecs, Incas, and Mayans, of course. If I had found this book earlier, I would have read it aloud to them. We also briefly talked about the ancient North American Indians, but I still wish we'd had that book. (Spoiler #3! We have her books on explorers and colonists and I've read them, which is why I wish we'd had the earlier ones.)

We didn't spend an tremendous amount of time on this part of history. Much of it is still unknown and my kids didn't show much curiosity to know deeper details, which is my cue to move on. We're doing a timeline of U. S. history so it helps us keep better track of how the Native American history evolved from the ancient people to the more advanced civilization they had before 1492.

Now we're getting into the nitty-gritty of Native American history

Native Americans: An Inside Look at the Tribes and Traditions
This is a DK book. I like DK published kid books and so do my boys. This particular book was published back in 2001, so it lacks the latest in research on how America was first populated and I skipped the first chapter in the book. (We'd already covered the topic anyway.) I think this book does a good job of giving overall information on family, spiritual and daily life and then moves on to the regional area tribes. We read each chapter on the tribes, say on Northeast Woodland Indians, for example, and then detoured into region specific hands-on projects from....

Iroquois longhouse project

Easy Make and Learn Northeast Indians
We used several projects out of this that I felt reinforced important aspects of their history, such as their agricultural practices and how they lived in tune with the seasons. (Did I almost sound like I know what I'm doing or what?!) This teacher's website shows video examples of how he used these projects in his class. Again, my point in doing this specific work was not to make them memorize anything, but to help the boys understand how advanced of a society the Native Americans had before European "discovery." Oh, and to have some fun too...that's an important point.

and

Easy Make and Learn Southwest Indians
Dude, these people hunted rabbits by throwing sticks at them and picked prickly pear with these giant cactus tongs. Like, successfully! It blows our ever-loving Nintendo/microwave oven mind they were able to figure these things out and live. Who would have ever looked at a rabbit racing across the desert and thought, hmm, I'm gonna take this big stick, throw it at that motherfucker and kill it? Human ingenuity is astounding.

Northwest Coastal Cedar Plank House

Some of the projects in those two books can be used for other regional tribe studies, like the basket weaving or papoose project. I just realized that sentence sounds like something the head psychiatrist of a mental ward would say. Basket weaving? Total insane asylum activity. But some days it's hard to tell the difference between homeschool and the looney bin, so whatever.

This website has free printable projects too and we used the cedar plank house when we studied the Northwest coastal Indians. If you really want to flip your hands-on history lid, go to this website and follow the directions for building a wigwam. You learn how the Indians used math to build them.

If you really, really want to flip your history lid, make your kids construct you a real, live moon lodge where you can escape during your period and someone else does all of the child care, cooking and cleaning for you. I don't know how Native American women felt about this, and in my younger, single college days I thought this practice was very anti-feminist.  How dare those primitive men make women disappear during their period, as if they were tainted! But now I have a family and a home and enough dirty dishes in the sink to rival Mt. Everest and I'm all, HELL YEAH, I'M GOING TO THE MOON LODGE FOR THREE DAYS! I'm convinced this moon lodge thing is a version of heaven.

The Three Sisters

Native North American Foods and Recipes
We used this book along with the Northeast Indian Make and Learn book for more detailed information on how Indians cultivated crops and food (see picture to the right). We also used a book titled American Indian Science: A New Look at Old Cultures by Fern G. Brown for similar purposes. (Amazon doesn't have it, so no link.) I felt both of these were important in conveying the idea that this was a more advanced civilization than we assumed.

Nations of the Southeast
I selected this book because it's the area where we live. Our hands-on learning for this region comes from visiting actual historical sites in our area, so you wouldn't care about the details unless you live in the same area. Basically it includes planned field trips to historical sites with some reenactment festivals thrown in. Mix and bake for your area.

And so that's how I'm teaching U. S. history without using a textbook. You could also call this How a Recovering Overachiever Channels Her Need For Both Intellectual Challenges and Bucking The Status Quo. Stay tuned for Part II of this series - explorers! Or? Stay tuned for news of my commitment to the crazy farm where I attend basket weaving classes. It's a toss up.

(Did you make it to the end of this post? Good god, you deserve a gold star. If I gave those out. Which I don't. You should just feel good from the intrinsic motivation to better yourself.)

Six Places You Can Put Broken Crayons. (Hint: the sun doesn't shine there)

If there's one chapter in a homeschool book that could give homeschooling a bad name, it's this one....

Six Things To Do With Broken Crayons*

Look. I'm a homeschooler and even I don't want to homeschool after reading that title.  Is it a joke? Or an insult? I can't tell.

I put an indecent amount of creative energy into planning an interesting history curriculum and unique reading program that gives No Child Left Behind the finger. How about we throw just the broken crayons away? Because I'm an actual living, breathing person with average to above average cognitive function.

Okay, I'm being an asshole** and I admit it. I'm sure these six things to do with broken crayons are lovely ways to entertain yourself and your homeschooled children. You know, for when you aren't teaching them. Or cooking for them. Or washing their clothes. Or cleaning their nasty boy bathroom. Or preparing for tomorrow's lessons. Or reading their chapter book so you can intellectually participate in the book discussion. Or gathering supplies for next week's science labs. Or driving them to co-op class, fencing lessons, 4-H, chess club, field trips, junior master gardener classes, and drawing lessons. Use broken crayons to fill those "spare moments" that obviously abound when you homeschool.

I'm going to say it's okay to draw a line at how far you are willing to go when homeschooling and I personally draw it at finding ways to use broken crayons. I must have some boundaries...

Five Steps to Becoming Homeschool Teacher of the Year*

...and wha? You mean it's a competition against other homeschool moms who may or may not be better than me? Fuck.



*Yes, those are real chapters from a real book. No, I didn't read the book, because I'm an asshole. I'm sure the book is a lovely read to non-asshole homeschoolers.

** I'm especially an asshole when it's my turn to visit the Moon Lodge, which if you attended Heather's School of Awesomeness, you would learn a moon lodge is where Native American women went during their period. They were released from family and community responsibilities and sent off to a lodge to be by themselves, as in ALL ALONE WHILE OTHER PEOPLE TOOK CARE OF THEIR KIDS AND DIRTY DISHES, OMFG HOW GENIUS.

I'm Not Getting Any Smarter

So I confessed to being an idiot. Well, I have more confessions. Enjoy! 

#1 If I were to tell you how many times I've come *this* close to getting on Facebook and posting "Wow, I need to put on pants!" you would probably schedule an intervention for me. Granted, I thought of posting it when we had a couple of cool-ish days. I live on the doorstep of Satan's den, so these September blasts of cooler air are exciting since I've been living in shorts and tank tops for six months. I can't believe I actually need to wear long pants! So that's why the FB update enters my head. But I know people on FB would misunderstand and think I'm some pervert who homeschools her kids in her underwear. 

#2 I just spent five minutes replying via gmail to a reader's comment before realizing you can't reply to comments through Blogger. I knew this from living in the paleolithic blogging period of 2008 when I started off with Blogger. But I thought they had updated since then! And isn't that great! But no, it turns out I'm just stupid.

#3 I was out running errands and talking on my cell phone to Wally. I reached around my purse to put my keys in my specially designated key pocket only to realize my cell phone was not in its specially designated pocket, and then went on to have a 5 second panic attack, because, OMFG I'VE LOST MY iPHONE! Oh wait. I'm talking on my iPhone. That's why it's not in its pocket - IT'S ON MY GODDAMN EAR. I had a 5-second WHERE IS MY iPHONE! panic attack two days in the row for the same damn reason. I have no justification for this one. Just plain stupidity.

I honestly don't know what is going on with my mind.

Early onset dementia?

Too many cocktails in my twenties and early thirties? I always scoffed at those middle school PSA classes we had on the evils of alcohol and what it would do to your brain. Is this life trying to show me a thing or two about my 14-year-old attitude 23 years later?

Or since I'm now homeschooling, through quantum physics I don't pretend to understand, I'm transferring all of my quality brain cells from my brain into the brains of my kids? 

If I'm going to be stupid, at least let it be for a worthy cause.

Root Cause of Idiot Heather

There's one thing I've noticed in my almost one-year hiatus from the blogging world.

(Has it really been eleven months since I closed my old blog? Holy shit. I guess time does fly when you're having fun. Or flies when life gets fucked up and you develop a sick co-dependent relationship with your printer. Take it from me, better time flies because of fun.)

Back to that thing I've noticed: I'm an idiot. I say this because it is news to me, even if it isn't to anyone else. I've spent all of my grown-up life thinking I'm a fairly intelligent person, but now I see I was operating on false assumptions.

Everywhere I go now on the internet and type something I look like an idiot because of my typos. Everyone makes typos, but I'm making them ALL of the time now. Each time I go I leave out a critical word in a sentence or use the wrong word. (Why the hell doesn't Facebook allow you to edit yoru own posts?!)

Basically I read like I'm drunk around the clock, which is not true. In fact, just the opposite is true. I rarely have even a cocktail anymore, much less three. I just don't "feel" it anymore, so I'm always sober. Always.

Stop the presses, y'all. I think I just discovered the root cause of Idiot Heather. Thank god I figured this out on a Friday. Friday is my favorite day at the liquor store, you know. The trip to the store will have to wait until later today, though. I have exciting plans with my printer. Today we're going to try ENLARGING COPIES of Eastern Woodland Indian maps. *shivers*

Fringe Benefits

I previously wrote of how homeschooling is hard, harder than anyone told me. Now I'm worried what I said in last week's post might discourage someone who is considering homeschooling. Because this new blog that I have barely done anything with yet and less than a dozen people read might be found in the millions and millions of other blogs and *poof!* I just disintegrated the hopes of a desperate mother whose kid is struggling in school. Then the Ghost of Heather's Public School Past will haunt me forever.

I need to make amends!

But I'm not going to lie and say it isn't hard. Or maybe challenging is the better word. If I were to rank the most challenging things I've done in my life, I'd list them like this...

1. Raising children
2. Homeschooling children
3. Staying happily married to the same man
4. Do-it-yourself bikini waxes

Yes, I put homeschooling above the difficulty of staying happily married.  Who has time to even question the state of their marriage when you homeschool. I'm always at the printer.

Homeschooling is hard. But it's not.

And I've been sitting on the post for days and days now, trying to find a way to articulate how homeschooling isn't hard. Maybe it's because homeschool "success" is hard to measure. Or maybe because homeschool is just another name for self-inflicted psychosis. Because, seriously? This is not something a sane person would do.

Good, I said it. I hope I have scared away all the faint of heart and weak-minded. And maybe I even scared away some of my former public school PTA buddies/teachers too.

Now that all of those people are gone, I can say this:

Homeschool is one of the most unbelievably awesome things I've ever done.

I wish I could articulate exactly why. Part of it is seeing my oldest son discover there are not just one or two kind kids, but an entire group of kind, accepting, friendly kids.

Part of it is having the authority to say, whoa little 8-year-old dude, writing this many paragraphs stresses you out and makes your handwriting revert to a preschool level? Watch me use my superpower called COMMON SENSE and magically BACK THE FUCK OFF until you are developmentally ready for this. Because, really, who cares if you learn to write five paragraph essays in the 3rd grade versus 5th grade.* It doesn't matter to the person who will accept you into college!

Another part of the awesomeness is realizing it's more important to teach how to tap into the creative process than to teach them to write five completely dry, boring, uncreative paragraphs just to fill a word quota.

I would be remiss if I didn't also say a great part of homeschooling is my 5th grader not having two hours of homework every night. Which, I'm sorry, people think homeschoolers are weird and unnatural? That shit is unnatural. That's robbing a childhood.

Which leads me to say I love that I'm able to let my kids be kids. Not stressed-out miniature adults expected to work for eight hours a day. Kids. That's all I require them to be for now.

Well, that and my own personal window-washer/laundry folder.

Homeschool lesson of the day: A lot of it is about the fringe benefits.

*I have more to say about our experience with teaching writing. But first I have a two-sided paper jam in my printer. Damn it!

"Homeschooling Is Not That Hard" Oh Really?

There’s nothing like spending 48 rainy day hours planning a chemistry curriculum that signals you have officially reached HOMESCHOOL INSANITY LAND. The good news is I had company. Yes, thanks to a tropical storm and extended holiday weekend, Wally visited this magical land with me, where flipping through six different science books to piece together one cohesive chemistry unit is valued above all other things, including opening college football weekend.

Wally, bless his heart, is naïve in the way of life in HOMESCHOOL INSANITY LAND. He exposed himself as a tourist when he said this….

“Ooooo! I didn’t know our printer printed two-sided!”

To which I replied, “Yes, it does. As long as you print one page, get up, flip the printed paper, slide it on top of the paper tray, go back to your computer, print the second page on the opposite side and then go back to the printer and get your two-sided paper.”

And people wonder why homeschooling takes up so much of my time.

For reasons I don’t understand, science is the subject that seems the most difficult for homeschooling. Along with grammar. And writing. And history. And vocabulary. And P.E.

Fuck, okay, it’s ALL DIFFICULT.

I remember, in my initial days of simply asking around about homeschooling, people would tell me, “oh, it’s not that hard…” Now I look back on these people as if they are foreigners not only speaking a different language but also wearing their underwear on the outside of their clothes.

What the hell, you crazy underwear people? Does your definition of “not difficult” change once you begin homeschooling? Kind of like your scale of pain tolerance changes after giving birth to a nine and a half pound baby without an epidural? Your tolerance for the difficulty of raising children expands to the Nth power once you begin homeschooling. That’s it, isn’t it?

What could be difficult about vocabulary, though? Honestly, give them some words and they learn the definition. They even make (gasp!) workbooks for that. Easy peasy!

Yes, yes it was. At first a workbook sufficed. But as we slowly disengage from the public school mindset and embrace new ways of learning, workbooks no longer suffice. And so it’s back to the drawing board for vocabulary.

Rinse and repeat for spelling.

And grammar. Oh, grammar. Something that should be easy, second only to math in sequential learning! Except, you know. Workbooks. No longer appealing! So I buy a curriculum that isn’t workbook based and I’m like, huh? What? How do I implement this free-range style grammar program?!? I wasn't raised this way! 

I'm learning all over again too.

I could tell the slightly different versions of the same story for each subject. Writing is difficult because my boys hate writing (thank you, public school system). P.E. is difficult because it’s summer in the deep South (read: death by humidity and high temperatures). History is difficult because apparently my standards for “good curriculum” are very high (interesting factual reading, hands-on and interactive learning. And something other than the European white man’s version, please!).

“Oh, it’s not that hard…”

Homeschool lesson of the day: Don't trust people who wear their underwear on the outside of their clothes. 

I Should Sit Down and Write....

I tell myself every day....

I should sit down and write.

But I don't. And I haven't. I haven't sat down to write in so long that when I wrote the second line in this post, I spelled 'right', then 'wright' before I finally realized, oh yeah, you mean WRITE.

And now I'm wondering....is that how you spell write? It looks wrong. What's wrong with it? (Me doing it, that's what looks wrong.)

I have officially become stupid. In case you weren't convinced before.

I should sit down and write. 

But I don't. Pinterest has become my latest quasi-obsession instead. Recipes I won't cook! Home decorating projects I'll never do! Cute crafts that I'll never make! Fashionable clothes I'll never buy! Homeschooling ambitions I'll never fulfill! All cataloged in one place! Who needs a dusty, unused college degree to remind you of your under-achievements!  NOT ME.

Pinterest - it's like crack and an abusive pimp all rolled into one.

I should sit down and write.

But I don't. I have two children to teach. I have pedagogical books to read so I can pretend I know what I'm doing. I then have other pedagogical books to read that make me realize NO ONE knows what the fuck they are doing. I have curriculum to plan, learning styles to ponder, self doubts to nurse.

I should sit down and write.

But I don't. Wally pops his head in and tells me he is finished peeling the shrimp. Hungry children are cranky. Shrimp beg to be fried. Potatoes to slice and butter. White wine in the fridge.

I should sit down and write.

Maybe later.

My Life, Day 10: Clean Day

Mrs. Meyer's Clean Day

It could be slightly more accurate by calling itself "Mrs. Meyer's Clean Day, All Day" because that's what I did. Cleaned all day. Boy, this daily life photo documentary really makes me feel like my life has meaning!

Ooo, look.

Seashells. Exciting, huh? Can you honestly keep yourself from jumping on Twitter and saying, "Look! Heather has seashells!"?

I don't know why I took a picture of those damn things. Except it's the first time I've decorated my kitchen sideboard table since...well, since Then. I'm one of those cutesy annoying housewives who likes to have a small place in the house that changes with the seasons/holidays - Halloween, Christmas, Easter, summer, etc. You probably want to friend divorce me now. 

(Do I get palimony? Heh. Get it? Pal? Friend?)

(Oh god, save me from myself. I obviously NEED HUMOR HELP.)

Since Halloween, the table has been either completely bare or cluttered with useless crap - an outward reflection of the in, huh? It sounds stupid, really, but walking into the kitchen and seeing the table decorated again feels like maybe a part of me is awake again.

Maybe this daily life photo documentary does make my life feel like it has meaning after all.

My life, Day 9: Best Omelets

"Mom, you make the best omelets."

Why, thank you, son. Making an omelet is very complicated, with the all the cracking the egg, the whipping it, the grating of the cheese. Sigh. Exhausting, really. I'm so glad you appreciate the extreme effort I go to in the morning to make you a gourmet cheese omelet, complete with KRAFT cheese. 

You're welcome.

My Life, Day 8: Photo Not Found

Oops.

Photo Not Found

Because I didn't take one. Not. A. One. So yes, I lasted all of six days to my commitment. See, let me explain how things work around here. I make rules for myself. I follow them diligently for days. Say, six days for example. And then I'm like, FUCK THAT RULE SHIT! 

Let me give you another example. We joined a pool club this summer. Have I mentioned it? In, like, twenty dozen hundred pictures on instagram? I tell myself I will eat very healthy, having only fruits and vegetables for snacks, because I will look good in a tankini and not like a mom in a swimsuit, DAMN IT. I follow that rule diligently for days. Say, six days, for example. And then I'm like, FUCK THAT RULE SHIT, I'M MAKING SOME GODDAMN BROWNIES. 

And then I gobble half a pan of brownies because I broke my toe at the pool and can't go as frequently anyway. 

And now on top of that I'm bloated with perimenopausal PMS bloat, which, holy mother sperm whale, what the fuck? Is gray hair not enough? Saggy boobs? Wrinkles? Cellulite on my ass? Obviously this whole aging process isn't glamorous enough, so now Mother Nature demands an additional week of bloated belly brought to you by flatulence.

Ugh. I told myself if I started back with this writing thing, I would be more sophisticated and refined and not drop the F bomb so much or talk about farts. Well, we see how that fucking went. NOT WELL. I also told myself I would post the pictures daily. But I've been post-dating them instead when I finally steal my computer back from my children. I'm not only breaking my own rules, but then cheating too. I'm clothed in awesomeness.

I also told myself that if I didn't take pictures, it would be okay because that would mean a day I'd have to sit down and actually write. Because forced creativity is always awesome! So I pick a meme to write! How original! And I will write something nice and funny and light and....wha? 

What the hell was that fucked up mess? Putridness came out instead, not light, funny memories. It's all very confusing, because while I was completely honest about those parts of my early life, it's not like my childhood was all bad.  But twelve adult years of ripping a family unit apart bit by bit is enough to storm across a lifetime of memories, leaving it all clouded in shadow. 

We parents...we never stop touching, shaping, and influencing the lives of our children. Never. There is no moment when "our job is done" and our actions don't color our children. We're forever intertwined, perhaps even after death. 

After I wrote that, my dad came to me in a dream that night. That first sight of him - I have no words to describe how it feels.

He was trying to tell me something.

I still can't hear him.

My Life, Day 7: Slave Driver

This is how I have fun on Saturdays.

Slave labor.

It's the only reason I had kids, I swear.

Slave is not happy.

This is my problem how?

Slave Driver is manically happy.

My Life, Day 6:

Perfect pool day

And when I say perfect, I mean the boys went four straight hours without fighting. This must have been a divinely ordained Summer Vacation Miracle, granted by the Virgin Mary, of course. Because she raised a boy. 

Later that night a certain eight-year-old kicked our asses in poker.

 

I had to buy another set of poker chips just so Wally and I can hang in the game with this kid. 

It's embarrassing, really.