Right now

Homeschooling as a Lifetsyle Moment:

Grades 11, 8, 6, K, & PreK

Nothing to fear

I remember the first time I was asked how I could possibly even consider homeschooling high school. Jo was right there beside me, all 48 pounds of her, with her bottom baby teeth missing and the cutest little bob of a hair cut. She had just mastered the art of skip counting by threes and I was pretty sure she was brilliant.

"What are you going to do about algebra?" the questioner hissed, as if at any moment my kindergartner was going to need to solve for x.

And I said I didn't know, because, well, I didn't. Homeschooling a high schooler sounded big and scary and potentially a little crazy and heck, I was just getting a handle on how to explain that there were different continents-- places you had to use a ship or an airplane to reach. How on earth was I going to teach my own children physics?

As it turned out, I really didn't have to worry too much. Just like parenting a large family-- you generally only take on one new family member at a time-- there were plenty of baby steps that led from singing about the Scientific Method all the way up to college French. Tiny little advances. Painless strides. And before I knew it, well ...

I was doing it.

Or rather, they were.

On most days, the truth is, I spend less time actively homeschooling my two older children at home than I do my combo set of preschoolers/kindergarten. Yes-- less time. Thanks to online classes, tutoring with dad and other experienced adults, self-directed learning, and student guides, I am only teaching two subjects to each of my olders-- with plenty of check-ins on other topics, of course. But actively teaching? No. 

That season of curling up on the couch and reading amazing stories has passed with these two. I am so, so thankful that I had it, and that I grabbed onto it with both hands and cherished it while it was here. Because, folks, the days are fleeting. One day you are making pipe cleaner models of Charlotte and her web, and the next you walk into a room where your daughter and son and writing an original song for their Music Theory class.

Yeah, it's about that fast.

So if you're reading this and you're the Momma of littles, or if you're staring down the barrel of 8th grade wondering if you've got what it takes, take heart. You can do this. It's not anything like what you imagine. Everyone's journey looks different but yes, it's possible. And it's worth it. And you know what? It's even enjoyable. 

American Lit made easy

One of my degrees is in English. One of Mr. Blandings' degrees is in English. Together, we have endured many an hour of sometimes fascinating, sometimes shamefully dull instruction in the name of understanding literature.

Which is, of course, why we swore that when it came to introducing our children to those works considered classics (deservedly or not), we'd find a better way.

For the most part, in our home, this has looked like some event or conversation reminding either Mr. Blandings or me of a character, an author, a nearly-forgotten line of a poem. From there comes an impromptu synopsis of the work, a discussion on theme, a library hold, and plenty of dialogue.

It's messy, but it works. In this manner, Atticus has tackled titles ranging from Animal Farm to Ender's Game, and Jo has found herself smitten with everything from Agatha Christie mysteries to A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.

Last summer, sensing that a bit of organization might not be remiss in light of a new baby on the way, I took a different spin on our normal slapdash romp through the catalog of Books You Really Ought to Have Read and assembled a list. The criteria? All American literature. All in chronological order. And all written by authors whose lives and works lent themselves to interesting character study.

Jo used this framework as something of an outline for her literature study this past year and, can I just say, it was a hit? Not only did she enjoy the books and learning more about the writers, but Mr. Blandings and I were delighted to share some of the truly great bits of past fiction and poetry with our daughter. Conversation-- the key element of this plan-- was plentiful. As a matter of fact, I offer this disclaimer: while this curricula was written specifically to be handed over to a teen, if you cannot participate fully in the discussion of character, morals, themes, allegory, etc., do not pass go. Consider, at the bare minimum, researching the links and familiarizing yourself with what your high schooler will be learning. Even better, read along with your child. After all, great books become even more great when they are shared.

Below you’ll find a timeline of major American authors and movements in the literary world with which you should make yourself familiar this year. Your instructions are to use the iPad to locate the brief biographies noted here, write up a paragraph for your binder summarizing the biography, and to read the works mentioned. No author should take more than two weeks (including reading the book), but if you find that you’d like to dig deeper into the work of a particular author, we can certainly discuss. (Mom and Dad can suggest titles.) You will, in that instance, be given extra time. 

After reading, you will have two follow ups required. The first is a discussion Mom & Dad on the book. Bring at least three questions and a whole lot of knowledge of the book. Prepare for a lively conversation; as you know, we take no prisoners when it comes to literature! 

For the second, you may choose from the following options or, alternately, create a project of your own choosing:

• Write an alternate ending to the story that puts the characters where you would rather see them end up.
• Write a brief summary of the historical time period where the story is taking place (ie, Victorian England, WWII, etc.) noting key events.
• Write a character sketch of your favorite (or least favorite) person in the book, describing how the character grows or progresses.
• Compare the book to another that you’ve read that may be similar in style or just remind you of this one.
• Sum up the plotline in a poem.
• Write a news article about the main climax of the story.
• Write an obituary/eulogy for the main character in the book.
• Put together a book report that hits the high points of the story for someone that may or may not have read it.
• Write an essay persuading someone that this is the best or worst book ever written.

Remember--you have TWO WEEKS to do this unless you have chosen to do extra work and have gotten that cleared by Mom. If you need to read in the evenings or weekends, I expect that you will budget your time to do so. Let me know if you are getting bogged down. Do not wait until it’s critical! And--have FUN! American Literature is amazing, and your dad and I have been waiting to share many of these stories with you since you were old enough to read!

1823: Clement Clarke Moore, (http://www.nightbeforechristmas.biz/moore.htm) "A Visit from St. Nicholas." (http://www.bartleby.com/248/27.html) For an article discussing the controversy over whether Moore really wrote this poem, go to http://www.common-place.org/vol-01/no-02/moore/index.shtml)

1826: James Fenimore Cooper (http://xroads.virginia.edu/~ug02/cooper/cooperbiography.html), “The Last of the Mohicans.”

1827: Edgar Allen Poe (http://poestories.com/biography.php) “Tamerlane” (http://classiclit.about.com/library/bl-etexts/eapoe/bl-eapoe-tamer.htm)

LITERARY MOVEMENT:Transcendental Club (1836-c.1844) (http://transcendentalism.tamu.edu/ideas/club.html)

1836: Ralph Waldo Emerson (http://transcendentalism.tamu.edu/authors/emerson/) Nature 

1850: Nathaniel Hawthorne (http://www.online-literature.com/hawthorne/) The Scarlet Letter

1854: Henry David Thoreau (http://transcendentalism.tamu.edu/authors/thoreau/) Walden

1854: Walt Whitman (http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/126) Leaves of Grass 

1865: Mark Twain (http://www.cmgww.com/historic/twain/about/bio.htm) "The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County" 

1884: The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn

***This author should take three weeks***

1881: Joel Chandler Harris (http://xroads.virginia.edu/~ug97/remus/bio.html) Uncle Remus Stories

1890: Emily Dickinson (http://www.uta.edu/english/tim/poetry/ed/bio.html) Poems 

1904: Jack London (http://www.jacklondons.net/shortbio.html)The Sea-Wolf (Call of the Wild was published in 1903)

**If you would like to read more, this author may take three weeks**

1920: Robert Frost (http://www.poets.org/poet.php/prmPID/192)  “The Road Not Taken” (http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/173536#about)

1922: T. S. Eliot (http://www.notablebiographies.com/Du-Fi/Eliot-T-S.html#b), listen to Eliot read one of his best-known works at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JAO3QTU4PzY , The Waste Land

1925: F. Scott Fitzgerald (http://people.brandeis.edu/~teuber/fitzgeraldbio.html), and video at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J2cn0IS_q6E The Great Gatsby

1926: Ernest Hemingway, (http://www.spartacus.schoolnet.co.uk/USAhemingway.htm) **just the main article**, hear him speak at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fE04BmNmgAI The Old Man and the Sea

1927: Willa Cather (http://www.online-literature.com/willa-cather/), Death Comes for the Archbishop 

1945: Tennessee Williams (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tennessee_Williams), The Glass Menagerie

1952: John Steinbeck (http://www.csustan.edu/english/reuben/pal/append/steinbeck_bio_s99.html), accepting the Nobel Prize at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7SKEODtaQUU Tortilla Flat

1960: Harper Lee (http://www.harperlee.com/bio.htm), To Kill a Mockingbird

Growing

With each of my children, the time they have spent in our bed and, later, in a crib, has gotten longer and longer. Jo was ushered into a toddler bed at just 16 months old-- a combination of her Hudini escape abilities, the unforgiving nature of our ancient hardwood floor, and my desire to see her easing into the sweet little bed I'd been gifted by my cousin. The following children followed a similar trend, with a few months tacked on each season. Truth is, I just appreciate the sweet baby days now more than I did  in my early days of mothering. Yes-- there is so much goodness coming as the milestones are reached ... but, oh ... how precious are these moments here, now? 

As a result, Mani was two and a half when he graduated from the same crib each of his siblings has occupied straight to a big boy bunk. And Seven? Well ...

Seven is three months shy of her third birthday. And she's been pottying like a big girl for a year now. So, really, it was time.

Working together, Mr. Blandings, Atticus, and Logan made this bed. Part school project, part needed thing ... homeschool happiness!

With life being what it is right now, it took forever to get the project to completion. But finally, it was ready. I took Seven and Reuven to the library so that it could have its final assembly in secret. We returned home to the grand unveiling.

Funny how Seven didn't even notice that her beloved crib was in pieces and sitting in the hallway. Or that the animals she likes to enjoy rest time with were scattered on the floor. (Big no-no in her world!) Instead, she made a beeline for that girly white, four postered little bed.

The menfolk were rewarded with a, shall we say, exuberant reception. Atticus even recorded it for posterity's sake. He is a sucker for that baby sister, I tell you.

After noting that her special elephant quilt from Nepal was neatly folded atop her new bed, Seven showed us how big girls get into bed without being lifted.

Then Dolly-Baby joined her and, of course, she hasn't looked back. Because while I wasn't quite ready to admit that she's not a babybaby anymore, she most certainly is. She's happily transitioned to her new bed without a hitch. 

Another milestone. 

Handy ManCub

Mr. Blandings has been a little, you know ... busy ... lately. What with the job searching and all. ((sigh))

The good news is that a six month temporary position has been opened for him. Six months' grace. A six month reprieve we hadn't even dared to ask for.

See? God is good!

Anyhow, the job search continues and continues and continues.

And meanwhile, life here must go on.

Things must maintain some semblance of normal for all of us, lest we fall into the swirling pit of doubts and limbo that we've been so good at avoiding during the upheaval of the past few years. Books must be read. Music must be made. Forts must be built. Meals must be cooked. 

We do a pretty good job of keeping the pie plates spinning. That's one thing that large family living will teach you-- having balls in the air is just what you do, even on the boring days. 

Lately, though, Mr. Blandings has found it more and more difficult to keep up with the additional bits that fall into his to-do pile. He has had a harder time managing interviews and phone calls and say, stringing chicken wire around the garden. Something has had to give. 

And since none of us can play Mr. Blandings (even on the phone), it's those others-- the things he'd actually rather be doing-- that have fallen into the hands of someone else. 

Capable hands, it turns out. Atticus-- already having emerged from a baptism by fire during my bed rest-- is filling in these days as the mender of gates, the getter of high items, the assembler of IKEA dressers.

Part of me wants to slump my shoulders and ask God why. Why, Lord, after the tough season we've just endured? Why is this poor kid now stuck helping out so often again? Most boys his age are spending their time in organized activities and enjoying hours of guy time. Why is my boy having to spend more time as the man and less as the cub?

Just when I purpose to do those things myself, to make sure he never has to do another "project" for us, I hear this, from my son's own mouth:

"I'm so glad I get to do this stuff. You guys really trust me. Thanks for letting me do cool things like this all by myself."

And I sigh. And I thank God. Because the thing I thought was the distraction is the point. And the thing I thought was the punishment is the lesson.

When will I ever learn?

The win

And the winners are ...

They pointed out the sign during our weekly library trip. 

"It's a video contest. The whole two-county library system! You enter a book trailer for a chance to win $150," Atticus told me eagerly. Film, you see, has become his thing--so much so that the tiny flip camera we bought a few years back has become an extension of his hand.

"Do it," I suggested.

Mr. Blandings went a step further.

"It's a school assignment," he decreed. "You two work together. Write the script. Storyboard it. The whole deal. Start to finish. You have one week."

So they did. For one solid week, everything besides math was pushed aside for these two to make way for this one delight-driven project. It was consuming. Fun. Laborious. Thrilling. Nerve wracking. I watched them work from afar, waiting until the premier to see what they'd been up to in their creative frenzy.

When the end result debuted, I was impressed. Not shabby for two kids, a $100 camera, and some pre-installed movie making software. But who knows what the competition is bringing to the table, I thought. Let's be prepared for disappointment.

Lo and behold, they won.

Yet another reason why homeschooling teens is, in my opinion, awesome.

One step at a time

Jo, the baby whisperer.

Of course, she's been reaching for adulthood since she took her first step. Since she said her first word. Since she took her first breath.

But tomorrow, the footprints get a little bit clearer on the path God marked "Jo" before time began.

Tomorrow, she begins training to become a birth doula, with an eye towards serving as a midwife.

Oh, delicious irony: my least worn child, the one who slept in a crib in another room at 4 weeks, the baby I abruptly weaned at 13 months, my disposable diaper wearing, ramen munching baby ... a doula.

For so many years, it was animals, animals, animals. And then, one day, all of that sweetness and nurturing just clicked over. The dream of being a vet slowly receded, and in its place there was this: the simple desire to be part of the beautiful, amazing process of birth. The desire to comfort and assist. The desire to witness life's first breath.

And so, tomorrow, she begins. One more step ...

The good stuff

Responding to Whitman's Song of Myself.

I love teaching kids to read. Watching the cracking of the elusive code of written language is nothing short of awe-inspiring, whether the process takes two weeks or two years. I delight in seeing those lights come on in a child's mind and truthfully, I can't imagine handing that blessing over to anyone else, no matter how qualified the teacher's union insists they are.

For years, I thought that this would be the highlight of homeschooling-- that nothing would touch the excitement of those first baby steps into the academic world.

I was wrong.

For all of its pressures, for all of its outside expectations, homeschooling high school is where it's at.

Like most of us, I felt a lump in my throat as I contemplated tackling upper level subjects with my kids. I really wasn't sure how to reconcile the high school education I had had with the one I dreamed of for my children. I was daunted by the prospect of "missing something." Could I really teach physics after all? And the idea of somehow inadvertently costing my child his or her future career through my own mistake or miscalculation, well ... let's just say I lost sleep over the idea more than once.

What we've found, however, has been that those fears have faded into the background and been replaced by a rhythm of learning, growing, and relating that I never expected. Halfway through her tenth grade year, Jo has matured into a young lady who largely owns her education, who sets goals, and who seeks out the knowledge she needs when she needs it. No, not everything catches her fancy (the required state history component of her credits is boring her to tears), but she shrugs it off and counts it as a necessary evil as she budgets her time for the things that do matter to her: music theory, reading another book from the selections relating to our current history study, French, poring over the prerequisite materials for the doula class she'll be taking this fall. 

Her enthusiasm for learning is contagious, and the depth at which material is studied at this level is, to be honest, so much more fulfilling for the homeschool mom presenting it or even just walking alongside. For example, this year Jo has been tackling a course in American Literature that I wrote for her. Finally! I am introducing my daughter to Scout and Boo, to Huck, to Hester. We are laughing about James Fenimore Cooper's schoolboy antics, mourning Poe's sad family connections, and wishing Hemingway had never picked up the shotgun. Together. 

This, I've decided, is the second phase of amazing in homeschooling. Just as poignant as reading lessons, just as satisfying as sweet Bible stories with felt camels and stones, just as beautiful as the tearful goodbye we bade Charlotte as Wilbur left the fair. I am forever grateful that we have this time together to dig deep and talk. I didn't see the blessing of this season coming, but here it is, and I, for one, am happy to embrace it.

Homeschooled teens

Please don't feel sorry for my homeschooled teenager. 


I don't know why I even have to say this, but I do: she's not pining away for the chance to hang out with her friends at the bus stop, mourning the loss of a homecoming date, or chomping at the bit to be on the school's Quiz Bowl team.  Anyway, even if she was ... she could actually do most of those things and still be home schooled. Just so you know.

But the fact is, she's not. She's fine. She's happy. She likes her life the way it is. Go ahead and ask her yourself ... just know that you won't be the first to interrogate her on what it's like to be a teenager who doesn't attend a brick and mortar school.


At 14, Jo's a bit of an anomaly around here. Many of our former companions on the homeschool journey have enrolled their teens in public school. Others have yet to cross the invisible but tangible bridge between "little kid" and "big kid" and are still in the early years of their homeschooling. And still others never drank the kool-aid and bought into the homeschooling gig in the first place.

Whereas I rarely encounter many curious citizens when I'm out and about with my younger brood during school hours these days, Jo draws more attention. Store clerks seem to eye her somewhat suspiciously, as if teens skipping school normally head into the local craft store to buy embroidery floss for fun. Fellow shoppers and other bystanders seem unconcerned that my elementary-aged kids are missing out on the joys of public education, but something about a teenager not attending a traditional high school seems like an affront.


Some days, it feels like we've journeyed back a decade, into the era when it wasn't unusual at all for a total stranger to corner me as I tried to decide between Fujis, Braeburns, Cameos, or Honeycrisps and ask why my kids weren't in school. 

The difference is this time around, many of the questions are directed at Jo. 


"School out today?" the lady adjusting my glasses asked my daughter.


"No. I'm homeschooled," she answered.


"Oh my gosh, my daughter would hate that. She loves to be around people," volunteered the technician.


"Holy cow, you did not just imply that the girl you've just interacted with--the one who you've seen talking to at least a half dozen people since we got here-- isn't around people?" I wanted to say. But I didn't. Nice of me, wasn't it?


"Me, too. That's what I like about homeschooling," was Jo's reply. And the tech looked ... well, confused.


Some people ask her if she's on any sports teams. (She's not.) Others ask if she has a job. (She doesn't.) Still others want to know if she's ever visited a high school building to, you know, just try it out. 


"Oh, yeah. My mom and I help judge the senior applications for our city's library scholarship every year. We go down there once a year on a school day. I like the fact that I have time to do that stuff since I'm not in a classroom all day."


Zzzzzzzzzzzing!


Jo isn't your typical teenager. She doesn't go to class from 730 a.m. to 2:30 p.m. She doesn't follow the traditional subject load. She isn't on the Debate Team, into cheerleading, or taking an art class. While none of that is bad stuff, it just isn't our stuff. And we--Mr. Blandings, Jo, and I-- are o.k. with that.


Because what the person assuming that Jo is missing out doesn't know--what he or she can't understand--is that homeschooling a teen has a richness that none of us expected. The amazing experiences that the flexibility of homeschooling have afforded her just keep getting better and better, year after year. She's built a house in Tijuana, castrated sheep on a working farm, given a few phonics lessons to her younger brothers, witnessed the birth of a baby, become friends with children who call Mexico, Thailand, England, Burma, and Nepal home, learned to navigate public transportation routes with her dad, started her own business sewing & selling quilted handbags, shopped at a market in Hong Kong, exhausted just about every source of information on the Titanic, ran the cash register at a used book sale, repurposed clothes, raised funds for her travels, been a Mother's Helper, read through the Bible, sold items at craft sales, participated in spelling bees, practiced animal husbandry, competed on quiz teams, designed costumes, made a movie or two. It doesn't sound like a boring, dry existence to me. It doesn't sound like something to pity.

What it sounds like, to my clearly biased ears, is an incredible launch pad. A beginning that opens up onto a veranda of possibility that is almost endless. Could Jo have done all these things while enrolled in public school? Sure. With some finagling, the demands of a public school setting could have been satisfied and room made for the self-exploration and spirit of discovery that Jo has enjoyed. I'm not saying it can't happen. But I am saying that the one thing--the thing Jo has-- is no less real, or enjoyable, or beautiful than the experience common to most teenagers. It may be different. It may not be for everyone. But it is not less.


So please, go ahead and ask Jo if she likes being homeschooled. Ask her if she wants to keep doing it. Ask her if she regrets not going away to school every day. But please ... do her the honor of actually listening to the answer. You might be surprised at what you hear.