Memoir of the Homeschool
It is 9:30 on a Tuesday and my son is starting school at the dining room table. The poor table used to be an attractive faux-granite, but the sheen has been rubbed away after many dried glue scrape-offs and scratchy seashells examinations. Bright sunshine is coming in through the windows—it makes the room feel very awake. We start off with the fun text: grammar. He recites a poem about a caterpillar he has memorized, and we talk about common and proper nouns. Then it is time for math. He is learning to add three numbers, which is new and therefore requires effort on his part. He squirms around, looking for any distraction from thinking. I clap my hands; he shimmies out of the seat like a coat slipping off a chair. He collapses in a pile on the floor. I tell him he’s almost done. He collects himself—the brave little soldier—and does battle with two more problems. He gets the answers right. He’s so smart, when he applies himself.
We homeschool, and therefore everyone disapproves of us, or so it seems at times. Teachers in particular seem to feel threatened by us. It makes sense—everyone likes to feel the best at their craft; how insulting to be replaced by a parent untrained in teaching. I’ve been planning my son’s education since his birth, so this is not an uneducated decision, but no use in explaining that to them.
We accomplish a lot in a little time, since it is a one student classroom. The tot has been busy with the school supplies. “I draw you circle, Mama,” she says in her chipper voice. I adore it. Then we finish school, and we have a wide open afternoon along with the end of a morning. It becomes a mishmash of playing toddler games, eating snacks, reading books. After the toddler naps, I do my chores, and the children tag along. The informal schooling begins outside. Today I watered plants, while the boy played ball and experimented with how the force of the water in the hose can make it roll. I frequently felt the hose being pulled back like it was weighted down, and it was, by a little tot trying to control the water stream. My children have friends and social time, but they have fun here in our own little schoolhouse.
Homeschooling could be expensive. That said, one enormous benefit of living in a place raging away with consumerism, is the opportunity to live off the consumer’s waste. I’ve been collecting texts for the last several years from yard sales and thrift stores. My extended family has scouted a lot of them for me. I’ve got at least one text for every subject spanning several years, and I will keep collecting. Occasionally I need something specific, so I have bought a few online, but only used ones. I thank all the homeschoolers that have come before me, and spent too much money on new books.
The sun is high and hot. The kids giggle as the wind blows the stream of water toward them. The boy wants his ball rinsed off, but is afraid to approach the water, knowing good and well that I will spray him. He approaches slowly, drops the ball, and runs away, giggling. I toss one short spray in his direction.
To enforce math, picking a boy up off the floor that has posed as a fallen coat isn’t fun, but watching his skill set grow is incredible. Spending our idle afternoons in play, as a family, is even better. Occasionally I feel some doubt, but then I think on days like this.