It’s been hot all week and it’ll be even hotter this weekend so naturally I spent the morning baking. My default philosophy: if I’m going to be miserable, I might as well be really miserable. (It actually wasn’t too bad, though, thanks to the breeze and lower humidity.)

I made granola and caramel popcorn. I washed and chopped a bunch of kale. I rolled out a pie crust. I strained a half gallon of iced coffee. I chopped leftover grilled veggies from last night’s supper and cooked a pot of farro to go with them (along with a can of Costco chicken and chopped fresh parsley and basil from the garden) for lunch. And I made a cucumber mint cooler concentrate. 

Watering the garden this morning, I’d discovered a ripe cucumber — I had no idea they were close to being ready! — and ended up picking a big bowlful. And then I remembered that David had just posted a recipe for cucumber cooler.

When my husband came home for lunch, I gave him a sample. “It’s really good,” he said, sounding surprised. (The man has a knack for making compliments sound like criticisms.)

Tonight we’re watching Hamilton (HAMILTON!!!!). I made the caramel popcorn specifically for our viewing party, and we’ll have giant bowls of chilled watermelon, too. And now there’s this cooler to go with.

Happy weekending!

Cucumber Mint Cooler 
Adapted from David Lebovitz

2-3 garden cucumbers OR 1 large English seedless cucumber
2 limes, zest and juice
¾ cup fresh mint leaves, packed
½ cup sugar
pinch of salt

optional: triple sec, vodka, gin, tequila, seltzer, etc.

Wash and peel the cucumbers. Cut them lengthwise into quarters and cut out the seeds. (If using the English cucumber, there’s no need to peel or seed it.) Rough chopped, you’ll have about 2-3 cups of cucumber.

Put the cucumber chunks into a blender, along with the zest and juice from both limes, mint, salt, and sugar. Blend until smooth, about a minute or so. Store the concentrate in the fridge until ready to drink.

To serve, mix the concentrate with equal parts water, stir well, and pour over ice. Add boozes, if desired. (Triple sec for me, please.)

This same time, years previous: Vieques!, the quotidian (7.3.17), the quotidian (7.4.16), creamy cauliflower sauce, our 48-hour date, linguine with shrimp and cilantro-lime pesto, spaghetti with swiss chard, raisins, and almonds.

Word on the street-slash-Facebook is that, what with covid and all, lots of parents are considering homeschooling their kids for this upcoming school year.

I see posts with all sorts of questions, from notices of intent to curriculum to how to hire in-home tutors. I don’t know the answers to many of the questions — we’re a pretty laid back bunch over here — but considering that I’ve been homeschooling for the last fifteen years, I figured I could at least share the barebones of how to get started.

Or rather, how not to send your kids to school.

Disclaimer: States have different homeschooling laws; I live in Virginia and I write of what I know, nothing more (and sometimes not even that), so doublecheck everything I say and correct me if I’m wrong. Thanks.

Now, there are two main steps to homeschooling: 1) notifying the school system of your intent to homeschool, and 2) evaluating the child’s progress at the end of the year.

Let’s break it down.

Getting Started 
Delay, delay, delay! 
You don’t have to declare intent to homeschool for kindergarteners! In Virginia, kids are expected to go to kindergarten if they’ll be age five by September 30 (I think?), but legally, they aren’t required to attend school until age six. So if you’re homeschooling a kindergartener, a simple letter to the school district superintendent (if in VA, find your superintendent here) stating that you’ll be delaying your child’s entrance to school is sufficient. 

Here’s a sample of one that I wrote: We have decided to delay our daughter’s entry into school because we feel that she is not yet ready. Her birthdate is February 29, 2004. And that’s it!

Notice of Intent 
Once kids are legally required to be in school, you must send in your notice of intent to homeschool. This is a simple, one-page form asking the child’s name, age and grade, and your address. The form is due by August 15 (though last year I forgot to send it in and they had to send me a reminder letter a couple months later — they were quite friendly about my mess-up, too) and you can print it off here.

Regarding parental qualifications, a copy of your high school diploma is sufficient; send it in the first time and they’ll keep it on file so you don’t have to resubmit each year. (If you’re a certified teacher, you get a little more autonomy but since I’m not certified, I’m not exactly sure what that means…)

Curriculum
Along with your notice of intent, submit a curriculum. I’ve heard that it’s better to provide as few details as possible — the less information the parents supply, the more flexibility and freedom all homeschoolers have — so that’s what I’ve done.

Here’s a sample of this year’s curriculum for my rising ninth grade son:

Reading and writing skills will be developed by reading, and listening to, a wide variety of literature and working with assorted reading books. 

Math skills will be developed by participating in a variety of everyday activities such as cooking, shopping, singing, carpentry, problem solving, etc. 

I’ve used the same lines year after year, only editing to account for the changing year. (And according to a reader’s comment — see below — I’ve been providing even more information than necessary!)

So all you need to do to start homeschooling is mail in a single envelope with three papers — notice of intent form, curriculum, and a copy of your high school or college diploma — by August 15 to your superintendent.

Then you proceed to live together for a year at the end of which you have to submit proof of progress…

Evaluating Progress 
In Virginia, the only homeschooling requirement is evidence of progress. In other words, the child doesn’t have to be at any particular grade level — just, they have to be improving, learning, and growing. Since children do this naturally, it’s not hard to prove.

There are four ways to show evidence of this progress: testing (CAT tests, available to order online and protored by parents, or some such thing), creating and submitting a portfolio, being evaluated by a licensed teacher, or claiming religious exemption (this requires a lot of paperwork up front, but no year-end evaluation). We’ve always opted for the home evaluation.

Each spring, a teacher/friend pops over (this year it was via zoom) to chat for about an hour with me and the kids. We talk about books they’ve read, trips they’ve taken, their projects and interests. I show the evaluator the textbooks we’ve used, and I print out a copy of the year’s informal log: a loose list of each of the kid’s activities. For example, last year my younger daughter’s list included children’s concert choir, regular babysitting jobs, started job at farm and did yard work for friends, prealgebra, physical science lessons with Granddaddy, went to Puerto Rico for two weeks over Christmas, piano lesson from her aunt in exchange for babysitting, got her driver’s permit, and so on.

Our current evaluator (we’ve had several and they’ve each had different, but similarly relaxed, styles) comes with the “I’ve evaluated this child and she shows adequate progress” letter that I then mail to our superintendent by August 1. She keeps a file on our family in case problems ever arise and she would be called on to provide specifics, and she also offers the option of doing a more detailed write-up should we want one for our personal files (we don’t). Cost of this entirely painless and fun little evaluation is about 50 dollars per child.

To summarize!
Each year, mid-summer, I send in my intent to homeschool form for the upcoming school year, along with a copy of our curriculum, and the superintendent responds with a letter saying, Okay, fine, whatever. (It’s a little more official than that — something to the effect of “we wash our hands of you and good luck” — but it’s a form letter so I only bother to read it every five years or so.)

Then in the spring, April or May, usually (and no later than August 1), I send in the evaluator’s letter saying the kids have shown evidence of progress, and then I get another “okay, fine, whatever” letter.

Actually, I was so on the ball this year that I sent both the evaluation letters and info for the upcoming school year all in one go back in April!

And that, my friends, is all you need to know about how to start homeschooling, okay, fine, whatever. 

And good luck!

This same time, years previous: day trip, weekending, the summer’s first trip, smash hit, when the wind blew, the big apple, berry almond baked oatmeal.

The other night, my brother’s family and my family got together at my parents’ place for fresh black raspberry pies with whipped cream. My brother’s kids were playing, but my younger son sat apart. When I suggested he go play, too, he shook his head. Then he paused, reconsidering.

“I could wear this,” he said shyly, pulling his mask out of his pocket. It was more a question than a statement.

“Sure,” I said, and minutes later he was down on his knees, clustered with his young cousins around the sand pile.

Watching him play — the first time in months that I’d seen him play in close proximity to other kids — my heart broke a little. An already sensitive soul by nature, he’s become increasingly cautious, fearful of getting too close to people, preferring to stay home than risk being exposed, or worse, exposing someone else.

I’m glad he cares about other people enough to not want to get anyone sick (if only we could all be as thoughtful, can I get an amen?) but seeing him in the great outdoors surrounded by glorious tall trees and wide-open skies and the people who love him most, and wearing a mask on his face — a mask! — I felt so very sad. Children should’ve have to worry about this sort of thing.

Some days it feels like the whole word has become shadowed — sinister, almost — and I get the distinct impression that we’re living in the middle of a dystopian novel.

I wonder how the story ends.

Gradually, we’re figuring out ways to be safe, yet still live. This means, in nice weather, having an open-door policy: when friends come over, we mostly stay outside, and we don’t worry when people need to come inside to grab stuff, use the bathroom, visit briefly.

For example:

*My younger son and I met up with friends at a river for a few hours of visiting and playing in the water.

*My older daughter’s friend is staying here, off and on, for a few days. With no air conditioning, our windows are thrown wide, and, thanks to the heat, no one’s too keen on cuddling in enclosed spaces. As an added precaution, she sleeps in the guest room instead of my daughter’s room. 

*When some out-of-state young adults needed a place to camp out on their way through our area, we let them stay in our yard, giving them access to the downstairs bathroom and setting out breakfast on the porch.

*My younger two spent the night at my parents’ house, sleeping out on their porches instead of inside.

*My older kids went camping with friends for the weekend. They divided up between three cars to help with physical distancing, and sleeping arrangements involved hammocks and extra tents.

Though that kind of fell to pieces when they got hit with a wicked rainstorm and one of the tents sprung a leak.

Speaking of cars, I think my older son’s new car makes for a perfect covid-mobile.

Lots of fresh air and it only seats two!

And finally, three gems….

If you’ve ever wondered how effective masks are, this clip (starting at about the 30 second mark) is for you.

Our beloved Schitt’s Creek darlings salute the teachers on a zoom call.

Oh, David. How we love you!

And a current day Parks and Rec town hall meeting.

The mask wars are real, y’all.

xo!

This same time, years previous: buttermilk brownies, we have arrived, the quotidian (6.30.14), on slaying boredom, honeyed apricot almond cake, a potential problem.