• home education series: stalled

    Continued from

    ***

    I’m at a standstill in this home education series. I have a ton of stuff I still want to say, but I don’t know how or what for or why. So I write pages of notes and talk my friends’ ears off and jump up and down to drive the point home and then I sit down in front of the computer and—nothing. It’s a slightly terrifying place to be. All this pent up energy and fermenting ideas (is there an explosion on the horizon?) but no way out. It’s making my skin crawl.

    Yesterday I listened to Radiolab while chopping celery and peeling potatoes for the supper soup. It was a great show, but the part that was especially relevant was Elizabeth Gilbert speaking on the muse. The notion that there are ideas and inspirations whirling around the earth (like some sort of idea-ridden gulf stream current) in search of a portal through which to enter is intriguing, fascinating, and downright delightful. The thing is, the inspiration only come to those who are worthy; in other words, the people who are putting in the time. So I’m just going to keep putting in my time, thinking, typing rants in all-caps, reading, and wrestling myself into knots and maybe I’ll eventually be worthy of becoming a portal. In the meantime, here’s a bunch of homeschool links, resources, and tidbits to tide you over.

    Some previous posts on homeschooling from yours truly:

    *No Special Skills: my response to the common “Oh you homeschool? I could never to that!” comment. 
    *Hats: on there not being a difference between parenting and teaching. 
    *On the Subject of Grade Level: my kids are behind.
    *Hypothesizing: kids learn when they’re ready.
    *Stirring The Pot: yikes! It’s a full-blown rant! (And it hits the diversity issue smack on the head.)
    *How It Really Is: why I homeschool my children.
    *A Teacher’s Lesson: an unschooling experiment.
    I just re-read these posts and suddenly I don’t think I have anything else to say. Maybe this is the end of this series after all? I’m not sure, but please don’t hold your breath.
    From elsewhere:
    *This is what happens when a kid leaves traditional education by Joe Martino. You’ve probably all seen Logan’s TEDx talk already, but here it is just in case you haven’t. (His cocky attitude is a bit off-putting—try to look past it. Mom, I’m talking to you.) Also, the article is succinct and the video by Sir Ken Robinson is quite worthwhile. 
    *An interview by Penelope Trunk, an unschooling mother, on Pioneer Woman Homeschooling. And another one by IrishMum. I love hearing other homeschool parents talk. We’re all so different!
    *The Mennonite World Review reprinted a post from the series. I’ve been hearing from other homeschooling families who are in “heady” Mennonite communities that don’t understand or even appreciate homeschooling. Fellow Mennonites and Mennonite homeschoolers: would our church community benefit from a more intentional conversation about this topic? If so, how?
    *Homeschool Blues by comedian Tim Hawkins.
    Some excellent books:
    *Teach Your Own by John Holt. This was the book that inspired my parents to homeschool me.
    *Unschooling Rules by Clark Aldrich. I read this book in one sitting at Barnes and Noble and then went back a few days later and bought it.
    *The One World Schoolhouse by Salman Khan. This is not a homeschooling book. Then again, it is. (I don’t think Khan is aware of this, though.)
    Do you have other good resources? Please share!
  • about a picture

    I snapped this picture on Saturday evening.

    I got out the camera (that only works sporadically/there’s a new one in the mail/I don’t want to talk about it) to capture the lovey love-love going on between my baby and my mommy. But then when I loaded it to my computer and sat down to look at it, I realized there was a lot more going on.

    1. The obvious: my youngest child snuggling on his grandmommy. A minute before, he had launched himself off the chair and into her arms, wrapping his legs around her middle like a human koala bear.

    2. My husband reading a magazine. He’s not supposed to be reading. I know this because he’s back in the corner, bent over the table, and not sitting in a chair like a civilized reader of words. He was probably mid-straightening up, saw the old Time Magazine that my mother brought us, leaned a little closer, and end of cleaning up the house. (This is what is sounds like when he starts a fire with old newspaper: crumble crumble crumb— SILENCE.)

    3.The little pile of clean, folded, and not put away laundry on the table. This—the tail end, the one final piece, the unfinished task—drives me absolutely bonkers. It is also the reason that, when making lists for the minions, I write, “Fold laundry and put it ALL away.” This time, there was no list and I suffered for it.

    4. The one solitary clothes hanger dangling from the living room ceiling (and the blue ropes in the very corner). Usually, that hanger has a man-sized pair of damp overalls draped over its plastic shoulders. In the winter time, the area around the wood stove transforms into a clothes drying room. It’s so romantic.

    5. That string of paper lantern lights that I splurged on (fifteen dollars, to be exact) and haven’t regretted once.

    6. The two little nieces spying on one of my showering daughters. They are in their coats (the nieces, not the showering daughters), ready to go to a coffee shop with my parents to listen to their parents (the girls’ parents, not my parents’ parents) perform. The older daughter, whose head is in the bathroom so you can’t really see, is wearing an old-fashioned bonnet a la Laura and Mary. She is very devoted to the world of make believe and confessed that she sometimes even sleeps in her bonnet.

    7. The stack of books ready to be packed up and taken to West Virginia with my older son for his week-long visit with the grandparents. On the reading agenda (if they get to it): the atom bomb, the orphan trains, Uncle Tom’s Cabin (the only must read because it’s due back to the library), some grammary stuff, The Crucible, and I can’t remember what all else (something on the Titanic, maybe?)

    8. The basket of grapefruit. My kids are leery of the sour fruit, but they’re getting braver about taking tastes. Now when I peel myself a snack, I’m lucky if I get half of it.

    9. The banner proclaiming that it’s January and we’re happy about it (from Mavis).

    10. The cluttered art table with a mug of dirty water leftover from a painting project.

    11. The briefly-shelved chess board. It’s in high use, that board is. I’m forever finding chess pieces (we have an odd assortment from several games) under sofas and kitchen cabinets, crunching them with my feet, or vacuuming them up. Nearly every game (between the two youngest) ends in tears, rage-tossed pieces, and flailing fists. And yet they keep starting new games, weird kids.

    12. And back to my loving-on-his-grandmommy boy, the shredded pants. The hems got so full of holes that he kept tripping and falling. When the holes finally ripped open so that the pants were fringed with swaths of dangling fabric, he was thrilled—no more sudden floor landings.

  • the quotidian (1.27.14)

    Quotidian: daily, usual or customary; 
    everyday; ordinary; commonplace



    White stuff fell, temperatures plummeted, and life-as-we-planned-it screeched to a halt.

    The best snow in ages: it stays!

    Pogo dog.

    NOT a good landing.

    Even when happy, they fight.

    (Okay, so I’m exaggerating a little. But only a little.) 

    My niece who won’t talk to me but she looked at me so I think we’re making progress.

    What happens when we finally get out after being snowed in without fresh library books.
    I see you but I don’t hear you. Is that a problem?
    Enlightening the leggy sticks of plastic.
    Learning to iron, thanks to Grandmommy.
    Eight of the ten ruffians at Friday’s supper table.