Judging Homeschool - Part One

One of the things I promised myself when we began homeschooling was that I would think about it a lot to make sure that it was really the right thing for our family. With five weeks under our belt and a two week break for the holidays, it has seemed like a good time to discuss with myself how things are going.

Fact #1 – We are doing just fine! I do not feel that by having my kids at home they are getting behind academically.

For Math we are staying on target with their school textbooks and supplementing with Khan Academy online. (Ellie is 94% done with Khan’s 3^rd grade Math, and Meg is 46% done with Khan’s Early Math, which goes through 2^nd grade).

With English, our family has always done a lot of reading. We are adding in grammar and memorizing, which I feel is great. And also some skills about summarizing and narrating – which drives Ellie crazy and will certainly help with essay writing. I’ve felt a little bit low on the writing side, but we are joining a “Great Books” seminar for the second semester that will fill in that gap for us.

Fact #2 – I was wrong about the school not getting enough done each day! There’s no other way to say it, I was just wrong! Perhaps not all the teaching was “on level” for my children, but the fact that elementary schools get through all those topics (math, English, social studies, singing, gym class, art, science, etc.) is downright amazing! Obviously my children never ate lunch – which is a problem – but 100 gold stars for all that other stuff. Whew! I cannot possibly figure out how to “get it all done” myself.

Our family has followed a monthly topic for our Science unit. We did Magnets in November, and Stars in December. We have done a few experiments, watched some YouTube videos, and made a solar system out of bouncy balls, but I don’t feel that my science curriculum is blowing their minds.

For history we are reading “History of the World.” I like the text, and there are some great enrichment activities to go along with it. I need to read ahead for the next semester so that I can schedule in more of the “heavily-prepared” activities. We’ve mostly been coloring maps, and I know they would like to do more.

For art, we have done two sewing projects. Um, that seems a little pathetic. Especially since we haven’t finished the second! Part of the problem is that we’ve gone to homeschool activities on “Art Fridays” and I don’t feel bad about having some Archaeology instead of Art, but I also need to do more with the sewing. Where is the time?

For service and family history, boy am I behind! We’ve done a little personal history, but not any family history. And we have not been to the Retirement Home at all. Outright fail there.

We are doing much better on being contributors in the home. The kids each help with a certain category of job all day (household cleaning, household project, laundry) and they also take care of their room responsibilities and fold their own laundry. They are learning how the machines work in our home, and learning to sweep, and vacuum, and wash windows. I never was a Saturday family cleaning kind of person, so this is much more “household help” than they were doing before.

Admittedly, we do have some much more productive scripture study in the morning. And this was an important part of us doing homeschooling. So, that gets a point there. We have more discussions on questions the kids have. They can find scriptures on their own. They memorize, and study both topically and chronologically. Don’t worry they also color and kick each other under the table. The point is that scripture study is going better, and is more useful than it was before. But is this enough? Can’t we figure out how to do that in the evenings as well?

Fact #3 – “The Vision” Hypothesis

This is my main thought about homeschool right now: I am certainly “doing fine,” but our family is sacrificing a lot for this. The girls have given up time with their friends, and great teachers and projects at school, I have given up time, many projects, and cleaning efforts (not so sad about that one) around the house, and Spencer has given up a lot of one on one time with his pretty cool Momma ;) . Honestly, Sterling comes out ahead because he LOVES being with his siblings, and gets picked up way more than when it’s just me at home. He also gets two naps. Hallelujah! Grant will be going to preschool in January, and is doing great at reading – which is my main goal with him. So, those two aren’t sacrificing much. But if the rest of us are just “doing fine” is it worth pulling them out of school where they are also “doing fine” and we’re not making those same sacrifices?

I am not sure, but this much I do know. Homeschooling for our family is only right if it goes “beyond”. And this is where I’m struggling. Part of me wants to cross all my t’s and dot all my i’s.  I want to be able to prove that I’m checking all the boxes off that will make their education what it should be. But I really can’t check off all those same boxes that they check off at school. There is one of me, and I don’t have the energy to do all that. So, if I am just trying to “replicate” public school at home, then this is a bad idea. I should send them back and let them have that great experience and figure out how to add my important “home” stuff in during my “home” time.

But!!!! if I can let go of checking off the boxes and do something "different" then I will be on the way to what I wanted to do in the first place. My main problems with this are:

1    1.  letting go of my compulsiveness and

2    2.  even managing to see a vision of what I want to be doing in the first place.

Sooooooo, the long and short of this initial analysis is that if I can find this vision, and let go of the “busywork” to embrace it, then homeschooling will be worthwhile. But how exactly do I do that???

On Arrogance and Stables

Last night, for scripture study, Justin read me a little pamphlet-book (I’m sure that’s an official term!) by Elder Neil L. Andersen called “Room in the Inn.” (It’s available for free download here, should you be interested.) One particular portion of Elder Andersen’s story struck a chord with me, and also harmonized with another thought that’s been shuttling about in my mind lately.

When discussing Mary and Joseph’s inability to find an inn for lodging the night of Christ’s birth, Elder Andersen remarked how it would have been very easy for God to make sure they found adequate housing that night. After all, this was His Son who was coming to Earth! And yet, as we know, God had other plans. As Elder Andersen says, the experience and story God planned began in a stable, and so that is where Mary was sent for the birth of Christ.

This idea of God’s “planned problems” reminded me of a book I’d been reading when we traveled to Utah recently. I actually read two books by the same author that week, and so I don’t remember which book I found it in, but both books are full of great insights: Donald Miller’s “Blue Like Jazz,” and also “Father Fiction.” The Donald Miller thought I’m going to connect with now is that each of us human beings can have a habit of being “addicted to self” and that because of this we develop an “arrogance” that convinces us that little bad things shouldn’t happen to us. We know that the big bad things happen to everyone in turn, but we become irritated when the little bad things fall on our plates. Not only this, but we allow this arrogance that such a thing should come our way to fester inside of us.

You know, a “little” bad thing like not being able to find housing when you’re having a baby.

I connected to this idea of self-addiction more than I would have liked, but also found Miller’s term “arrogance” to be really helpful when dealing with it. For instance, also while driving to Utah our family hit some bad weather – in Wyoming, of course. We were almost to the Utah border when the van slid and we spun off the road. We were very blessed in that all was actually well for our family. We ran into no one and nothing. No one was hurt. The car still ran.  Our biggest impact included tall prickly weeds. But, oh the inconvenience! Not only did we need to call a tow truck, and wait for it, but we also had to pay said tow truck and eventually get a few things tightened on the car once we made it Salt Lake. Of course, we didn’t want that money anyway! Ha! We also were slowed down on our journey and arrived several hours later than we’d planned. Quite a few “little bad things,” all as a result of typical Wyoming weather.

In the moment, I found myself very irritated. We were less than 30 miles from the border, and I tell you!!! the ice was GONE!! when we crossed into Utah. We had been so close, and yet now we were several hundred dollars down and several hours behind. Why, why, why? Such a “little” bad thing, but I was more than happy to wail about all its results and about how none of it should have happened to me.

But I had just read this essay by Donald Miller about arrogance, and about how it is silly to think that we are above having all those real life experiences happen in our own lives. I realized that I do this all the time. Some tiny thing goes wrong in my day, and I bemoan my existence, I become angry with those around me, I use it as an excuse to give up on further efforts, I even ask God why such a bothersome thing should happen to me – you know, the most important person, ever. (He, by the way, is probably laughing at me the way I lovingly laugh at my own children when certain tragedy STRIKES their existence.)

Like I said before, I am not talking about the true sorrows and uncertainties of life. Those are in an entirely different category of dealing and understanding. I am talking about the teensy things that build up like canker sores on our days. Those things that poison us against happiness in the moment, against enjoying the simplicity and ordinariness of our lives. I don’t want my own arrogance to keep me from taking a breath and moving on for stupid happenstance.

But I also loved the idea that came with Elder Andersen’s thoughts, that not only are these irritants “little,” but that God allows them to happen so we can have miraculous interactions with others, and so that we can learn and grow by small means to learn great things.

And so, with these two thoughts in mind, I am trying now to remember to contain my arrogance, and to also look for the beautiful story God is trying to tell me when he leads me to a stable, instead of an inn.

Kyle

I've sat on this for more than a week now. Not knowing if I should have written it at all. But I'm learning right now that to write I must let whatever is inside me fall out. That if I don't speak with honesty, no matter what people say, then I am failing. And so, I'm going to speak out loud. And I hope it can be taken for what it is.

*****

My cousin is dying. And when I heard of his recent downturn, my heart reached out. It’s so intangible, a heart reaching out. When I thought what to do, I wanted to write. But what could I write? This is what I wrote. It is not my story. And neither sorrow is my sorrow. So in many ways it feels wrong to write what I have written. And yet, I cannot help but think if we would only open our mouths and let what was truly inside fall out, at least the other would realize we are reaching. 

In all our weakness, we are reaching.

*****

A long time ago, my mother’s sweetheart died. He fell from the sky. He stopped breathing, ocean water drowning his lungs. He never came back. My mother was left behind with the world tipping off her shoulders. I wish I could say she always carried it well. That she didn’t make mistakes. That she didn’t mess up and make it worse. I wish I could say it was part of a powerful story arc which showed plainly – after many years – why the fall from the plane came to be. But it can’t quite be said. No matter the desire to make the circuit close smoothly.

There are others, of course, whose planes did not fall from the sky. Others who kept breathing. Others who came back, and fathered children, and bought new cars, and mowed the lawn. There are miracles and prayers heard across the continents in the midst of war. But this did not happen to my mother. Instead, a uniform came to her door and told her that her husband was dead. Instead she filled out paperwork concerned with him not coming back, ever again. Instead her father swore, over and over again, his words and actions passed down in memory, angry that this moment had come to take his daughter’s heart.

It’s strange to live a life that is a product of disaster. So many stories tell of the moment that rang through – at the very last moment – and all the wonder that came next. But my life, my father, my birth and existence, it all came at the hands of an officer delivering news of death. I’ve never thought it was my right to think about it. I didn’t know the man. He wasn’t my father. And the woman my mother was at the time has nothing to do with my mother now.  But I’ve ruminated. Oh, I’ve ruminated. Even if it wasn’t my right. Even if it wasn’t my story.

I’ve ruminated on that airplane falling from the sky. I’ve ruminated on the prayers that were not answered when it blew to pieces and ceased to be. I’ve ruminated on the small disasters and heartbreaks that came in that particular death’s wake. I’ve ruminated on why and what it was all supposed to mean.

In the midst of my ruminations I have sometimes imagined that he chose. That in a strange unknowing manner he decided not to be saved. Not to keep breathing. Not to miss the fall from the sky. Did he decide to give up? To not grasp for breath? To not be the miracle that could have happened? Then, I wonder why he did that to her. Why he left her here to live this messy life alone. Who does a thing like that?

Other times, I’ve thought it had to happen. That it made my mother stand up and become, instead of following in his oh-so-certain steps. That it made her be the power she is for each of us children today. My mother recently had surgery. It was fairly routine, not much to be thought of in the scheme of things. And yet, each of her five children descended upon her hospital room, traveling from near and far, doing only a fair amount of good in the process. I thought of us there, surrounding this woman. Holiness to the mother. Holiness to the woman who pulled us through when it all hit the fan. Oh, how those ropes were pulled tight that anchored her hearts to ours. Because my mom became someone different when that plane fell out of the sky. She became someone centrally important to us.

Of course, I’ve also thought of that other life, the one that didn’t happen. The one where the two of them grew old together, the one where they improved each other – instead of living at the mercy of the world. The one where her progression and softening came at the hands of a man who loved her and stood by her side. I think of this life that didn’t happen, and the utter shamefulness that it didn’t get to be just because a plane fell from the sky.

It seems a mess, doesn’t it? It certainly doesn’t fall clearly, this disaster nestled in the center of my mother’s life. It’s not right, and yet also, it’s not wrong. It just is. The plane just fell. He just went and died. She just lived without him. We just loved her for it. And the other life just never came to be. And is there nothing more to say?

People tell me God didn’t do this. People say it’s only part of living in the world. People say that the war, or an accident, or the slam of a five-year old wind brought that plane down and destroyed my mother’s life. They say God wouldn’t do such a thing, that He wouldn’t seek her pain. And I see the message they’re carrying. Really, I do. God loves us. He wants our greatest happiness. He sent us here with agency and with all that came along with it. And generally speaking, He plays by the rules. This is why there’s pain, despite his love. The argument is sound, and I can mostly believe it.

But there’s a part of me that demands that this sweet little packaging doesn’t ring quite true. Because I still believe that there was something in God that threw that plane out of the sky. His eye on the sparrow, and yet He let it fall. He let it fall and break against the ocean waves. And He didn’t get the Navy seals there in quick enough time. He didn’t offer the breath of life. He didn’t throw the second chance, a life-saving ring around a sinking body. He let it end. He let the heart stop and He let it decompose right there in all that salt with the rest of a dead man’s body.

And He meant what He did.

All I can think, when it comes to this, this failure of His to make it come out right, is that He must have stood there, in the raging storm that followed , and He must have said, I am the one you are supposed to love anyway. Because we don’t get to keep it all. It isn’t ours anyhow. And somehow, after all this time, and all this ruminating, for me, that is the point.

Curriculum and Schedule

One of the first questions I get about homeschooling is: What are you using for curriculum? This isn't too surprising since when I considered making the change it was one of my primary thoughts. After all, once you decide to keep the kids home, what exactly should you do with them? There are many different homeschooling paths, and ours takes a little from each method. I believe a lot in free time, and reading, and finding education in the ordinary. But I also believe in meeting goals and having rock-solid foundational knowledge. So, our morning is fairly "schoolish" and our afternoon is faily "run-wildish."

The kids wake up and while I read and exercise they get ready and eat breakfast.

We meet for family scripture study which consists of memorizing a scripture together, reading a scripture story, reading a section of the little booklets the missionaries hand out, and doing personal study (I encourage them to read at least one verse). They also color.

At this point, I finish morning household jobs, feed and water Sterling, and get dressed. At 9:00 Sterling goes to his nap, the boys go downstairs to play (they only earn iPad time if they play nicely without interrupting us), and the girls and I do math for an hour. We are using Everyday Mathematics from the school because I didn't want to buy a math curriculum for half a year, and we can get it from the school for free. I read the lessons for the week and pull out the activities I like, but I have yet to make a real long lesson of it. We also do the worksheets associated with those units. This takes about 20 minutes. Then, because I'm most nervous about math we do Khan Academy online for practice and Splash Math on the iPad (recommended to me by my cousin Laura). Ellie does a lot of multiplication drilling right now.

At 10:00 the boys get their 20 minutes each on the iPad. Grant does math, Spencer plays Angry Birds and renames all my files. The girls and I do "English" which consists of Grammar with "Well-Trained Mind," Spelling with "Spelling Workout," and "Handwriting Without Tears." We also have some creative prompts they work on at the end.

Then we break and do lunch and playing. Sterling usually wakes up at this point. Today Ellie made lunch while I did jobs with Grant and Meg. Every day they each get to pick which kind of job they are going to do based on who finishes their morning jobs first (dressed, bed made, teeth/hair, breakfast, room tidied). Because Ellie always finishes first she picks "project" - which is whatever random job is floating around in my mind. She's weeded, emptied the dishwasher, cleaned her desk, and made lunch. Meg usually picks "cleaning." Today that meant she cleaned the bathrooms with me. Grant always gets stuck with "laundry" which makes him cry until he gets downstairs and gets to turn the water on. He likes that.

After lunch we do "Special". On Monday we do Family History, on Tuesday we do Science, on Wednesday we do History, on Thursday we do Piano/Ballet, on Friday we Art (we don't do Math and English on Friday - and I hope to get some service planned for this day also).

Spencer and Sterling go to sleep again at 2 or 3. Before this happens we read. Grant reads me a book, I read him a book. The girls and I read together and then do "Dictation" and "Narration" which is mostly remembering what your read and understanding the story. Spencer picks his book, and we head up to naps. 

At this point the kids can go downstairs and do whatever they want except fight or bother me. I get about 2 hours to write upstairs while the little boys sleep. That's on a good day. After writing, it's dinner and finish up the jobs time. 

I still haven't figured out where to fit my big extra jobs like doing the budget or going grocery shopping. I also haven't figured out how to balance our "schedule" with extra items that get thrown in the week of. There were some activities this week at the co-op, but I didn't know how much I wanted to give up at home to go there. I'm not sure. I still can't decide. I also have a dentist appt tomorrow, so we'll see what happens with that. I have not one clue how to go Visiting Teaching. And I am trying to get some friend time in as well. 

So, that's our basic schedule and curriculum. Next, I want to talk about what has been good and what has been bad.....

The Rainstorm that Ended Winter

It went like this:  I don’t understand Iowa weather.  In Utah, when it rains – and especially when it pours – the entire thing exists as a spectacle.  And when the downpour ends, it’s most definitely over.  Which meant that after the massive downpour that arrived with morning had spit its last drops, I assumed the sun above us meant the storm had passed.  I told Grant and Spencer we would walk to pick the girls up from school.

A fourth of a mile later, and standing outside the classroom doors, thunder rumbled in the not so distant distance.  I looked at my watch, gauging how long I had until the girls came out of school and I was free to usher my little ducklings back home.  Time did not seem to be on my side.  Iowa weather seemed ready to mock me.

Winter had been long.  With a baby born in January, and a chill acknowledged by the entire nation, my first few months of the year had not been my favorite.  Add to this a few of life’s hiccups and it is safe to say my mood had been solidly dressed in the gray department for several weeks.  Day to day, I was fine.  At my core, I felt unhappy.  Growing up, I always referred to moments like these as “Montana moments.”  You know, those moments where you want to run away to Montana and live on a ranch.  Or to Australia.  Or to anywhere not in the middle of nowhere with a negative infinity wind chill (obviously I didn’t really get what Montana was).  Needless to say, Spring had been a long time coming, and I had not recovered from the dark.

After several checkings of my watch, the girls finally came out their doors – Ellie last of all.  This girl always manages to be the last one out of class, busy as she is with some project or other.  By the time I had her, tiptoes of water had begun to sprinkle our heads.  I strapped Spencer in the stroller beside Sterling.  We would need to be fast, and Spencer was anything but.  I had come equipped with three umbrellas, two of which were child sized.  Grant and Meg took hold of these while I opened the third over our double stroller.  I hoped it would keep the rain off Spencer and baby Sterling.  I was glad that at least the air and rain were warm.  We began our walk as the sprinkles increased.

Once, thirteen years before, when I graduated from highschool, I had danced in the rain.  My friends and I were on a summer trip to Vernal – getaway of the rich and famous – and while they all stayed inside and watched “Sixteen Candles” I went outside and twirled in a middle-sized rainstorm.  At the time, it seemed like it should be more meaningful than it was.  Like it would look good in a movie with a soundtrack running alongside it to prop it up, but in real life it just felt soggy and cold.  And meanwhile, I couldn’t think of very good choreography.  The dancing was flat, as was the rain.

Then, ten years before, there was a time I jumped in puddles with a group of friends from work.  I meant to impress a fellow coworker with my carefree, funloving ways.  I remember my shoes being slick, and him laughing the way I meant him to.  I remember the skirt I wore, and the hem being damp.  He married me, and he remembered the puddles.  So there is that.

Nine years ago, I worked in the drive-through of a quiet bank that often had no more than five customers a day.  From there I watched the Las Vegas monsoons of summer race through the empty parking lot.  They were the highlight of my experience, and yet I wouldn’t have dreamed of stepping outside in those crazy storms. 

And now, here I was, walking with five children young children through a storm just as massive as any of those.  Beside me, Ellie smiled excitedly, telling me how finally we seemed to have found an adventure.  She held the largest umbrella over her two younger brothers while I pushed our way up and down the hills that would take us back home.  Meg walked near us, opening and shutting her umbrella, alternating between peals of laughter and shrieks of fear.  Meanwhile, Grant held his umbrella tightly, crying with the sky.

And the rain kept coming down. 

To describe the rain, it must be said that I’ve never walked through such a storm.  At its fullest I found I could not open my eyes for the million of drops coming from the sky.  Water ran down our bodies and the trees and then sped along the sidewalk, flooding our shoes and ankles.  Like walking through sheets and sheets of waterfalls, our breath was caught time and time again. The children pressed onward, not knowing what else to do than listen to the crazy Momma who had brought them into this mess.  Step after step, we worked toward home.   

When we finally did arrive, there had been so much water that each of us had to change every stitch of our clothing.  (Except Spencer and Sterling, who only had wet bottoms where the water had kicked up beneath the stroller.)  The kitchen floor where we entered would need to be mopped up from all the moisture we brought in.  The makeup I’d worn that day had not only run, but also disappeared.  My hair hung in a sopping rope down my back.  The children, safe beneath a solid roof, giggled and smiled at what they’d gone through.

And so did I.  Because who needed  a rainstorm to get herself back from that awful Winter?  I did.  A rainstorm that pummeled and drenched.  That soaked and sopped.  That cleaned and washed away.  That made new. 

Thank goodness for rain.

An Uncluttered Life

I recently read a book where one of the characters was described as having "an uncluttered life."  I admit I was a little jealous.  With four children I have given up on having my home be clean the way I would like it.  I would have to run around the house all day like a crazy person, and I would not get to do any of my "fun" things.  But still, sometimes I look around and I hate the messiness of it all.  Of course, I would not trade away any of the things/people that make my life cluttered, and so obviously I need to change my perspective so I can stop having panic attacks about my dirty windows, dusty surfaces, and cluttered floors.  One thing I thought of doing was posting about each room and the clutter in it, and what that clutter meant to me.  As in, why it was worth it to me to have it.

Today I am in my bedroom, which is actually my least "cluttered" room because it is in a way my sanctuary from the rest of it.  Still, there are some interesting things here like:

1.  One Ceramic Bunny - This bunny is the same bunny my brothers chased me around the house with when I was little because I was sooo afraid of it.  I got it out for Easter about two days before Easter (Easter always sneaks up on me) and so I decided I would leave it out longer.  Of course, April is almost over now, so I guess I should put it away soon.  Still, every day my children move it because they like to look at it.  They love that I was frightened of it when I was little.  It's so innocuous looking.

2.  A box full of white leotards - These are costumes for my upcoming dance performance.  The toy soldiers are wearing white leotards, and red pants, with a little red sash-like piece.  The performance is getting close now, and so I am busy convincing myself that it will all come together in the end.  I will breath easier when it is past, and has gone well for all those little dancers who are looking forward to it.

3.  A box of Costco diapers -  Size 5!!!  Already.  That boy is getting so big.

4.  Justin's Spanish scriptures - These used to be on the bookshelf, but Spencer likes to eat them, so they have been moved.

5.  A glass of water - I leave glasses of water about the house.  I don't like really cold water, but I do like it filtered.  So, I usually pour it and then come back to it later.  Unfortunately, Justin often follows behind me dumping them out.  He is afraid they will spill all over something important.

6.  A book titled "The Future of Boards" - Justin checked this out from the school library.  I've only seen him read it once.  I don't know why.  The title seems sooooo riveting.

7.  One princess shoe, one rattle, one teenage mutant ninja turtle, one comb, and other sundry toys - These have their own shelf.  They aren't really played with in this room since toys are not exciting next to getting into Mom and Dad's stuff.  They are more likely things left behind when the kids dropped their toys to steal something better.

The end.  Not very exciting.  My other rooms have much better clutter.  We'll see if I keep up.

Step Into Yourself

I was recently reading a book loosely based on the King Arthur stories.  (It moves the general storyline to a different point in history.)  At one point the main character receives the news that a.) his father and mother or not actually his parents.  b.) he will be going away to fight in the crusades immediately. and c.) an uncle who recently tried to kill him is his actual father.  After relaying all this exciting and mind-blowing news, Arthur's foster father tells him to go to the top of a nearby hill and "Step into Yourself."

I loved the simplicity of those words:  "Step Into Yourself."

How many times when we are overwhelmed do we forget to give ourselves time to step into ourselves?  And if we take that time we are much better prepared to face the future.  So, now I am going to remind myself to take those extra moments to "Step Into Myself" instead of rushing into what would otherwise be a crazy situation.

(Arthur: The Seeing Stone, Kevin Crossley-Holland.)