Schoolless

Secrets of the logbook

Last fall, I decided to keep a logbook of our homeschooling activities: what we planned, what we did, how it went, etc.
It is my understanding, that in the state of Illinois, I am not required to keep any such record of our activities. Pretty early in the game, I realized that the desire to keep a logbook stemmed from my own insecurity about the "success" or our homeschooling adventure. I needed concrete evidence of our accomplishments and progress, a tangible proof that we were accumulating a growing stack of knowledge.
Here it is:

In looking back over my logbook at the end of the traditional academic year, I realize this document reveals more about me than about any learning my children may have picked up along the way.
I am really extremely conflicted about how I see my role as a homeschooling parent. I am in awe of the mothers who can say with conviction: "It is not my job to make choices for my child. It is my job to present the options, but the choice is up to them." To those of you who have read some other entries on this blog, this may seem somewhat disingenuous of me. After all, I have written a condemnation of worksheets, a stern critique of punishments and consequences, and a heartfelt plea for letting our children follow their dreams. I've managed to convince you, didn't I?
Well, let me fill you in on a little secret, shall I? There is a fierce tug-of-war going on between my private logbook and my public blog.
But first, another tug-of-war is taking place within the pages of the logbook. Every few pages, the logbook presents evidence of my intense efforts toward controlling the learning process: lesson plans, lists of questions to explore, painstaking notes, in my own hand, on the process and outcome of experiments and activities.
Between my notes there are numerous clues that my children's learning is taking place on a bit of a tangent.
Math worksheets morph into karate master comic strips:

Book reports rely rather more heavily on illustration than on the written word:

Worksheets are abandoned in favor of projects created from scratch:

Pencil studies proliferate when a small guidebook is accidentally discovered:

As I flip through the entries in the logbook, I am struck by the interest my kids show in the visual and tactile arts, and anything that involves hands-on exploration and participation. Looking back at the year, I realize that our greatest successes were not the mastery of fractions, or adding multi-digit numbers, or composing a paragraph. The biggest successes were those things we did that did not involve a plan or an agenda, that grew out of a genuine curiosity, and maintained momentum from our own internal drive. Things like Peter's stop-motion films, Nadia's novels and learning how to read, playing survival of the fittest with legos, looking for and dissecting owl pellets, making recycled paper, making a vacation travelogue, creating a Tree of Life book and other nature books, building a clay undersea coral reef, filling a mailbox with popcorn, and, of course, going back 4,600 million years to understand the history of  our planet.

And this brings me, in a circuitous sort of way, back to the original tension I noted between the secrets of the logbook, and ideas voiced in the blog you are now reading.
The blog expresses my more rational ideas, considered and formulated at relative leisure, after I've had a chance to reflect on all the facets of a particular challenging event. At that leisure, and in a clear frame of mind, there seems little doubt to me, that we all -- children and adults -- learn and do our best, and become better, when we are free to follow our own choices and make our own decisions.
On the other hand, the logbook contains the tangle of mixed emotions, indecisions, questions and self-doubt, with which I react, as I try to balance the interests of my children and family against the demands and pressures of our society.
Maybe one day I will stand unequivocally with the moms I quoted earlier. But not yet. Not quite yet.

What I learned at girl scout camp

Spending a weekend camping with 32 girls is illuminating in all sorts of ways. For me, the biggest lesson was linguistic. I learned a new word.

Ew.

Well, the word wasn't entirely new to me, but I learned it previously in a completely different dialect. The word I knew, and very occasionally used, was more like eee-eww, each of the two syllables distinctly enunciated, with stress on each, spoken with plenty of inflection and appropriately exaggerated facial expressions.

The new word I learned may be in the same family, and is also used to express a level of disgust. However, it has a completely different ring to it. Or no ring. No inflection. No expression. Maybe the slightest sneering curl of the upper lip, only enough to get the word out of the mouth.

Ew.

A junebug fell in the fire.

Ew.

And now it's sizzling.

Ew.

There is a dead junebug in the toilet.

Ew.

Wait, you've got a spider on you.

Ew.

This mattress has maggots.

Ew.

Would you like a breakfast sausage?

Ew.

Who belched?

Ew.

The perfect, brief, compact way to let the world know your sensibilities have been offended.

I have to go now. I have so much to do. After just two days of camping, my daughter and I have brought back five loads of laundry.

Ew.

Why I don't make New Year's resolutions

I missed the both the Baby Boomers and Generation X by a few years. I'm a forty-something foreign-born American, business owner, wife, mother of two homeschooled children. I grew up first behind the Iron Curtain, and later on the north-west side of Chicago, and attended a very prestigious university, from which I earned a graduate degree, and which has absolutely nothing to do with what I am doing today. In 1989 I threw my academic career and caution to the wind, and took up with a scruffy bicycle messenger, whom I later married. Throwing caution to the wind became a pattern, and a few years later, with not much more than five grand of cash in hand, and another five in vendor credits, we decided to open a bicycle store.

My leather-bound, hard-earned diploma stashed in a a dark corner of the attic, I went to work changing countless inner tubes, cleaning and oiling gritty chains, fitting people on bicycles, and talking up the benefits of urban cycling. It was exhilarating work. I loved it! I had discovered a passion for doing things with my hands, earnestly interacting with people, and building and creating a business we wholeheartedly believed in. Amidst all this (not literally, of course), children were conceived and born, a house was bought, and comfortable, middle-class existence beckoned.

Unhappily, our quirky little neighborhood business grew much faster than we could handle, and we found ourselves in debt to the hilt. All credit card debt. How much? Well, the round number had five zeroes behind it. I'll leave the interest rates to your imagination. It still makes my heart race. After six years,a flirtation with a second career, many sleepless nights and desperate arguments, and untold wrinkle-inducing stress later, we are, with the exception of our mortgage, debt-free.

There are lots of us out there with lives like this. Well, maybe not exactly like this, but similar enough. Ordinary (or less ordinary), full (sometimes too full) lives, revolving around the problems of daily living, money, love, debt, jobs, family. Lives lived in more or less perfect homes, filled with children who sometimes misbehave, but most of the time they make your heart ache, and irritating spouses, with their bad habits, who love you unconditionally, and without whom you would wither, and aging parents, who know better, tremble over you, but stand by you anyway, and pets, and books, and bills, and shoes stacked next to the front door... and hours ticking mercilessly on and on...

And everyone out there -- strangers, all of them -- tries to tell us how to make these lives better.
What you could be, if only you had enough. Enough of what? Determination, perseverance, self-control, focus, money? We lap it up. Seven habits in 30 days. 20 pounds in a week. Four hours a week to early retirement. From $100 to $1,000,000 in a heartbeat. Meaningful goals. Prioritized objectives. A better you: organized, pulled together, fit, focused, financially sound, sexually fulfilled, regular, and balanced. Millions of ways to help you get a life.

Except that most of us already have an amazing life. As my friend Deb asks: So, if my life and self are only ever this, as they are now - why would that not be enough?

I thought this would be a blog about homeschooling. But, to borrow someone else's phrase, homeschooling has revolutionized the way I see the world, and I can no longer separate it from the rest of my life. It has made me look at my life, and see something I like. After the years of indescribable anxiety and stress, homeschooling brought unexpected solace, allowing me to walk full-circle back to my core beliefs, and to realize that everything I need is already right here. If you're anything like me, your glass is already full.

So drink.

Are You Important? How to quickly increase your personal worth and rise above the suckers.

The world is divided into suckers, and people who matter. Believe me, it hurts to be a sucker.
Notice that suckers are always waiting patiently for something. You are too important for that. No one ever got ahead by being patient. So pull your gut in, jut your chin out, stick your best foot forward, and tell the world you matter. Below are some ideas for you to try. They may feel a little awkward at first, like you're drawing undue attention to yourself. But if you persevere, these behaviors will quickly become second-nature. Ready?

In backed up traffic, avail yourself of the extra space in the right shoulder to pass the suckers patiently waiting (see what I mean?) their turn. Earn bonus points if you (a) run a cyclist off the road, or (b) honk loudly when you are forced to merge into traffic with mere mortals.

You run into another line of suckers patiently waiting (told'ya) for service in front of a busy deli counter. Deftly sidestepping them, rap on the counter with your knuckles, and yell "Miss, miss!" until you get a clerk's attention. Then, you simply place your order. Not enough balls to try this? Well, see, you're not important enough. Practice it first by feigning a foreign accent and lack of familiarity with local customs. (This works in a bank line, too. Those mazes they place in front of teller windows are for suckers. They're not for you. Just walk right on up to the teller and state your business.)

Remember, that whenever they open up an extra register at the supermarket, they open it for you, not for the sucker who was next in line. They are only required to say that for good PR.

When waiting at a red light to make a right turn, go the instant the light turns green. Green means GO! Pedestrians? What pedestrians? They're suckers. Get even more bonus points if you run through a puddle and spray them with mud.

This is by no means an exhaustive list. See if you can come up with some ideas on your own. Follow these guidelines:

• Remember to always put yourself first.
• Put your needs first.
• Push your own agenda.
• Don't make eye contact. Look over the suckers' heads.

When you can cut off a mom with a stroller, force the old lady back on the sidewalk, spray the UPS man with salty puddle water, get the cyclist to flip you a bird, and still arrive at the red light first, you know you've made it.