The Autodidact

I hated school as a kid. I think this was why homeschooling appealed to me so much early on in my journey. I loved reading and writing and learning, mind you. I just hated school. The actual building. And the school bus, and the playground. I am, by nature, an extremely sensitive person. My feelings get hurt easily, and I have learned to thicken my skin a little bit. But I am also extremely sensitive to sounds and smells, to other people's emotions and actions; my senses are keen. And this is what I hated so much about school. The bus ride was noisy and smelly. Kids screaming and laughing and pushing each other around. Kids teasing and kids getting hurt; fights and tears and taunts. The bus smelled of dirty kids and leftover lunch and sour milk. It reeked of the exhaust fumes and dirt and scum on the floor. The seats smelled of vinyl and were not comfortable. The windows never seemed to line up quite right with the seats and sometimes I was unlucky to sit near a window that did...

The last week of summer vacation. The 17 year old got up at the crack of dawn to go fishing and the 14, 11 and 9 year olds slept in as usual and the 5 and 3 year olds are playing. The summer sounds of screen doors slamming and cicadas humming and the trampoline bouncing flow in the window on the breeze. I love the summer. Not so much the hot and humid weather, which comes and goes here, but the laziness of it all. No particular schedule except going to the pool for lessons and then for playtime in the afternoon if the mood strikes. Birds chirping at my window and kids yelling to one another, and just waiting for the day to unfold.The whole aimlessness of it all is so appealing to me. Sure, I like predictability and a gentle rhythm to my days, but summer brings a much needed respite to all that. We spend nine intense months doing school at home, and when Memorial Day comes, I am  ready to throw in the towel and jump in the pool with the kids. No schooling year round for us. Th...

I can hear the ice cream truck trolling through the neighborhood. Up and down streets, the same song playing over and over, beckoning children from their play. I hear the song pause for a moment and it seems the ice cream man has some customers. Then he goes on, round and round the city. And competing with this song are sirens. Many of them, and insistent and urgent. Fire and Police. It goes on for a while. The ice cream song wraps itself into the sirens and they become one song. And then they are both drowned out by the rain. Pouring relentlessly. Children scurry inside and the sirens have reached their destination. I run outside to fetch a book the 5 year old left on the picnic table and get soaked. The rain brings me peace. Peace to a soul burdened with many burdens; many that I cannot share. There is good in this world, and there is bad. There is joy and there is sadness. And many times they are intertwined and inseparable as the ice cream truck song and the sirens. There a...

So it's that time of year again. Kids are going back to school, and school supplies and new clothes have been flying off the shelves. It's an exciting time of year for some, for some it is filled with dread and anxiety. As a homeschooler, I too, get caught up in it all. After a summer off spent playing at the pool, we start to look forward to the fall, and at the same time whisper a sad farewell to summer. But there is also a darker side to this season, one that we all see and think is OK. One that we laugh at and may even celebrate. It's the season we see moms rejoicing over the fact that the kids will be back in school. Moms doing a happy dance as the bus picks up the kids for their first day. Moms posting on social media how happy they are that summer is over and they can get back to their own lives. Moms declaring to the person sitting next to her at the pool: Hooray for me! The kids are leaving! Sure, they will still do the kids' laundry and cook their meals, b...

Crafts. The word makes me shudder and visions of glue and glitter and little pieces of paper all over my house fill my mind. I cringe at the thought of macaroni covered in glue or paint and attached to paper plates or strung on yarn. I do not like crafts. At all. I have crafty friends who are talented and seem to manage it with no mess lingering in their house for weeks. If my kids play at their house they often come home with some clever craft made out of re-purposed items, and I am impressed and wonder how in the world did my friend come up with that? But I never do crafts with my kids. I tried when I just had two kids and they were young, but the mess got to me and the projects never turned out well anyway, nor were they useful for anything. And so I just stopped. You would be hard pressed to find glue or glitter in my house. You may find a pair of little kid scissors hidden away in a drawer somewhere. But you won't find any craft themed books or magazines, and if you find a...

I hear many moms new to home schooling ask where is the best spot to "do school" in the house and how to stock, decorate and furnish the "school" area. I tried using a spare bedroom when I just had 3 kids, and only one old enough to homeschool. But it was upstairs and away from the kitchen and laundry and I felt out of touch with the rest of my house and my duties. Later, when I had more children and no bedrooms to spare, I designated the dining room as the school room. I hung maps and a white board and time lines and we didn't even call it a dining room. But I just couldn't relax over dinner with all that stuff hanging around. I needed to decide where we would do school, but nothing seemed to suit me. And then I realized why. I had rejected the traditional model of education, but here I was trying to fit that model into my home. No wonder I couldn't relax! The school room is not a natural nor relaxing place to learn, and so my attempts seemed forced a...

She dances around me as I kneel in the water, dancing circles around me. And she's laughing and squealing and looking into my eyes, looking deep into my soul. Her laugh is unfettered and real and from her very core, and when her eyes look into mine I see nothing but pure joy, complete trust. Her happiness bubbles up, not willing to be contained, like the bubbles she creates in the water as she runs around me. And she calls my name over and over in her little voice; it's a shout of unabashed love and confidence and connection. My hand reaches out to her to touch her as she passes and she screams in glee. "Mommy! Mommy!" She laughs my name. And I remember long ago a dream I used to have. It was during a time of sadness and emptiness; a time after losing a child and before having any living ones. In the dream I could hear a sweet, little voice calling my name in joy and gladness, and it filled me. I wanted to run to that voice and scoop up the child in my arms, but i...