The crazy thing about homeschooling is that you never get to experience Monday Blues. Or Sunday Blues either, for that matter.
Grace got a healthy dose of both yesterday and this morning. I actually had to make her eat a little banana, drink some milk, brush her teeth, and then drove her the two blocks down to school to make sure she made it.
"Can't you just call me in sick today?"
"No sweetie, you're not sick, you're just feeling Monday jitters." Oh, and a bunch of separation anxiety, three years late.
"Please??"
"No."
Dang, it is weird to be having that conversation. But I actually don't feel conflicted about her going to school, which I guess would make it easier for me to give in and let her stay home. She had a good time last week, and she will this week, too. She starts a new schedule but she'll have a buddy to help her through it.
The only thing that really bugs me is lunch. She has such a short time to eat (my little gal who takes a half hour to eat half a sandwich) and can't sit with her friends who spend most of their paltry twenty-minute lunch waiting in line for "hot" lunch. I see all the good that Grace will gain from being at school; I also see all the things I just can't stand about school.
I hope she comes home happy.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Friday, January 28, 2011
Empty Nest Syndrome... Nine Years Early?
After a restless few hours of sleep last night I woke up around midnight with an upset stomach, cold toes, and an aching heart. It took an hour of staring at the ceiling, tossing around the cat as I flipped from one side to the other, and a cup of chamomile tea with some toast to realize that I missed my kids.
Of course, they were sleeping in their rooms next to ours. Of course, we ate dinner together last night, like always, hung out in the living room towards bedtime, Samuel reading the newest Sports Illustrated, Grace working on her math homework, Dave composing some kind of history department thing. And I was restless, which carried over into sleep.
Samuel and Grace went to school--"real" school--for the first time on Tuesday. Samuel is in 6th grade, Grade is in 4th, both have been homeschooled since day one. This year has been challenging, though. They have both yearned for the social aspect of school, the regimentation (really? yes...), the recesses, the sports. I started losing inspiration and steam: it's hard to keep up the good fight when your soldiers are near rebellion. We've held off as long as we could because they have both flourished with homeschooling but we could see that if we were to truly honor their needs we had to let them try out public school.
And so it happened, in a proverbial blink of the eye: I signed them up to start with the new semester, bought school supplies and lunch makings, and delivered them to their schools on Tuesday. It has been bumpy for both kids. A big school with lockers, two floors, lunch time, and multiple teachers threw Samuel off a bit the first day. There is still complaining coming from him about this teacher or that, mostly indicative of his modus operandi when in a new situation: resist, complain, pretend not to care. By this morning, though, even that has eased a bit. But not once has he said he didn't want to go. He gets up early, eats, packs his bag, hops on his bike, rides to his friend's house where he parks his bike and then walks with a group of middle-schoolers the rest of the way. He only wants a half-sandwich in his lunch because he needs to eat fast and get out to play football. He has noticed that he is as smart and even smarter than the kids around him. In other words, my little boy is stretching into this new life with remarkable grace and ease.
Grace has wanted to go to school for much longer than Samuel but surprisingly, she had the roughest time the second morning. Nerves and worries plagued her. Now that she knew what school was, she feared that she wouldn't be able to find the right door to her classroom from the playground; that she wouldn't have time to deal with her retainer and eat in the twenty minutes allowed for lunch; that she hadn't written the expository essay she was sure was due any day; mostly, she worried about not knowing what was expected of her, my poor sweet over-achieving, perfectionist daughter. I walked her to school that second morning, spoke with her teacher, saw that Mrs. Metcalf had thoughtfully provided a planner for Grace to record all her assignments--all the expectations--and knew that this day would be better. And it was. With each day she has blossomed. She laughingly had to shoo Fluffy the cat away from her two mornings in a row because the animals want to go with her. She loves the library at school, the girls with whom she plays four-square at recess, her homeroom teacher. And in the end, she is changing schedules starting on Monday because she has tested into a higher level.
Who says doing "school" a couple hours (or less) a day turns kids into ignorant, anti-social beings? Clearly something worked well, and they are happy, so in turn I must also be glad for them, if not happy, yet.
I had a good cry over my chamomile tea. Realized that I missed my babies: the house is empty, the dog wanders around looking for them, I have no one to eat lunch with or argue with or laugh with. I know that this will ease up. It's a huge transition for me--nearly 12 years of always having them around and now with a poof they're gone most of the day. What triggered my bad night, I realize, is that yesterday Samuel went straight back to his friend's house after school and didn't come home until 5:30. He had a great time, very little homework, no problem. Except that it turns out that I missed him like crazy and didn't realize it until the middle of the night.
I'm busy enough during the day right now. For the first time ever since having kids, I make every morning my time to exercise. I walk the dog along the river for an hour or, like yesterday, up Badger Mountain in the fog and sage brush and beauty of our stark landscape. I've read my silly spy thriller, sipped coffee, run errands, chatted on the phone, visited with the chickens, cleaned house (but not too much), and enjoyed the peace and quiet. But I guess it's normal to have to adjust to this new life, either six years late--had I put the kids in school at age 5--or nine years too early. I actually only have two months of total "leisure" as remarkably I am going back to teaching French at the community college starting spring quarter.
I guess until then I really do need to embrace these days, knit that sweater finally for Dave, read all the books I have piled on my desk, work out, write in this blog, hang out with my friends. And be grateful for the incredible people my kids have turned into, that they are flourishing and solidly confident of both themselves and of my deep and abiding love for them.
Of course, they were sleeping in their rooms next to ours. Of course, we ate dinner together last night, like always, hung out in the living room towards bedtime, Samuel reading the newest Sports Illustrated, Grace working on her math homework, Dave composing some kind of history department thing. And I was restless, which carried over into sleep.
Samuel and Grace went to school--"real" school--for the first time on Tuesday. Samuel is in 6th grade, Grade is in 4th, both have been homeschooled since day one. This year has been challenging, though. They have both yearned for the social aspect of school, the regimentation (really? yes...), the recesses, the sports. I started losing inspiration and steam: it's hard to keep up the good fight when your soldiers are near rebellion. We've held off as long as we could because they have both flourished with homeschooling but we could see that if we were to truly honor their needs we had to let them try out public school.
And so it happened, in a proverbial blink of the eye: I signed them up to start with the new semester, bought school supplies and lunch makings, and delivered them to their schools on Tuesday. It has been bumpy for both kids. A big school with lockers, two floors, lunch time, and multiple teachers threw Samuel off a bit the first day. There is still complaining coming from him about this teacher or that, mostly indicative of his modus operandi when in a new situation: resist, complain, pretend not to care. By this morning, though, even that has eased a bit. But not once has he said he didn't want to go. He gets up early, eats, packs his bag, hops on his bike, rides to his friend's house where he parks his bike and then walks with a group of middle-schoolers the rest of the way. He only wants a half-sandwich in his lunch because he needs to eat fast and get out to play football. He has noticed that he is as smart and even smarter than the kids around him. In other words, my little boy is stretching into this new life with remarkable grace and ease.
Grace has wanted to go to school for much longer than Samuel but surprisingly, she had the roughest time the second morning. Nerves and worries plagued her. Now that she knew what school was, she feared that she wouldn't be able to find the right door to her classroom from the playground; that she wouldn't have time to deal with her retainer and eat in the twenty minutes allowed for lunch; that she hadn't written the expository essay she was sure was due any day; mostly, she worried about not knowing what was expected of her, my poor sweet over-achieving, perfectionist daughter. I walked her to school that second morning, spoke with her teacher, saw that Mrs. Metcalf had thoughtfully provided a planner for Grace to record all her assignments--all the expectations--and knew that this day would be better. And it was. With each day she has blossomed. She laughingly had to shoo Fluffy the cat away from her two mornings in a row because the animals want to go with her. She loves the library at school, the girls with whom she plays four-square at recess, her homeroom teacher. And in the end, she is changing schedules starting on Monday because she has tested into a higher level.
Who says doing "school" a couple hours (or less) a day turns kids into ignorant, anti-social beings? Clearly something worked well, and they are happy, so in turn I must also be glad for them, if not happy, yet.
I had a good cry over my chamomile tea. Realized that I missed my babies: the house is empty, the dog wanders around looking for them, I have no one to eat lunch with or argue with or laugh with. I know that this will ease up. It's a huge transition for me--nearly 12 years of always having them around and now with a poof they're gone most of the day. What triggered my bad night, I realize, is that yesterday Samuel went straight back to his friend's house after school and didn't come home until 5:30. He had a great time, very little homework, no problem. Except that it turns out that I missed him like crazy and didn't realize it until the middle of the night.
I'm busy enough during the day right now. For the first time ever since having kids, I make every morning my time to exercise. I walk the dog along the river for an hour or, like yesterday, up Badger Mountain in the fog and sage brush and beauty of our stark landscape. I've read my silly spy thriller, sipped coffee, run errands, chatted on the phone, visited with the chickens, cleaned house (but not too much), and enjoyed the peace and quiet. But I guess it's normal to have to adjust to this new life, either six years late--had I put the kids in school at age 5--or nine years too early. I actually only have two months of total "leisure" as remarkably I am going back to teaching French at the community college starting spring quarter.
I guess until then I really do need to embrace these days, knit that sweater finally for Dave, read all the books I have piled on my desk, work out, write in this blog, hang out with my friends. And be grateful for the incredible people my kids have turned into, that they are flourishing and solidly confident of both themselves and of my deep and abiding love for them.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Holiday Baking
I had already planned on getting all my Christmas goodies together this weekend--peppermint bark, Russian tea cakes, sugar cookies, and fudge--when I came out of the store this afternoon to find that it is snowing again. All the old stuff just finally melted, enough that we could see all the leaves that didn't get raked up before the Thanksgiving snows.
With the snow outside, the "Swinging Christmas" station on Pandora belting out Burl Ives, Frank Sinatra and Bing Crosby, and a whole lot of baking ahead of me, I foresee a cozy Saturday afternoon.
The obligatory chicken update: It was just sprinkling rain when I went off to the store. I came out to snow, drove home and went straight out to see what the chickens were doing, as they had been out roaming. They were hiding on the side of the house, coated with snow, and seemingly unable to figure out how to get home. I had to herd them in but now they are much happier.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Technology Conquered
In other words, I figured out that the camera is fine, it just doesn't upload pictures if that little cord thingy isn't plugged in.
Here are the pictures that should have gone with the previous few posts:
Samuel took it upon himself to shovel out some grass area for our stir-crazy chickens last week. They loved it and we loved it when he made a winding path that they were forced to follow--chickens don't like walking on snow.
Self-portrait by Grace.
Inspired by a character in "Little Women," which I am reading to the kids, Samuel thought he'd try out "Ivanhoe." I think the combination of itty-bitty print and archaic language forced him to abandon the book soon after this picture was taken.
Out and about, finally.
Our chickens haven't yet got the word that they aren't supposed to be laying much during the winter. We're still pulling in between two and four eggs a day.
Here are the pictures that should have gone with the previous few posts:
Samuel took it upon himself to shovel out some grass area for our stir-crazy chickens last week. They loved it and we loved it when he made a winding path that they were forced to follow--chickens don't like walking on snow.
Self-portrait by Grace.
Inspired by a character in "Little Women," which I am reading to the kids, Samuel thought he'd try out "Ivanhoe." I think the combination of itty-bitty print and archaic language forced him to abandon the book soon after this picture was taken.
Out and about, finally.
Our chickens haven't yet got the word that they aren't supposed to be laying much during the winter. We're still pulling in between two and four eggs a day.
Monday, December 6, 2010
Another Mothering First
I got my first phone call from a kid at school--Samuel looking for his extra credit math homework. I remember how nice it was to always know that I could call home anytime from school and my mom would answer the phone. To reach out from a place of loud voices, bustling bodies, tests and lockers, and find my mom's voice on the other end of the line provided a much needed link to home and comfort.
From the Mouths of Babes
On the way to Homelink this morning:
"You know what really bugs me about (friend's name)? He always finds something to complain about."
"Like what, Samuel?" I ask (curious because complaining about one's horrid lot in life seems to be a cornerstone of all the 11-year olds around me.)
"Well, when I was at his house yesterday I said something like, 'Wow, this football game looks really good on your t.v.!' And all he could do was say, 'It's okay, but it's blotchy in spots.' I mean, he has a brand new 55" wide screen t.v.! How can he find a problem with it already?"
This is a constant source of anguish for Samuel, since he would really, really like it if we bought a huge flat-screen t.v., too. We've spent a lot of time talking about where our money goes, needs vs. wants, etc. He knows that we are choosing to spend money on a quarter of beef instead of a replacement for a t.v. that, although small and deep, still works.
"You could just ignore it when he complains, you know. All of us find things to complain about but that doesn't need to mean that you can't be his friend. You complain a lot but we still love you."
"Well, next time he complains about his t.v., I'm going to say, 'Yeah, it really sucks that your t.v. isn't all it's cracked up to be. The kid in Indonesia standing on a street corner selling toilet paper with nowhere to sleep would really be sympathetic.'"
This opened up a nice discussion of what really makes us happy: things, or experiences and people. Of course I was the only one discussing it as we rounded the corner into the parking lot. I know he's parroting some of our over-the-top arguments which I had always assumed fell on deaf ears, but it was gratifying to hear that he could see the irony in the situation of his friend not appreciating that which he has so longed for.
Maybe it was the nice cup of hot tea he had for breakfast? I'll start all his days with it...
"You know what really bugs me about (friend's name)? He always finds something to complain about."
"Like what, Samuel?" I ask (curious because complaining about one's horrid lot in life seems to be a cornerstone of all the 11-year olds around me.)
"Well, when I was at his house yesterday I said something like, 'Wow, this football game looks really good on your t.v.!' And all he could do was say, 'It's okay, but it's blotchy in spots.' I mean, he has a brand new 55" wide screen t.v.! How can he find a problem with it already?"
This is a constant source of anguish for Samuel, since he would really, really like it if we bought a huge flat-screen t.v., too. We've spent a lot of time talking about where our money goes, needs vs. wants, etc. He knows that we are choosing to spend money on a quarter of beef instead of a replacement for a t.v. that, although small and deep, still works.
"You could just ignore it when he complains, you know. All of us find things to complain about but that doesn't need to mean that you can't be his friend. You complain a lot but we still love you."
"Well, next time he complains about his t.v., I'm going to say, 'Yeah, it really sucks that your t.v. isn't all it's cracked up to be. The kid in Indonesia standing on a street corner selling toilet paper with nowhere to sleep would really be sympathetic.'"
This opened up a nice discussion of what really makes us happy: things, or experiences and people. Of course I was the only one discussing it as we rounded the corner into the parking lot. I know he's parroting some of our over-the-top arguments which I had always assumed fell on deaf ears, but it was gratifying to hear that he could see the irony in the situation of his friend not appreciating that which he has so longed for.
Maybe it was the nice cup of hot tea he had for breakfast? I'll start all his days with it...
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Miscellanea, or What Happens When You Procrastinate on Posting
What happens? I have a backlog of pictures (and an ailing camera, so no pictures yet) and stories and now I can't remember everything I wanted to share this past week.
It's been a good one, though:
the snow is slowly melting (although as I write big flakes are coming down);
the gigantic icicles on our eaves crashed to the ground last night (killing off half a rhododendren and waking me up all night long);
Dave repaired the coop ramp;
the chickens are still laying like crazy;
the Christmas tree is up;
lessons are being learned, poetry and stories written, plans made for gift-giving;
knitting is not going as quickly as I would like... though Grace is doing well on her dishcloth-sampler-sort of thing;
two, yes two Bing Crosby movies have been watched by the girls in the Arnold family in as many days;
much football is being consumed by the Arnold boys + one girl;
and a brilliant hike happened this morning at the state trooper land--crunchy snow barely touched by foot traffic, the scent of sagebrush lightly on the air, an incongruous sensation in this desert country.
It's been a good one, though:
the snow is slowly melting (although as I write big flakes are coming down);
the gigantic icicles on our eaves crashed to the ground last night (killing off half a rhododendren and waking me up all night long);
Dave repaired the coop ramp;
the chickens are still laying like crazy;
the Christmas tree is up;
lessons are being learned, poetry and stories written, plans made for gift-giving;
knitting is not going as quickly as I would like... though Grace is doing well on her dishcloth-sampler-sort of thing;
two, yes two Bing Crosby movies have been watched by the girls in the Arnold family in as many days;
much football is being consumed by the Arnold boys + one girl;
and a brilliant hike happened this morning at the state trooper land--crunchy snow barely touched by foot traffic, the scent of sagebrush lightly on the air, an incongruous sensation in this desert country.
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