So the other day my eldest whippersnapper spent like, a million hours writing up her and her sister's homeschooling schedules. She was all business and had to do it on the computer, which was really getting in the way of my Facebooking time. I tried to tell her I needed the computer to pin educational, homeschool-y things on Pinterest and then never EVER implement them, but she wouldn't get off the chair and give me a turn. She organized all their subjects so that they wouldn't overlap; for instance when C is doing math, A is doing science, etc.
Who is doing science, I argued. I'm not doing science! I don't require science in this here homeschool of mine!
Ok, you don't have to, but we like it, whippersnapper says.
Great. What's next: underwater basket weaving? French? Philosophy? Social studies?
So then I started panicking a little because Oregon requires state testing every couple of years or so. I know my kids are smart (smarter than me. I don't know what they're talking about half the blooming time). I also know tests don't prove anything. I also know that public schools teach according to tests and that's sorta not fair, cuz I don't. I also know no one will ever know their scores, not even the state of Oregon, who evidently makes you take them but then never actually asks for the results. But you have to have em just in case they storm your house and drag your offspring off by their pigtails and demand that you begin teaching French and Philosophy and Social Studies immediately. You have to be prepared. Homeschoolers are a paranoid bunch because sometimes we worry it's still 1982 and we could be thrown in jail.
Anyhoo. I texted my mom for a little moral support during my hour of need. My slight panic attack. My small moment of over-reacting irrationally. Here's our conversation:
Me: I'm really freaking out about the girls having to be tested next year. I feel like I'm on trial. Did you feel all this pressure?? What if we've skipped way too much? What if they don't have any common sense??
Mom: Drive by the local high school and remember this truth: I can't possibly do any worse. Repeat as necessary.
Me: Ok. Sure. They're smart compared to a lot of kids. But I don't want them to look like morons by other homeschooler's standards!
Mom: Nah. Those homeschoolers are scary and not happy. Even the math section is all about reading comprehension so just keep plugging away on Reading for Fun and Knowledge. You don't want them to be nuclear physicists anyway, right? That'd be so borrrrrrring.
Me: I was looking up samples today. Anna is going to panic and spell her own name wrong.
Mom: You need to read some articles about the stupidity of standardized testing. Memorize and chant parts as needed.
Me: I KNOW THEY DON'T MEAN ANYTHING BUT I STILL WANT THEM TO ROCK THEM!!!!
Mom: You must let go of that perfectionism.
Me: Can't. Let. Goooooooooooooo.
Mom: I'm laffing.
Me: Laff it up, brattybratbrat.
Mom:The main reason I started homeschooling you was because I was scared of your perfectionist side. Musta come from the Landrum side.
Me: Don't make me take back my diamonds and poke you with my pitchfork!
Note: My gramma Landrum once returned diamond earrings that her husband got her for their anniversary so she could get what she had really wanted: a pitchfork. I inherited her love of practical things. My husband knows better than to ever bring me flowers. Give me a blender. Or a jumbo pack of paper towels.
Mom: Ok, I'll cop to the perfectionism but the Mean is all Landrum! Chasing me with a pitchfork indeed!
Needless to say, my hour of need was smacked into shape by Mama Smartypants, who homeschooled back in 1982 and thinks we all have it way too easy these days. Humph.
Anyway, I figure Cora has things all under control and I can go back to Facebook now. I had to seriously reprimand her for getting up early all week and for finishing yet another science textbook. Sheesh. Those things don't grown on trees and I do not appreciate math before 8 a.m. Actually, I don't appreciate math at 3 p.m. either.
I have to drive by the local high school now. Bye.