On why I'm quitting homeschooling

The past couple of years have been hard on our family; those of you who have known us longer than ten minutes know this. One constant for us has been our homeschooling, and for the most part, we've loved it.

We've loved:
the freedom
the flexibility
the choices
the one-size-doesn't-fit-all way of life

What we haven't loved:
the pressure
the cabin fever
the lack of opportunity to ever "miss" each other (haha!)
the academics

I don't feel like I necessarily need to shout to the rooftops the benefits of homeschooling; those stats are easy to find, and you can look up the tags labeled "homeschooling" here on my blog if you want my outlook. Nor do I need to give a lot of reasons for why we are done with it (for now), besides the fact that I'm tired and I need something to give (at the moment, I'm teaching 11 dance classes a week, and have writing deadlines). Suffice to say, we are all cheerful and happy and nervous and excited and anxious about our decision to put the girls in a Waldorf charter school. 

Batman Jr. won't start kindergarten until next year, at which time we'll decide what to do with him. The biggest decision that led me to homeschooling in the first place was the time spent at home with Mom: that foundation that gave them the courage and the guts and the growth to become who they were going to be. And who they are is pretty cool. They are independent young ladies, full of passion and with a special kind of education not everyone has (from country life to city life, from sheltered kids to taking in seven inner city big brothers). They are more than halfway to who they're going to be as adults. Homeschooling gave them that security, and I won't take that from Gianni if he needs it just as much. However, it's easier to save the world and take on the bad guys if you occasionally get out of your underoos and leave your own living room, so school might be a good idea for him... So, I dunno. We'll re-evaluate in September 2013. 

If you've never looked into Waldorf Education, start! It's very interesting! I looked into it years and years ago and still have the book I saved up my pennies for as a young wife and mommy. I have always tried to incorporate their philosophy into our homeschool. They're very nature focused, which will be nice for my goonies, who spend entirely too much time "plugged" in to various electronics. They are firm believers in "better late than early," when it comes to academics, which I completely agree with. Forcing children to read before they're ready is detrimental. In Scandinavia, they don't begin school until age 8, and guess what? Much higher test scores. 

All that being said, yes, I will still be writing and endorsing and applauding homeschooling! After all, I write about, endorse and applaud home births too, but I sure as heck ain't gonna have any anytime soon! My place with Home Educating Family Magazine is still solid, and I have an article in Homeschooling Today coming out this winter as well. There are plenty of stories and advice I can pull from from our 12 years of homeschooling. And really, education has always started at home, whether your kids are by your side 24/7 or not. 

The girls are mostly excited to own backpacks.

Yuuuup. As you can see, they haven't gotten out much...

Soon, I expect the guilt to start. The guilt that I've quit. That I'm not SuperMom, like all the other SuperMoms out there. That something was too hard for me. Ironically, the reason my own mother pulled me OUT of public school all those years ago (like, 15 - HA!) was due to my perfectionism tendencies. And now, lo and behold, I am putting my children IN public school to help curb my perfectionism tendencies! How ironic is that? 

It's like a black fly in my chardonnay. Yes, sir. 

Anyhow, that's our news for the winter. If they hate it and I hate it, I will soon be writing a post entitled On Why I'm Quitting Charter School.  So stay tuned, dear readers, and in the meantime, give me some lovin'.

Gloria in a nudist colony

So, I don't wanna do laundry anymore. It never ends, and that's depressing. I mean, I like the dumping in the washer part just fine, and the soap part, but then I'm way over it and I just want to sit around and bemoan Lady Mary and Matthew for a while. Maybe Pinterest something. I don't wanna sort underpants.

So, I thought we could join a nudist colony. It seems the only logical thing to do, and also very green, which is very hipster of me considering I don't even recycle. But I care deeply about the planet, goshdarnit!

But, the thing is, I don't want to join a Fit nudist colony, it'd have to be Frumpy nudist colony. Maybe a nudist colony/fat camp? Do they have those? If not, they should. It'd be motivating for the members, although it'd backfire on me. They'd all be out doing deep knee bends and squats and I'd be eating cheese. Pretty soon, it'd be a Fat Camp for one and that's hardly a camp, people.

On the other hand I don't know what Gloria, my muffin top, would do if I gave her room to breathe, and frankly, the idea is a little terrifying. I can keep her under control with some flat tab Yoga pants, or some jeans in a size that some mature adults would call, too small, or some high waist-ed granny panties. If I gave her room to, you know, maneuver, she might spread or something, like Jabba the Hut. She could ooze into things, like small children and puppies, and also, she hasn't quite forgiven me for the Waxing Incident of Which I Do Not Speak (just write about), and she may get revenge yet.

Also, this would be a family affair and Gianni especially, should not be encouraged to flaunt his birthday suit. He already speaks of body parts with disturbing nonchalance, usually at the most inopportune times. Like when conversing with pastors ("did you know weenies can grow?!") or swinging at the park (while shouting, "underdogs make my weenie tickle!")

My other idea, if the whole nudist colony doesn't pan out (or if they reject our application for membership), is disposable clothing. I came up with this idea when I had babies and they were constantly pooping out their onesies and making yellow stains all over creation. Pop-up onesies that come in a tissue box!

How do I get on Shark Tank?

Another application? Really? Forget it.

Or I could just finish the laundry and threaten to cut the next person who casually flips their socks into my empty hamper. I am always harping on everyone about how you never need to wash jeans. Okay, not NEVER never, but MOSTLY never. I can go weeks without washing my jeans, but I confess it's not just because I fret about the planet, it's because I hate that dance you have to do to get back inside them after washing.
You know the one:

shimmy, shimmy, shake, pour, groan, kick, stretch, gasp, cry, ooze, shimmy, nap, suffocate, whimper, pep talk Gloria. 

This is why homeschool moms wear denim jumpers. No, not because they're fashion challenged, but because they don't the time for such nonsense; they're too busy blogging homeschooling. Also, they're too busy writing letters to the Homeschool Association about rejecting my membership. I think they feel threatened by Gloria or something.

Back to Skool

So, today was the much dreaded anticipated First Day of School. 

I have had a bad attitude for about a week, a month, this year the not so distant past, and half our curricula is somewhere in Kentucky.

Major Hayward - "There is a war on, how is it that you are going to Kentucky?"
Hawkeye - "Well, i face north, and real sudden like, i turn left"
(Last of the Mohicans)

Hopefully, our vocabulary and science will make a sudden left soon. I mean, a sudden right. Wait. Did I buy any geography?

Anyway, I attempted to get my flying around on a broomstick under control, and here's how our day went:

The Good:

Anna was cheerful all day, and Gianni was very obliging as far as not flushing anything important down the toilet/scalping any chickens/stuffing beans up his nose.

The kids aren't on Facebook so they don't know I'm supposed to dress them up in their new clothes (of which they don't own any), hold up their cool lunch boxes and trendy backpacks (of which they don't own any), and take a photo with a delightfully witty caption, like all the good moms do (of which they don't own one).

not my kids

more like my kids. Except these girls look they comb their hair.

The Bad:

The girls wrote (in black Sharpie) on the front of their brand spankin' new notebooks, "Writting," and "Whriting," respectively.

I considered quitting.

Their dad is in charge of history and bible, and he planned circles around me.

I considered quitting.

The Ugly:

There was a nekked four year old sitting atop the table for a while. At least he was freshly bathed.

The Verdict:

If we quit now, we'll end on a high note.
We managed to get everything done, but like I said, half our stuff was MIA, and today is my only day off work, so it SHOULD have been an easy day. Hence, the stifling silence that would normally be filled with the smacking sound of me slapping myself on the back in a congratulatory fashion.

How'd your first day of school go?

Doing it differently

My apologies if this is copyrighted - I couldn't find out for sure. Originally from the Official Book of Homeschooling Cartoons, by Todd Wilson.

Things I plan to do differently this school year:

1. Not force anyone to eat breakfast. Namely, Anna. The other two eat the second they get up, sometimes earlier. I always have this inner voice in my head that tells me if my kids don't have a nutritious breakfast, or at the very least, a bowl of sugar frosted cocoa bombs, then they will not be able to concentrate, fail at school, never graduate, marry a thug, and go to prison.

But fighting over breakfast is not a good way to start the day.

Maybe I'll set out a bowl of grapes, or a bag of pretzels, and if she's hungry over her science lesson, she can munch.

After all, no one knows our own bodies like ourselves. And if she really hates food in the morning, I think I'm just gonna let her hate.

2. Get up earlier and wake the kids earlier. I hate this one, because I really like getting up when I want to, and letting the kids sleep as long as possible. After all, that and the pajamas, are the main reasons we homeschool! My kids are not good morning people, but you know what? They are worse late morning people.

Plus, they go to bed earlier, which you gotta know...can just be nice. Not that I don't love the little gremlins.

“There was never a child so lovely but his mother was glad to get him to sleep.”

― Ralph Waldo Emerson

3. Grammar and vocabulary and spelling.

Yeah, we mostly skipped those last year. Don't judge.

4. Tightening up on Anna's schooling (not trusting her to be more independent than she naturally can be) and continuing to loosen up on Cora's. What does this mean, practically? Sitting nearby and NOT doing eleventy-seven other things while Anna struggles with math, and allowing Cora to spend afternoons at the library alone if she wishes.

5. Doing a lot more field trips and meeting more potential friends. Especially for Cora, who finds it hard to find a Bestie. We joined a whole new group this year and are looking forward to getting involved. Last year, I had about as much interest in being involved in anything, as I do in nuclear physics. That is to say, zero.

6. Remembering that while I don't enjoy teaching school, I do enjoy my kids. While Pre-Algebra might not make sunbeams shoot out from anyone's head, unicorns prance by, violins play, or rainbows emerge over the kitchen table, I don't have to come to school kicking and screaming harder than the students. It's bad for morale.


What are you doing differently this year?

Back to school shopping

Normally, I avoid blogs that yak on and on about homeschool curricula. It's probably just me, because those kinds of blogs are uber popular, but they just annoy me somehow. I also throw away homeschool catalogues due to intense insecurities that I don't OWN EVERYTHING. But in case you're not like me, and you'd like to know what we are planning on doing this year, here it is:

Cora has gone through nearly all the Apologia Exploring Creation books, and since she wants to be a marine biologist, she should really eat this one up.

 Last year and the year before we chose Teaching Textbooks for math (pictured below). I absolutely adore them, but we're doing a cheaper route this year. Life of Fred. They are hilarious and well written, and practically a novel, so they aren't your typical dry textbook. Cora had a tough time with fractions this year, so we're starting there, then we'll move on to Pre-Algebra.

I just discovered these Drive Thru History dvds. They look like they will be right up my kid's ally! We also learn a lot of history through novels, but these look really fun, AND I can get them through Netflix. Win, win!

This is Teaching Textbooks, and I'm their biggest fan. I hardly ever have to "teach" math with these, and that's a good thing. Both for me and for my kids.  


This is me, on math:

There you have it. 
Wish I did.
Have it, I mean.

Six Things That Happened This Week

In case your life was not complete without a rambling list put together by a odd blogger who should be folding laundry right now, have I got a post for you!

This week our dance studio had their big Spring performances which involved a seven hour tech rehearsal, a six hour dress rehearsal, and three shows. I be tired. My feet be hurtin - which is strange because I wasn't the one dancing. I was being a cat herder, a stage manager, and trying to recall at which age it is permissible to say "merde" to dancers. Not the cats, I decided. Also, I was somehow volunteered for the job of climbing up a ladder during Act I in order to strategically place satin cherry blossoms and risk my life. I think I was volunteered because I am 5' 3" so I was the logical choice. Anyway, the shows were great and I didn't cuss out any little sprites in French, which is also great. Also, I didn't fall to my death, which was also great.

My mommy and daddy were here which was also great, because I eat enough for a small continent when 1. someone visits me, or 2. I visit someone, or 3. days that end in "y."  We had rib-eyes and salads with feta and balsamic and salami and cheeses and decadent steelhead and tons of coffee and even went wine tasting at RoxyAnn.

Cora keeps growing or maybe her clothes keep shrinking, but either way, it's gotta stop.

Mike was rear ended by a crazy lunatic who totaled his car and drove off. Now we have to go car shopping, which is not nearly as much fun as it used to be when I was, say, nineteen.

I have to decide what homeschooling curriculum to purchase and then finish 47% of. I keep getting homeschooling catalogues in the mail and I don't appreciate them. I toss them in the trash with a yelp. Like I need more choices. For cryin' in the night, I lose a year in the fabric softener aisle and that stuff isn't even important.

Yesterday we were at the park and Papa gave Gianni a penny to throw in the fountain. This fountain/penny/wish making stuff was new to the moose and he took the tutorial seriously. He tossed the penny. It landed with a plop. Or maybe it was a kersplash. No matter. He closed his eyes tightly and clasped his hands, as if in prayer. Actually, he doesn't do that during prayer - he mostly pinches his sister, steals something off my plate, knocks over his water, and burps loudly. But he took the whole penny shenanigans seriously. Afterwards, being the nosy mom I am, I totally had to take back the part of the instruction I had given him only seconds before and I forced him to tell what his wish was. It was to get a penny with a dog on it. At first, I thought he meant a dog named Penny, which would have made more sense and also been easier to get for the little squirt, but no. He wants a penny with a picture of a dog on it. So, anyway, he waited four seconds for his wish to come true, which in Four Year Old Boy Years is like, three lifetimes, plus five. Then since a penny with a picture of a dog on it didn't drop from the sky, he thought he'd better cement his knowledge of what the word "wish" meant. Papa said it was like having a dream and then having your dream come true. So he laid down on the rock wall and closed his eyes.

"What are you doing?" I asked, taking the opportunity to munch on his chicken since he wasn't looking.

"Falling asleep! So I can dream! I can't sleep! How am I supposed to dream? How will I make it come true if I can't dream?"

The poor guy was really torn up about the whole predicament, so we had to buy him a hot chocolate because I can't afford therapy.

Procrastination. I will think of a better title later.

Procrastination:

What you do instead of getting your homeschooled children ready for their state achievement testing.

Never mind that they've never taken a test in their bloomin' lives.

Never mind that they don't know how to color in those bubbles.

Never mind that we've skipped spelling this month.
That makes it eleven years in a row.

Never mind that they will more than likely spell their own names wrong at the top of the page.

And that they don't know to raise their hands if they have to go to the bathroom, and will, most likely, wander off without permission, causing State Achievement Police to scale the walls and attack them and take them down.

Never mind that I could be doing multiplication drills right now, this very second, in the hopes that something will stick, and instead I sit...
blogging.
Eating smoked chedder and Garlic Butter Ritz.
Sipping Malbec.
Recovering from sitting in the sun all weekend while Cora had a swim meet.

Does it matter if she doesn't know how to spell Constantinople if she can swim a wicked back stroke?

Will there be a page for Anna to list every character of Les Mis?

I thought not.

It would be odd for me to write for homeschool magazines if I am forced to put my own children in public school. I think it could be a prerequisite or something for me to homeschool my kids. I hear the state of Oregon does not want, and in fact, gets annoyed, if you try to force them to look at homeschooled children's test scores, even though they require you to take the tests. This does not cheer me.  Because I will more than likely, be the first that they demand. And when my children are shown to have the IQs of eggplants, I will have to answer to them. And I don't like being put on the spot. I will be unable to spell my own name and I will rush off to the bathroom without permission, and then the whole police debacle will happen all over again.

Let us pray.

For a sudden Southern Oregon flood or earth quake, the state approved tester to be taken suddenly with gout, or for my children to suddenly grow their brains by one million percent. You choose.

Amen.

Daffy

Why in the name of all that is beautiful and lovely, do I even try to attempt to homeschool in Spring??
Really.
I must be daft.
My children are possessed by chocolate covered, ants in their pants, wiggle worms of the worst variety. They do not know their own middle names at this point; why am I trying to coax fractions or geography out of them?

Here are a few samples of how my offspring's brains turn to porridge this week:

Cora (supposed to be getting dressed...at noon): I hate these socks! They're holey!

Anna: You don't like holey socks?

Cora: No, I hate everything holey!

Anna: MOMMMMMMM!  Cora hates Jesus!!!!!

Or take Gianni aka I-Do-All-My-Own-Stunts.  His injuries are outnumbered only by his knee jerk reaction to say either of these two things every three seconds:

Huh?

and/or

Why?

You could ask him to please not stick his head in the toilet especially when he hasn't flushed yet and he would literally say,
"Why?"

Well, son of mine, do you want the answers numerically or alphabetically? Shall we start with feces and how most SANE people don't want them to come in contact with their faces?
Huh?

Then there's Anna who decided to write her book report in Gnommish.
Yep.
I was forced to give it an A seeing as how it could be the best thing ever written. If you're a Gnome.

Then there's the time she feverishly searched high and low for Egypt.
On the map of America.

Anytime I tried to intervene, she shushed me and shouted,
"I can do it! Leave me alone! Don't help! I've almost got it!"

Oh, and let us not forget the fact that my sweet baby, Feces Face, is out front, stalking  birds with a plastic, sawed off shotgun. It's not really sawed off, it got stepped on, but I don't think the neighborhood watch will notice the difference. Or the plastic. Turn in at five to see us on the news. I'll be the one popping garlic stuffed olives in my mouth like Xanax.

So, I think I quit.

I bought those garlic stuffed olives yesterday, along with some hummus, some sharp white cheddar, and a bottle of something red. I figure I don't have to come out of my room for at least a week.

Are You A Homeschool Bully?

Originally published by Home Educating Family.  Reprinted by the author (that's me) with permission.

My uncle ordered popovers
from the restaurant's bill of fare.
And, when they were served,
he regarded them with a penetrating stare.
Then he spoke great words of wisdom
as he sat there on that chair:
"To eat these things," said my uncle,
"You must exercise great care.
You may swallow down what's solid,
but you must spit out the air!"
And as you partake of the world's bill of fare,
that's darned good advice to follow.
Do a lot of spitting out the hot air.
And be careful what you swallow.
~Theodore Seuss Geisel (Dr. Seuss), from a commencement address

One of the most popular reasons homeschooling parents choose to keep their children home – especially in this day and age – is to avoid the bullying and the peer pressure that inevitably comes with public schools.  We don’t want our children to experience that kind of abuse, especially on a daily basis.  Maybe some of us remember it ourselves and we shudder to think of our small sons and daughters being put through that type of pain and torment.

But there is another kind of bullying and peer pressure that is peculiar to homeschooling.  And I’m not talking about the kids. 

It’s us.  The moms.  The dads.

We have a tendency, don’t we, to bask in the glow that is our self righteousness that comes unbidden with our higher calling of homeschooling.  We don’t just look down our noses at our public schooling peers; we bully one another in various ways with our methods, our curricula, our doctrine, our schedule, our appearances, our marriages, our homes. 

Have you ever felt bullied by a fellow homeschooling mommy?  Have you ever bullied – however unintentionally – another homeschooling mommy?

I can’t speak for every homeschooling parent, but sometimes I can feel like the child spoken of in Ephesians 4:14:  I am tossed about here and there by every curricula wave and carried about by every wind of doctrinal homeschooling.  This week it’s Classical Education because that’s what all the “real” Christian homeschoolers do.  Next week it’s Unschooling because I met the neatest family at the park who do it that way.  Next month it’ll be a packaged curriculum everyone at Homeschool Group is raving about and if that doesn’t float my boat, then I’ll enroll them in the Homeschool Co-op (because all the cool kids go there).  Do we do this because we genuinely desire the best for our children and our families, or are we desperately seeking the approval of our own peers?

Homeschooling moms can be –dare I say it – competitive. Cut throat at times.  To the death.  We can be even worse than those feminist career woman we all shake our heads at when it comes to a strange sort of “I am Woman, hear me roar and watch me have it all” mentality. 

We want the homemade bread.  We want the perfect school room.  We want to be just like that other homeschool mom over there.  You know, the one who has it all together and whose kid’s don’t have yesterday’s jam still smeared in their hair? 

And we will throw one another under the bus to get there.

I think part of the curse of Eve was a propensity to gossip.  Can I prove this scripturally?  No, but I feel it in my bones.  Girls pop out of their mother’s wombs ready to chit-chat and there’s nothing more we love to chit-chat about then hearsay and rumors.  Sometimes we disguise this under Prayer Requests.  You know the ones:

Oh, before we hang up, Marg, remember to pray for Tammy.  Oh, you didn’t hear?  She’s just having the most difficult time homeschooling.  She just can’t stay organized.  I recommended that planner but I don’t know…Little June isn’t even reading yet.  Maybe she’s just not cut out for homeschooling.

Hi, there!  I just got done talking to Ruth; don’t forget to pray for her and her husband.  They’re really having trouble.  I told them to join that marriage class at church but you know them.  They never listen to advice.

So nice to see you!  Before you go, will you pray for Beth?  Yes, her kids are just running amuck these days and it’s like she doesn’t even see it.  I think she must be overwhelmed or something.  Maybe depressed.

I know I have to watch myself when it comes to prayer circles.  It’s so easy to twist my words and start mentioning things that I have no business speaking of, all in the guise of sanctified gossip, and all with the secret longing to make myself look smarter, holier, more confident…all to make the In-Crowd of Mommies like me more.  It’s no better on the bus or on the playground than it is in my living room.

Sometimes the bullying we are a part of is quite unintentional.  We don’t mean to pass judgment, but we can’t seem to help it.  Oh, you don’t use the Trivium? Oh, your kids aren’t starting Greek yet?  Doesn’t Sally play a musical instrument?

It’s all I can do this year – a tumultuous and trying year that seemed to last approximately fourteen years – to just concentrate on the Four Rs.  I’m not interested in Latin, I’m not signing up for violin, I don’t care if my kids ever learn Spanish, science is gravy and art is frosting.  If they can learn their math skills, read some great books, and print legibly than I’m having another cup of coffee and calling it a day.  Yes, your kids impress me with their knowledge of gnats or geometry or Shakespeare or the origin of the bean burrito, but I’m just not going to jump on that train right now.

I can’t speak for next year.

I heard about a new method I want to try.  All the cool homeschooling moms are doing it…

over achievin is the name of the game

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.

A Day in the Life of

My daze are weird and oddball and funny looking.  A lot like my family in most cases, now that I think about it, so it's fitting.  Each one is a bit different due to my funky working schedule as a ballet teacher.  A typical day though, goes a little something like this:

6 a.m.  Hubby awakes and makes the coffee.  This is Reason #1 why I keep him.

Between 6:30 and 7:30 I roll out of bed, due to four year old tap dancing on my face, and drink the said coffee.  I have recently realized that the amount of coffee I pour into my mug and the amount of coffee that actually finds its way down my gullet are not one and the same.  I lose the same cup several times and though I always pour another, I rarely get time to drink it.  Mickey Mouse's Clubhouse comes on as I make His Royal Stinkiness his "nice and warm" (warmed almond milk) and oatmeal.  Unless we're out of oatmeal and then he may or may not eat last night's chocolate lava cake.  No comment.  I make myself eat something though I am not hungry in the morning.  If I don't, I'll forget, and then I'll be flying around the house on a broom by noon.

The girls are up by this time and jump into their school work in pajamas (because we all know that the Number One Reason for Home Education is the pajamas).  In the process of teaching them to be independent workers - something I pursued with feverish abandon in K-2nd grades - they now basically school themselves.  They write their own schedules, set their own alarm clocks, and are off like gang busters.  It's weird.  I love it.  Why?  Because I love homeschooling but I hate teaching school, that's why.  If you've homeschooled, you understand.  I never wanted to be a schoolmarm.  I am not good with a ruler or chalkboard and I wear my hair in buns for work already and I don't want the bobbypin headache.

NOT ME ^

ME  ^

I shower.  Not alone of course.  I have three kids.  And a dog.  Who is fiercely determined that he must protect me from shower or potty monsters and must accompany me always.  I haven't been alone in the little girl's room since 1999.

If I have a morning class, I sneak out quietly so Gianni doesn't have a melt down.

At ballet, one ballerina pees on the floor which causes another to...pee on the floor.  Nervous bladders are contagious.  A dance mom is irritated with me and I feel stressed out.  Also, Teddy Bear's Picnic is monstrously aerobic and I am sore from doing "super dooper side splits."

When I get home the house is a wreck because that's what happens when I leave for a couple hours:  a tornado of toast crumbs, toys, Legos, pencils, wrappers, and bandaids attack my house.  It is unexplained but it is predictable.  I clean the floors and load up the dishwasher.  I check on the girl's work, help Cora with prime numbers, inform Anna for the upteenth time that the state of her bedroom makes me want to toss my cookies (at this point Gianni shouts, "cookies?? I want cookies!") and get out the left overs for lunch.  The kids have been selling hot cocoa on the corner every day, so after lunch they whip up a bath, grab their trusty tip jar, and set up shop.  I use the free moments to grade papers, fold laundry, clip coupons check Facebook, answer emails, work on a magazine article that's on a deadline, pin things on Pinterest.  I've been helping a local teen with her writing, so I quickly proofread her latest essays.  Gianni is cold and comes back to help around the house try my patience.  And search for the ever elusive cookie he's sure is around somewhere.  We read Sandra Boynton books until I turn into a hippo myself and go berserk.

After the kiddos make a few bucks they netflix a documentary or watch a recorded episode of Fetch with Ruff Ruffman.  Snacks all around.  Gianni is learning to read (drat him!) so we do a chapter out of Teach Your Child to Read in 100 Easy Lessons.  I get ready to leave for work again.  Put something in the crockpot.  Cora gets dropped off at swim practice, Anna comes along as my assistant, Gianni hangs with grandpa.

No one pees in inappropriate places.  Success! I debate graduating a couple hard working bunheads to the next level and have a heart to heart with a fretful mom. Another mom is interested in homeschooling and asks how do I it all?  I laugh hysterically.  Dance moms are funny.  Weird, but funny.

Hubby will pick up Cora so I swing by some overdue library items and grab a couple things at the grocery store.  At home again I thank Grandpa McPhee and clean up the house yet again.  I put some Civil Wars on the cd player, which competes in a harmonious way with the sound of the Mario Cart in the living room, pour a glass of wine, and chop veggies for salad.  "But where are the cookies?" moans Gianni woefully.  I text my sister twenty five times or so and Anna sets the table.  Cora is ravenous from swim practice when she gets home and Hubby and I spend the next two hours trying to finish a sentence in the middle of lovely chaos.    We play some card games, do a Star Wars puzzle for the 123497.239587 time today, load up the dishwasher, and start the bedtime process.  This involves snuggles, books, teeth, water, potty, tucking ins, music, etc.  Repeat eleventy seven times.   On what kid planet does getting out of bed to ask to be tucked back in make sense?   Hubby and I netflix The Office and forget to talk about our days.  We'll remember tomorrow when the kids are up and we can't get a word in edgewise.

Sleep.  Repeat.

Sibling Rivalry: A Love Story

The following is a piece I wrote for publication.  It was rejected.  I rewrote it.  Again, rejected.  A different publication showed a brief and momentary interest in it.  But again, rejected.  Then I thought to myself, 'Hey, Self!  I have a blog where no one rejects me!  Well, if they do I don't hear about it.'  So, here you go.  Please don't reject me.  


                                                    *****************************
                                                 SIBLING RIVALRY: A LOVE STORY

It snowed last year:  I made a snowman and my brother knocked it down and I knocked my brother down and then we had tea.  –Dylan Thomas.

Is there a relationship so exasperating, exhilarating, angst-ridden, hilarious, bonding, mortifying, constant, giggle inducing, and annoying as that of siblings?  If there is, I have yet to see it.  Although we may love our friends, think we’ve told our girlfriends everything there is to know about us, lean on our spouses, have deep talks with our parents, adore our grandmas, and even sometimes befriend our own offspring, only our siblings knew us from the time of the younger’s birth and will be there when the last one breathes their last.  The language between brothers and sisters is even without words at times; a nod, a shrug, a snort, a shake of the head, a wave of the hand, and they instantly know what the other is communicating.  They interject your childhood tale with a well place eye roll, because after all, they were there too and know when you’re exaggerating.   

My sister – homeschooled beside me during the 1980s - is someone who, even when she struggles to understand me, is the type of fiercely loyal sibling who would drive the get-away car for me after I’ve knocked over the Piggly Wiggly.  If someone dared to suggest I should rethink my life of crime, she’d defend me.  This I know.  And I would do the same for her, although me being the elder I would probably smack her upside the head at the same time.  We’ve gone to bat for each other more times than I even remember.  I recently found my old diary and it was sprinkled throughout with all sorts of references to my sister; a few complimentary, some angry and critical, most ridiculous (I was eleven).  All of the mean parts were crossed through as though in remorse I had seen fit to undo what I had done to her by describing her character so unjustly.  Nowadays, she would still drive the get-away car for me, although in these later years it would be a van full of children, sometimes quarreling siblings themselves.  In fact, we’d be sure to be caught by the police as we pulled over to the side of the road to lecture them about the importance of being kind to your brothers and sisters.            

A sister is someone who will be brutally honest, snuggle under the covers during thunder storms, huddle with you during fearful times, loan you her clothes, steal your clothes, bully you herself but stand up for you with anyone else, braid your hair and pop your pimples.  She has heard you cry yourself to sleep, seen you in your birthday suit, was there when your first crush broke your teenage heart, conspired against your mutual parents with you, did your homework for you, solved mysteries and fought crime with you as her sidekick, learned to drive with you, and either did everything first or everything last, depending on birth order.  My sister is the first person to know when something is wrong with me and the last person I would want to hurt, although ironically she’s usually the first despite my good intentions.  She’s the finisher of all my good quotes and the only one who understands why I think they’re so funny.  We have numerous one liners that crack us up even though neither one of us could tell you why anymore; somewhere through thirty years we’ve forgotten the source.  Why would the declaration that the mashed potatoes are creamy be so hilarious, especially when there are no mashed potatoes to be had?  We’re not quite sure anymore…but we will always bring it up and then laugh together as everyone else in the room raise their eyebrows and back away slowly.  She’s the borrower of all my cute shoes, the thief behind most of my lost earrings, and in a way that only makes sense:  as a chubby little black haired babe perched precariously for a Kodak moment in my three year old arms, she stole my heart long ago.

  

If you don’t understand how a woman could both love her sister dearly and want to wring her neck at the same time, then you were probably an only child.  –Linda Sunshine.

Sibling rivalry began in the garden of Eden and will continue as long as we call our fallen world our home.  Imagine how different the road trips in Heaven will be!  Why, I don’t know about you, but I plan on driving from one galaxy to another with nothing but peace in the backseat!

The lines of distinction are blurred when you have a sibling that is the same gender and close to the same age.  Their lives are conjoined and entirely fluid, even more so when they’re homeschooled.   Four and five year old sisters are almost one whole person.  This was evident one day as I asked my daughters what they wanted to be when they grew up.  Five year old Cora responded, ‘A cowgirl.’  Anna scowled and crossed her little arms over her chest.  ‘Fine,’ she muttered, unhappily, ‘I guess I’ll be the horse.’  Two separate identities and directions would have been unfathomable, unthinkable, and probably unexplainable to them.  If one is a cowgirl, then it only stands to reason that the other has to be the horse.  Poor little whippersnapper had to retire her dreams of being a doctor at an early age and learn instead to gallop properly.  Lucky for her, or unluckily, Cora at the ripe old age of eleven has changed her career path to Marine Biology.  Let us hope Anna swims well and can speak dolphin.

I’m sure the rivalry in our house will only escalate in the teen years, as much as I fight the idea.  There will be arguments over lip gloss and shoes, homework and drivers’ permits, chalk lines drawn down the middle of the bedroom, missing jewelry and clothes, more eye rolls than I care to think about, crossed out diary entries, hung up phone conversations, accusations, competition, drama and tears.  There will also be laughter, giggle fits, toe nail painting, hair braiding, shared jokes and quotes that no one else will understand or remember, late night cups of tea, whispered dreams, a whole lot of secrets, pinky swears, and hugs.  If I’m blessed enough, it will last until they wish the same things for their granddaughters and grandsons:  a rivalry that was really a love story.




This particular post is linked up at

Mein Lieblings

So today's the day the big homeschool blog awards come out and are announced and I draw the line at checking the website 2348798.345 times.  So while I pretend not to care, I will cheerily accept an award from Heather
who was sweet enough to give me this:

I think it's German.

And no one who speaks German could be evil!!!

Sorry.  I was momentarily taken over by Bart Simpson.  That happens sometimes.

Anyway, in the spirit of Bloggy Awards Etiquette, I must follow the rules and nominate blogs that I admire, adore, esteem, read frequently, etc.  Oh, and that are not well known.  No nominating Pioneer Woman or Gluten Girl or any such successful nonsense as that.  Only us slave labor bloggers.  The ones who have less than 100 followers.  Which reminds me:  we here at The Daze Of Us have 99.  Can I offer a prize to Ms. or Mr. 100?  Some homemade dark chocolate truffles?  A sappy card from Hallmark?  My love and adoration?  A pony?

Looking up these new blogs will give you something to do if you too are getting embarrassed at how many times you've tried to find out the winners of the homeschool blog awards.

So here you go...pop over...give them some love...leave them some comments...leave me some comments...leave the world some comments.

mommy sorority

tybekah

hillbilly

I'm supposed to pick five, but I have to stop now.  Nooo, not because I'm going to check in on the winners again, but because Moose is trying to break my vacuum.  And anyone who hurts my Dyson will have to pay the piper.  Probably with his Halloween candy.  Also, I'm not supposed to be blogging right now; I'm supposed to be cleaning and folding laundry and then running off to teach munchkins how to chasse, and then come home to welcome my good buddy, Tawni, who is coming for Thanksgiving.  And she told me something about wanting her guest room to shine like the top of the Chrysler Building.  Whatevah, Miss Hanigan.  I am NOT letting her make moonshine in the bathtub.  Plus, she's preggers which means I have to forgo the turkey on Thursday and make pickles and ice cream sundaes instead.  So I have a lot to do.  Also, I may or may not have remembered to brush my teeth this morning.

Bye.

Homeschool Blog Awards

Hey, guys, don't know how it happened but thedazeofus is nominated in several categories for the big time Homeschool Blog Awards!  Yaaa, you and me!  Cuz this thing is a group effort, you know.  You are the almondy butter to my honey...the sugar cubes to my English Breakfast...the Bert to my Ernie...the Kumbaya to my campfire.

Without that being said, will you hop over and vote for me?  I'm in a few categories:  example:  Favorite Mom Homeschool Blog, Funniest Blog, Nitty-Gritty Blog, etc.   You can only vote once per category, but I promise it only takes a minute...


 http://hsbapost.com/

Pumpkins, tangerines, and other fruits

A freshly, brand spankin' new, four year old.

Punkin' patchin' with my punkins.


I would have enjoyed said punkin' patchin' more had my hair not been in the midst of a dying disaster.  My poor follicles have really taken a beating this week and I'm so overloaded with chemicals now that I'm surprised I have enough brain cells left to blog.  They have seeped through my very scalp, leaving me incapable of remembering my address, my middle name, and lines from The Princess Bride, all things I used to be able to bring to the forefront of my mind at a moment's notice.


Anybody want a peanut?


So, you'd think I'd have learned my lesson but I will most likely repeat my DIY hair color in a mere couple of months from now, seeing as how my hair is a peculiar shade of rusty...orangey...browny...but I love this peculiar shade seeing as how it is not black.  Black is what happened when I went to Sally and requested medium brown.


I like black.


It's slimming.


Goes with everything.


It's easy to accessorize.


It's timeless.


But not on my head.


People will argue with me and tell me I already have black hair. No, no, no.  When I truly DO have black hair you would see the difference.  When I have black hair, I look like Elvira.


When I try to remove the Elvira-ness, I end up with tangerine.


Which causes my husband, in an attempt to be sweet - either that or in an attempt to cover up his hysterical laughter at his wife's pumpkin head - tells me that Milla Jovovich in The Fifth Element is quite attractive.


Too bad Milla is eight feet tall, has an accent, and looks fabulous wrapped in mummy wrappings.  Other than that, yeah, I can see the resemblance.


In the middle - right smack in the middle! - of my hair disaster was our pumpkin patch field trip with our new group of homeschoolers.  A new group I'm trying to impress with my whole life in the attempts to make a friend.  When I'm not frightening them with my Morticia hairdo, I'm emotionally vomiting on them about how I got myself terminated from a childcare position.  I think I may have to find a new group.


Anyway.  Don't come to me for hair color advice.  I'm learning to love my chocolate covered tangerine locks and also beans and rice, which is all we'll be eating for the next month due to my $7.99 Sally Beauty Supply purchase becoming a $40 spree.  Sometimes being frugal stinks.  


In other news, I have a four year old.  Help.  Actually if you ask him, he'll say he's almost six.  Whatever, Grover.  Time to put him in a pickle jar.

magazine

My first column for Home Educating Family Magazine came out this month and here's the link if you want to see what it looks like:  here.

This is the link for the correct issue.  You can peek inside and see me in the table of contents.

Eeek! I'm in a table of contents!

I need to get out more, yes, I realize this.

You can sign up for a free trial digital subscription and actually read the whole magazine if you like (it's good for 7 days.)

Or you can subscribe and see my future pieces as well.  This supports their magazine, and also supports their hiring of me, and therefore supports my cute lil' family in a way.  So....thanks!

a frog on a log in a bog

Have I mentioned how crazy beautiful Michigan is in the fall?

              The colors are fabulous.  And inexplicably make me want to wear plaid.

 This was the scene of our most recent homeschooling field trip.  It was a bog!  For some reason I feel the need to use an exclamation point there.  The first book Cora ever read alone was something about a frog on a log in a bog.

    This is Cora's new buddy, Emily.  Isn't she a cutie pie?   I heart homeschoolers.

Our fearless leader was a retired biology professor.  He's pointing out a teeny tiny something-or-other.  He showed me too but it was so itty bitty I mostly nodded my head and pretended to see what he was showing me.  I tried to pretend I went to college for something academic and not for the pink tutus.  I think he was onto me.

 It's like I live in a postcard.

                                                          
   This was a Pitcher Plant.

   This was me trying to be artistic, photographically speaking.

After our Thursday field trip we had our Friday homeschool co-op, where Cora got to have a choir class and gym, and Anna got have a scouting class and gym.  Did I mention how much I heart homeschoolers?

I have no idea why my print turned yellow. 
But I like it.

A couple Gianni-isms before you head off to bed:

After eating all my buffalo chicken stew with blue cheese crumbles, he said,
"Mom, give me some more bites with dat stinky cheese on it!"

After finding his shoes out in the back forty (with a caterpillar* in the toe) he cuddled them close to his heart and crooned,
"Oh my shoes, I missed you SO MUCH!"

The dominoes with the tiny dots, as opposed to the ones with the larger sized dots, are in his highly pitched voice, "Soooooo cute!"

He has been on a bathing strike for longer than I care to tell you, but I finally found the cure:  hanging him upside down by his feet and 'dipping' him in head first.






*caterpillar now deceased.

Date night

Yesterday husband mine and I decided to sneak out and do some much needed, overdue, and desperate homeschool planning/scheduling. In case you haven't noticed, we have been homeless for 3 months now, and occasionally the stress of trying to educate these here chitlins have made me a little stressed. Maxed out. Frustrated. Itching to chew off some one's face. You know the feeling. Anywho, after a day of wanting to eat my young, Mike saw my frustration and despondency and also noticed that his children take about eight billion times longer to write a report than is logically necessary, seem to retain any and all knowledge of math facts for about as long as guacamole stays green, and have a strange knack for using their school supplies as forts or weapons or anything other than what they're meant for, he offered to be a love and help me plan out a better schedule. What follows is a typical date night for a dozen year married couple who are unemployed (in Greenland) and living on people's goodwill and couches, who have three offspring who are there every time they turn around, and whose names rhyme with Ike and Clarissa. Ok. Maybe it's just us. But this is how it goes for us.




Wifey is looking a little haggard. A little twitchy. A little like her face might open up to reveal a fire breathing shrew at any moment. Better take Wifey out without the company of little angels. Better do it right now. Better not even take the time to put on shoes. For the love of God, man, HURRY!

It's raining in southern Oregon, and dark. Turn the wrong direction. Wifey doesn't miss a beat and points it out. Head to a dollar store to buy a day planner with which to plan our schedule. Can't find a dollar store. Finally find a dollar store a half hour later. Doesn't have any day planners. Wife begins to snarl. Well, Walmart has everything, right? Let's go to Walmart. Found the Walmart. Can't find the school supplies/office section. Circle the entire store 3 times, while Hubby groans something about the word shopping, uttered in a lifeless, hopeless mutter. Wonders if he has been suckered. Was this all a plan of Wifey's? An evil genius plan to get Hubby to, gulp, shop? Was the bra section next? The cosmetics aisle? God forbid, the feminine products section? Hubby tries to slink away out an emergency exit. Oh good, there's the office supplies. They were right where it should have been and where we had passed it 3 times. One time we were standing right next to as we complained about the lack of it's existence. Pick out $5 day planner and a pack of forty #2 pencils (which will be misplaced in less than the time it takes to sharpen them). Pick out a checkout line. Picked out the wrong line. Oh so wrong. So very, very wrong. As Christmas came and went and we aged approximately 12 years, we slowly edged up in line. Of course the other lines moved along smoothly but every time we considered switching something (was it hope? optimism?) pulled us back in. Finally, and I do mean finally, it was our turn and we pay and head back with our walkers and canes to the parking lot which by this time is empty of everything but one lone minivan with Wyoming plates and a tumble weed. Now, we think, comes the fun part! The part where we head to a coffee shop and plan out the future of our tiny scholars. Turn the wrong direction. Get stuck in a parking lot trying to turn around but everywhere we turn we find curbs and one way streets going, of course, the wrong way. Wifey snits (that's what you do when you're in a snit) and Hubby wishes he remembered his blood pressure medication. Eventually find coffee shop. It's closed. Head back to tiny scholars with no new flawless plan to forward their education. Hope they don't mind. Hope it won't all come out on a shrink's couch someday that their parents spent minuscule amounts of time teaching them improper fractions and lots of time watching Lost and drinking.