Today was our first day of school for the 2018-19 school
year.
I know a lot of public and private school parents look
forward to this day as a certain form of liberation. I confess, as a homeschool
family, the atmosphere is a little different. I suppose my feelings might be
more like the average school teacher than parent as I run through my checklists.
Do I have my
curricula?
Do I have the basics
covered for all three children?
Do I have my science
supplies?
Do I have craft
supplies?
Are there any No. 2
pencils in this house?
I set this start date when school ended in June, but there
were days I was afraid I wouldn’t be ready—or that, at best, I would get here
by the skin of my teeth.
It was a crazy summer, one made hectic by grief and
gladness, family gatherings, birthdays, and several small crises. A glitch in
curriculum ordering meant I was trying to create math worksheets from scratch
for my seven-year-old only last week. A wedding reception Saturday (joyful and
fun as it was!) meant I was down a day on last-minute prep time.
So, going into this first day of homeschool for the year,
the only thing I could do was pray, relax, and try to steer through the tide.
What does that look like?
I was up at 6:30 a.m. I grabbed a cup of coffee, read my
Bible, and prayed, because I knew those were the best possible preparations I
could make for this day. Then I cooked my family a special first-day-of-school
breakfast of sausage links and blueberry muffins. Then…well, at 10 a.m., two
out of three kiddos were still in their pajamas. Don’t get me wrong; they’d
already listened to a chapter in a biography of Christopher Columbus and done
their math. However, those first-day photos I’d envisioned, with them in cute
little outfits and holding those cute little signs? Not gonna happen. Besides,
it was raining, for the second time since May.
My kindergartner was adorably eager to go. Our internet was
out—probably for the second time since May—so the easy internet course I’d
planned to use was out with it. But there were still math manipulatives
to…manipulate…and alphabet worksheets to color. She was good to go.
My first-grader’s binder was present and accounted for in
the school room this morning…right up until I needed it. The children helped me
search the house, but it has vanished. If it were my fifth-grader, I would
suspect sabotage, but my son loves math far too much to stand in the way of his
education. All the same…we’re still looking. We didn’t really need the binder
till tomorrow, anyway.
All three were dressed by lunchtime, by the way.
While I was making lunch, my son walked down the hall,
humming to himself. I realized with some chagrin that he was humming the
instrumental portion of the Phantom of
the Opera theme. At least he has good taste in musicals.
After lunch, I remembered that I intended to start each day
with memorization. Maybe tomorrow. Also after lunch, I told my daughter we
needed to start grammar.
“Can’t I do XtraMath instead?” she pleaded, referring to the
math practice website we sometimes use.
“That’s a great idea, but the internet is still out,” I
replied.
“How about reading?” she begged. “Can’t I read to you
instead?”
“That works, too,” I said. “But you know you will have to do
grammar sometime today, right?”
Apparently, that worked, as long as it didn’t need to be right now. I never realized she hated
grammar so much.
After grammar came science. They had all been with me when I
bought the science supplies, so they were stoked. I mean, there was bubble gum in that box. In the end, they
were disappointed. It turns out that proving something has volume isn’t nearly
as exciting as making something blow up. Yeah, they’re still pulling for that
kind of experiment. Or the bubble gum. Or the one that uses marshmallows.
Whatever.
At the end of the school day, I was walking my oldest
through her math practice (public schoolers would call this homework). One task
was to write a three-digit addition problem in six different ways. She paused
to count how many ways she had written the problem.
“Four,” she noted. “How many do I need?”
“Six,” I reminded her.
“Six! Why did it have to be six?” she lamented. Which
wouldn’t have been funny, except she used the exact same intonation Indian
Jones used when he said, “Snakes. Why did it have to be snakes?”
We were done with school by 3 p.m. No tears today. No hair
pulling. Lots of goofiness, lots of giggles. Now my daughters are playing with
Legos. (“Mommy,” my five-year-old says, “I’m building a kennel. Never build a
kennel. It’s soooo hard!”) The scent of slowly simmering marinara and meatballs
fills the air, a special treat for my half-Italian family tonight. My
seven-year-old, who has seen a few too many episodes of Nailed It!, is crafting his own culinary creation for our dinner
“competition.” I will help him out a little, suggesting some bread crumbs and
salt to go with those sautéed onions.
Not every day will be like this. I know from experience that
there will be days with tears. There will be days with hair pulling. There will
be tired days and stressed days and sad days. There will be days when internet
trolls target posts like this. But today was one of those days when I remember
why I homeschool. My children get to ease into their day, stay in their
jammies, eat home-cooked meals. They don’t have to deal with peer pressure,
bullies, violence, or hostile philosophies. I get to cuddle them, giggle with
them, and watch knowledge blossom in their minds and hearts.
And that makes it all worthwhile.
