Homeschooling Boys
/Suzanne offers some very wise advice on homeschooling boys.
I've only got five boys. She's got six. I'm taking notes and making some changes. Thanks, Suzanne!
Suzanne offers some very wise advice on homeschooling boys.
I've only got five boys. She's got six. I'm taking notes and making some changes. Thanks, Suzanne!
This time last year, I sat with several syllabi from a well-planned curriculum (or two). I had enrolled my oldest in a "homeschool school." I was all set to use someone else's plans for everyone in the family. I reasoned that this decision would free me up to devote more time and energy to household tasks and babies. This decision was a holy one. At least I thought it was.
I cracked open my brand new planners and began to plot it all out, pulling from all the various pages and texts in those various syllabi. Then, the tweaking crept in. I substituted a little here, a little there. I recognized that I didn't have certain books, but I did have worthy substitutes. Scratching, switching, tailoring, tinkering...and so it went, until I recognized that it would indeed be simpler to plot out my own plans and then to pull from those as the year progressed instead of forcing a fit. And "the homeschool school" had no problem with my tinkering. They understood that my son had special needs and that the program they mapped out wouldn't suit him at all. I was free to sustitute as I saw fit--just as long as I recorded everything and submitted it to them. Perfect, I could still do all the work I'd been doing all along, only now I could pay for the privelige of filling out more paperwork.
Did I mention that I was pregnant as I discovered all of this?
I use the word "discovered" loosely. To discover it would mean that it was the first time I happened upon the knowledge that I just don't do well with someone else's plans. The truth is, I'd "learned" this about myself several times. Only this time, I had come at it from a different perspective. I was caught up in the counsel of people I respect and quite taken by the idea that this would indeed give me control over my large family, the relationships that matter most, and my home environment. All that if I would just take school out of a box.
I took a walk and had a long talk with a friend whose house is always perfectly clean and beautifully decorated. She shared the relief she had in knowing that when she chose her curriculum seven years ago, she'd never have to choose again. Every summer, she opened the box with the sun on it and rays of light shone in her house (well, maybe not that, but close). I didn't give too much thought to the fact that she had a third the kids I do and she hadn't been pregnant in ten years. Nope, it was that sunny box that made her house clean and kept her laundry current. That box put her in control.
But there is no syllabus that cleans one's house, folds one's clothes, or talks to one's husband. It didn't take me too long with those boxes to learn that they were not the right fit for me. For us. It was better in so many ways for me to use the abundant library in my own home, the resources I already had, and the enthusiasm for writing curriculum with which I'd been blessed to create our lists and plans. I knew I'd over-plan (I have managed to learn a few things about myself along the way, not every mistake do I make over and over again). But I also knew that in those extensive booklists, there would be something for everyone and a safety net should life heat up in other areas. (And Whoa, Nelly, did it ever!)
I am not in control and I won't ever be in control.
The lesson I learned last summer--for the first time--is that homeschoolers can feel very passionately about their curriculum choices. They can give them moral weight and equate them with holiness. And they can see them through absolute lenses. In black and white, with no shades of gray. Many a happy homeschool support group has been rocked to its core by disagreements over curriculum choices.
Homeschoolers tend to be a passionate bunch. That's a good thing. It takes passion to carry us through something that is so set apart from the mainstream that it can be lonely and alienating. Our passion can blind us though. It can make us tend towards sweeping judgements of each other. And it can be misplaced.
There is more than one way to do this home education thing. More than one way to do it successfully. Success itself is measured differently in different families. I didn't go to any conferences this year (to speak or to listen). I haven't read any catalogs. I'm determined not to try to persuade a single soul or to give specific curriculum advice. It's a year of quiet.
So, here's my answer to the swelling number of emails asking me how to choose what to teach: pray about it, research your options, know what's in all those boxes, pray about it, talk to your husband, pray about it, and then trust God to lead you in the right direction. His yoke is easy and his burden is light. You'll know when the yoke fits. And when it does, don't let anyone tell you that it's an inferior yoke. It's the yoke God himself made for you. Grant grace to your neighbor; trust that she is doing what she believes in her heart of hearts to be the right thing for her family. Pray for her and bless her for her earnestness. Be her friend-- because homeschooling friends who stick with you over the long haul are rare and treasured blessings.
It's all good.
Or at least it all can be if we let it.
At the end of this week of feasting in the middle of Lent, I found myself this morning utterly charmed by the Google logo. At my friend Donna's site, I learned it was a special occasion, the 40th anniversary of the publication of The Very Hungry Caterpillar. I did a little mental inventory of craft supplies. I did some googling. Mary Beth did some googling. We had a little conference. And the day began to wiggle along most delightedly. I needed this day. I needed the charm of delight-directed children. I needed the relative ease of pulling off some fun learning. I needed Stephen's bemusement as I frosted a caterpillar cake. "I think," said he, "it must be the Feast of Eric Carle."
Indeed.
Mary Beth took pictures to capture the day, of course. So, she's going to take this post from here.
I took more pictures and I'm going to do this just like the St. Patrick's Day Post. Enjoy!
I printed these out at DLTK, here! Then I made the numbers to correlate to the day--not to the number of items.
Science Today: The life cycle of the butterfly. Nicky and Katie both did this. It was printed out from here and they put them in the right places and then made their own.
Pattern Block Mat Printed out here! Katie, Kari, and Nick all did this one.
Thumbprint Caterpillars! From Ed Emberley's book
Egg Carton Caterpillars after we had omelets for lunch. Even Paddy was inspired to do this one!
Then, from our very old book (which is now out of print) we made our own Eric Carle collages.
I made all of the things that the caterpillar ate.
Mom topped the day off with going to the store and collecting ingredients for this.
Isn't he very cute?!
This was a very fun day, even if we planned as we went.
Next time, we're going to do this project.
Yesterday was our first official "back to school" day. In all earnestness, I've been looking really forward to it. I wanted to dig into the lesson plans I spent all summer dreaming up and talking about and playing with (lots of dangling prepositions there. It's 5Am, whatever). I had plans and schedules and I was ready to roll. The day got started on time. We actually ran ahead of schedule all day long, much to my relief. I was worried I had too much planned and I don't. At least I didn't yesterday. The refrigerator guy never showed up, but other than that, everything went off without a hitch. The new, complicated afternoon driving schedule turned out to be really flawless. And actually very simple, now that it's all figured out.
So, why is it that when Mike called around three o'clock and asked how things were going, I told him I was looking for a good Catholic school or two? And why is it that he barely paid attention? Probably because this is just the way the first day always goes. It's utterly exhausting. I feel like I'm spinning plates all day long. So many, many needy children!
Who knew that Karoline would be outraged that she didn't have her own bookbag full of books and would follow me around all day long signing and saying "Book! MY book!" Yes, we gave her several old workbooks and now they all have blue Lyra circles on every single page. Not sure what we'll dig out for today. Clearly, she expects to be a full part of the book action.
Who knew that a certain child would meltdown as soon as he saw the math book? I did. And I took a deep breath. But still my shoulders tensed and my voice grew pitched. Who knew a different child would repeatedly ask how many chapters this week and would stress out loud the entire day over whether there was ample time to complete them, despite my reassurances and the eventual reminders that the asking and the stressing was wasting time? I did. Who knew another child would be reduced to tears when Ben Franklin's nose was drawn "too pointy?" I did. Who knew Katie and Gracie would be mesmerized by the school bus stop across the street--first the embarking and then the disembarking--and would spend their free time playing "real" school? Who knew how hard it would be to remember the chore schedule in the midst of the school schedule? I knew. I knew it all. We've been here before. And still, it surprised me with its intensity.
I didn't cry. I did enjoy a good whine with a friend (the kind with the "h," though the other kind would have been appropriate, too). I did my driving thing, dropping children as I went. And then I found myself alone in Trader Joe's. For a whole forty-five minutes. As I shopped, it dawned on me that the day was full and that looking at one day after another of such fullness was indeed overwhelming. But if I stopped in that singular moment, there was peace. It's complicated, but it works. It's busy, but it's peaceful. It's a bit pathetic that I sought and found tranquility in the grocery store, but hey, it's also proof positive that the Holy Spirit is boundless.
The first day is hard; there's no getting around it. We all chafed at losing some of the freedom of summertime. But we're finding our groove, settling into the rhythm of a new season. We'll begin again today, making improvements on yesterday, fine-tuning our lives at home together. And we'll be ever so grateful for this opportunity to grow.
UPDATED 2010
Newsflash: The Navigation Bar at Serendipity will help you find your posts.
Pam asks a variation of a question that is popping up almost daily:
Hi Elizabeth
I was wondering if there’s a quick answer as to just how to get started with the alphabet path. I’ve searched all over your site and can’t figure this out. Is the “Mrs. Applebee” story your creation used in conjunction with the “Flower Fairies Alphabet” book? Do you start with those and just go with the letter you’re working on and all the activities you want to do?
Last week, I sat with my friend Linda and gave her a guided tour of the Alphabet Path. This was a good exercise for me, particularly since we get lots of questions from people asking for a detailed "how-to." So, I'm going to try to recreate the morning that we spent together. We had the benefit of being in the same room and that room was stocked with all the books, notebooks, and printed files from our Alphabet Path adventure last year. Linda has a very systematic and logical mind and she's not spent much time trying to navigate Serendipity, so I benefited tremendously from her perspective.
We're going to be updating almost constantly. Take some time to click around the whole Serendipity site.
I'm Elizabeth. I'm a happy wife and the mother of nine children. I grab grace with both hands and write to encourage myself and others to seize and nurture the joy of every day. I blog here with my daughter, Mary Beth, a wholehearted young lady on the brink of adulthood.
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