5/27/2014

homeschooling and commitment



During my eighth grade year, I asked my teacher mom and minister father if I could be tutored at home. I knew we couldn't afford it, but I had to ask. Eighth grade was the pinnacle of suffering for me as a public schooler. Years before that, I had realized I could basically teach myself (this I gathered while home sick, reading through my English and math textbooks). I loved learning. School stifled my socialization process, caging me with random others who were all my age-ish and for the most part wanted to cut classes and be cool.

Coolness and I had/have never fit. After marrying a man at least as nerdy as I, I could imagine my kids might inherit this lack of coolness factor.


When Victoria turned five, our adventure began. I taught my two kids the way I write essays -- by feel. My instincts were my guide. I read books, observed other homeschool parents, and gleaned. I became increasingly grateful for the diversity of families in my extended neighborhood. In many ways this was fun and fulfilling.

At the same time, I anxietized regularly. Often I was overwhelmed. I felt isolated, the only mom on the block staying home, tending a menagerie of critters and my children.

On the other hand, I marveled that I could be allowed to dwell here, staying home tending critters and our kids. (Only rarely did I consider my husband part of the menagerie.) Though I could see that homeschooling was far from perfect for any of us, I counted it as a great gift, and I still do.

Life's twists and storms unveil surprising facets, and in homeschooling it's no exception. I wouldn't have guessed Victoria mentally pictured numbers quite differently from the way I did, or that she would actually want to do crafts (art class was one bane of my education). After she left home, Victoria unveiled her amazing desire to become an Orthodox Christian. Her journey eventually affected me in ways that make for another story, one I keep working to express. It sure seemed to come, at first, from way out of left field.

Nor was I expecting James to educate himself so extensively regarding things going on around our planet. (I knew he liked geology, but then he delved deeply into the strata of human activities...) My son's conclusions during his teenage years kept him outside "the system" in many respects. Through battles of will with James I learned much. As parents do, I began to appreciate things my own parents went through with me. I also gained exceeding gratitude for what James is all about, in his desire to give to society.

Reflecting on life with both my kids, I recognized their choices and actions were coming from their unique, individual abilities to make reasonable decisions. I had to admit, even when they chose differently from what I would have chosen, they were doing exactly what I had hoped they would learn to do.


Over the years I gained a lot from observing and interacting with other homeschool parents. Some of their ideas nearly swayed me onto certain paths. Some decided, for instance, that we Christian parents were obligated to populate America with our evangelically-trained progeny, and so they became committed to birthing lots of children.

I spent many late nights discussing this issue with Tim. I guess those were our Let's Have More Babies talks. To my dear man's credit, he listened attentively, respectful of my concerns after I had read a book by Mary Pride. Then he suggested we talk to people, our pastor and others we respected, about the issue. We ended up leaving room for the possibility of Baby #3, but we chose not to be committed to producing a large family. We therefore didn't feel like failures when no third child came along.

Once a mother of five said to me, while we stood in her hallway outside the utility room piled with clothes, "I've done a terrible job homeschooling." Her children all seemed great to me, and they have grown up to be productive, loving adults. She wasn't making an excuse that day or wallowing in shame; she was stating the facts as she saw them. Her words stayed with me.



Regarding mothering, regarding homeschooling, I can also say I've done a terrible job. Every day I got distracted; all my shining goals turned rather dull. But today I can tell you why I taught my children at home. It's the same reason I would have sent them to public school if that had seemed best for them. My commitment was not to schooling after a certain fashion or making a social or religious statement; my commitment was my children. I deeply regret my failures regarding that commitment to them. I continually returned -- hopefully doing better sometimes -- to my commitment.

From what my kids now tell me, this commitment came across and they were grateful. Victoria recently mentioned her point of view on her blog. She says, "I’ve always planned on homeschooling my kid(s) unless they want to do otherwise." Sounds good to me.

Lately I read the stories of young adults for whom homeschooling was a bad scene. I ache for them and for their parents. I appreciate groups such as Homeschoolers Anonymous, seeking to show both sides of homeschooling. This ought to happen for any form of education, because there will always be a down side, a dark aspect, to consider.

Just today I read a debate between a blogger whose homeschooling experience was negative and Mary Pride's daughter. A friendly debate, I might add. This encouraged me. I'd like to encourage all dear people, parents and children, to discuss, consider, and recommit. Always. That's the best advice I know.

5/16/2014

footsore and lighthearted

Yesterday I walked to the church for a class and my bookstore shift, and then I walked home afterward. That's six miles, and it felt good. Slow near the end, though. I'm in the shape (or lack thereof) that tends to be the case come spring.

There were ducks in the morning; geese in the afternoon.

Everybody's going and growing.

I have a project to get done by the end of the month in my church treasurer capacity (so of course I'm blogging). Once that project (an annual report) is finished, I plan to work steadily on the writing project I have (actually) begun and would love to be fully engaged with by the end of this year. I can hardly wait to wade well into a writing stream, up to my waist and further, even dunk my noggin. Maybe currents of thought will carry me. Most likely, I'll procrastinate in here with blogs and out there with the duckies.


5/11/2014

appealing underdogs: the dandy lion

I called them fairies. Pluck, grasp the wand-like stem, and blow. Then watch them dance on the breeze.



Adultly speaking, I recognize our need for tidiness in the yard. Years passed of applauding Tim for his vigilance against them. But he never was a cruel overlord; he used muscle to bring them up, not chemicals. He and the fairy-makers played their own game, their arm-wrestling match.

Our yard-space changes now. And I like the thought, perhaps, of roasted dandelion root. I just may give it (loaded with olive oil no doubt) a culinary testing.

5/08/2014

things that never occured to me: oh, fig

 1. Winter Storm
We have two fig trees. Both planted, of course, by James. He tells me the one in back is the hardier variety. Out by the driveway is where he placed the one that needs a warmer climate. The pavement heat ("thermal mass" as he puts it), therefore, was thought to be good for it.

Last December James called me from Washington. "Will you put more leaves around some of the plants?" he asked. A cold snap was in the forecast, and treelings such as the figs needed whatever blanketing we could offer.

Dutifully, I brought around our small wheelbarrow with a load of maple leaves. These I distributed, tamping them gently with my boot. I sent pictures to James, and he said that looked good.















Sure enough, it snowed. The thermometer then showed a dip we rarely if ever see, to below zero.



The cold lasted a week. A February ice storm made us wonder further about those plants. We'd have to wait for spring to see if life remained.
2. Theological Flora

About a month into Orthodox Christianity, after I began to look seriously at what this ancient church teaches, I read about the fig tree Jesus cursed (here's the story). Though I knew this tale from childhood, I hadn't pondered the fact that a plant was the only living thing Christ physically walloped. No human received this scary benediction: "No one will ever interact with you again" (because you won't live beyond this morning!).

Why, I began to wonder, had I always just sort of behaved as if Jesus Christ went around smiting people? Why did I try so diligently to be in the "right" group, so I could, metaphorically at least, smite people?

3. Life Finds Its Way

The fig trees that this past winter smote are dead sticks now,




but that is if you only look at their upper portions. Yesterday I checked the one by the driveway. A week or so ago James pointed out the green bits coming up from its base, the life returning.

Both figs should become more like bushes than trees, and this will sustain their existences better, as they develop along the way of a branchier connectedness, protecting the core, the heart.




5/02/2014

goodness + weather = pictures

Yesterday I wandered past Goose Island again. The air was warming up to a record high for the date (somewhere in the 80s).

I saw the couple who've entertained me before.


I keep wondering if they've produced any goslings, as have the Canadian couple I featured last post. No progeny were visible, though.

I'm guessing this is a mated pair, though I really don't even know that much. Perhaps they are roommates? Partners? Anyway.

Day before yesterday I photographed fields of purple Camas. James has informed me about the history of these plants, how local Native Americans of centuries past depended on their bulbs as a diet staple.




James is also growing Camas in our backyard.

He grows many plants, out back and along our driveway. All, I think, have an edible feature or two.

Today I noted large white blossoms where there weren't any last time I looked. They're on one of the thornless blackberries.



The bumblebee looked all in. I can imagine needing a nap after all that pollinating. He took off again later.

I took myself over to inspect our hardy peace rose on the south wall, above Tim's woodpile.



There was a visitor inspecting me.



Or was I the visitor?


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