why we're doing it

I’ve had a lot of people asked me what would spur someone to choose home education “at a time like this”? I assume a time like this means “a time when my husband is predicted to be absent or nearly absent from family life for the next several years,” or “a time when I have a grade-schooler, a pre-schooler, a toddler and an infant in my care”, or “a time when I could begin doing a few more things for myself instead of being constantly surrounded by the needs of others.”

To these questions, there are many answers. And today, for our family, I believe there are three central reasons we decided it was time to come home.

1) Schedule

Phil works a demanding schedule of long days and lots of weekends, with interspersed days off (these are frequently week days). When we moved last year and it was still summer, if Phil was off on a Thursday, we had a family beach day. If he worked through the weekend, I took the kids to get bagels and then brought them to the park by myself.   

When kindergarten started, we suddenly had two rigid and competing schedules to contend with. Cleveland was M-F, 9am-4pm, while Phil’s schedule continued to be all over the map. Now on random Thursdays off, we could still play with Papa, but Cleveland was left out. And if Phil worked the weekend, C didn’t get to see him. At all. By spring time, we were all feeling drained. In April, we were fortunate that Phil was able to take his one and only week of leave during C’s spring vacation. It was a great time for our family. But in the nine weeks that followed, as Phil slogged through two grueling rotations and Cleveland was back to “kindergarten as usual”, he didn’t spend one day with his dad. Phil’s only days off were school days and he worked every weekend. “Will Papa be home?” was the question of the day, every day, every hour.

Homeschooling allows us to have family time when Phil’s schedule allows. Now Fridays off can be museum days, pajama party days, and Thursday night can be movie night or “let’s get frozen yogurt” night. Not only can we take a weekday “off” to be with dad, we can (and very frequently do) homeschool on the weekend. 

We can maximize our limited family time, and I have some way to occupy us on a Saturday. Win. Win. Win.  

2) Continuity

As we project what our family life will include in the years to come, moving is a guarantee. As a military family, we can expect to move as often as every two to three years, likely across the country and possibly overseas. This raises lots of questions. 

How will my children adapt? 

How will school be for them in North Carolina when all the social studies they’ve learned until now has been about the history of California? 

What happens when we end up in a state that hasn’t adopted the Common Core standards? 

What if we’re in Japan and they’re at a Department of Defense school? 

Won’t they have enough adapting to do without worrying about whether they know the right stuff for the school? 

Homeschooling puts us in charge of their learning. We choose the curriculum. We set the pace. A mid-year move is no problem. We don’t have to worry about pulling them out of one school, missing several weeks during relocation, and re-enrolling in a new school. If we need to take two months off in May and June to prepare for an upcoming move, we can, knowing that we can pick up school in July. 

We ensure continuity because school is no longer an institution, but a dynamic and mobile part of our family.

3) Customization

When I referenced Cleve’s school experience from last year, I mentioned that he was learning, and doing relatively well. This is true. He wasn’t failing and he was progressing in every subject. But at home, I became aware of several troubling things.

He loves math. He gets math, and he wanted to do more math than what was offered at school. He had no trouble completing the assigned math worksheets, but he wasn’t really engaging with the subject matter. So I purchased a math curriculum and set about allowing him to go at his own pace at home. Once he finished his assigned math, we were allowed to do “fun math”. His understanding of math concepts blossomed, and we began this year midway through our first-grade curriculum.

On the other hand, Cleveland was struggling in reading. The trickiest part was that he didn’t really appear to be struggling. He was keeping up with the phonics-based assignments. But he wasn’t actually learning phonics. Instead of recognizing phonemes, and sounding out words, he was creating a cache of memorized words in his head. Essentially, he turned every word into a sight word, learned it and banked it in his brain. Wow, that’s a lot of brain power to memorize words by sight, and it doesn’t help you learn longer more complex words as you progress in reading.

With this adaptation, as he advanced in reading, the work became harder and harder and he got more and more frustrated. In short, he was reading, but beginning to hate reading. What a terrible thing! I decided I didn’t care how well he was reading, as long as he was liking it. So we spent the summer getting back to basics. I reintroduced phonics, and we took it slow. In addition, I made sure I was reading plenty to him, from a variety of sources, and including plenty of subjects he was interested in. We continue to visit the library at least once a week, and load up on books. The change here has been magical. Cleveland’s not a gifted reader. He’s a good reader who really REALLY likes books.

We can spend more time on aspects where he struggles, breeze through concepts he understands, and we’re gifted with extra time on things he’s most interested in. More wins!

The bottom line (and this was the driving-home point I made to Phil on September 1^st):

The choice we have made is to do this life together. We can’t necessarily fall back on community or location or a particular school district that we absolutely love to be the primary driver of enrichment in our children’s lives and education.

What we have is each other.

A little six-sided bundle, in this together, for better or worse.

The scenery will change for us, but we will remain the same.

For now, we’re better than ever. 

Today it was like this

I decided to go to yoga. Small decision. Big deal. It’s been a, um, while since I’ve made it to a class, and longer since I’ve gotten through an entire one without being called away to the childcare center for a needy/hungry/grumpy/wet/poopy baby. But today was my first official day since my mom left that I had no obligations whatsoever after taking the big kids to school. So I took Coco and Lolo and nursed in my car and changed everyone right before class, and crossed my fingers, and even made it with five minutes to spare.

Yoga. It worked.

I left and I felt amazing. The babies were both happy when I picked them up. We came home. They napped (simultaneously) and I set about cleaning out the car, doing some meal-prep, doing some school-prep, folding three back-logged loads of laundry. Standard stuff. Suddenly, the babies were up, mid-afternoon was upon us and it was time for pickup. Coco sat on my bed with me while I nursed and changed Lolo. She ate an apple the size of her head and took all the skin off (with her teeth) and shed it on a nearby bath towel.

We picked up the kids. I got everyone a snack. We were home for 5 minutes to potty/get sweatshirts, and then walked up to the park to meet friends. We returned just past dusk and I continued getting dinner ready. Big kids played in living room, Coco milled around, Lolo was in one hand since he recently figured out how to roll both ways and now won’t tolerate a swing or a bouncy seat. Blah.

Then this (switching to present tense for dramatic effect):

Coco points to her diaper (she’s great at letting me know what’s happening down below), so I bring Lolo in the living room to investigate. But the child doesn’t wait. She’s unsnapped her diaper cover and I can see/smell what’s inside.

“Ack, STOP! Don’t—“.

Frantic, I set Lolo down (safely albeit slightly precariously) on the couch, and lay Coco on the floor. No wipes. I have no wipes. I give her a stern “Stay there”, and get up. Lolo seems cool. I grab wipes from the baby room, and as I race through the kitchen I remember,

“Ack, quesadilla, on the stove.”

I make a quick detour to the kitchen, flip the quesadilla, turn the burner off, and I’m about to head back to the living room when I hear the front door open.

Daddy’s home.

Oh thank goodness.

O.M.G. What has he walked into?

I peer into the living room. I see Lolo’s kicking feet on the couch, Coco about to roll over on the floor, three laundry-loads worth of clothes all over the place, plus the two paper bags of car items I found when I cleaned the van, about seven sweatshirts, my big kids who somehow stealthily turned the TV on in the midst of this. Ahem. I bolt into the living room, spatula in hand.

“What’s going on here?” he asks.

“Listen, I know it looks like…“ Deep breath. “Listen, it’s under control. Seriously this is just like the worst possible time. Ten more minutes and things would be—“

“What’s Lolo doing on the couch.”

-Shrug-

“What’s that smell?”

“Oh, that’s poop. Or are you referring to the slightly burnt quesadilla?”

-Pause-

“Why is there apple peel on our bed?”

“Stop asking questions!”

***

Hey, I went to yoga.

On going over the mountain

I've been in the process of writing about our reasons for bringing school back home for our children.

BUT I can't seem to finish that post. I'm distracted. There are other things to think about.

This is a post about other things. Because life is happening.

A few weeks ago Cleveland suffered a nasty head injury when his scooter tripped through our driveway and his forehead (that sliver of skin between his eyebrow and helmet) made contact with the cinder bricks that line our front lawn.

There were screams (from Lucie) and silence (from Cleveland). And so much blood. I am a nurse, but lack a background in trauma, and gaping head wounds, pouring out blood with skull (you know, BONE) that I can visualize, and the fear of white matter poking out is definitely beyond my skill set. So I did what every scared and panicky parent would do. I called 911. They put me on hold (yes, this happens), I called my husband on a second phone and tag-teamed triaging his injury. Paramedics came. Lucie (still visibly, and um, audibly shaken) received almost as much attention as her brother. C-collar placed, patient on a back board, up into the rig, and we were off.  Several hours, and several sutures in three tight layers later, we headed home.

He's fine. He's a bit different, but he'll be himself soon enough. Very limited activity for several weeks to prevent re-injury, but no long-term consequences.

Lucie also survived.

Everything else has been status quo. Of course, our little upended home with no a new routine and a seemingly ever-changing population is anything but status quo. We're like status unexpected, status unbelievable, status unknown.

And we've all suffered a bit for it.

Lucie continues to struggle with her identity in the face of Lolo's birth. Coco is a wild child, a live wire, a loose cannon and every other similar analogy you can think of. Lolo's trying to find his routine. He's not yet a great napper, but he's becoming a good overnight sleeper. He has trouble self-soothing, perhaps owing to the level of chaos that pervades his every infantile moment.

I'm weary. When everyone is finally in bed, I find myself staring at a list of tasks still to accomplish and realizing I don't have energy for any of them.

Last night I was singing The Bear Went Over the Mountain to Coco at bedtime. A lyric gave me pause. "And all that she could see was the other side of the mountain." I realized that this is how (some of) my days feel. All day I climb the mountain. I exert myself physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually in the pursuit of a thriving family. And at the apex, what do I see? The other side, the next day, staring at me. Some days that's all that I can see.

The sight of that coming day is not entirely joyless. But it's ever-looming presence, beginning in T minus never-enough hours is daunting.

This morning I heard a wise woman say something that made me rethink this entirely. "You can always begin again," she said. Begin again. Sometimes, when the days are hard, I just steel myself until I can put everyone to bed and finally breathe. I feel as though I'm wishing the day away, wanting a new one, a due-over. It can make for a lot of waiting. I had a realization in hearing her words. I can always begin again. I don't have to wait for a new day or a new year, or when my pre-pregnancy jeans fit just right again (cue hysterical laughter).

I can shut my eyes for a moment.

I can breathe.

I can try on a softer tone of voice, a gentler touch.

I can (maybe) even smile.

And I can begin again. And again. And again...

Our "Very Merry Un-First Day"

We made a big decision over the summer. Well, I made the decision about six months ago, introduced my decision idea/notion to Phil sometime in the late spring and spent an enormous amount of time considering all the pros and cons, the opportunities and the timing, and the myriad potential outcomes both good and bad. Together, Phil, Cleveland and I made the *final* decision on Monday night, September 1st. That's right. On the first of September (AKA the day before school was set to begin here in the San Diego Unified School District), we decided that this year, we'll homeschool (lite, homeschool-lite, see below) Cleveland.

There was no dramatic moment in his public school career, short as it was, that convinced me we had to go this route. Cleveland wasn't suffering in school. He was content (mostly), and he was learning. All good things. But sometime midyear, a feeling began to gnaw at me. So he's not suffering? Sure that's great, as none of us hopes our children will suffer. But is he succeeding? Is he achieving all that his potential might allow? Is he truly, genuinely happy? I couldn't say yes to these questions, at least not easily. Instead of the vital, vibrant 5-year-old I envisioned skipping home from school to share the news of all his intellectual discoveries, I saw an exhausted child, working too hard in class and having little left to give at the end of the day. Cleveland was leaving the best of himself at the threshold of the kindergarten door, and the dregs we were receiving at home didn't feel like enough. AND there was homework. 33.5 hours of school per week, plus homework? For a five-year-old? And for what purpose? To train him up to understand that life is all about work and more work? To get him accustomed to the years that would follow? Surely not. Surely my child was allowed to feel like a child for a bit longer. I decided I could no longer measure his success as simply a lack of failure. I wanted awesome. I wanted to be in awe of my awesome kid again.

******lots of nitty gritty stuff*******many posts worth as to discussions and decisions******

The bottom line: We "piloted" school-at-home (a not-so-euphamism for you-know-what) throughout the summer. I wrote out some basic goals for Cleveland and we tracked our progress. We continued math (probably his favorite subject) and went back to the basics with reading (which he was struggling with throughout the year). And progress was made. And he was happy. In addition, I purchased a wonderful history curriculum and, along with Lucie, we started doing world history on the weekends. The kids were really learning and loving it and we did projects and spent time outside together and OMG it was sooooo much fun! In short, it was a success.

Also we had a baby. Three weeks in advance of school. Hmm...

In a somewhat premeditated move, and somewhat at the last minute, we decided to enroll C in a charter school (that's a public school with a particular philosophy). This one caters to supporting families in home-education. Phil felt strongly, and I agreed, that to keep my sanity, offer quality education, maintain household responsibilities, give myself some "me" time, and allow all of our kids the time and attention from me that they desire and deserve, I couldn't go this entirely alone.

The schedule now is a bit frenetic. C goes to school on Tuesdays and Thursdays, for a total of 12 hours/week. MWF he's home with me (on those days, Lucie is in morning preschool). At home we cover all the basics required by the state of California (language arts, math, social studies, PE) and in class he gets to do stuff I can't or won't or don't provide (cool math manipulatives, chances to teach and learn from other kids). He's in a K-1 class with 12 kids. And he's happy.

It's taken me a while to bust out this post. The content here is such a small peice of all I've done and thought and studied and read. But I've also been wanting to share more, about the school we're doing, the photography "elective" that C is so enthusiastic over, and the Assyrian Siege Tower (that's right) that we built out of duplos this morning. So this was the hump I needed to get over in order to get to the good stuff. Lots more to come. Really.

For a bit of fun, here are a few pictures of what we've been up to:

We celebrated September 2nd, our very-merry-un-first-day by playing outside, and enjoying our last day with my mother-in-law before she returned to the east coast. What a shame it would've been for Cleveland to miss his Grammie's last day because of school.

Headed to cub scouts. He's so proud that he gets to wear a uniform like his dad. And his best school friend from Kindergarten is in his den.

Our first photography project: making a photogram using sunlight to expose construction paper. 

Close-up selfie

He loves doing portraits...

...and candids

Our siege tower prepares to conquer the wall of the laundry basket.

Finally, I need to provide some important credit where it is due: 

-Kristen Perrinez, my smart and courageous sister-in-law who has been homeschooling her son for almost two years, gave me untold support and more resources than I could have asked for. When this thought first flew into my brain, I called her first, and thank goodness she answered the phone.

-My mother (second phone call) pretty much told me immediately that "yes" she would come to stay with us after the new baby was born and YES she would support this endeavor in whatever way possible.

-Friends, all of them, near and far, none of whom shunned this idea, and all of whom offered enthusiastic support.

-My husband, who never once EVER told me I was crazy, and gave me ample time to talk about this decision from every angle, and offered lots of feedback and played devil's advocate and ultimately told me that he trusted me fully, and was willing to put his faith in me.

Today the sun is shining, Lucie's home from preschool, the babies are napping, Cleveland's doing quiet reading, and things feel just about perfect. 

Birthday Boy

Big doin's in the Perrinez house this week. Cleveland turned six on Thursday. "Six going on seven." And serendipity shined upon us as Phil ended up taking Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday of this week off, . (Last year, we didn't see him at all on C's birthday.) We celebrated with a trip to LegoLand followed by a transformers cake that Cleveland and I made together.

 Today (Saturday), Cleveland and his friend Eva had a joint birthday in the park. This time, the cake was Spiderman (yes I did, and you're welcome). There was lots of pizza consumed and whiffle ball played. The kids had a terrific time. Lolo was his usual pleasant self (mostly he was eating, not many choice pics). Coco was...let's just say there's a reason her nickname is coconut (she was pretty grumpy, not many choice pics). Lucie, as it turns out, is almost as good at whiffle ball as she is at explaining to people how good she is at whiffle ball. Cleveland was energetic and silly and smart and fun and in the best way he could be. Major kudos to Rachel (Eva's amazing mom, my amazing friend) for pretty much pulling this birthday off with minimal assistance from me (I bought *some* drinks, and forgot ice).

I have reflected on lots of things this past week. On our four children in six years, and how they are tiny specks in the world, and how, for now, they take up my entire world. The way Lolo looks just like Cleveland used to when he's sleeping. How much he's already changing. How I want to snatch every sensation I feel about them all and file it away. How I want pictures, but I'm so busy being in it all that I can't possibly take them. How I just want to remember; what it feels like the first time your warm, slippery baby emerges from your belly and lands on your chest. The moment Lolo really looked at me, and the gurgles and coos and smiles, and how I could kick myself for squandering them with the other kids, as if I thought it would go on forever. I want to remember it all, because I'll never do it again...

But that's a post for another day. Because I can't go there right now. I'm all birthday partied out. Also babies:

A week with Paolo

Lolo came home a week ago today. He's all love and joy, and breastfeeding and pooping and a wee bit of jaundice, but really just love and joy. He sleeps, he eats, he soils, and he looks good doing it all. And this development (Lolo, in our house) has been enough of an event that each member of the family, and their reactions and adjustments to it, deserves its own post. But in the interest of space, I will sum it up.

Cleveland and Lucie have adjusted well overall. They remember when Coco was born, so they have a frame of reference, and they've enjoyed making comparative notes between "the two babies in our house". They have each other, as playmates, mischief-mates, etc, and that has been helpful. When the afternoons devolve into chaos, they can seek refuge in their room and conspire.

Cleveland is infinitely sweet with his brother. He's all "awwww" and "he's so so sweet mama" and "i love how he smells". He's very conscientious ("don't worry, I used the hand sanitizer"), and very gentle. With Lolo. With Lucie, he's become something of a bully. I think Lolo's birth has coincided with a developmental stage in C's little boy brain that has hard-wired him to reach out (literally) and pinch, flick, shove, or even *gasp* spit on his sister. He's also into saying "I hate you Lucie" and "You're a poo-poo". He is seeking attention.

Lucie is also sweet and loving with Lolo, though she lacks something in the gentle department. She doesn't caress, she pets. She doesn't hug, she smothers. I find myself having to temper her relentless affection, however well-meaning it is, in the interest of ensuring that Lolo maintains a functioning airway. I've noticed her bullying Coco a bit in the way she's being bullied by cleveland. She's started getting aggressive with her, ripping toys away, shouting "NO COCO!!!!". When being harrassed by her brother, Lucie immediately becomes a victim, and she doesn't do well at taking responsibility for her own actions, because it's always "well, Cleveland did _______). She is seeking attention.

And Coco. Dear, sweet, baby girl Coco. When I walked in the house last Wednesday having not seen her for two days, I thought she was a different baby. She was enormous. Her legs were the fattest legs I'd ever seen. And I kept looking at her thinking "You're so big, shouldn't you be potty trained? Oh, and talking? Can't you get your own breakfast? You're no baby." And just like that, she wasn't. Lolo's arrival has been a big challenge for Coco, I would guess, her greatest challenge to date. Even as my lap shrunk and my belly grew, there was always room for Coco. Now, when feeding time comes, Coco is put aside (literally, I put her in her crib), and I know her feelings are hurt. She's become more verbal (mostly just screaming "Maaaa, Maaaaammm!"), I imagine both for attention and to remind the world that she exists. she's interested in Lolo but only a little. And as long as she's being played with and laughed at she's happy. The rest of the time, she is seeking attention.

Phil has been amazing. He was able to take a week off of work and took the big kids all over the place last week and cooked and shopped and cleaned and let me sleep and all the things that I've needed but haven't been asking for. He's back to work and my mother-in-law is visiting, so the assistance continues, and that's wonderful.

Because how am I doing? Well, I'm doing well. Physically I feel terrific. I'm tired but not unbearably so, and my "recovery" from labor feels as expeditious as the actual event. My mind is spinning, because school is starting soon and I want to be a great mom and I want my children to all know how much I love them; that all my babies are always my babies and we all want for something in this life but in our family it will never be love. I recently remembered the saying that "When a baby is born, a mother is also born". I think this isn't just true for the first child. I became a mother when I had Cleveland almost six years ago. But I became a different mother after Lucie was born, and so on, and now I'm different again. I'm a mother of four. I'm a mother of two boys and two girls, or four infinitely bright and possible spirits. I want to hold them all all the time. I want to give them the world. Then I remember that the world is theirs for the taking. My job isn't to dole it out to them. My job isn't even to make them see the possibilities. It's only love. To love them and to get out of their way so they can become. And I love them.

Also pictures: