We’re halfway through the school year, so it feels like the right time for a home schooling update. For the past few weeks, I’ve been swinging wildly from one set of feelings about it to another, hanging on for dear life to what I picture as the pendulum bob at the end of a massive grandfather clock that ominously ticks away the hours of each day, week, month.
Sometimes it’s so great, and I’m so sure that we’ve made the best possible decision for our kid that I worry about becoming like one of those evangelical ex-smokers who can’t shut up about how great they feel, or how gross a cigarette half a block away smells. Other times, I’m so crushingly discouraged by how hard it is, and I think we’ve gone so far down a bad path that there’s no hope of salvation or return, and now we’re on a grim death march (like Napoleon in Russia!) toward domestic disintegration, a future in which no one learns, no one gets work done, and no one is satisfied with how their time is spent.
Trying to home school while both parents are also attempting to work (and not just work, but revamp and rebuild their own business) is … brutal. Our kid spends so much time on screens that I sink into at least one weekly depression about it. I’m trying to take a relaxed, unschooling approach about his learning, but being chill doesn’t solve the time problem. Unschooling is less about curriculum-based instruction, and more about quality time spent fully engaging with our kid’s interests. That means means video games aren’t bad, but they also aren’t a handy babysitter that will allow me to get half an hour of work done, because every activity is an opportunity to connect with my kid. That means actually sitting with him and playing the games together, something that always feels simultaneously great (connecting!) and like the hugest waste of my time.
Each morning, we talk through the day with our kid, and fill out a cute little daily schedule. After much initial resistance, he has finally settled into these planning sessions and often refers to the weekly calendar (which we also draw up, each weekend) to remind himself of when we’re doing a particular activity.
It works, mostly. And yet, as I write this, my kid sits next to me, playing a game, and every three to five seconds, he says “mom, play with me,” and my heart breaks a little, because I can’t. I have to answer a couple of urgent paid-job-related emails and send an invoice, all desperately necessary tasks, as I’m now very much out of grant money and utterly broke (another cause for weekly depression spirals).
In our family, we have a shorthand for “I’m completely overwhelmed and I don’t know what to do, but I’m just carrying on, because what other choice is there?” When I’m feeling this way, I turn to Colin and ask “how will the wolf survive?1” and he nods sagely, because knows exactly what I’m trying to communicate, and knows, too, that there is no solution, only solidarity and perseverance.
It’s been a real “how will the wolf survive” few months around here.
The kid is undeniably happier, and in general, so am I. He’s undeniably learning, too, all kinds of things. I keep having to repeat this to myself in those moments of deep self doubt and regret at not having taken a totally different life path (law school, maybe?) that might have allowed me the financial freedom to actually be a stay-at-home parent for a year or two, instead of whatever this is.
After a rocky fall, the kid seems to be settling well into his extracurriculars. He attends a weekly nature school, an ‘after school’ program where he gets some structured playtime with a few neighbourhood kids, and swim class, where something is finally clicking, and he’s listening to his instructors for the first time, maybe ever. We’ve dropped a couple of activities too, after realizing that even in the absence of a packed school day, maintaining four weekly kid-centric obligations is too much for us. In the much-longer-than-anticipated de-schooling2 period, we’re easily exhausted.
The best part of last week was a family nature walk we took in a big ravine park in the city’s east end. The kiddo told us about a game they play in nature school. I’m not sure I actually understood the rules of the game, but hearing his enthusiasm about an activity done outside of our home was … novel and encouraging. We identified raccoon and squirrel tracks, poked holes in the ice that covered a small creek running through the ravine, and foraged for evergreen needles, in order to make cedar tea and pine soda.
We made “gloop” this week, and rock candy, and played Crazy Eights and a simplified version of Carcassonne. We read books, listened to music, danced in our living room and had tickle fights. When I list it all out, it sure doesn’t sound like we spent all our time watching inane YouTube videos or playing Nintendo. So, why does it sometimes feel that way? How will the wolf survive?
I’ve never actually listened to the Los Lobos album by the same name. Should I? Is it good?
That transitional time during which kids and families adjust to a new, school-less lifestyle, and let go of the expectations, timelines, and other baggage they were holding onto about how learning “should” happen.
Absolutely. It sounds like a net positive situation, which is really a huge win since life is a shit show.
Love your honesty about the intense ups and downs of parenting. If it helps at all, I wish I was your kid! I hope you can take a moment each day to acknowledge the love, attention and enrichment you are providing. I have no doubt it's making a BIG difference in his life.