The Highs of a Year of Homeschooling
Here’s an article I never thought I’d be able to write, but, as my children go back to school this week for five whole days for the first time in exactly a year (we live in Kansas USA), I’m finding I can look back at it with a smile. I wouldn’t have chosen it in a million years but it’s part of us now – part of all of us and it wasn’t all technical hitches and tears. Here are some of the high points and memories we made:
Mummy’s Maths Revision
There are times in life when it is important to maintain a calm air in front of your audience and this is never truer than when your ten year old tearfully asks you for help with her maths. Early in lockdown this wasn’t an issue – my confidence was high. I had always been in top set for maths at school. I got an A in my GCSE; I did the extension paper and then an A-level.
“Mum why are you taking photos of my maths questions?” asks Holly.
“Oh, I didn’t babe, I just took a selfie.” (I’m the kind of Mum for whom this is a believable explanation). It was also a lie. I was hurriedly sending it by WhatsApp to several sources, accompanied by messages such as “help me!”
Anyway, hopefully I did manage to maintain my image of a capable, intelligent parent who can solve all problems. Blimey, though – decimals and fractions, what are they even for?
Ben’s 100 Ways to “Screen Fidget”
In my past working life, I have been famous for getting distracted in long meetings where my role is tangential. I’ve regularly filled a notebook pages with artful drawings of ants and the minute I was issued with a Blackberry, all hope was lost. So, I do have a bit of sympathy with how hard it is to sit still and remain respectfully attentive whilst listening is your only task.
My little Ben though, he’s shown me ways to fidget that I couldn’t even dream of. The poor teachers are faced with an eyeline full of little faces and have to urge them to sit straight and concentrate. ‘Can you sit still, Sophie’, ‘Put that down, Wyatt.’
Now, I know it should’ve been my motherly duty to help; to assist in this call for calm. Open confession teachers: sometimes I was just in the background laughing so hard. Ben would be gurning, sticking his fingers up his nose, sticking pencils in the orifices of the iPad and other places, scratching his bum, winking at himself. It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.
Holly’s State Seal
One afternoon Holly came to show me her assignment which was designing a seal for Kansas. She drew a fine animal, and I was very proud of her. Turns out, of course it wasn’t the animal kind of seal that was required. “You weren’t really listening were you Mum?” No, Holly, Mummy wasn’t. But the teaching point was, if you laugh at yourself, people laugh with you – not at you. Oh, and we did laugh.
Self-Control in ‘Cheaty’ Help
I’m going to stick my neck out and say that it’s a parental instinct to want to help your child. With this in mind I’m begging for your leniency in judgement before these two confessions:
- I helped Holly in her first on-line Maths test. * (She got 100% – fist bump.)
- While Ben was muted, I gave him the top answer (maybe more than once) in his on-line class “Family Feud” game (note: we’re in America, this is the same as “Family Fortunes”). This game was one of the few times I would get home school envy.
Teacher Appreciation with a Twist of Self Awareness
When lockdown first started, back when we thought it was going to be two weeks, I had a momentary self-delusion that I was good at teaching my children. I invoked a blackboard, we bought little lap desks. I began our learning sessions with my own version of the pledge of allegiance. (This really happened, it was called “Allegiance to the Mum”). I thought I had it completely worked out. Perfectly timed academic work was intermingled with engaging and exciting craft projects.
I think we all know how this ended two weeks later when it became obvious this was the long haul. All teachers, I salute you. I want your skills, they’re magical.
Competitive Academic Rivalry (With My Children)
I am currently doing a Masters in Creative Writing. I’m pretty proud of it and feel like I’m learning all kinds of clever things. Then I find my son (7) is tasked with writing realistic (and unrealistic) fiction. Over the course of the year, he’s produced a 6 volume collection of stories about a bug called Monie Fast Bite. I have fiction envy. My daughter uses terminology I have to Google for her Language Arts. “Mummy, that is not a metaphor, it’s an idiom… it’s definitely hyperbole!” Showing no fear, I calmly ask her if she knows what a parataxis is…
We stayed home, we home schooled, we conquered. (Boom).
May we never have to do it again.
