The unschooling and relaxed homeschooling sites always promised me this would happen. They promised that if I provided my children an environment rich in experiences and opportunities, and I offered them encouragement and space to explore, that they would ask to learn things.  That they would naturally be drawn to trying, learning, reading, doing.

And after 12 years of homeschooling, I’m still thrilled when it happens, and surprised that it doesn’t happen when and where I thought it should.

Right now, I have an 11-yo voluntarily studying a science curriculum designed for 7th/8th graders, a 13-yo who begged to study ancient Greek history and wants to volunteer to haul hay at a horse farm for handicapped kids, and a 16-yo who (after a lifetime of dedicated couch-potato-hood) wants to exercise for an hour a day and (after a lifetime of scorning powertools and construction work) to build sets and assemble furniture for the community theater.

Each of them was inspired to start these projects by different factors, combinations of friends’ influences and previous school projects and simply internal joys that they’ve discovered by trying something new.

It’s lovely when they beg to learn.  I love it.

And yet, I’m still cracking a whip because there are things they don’t want to do.  Math.  Sigh.  I’m still seeking balance.

It’s been 8 years since I first ran a Race for the Cure, and 2 years since I first had a lump removed from my breast. I loved running the race again…if I have to be part of this breast cancer battle, I’d rather be the part that gets t-shirts and cheerleaders than the part that gets stitches and get well cards.

I didn’t train for the race this year.  I didn’t even charge up my Ipod.  I didn’t decide for sure about entering until the alarm went off this morning.  I’m glad I did…still, cold weather…great music…great cause…every breath reminding me how good it is to be alive and part of something.

Years ago, my running buddy told me that the hills are my friends because they want to make my legs stronger.  Metaphorically, that may be profound, but this morning it was just a mantra to keep me moving.  I didn’t run the entire 3 miles today, but I ran up all the hills, because you have to hang with your friends.  And I ran down all the hills, because I figure my friends owed me something.

Last night, I watched Biggest Loser and felt skinny.  This morning I tried to zip up my jeans and felt fat.

When my knees ached after running 1.5 miles this morning, I felt old.  Then I came home and helped my MIL dress, and I felt young.

I practiced sign language with my daughter and felt smart because I remembered all the words, then I quizzed my son on his spelling bee words and felt dumb (I would’ve missed philately and mnemonic without the list in front of me).

Clearly my feelings can’t be trusted.  They’re too subjective.

Our first few weeks of homeschooling rolled by splendidly, with happy children eagerly completing all their work.  Okay, not completely happy.  Okay, not completely eagerly.  But generally happy kids completing all their work with some enthusiasm and minimal griping.  All was peaceful in our little kingdom.

But the peace started eroding as the schedule grew more hectic.  I realized my kids were “forgetting” to do more of their assignments.  Today I got a needed reminder as to why.  I had stopped checking their work daily, checking each subject only each 3-4 days.  I thought they were enough into their routines to carry on.  This morning a friend reminded me of the importance of checking every day to show the kids you care about the work being done on time.  Consequences coming several days later aren’t as meaningful because they’ve already played and visited friends or watched tv for days since the work wasn’t done. 

Sure, we expect that when they’re adults, they’ll be responsible to finish all their work without constant checking.  But they aren’t adults yet.  I am.  So it’s my job to be the responsible one.

After 3 weeks of “warming up” to school, dabbling in a few subjects, we officially dived into our first “official” day of homeschooling yesterday (because all the learning that took place previously was “unofficial” and probably too much fun anyway).  We completed every school subject, cleaned the house, took in a field trip to operate robots at the local college, and had supper on the table at 6 p.m.  I even had time to view an original short film entirely written, filmed and produced by my son and two of his friends, and then sat in the back seat of the Tahoe while my teenager practiced driving in the stadium parking lot.  For the record, no pedestrians or vehicles were damaged, and on his one venture onto public roads, he approached 30 mph.

What a productive day!  I figure just 3 more of those this year, and I can retire.

My daughter is 13 and needs a new bed.

My husband suggested a lovely, intricately carved wooden sleigh bed that would make Jordi feel “like a princess.”  The frame she picked out is a square, utilitarian metal study loft, with a bunk bed above and a computer desk below.  No princess would be caught dead near this thing.

More than once, while furniture shopping, she commented that all the beds she liked seemed to be decorated and marketed for boys with sports-themed bedspreads and posters.  Anything with a pink spreads, ruffles, or (the horrors) flowered canopies seemed to repel her like polarized magnets. 

A few years ago, Jordi’s dream room had pink walls and butterflies.  She briefly flitted through a stage of leopard and zebra print, still distinctly feminine but with an older twist.  Now, at 13, after a lifetime of preferring new sandals to new toys and frilly ruffled dresses to pants, she has taken another turn and defines herself solidly as a “tomboy.”  Volleyball and science top the hobby list, and blue jeans, tshirts and converse shoes (blue!) are the preferred uniform.  Her younger, frillier friends are confused.  The other teenagers take it in stride.  13 must be a magic number.

A few years ago, my oldest hit 13 and starting reinventing himself, a shy, self-conscious kid trying on new activities and interests and finally finding his niche in (of all places) musical theatre, where he thrives.  It makes me wonder who and where my princess will be when she figures out her adult identity.  She also spends a lot of time smiling at a certain young man who is quite eager to smile back.  I wonder where he weighs in on tomboys and princesses.  It might be a coincidence that he likes science and volleyball, too, but it might not be.

I seem to be frequently in the position of playing catch-up to my children, following 2 steps behind and saying, “but I thought you liked…”

Time to order a bed.  My princess needs a place to stash her laptop and science books.

Conversation on the 3rd of August about when our homeschool year will begin.

My favorite daughter: Mom, it’s not fair!  2 of my friends have already started school, and I haven’t.

Me (pretending to be sympathetic but inwardly snickering): Actually, at least 3 of your friends have.  Hannah started her schoolwork this week, too.

My favorite daughter: Can’t we start soon?

Me (sighing and pretending to be thoughtful): Well, this week is kind of crazy.  We could get out your math and science books next week, though.  You don’t have to wait until September.

My favorite daughter (thinking she’s just talked mom into something cool): Yay!

Big brother (butting in and trying to ruin a lovely moment): That’s dumb.  I want to wait as long as I can.

My favorite daughter (putting on a little pouty face that she thinks is cute): But I like math!

Sooooo…guess who starts math and science early?  She’ll finish before big brother, too, and then he’ll complain about that.  On a philosophical point, my friends assure me that it’s not hypocritical to use peer pressure when it suits me.  It’s just being a parent.  We need all the tools that work.

http://englishcompanion.ning.com/video/rethinking-rubrics

The point of this succinct video is to explain why rubrics are NOT always the best way to score and grade essays, but in the process of making that point, Maja sums up my basic philosophy of writing.  It’s messy.  It’s complex.  Really good, creative, interesting writing will throw a rubric into chaos because it won’t fit the formula of “good” writing.

Woo hoo!  Throw out the rubrics!  Let’s rebel and write weirdly fantastic stuff.  (Just not on your SAT exam…)

Whenever one of the kids tells me we’re out of something, I just say, “Put it on the list.”  On our refrigerator is a magnetic notepad with a perpetual shopping list that I grab whenever heading out the door.

Cameron told me we were out of tylenol p.m.  So, he put it on the list. 

He’s just here to make me smile.

“A joyful life is an individual creation that cannot be copied from a recipe.” ~Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi

What can I add to this?  It’s brilliant.  And I strive everyday to put together our own individual recipe.