--but not with a whimper either, we ended our school year on Friday. I am relieved. And I am a little more optimistic about homeschooling next year than I was last month.
I love the idea of homeschooling, but as with all things the reality has warts and prickles absent from the abstract notion. I've written before about how homeschooling means I have to keep pulling my perfectionist self up short, saying, "Get a grip, Jamie; it's only second grade." I tend to aim too high in most things I do. Periodically I make myself little schedules for the day, schedules in which 9am will find me having dispatched the laundry, the Liturgy of the Hours, and the problem of water quality in the developing world as well, leaving ample time in the afternoon to knock out the works of Trollope and whip up a nice little galantine of turkey for dinner.
This is one of my struggles as a mother because of course I want my children to live lives in which they aim high. Also, I want my children to live lives in which they are shielded from bitter disappointments and feelings of inadequacy. Maybe they could also live lives in which they solve the puzzle of the Marburg virus and write a Pulitzer prize-winning book about it. Maybe I should stop drinking real coffee on an empty stomach, you think?
Anyway, if I looked back on the goals I set for our school year in August I would have to laugh. Instead of berating myself for what we didn't get done, or the various shortcomings of our three years of homeschooling, let me tell you about something that's gone well.
As I was becoming Catholic thirteen years ago I was surprised (I'll be candid: in my 21yo omniscience I was self-righteously appalled) at the unfamiliarity with the Bible I saw in the RCIA team. They would say things like, "Somewhere in the Bible it says, 'He who sings prays twice,'" and I would shudder pompously. I hope I've shed the smugness, but the underlying love for the Bible remains and is something I want to share with my children.
So when my son was in kindergarten he learned the books of the Bible. I wanted him to feel at home with their names, to know from age five that Habakkuk was one of the minor prophets and Colossians was one of Paul's letters. That fall I read him Genesis and Exodus (with the tabernacle design scheme slightly abridged); that spring we read the gospel of John and the first half of Acts.
When I told him that January that we were moving to the New Testament he was indignant. "I want to read Leviticus! We should go in order!" he insisted. "Honey, Leviticus is really boring," I said. He was so adamant, though, that I sat down with him and read the beginning of Leviticus. At the end of the first chapter he said, "That was great! Can we read another?" In one sitting we read nine -- count them, nine -- chapters of Leviticus. We read another nine chapters in shorter spurts before his enthusiasm waned.
The following fall we finished Acts and read Mark's gospel along with a handful of epistles; in the spring I had planned to read Numbers and Deuteronomy. "Not so fast!" said Alex. "We didn't finish Leviticus." So we finished Leviticus, and then read Numbers and Deuteronomy. Some days I can't decide whether he's headed for jail or for a career as a canon lawyer, but he is one tenacious kid.
The second grade plan: Joshua/Judges/Ruth (with no Lyle Lovett accompaniment) in the fall, and Matthew and Revelation in the spring. The complications of our spring meant we were still wrapping up Matthew last week, but it was a very pleasant wrapping up.
At the beginning of Alex's kindergarten year I read about Simchat Torah, the Jewish celebration that always follows the reading of the last chapter of the Torah. I love the idea: one year older in the Lord, one more journey through his Word. And so I borrowed it. Every time we finish a book of the Bible, we have a little procession through the house, singing "Thy Word, O Lord, is a lamp to my feet and a light unto my path" to a catchy little tune that lends itself, apparently, to enthusiastic high-kicking. (No injuries yet, I am happy to report.)
On Friday we finished our school year with the Great Commission. Marty said, "Is that the end? Too bad it's over." Alex said, "Can we have our parade now? Can I be the one to hold the Bible?" (Lest we sound too Hallmark-y to be believed, let me hasten to tell you that Marty was unhappily declaring me "the baddest mother in the world" not very much later. Oh, and as I was finishing this entry, my husband came in to say that the first thing the older boys did with the jumprope he just bought them was tie the 3yo to a tree. No Hallmarkiness here, folks.) We high-kicked our way around the house and then went to the zoo with friends. It was a delightful end to a rough year.
A new Catholic homeschooling group is forming here and I'm intrigued to see what it will be like. That's my sine qua non for homeschooling next year: I have to find homeschooling support here or I just can't do it. So we'll see what happens; for now I'm feeling peaceful about not knowing which way to go. "Behold, I am with you always" -- however we decide.
Friday night Alex said, "Mom, I think we should make a schedule for our summer days." We are so much alike, my firstborn and I, which both motivates me to homeschool him and drives me slowly toward insanity on some days of homeschooling him. So we will sit our schedule-happy selves down tomorrow, I think, and plan: lazy hours of reading in our new hammock, trips down the bike trail to a leafy park nearby. Knowing the two of us, I predict that more ambitious items will surface too. Watch out, evildoers of the world, because now that Alex and I are done with school we're going to have some time on our hands.
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