in which I listen to an Inner Voice and the voices of my children

It is nearly midnight as I sit nestled in this old wing back chair contemplating, praying, and preparing to face my children in the morning.  Tomorrow is the start of school and I have been preparing for this day, this year, in ebbs and tides for the past few months.  My son--my eldest child--starts high school in just a few short hours and my eldest daughter begins the middle school journey (sixth grade).  Everyone is eager and excited to embrace the challenges of their new grade level all the way down to my first-grader.

I am a bit unsettled.  Plans have been uprooted and my little scholars have no idea.


Over the years we have tripped our way through a variety of approaches to homeschooling, but heavy on the Classical and Charlotte Mason, with a fair amount of Montessori in the early years (until I burned out on managing all of those precious materials).  There was a year of Robinson Curriculum which went quite well with my year of Most Drowsy, Foggy Pregnancy Ever.  And before that there was a year of Not Schooling.  (I wish I could call it Unschooling, but it would be an insult to the amazing Un-schooling parents I have had the pleasure of knowing and witnessing.)

Always our school has been heavy on literature, Living Books as Charlotte Mason called them.  That is my favorite thread of our educational tapestry so far and I think the children would agree.  I've tried to avoid too many textbooks, but they started to creep and then trickle in at a steady pace.  First a Math text, cause you have to have a Math text, right?  And then, Latin, because learning Latin by immersion is not going to work in our home.  Well, Mommy's not so good at Science, so maybe we'd better get a Science text to guide us.  A writing program?  Excellent idea, being a good writer is very important.  Piano method books?  How could you make proper music at the piano without a good old-fashioned method book?

And then there is a schedule to manage the textbooks.  Yes, my perspective is that the schedule manages the textbooks to a greater degree than it manages the children.  "An hour with the math text first, now forty-five minutes with the Latin text, next spend another forty-five with the Science textbook, if you please. Ad nauseum."

All summer as I have been hashing over course work for my almost High Schooler---carefully selecting an Ancient History syllabus, registering him for the All-Important Pre-AP Biology class, seeking out a Latin tutor, considering how I should fill certain "gaps" I see in his education thus far---there has been a nagging voice.  Not a whispering nag, but a loud, persistent voice that presses me into accepting the truth that we are not where I wanted to be in this home educating journey.

Then, not by happenstance, I read this stirring post by Susan at My Summer Notebook.  In it she writes:

We didn’t do a lot of things others do in high school. We didn’t use curricula (except for math and sometimes as a resource for science). The kids never wrote a research paper at home (or studied how to write one). There were no set schedules and lesson plans to follow. I didn’t give the kids assignments, and there was no memory work, drill, quizzes, or tests. We didn’t do SAT prep (with an exception I’ll tell you about later) and there were no AP courses or tests. We didn’t have a daily schedule. I didn’t plan the kids “courses,” learning, or direction. I didn’t teach anything. On the other hand, we didn’t totally wing it, fly by the seat of our pants, or propel ourselves by whim, emotion, or inclination. Laziness, complaining, whining, or boredom wouldn’t have been tolerated.

Oh, do go read the whole post so you can see how her daughter got her well-earned Botany credit.

So, I talked to my older children about all of this last week.  I told them about Aimee and the meaningful journey to her Botany credit, I told them about my early dreams for our home learning.  I told them of how I'd wanted them to be free to pursue their individual interests and that along the way they would learn to research and write and they would discover science and their Faith without having to drill it.  I confessed to them that I honestly do not feel that excited about getting up in the morning to oversee their studies under the burdenous yoke of textbooks & workbooks or the confines of detailed schedules.

They were agog.  Panicked, actually.  I saw them exchange worried glances.

Firstborn finally stammered, "Umm, Mom, I like learning that way.  I am starting High School and there are supposed to be texts and schedules." 

Then Sunshine urgently plied, "You are making a schedule for us, aren't you Mom?  I like learning that way, too."

And in that instant I suddenly possessed the knowledge 

that this school year isn't going to look very much like the one I had planned.

to be continued

something old, something new

Some time ago, I posted about our abrupt break from the traditional approach to academic study, the decompression that followed, and the gradual return to creativity and genuine pursuits. Our dutiful reports of school "progress" also stopped over at Soulful Learning. The Soulful Learning posts will be resuming, but they will look different. More soulful, I hope. No more drear lists of checked off items. We're taking a whole new path, more adventursome. And the blog will clearly reflect the shift. Hope you'll stop by and drop a note.

time well spent

A couple of months ago, schooling, in the formal sense, stopped. It was not, as The Prof assumed, a planned spring vacation. It was an abruptly prescribed antidote to burn-out. We were all burned out. And school had become what I most hoped to avoid when we set out on this home education journey: something resembling that dull chore that I underwent as a child. Mind you, I received a good education and had many, many good times. But the good times did not coincide with academic learning. And as of late, our education came to resemble that familiar brick and mortar model. Something mostly limited to, "open your math book, complete three pages," "today for fun we'll do flashcards," "let's review Latin declensions," "only one more page of handwriting and you can head outside." Blah, blah, blah.

I'd thrown a wet blanket on any passion for learning that the Little Scholars once held. Their imaginations had been dulled and their creativity was decomposing. This was exactly the opposite of any vision I'd ever held for our learning life. So, one day I just stopped school. I called it "not-schooling" since it didn't qualify as an official vacation but I wasn't the enthusiastic cheerleader that is required of the "unschooling" parent. Nope, we were just not schooling.


After a few weeks, one of the children finally asked if we were going to be "doing school" anytime soon. One of the siblings elbowed him for asking and prompted him to be quiet as if perhaps I hadn't noticed myself that school had been neglected for the previous three weeks. I cheerfully replied that while I had no immediate plans for resuming book work, the books were still in their usual places and I would be happy to help anyone who really, really wanted to fill in a workbook page.

In the meantime, I just observed. I observed the children spending whole days doing nothing. Really. Nothing creative, nothing remotely meaningful, rarely even playing games together. It made me sad, because I held myself intregally responsible for this dullness. Occasionally one or another child would ask about doing schoolwork and I continued to give the same aforementioned cheerful response. And occasionally, someone would do a little book work...my budding reader has read a few pages from her reader to me, there was a random page of handwriting completed, and one day the girls viewed several review episodes of the instructional DVD that accompanies their math program.

But mostly I worried about about the dullness of their demeanors. I came to realize that they were decompressing. Just sort of clearing their minds and mentally resting. I recognize the validity of this process, but at the same time I couldn't bear another day of the Nothing. To. Do. syndrome, so as I mentioned a couple of days ago, I sent them on a mission with full freedoms to start finding something to do. It seemed to be just the right prescription.

Since then, the water color paints have been nearly used up:

Firstborn was inspired by this new-to-our-children's-collection cookbook, and decided to make everyone Corn Cakes and bacon for lunch yesterday:

The girls have been playing board games and fashioning little paper dolls and felt dolls. And Firstborn has spent hours researching BB guns, seeking the best value, reading reviews, comparing shipping costs, etc. In other words, there is a spark of life back in the creative souls of these young ones. I didn't work any magic by sending them on a mission "to do," I just insisted that they take advantage of the liberties they have always had but hesitated to enjoy.

So while The Prof, who embraces a more traditional educational model, is steering us back toward the book work, I am delighted to see the gradually flowering fruits of our decompression period. And before blindly returning to the old workbooks, I am discussing philosophy with The Prof, options with the children and busying myself reading about the evolving visions (whoa! so very much to consider in that post!), shifting of focus, and detailed plans that others have already laid out regarding the next months and year in their own home "schools". And, naturally, I am taking this all to the Lord in prayer as we seek out our vision, our focus and our plan. Or rather, His vision, His focus, and His plan.

Things are buzzing again over at Soulful Learning. I didn't fret with keeping a record of learning during the summer months, but now we are back in the swing of it.