Momentary Honesty (Not to Be Read By Potential Homeschoolers or the Easily Discouraged)

This morning one of my sons came down the stairs wearing a bright red and blue shirt with faded, maroon, high-water sweatpants, hair plastered straight down on one side of his head, and straight up on the other (as it was when he got out of bed), questionable teeth, and bare feet.  He then announced himself as "ready for school".  

That is usually my cue to break into my daily, well-rehearsed "maternal checklist for school readiness", which includes addressing each and every one of the aforementioned issues with his attire and personal hygiene, as well as the chores which were almost certainly left undone upstairs.

I opened my mouth and watched his eyes glaze over, and suddenly I realized that this is one of the problems with homeschooling.  

It is time to be honest.  In my 10 years of experience, I haven't come across many major problems with homeschooling, and the ones I have encountered aren't enough to make me abandon my calling, but--I need to be frank--difficulties are there, and sometimes they pop up and stare at me with big mocking eyes and make my lower lip tremble a little bit. 

I think that a good number of us homeschool moms have spent many years trying to explain to people why we have made the doubly strange decisions to...

a) ...forgo careers with other grown ups in places where we can wear pretty clothes, talk in complete sentences, not cut up other peoples' food, and get paid...

...in order to...

b) ...stay home with our kids for 24 hours a day, from the time they are 0 to 18, teaching them not only what it means to become a civilized human being (normal parent stuff), but also everything they need to know to land a spot in the college or career of their dreams, which requires multiple role changes on our parts, multiple times a day.  I routinely change from mommy to teacher, to coach, to therapist, to pastor, to nurse, to drill sergeant, to maid, to cook, to valet, to prison warden, to chauffeur, to psychologist, and back to mommy again within the span of two hours' time.

It is worth it.  It is just hard to describe why or how sometimes, and since there is always an army of tongue-cluckers waiting to see a spectacular failure from among us (so as to discredit the whole movement), most of us hold our fears close to the vest.   

We are well aware that such a "failure" could not be blamed on anyone but ourselves.  The only bad teacher my kids had was me.  Same for ineffective career counseling, sub-par cafeteria food, and dilapidated playground equipment.  My fault, my fault, and my fault.  

Textbooks not up to snuff?  Me again.  

Bullied by peers?  My bad.  I gave birth to (many of) the kids around here.  

Curriculum gaps?  Umm...that would be on me.  

Kids prevented from mastering crucial scholastic concepts by noisy siblings, barking dogs, distracting UPS men, phone calls, and the smell of burning bread?  I'll have to own all that. 

Bad habits, bad manners, bad breath?  With no renegade classmates to absorb part of the blame, those peccadilloes would all fall on moi.  

So as you can imagine, with that kind of built-in pressure, we homeschool moms tend to be closed-mouthed about the occasional problems that crop up in home education, except among friends and people who won't make us worry and stew more than we already do.  

But today, I feel brave.  

Or desperate...

Either way, this is what I am noticing around here lately.

Problem 1:  My children have no hawk-eyed peer group waiting to pounce on fashion foibles, unusual manners, and gross personal habits, which means...

...I have to do that entire job myself. 

Now, you might think this is not really a problem, and you are partly right.  

It is true that my kids can make it through the school day without being teased for wearing last year's hairstyle or the wrong labels on their clothes.  It's just that sometimes I think a little ridicule might come in handy since my boys routinely show up in not only last year's hairstyle, but in last night's hairstyle--untouched by brush, comb, or water.

Without shame.  

They also have the tendency to belly up to the table in shirts (often pungent) which have been dredged up from the abyss behind their beds, clothes borrowed from siblings (ridiculously over or under-sized) as well as "old favorites", a.k.a. "clothes they love too much to ever put into the laundry lest there be a dreaded two hour period of separation whilst the item is washed and dried."

As for labels, they wear them all right!--hanging off the back of inside-out sweatpants and flopping out the front of backwards shirts.  

With pride.

What hasn't worked so far:  Me telling them that they look/smell like hobos in hopes that they would eventually learn to discern that fact for themselves.  I am simply outnumbered--just one lonely voice competing against a chorus of brothers who would (and do) accept and approve of any configuration of "school uniform", be it matched or unmatched, freshly laundered or ripe, ripped or intact, properly sized or sprayed on.

My brilliant idea:  A small rental mob of children (five or so) to come over periodically and rib the boys about their unfortunate apparel choices and sloppy hygiene.  

They could show up around 8 in the morning, twice a month, constructively critique each person under the age of 12 as he or she comes down the stairs, have a snack, and be driven home.  

If that doesn't work, I guess we'll just have to wait until the kids go off to college.

Problem 2:  Motivation to complete assignments is lacking...er, non-existant.  

What Hasn't Worked So Far:  I once imagined that if I could just devise a perfect school schedule, color coded with a slot and time for each student and assignment (including ample recess time and frequent snack breaks), and then laminate it and display it in six convenient locations, I would have compliance and enthusiasm from the troops.  

That flopped, so then I let them have a say in the schedule.  Create ownership, I thought!

That worked for half a week before it flopped too.  

So I tried a rewards system.  And then a combination rewards/"punitive redirection" scheme.  Flops.

Crying flopped too, although that wasn't a planned strategy on my part.  Same with yelling.

I had the idea to deliver a calm and logical dissertation on "The Indisputable Benefits of Having Completed Fourth Grade When Trying to Land Gainful Employment in Today's Tough Job Market".

I also gave a speech on "How Not Making Your Mother Send You Back Four Times to Complete Every Single Problem on Your Math Worksheets Can Improve Your Quality of Life."

And, of course, there is the perennial favorite "Six Things You Will Lose if You Make Me Tell You ONE MORE TIME to Get Your School Book Box and Come to the Table."

Flop.  Flop.  And flop.

My Brilliant Idea:  Twins.  I need one for each child, and here's why.  

I recently learned from Jamey that the ONLY reason he EVER completed an assignment from 1st grade through his sophomore year in college was because he was actively competing with people who were doing the same work.  He said he had absolutely no interest in the subject matter at hand.  

Ever.  

He was only ever trying to do his work in order to be faster and better than someone else. That changed when he turned 20 and discovered that gaining knowledge is a pleasant and profitable pastime all on its own.  

So, until then I will need a source of competition--a fellow student working through the same material--to provide the proper motivation for each child.  The solution?  Twins!

That's as far as I've gotten on that issue since there appear to be some formidable challenges in the implementation phase of this idea.

Problem 3:  The kids know I love them.  

Don't get me wrong.  I think this is also a positive in many situations, but in the classroom, it can lead to an assumption that my kids can act out, speak out, tune out, and freak out, with a level of freedom they might not enjoy with a teacher who doesn't also think they are the most adorable creatures in the universe.  

For instance, Isaiah knows how to make me laugh while I am trying to be stern.  I hate that. Deep down, I am always fighting the urge to squeeze his little round cheeks and he knows it, which makes me less effective than I could be at holding the line with him.  

I have another child who has studied me for 12 years with the singular goal of figuring out when I am least likely to notice his disappearance from the table.  He has mastered the art of innocent believability, counting on the extra measure of grace a mother might extend to her beloved child who, say, "got lost between the bathroom and the kitchen table", or needed to give the dog 47 minutes to do his business.  

I have a third child who counts on limitless second chances (and the lack of a principal's office) to pull shenanigans that would never be tolerated in a classroom.  After all, what am I going to do?  Expel him? 

What Hasn't Worked So Far:  This is tricky.  I actually think that this is a problem I don't want to solve.

And the more I think about it, I'm not sure I want to "solve" any of my homeschool problems.  

Yes, I'd like to improve the peace, obedience, and harmony among the individuals in my home, but there is no magic outside force that will accomplish that.  

The solution for any parent/child problem is the same, whether they are homeschooled or not--daily, consistent, loving direction and discipleship, prayer, and patience.  


The truth is that this the solution for all interpersonal relationships.  I have mine as a homeschool, and you have yours in whatever you do, but we have this in common:  

The closer you get to people, the more vulnerable you become.  And with vulnerability, comes the potential for frustration, pain, and disappointment--but also for connection, affection, and growth.  

Welcome to life on an inhabited planet!  We are all dealing with the same issues.


Any time groups of humans get together for extended periods, problems will develop.  Personalities will clash, selfishness will rear its ugly head, seasons of irritation will come and go, immaturity will surface, perceptions and opinions will butt heads.  

To wish away all the stickiness and stress would be to wish away the people causing it.   

The truth is, we are all bundles of potential annoyance and aggravation for one another!  I provide that service for you.  And you, my friends, neighbors, spouse, and children, provide it for me!

Unless you are Ghengis Khan or the Queen of Hearts (and can thus dispatch underlings with impunity) you will need to learn the delicate art of diffusing tension, inspiring right behavior, and responding to insults with grace.

 I've seen people throw away fixable marriages, or jump from job to job, or leave churches, or trade in old friends for a revolving door of new faces, or moan and stew about every age and stage their children go through because they didn't understand the hard work of human relationships.  

But think what they are missing!  The hardest things in life end up being the most rewarding, and sanctifying--and satisfying.

I could send my children away, but they would simply bring their problems with them and someone else (who knows and loves them less) would have to deal with them.   

And what would I lose?  I would forfeit the experience of the daily, hourly awakening of their minds and spirits.  I would sacrifice thousands of teachable moments.  I would give up the refining fire that exists in my particular calling.  

The temptation is to blame the system or the institution or the environment, but the truth is that I want my kids to be secure in my absolute devotion to them.  I'm glad they are not obsessed with being cool.  I love that they have 5,000 outside interests vying for their attention.  

And I am learning to appreciate the fact that they know me well enough to have me figured out.  
 
So I have some choices.

I could keep looking for the "magic bullet" that will fix them, and be angry and frustrated when they don't fall in line.

I could wish these years away, tolerating my children instead of enjoying them, envying those in different circumstances, and feeding my discontent.

Or I could pursue peace, choose grace, and cultivate gratitude, even in the nitty-gritty business of teaching manners and multiplication to boys who would rather be wrestling and burping;)

***Sigh***

The trick is to remember all this tomorrow morning when Lurch, Oscar the Grouch, and Pigpen show up at the breakfast table:)