In total befuddlement, I resigned from our homeschool Steering Committee this morning. Bottom line? A woman’s gotta know her limitations. And it seemed like I was doing an awful lotta rowing, but didn’t get to do much steering. Meanwhile, we’re moored in the shallows because others prefer to just drag their feet like anchors over the side.
I understand as the mother of a 13-year-old boy, his interests and needs are different than the group’s median age of six. Yes, six (6), as in second-graders. Almost half of the children in the group are not of “legal” homeschool age, and several of them have no older siblings who are. (Gee, I though EVERY Mom of a 3-year-old already IS a home educating Mom.) But now that homeschooling is so hip, many parents with toddlers are calling themselves “Homeschoolers.” Of course, their moniker may change when they move beyond macaroni necklaces and Veggie Tales.
But when I was told that I am “intense” and “a perfectionist,” I had to laugh, then beg to differ. Okay, maybe I am a little high-strung (i.e.: menopause). But a “perfectionist?” Never! I am as lazy, neglectful and slovenly as the next parent. And if expecting group activities that require an adult’s independent thought, creativity and follow-through instead of photocopying some lame-ass camel cutout as the “older kids” craft for the Egypt co-op is considered being a perfectionist, our children are in big-big trouble.
Yet instead of asking this all-volunteer crew to sit up straight, grab a paddle and help head for deeper, more bountiful, waters, I was told that would be counter-productive (i.e.: mean) and nothing/nobody is gonna change. And, well, sorry, but could I be “okay” with that? Well, sorry, no, I can’t.
Better to jump ship now while I can still wade to shore before the skiff crashes on the rocks.