Not every homeschooling mom fantasizes about murder. But every single one has plotted her Great Escape, one way or the other.
That Wednesday night, sitting at the table with my teen, waiting—watching—waiting for him to compound that fucking interest, I was coming out of my skin. If you’ve never helped with homework: Imagine a friend telling a story that’s taking waaay too long and at some point, you just wanna scream, “Get to the fucking point!” (But you don’t. )
As the primary home educator in our house, it’s all on me, Baby. Whatever my son has/hasn’t academically learned over the past nine years has been my doing. Even if it’s just been taking him to a docent-led museum tour, another parent-led co-op or sending him and his father off to some homeschool game day so I can dance naked in the living room, I spearhead the projects. Most of the time, however, it’s been him and me doing time at a table.
Yeah, yeah, yeah – all that kids’ self-directed learning crap. It is absolutely true. Kids DO explore and learn about what interests them. But I doubt if Morgan is ever gonna ask to learn Geometry. But that’s what I’m gonna teach him this coming school year. Or I should say, “that’s what we’re gonna learn together.” (Come on, how much Geometry to YOU remember?)
So get real. There are moments when we who homeschool have our doubts. Not so much about our child’s ability, but about our own.
Eight years ago, sitting at the table with my six-year-old, waiting—watching—waiting for him to sound out the consonant blend “CH”, I was coming out of my skin then, too. So does that mean I shouldn’t be home educating my kid? No, if anything, questioning my abilities/motives/sanity has made me a better teacher. But I’m still keepin’ that rock on the table.