The Leaning Tower of Cardboard

Today was Yoshi's first day of term. We watched a BrainPop video about skyscrapers and he decided to run with a skyscraper project that was his own idea.

First came the build.

Then it was time to subject the tower to a a little stress.

A deluge.

A hurricane, courtesy of my hairdryer ( out of shot ).

The tower and its sticky tape buttresses held up pretty well to our first two natural disasters, although some reinforcements were necessary after the hurricane. We pretty much went through a roll of tape.

And then came the asteroid strike. Actually, three asteroid strikes.

Hence, the Leaning Tower of Cardboard. We also had some compression issues on the ground floor. Sorry, squashed tenants. As Yoshi said, it's quite stressful being an engineer.

A Proper Homeschool Week or How Long Can I Keep This Up ?

Essays and speeches, the suffragettes, John Stuart Mill and his Reform Act amendment, shadow puppets on a stick, a theatre and 15 people  in my lounge room, geometry, money, four digit subtraction, Greek mythology, maps and treasure, chapters of Farmer Boy - doughnuts, more doughnuts, twisted, not round - and apples and popcorn and volume and mass and Lego, coded by colour and weighed, the weights added, 8.1 kilos of it. Horrible Histories, episode after gory episode, legs being chopped off, enrichment, autobiographies, words and voice and tone and punctuation. Exhibitions. On Sale: The History of Shopping. Nanny Piggins, the new book. Tennis practice out the front, a morning walk Low fat brownies, a pan of muffins oozing berries, a batch of butterscotch biscuits. Emails and plans and looking for felt to sew a new Yoshi and sewing a present and tidying drawers. Vacuums. Washing machines. Dinner and floors. Persuasion, talking about. Vitamins for teens. Appointments. Reading lessons. Reading books. Reading. Thinking. Slowing. Finally. Resting.

It Occurs to Me I Need a Camera. And Less Self Deprecation.

 The last camera I had ended its life dropped on its lens. Actually, that's also what happened to the second last camera I owned. If I want to take a photo, I have to ask my daughters - sorry Mum, can't find it - or my son - sorry Mum, no batteries.

If I had a new camera, I could have taken and posted a photo of Snowy and a friend making some very crafty 
peg and button racers.

Then I could have taken some more photos of the enthusiasm with which they experimented with ways of making those racers GO!!!

And if I wasn't so Australian in the way I play down anything we do, I could have also taken and posted photos of Snowy making homemade lemonade ( complete with recipe ) and Snowy baking jam tarts ( ditto) and his second playdate of the week - yes, I finally managed to meet the social needs of one of my children! I'm pretty sure it's a one off...

Then our week would have looked as hands on and crafty and peopled as it really was, and my blog would look like a proper home school blog and we would look like a proper home school family, instead of one who occasionally reads a book but vastly prefers a. thinking about  poetry and spending too much time on the net b. going to school c. playing computer games or d. actually, Lucy does look like a proper home school student. I should take some photos of her studying.

I might even write one of those curricula lists! Maybe...

Why We Homeschool - Then

During a thankfully brief mid-career crisis, I went looking for what I call my manifesto. I wrote it in my Steiner phase, so you'll have to imagine the coloured paper with curved edges, the cover sewn together with yarn...

It was a list of reasons to homeschool, prepared eight years ago, in anticipation of our first homeschool registration visit from an Authorised Person. I thought I'd have a fight on my hands and wanted to have my ammunition ready. As it turned out, our AP was a lovely woman who enjoyed looking at the girls' artwork and the books in our bookcase and was perfectly content for us to homeschool. After she left, I put the manifesto on the school shelf and it's been there ever since.

These were some of our reasons for choosing to homeschool:

to model life long learning
to have a child and parent directed education
for learning to be its own reward, without use of a merit system
to have the ability to tailor pace/depth of learning to child's age/interests/competency
efficient use of time
to use good literature as a prime learning tool
to encourage curiosity and the development of self-directed learning behaviours rather than obedience
to introduce subjects/ideas at age appropriate times
to have flexible schedules
to provide the opportunity to socialise in the community and not restrict interaction to same age peers
to include children in adult life as participants in paid work and volunteering
to participate in running of household and learn household skills
to have the opportunity to observe own spiritual practice if desired
to learn outside the classroom using natural and community resources

Rereading this list, I was surprised at how we'd met most of my initial goals, despite having had days, weeks and even years where I was unsure of how well we'd done in our homeschool experiment and despite changing approaches several times along the way.

We're at a crossroads this year. Arwen is trying school soon. Lucy is heading into the world of volunteering, work experience and independent study. I think it's time to update the manifesto, to state a new set of goals which incorporate, develop and add to the old.

It won't be as pretty. Word documents lack the homespun look of a Steiner notebook.Still,  I hope it will be a guide for me, as I head into the second half of my home educating career. And pretty or not, something to look back on at the next crossroads and to gain reassurance from. To see goals, ideas, philosophies all met, despite my imperfections and mistakes; to know the path leads to the desired destination, even with its detours and sometimes, its dead ends.

Literary Analysis as a Conversational Art

Lucy and I both read Jennifer Donnelly's Revolution this week, and that's the key right there. Read the same book. As she was reading, I asked her how she was finding it.

"The beginning's a little stiff, but she seems to ease into the story about a quarter of the way through."

When I'd finished reading, she asked me how I found it.

"Well, I see what you mean by stiff. I agree, once the story shifted to Paris, it started to flow a lot better. It fell apart for me, though, in the time travel bit."

"Mmm. it wasn't as convincing as when she used the diary form."

" I know, and I'm not sure why. Maybe the characters weren't as well drawn."

"Maybe it was just too abrupt, suddenly being back in the past so late in the book ?"

"Mmm. I thought she handled the darkness in the book pretty well."

"Yeah, it was realistic but it didn't overwhelm me when I was reading it. And the ending was good. A bit sad, but real. "

"I know a whole heap more about the French Revolution than I did before I read it."

"Maybe too much!"

Not word for word, and I've never kidded myself that I have an ear for dialogue, but you get the gist of it, yes ? Merely through conversation, we've begun to analyse the book, to discuss what works, what doesn't, to begin to wonder why.

And we didn't need to lay it out for dissection first. Anaethesise your text. Cut into chapters. Discover the theme. We just talked, explored our responses - in a way that art of any form deserves to be explored - as a subject worthy of our conversation and our thought.

It might take some time for us to think further, to look back at the text and come up with ideas about technique. Why do the opening chapters lack flow ? Did the author spend too much time setting up her story? Why does the dark remain at bay ? Is there imagery used - of light and of song - that drags us back from the fall in the way the protagonist is saved by empathy and friendship ?

This is the way to study a book;  to think about it, talk about it, ponder it. Too often students move directly from reading to explanation, missing the conversation about response.

I might talk more with Lucy about thoughts I had today, on the train with Snowy,  asking her whether she thinks there is a parallel between the fallen King of France and fallen father.  She may or may not agree. This parallel may or may not be there in the book, in the author's intent.



It will definitely take some time to turn these thought into text, fitting neatly into its 5 paragraph format. But the essay is simply the end of the process, thoughts plated up for the diner.

The real essay begins in conversation, not a workbook or study guide in sight.

Home School Rule No 1

You know that saying "Never wake a sleeping baby" ?

My spin on it is, "Never disturb a playing child."

Right now - 11.17am - Snowy is in deep play mode, taking apart one Lego world and building another. Requiring him to leave his work to come to mine won't add to his education; it would undermine it. Even for a 7yr old, play can still be work.

The day stretches out before us with hours upon hours till nightfall. There's still room for maths pages, phonics lesson, books and maps and games. He plays, I write; work of the most authentic kind.

Today

Arwen drawing a scene from The Fellowship of The Ring.

Snowy experimenting with making mountain streams and rivers.

Lucy knitting her second square for this year's Wrapped With Love blanket.

It's Wednesday and It's Peaceful

No-one has argued or cried  today. Everyone has done their 'school' work. I've got time to plan for Snowy's co-op tomorrow. I've thought about what we're doing on Friday, but that's a secret best kept from the birthday girl. There's oodles of the day left for cooking lasagna, taking Snowy to the park, helping Lucy with her sewing, reading aloud.

I think my plan is working; the one where I quarantine Monday to Thursday afternoon for work and family. It gives us plenty of time to attend to our education, the house, our meals, our pets, our hobbies, paid work, games, each other.

On Thursdays, Snowy goes to co-op. On Fridays we have book club or a field trip. The girls see friends on a Friday night. They dance on Saturday mornings and see more friends. Sometimes a good friend comes back with them to sleep over. On Sundays we visit with family.

Last year wore me out. Its theme was "friends". Its mood was hectic and rushed and breathless and teary and angry and anxious and sad. It felt like school, always moving to someone else's timetable and following someone else's rules.

A wise mama told me to do things my way this year. So I am. And it's peaceful.

The Case Against Homeschooling...What ???

I wrote this article for the Australian online homeschool magazine Stepping Stones, and thought I'd share it here as well. Ideas and comments welcome.

It’s alright, I’m just kidding. Sort of. We all know home education has many benefits – flexible and individualised learning, reduced exposure to peer pressure and bullying, academic success, being able to become socialised in the real world, strong family relationships – and that list isn’t exhaustive.

Any yet, like all communities, we too have our problems and our flaws. Not the same old “the children must be socialised” or the  “are you qualified ?” or the “is it legal ?” objections that are raised by people ignorant of home education and the many ways it can work.

The problems with homeschooling are things we don’t even discuss amongst ourselves most of the time, things we sometimes struggle with alone, thinking it must be me, I’m not doing this right.  Things we may fail to anticipate or observe.

Like socialising. No, I didn’t mean to type socialisation. There’s a difference and we all know what it is. Although we co-op and run classes and groups and excursions and workshops and meet up at the park, the tough fact is that most of our childrens’ potential friends are sitting in a classroom 9 – 3. And while most of our children can find friends to connect with – if not through homeschool activities, then through church or other community groups – a significant minority do not. It’s a complaint you most often hear on online forums, where a degree of anonymity applies.  Not that I’m suggesting school would do a better job for the lonelier or more isolated of our children; but if as a community we acknowledged this difficult and emotional aspect of  homeschooling experience, surely we would be a step closer to working out ways to support all home educated students with their social needs.

Diversity is another topic not much discussed amongst us. How well does our homeschool  community reflect our wider community ? Do we home school alongside those of other cultural backgrounds ?  Do people of other religions or of no religion at all feel comfortable in our company ? Do we reflect a range of socio-economic circumstances ? Or are our communities somewhat closed to “others “ ?  These are questions worth thinking about  by us – we who see the value in home education and might properly wish to extend that value to others in our wider community.

Economic disadvantage is the issue that I personally find most troubling. It falls into two parts. Firstly, our children are disadvantaged in that, whilst being legally home educated, they are the only students in the country who receive no funding. This must directly affect how diverse our homeschool world is, as discussed above, and puts a strain on homeschooling families that other families are not required to bear.

Secondly, the primary homeschooling ‘teacher’ – usually but not always the mother – is at a significant disadvantage financially the longer she continues to homeschool full-time.  We’ve all heard about how difficult it is for mothers who take a year or so off while their baby is young and the troubles they may have re-establishing their careers and compensating for lost earnings and superannuation.  For homeschooling parents you can magnify that a considerable amount. Sure, right now you may have a plan. You may have a spouse who can increase his or her earnings to cover yours. And almost all of us are experts in making do. My concern is what happens when the plan derails – when health, a job or a partner himself is lost ? When a separation or divorce occurs ? When you try to return to work and find you’re considered too old ?

We spend a lot of time obsessing about curriculum. Maybe we should be spending some of that time planning for us – how we can re-train, combine work and home education, establish life plans that can deal with the unexpected. Or work together to create home education – friendly ways to support ( mostly ) women  who are out of the workforce for an extended time. Lobby for student funding, which would help free up the family budget to make adequate provisions for us, or for cancellation of a home educator's higher education debt, which waits for her when she resumes paid work.

Yes, we homeschool because we value the individual and the family; but we live in the world, not apart from it, and perhaps, amongst ourselves and away from the ears of the ignorant, we can start talking and planning and working to support ourselves as a community and as part of that larger world.

Going Out To Play

Without any planning on my part, I notice that our household has shifted its focus from the kitchen to the garden, just as the days themselves are lengthening and shifting towards the long, hot Sydney summer.

My own time in the kitchen is becoming more perfunctory. No more stirring of the porridge pot at breakfast time, and casserole season is definitely over. It’s still cool enough to bake though, and a glance at last year’s notes remind me it’s almost the right time of year for our bread and swimming mornings – mixing a dough and leaving it to rise while we walk to the pool for a swim, then baking the loaf and enjoying a lunchtime feast when we return.

The right season also for a trek to the Farmers’ Market in the city, choosing new breads to try – a sourdough spelt, lemon myrtle, a six fruit loaf. The rhythms of breadmaking nourish us, the unhurried process of mixing and kneading and proving and baking seem to predict and guide us towards the languor of summer.

Breadmaking aside, we’ve turned our attention outdoors. Our garden is certainly no Sissinghurst – it looks like what it is – a well-used patch of ground, messy, a place to get our hands dirty, to soak up the extra minutes of light.

It’s a place for a small boy to dig, sometimes just for the pleasure of mud, sometimes (Time Team inspired ) in search of artefacts, or in quest of ‘gold’. It’s a place for ravens and cats to stalk, for herbs to straggle, for strawberries and lettuce and sunflowers and a worm farm to survive my inconstant gardening.

A place to sit ( by the small magnolia, who has so pleased us since moving here with its buds, its waxy flowers and now its summer greenery ) and plan or read aloud a poem or two.

The garden is leisure but also lesson. The child’s ear, in listening to the wind in the trees or the raucous call of cockatoos, learns to pay sustained attention.  Her hands, in weeding or sandplay or digging, develop for their indoor task of writing.  Eyes refocus and refresh. Bones strengthen.

I’m writing to remind myself. It’s so easy to see a garden’s faults – too small, weeds between the pavers, a worn lawn ( more straw from the guinea pigs’ hutch than grass ). We’ve made do with less in the past – a window box, a suitcase of sand on the balcony, a nearby park, tomatoes in a downstairs pot. Even now, our outdoor space is as imperfect as all my homeschooling endeavours are.

In my mind’s eye I see a garden of native plants, a frog pond, a vegie patch, a tree house. I open my eyes and resist that scold, Perfection. The season sends us out to play.

For anyone interested in breadmaking, Baking Bread with Children by Warren Lee Cohen ( Hawthorn Press 2008 ) is an inspiring and practical read.  This book is a unit study of its own!

World War One Novels and Poets - A Reading List for Teens

Draft of Wilfred Owen's Anthem for Doomed Youth

Although Lucy is of an age  - historically speaking - to study primary sources and more academic histories, there is a large space reserved for the learning that comes through fiction and poetry. It is impossible to read another of Owen's poems, Dulce Et Decorum Est, for example,  and not immediately understand the despairing sacrifice of a whole generation in the cause of the Great War.

This is a tentative list - it's a time period that can be distressing for those empathetic teens who are often drawn to the study of history - and I've no wish to give Lucy sleepless nights!  So we'll see how we go.

POETS - we'll be looking at two or three poems each by Wilfred Owens, Rupert Brooke and Seigfried Sassoon. This might be a useful place to start looking  http://www.poemhunter.com/ .

NOVELS - Private Peaceful by Michael Morpurgo

After the Dancing Days  by Margaret Rostkowski

A Time of Angels by Karen Hesse

The Silver Donkey by Sonya Hartnett  ( re-read)

Mrs Dalloway by Virginia Woolf

I've come across a number of other novels, both classic and modern, that deal with this time period but are a bit too intense for a 13yr old. I plan on reading a number of them though, so in case you're interested for yourself or for older teens, might I suggest ...

Regeneration by Pat Barker ( this involves the above poets as characters in the novel )

Birdsong by Sebastian Faulks

All Quiet on the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque

I'd also recommend A S Byatt's The Childrens Book  - it actually takes place in the era before the war but it reveals itself in quite a shocking way to be a prelude to war.

If we end up doing other books, or specific activities based on the above novels/poets, I'll be sure to share the info in another post. If you have any other suggestions, please let me know by leaving a comment - I'd like to keep working on this list.

Sports Afternoon.

This is an oval near our house. This is where we went to blow the cobwebs away after a first day back to "school". This is where, on a windy day, the children ran and jogged and cartwheeled and kicked a soccer ball and chased a frisbee. Became breathless and rosy cheeked. This is where their  father told them to try running with the wind at their backs and see the difference it makes. This is where I watched my children feel joy as they moved their bodies through space.

I know there's a place for the teaching of skills, for classes, for squads, for coaches, for drills. Just not at the expense of this.

A Bouquet

It was our neighbour's birthday, and we wanted to buy her some flowers but we were housebound due to chickenpox and tradesmen ripping out our bathroom. So I made this.

No Creative Writing in the House!

Two writers live in this house, and because of this, people sometimes ask me to recommend a creative writing program for their child. To which I have learnt to say, gently, "Oh, there are many good writing programs out there but we don't actually teach creative writing to our kids."

It's not that I actively discourage them from writing, and they have often written - letters, diary entries, stories, poetry, even plays - just that I don't teach them.

It's like painting, or music composition or mime. Everyone should be able to appreciate an art form, to have a language to think about it, discuss it, enjoy it...but we don't all have to produce art. It's nice to have the opportunity to participate in art but it isn't compulsory, or at least it isn't compulsory to participate to a professional standard.

How can I give my school-age  kids the language to enjoy creative writing without making them do it ? Well, really easily, just by reading to them. Reading often, different forms, different voices, always of a high literary standard and  by writers who know their craft. It sinks in, it changes their brains for the good, truly it does. It gives their minds a variety of models to draw on if they feel the urge to create. Writers need to be readers first, and they need to be good, careful, close readers for a long time if they are to write well.

Maybe my child is never going to write a poem. So what ?  Maybe she'll be a reader of poetry and buy the books of poets who really want to write. I cannot make my child love poems by forcing her to write one.

I'm not talking here about written expression. Everyone needs to develop the skill of expressing their thoughts clearly, orally and in written form. A story can be narrated. Essay skills can be taught. That's different. It's a skill at school level and not a calling of the type that talented adult academics and essayists develop and display.

What about the child who wants to write, who comes to you asking for resources in this area ? Well, keep them supplied with pencil and paper, read to them, choose great books for them to read, take them to the library often, set up a book club or a writers circle for them, give them an audience (let them blog or read their poem at a family event or host a reading of their play or find out about short story competitions or help them send their novel to an agent, find them a writing mentor or send them to college to do a writing degree), just don't make them slave over a creative writing program. It's expensive, it kills the joy, it gets them running before they can walk, it's unnecessary.

Especially for homeschoolers, it's just another area for conflict and stress. "No, you may not play until you've finished that haiku!" Ridiculous. If you have money to spend on resources, buy more books. Buy a book that teaches you how to think about books.  Remember that writers have a vested interest in getting you to attend their workshops/buy their 'how to' book/use their program. It's how they make a living. I sympathise with that. Making a living for most artists is hard.

Yet a child's imagination, their response to art, needs to live as well and the writer's mind lives and grows best in the pages of other writers, and in the consideration of those pages. And if your child doesn't write, they will surely grow up to read. Just as the music you play to your children, the galleries you take them to,  may not produce a cellist or a sculptor, your children may never write a creative word. Despite that, if they have the exposure and the tools to appreciate the creative word,  their lives and the world will never be the poorer for it.

Frog and Toad and Snowy and I Are Friends

Dear Ordinary Parents Guide to Teaching Your Child To Read,
Please don't take this personally but Snowy and I are moving on.  Frog and Toad and Snowy and I are friends now. Good-humoured. Expressively sketched. Imbued with a sense of the ridiculous.

One day in summer
Frog was not feeling well.
Toad said, "Frog,
you are looking quite green."
"But I always look green,"
said Frog. "I am a frog."

Sincerely yours.

Easy Science for Lazy Mothers

The Ant Farm

What is Eclectic Homeschooling ?

Eclectic - in ancient use, epithet of a class of philosophers who 'selected such doctrines as pleased them in every school'

Here's how it works in our house. After breakfast and morning jobs were done today, Lucy and Arwen sat down with their maths books. Just like school, only in the kitchen. That's us in school-at-home mode.

By the time they were done it was close to 10 and so we all sat in the lounge room, ate biscuits and watched 'Behind The News' on the ABC. I guess I'd call that relaxed school-at-home!

Time for a walk down to the shops to buy cardboard. The girls are working on posters, badges and flyers for their Teen Study group's mock election on Thursday. They've had a term of sewing, a term of geography and now are mid-way through a term of civics. Snowy joins in too, because I often run a related activity with all the younger brothers. Next week we're decorating a cake as the Australian flag, and that's called an excuse to eat cake....no, actually that's called our co-op learning.

When we got home, Snowy found his book bag but baulked at yet another reading lesson! So we compromised on some reading practice at Starfall (computer aided learning ?? ) followed by a couple of pages of mental maths and a handwriting page - back to school except comfier - yes, we were in the loungeroom again.

Then I put on my Charlotte Mason hat for a spot of narration. I read Snowy a page or two from our nature read-aloud 'Ellen the Echidna' He told the story back to me and I typed his narration. When it's finished I'll print it out and he can illustrate it.

Played a Lego game with Snowy as a reward for his hard work, brushed the guinea pigs, ate lunch, drank tea. Definitely the delight-driven part of our program!

Back to Charlotte for some living, twaddle free books - 'The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe' for Snowy, a chapter of 'Eagle of the Ninth ' for the girls. It's a tale of Roman Britain and Snowy listened in. In the chapter I read today the hero, Marcus, entered an old, holy Place of Life - a barrow - to recover the Ninth's lost Eagle, captured by the tribe of the Epidaii.

Now Snowy is building a Lego game of his own based on the chapter complete with passage and cave and standards to be won, and if that isn't natural learning at play! I don't know what is.

Free time now for everyone, because tomorrow is busy with dance and choir and more dance rehearsals, taught not by me but by tutors...

Most days see a hint of Classical education in there as well, with chapters from 'Story of the World' being read and Latin lessons being done together. In the lounge room. ( I don't know why we bothered fussing about the children having desks. They are never used for study - too schooly - but I digress..)

Lucy is reading 'A Brief History of Montmaray' for teen book club in a few weeks time, and Arwen is nursing her aching limbs, bequeathed to her by a too-vigorous gym lesson yesterday.

Yes, I "choose what pleases me from every school". Nothing seems to me a perfect doctrine; so many things seem to offer something of worth.

Pegging - Homeschool Helps No.1

I can't claim credit for the idea of 'pegging' as a homeschool technique - it's one of those ideas being bounced from blog to blog - but it is one of the more useful ideas I've come across for getting things done.

Instead of having a timetable for certain subjects (as students and teachers would do at school), the idea of 'pegging' is to create a reliable rhythm to learning that fits in with your life.

For example - it's important to me to read aloud to my kids. One way of making sure it happens (almost daily) is to 'peg' reading aloud to just after lunch. It doesn't really matter what time we actually have lunch; what's important is that lunch triggers off the idea that it is almost time to settle down on the sofa and read together. If we miss a day here or there, we don't get out of the habit of read alouds because it is pegged to a reliable event.


Maths work in our house is 'pegged' as well, this time to after - breakfast chores.
Everyone needs to get dressed each day - ok, nearly every day! - breakfast needs to be eaten, the kitchen tidied, the clothes put out on the line, teeth and hair brushed. Getting out your maths book is just 'pegged' onto that - no need to discuss or negotiate - and it makes no difference if we're larks that day or no.

'Pegging' works beautifully with subjects you'd love to get around to but never seem to find the time for. When I was in my very Charlotte Masonish phase I wanted to do regular music study but every day it seemed to be nudged down the list and swamped by the multitude of other things - both work and play - that filled our days. So I 'pegged' it to breakfast, choosing and setting up a music CD the night before. In the morning, all I had to do was press
'play ', a side benefit being that my porridge - eating kidlets were something of a captive audience! We listened to, and enjoyed, a lot of music that way.

It's rubbed off on the kids too. I've noticed over the last few months that Lucy and Arwen have 'pegged' giving their room a tidy to Saturday morning before ballet. And if it's working for the kids, it's certainly working for me...

Back to Not-School

I'd like us to be year-round learners, but it ends up being more practical to take term breaks when the schools do, so this was our first week back. Snowy insisted that school could be just as easily accomplished in bed, in one's pyjamas. We bargained. I got him down to "I'll get up and get dressed and just do reading lessons." Deal.

Not that a 'normal' week for him is vastly more strenuous. Reading, writing and 'rithmetic , an art lesson from 'Artistic Pursuits' , a science experiment or some nature study or reading from a science related book, a read-aloud after lunch and before bed, gym on Mondays and some co-op learning and a whole lot of play every second Thursday. It's enough.

Of course, his real learning happens all the time, pj's or not. It's sometimes hard to tease it out and put it into convenient categories. It's Wednesday this week, when he spent hours designing and making and playing a Lego board game, based on the ones he's read about online. It's yesterday's conversation about how to handle things when "the big boys won't let J and me on the trampoline". It's realising that he can read shop names and street signs and maps of the mall.

The girls have had a relaxed week as well - lots of writing, reading, a drama workshop, some craft, a co-op lesson on politics. It's a tightrope though - enough formal work to satisfy our registration requirements, not so much that it smothers any love of learning or detracts from what Charlotte Mason, the 19th C educator, described as 'the atmosphere of learning'. When I'm busy ticking off to-do lists, I feel a false sense of success. The only way I can truly gauge the success of what we are doing is the level of engagement an activity generates. Arwen writing her blog is learning. Lucy trialling watercolours versus watercolour pencils for her picture book is learning. Sometimes I forget this, become focused on my lists, and that's when learning degenerates into a matter of jumping through hoops.

I'm not a push-over though when it comes to the important things though. Snowy will get his reading lessons. Lucy and Arwen will settle to their maths. Skills like those are non-negotiable because they are doorways to learning and I would be negligent not to provide my children with those keys. Everything else is up for discussion.

Except Latin. I'm enjoying that so much the girls can't possibly quit...

Not my Usual Answer

Got chatting to a Dad at the park yesterday as I watched Snowy scramble to the top of the climbing frame. I'm still not used to having older kids and it makes me laugh to see Snowy showing off for the littlies, to see the way they watch his moves as though they were studying how to be six. Homeschooling came up, as it always does, and I glossed over the reasons why, as I always do.

There's a reason for the glossing over, which is that many people don't really want to know, just want to poke and prod at the weirdness of it all. In the beginning, I saw every query as an opportunity to advocate for home education. Some people were curious, some were dismayed. There was a great deal of wonderment and head-shaking and I learnt to save my energy for more important things - like the education of my children - and to deflect the questions of strangers.

Thinking it over last night, I realised that it had become a habit - useful for dealing with random playground chat, less useful when I minimise the reasons the kids are not in school even to myself. Jokey reasons - We could never get to school on time. Wishy-washy reasons - school doesn't suit some kids. Earth mama reasons - I miss them when they're gone.

When the real reason was that I couldn't bear the system, the institution of school. I tried hard, and so did Lucy, for the six months she was in kindergarten. Until the day I turned up to Monday assembly. I tried not to be cynical as the 'awards' were handed out. I tried not to be bothered by the principal cheerily and mindlessly telling the students how special they were, how special this school was, how they - X Public School - were 'the best'. So much praise, so few details. Then it was time for the anthem. The children stood and were told to face the flag. The mothers stood and faced the flag as well. It was 2003. Our government had fed us lies, ignored our marching. We had just sent troops into Iraq. There was no way I was standing up to face the flag. Where were we, America, home of the patriot ? My daughter was standing and singing, her teacher was standing and singing, every other parent was standing and singing. I was sitting. I was not singing. I was conspicuous, frowned at by the mother nearest me. This was not citizenship. It was a rally, training our children to be 'good', to be 'obedient', to do as they were told....training us, their mothers, to do as we were told. To regard ourselves as 'the best' and loyal to our special group, our special school, our special nation. Reading, writing and arithmetic...and raising little fascists.

Yes, I know it's extreme thinking, and yes, I know most teachers and most students are caring and thoughtful people, good citizens. Plenty of people can live within the system and not feel compromised, not be compromised. They can shake it off. I couldn't, not then.

And sometimes I am so busy making a joke of it, making it comfortable for strangers, that I forget the fire and urgency of the decision to quit. It doesn't exactly make for easy playground chat.