I really love homeschooling my son. We’re doing it for a variety of reasons, the chief of which being that I don’t want his childhood to be consumed by the drudgery of school/homework/weekend cycles. I want him to be able to live real life, read in the outside air, learn in practical situations, and have the freedom to do “school” outside of the 8 a.m. to 3 p.m. block. I want learning to be an enjoyable, natural thing that we pursue together. I want him to have an individualized education and freedom- and this homeschool newbie totally believes that it’s possible.
But the problem is that our homeschool doesn’t always actually look like that. Sometimes school activities turn into more of a fight than a creative exploration. Sometimes I’m lacking that curiosity and passion that I so long to instill in him. Sibling arguments steal time and energy from our efforts. I get stressed out about what needs doing and I’m often far from joyful.
How can I give a zeal for learning if I don’t model it myself? How can I expect my children to be cheerful when I am so often a grump? How can I give them lots of outdoors time and freedom when I’m too much of a control freak?
It’s real life, folks. I get that these struggles are normal. But they breed nagging worries in the back of my mind. Do they like it at home? Do they feel cooped up? Would my J do better with another teacher? Will my kids resent me for not letting them go to a normal school?
And then there’s the “homestead” life- stuff that I have often hoped will help to teach my children responsibility, work ethic, and how to take pleasure in the world we live in. I have idyllic visions of bread-baking together, caring for the animals, canning peaches in the summer and whittling walking sticks in winter. I want to give them a good childhood full of hard work and healthy habits that will give them a strong foundation for their adult life.
Yet, as I urged my children out to the barn yesterday morning, this homesteading-together-thing didn’t look so picturesque. My son drug his feet behind me, screaming, “I can’t do this!!!” as I asked him to follow me. My daughter wailed and whined, planting her feet in the cold ground in protest. The baby fussed in the carrier, and I struggled along to get the feed to the rabbits. It wasn’t exactly what I’ve hoped for.
When we had to go out later, the lunch I had packed for us was already eaten when J began complaining of starvation. I despaired- We didn’t have time for the store, I had no more food with me, and we were going to be out for at least another two hours. So I did the deed that no frugal, natural health foodies are supposed to do for their children and that I already do more often than I care to admit: I went to Wendy’s drive-through.
And in the purchase of those chicken nuggets, I found great freedom.
I don’t have to be perfect all the time.
I can compromise sometimes to save our sanity.
I can decide to focus on what’s going right instead of on what’s going wrong.
I’m reminding myself of the truth that I can’t always do everything exactly how I would like it to be done. And if I need to take a break sometimes, that’s okay. I’m not a bad mother for sending my child to a class so I can have some breathing room, or for stopping for fast food on a rough day (even when I know I really shouldn’t!).
I don’t know exactly what the balance should be yet, but I know I’m looking for a better one. And whatever it is, I’m giving myself permission to accept it.
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