One Example Of How I Am Not Nearly The Mother I Should Be.
This afternoon I was hard at work, organizing the cupboards and shelves that hold our school supplies. We haven’t started school yet this year, in part because I hadn’t done my fall “tear apart the school room.” So today I committed myself to it. I threw trash away, sorted papers, and arranged books. Tre and Max came in to discover their shelves, newly stocked with school books for the fall. They started pawing through them.
“I remember this one!” Max called out. “This is the handwriting book! I love this one! Hey! Do I get to use this book?” He held up a grammar book Tre had been using up until recently. I nodded and he started leafing through it, mightily impressed with himself. Tre was busy flipping through his new math book.
“Wow, division. LONG division. I bet that’s hard. But I’m a whiz at math, right, Mama?” I nodded again, busy wrestling with an unruly sheaf of construction paper. He moved to the history books. “Wow, the civil war? Cool! Can we build one of those paper models again, like the Viking village?” He started pulling out more books, looking for a paper model.
I’d had all I could take in my organizational mode.
“STOP THAT!” I ordered. “Put those books BACK and go watch TV or something. I’m trying to sort things here and YOU AREN’T HELPING.” I shooed them out of the room and off to some other, less educational task.
I just love homeschooling – encouraging my children in a natural love of learning. I’m practically Charlotte freaking Mason herself.
Now, An Example Of How They Deserve Me.
Raphael had unearthed, among the many school-related items littering the dining room table, a slide whistle. It didn’t take more than a few moments of him enjoying this new instrument for me to decide that it was most certainly an OUTSIDE toy. I instructed him to put it away or to enjoy its earsplitting joy in the back yard. He happily went outside and practiced making birds fall from the air from the sheer decibel assault. After a while he decided he’d prefer to be inside. I saw him moving toward the door, and held up a warning hand.
“Don’t blow that whistle inside, or I will take it away.” He looked at me, narrowed his eyes above the beloved whistle, and stepped one foot inside the door. And gave a little shriek-slide on the whistle. I strode over to him and took it away. As I turned to put it on a high shelf, he called after me,
“Mama! Ah don’ wanna play wif da whistle any more! Mama! Put it away now!”
Yeah. Nice try, kid.
It’s gonna be a long year.
But hey, my school room’s ready!