Is it easier to homeschool kids who have been to school?

That’s it! I’m calling the school tomorrow!


Where’s that bus? Oh, how I wish I could make it stop. . .

Really? You’re going to fight me for one page of math? It’ll take you 10 minutes! If you were in school. . .

You don’t know how good you have it.

I know a lot of homeschooling parents who have either said, or thought, the above in some way, shape or form when their kids give them a hard time about doing any kind of structured lesson (or even unstructured ones!).

(and if you are one whose child never, ever gives them a hard time, consider yourself lucky. . .and rare)

I think most of what I’m feeling when I say or think the above can be summed up in the last statement: You don’t know how good you have it.

And here is where I start to think that maybe kids who have been IN school before can appreciate homeschooling more:

Maybe the child who has had to get up at 7am, day after day, to scarf down breakfast, throw on clothes, brush-comb-wash, and run to the bus appreciates eating a slow breakfast and doing the first day’s lesson in PJ’s.

Maybe the child who has had to sit through long, boring instruction on a topic they mastered months before appreciates skipping forward a few pages when the lessons are too easy.

And, conversely, maybe the child who was confused and struggling but didn’t get the attention they needed in a classroom of 20-30 kids appreciates being able to spend as long as necessary on a topic, until it is mastered.

Maybe the child who gazed longingly out the classroom window on a gorgeous afternoon appreciates being done with his work at noon and having the rest of the day to explore, see friends or do nothing at all.

Maybe the child who was bullied and teased appreciates being in a safer environment, with kids who don’t seem to care if he’s a little different from the norm.

My oldest, in 4th grade, seems to “get it” more, mainly because her school friends will tell her how “lucky” she is. But, my middle child, who has never gone to school, will moan and groan over a few minutes of grammar or spelling or math, and it drives me batty.

Don’t they know how good they have it?
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Edited to add: Okay. . .due to the rather angry direction these comments have taken, I’d like to clarify a few things: I am not anti-public school or anti-private school. My oldest says she wants to go to high school and, when we reach that point, she will most likely do just that. If I thought one of my kids would be better suited to life in a school setting, I’d seriously consider it.
That said, to call homeschool kids “weird” is ignorant and closed minded. And, not all public school kids go on to deal drugs (though I think Tracey was trying to make a point, not paint every kid with the same brush).
And really? We’re all doing the best we can with the choices we’ve made. So play nice.

Sticks and stones and scooters


I didn’t break a bone until I had moved out of the house.


Once I was on my own, however, I sprained both my ankles, broke a wrist, fractured an ankle, chipped my front tooth, and damaged both my knees so badly I was on crutches for weeks. Not all at once, but over a few short years.

This could be why I give my kids a little more leeway than my own mother did. I’m not sure if there is any proof in this, but I’m hoping if they learn their boundaries and capabilities young, they won’t go through their twenties like I did.

Let’s hope I’m doing the right thing: Because on Labor Day, when Jilly fell off her scooter in our driveway and fractured her wrist, I was contemplating wrapping my kids up in bubble wrap and refusing to let them out of the house. It wasn’t that long ago that D broke his humerus, his elbow and pulled a bookshelf onto himself. And Belly has also fractured her arm when she was a wee thing; I think my kids are starting to push the envelope on injuries.

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And now Jilly: See her pretty pink cast? Thankfully she’s taking it in stride and will heal in a few short weeks, whereas my broken wrist took about 3 months when I was 29 years old.

I’m either getting all these mishaps out of the way while they are young or I’m just raising a bunch of hellions who know what the inside of the ER looks like really well.

Confession: Just because they didn’t "Cry It Out" doesn’t mean they didn’t cry

I think I was a little misleading in my last post about Sleep Training, or the lack thereof, in our household. My quip, “I can’t listen to my cat cry without going to see what she needs, never mind my kid” makes it sound like I am Super Mama, leaping out of bed without a single peep to comfort my offspring.

It was not (and is not) easy for me to come to terms with my kids inability to stay in their frakking beds all night long. I felt like a failure when our crib sat empty in the nursery while babies #1 and #2 slept in our bedroom (by #3, we had given up all pretense and donated our crib to my sister).

And I most certainly was not the picture of tranquility as I soothed my children late at night.

Often, I was the exact opposite.

It pissed me off to be woken up again and again and again. I’d curse my sore butt from my position on the floor, by the door, reading until sleep overtook their tired bodies. I’d “shhhhhh SHHHHHHHH!” them angrily when their wails threatened to wake up the rest of the household at 3am.

Does this come with the territory? Either they cry as babies, or they cry when they are older and we’ve drawn that line in the sand.

I have a couple of friends who put mattresses on the floor of their bedroom and do the “family bed” quite literally. But even with our big king-size bed, we could never comfortably do the family bed with more than one child in it. You do the math: If one was in our bed, that meant there was one, usually two, children who were not sleeping with us.

And often they were pissed.

This is a big reason why the girls now share a bedroom: To keep each other company at night. Jilly is my restless one, often screaming out in the middle of the night, and Belly has taken over my role with her “It’s ok, go to sleep” murmurings.

And, it’s another reason why I let D into my bed so easily. Not only is he my last one, but he is also the only one who has his own room. When he asks, “why do I have to sleep alone?”, I have no answer and just tell him to scooch over to let me lie down.

I know in a few years, he will be so, so happy to have his own room. And then the girls will be crying for their own too.