The end of history

It’s a big day. We finished history today.
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Four years and three months ago, my friend Kristen and I gathered our kids together to start a homeschool history program called The Story of the World.

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(our very first class back in ’07–The Excavation)

We know many people who have started this four-volume series, but very few who have finished in close to four years. That is partly because each of the four volumes has about 42 chapters in it, meaning we often had to  keep going into the summer to finish up a volume.

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Who wants to tell them we’ll be doing history in July?

Last year, when our family joined the virtual public school in Massachusetts, we thought our days doing history together were over. But, that was just an interruption: As soon as I quit the virtual school, we went back to meeting weekly.

We have been so fortunate to have this relationship since it has kept us both accountable. It was hard to say, “let’s take this week off”, when I knew our friends would be reading the chapter in anticipation of our weekly meeting.

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Yes, this is history.
Now you may wonder, what do the kids remember from four years ago? If you are paying attention, you’ll notice that my son D isn’t even in these early photos because he was so young when we started. Even now, as we finish, he is just in his first months of first grade. But, I believe that for the older kids, we’ve laid down a strong foundation and an interest in history.

No, they may not remember every detail, but they will recall the big events. And when they encounter it again, I hope it’ll jog their memory, much like it did mine as I read about the journeys of Marco Polo, the history of the Korean War, and even the Fall of Rome.

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Except for this—no one will remember this.

In a couple of weeks, we’ll start history again, but this time, we’re spending two years studying U.S. History in depth so that we can delve into the big events.

I don’t know what it’ll be like to only focus on a single country instead of traveling the globe every week, but I do know one thing:

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I’ll have these five along for the ride.

First day of school

It’s a weird day to be a homeschooler since my town starts school today. My Facebook and Twitter feeds will fill up with posts about bus-stop waving (and/or the high-fiving that some parents do as the bus drives away), public invites to meet for coffee (without the kids), and lots of talk about school/jitters/teachers and dreaded homework assignments.

I’ve accepted that our lives are different, though I can’t help but wonder what this day would be like if my kids did go to school.

It’s 7:15am, and I’m pretty certain everyone would already be down in the kitchen, bleary eyed and nervous. I’d be taking breakfast orders, telling Belly that she must eat something more than a glass of orange juice, even with her stomach in knots.

I’d already be “borrowing” money from their allowance pouches to cobble together exact change for lunch. But, as I write this, I wonder if they have some newfangled system like pre-paid lunch cards—how out of touch am I?

I’d probably have the oven timer going so I could get the kids to the bus on time. Jilly and Belly would both be in the upper elementary school in town, as Jilly is entering third and Belly fifth. Jilly would be super excited, babbling on about the bus ride and who she knows in her class. Belly would be unusually quiet.

After driving them down the street to their noisy, neighborhood-friend-filled bus (it’s raining today, otherwise, I’d insist we walk), I’d return home with D for a little while until his turn came. We’d make sure his backpack is all set, maybe watch a few minutes of his favorite cartoon, and then—BEEP BEEP—my timer would go off again, and we’d go to the car.

And then I’d take him down to the same bus stop and watch my new first grader climb on board the big yellow bus, and I’d wave and cry as he drives away. This would be his first full day in school, since our kindergartens are still half-day.

I’d get back in the car and come home to an empty house. There would be beds to make, breakfast dishes to wash, a load of laundry to do. I’d throw myself into work, hoping to pick up more writing here and there to keep myself busy while the kids are in school.

I’d have to set the timer again to remember when the buses return.

You can call me crazy for homeschooling—and there are times I’d agree—but on a day like this, I am so happy that our reality is so very different.

Even if I can’t meet you for coffee today without the kids.

The best game ever

I saw a beautiful kickball game today.

OK, I know that “beautiful” + “kickball” don’t always show up in the same sentence but bear with me:

This afternoon, I walked outside to the back of our weekly homeschool coop and saw a bunch of kids—ranging in age from about six to fifteen—running and laughing. One of the boys—around eight years old—breathlessly told me, “This is the Best Game Ever!!!

I wondered what game they must’ve invented to make it the “best game ever”.

Turns out, they were just playing kickball.

What made it beautiful though were all the different ages playing together.

Where they competitive? Hell, yeah. Except when they weren’t, like when a sweet three-year-old in a dress asked if she could kick. Then, they were gentle, even the boys who were at that age when sometimes gentle can be trumped by the desire to win.

At one point, my six-year-old son (D) was sitting on second base, apparently tired out by all the activity of the morning. The teenager “pitched” the ball and the kick went sailing over his head, straight past my son.

With a lazy wave of his foot, D stopped the ball from sailing past, without getting up off his butt.

I waited for the older boys to chide him for sitting when he should obviously been on his feet, trying to stop the ball, trying to win. Instead, the teen laughed and said, “NICE stop!” and congratulated him on doing it without having to get up off the ground.

I’m fortunate to see a lot of teens like this every week. Sweet, friendly, happy teens who make me feel good about my chances of raising the same. It makes my heart swell.

And it turns a regular kickball game into the best, most beautiful, game ever.