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My youngest turned eight yesterday. And he’s become such a great little kid, even if his LEGO collection will someday take over our home.
Our little family, complete, in 2005
Yeah, kid, Disney isn’t for everyone. I understand.
With Ron and Roy, your beloved potatoes
Ooooo, LEGO!
Smile! I said smile!
Up at 6:30 for new LEGO kit, of course.
Happy Birthday to my beautiful boy.
Last night, as I was about to take our dog Star out for her evening walk, I heard screams from the second floor. The kind of screams that can mean only one thing: The girls had hit each other.
I hate when the kids hit each other. Scream your heads off. Call each other names. Stomp down the stairs to tell me the litany of sins the other has done. Just do not kick, punch, squeeze, pinch, or slap the other person.
I ended up yelling quite a bit in frustration over this and then sent each girl to different rooms while I took the dog out on her walk (with the warning that if they fought while I was out, they’d have to get dressed and walk the dog with me, in the cold dark, every winter night.)
Then I had an idea that I’m sure was planted by someone else (was it you?). Instead of yelling more, or taking away privileges, or just sweeping the whole thing under the rug, the girls would have to do something nice for each other.
Ten nice things, in fact.
So this morning when they staggered down the stairs, I told them the plan: No electronics. No early morning TV, no checking email, using your iPod, reading your Kindle. . .nothing. . .until you’ve each done 10 nice things for the other person. Write down each item and I will okay them one by one.
Belly was first. She made Jilly’s bed, picked up the beads she spilled the night before, straightened out her dolls, hung up her coat. Her list of ten was done in under a half hour.
Jilly is working on her list right now. So far, she’s made her sister’s bed, plug her sister’s iPod into its charger for her, and straightened all the books out that are next to her bed.
I’m not sure what this will accomplish except that it feels kind of nice to have them thinking about what they can do for each other, instead of how pissed off they are after last night.
And I’m glad that someone else is making the beds.
It’s hard to believe that I’ve begun my seventh year homeschooling—I should be an expert by now, right?!
And, in some ways, I am. I know what type of schedule works best for us. I know that we’re good for a few hours and then—wham!—the wall has been hit. I know that I shouldn’t freak out when one child wanders off to play while I’m working with another, nor should I try to keep three kids sitting at a table for hours in front of workbooks: This just doesn’t work for us.
And, I even feel like I have picked out great curriculum choices for each child that is best-suited for the way they learn. In fact, our first week has been notable in that there were no tears, no huge dramatic scenes of “I can’t do this!“, no threats (from me) to “Do it or else!” as I scramble to think what that “else” could be.
So, yeah, great first week, right?
So why am I’m having a hard time feeling like, “This is it! We’ve found our groove!”
Maybe it’s because Belly will tell anyone who asks, “Yes, I’m definitely going to high school” (in just, gah, three short years!)
Maybe it’s because a couple of friends have opted to send their kids to school, which always shakes me up.
Maybe it’s because I worry that we’ll never quite fit into this predominantly conservative Christian community, especially as the kids get older and topics get brought up in conversation. I hope my kids don’t lose friends because they don’t share the same beliefs as so many.
And maybe it’s because the first few days of public school—the photos of kids at the bus stop, the cute stories about sweet teachers, the early days of little homework but lots of friends—make me kind of wistful for my days in school.
Let’s face it: It’s hard to swim upstream when everyone else is swimming down. And though there are definitely some shiny moments that make it clear why we’re doing this, I sometimes feel like, at some point–like it or not–the current may be too much, and I’ll find us swimming with everyone else.
But, until then, if you ask, I’ll say, “Yes, things are going great this year.” And I will mean it.
Christina is a married, homeschooling, part-time working mom to three children in Southeastern Massachusetts. She's funnier on Twitter than in real life, unless she's had a drink. You can email her directly at fairlyoddmother@inbox.com.
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