Today I had a crisis. This summer we almost decided to send some kids to school. I almost went back to work.
But I didn’t and we are still all at home together and it feels right, mostly.
Most of my homeschooling years I’ve been laid back. Relaxed. I’ve been able to dispense advice to others and mostly keep it together while juggling a baby and schoolers. But high school, well, it’s intimidating. Algebra is kicking my butt. Again. Once in high school, once in college and now, I am finally resurrecting those neglected higher level math skills and failing miserably. (Because they were never that solid to begin with.)
Then there’s the foreign language credit. Two years in a row. And at first we voted to do Latin, but I bought Latin Alive and we all hate it. We can’t make it through the fist chapter. My kids laugh every time the teacher says diphthong. We are idiots. And I have no idea what direction to go. Spanish? I don’t want to teach Spanish. I have no interest in teaching a foreign language at all.
Because of my perpetual laziness, I refuse to reteach Physical Science or high school history or even Literature again in two years so I’m dragging my 8th grader through those subjects with my 10th grader. Dragging. Pushing. Pulling. Well not so much in the science or history, but she’s a slower reader and holding us back in literature.
What if I’ve ruined them? You knew I was going to ask that. It runs through my mind. I can’t stop it.
Today, after sinking into chaos for three hours of school, I tried to grab the reins of control and typed up a two week schedule for my high schoolers. They are going to have to take more control over their own education because I’m still teaching a third grader (painfully and slowly) how to write a letter and how to read fluently and spelling. I have no patience for reteaching. I love to do it once, but again and again and again, it gets old. I should have had just one child. Or quadruplets.
Today I want to give up.