Humility and Home Schooling

One of the best things about home schooling is that there’s always something to learn; in the best spirit of “child-led learning” I get to be the biggest child. I’m a packrat, too, and have to admit that probably I’m home schooling solely to rationalize buying all that “cool stuff” that would have made learning so much fun when I was a kid. If the kids weren’t home, who would build the transparent horse model with me or blow up a pig esophagus to see if the lungs inflate? (They do, and it doesn’t sound pretty). Sometimes, though, things don’t go smoothly or as well as I’d like. We can’t play that math game if I don’t get around to reading the directions; all the pencils are dull and the pencil sharpener is missing; my son disappears from the table, and the room, in the time it takes me to change his little brother’s diaper.

When things are going smoothly, and perhaps at their best, I’m reminded that I’m not really my children’s teacher as much as I am their guide along a lifelong path of learning. So many times, when I think I’m the Curriculum Master bringing down knowledge from on high, I’ll get the reply “But Mom, I already read that book,” or get a lecture back (who would have guessed that my son would have already read about Eastern Orthodox Christianity from a book on Moldovia?). Obviously I’m learning as much as they are.

Two years ago, I was having colitis problems, and the doctor requested “samples.” Well, I messed it up. You might be wondering why someone who can screw up a stool sample is qualified to teach their children, but obviously I am teaching them about things like humility and “asking directions” by personal example. So we’re in the car on the way back from the doctor’s the second time, and after explaining to my then five-year-old son how I could screw up a stool sample (again, humility), he asks to read the directions. The directions, of course, are in many languages, which fascinates him, and he spends upward of fifteen minutes in the back of the car reading the thing. Then he asks me, “Mommy, how come the directions aren’t in Icelandic?” So I tell him that statistically, there aren’t that many native Icelandic people with intestinal issues in Massachusetts. That made him think. I chugged my tea and tried to make the headache go away.

Recently we’ve got new chore charts in our house, and the kids earn tokens for chores done, which they can redeem for warm fuzzies like backrubs, special dinners with mom or dad, or falling asleep in mommy and daddy’s bed. One night, my 7 and 5-year olds chose to spend 100 tokens to stay up late. Fine, I thought. I usually chill out after they go to bed by watching “What Not to Wear.” They could watch it with me. Unfortunately, this was beneath them. Instead, they wanted “Hidden History,” and we learned about the Celtic Causeway, which was some sort of sacrificial platform in ancient Britain (I confess, I wasn’t entirely paying attention.) My son was really excited, and fortunately without a trace of condescension said “Mom, you really should watch this instead of What Not to Wear.”

Every day, I discover new gaps in my own education, and look forward to learning along side my kids. Whether it’s a new math trick, or history that I never learned, I’ve learned to say “I didn’t know that” with pleasure instead of embarrassment. At the same time, though, I’m aware that I’m never going to cover all I want to cover, never going to teach my kids everything I think they need to learn. Even being home all day (which we rarely are), the days are still too short. Fortunately, we all get the benefit of having the two-year-old Zen master around to remind us that knowledge isn’t everything, and neither is having time for everything. Maybe it’s just the joy of being with people you love. What is the sound of one child jumping into the room?--“I’m Golden Poop Pot!”

Published in the Groton Landmark on 1/06/06