Shirking Responsibility?

No, I'm not really. But I do plan to really drag my feet and whine for a while. In reviewing next year's school goals, I've discovered that... I don' wanna!

We are on track for reading, writing and math. I'm very pleased with the boys' progress in those areas. We could still use some "fun stuff" for James' math and for John's reading, but those are somewhere down the priority list, among new socks and sheets.

Zorak dreads the thought of bringing more stuff into the house - only to have to store it and move it before long. I don't have quite the same aversion, you know, since most of it's books, which don't really count... but yes, I do understand his sentiment. So, we wait. And stare at one another. And time ticks by. The boys get older. We don't make as much progress as I'd like. Yet I'm not willing to forge ahead until we're really there, ready to do it together.

We are supposed to begin our study of The Middle Ages (have the AG, just need to get the hardback SOTW Vol.2), but it looks like we're also going to use Famous Men of Rome with our Latin program. I'm thinking I might like to just drag out Rome for a while. It's a great period to study, particularly in this testosterone-filled, centurion-loving household of youngin's. And we've been poised over Romulus and Remus for two months, anxious to dive into Rome because of all the great projects available... yet holding off for the fact that you can't do great projects when all you have on hand is three partial rolls of narrow masking tape and four crayon remnants. The tin foil comes in handy, but only goes so far without some backup supplies.

Art. Art. Art. False starts. No starts. Talking to myself a lot, here. I would see if I can bribe Thomasina to come stay with us for an art intensive, but if we were successful in our bid, Melissa would stop speaking to me and poor Thom would really miss all those great funky joints she gets to eat at. Ryan's buffet has a model train, but no tiramisu. That's bad.

Music. The boys want to resume their recorder lessons. I would love that, and we would have done just that if it weren't for a few small factors. Namely, the Smidge Factor. This child has a serious aversion to music that is not professionally played. If we sing, he screams. If we play the instruments, he screams. If we break out the recorders, he bops people on the head with the tambourine. I set him on his bed to throw his fit, but as the apartment is a thousand square feet divided by the construction standard equivalent of rice paper, it doesn't help much. The discipline factor helps, but the noise level doesn't actually decrease. We've also tried nap time. He can sleep through rapid gunfire from the Army range across the street, but the sound of recorders tooting out Hot Cross Buns will bring him flying from bed in a Moses-like foul mood. Sorry, kids, but music seems to be another on-hold.

Science? Even our laid-back Charlotte-Masony method seems to have pretty much exhausted itself at this point. (The grounds here are lovely, but manicured beyond belief.) Besides, have you noticed it's summer out there? Ew. I'm not too worried about this, as once the temps drop, we'll be out there like little Livingstons. It'll be good. Right now, though, we're dead in the water and without much inspiration.

I cannot even begin to touch on the transportation issues that currently plague us without betraying some serious "anger issues" on my part. Let it suffice to say that art classes at the museum are not an option. Nor are regular trips to the library. Or even the park. That's not helping my whine-factor at this point, nor is it helping me make the most of our current resources. Whine. Cheese. Whine. Thank you.

It'll be okay. I'm just peeking over the mountain and wondering what in the world that bear found so appealing.

Stoopid bear.

Ah, well, kiss those babies! They like the stoopid bear, so he's good for something.
~Dy