Dona Quixote?

Don Quixote: "Fortune is guiding our affairs better than we ourselves could have wished. Do you see over yonder, friend Sancho, thirty or forty hulking giants? I intend to do battle with them and slay them. With their spoils we shall begin to be rich, for this is a righteous war and the removal of so foul a brood from off the face of the earth is a service God will bless."

Sancho: "What giants?"

I'm re-reading Don Quixote, and having a wonderful time of it. This second time through, I've got a better feel for the cadence of the language and the tone of the characters. It's a riot. This morning, though, I realized why I enjoyed this book so much, and it's a scary thought: I am Don Quixote, and am raising three (potentially four, but the little one can't talk yet, so the jury's still out) little Panchos. Would that make Zorak an unsuspecting Dulcinea?

I see giants to be slain (character development issues, academic ignorance, forces to belay mental acuity). The loyal children scan the horizon. They see... windmills. And they're pretty sure I'm insane. But they plug along beside me, nonetheless. It's quite an adventure, this life.

God help us.

This week, we have enjoyed homeschooling in the most integral ways. It's becoming once again a part of our pattern, our flow. This is a good life we're living. But you know, I hesitate to write things like this, although they are true, for there will always be someone who reads it and gasps, "Oh, she's got it all sooooo together." Then promptly starts in on the comparisons and the self-loathing. Please, if that's you, stop now. Take a swig of coffee, hitch up your bra (or pick a garment), and read on.

Homeschooling four children will never be pastoral. We will never have the children donning white breeches with sun hats and skippily merrily to the table singing old English hymns. That's not having it "together". That's a delusion far, far worse than any I harbor (and I do, admittedly, harbor quite a few). Homeschooling four children is, for me, more like hauling cats in a sack that won't close. But I really like the cats, and it's a good sack, so I'm okay with it.

I'm having one heck of a time getting through John's reading lessons with Smidge piling books on my lap and kissing my nose while James shouts from the computer, "Mom! Come LOOK!" (And, of course, I have to go look because I just know the one time I don't, it's going to be the one time our pop-up blocker didn't work and his eyes will start bleeding.)

And it's even more challenging to get through Young Drake with James while John and Smidge duke it out with teriyaki skewers in the living room. Sir Francis Drake did not, as far as we know, ever shout, "You're going to poke an eye out with that thing!"

I have developed the posture of an 80 year old dairy maid from sitting Indian style on the floor, reading aloud while nursing.

The children are convinced there are hidden cameras on the property, filming a warped sequal to "Pioneer House", and they cannot wait to appear on PBS. I have no intention of telling them otherwise, because (a) anything that will keep them on their best behavior is a keeper, and (b) it's kind of fun to watch them make silly faces at the trees, in the hope that they're being filmed. (We have no cable, so I take what I can get for entertainment.)

Our study on blindness turned into quite the adventure the other day, too. I ventured into the realm of the Crafty (I don't live there, and they don't want me there permanently) and made goggles for the boys using wax paper for the lenses so they could get a feel for being blind. The point of our exercise being to foster empathy and understanding toward those who cannot see. The point was made when James slammed into the pre-hung door leaning against the hallway wall. The point was then lost, however, when he backed up and promptly slammed into it again.. and I burst into a fit of giggles.

It's not that we have to "have it all together", ready for a photo shoot from Good Homeschoolers of the Year, in order to enjoy the life that is homeschooling. It's being with our children as they learn. It's hearing one of our children say, "I didn't know I was capable of that!" It's hearing another one say, "Thank you for teaching me this."

It's knowing that those words are sometimes sweeter after a long struggle to master a concept. So during the struggle, it's easier to keep calm and be encouraging. On the days that something (or everything) doesn't click, it's about being able to take a deep breath, share a story, pick another topic, start over tomorrow. There won't be 30 other kids resenting the break you took, and nobody will be behind. Nobody will be "ahead" and get bored, either. We're right where we should be, as homeschoolers. Our goals are on track. Our days are full.

It's enjoying the sense of humor in your children when you begin reading history and lovingly guide them to answer review questions. "The Egyptians live on the ___ ___" Fill in the blank? One of them shouts "golf course" and while that's the end of today's history lesson (you'll never make it to the Indus River Valley through all the golfing jokes now), you've had some good time together, and have seen a side of them you may not see so much of otherwise. (And you pray, when you go to bed that night, that they really did know it was the Nile River...)

I think one of the cats just escaped the sack again, and it's heading for the windmill, so I better go. But I wanted to remind you not to get into the comparison trap. Your homeschooling, your family, your home, it's all good stuff. Just like ours is. Enjoy that for all its worth and don't hesitate to be glad for the life you can live.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy