Wednesday afternoon I paced a ridge in the floor worrying about meeting with Carter’s educators.
We met with his teacher as soon as the school day ended. She was kind and accommodating, validated our concerns about early grade competition and pressure, and offered some creative solutions, including setting up meetings with the third grade teachers to ease our anxiety. After sharing this meeting with Carter, he decided he wanted to give it another shot and stay in school.
Fast forward a mere 24 hours, and Carter was sobbing on the back swing after another huge homework metldown and two phone messages politely inquiring about the whereabouts of his math homework, (he has a different math teacher). I described for Carter our experience as parents.
Me: Carter, we came home from lessons and within moments of starting homework you went from regular Carter that I know, to Angry Carter, without me even having time to adjust.
Carter: It’s just that I have to do more homework and Dad won’t let me, and if I don’t do the math homework, she will do something horrible.
Me: (lame attempt at empowering humor) Like chase you with a math stick? (silence) Throw the manipulatives at you? (silence along with a stony glare) Make you move your seat? (big, heart-wrenching sobs).
Carter was eager to reinstate his “notice of last day of school,” but wanted to keep it a secret. Over the weekend, he’s gleefully told his friends, listed more topics than he could possibly study, and brainstormed some routines to make it all work. Today we made his learning journal, which he proudly shared with Grand-dad. The side tabs read: Mad Math, Space, Reading, World, Alphabet Book (courtesy of Aunt Meg, who calls it a word list, that happens to be alphabetical) and Mythical Creatures. My favorite section is the one called “Questions,” which already has several entries composed. I plan on sharing them as the list grows.
At one point over the weekend, Kevin described our decision to take leave from the public school as a divorce process- full of loss and grief. It has been gut-wrenching, and there are moments of extreme self-doubt. The sad reality is, I don’t see reasonable class sizes, meaningful assessments or even a little time to be a kid in the future of our school. I do see a rich local support group for homeschooling, an optimistic child and parents willing to try something new.
Stay tuned as the adventure continues.