Blog Archives
But she seems so normal.
Home schooling just seemed weird.
Not normal.
I pictured families with 20 kids, living on farms, who argue via Bible verses, sew their own clothes and participate in food co-ops. Home schooled children must have awkward social skills, skewed ideas of gender roles in society and a limited ability to work well with others. They also struck me as families that must be extremely judgmental and unable to respect others’ religious, political or personal beliefs. I also assumed that home school families stuck together like a cult, built thick walls to keep all of us “main-stream”, public school, non-religious minded families from negatively influencing their flock.
Yes, I was being judgmental by procuring such a ridiculous stereotype.
Not one of my prouder moments.
A few years ago, I had the pleasure of talking to another gymnastics mom while we waited for our kids to get out of their summer practice. I had seen her in passing a few times, but since our children generally did not practice on the same day during the school year, we hadn’t had many opportunities to speak. Ironically, it turned out that we live just a couple blocks from each other. After visiting with her a few times, I remember saying to a mutual friend, “Man, I really like that mom. She is so funny and stylish. And her kids are amazing, so articulate, smart and witty!”
“You know she home schools, don’t you?” my friend replied.
“Really? But they seem so normal.” I said stunned.
Open mouth. Insert Foot.
The Hare sporting a sassy haircut
Fast forward four years and picture a worn-out, red-rimmed, frustrated fourth-grader sitting at my dining room table at 10 o’clock at night. She has just finished a full day of school, a four-hour gymnastics workout and an hour of homework. Almost everything has been completed, even the make-up work from missing school for a gymnastics competition. Everything, except the mind-numbing task of coloring in a map that she has already studied and labeled correctly.
“Can I just do this in the morning over breakfast?” she whines, blurry-eyed.
“Yes, go to bed sweetie. This coloring is just busy work anyway,” I said scooping up my sleepy child.
Within minutes of tucking her in to bed, she was sound asleep. I couldn’t help but think about the increased anxiety, emotional outbursts and sleep walking The Hare has displayed this school year. She has cried many times about how much she hates fourth grade. Don’t get me wrong, fourth grade is a tough year, especially for girls. It’s the year that they start getting real grades and graded homework. It is the year that clicks start forming, personalities clash and responsibilities increase, but my daughter’s personality just seems to be taking a bigger beating this year than her older sister.
“Do you think The Hare’s schedule is too overwhelming?” I asked DW while we snuggled in bed.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“I mean, do you think that maybe we need to reconsider this gymnastics thing?”
“Of course not, she loves it and has potential to reach the goals she has set for herself. If she truly wants to compete in college then we have to stay on this path.”
“So what if we stayed on this gymnastics path but changed something else?”
“What in the world are you talking about?” he said sitting up.
“I’m talking about home school. Maybe we should consider our options so she can have a better quality of life right now and less stress.”
I fully expected DW to tell me I was crazy for even considering the thought and start laughing out loud, but instead he was silent for a moment.
“It’s a thought,” he said laying back down.
We didn’t talk about it again for a while but it consumed my every thought. I started talking to every home school parent I knew and researched curriculum. I even asked my mom, a retired teacher and Academic Dean, what she thought, again, expecting her to tell me I was crazy.
But she didn’t.
Here’s the thing, I have a kid who is ultra organized and focused. She is not overly social and has one close friend who happens to live down the street from us. Her grades are the highest in her class and even qualified for the Gifted and Talented program. But she loves gymnastics. As she progresses in the sport, which she wants to, she will continue to spend almost as much time in the gym as she does in school. How long can a kid burn the candle at both ends before they burn out?
DW is very concerned about how a decision like this will effect me.
“How will you write? Or volunteer? Or even have a lunch date with your friends?” he has asked me several times, to which I respond, “this really has very little to do with me, I think. It has everything to do with giving our daughter the best tools to succeed in whatever she wants to do.”
Of course, he thinks it has everything to do with me, especially since I would become her educator. And that is a scary thought, but a role I know I am capable of becoming.
I have started gathering more information and am amazed at how many different avenues there are for home school. The curriculum options alone are overwhelming, but now I also realize how strong the cooperative home school groups are in our area. There is definitely no shortage of social opportunities and exposure for my daughter. I have also been pleasantly surprised at how welcoming and informative home school moms have been as well, completely supportive and non-judgmental. It’s clear that each family has chosen their path for a multitude of reasons, from religious to academic to artistic to even athletic. What ever the reason, the decision was made simply for the betterment of their child’s future, focusing on their individual personalities and strengths. It’s obvious that it is not a good choice for every family, and maybe not even every child in the family. The Tortoise has blossomed in the public school system and I think we would have driven each other crazy if I had kept her home for school. The Hare is a completely different kid.
Although we are no closer to making a decision about next school year, I feel like I have some valid options.
And most people would consider me pretty normal, right?
It might have started out slow but I’m making progress
Back in August I announced that I was going to start writing a weekly column for the Detroit News Michigan Moms Blog. I wrote a few posts for them, about parenting mostly, but they were not well received by the public. Apparently my Detroit readers are much more critical and outspoken than those that read my personal blog. I needed to get a thicker skin, but unfortunately, depression overtook my ability to turn the other cheek and my writing came to a screeching halt.
Thankfully, my editor is very kind and agreed to let me continue blogging on their parent panel. This time I am more focused. I decided to focus less on my parenting, and more on myself for the first couple of return posts, describing my experience with PMDD and how I am coping with overcoming this obstacle. The second installment of that journey was posted today.
Also, I came up with an idea to write a specific column on Tuesdays called Tuesday’s Tips. Tomorrow will be my second installment of this endeavor, focusing on meal planning tools and tips.
Feel free to visit me there today and leave a comment or two. It would be nice to not be called a “Nazi Mom” or “An overprotective parent” for a change.
Happy Monday!
These Boots Weren’t Made for Walking
I glanced at the clock one more time, wondering when DW and The Tortoise would be home from the swim meet. It had been over for some time. Since DW and I had driven separately, I left after The Tortoise finished her heat. I wanted to get home to make dinner and get The Hare started on her homework. Diving was last, but the whole swim team stayed to cheer them on. They were winning by a hefty margin too.
About the time I expected them to be walking in the door, the phone rang.
“We had something bad happen tonight,” DW said solemnly, “The Tortoise’s brand new Ugg Boots were stolen.”
“WHAT?!” I exclaimed, “That was her Christmas present! Didn’t she lock them in her locker?”
“Well…” DW continued.
“Please tell me she remembered to lock her locker? Why the hell wouldn’t you lock them in the locker?” I barked, cutting DW off.
A knot was forming in my stomach.
“Honey,” he said quietly, “You’re on speaker.”
My heart sank further. I had reacted rather than responded and my daughter was listening to the whole thing.
“I’m so sorry, Mom” sniffled The Tortoise, trying to hold back the tears.
By the time they got home, I pulled my emotions together. The Tortoise came slinking in the back door, pulling off her wet, muddy socks. She had no other shoes. We stood there and looked at each other a few minutes, her eyes brimming with tears. I reached out my arms to embrace her, as she fell into them deeply.
“I’m sorry I reacted the way I did,” I whispered in her ear.
“I’m sorry I didn’t remember to bring my lock for the locker,” she cried.
At about 5pm that evening she went to her locker to grab her cell phone and clear out the locker room of all her fellow team mates. She is one of the team captains. She distinctly remembers seeing her boots in her locker at that time. AT 5:07 she called me to let me know what she wanted for dinner. The other team didn’t stay for diving and had already started packing up and loading their bus. By 5:30 the diving was over, and The Tortoise headed back to the locker room with her team mates. When she opened her locker, her boots were gone.
All of her team mates were stunned. They searched all the lockers, the bathroom stalls, the trash cans and even outside the locker room area. They told their coach. Our coach was amazing and quickly called the opposing team’s coach but only got their voice mail. It was also discovered that a couple of cell phones from other students were missing too. Their swim meet victory was fleeting. As a team, they felt betrayed and empty, even a little heartbroken. The Tortoise was devastated to tell DW what happened and walk through the cold, icy parking lot in her socks.
She should have locked her locker. However, people shouldn’t steal.
The next morning I filed a police report, even though I knew there was less than a slim chance of getting them back. I wanted to show my kids the importance of following through. I also wanted it on record that there was a theft at a school event.
Many tears were shed over the next couple of days. The Tortoise knew she was partially responsible for the missing boots. We agreed to replace them if she paid for half, even though they were her main Christmas present. She didn’t disagree and was willing to give up all the gift money she had. I asked her to wait at least a week, just to see if anything came of the police report.
Amazingly enough, we received a phone call by the end of the week letting us know that the boots had been retrieved. A student from the other team had taken them. The details were unclear as to how they were recovered, but from what I could tell, a girl from the opposing team had turned in one of her team mates to their coach. When the girl who took the boots was questioned, she didn’t deny the incident. She and her parents brought them back. The coach needed me to call him and let him know what I wanted to do about the boots: pick them up or press charges.
Press charges against a middle school student? That seemed extreme. But she did break the law. If there were no consequences, how would they learn the lesson? If there were no consequences, then how would my children learn the lesson? I tossed and turned about this dilemma all night. DW supported pressing charges 100%, besides, what did that really mean in regards to a 13-year-old kid? A fine? Suspension from the swim team? If it had been my daughter, I would have wanted the other parents to press charges and make her accountable.
The next morning I went to the police station with my final decision. I gave the officer all of the updated information and the coach’s contact numbers. They had already reviewed the surveillance tapes and had other information to give me too.
“So – if I press charges, then what?” I asked cautiously.
“Then we handle it all from here, you don’t have to do anything, ” he said, “we’ll let you know when we have your boots.”
I reluctantly left, picturing a very scared little girl waiting at the other school, wondering what kind of trouble she was facing.
Less than an hour later, I received a phone call from the other coach. He gave a brief explanation about how he offered all the kids a “free pass” if they turned in the boots within 24 hours. No questions asked. No consequences. He said the next day, the girl who took them showed up with her parents, voluntarily, and returned my daughter’s boots.
“So, when are you going to pick them up?” he asked.
I was stunned. No questions asked? Voluntarily? Pieces of this story just didn’t fit together – and why offer that kind of deal unless you already suspected that one of your students did indeed steal?
“I won’t be picking them up, ” I replied, “our police department will be contacting you to handle all the details.”
“What?” he said shocked, “So you really are pressing charges? But we got your boots back, isn’t that all that really matters?”
“No – not really, ” I said, suddenly very confident in my decision, “what matters is raising kids to be responsible adults.”
A few days later the phone rang at 7am. It was the officer working our case. He had picked up my daughter’s boots and wanted to bring them by the house so that she could wear them to school. It was an incredibly sweet gesture, but she had already gotten on the bus. He then offered to bring them to her school – again, way above and beyond – but I wanted to see what kind of condition they were in and clean them, so I offered to come get them from the station. He was very appreciative, as was I.
On the way there, I just kept wondering if this would be a turning point for this little girl. Would she make better choices later? Would she and her parents perhaps have more communication? I hoped that this would end up being a positive outcome. When I picked up the boots, tucked inside one of them was a note. The officer had not read it and was under the assumption that it was an apology. I signed the paper work, grabbed the boots and headed home. Once home, I finally pulled out the note:
“Sorry for the inconvenience…”
Inconvenience? You have GOT to be joking!
She then went on to explain that she has the same boots and forgot that she left them on the bus and only wore her flip-flops into our school. After the meet, she put my daughter’s boots on thinking they were hers.
That was her pathetic attempt at an apology. So let me get this straight. She by “mistake” went into someone else’s locker and took out their boots. She didn’t notice that none of the clothes were hers?
And then, once she got on the bus, she didn’t question the fact that she supposedly had another pair of the same boots already on the bus? And, in addition to those two lies, it took her two days and a team meeting to “tell” anyone her “mistake”?
My initial impulse was to make a copy of this ridiculous letter and give it to the police. I wondered what, if any, consequences had been doled out. The anger inside me was bubbling over.
I took a deep breath, folded the letter and put it in a file. This was not my child and I was not her parent. Obviously there were bigger issues here than just some stolen boots, and unfortunately, this is where my story ends. Because really, what could I do about it anyway? Even if I did bring this new development to the police’s attention, whose to say her parents wouldn’t just run out and buy her the same boots to back up her bullshit story?
My daughter, and all her team mates, remember to bring locks now.
Perhaps, one lesson was learned.
