Throwing the homeschooling tantrum

I'm just surprised that some of the other tenants in our apartment building haven't called the cops by now.

Why haven't they? I would have, if I'd heard the kind of stomping around, slamming, and yelling that I've been doing. Especially at eight in the morning.

Yup. I'm that special kind of homeschooler.

I woke up feeling just okay. Which is not wonderful, because I feel like I barely got done with my last batch of not okayness. I'm not ready to throw myself into the next bout of ickiness.

I had creeping nausea and creeping pain last night, and that creeps me out more than the real thing sometimes. I hate that whole hinting about how much worse things could be that my body decides to freak me out with sometimes.

I didn't get any exercise yesterday, and I really needed to today. I should be exercising whenever I can, to get strong in any way I can on any day I feel up to it. There are too many days I don't.

My husband left for work around 7:20. My son was up already, a little unusual for him. I decided to go ahead and stake out the living room, which is about the size of a paper towel, for my own use.

Go read, I said. Go work on your handwriting. Go learn your poem.

The handwriting is not conventional cursive. It's Penny Gardner's connected cursive stuff. I don't have time to go and look at exactly what it's called. I'm too busy seething.

I got the Penny Gardner thing because my son was really struggling with the other kind, and I wanted to help him out. As long as he can read regular handwriting, I don't mind if he doesn't write it. I do find joined-up writing to be a timesaver myself, so I'd like him to have the option of using it. So we use this system.

The reading is a lovely book I bought secondhand about life at both the poles. Pictures of polar bears and musk oxen and all kinds of fun stuff. He's been enjoying it.

The poem is that six-line piece by Sandberg about the fog coming in on little cat feet.

Not exactly hardship stuff, here. All tailored to his interests and needs.

Now, please go away and let me exercise.

"Can I check my email?"

Fine. Go.

I'm about seven minutes into it and finally starting to feel okay. I've started later than I'd have liked to, but it's okay. The stuff we have to do today is flexible, time-wise.

Little feet behind me.

What?

"Does looking at the poem count as part of my reading time?"

It's not just the inherent whininess of the question, or the fact that we already talked about that -- that I'd like him to read for, say, about fifteen minutes, which I thought would be a nice gentle way to start the day and wake up his brain; and then he should look at his poem for as long as he needed to, since he's halfway to having it memorized already.

What pushed me over the edge is that I'm hearing this kind of thing every day.

I used to be a live-in nanny. The kids I worked with were great. They understood that the house rules were different depending on who was in charge at any given time. If Mommy or Daddy were home, it was their place. Otherwise, it was mine.

If it was my place, there was a much higher chance of scoring some serious goofing off, tickle battles, playing with the hose in the backyard, and general silliness, because I enjoy that kind of thing. I don't enjoy fighting about food, however, so here's your sandwich and please have some fruit and when you're done you can have some cookies and this isn't subject to negotiation. It's all food you like, so I don't want to argue about it.

They thought that was fine. They sat down, polished off their lunch, asked for seconds if they were still hungry, and ran off to play when they were done.

Mommy and Daddy, on the other hand, were not so much into the goofing off; but they allowed constant discussion about food. So every dinnertime turned into "How many bites of this do I have to have?" "Does this count as a bite?" "How many more bites do I have to have?"

I found this to be sheer torture, and didn't understand why we should have to live with it.

I don't see why I should have to live with it now, either.

"Do I have to do this? How long do I have to do that?"

We're studying stuff he ASKED to study. But apparently he's reserving the right to whine about it. Incessantly.

I work. I'm way behind on work as we speak. I cannot keep having my energy and will to live sucked away by this nonstop bickering we're engaged in.

I've considered unschooling, but all the unschoolers I know:

a) have huge big natural-type places, farms or houses in the forest or whatever, where the kids can roam around learning about life and nature in a very organic way, whereas my child would be struck by a speeding car or murdered by a deranged homeless person if he tried a cute stunt like wandering freely;

b) have lots of time and energy to invest in an enriching environment.
 

I have work and health issues to deal with. I can honestly say that I just wouldn't be able to do the kind of work really good unschooling requires. I consider unschooling at its best to be the highest possible form of education, but I don't think I can do it. Not where and how we're situated.

So maybe we're just not organized enough. Maybe this halfway-unschooling stuff is just ridiculous. Maybe if I had some online learning thing that he knew he had to go do, assignments already laid out for him to complete, it would be easier for all of us. I could work, work out, get stuff done. He'd be learning, and wouldn't have time to harass me.

I went online to look at an online curriculum someone had mentioned to me as working well for them. I tried one of the sample lessons. It just didn't feel like a good fit.

Maybe I should give it another chance. Or find something else like it.

Hell, maybe I should just pack him off to that school down the street. It would solve the free time issue and the work problems, since I'd be out of a job and he'd be out of the house.

I don't know. I'm trying so hard to tailor things to his needs and wants, and I'm just ready to quit. I'm so tired. I've got so much to do.

I've HAD it with being treated as if my wanting to exercise is the most decadent form of self-indulgence any parent ever dared to attempt to lay hold of.

My son's actually pretty cute, if you like that kind of thing. And with other people, he can be really nice. He's getting old enough to even be useful, if you give him specific instructions.

You want him?