homeschool joy: when the learner becomes the teacher

I don't know if I've mentioned this, but

I love homeschooling.

I don't always love the specifics of it,

like, the day to day frustrations that can crop up ("Could someone please help clean the kitchen?" and "Ah, you forgot your music, and you're only telling me now we're here?" and  "Please stop niggling, just for a second so I can think" and "Don't throw the stuffed cat at your sister!")

or those wobbly fearful moments when you aren't sure you're doing it "right," or when you foolishly spend waaaay too long looking at Eduspeaky Websites that (very importantly and authoritatively) show you all the things you should be doing just because that's what everyone else is doing and that's the box you're supposed to tick (Breathe)

or… those times you'd really like a bit more time for yourself and (you feel) you simply can't have it (because home-edding can often feel like (and actually IS) a full-time job—even in those down moments when it seems like you're not busy at all. You're still, always, on call)

but

I still love the whole thing anyway.



I love the happiness homeschool brings

when you're totally able to drop everything (or not pick anything up to begin with) and spend real time playing, or learning, or chatting, or sharing, or creating.

And I love the satisfaction it brings

when your kids tell you about something they've learned or discovered — you either brought it to their attention and they loved it, or they found it completely on their own and have been immersed in it for hours, only surfacing with a grin to tell you all about it.

I love the peace homeschooling brings

when you realise this life fits you completely

because your kids are following their passions

and you find you do, in fact, have time to write your novel

and do art classes (with and without your kids)

and you ALL get to be in your Element, together.


That's amazing

and a gift

and a blessing.




And then.

And THEN!

You suddenly find something new has crept up while you weren't even looking.


There are now moments, many of them, coming over and over, more and more often,

where you realise

you've become the learner

and they the mentor.

Because look! —

they've learned some mad skills of their own

and want to teach you.


Last year, my son did a history course through Coursera, called "A Brief History of Humankind." It was 17 weeks long, and was taught through the University of Jerusalem.

Well, for 17 weeks (longer in fact, because the course has run a bit into overtime), we have been hearing about the cognitive revolution, the agricultural revolution, the industrial revolution, the rise of homo sapiens, capitalism, religion, the history of happiness and so on and so forth. Hours of information relayed to us by my 13 year old boy who has LOVED this course. Hours of discussion, hours of learning through my son, hours of knowledge relayed by him to me.

We are finishing up the course together. Just two more lectures, lying on the big bed with the cicadas chirruping outside, pausing to laugh at the lecturer's wry humour, or chat about the concepts he's raised. It's delicious, is what it is. Learning alongside my son. Learning through my son. So much joy.

My daughter has been animating and computer programming on Scratch now for a year, and has been producing hours and hours of projects on line. In the past six months, she has also been teaching her dad how to create games, working with her brother on creating silly animations, and just this past week, has begun teaching me to animate.

I can't believe I didn't start sooner! It's SO much fun.

I've had to let go of my adult (sort of impatient) self, who wants to have the skill now. I've stopped to listen to my girl as she has shown me each step and explained the purpose of commands that seemed to have no purpose, as she has encouraged me to take the reins with sometimes only a little guidance. It has been really hard to produce these few seconds of animation, but wow. It's been so rewarding.

In these small moments, that keep coming over and over,

I can see so clearly how incredibly satisfying it must be for my children, to be such independent learners.

It must feel pretty cool, to be encouraged (by me, my husband, their mentors, their friends) to find things that interest them, to explore them any time, practice them for hours, immerse themselves as deeply as they want until they are full.

I love that I can give that to my kids. I love that my children get to be full-time, all-day, any-time-they-want learners and then, and then! That they want to pass on their learning to the lucky people around them.

I love being their student.

I love that they are my mentors.

I love how much I've learned.



Here is my second ever animation. I am pleased as peaches about it. It makes me grin, every time I look at it.

When I win my Academy Award for it (in the not-too-distant future!) I'll say:

"Thank you. I couldn't have done this without my kids."

     

 

our homeschool—our treasure trove

Our "school year" is almost finished… and what a year it has been. I haven't written a lot about it here, mostly because it's been SO SO busy. Finding time to write it all down has been like trying to catch shooting stars…imagine me, running about the grass, arms up in the air, trying to catch all that light in my hands. 

Many days and nights, I don't even try to capture it all. I just watch, my mouth open, dazzled and inspired. 

This year, my son was able to immerse himself completely in his juggling. He has worked so hard and improved so much! He has performed many times in his beloved circus space, plus at school fetes, music camps, our local city festival, at a big national festival and, just recently, he did his first solo show as part of a community review. What an amazing year he's had.

And what a thing, to be able to give (with the help of his trainers and mentors) the gift of time and training space to a boy who loves something this much. What an amazing thing, to watch how that gift has helped a boy completely blossom, to completely own the thing he loves, improving so much that big international jugglers are noticing him on YouTube and Facebook. His most recent video has over 300 views. What a thing. What a thing! 

I couldn't be more pleased for him. 

As for my girl? Well, this year, she discovered and fell in love with Scratch, a online computer programming application. She has created and posted countless animations, games, role plays, stories, and pictures. She has found a beautiful community of (cat-loving!) animators who "Get" her. And she has over 100 followers in the Scratch community. She LOVES it. 

Now, she's exploring Flash animation and Photoshop, developing her love even further. How awesome to watch her in her element, improving every day, exploring and creating her heart out. 

PLUS, she's now over 300 pages into her novel. Yes, she's writing a novel too! The best days for my girl are filled with writing, reading, dreaming, art-ing, animating, laughing, swimming, and singing (not that we are supposed to listen!). I am so glad I can give her time to do all that.

I am so glad I get to give this incredible thing—the gift of time—to my kids. I am so glad I get to say, 'Yes!' And, 'Oh, that sounds interesting!' And, 'Sure, go and do that!" I get to watch as they dive deeply into the things they love.

I get to hear all the things they want to explore, what they want to immerse themselves in; I get to learn all the things that make them tick and move and smile, the things that make them want to get out of bed. I get to hear about their discoveries. I get to sit and watch the movie they've made, hear all about the informational video they've just watched, see the art they've drawn, the animation they've created, hear the song they've just found. I get to sit in the audience or right by their side as they show me who they are. 

And it's like I'm standing with them in this incredible room—a treasure trove of secret drawers and boxes, with tunnels and wondrous things waiting behind curtains. Everywhere we turn there's something new to put in our pocket, something incredible to see and absorb. It's like the room is actually vibrating, like it's filled with notes waiting in the throats of birds. 

And we're so filled with the desire to Learn! and Discover! and Explore! and Make! that our room is sometimes packed to overflowing. Some days, we have to just stop and read a book for a day, or go swimming, and try our very hardest not to learn anything new, just so we can take a break. 

But we can't seem to help ourselves. The learning keeps finding us. The new keeps surprising us. Adventures keep beckoning. Life keeps on bringing us joy.

P.S.

bird by my girl…

from this week's exhibition with their art class
at a lovely gallery down town!

portrait by my boy…

art by the whole class…

(my girl's squirrel is on the top left
my son's watercolour landscape is the top right)

:)

month of beauty: in sickness and in joy

Well, it had to happen.

After getting through two weeks of colds in my house, first my boy, then my girl, then my husband,

then going hard for two straight days (yesterday being a 10-hour-marathon of being out, today going  eleven straight hours—half of them spent driving!),

plus all my enthusiastic calling out, of games and instructions, over the voices and laughter of 20 + drama-happy kids yesterday, and yep,

I'm sick.

I've totally (well, almost totally!) lost my voice. I keep trying to speak, and this wild husky crackle comes out.

My chest is sore from coughing,

and I'm coughing all this interesting censored up! Not a pretty sight!


So this post will come at you at a whisper. If you can't hear me, just lean forward… There, is that better?

We went to the Blue Mountains today (an almost 3-hour drive!) for a picture book workshop with this guy Tohby Riddle. I've been a fan of his for 20 years. I got to actually do the workshop with my kids. We worked on our stories, drew illustrations, story-boarded our stories, and for the ones who really had it together (not me), began creating an actual mock-up of a 32 page picture book!

It was awesome. I got to ask heaps of questions. Tohby was incredibly kind and gracious—full to the brim with helpful suggestions and a whole lot of wisdom. I loved that I got to learn alongside the kids. Just loved that. That is homeschooling, for me, at its absolute best.

Now.

Did I take a single picture while we were there, like a normal person would (and should)?

Did I take a photo of Tohby with my kids?

Did I get his autograph like the super-savvy and very cool teenage homeschoolers there?

Um.

No.

Afterwards, I decided the total lack of documentation of one of the coolest things I've done, like, ever, is because I was savouring the moment. I was living it, taking mental photos, actively participating in my Now.

Yes. That's why!

Anyway, he looks like this,

credit

he's the guy with a bird on his head

credit

and he is as great as I thought he would be. Everyone in the world should read his books.



Afterwards we got to go to Rubyfruit, the divine vegan cafe just down the road. You know, the one I've mentioned before and am totally in love with.

Double-plus yummy!

And then we got to go to a toy shop that my girl has been asking, and asking (and asking) to go to for months.

So. Much. Fun.

I mean, look at this place.

a wall of Webkinz! Look, Kei! 

One of the things in this picture was sold for $4000. I wonder which one?

My girl got to reunite with a toy that she'd left long long ago, in a car in Samoa.

My girl had scoped out this store on the internet, told us about it, then told us we really must go, because there, waiting for her, was a long-lost Storm!

But as it turns out, a toy can't actually ever be replaced. You didn't know that? Now you know. Storm was a one-of-a-kind kitten, after all. So this dear, identical kitty is called Echo. She is Storm's sister. (And I just found out she's French! Can't wait to hear her speak). Isn't she lovely?

Anyway, then I drove all the way home. As I drove, my voice gradually disappeared. In the end, I had to signal to the kids when I needed to speak, so they could be very quiet and listen!

I've come home sick and totally out-of-voice.

It's been a long day and I'm physically done.

But wow, it was beautiful.

I'll be sitting back tomorrow in serene silence, remembering the day, coughing up all that  censored, and smiling from my toes up.

month of beauty: Postcard from a Very Busy Day

All right, a postcard isn't quite exact. Postcards normally come with an actual image, something you can actually look at.

So, this is a mental postcard. You have to shut your eyes and imagine!

Well…Open your eyes, first. Then read my words. Then shut your eyes. And Imagine. In that order :)

Overcast day. Rain hovering.

Day brimming with possibility.

Time for Tennis!

Imagine the court, the links in the chain fence, the green fake turf, the cockatoos flying overhead. The pretend hawk tied to the light poles to scare away the cockatoos.

Imagine my girl running for the balls. Backhand! Forehand! Run in for the volley! Imagine my boy hitting smash after smash. Now serving. Now picking up balls with these long plastic tubey things that are really fun to wander about with (imagine me doing that for the hour as the kids learn tennis-y things).

Tennis lesson over. Time for the Library!

Image standing in the community centre, asking about renting a room for a possible class I might be doing. Another class! This time non-fiction. Should be a lot of fun. Imagine the kids laughing and chattering beside me. Imagine old men wandering by with their library bags and grey shorts.

Imagine the noisy library where we scope out the reference section. Might work for an essay class—it's the only quiet corner here. We know the librarian. She's a neighbour and she's lovely. Imagine two women chatting. Imagine my girl finding a book about cloning animals and my boy finding a book about breaking codes. Imagine all the lovely books wafting out words like a scent.

Library visit done. Time for Lunch in the Gardens!

Imagine a huge tree shaped like broccoli. Imagine long roots meandering like sleepy snakes, wood chips and leaves making a crunchy carpet. Imagine a picnic under the branches which lean down all the way to the ground, so people looking in can hardly see us. Imagine how my husband works in the beautiful old building nearby and we get him to join us for a magical fifteen minutes. Imagine the Cosy.

Lunch finished. Time for Homeschool Drama Group!

Imagine children running over the grass to the little theatre in the woods. Imagine how you can't see this either, from far away. It's like a secret garden, with a wooden stage, built around actual trees. Imagine game after game after game. Imagine children pretending to do Olympic sports; imagine children from 5 to 15 pretending to compete in a triathlon, every part of it, all in s l o w   m o t i o n. Imagine the laughter, ribboning around the tree trunks, up into the leaves, startling the sparrows. Imagine the delighted parents and the dads taking photos. Imagine kids red-faced and happy-tired. Imagine.

Drama Group complete. Time for Hot Chips by the Beach!

Imagine a mum and her two zipping off to the cafe by the Harbour. Imagine the chips coming fresh with salt, chips too hot to touch so you grab them gingerly and try to bite teeny pieces off without burning your tongue. Imagine lovely soy hot chocolates for a boy and his mama, and lemon sorbet for a girl. Imagine people watching—a whole troop of police officers coming in for food and the three of us thinking up a story to go with them. Imagine the sea and the seagull with a single foot, hovering in the wind.

Hot Chips eaten. Time for Art Class!

Imagine heading to the room above the art supply store. The room we've been coming to for six years for lessons with the lovely Anna. Imagine how whenever the kids do any art at home, they say, "I need to show this to Anna." Imagine the focus of five children, bent over paper clipped to boards. Imagine how they work on sketch after sketch, Anna raising the bar just a bit higher and a bit higher and asking them to reach. They always want to reach, for her. Imagine a teacher who changes children's lives.

Art Class ended. Time for Circus Class!

Really? Really? Yes. Keep imagining, please, because it's so lovely. Imagine a boy and a girl and a father this time, joining the evening juggling class. Imagine a boy making a breakthrough with juggling clubs, and a girl getting the hang, more and more, of moving these objects through the air. Imagine a man delighted, just to be there with his kids.

Circus Class complete. Time for Home!

Yes. Home. Finally. Imagine walking in, and sniffing. Lentil Bolognese! A mama is waiting with hot dinner, just made. Imagine the news. "And mum, I learned this! And I did this! And it went like this!" Imagine a boy bouncing bounce balls and talking and talking. Imagine a girl quickly reading another page of a much-loved book as pasta and sauce is ladled onto plates. Imagine the dinner conversation, words darting about like hummingbirds.

Dinner gobbled. Time for Bed.

Imagine the soft arms around a mama's shoulders. Imagine kisses and sleepy last things said. Imagine the mama reminding the kids that she'd be waking them early the next morning. For the next adventure. The next lovely thing. Imagine the drowsy dark. Imagine smiling, to hear how much beauty there could be in a single day, and how much more there is to come.

month of beauty: what you have

If you dwell on what isn't, you miss what is.

If you wish for things to be different, you don't get to live the way things are.

If you think of what you don't have, you don't see what's right in front of you, in your lap, in your arms, before your very eyes.

I have spent too many moments, not seeing, not living. Missing what is.

Fearing the future and regretting the past. Wishing for things to be different. Stuck somewhere in a kind of floaty space—a constant looking back, looking forward.

So many hours unable to enjoy my Present. 

I couldn't accept my present when it wasn't perfect, 

and when it was, 

I wished my present would never end. 

And as for the past and the future, they lurked like great hulking bodyguards, making holes in joy.

Ah. It has been exhausting.

But I can feel a great movement inside me now. A great dancing change, 

growing, 

busting out like butterflies.

I've been happy before, but with it has come a tangled sadness that the happiness will end.

I've been sad before. And felt certain the sadness would always stay.

Now, more and more, and more and more,

I am just living. 

When a beautiful day comes, I don't hurt with trying to hold it, pin it down so it lasts forever.

When a sorrowful day comes, I feel it, then let it go.

When a day like today happens, I build sandcastles with teenagers and make plans with homeschool parents and I feel the wind bite and I notice how the children are scattered to the four winds, playing. 

I notice how happy—wildly, glowingly happy—my kids are.

I notice that I don't feel the cold as much as I used to.

I notice that I'm doing a lot of talking, a lot of smiling.

I notice how much I love being around young people; how funny and interesting they are.

I notice that I'm making a lot of new plans, coming up with a lot of new ideas.

I notice that I'm not invested in or attached to how the day will turn out. 

I am letting it just Be.

I notice that the day is flowing. The sea moves in and out. The wind grips. The children laugh and tell me stories. The little dog shivers with joy. The children dig holes and mounds and make swimming pools and almost everyone gets wet.

I notice that I am here. 

Really here, in my present.

I get to live this. I get to notice.

I get to see what I have.

month of beauty: the simple thing(s)

I love that I've embraced (with both my hands in a big old hug), my new homeschool philosophy.

That being: our home school doesn't ever have to look like school. 

In fact, our home "school" no longer exists. 

School is out. Learning is in. It's that simple! 

We learn at home, at the library, at the shops, at the park, on the beach, up trees and on bike paths. We learn in galleries and walking along with Nana as she tells stories. Beside the dog at the vets. In the car while driving to another adventure. In bed as we read ourselves into Sleepy. 

It's a constant and uncomplicated thing. And because it's that clear in my mind and in my heart, I can relax and enjoy a beautiful week.

We could play at the beach on Monday all afternoon…which led to looking at rocks and trying to identify them, and that led to looking up rocks online…and that led to going to the library and getting a bunch of Geology books. That led to sitting at the breakfast table today, reading about igneous, sedimentary and metamorphic rocks. All flowing from two children standing beside the sea with rocks in their hands.

We could hang with Nana on Tuesday and show off juggling and novels-in-progress, then head off chatting and laughing to Writers Workshop. Where we learned (well, I taught) about Epistolary novels and we had a go at writing the beginning of one. 

We could go on Wednesday to a doctor's appointment downtown and then end up going to the movies, just because we could! We saw Brave and we loved it. Then, because my boy had recently been talking about one of the messages in a novel he loves…and because we'd then talked about Themes, and how they work in Literature…we then discussed the themes of Brave. As though we were just having an ordinary chat about the weather. 

(And…while a boy went to music classes for three hours…a girl and a mum could go to the vet and witness how life can be hard and beautiful at exactly the same time.)

As for Thursday, well, that's today! 

We could let the day flow as simply and good-ly as the others. 

There was our first tennis lesson of the year (having taken a break for a whole year and a half)! The kids were giddy with happiness. Even in the sort-of-rain and the oh-so-cold, they just kept grinning.

There was a love story. Between my chook and my dog. Oh, how she loves him. When he's outside, she never leaves his side. So romantic!

There was a birthday party for a friend's dog, which coincided with Homeschool Group. My dog got to hang with three other little doggies, who could all run much, much faster than him. But he was happy enough, to be patted by kids and mothers alike, and snuffle about on the ground looking for cake crumbs. 

And the kids were happy enough to run around for 2 1/2 hours with friends while I brainstormed with other mums on my new project: a homeschool drama workshop! I'll be running it fortnightly. How fun. 

An honest-to-goodness doggy birthday cake, made of
peanut butter, rice and chicken. 

My dog had two pieces.
Happy pooch.

There was art class, where the kids worked on watercolours with a guest artist. Ah, they carried their work out so carefully. 

my girl's pears (blurry, but lovely)

my boy's quickly water coloured hand, done while his pears dried… 

And I carried my day out carefully, too. 

Because I can see—I notice all the time now—how precious each day is. (And how simple the Good can be).

I am learning, every moment. I am discovering, all the time. 

month of beauty: back to (home)school

All around our state, kids went back to school today. Holidays over, crisp in uniforms, shiny shoes and hats, off they went—on buses and bikes, walking with mums and dads, all waving goodbye at the school gate.

And I'm sure they had a great day!

They probably saw their friends and did some fun group activities

And probably got to do some sport.

They might have chatted with their teacher, who they really like,

and learned all about art and maths and history, among many other things.

ancient village
by my boy

the rock shop
by my girl

slide and rock house
by my girl

Doesn't it look like a head?
asked my boy

created by C
(as her sister played guitar on the grass nearby)

created by B

created by J

And I am certain that, on this glorious, sunshiny day, they got to play outside

where I am sure

they had a wonderful time!


Bring on Term 3…!

I think it's going to be a whole lot of beautiful.

:)

Linking with the lovely Owlet's Unschool Mondays

What sort of school IS this?

I wouldn't be surprised if someone walked in one day and asked that very question. Sometimes I laugh and think the same question myself! Because this homeschool of ours sure doesn't look like any school I've ever been to (and I went to 7).

What do you think of when you hear the word

"School"?

A few years ago, I would have pictured… a desk for a child to sit behind. A blackboard for the teacher to write on. A space between the teacher and the child. The teacher standing before the class, or sitting on a chair with the children in an obedient semi-circle at his or her feet. I would have imagined learners listening and a teacher speaking. I would have imagined it as I lived it, because that was all I knew.

When we began homeschooling, I got a white board. A big, beautiful one where I wrote the day's plan. I also bought a lot of workbooks. Books for spelling, comprehension, maths, history. I pored over curriculum, lesson plans, education outcomes. I searched to find something to hold onto, some recognisable and sturdy structure to build in a land that was completely new to me. This new land had a horizon too far away to see, signposts I didn't know the language to read, roads that twisted and rearranged themselves as I walked. I remember a day when I bamboozled myself—by reading so many ideas on what to do and how to do it that I had to take myself to bed.

I tried a daily structure, and dismantled it. I tried rebuilding different structures, but they fell at my feet, or the children stepped out of them. I tried schedules and textbooks and plans and packaged curriculum. I relaxed and had no structure. Then panicked. I lost my way, found it, lost it. The new world sometimes seemed just too large. There were days I doubted myself. I worried that the children would be behind, or not learning what they needed. I worried that somehow, in some way, I was making terrible, unfixable, mistakes. I wept. Sometimes, I would rant. Sometimes I did all of this in a single day.

But a lot of days, in fact almost all of our days, were actually magic.

Those days, when I let go of the worry and the doubt and the expectation and…just watched my kids and listened to them and said yes to their ideas and we walked and talked and read and explored and created and… we went to the library and to the beach and the art gallery and…sat in our pyjamas all day reading or writing our novels or playing games and music and…we went to hang out with friends,

those days were (and are) unbelievably amazing.

They are why we've homeschooled this long.

Three years! It feels long, and it feels…
like a blink.


And just recently,

I had myself a little epiphany.

It suddenly hit me, finally—big and wild and hard in the gut—that

our homeschool never has to look like school.

Not in any way. Not even remotely. I really, truly, can let it go. The teacher teaching, directing, deciding everything. The child listening, passively. "School"—this enormous, impossible entity—didn't need to be here. Not the structure, the look, the feel, those books, the invisible wires that were my idea of "School" holding me still … none of it needed to be in our home.

Then I looked around, and saw

we'd actually already been living my epiphany. For years, we have been loosening the wires, stepping away and forward.

But I don't think I'd realised.


After my epiphany

I could see clearly

 that our homeschool is already our special, particular, walk of invention.

Instead of accepting a land already made, we have made our own. We found roads that turned corners we liked then built new roads that branched away; we entered buildings that were interesting (but we didn't always stay inside). We have written our own street signs, made our own rising towers and glorious bridges, and we have strung the streets bright with lanterns. We found fields to run in and silken beaches and we painted the world in technicolour. We have sung and written and drawn and dreamed our own school into being and as we have, the word "school" has grown fainter and fainter…until with the slightest, quietest, 'pop!' it has disappeared. We have made our land a land of learning, made it so it fits us, built it so we grow finer and greater, every single day.

It's so beautiful here. Not always perfect. But it's ours.

A daughter on the couch, looking at Science For Kids on the iPad. A boy lying on another couch, writing page after page of his story. A girl lying in her bed with the computer, designing her website. A boy discussing the existence of oak trees ("if you have a 700-year-old tree that has a new, week-old branch, can the tree really be said to be 700 years old?"). A girl writing about bald eagles at the dining table for her blog. A boy juggling and juggling, inspired by numerous TED talks and his circus class. A girl lying in the big bed with her mum, discussing long division and playing book stores and making up change. A boy playing Words With Friends with his mum (and beating her! She will have to lift her game.) A girl drawing cartoon cats and reading books on animation. A boy poring over Greek history. A girl reading every Warriors book under the sun. A boy and a girl and a mum, walking on the beach almost every day the sun is out.

A boy. A girl. A mum. A dad. Thinking, dreaming, creating. Talking, all the time. Playing in the land we made. The land we made. 


It is so beautiful here.

linking up with the lovely Owlet's 

Unschool Monday

I HEART homeschool

Ah, what an amazing day. The kind of day you actually notice as you're living it. The kind of day you and your kids cherish over lunch,
as you stop to look at each other and one of you says,
"Are you happy?"
And the other says, "Yeah, yeah, I'm really happy. You?" and the other says, "Yeah. Yeah, I am!"
And you all just grin.

Our days, every day, are our own, to fill with joy and learning. We homeschool and we are free. It's that simple. The kids love to learn, and when I relax into that and leave them to follow their own paths, the learning is almost effortless. It's just…Ah… you know that feeling? That singing in the heart feeling? When you know you've done the right thing, to go on this journey? It's serendipity; it's just truth.

What did we do today that was so great, anyway? Well, we all read, for a start—in our beds and leaning over our breakfast bowls. Because that's how our days always begin.

And then a boy cleared the dishwasher and smiled to hear me thank him, to hear how much he helps me by doing this.

And a girl continued to design her brand new website! It's yet to be published, but filled with stories and poems and gorgeous cat facts. She has been working on this for days.

And a boy went into the playroom to practice. He can spend forever in there, drumming, piano-ing… and the new passion? Trombone, which he is teaching himself, while his dad's away. For hours he's been hooting away in there, checking notes on the piano, singing to himself. It's just lovely.

And a girl and I talked about long division. We sat on the couch and chatted about it, looked it up on the Web, practiced it a little bit. Not for long and not too hard. And today, 'cause we were totally chilled, I think she finally got it! Which says to me: Hey. Lady. Don't sweat the maths. Your girl is going to be fine.

And then a boy and a girl and I started our New Venture—Computer Science 101!

It's through Coursera, which provides online courses by top colleges in the US. We're doing a computer programming course, and it's being run by Stanford. Oh my goodness—Stanford! My girl is 9, my boy is 11 and they're doing a college course. That blows. my. mind.

We had so much fun. We learned about code and strings and syntax and got to practice and do little quizzes which weren't timed or stressful, and the kids didn't want to stop. The only reason we took a break was 'cause it was lunch time and I was so hungry! But we get to do lots more—it's a ten week course. And the kids can't wait to get back to it.

And…a boy worked on his story for the Art Gallery writing competition. My girl already finished hers, but my boy needed to do a major rewrite. He was kind of daunted, for a second, but then we chatted and I offered up some ideas and…he went for it. Totally rewrote the first section and made the story shine. He was so pleased.

And a girl wrote a new blog post! This time: Pandas. I didn't know they sometimes ate rodents! And there I was, thinking they were vegan :)

And a boy decided to finish another chapter review in his maths book (the textbook he asked for last year, and still wants to use!). We've realised he knows a heap of the stuff already, so he's started just doing the reviews instead of plodding away through each chapter, page after page just because that's what you normally do. And if he comes across something he doesn't know? Well, that's when he can go and learn it. So much more sensible.

And we didn't call the Cat Society, for the second day in a row.

Why not? Well, because it's hard. We feel so torn, between claiming some sanity, and trying to make our two cat house work. The kitten has been a darling, ever since I wrote my last post. And the cats have, bizarrely, been mellow together—even cuddling up to sleep on the chair. And the children just love her, even my boy. … Could the winds have changed? Could our luck be turning?

So today, instead of giving up our kitten, we looked up pet enclosures—thanks to Joanne's suggestion in the comments on my last post. (Thank you so much, Joanne). And I am crossing my fingers that this will work—that we will figure this crazy business out.

And then, a boy and a girl and I went for a walk with the dog. Who is on arthritis medicine now, so today he found a new lease on life. He galloped today. Galloped! And rolled in the grass, over and over, tail wildly wagging.

Meanwhile the kids and I acted out a fantasy game while we walked. It's based on these characters the kids have made up. I was a combination cat-bird called Prince Felix. And my girl was a 'Katrine,' and my boy was a 'Kyrie.' These characters are so clear and real in their heads. My boy made them up, along with the world they live in—the Kingdom of Loth. It's so complicated in there! But the kids know the world intimately and play in it all the time.

And a boy and a girl and I got to talk to Dad via Skype! He's in San Francisco right now (my other home!). He's having a beautiful time. He has a cold, and I miss him, but it's so good (and I feel so lucky) to talk to him every day.

playing trombone for Dad

And a girl wrote a new story—this one about her Kyrie character, pages and pages of it.

And a boy drew, and drew and drew. Aren't these stunning?????

And then…we ate home-made pizza, which was divine—topped with spinach, caramelised onion, mushroom, tomato, olives and a sprinkling of soy cheese. Yummo. And we talked about veganism, and about nutrition and protein and heart disease and animal welfare. You know—a typical dinner conversation :)

And a boy and a girl drifted upstairs to read, making the day complete.

And that
was our homeschool day!

Our life learning, love-learning, free-flowing, fits-us-just-right day.

We ADORED it.