044 - we did a thing
We did a thing.
All four kids are in school. And at the academy, no less.
We went into the school year with varying degrees of enthusiasm, depending on family member. There were those who were leaning towards the enthusiastic side. And there was, memorably, the one who, when given a choice between local public and local private school said, and I quote, “I would rather die than go to either of those schools.”
And yet here we are. All properly uniformed. Looking sharp.
You could say we were all nervous. I personally have been swinging wildly and violently between nervous-excited and nervous-dear-God-what-have-we-done. We are three days in, and so far, very very good. Very very very very good. VERY VERY VERY GOOD.
<falls over>
The kids have some pretty awesome teachers. One teacher has a classroom website that almost made me weep it is so beautiful. We have been particularly — happy? overjoyed? gratified? — by Kiri’s main 6th grade teacher. She is a personal friend and we spent last year admiring her teaching skillz and now we get to experience them for ourselves. The level of intention, caring, and attention to detail she invests is <kisses fingers>. Kiri says, “I don’t know why books always say school is boring. School isn’t boring!” How is that for a ringing endorsement?!
Kiri has begun to identify differences in her knowledge base as a homeschooler compared with her classmates. Vocabulary in the sciences and social sciences, particularly. (I didn’t even know that she knew what a primary source and secondary source is, so there you go. The power of homeschooling.) Levi and Amelie experienced this last year as well. I won’t lie, this has been extremely gratifying to me. Not only am I finally able to see what they’ve retained, but to have them be able to attribute it to homeschooling is very cool. The fruits of my labor. 🍇
And we have begun to reap the benefits of Kiri being educated by someone other than me. She brought home some math homework yesterday and I got pretty nervous. It’s been a long time since learning a new math concept together has been anything other than a nuclear disaster. But not only did she ask me to help her, she let me get out my fraction manipulatives. I can’t explain how exciting a moment this was for me. It has been so long, SO LONG, since she’s let me Do My Thing. It’s been so frustrating because I have ALL THESE AMAZING THINGS to learn and to help her learn, and she just refused it all. But yesterday, I got to use my manipulatives, and it was glorious. Channeling my inner Grandma Ruby.
After school everyone recounts the wild and weird things you find only in a Christian school and we laugh and laugh. Family bonding. Some personal favorites include:
Evolution has no evidence! says one teacher. Who offers no evidence for a literal six day creation. (Child was disturbed by a class full of people nodding in agreement. Parent was delighted that child is applying critical thinking and logic when listening to teachers’
soapboxesarguments.)Day one introduction to class includes soliloquy on teacher’s imagining of their deathbed. I had at least one of those types in my Adventist school days. Two, actually, now that I think about it.
The ancient Americas didn’t develop as much as Europe because they worshipped nature, while Europeans worshiped higher beings. If you worship something that is lesser than you, then your civilization will be lesser as well. (Bonus points to teacher for posing this as a personal theory, rather than as fact. Bonus bonus points to child for identifying and critiquing problematic theology, casual racism, and Euro-centric viewpoints.)
When it comes to knowing how everything works, we’re basically like kindergarten parents, wide-eyed and clueless. But we have a senior. So that’s weird. We have begun to see private school like flying on an economy airline — you bought the ticket, but now you need to pay for every thing else. Every single thing. All the things. Coming from public school, this is weird. (Buy books? Why not include them in tuition?? Very inefficient.) After some shock and awe, I’m now approaching it as a game called “Can you guess what bizarre thing we get to pay for now?!” We were super excited to not pay for the pizza and cotton candy at Open House. Score!
I’ve had a lot of mixed feelings about joining the academy life. We’ve been academy-adjacent for the last twenty years—connected, but not in. I know some of the community downfalls such as the tendency to spread misinformation. I am also friends with a lot of the parents—there are so many great people there.
We’ve been academy-adjacent, but we’re coming in with an outsiders’ perspective. There are a hundred little things that our friends see as normal but we see as strange, weird, and sometimes downright disturbing. I want to process these things with my friends, but I think it’s a little much. So I’m trying to keep it at a minimum for those who are academy lifers. Trying being the operative word. Sometimes it just spills out bc wtf.
In fact, I just cut out three long paragraphs of wtf. You’re welcome.
I have not yet decided how I want to approach the parent social stuff. I was in the middle of a “dear God, what have we done” moment the other day while on campus, and that energy was impacting how I was interacting with a casual friend. I could see that my frozen, withdrawn, and freaked out energy was not lubricating the social interaction. I realized that I might need to approach these school social interactions with some clear intentions instead of just bringing whatever me happens to be there at the time.
I’ve felt very resistant to being bright, cheerful, engaged, and enthusiastic. Mostly because I don’t feel that way. While I may be like a clueless kindergarten parent, I don’t have the raging enthusiasm of a kindergarten parent ready to dive into this new life and make all the friends. I am a bone-weary post-pandemic-isolation parent of teenagers with a well-established social life and more excellent friends than I can keep up with. And yet, here we are.
I keep feeling the impulse/pressure to be bright and engaged. Some of that has been the inclination to conform, to fit in, to smooth things over. People like engaged me more than unengaged me. But that doesn’t feel grounded.
I am considering turning on the bright and engaged me to serve a purpose. If I exert myself to engage, then I can create a socially connected place for myself. And having an established place will be key to dealing with the school and classmate things that will crop up for the kids.
Since high school, I have been used to moving in a certain way in a community—a way that I feel grounded in myself and connected to others. I won’t be able to move like that here until I establish relationships in this context. And, because it’s the nature of the type of interactions available in a school setting, bright and engaged is the quickest path to creating my web of relationships. Then I will be able to move in my power. Then I will be able to work my magic.
Now, just to find the energy to do that. And to do it in a way that does not feel like betraying myself as I attend to my burn-down.
A few years ago, we would drive past the school playground on our way to a hike or a museum and I would think, “Glad it’s not us.” (Actually, I probably thought, “So long, suckers!” Or possibly, “Why on earth would anyone want to do that?”) And now I look through the bars of the fence and see Kiri running across the field with friends and a soccer ball and think “Wow, I can’t be happier that she’s there.” That all of our kids are there. That we’re in here and doing this thing.
How times change.
It’s a serious mind f*ck that I’m going to be processing for a long, long time.
People keep asking what I’m doing with myself all day, now that the children are at school. The short answer is that I’ve been feeling my way through. And now I feel like finishing this up and thinking about lunch. So that’s what I’m going to do. ✨
"I am a bone-weary post-pandemic-isolation parent of teenagers with a well-established social life and more excellent friends than I can keep up with. And yet, here we are."
Yes. I see you. I feel you. Thank you for putting this in words.
"A few years ago, we would drive past the school playground on our way to a hike or a museum and I would think, “Glad it’s not us.” (Actually, I probably thought, “So long, suckers!” Or possibly, “Why on earth would anyone want to do that?”)"
Embarrassingly relatable.
"It’s a serious mind f*ck that I’m going to be processing for a long, long time."
I want to hear more.