Why Do I Hear Hammering?—Day 3 of Homeschooling

It’s Day 3 of homeschooling and it’s already killing me. I mean, it’s not, of course, it could be much worse. Just a sacrifice we have to make. But I do keep checking my phone and email to see if the powers that be have declared April Fool’s yet.

If they do it in the next couple hours, I can probably still book a flight to Ft. Myers to visit my parents, squeeze in a killer spring break trip, and return in time to send my kids back to school on Monday.

But so far, no such luck.

Social distancing protocol continues, and we’re playing by the rules. 

On Sunday evening before dinner, Tighe sat down with Nate, Sam, and Tess, while balancing Lou on his knee, to map out their daily homeschooling schedule. He and I had already brainstormed what we wanted them to accomplish during the day, so I wasn’t really paying attention to their plan as I prepped dinner in the next room.

But I should have been.

I mean, I glanced at it as he taped it to the wall the next morning, but I didn’t really think about it.

But I should have.

First, breakfast was supposed to be finished and cleaned up by 8:30. That’s not realistic for several reasons. These guys are the slowest eaters in the world and on any given school-free morning, one of them is sure to sleep until about 8:30, sometimes even later. 

Plus, I’m usually busy feeding and changing Lou around this time, and the whole breakfast regimen requires some oversight from me. At the very least, I need to remind Sam to take bites. 

At 8:43, breakfast still wasn’t cleaned up. Which alarmed Nate. He was really excited to embark on our homeschooling experiment, totally determined to accumulate as many points as possible to earn the Nintendo Switch Tighe had ordered over the weekend. Ambitious. Anything for another screen.

Nate started to panic, grabbing as many breakfast cups and plates as he could and running to dump them into the kitchen sink.

“Nate, it’s okay,” I assured him. “We can start a few minutes late.”

The first activity was some sort of workout that Tighe had planned, followed by 10 minutes of soccer practice. To be followed by 10 minutes of lacrosse practice, then 10 minutes of basketball, then 10 minutes of baseball.

Since we were starting late anyway, I convinced Nate—Sam and Tess needed no convincing—to skip the workout and get right to the sports practices.

But the ten-minute intervals were a problem. For Sam, they weren’t even enough time to get started. By the time he realized what soccer practice is and located his ball, it was time to move for the next sport.

And for Tess, well—it would definitely take me at least 10 minutes to lay out enough reasons about why sports are valuable to make her comply. And even then, her efforts would be half-assed and then she’d ask me to play My Little Ponies or Peppa Pig with her.

Meanwhile, the shortened time intervals freaked Nate out. He was still committed to staying as on-task as possible, beginning each activity at the exact moment it was scheduled for. Taking 90 seconds to find his favorite footwork and dribbling video on YouTube elevated his blood pressure again.

He moved through the 10-minute intervals at a rapid pace, like a soldier trying to get through Navy SEAL training. Everything was on the line, his whole life had been working up to this moment.

Soon the bouncing of the basketball began echoing through the first floor, which elevated my blood pressure. Sam and Tess had dumped out a basket of Legos and were playing nicely on the carpet. And though they weren’t doing what they were supposed to be doing, I considered it a victory that they weren’t eating candy and watching trash on YouTube. 

Then suddenly: “I need to poop! I need to poop!” I could hear Nate’s feet thudding at a very high speed through the dining room and toward the bathroom.

“Nate, you don’t have time to poop!” I was joking, but he didn’t have time to laugh either.

“What?! Why?” He immediately pivoted and ran in the other direction, back toward his basketball.

“I’m kidding, Nate, you can poop. Just go poop, do what you gotta do.”

Time to take action. Glancing at Tighe’s schedule on the wall, I could see that the pace of the rest of the day was going to be just as schizophrenic, though some of the academic subjects increased to 30-minute intervals. And then there was a solid half hour labeled “plan dinner” around 4 o’clock. First of all, if we ask for their input on dinner, we’ll be eating Girl Scout cookies and M&M’s. Which it might come down to if the shelves at the store empty out as people on the west coast are claiming. Still, I enjoy planning and making dinner, and I don’t want them involved in the process aside from asking whether they’d prefer ketchup or barbecue sauce.

I peeled the tape away and carried the schedule to the table, where I sat down and started anew. 

I plotted for larger chunks of time, up to 90 minutes in some cases, and gave them choices. For example, 9am to 10:30am is “morning work.” I listed some choices there, but after three days of this, I realized I’m going to have to structure it a tad more. This morning, I made them write a poem and work together to plan a presentation on the solar system. 

It was painful, and Nate required two poop breaks. I’m finding his circadian rhythm to be a real academic interference and I doubt that he’ll graduate on time.

I also had them make a list of things they WANT to learn about. If they’re interested, they’ll be more engaged, right? 

Right?? 

But seriously, the point system is a great motivator. Tighe and I often worry that our kids are too extrinsically motivated, but I’m arguing in this instance that A) we’re in desperate times, and B) we’re developing habits. And it seems that a natural curiosity and work ethic is emerging no matter what.

I mean, sure, they all got totally off-task watching me feed yogurt to Lou, but they’re still just kids. 

I also included both morning and afternoon blocks for PE. But they can totally choose what to do. Yesterday, Cosmic Kids Yoga was a hit, especially for Tess. The day before, Nate stayed outside practicing soccer for 30 minutes while Sam stayed inside with me and did a HIIT workout that we found on YouTube. Hopefully, when the sun comes up and the weather warms up, we can work in some long walks. 

Lunch is lunch and playtime is playtime and no points are to be awarded there.

Unless… they do something educational or otherwise productive: watch a documentary, clean the floor, read, eat a fruit or vegetable, wipe down walls, helping with Lou’s bath. The possibilities are endless. 

On the flip side of that, I had to make a list of behaviors and actions that will get points taken away. That includes: saying mean things, fighting, waking up Lou, not flushing the toilet and/or not washing hands after using the bathroom, leaving a mess somewhere, using more than their allotted share of toilet paper. 

Kidding on that last one. For now. I’ve started to explain a bit about rationing toilet paper and food, but that only seemed to make them eat more, and Sam, who usually survives on about 100 calories a day—up to 200 on a cheat day—is suddenly eating like he’s Michael Phelps training for a big race. Slow down Sam, save some food for the rest of us! I haven’t hoarded or stockpiled like some people are advising, and he’s making me anxious.

I’m eternally grateful to teachers and education companies who are sharing things for free. And to other parents who are sharing ideas like reading BINGO, Lego competitions, puzzle and art museums, and outdoor “distance picnics.” I know that all three of their teachers are expected to send emails in the next few days with ideas and instructions and schoolwork. The state of Kansas just canceled the rest of the school year—we’re in Missouri, but regardless, I’m preparing for a very, very long spring break that suddenly becomes summer vacation. And if Tighe’s work slows because of the virus, we may not be able to afford summer camps and golf lessons and trips back east. 

And any day now, Tighe will probably start working from home, thus (hopefully) shouldering some of the homeschool burden. Though if FedEx, UPS, Amazon, and the postal service shut down, that Nintendo Switch they’re pining for may not come and we’ll be powerless. Thank God for Netflix and Disney+ and warm spring weather.

As I wrap this up, I hear hammering on the third floor. No idea what that could be—they’re supposed to be Lego-ing at the moment. But the hammering has awoken Lou. So it’s time to shave off some points!