Homeschooling-WEEK 1

“They said this week is going to be bad,” I said to Tighe as we sat on the couch after The Others were in bed. 

“…in terms of the death toll,” I finished.

“Mmm-hmm,” Tighe grunted back as he returned his eyes to the TV.

What an absurd thing that was for me to say. Or would have been absurd about a month ago. Now, it’s just our new normal. There’s a pandemic, people are dying, we homeschool, and I get all my news from memes. 

Life is all about managing your expectations. 

Tighe says that all the time. So does Tom Segura in his Netflix stand-up special. And if you haven’t finished all of Netflix’s stand-up specials, are you even quarantined? I mean, it’s no Tiger King, but stand-up is pretty entertaining.

Well, my expectations for the last two weeks were not this. 

And my expectations for homeschooling are shifting as fast as our expectations to go out for Easter brunch. Not happening.

After 8 years of teaching middle school math, homeschooling didn’t scare me. Especially since I had a chance to practice it last week after we canceled our spring break trip to Florida. 

It took a few days, but we eventually crafted the perfect schedule: morning work, morning PE, free play, lunch, reading/rest hour, afternoon PE, an hour for puzzles/coloring/music/Legos, then chores, and then an option for screen time before dinner.  And because it was based on a point system that Tighe and I devised, including a chance to trade in points for prizes (aka bribes) each week, our guys were totally motivated. Even Tess bought in when the mood struck.

I was convinced that under my tutelage, Nate would dabble in pre-algebra, Sam would master the piano, Tess would learn to read, and Lou would utter his first words. Or at least sprout a second tooth. We would go for long walks, watch documentaries on American history and the Australian outback, and construct a functioning catapult out of recyclables. And best of all, they’d master some real-life skills, like cooking a soufflé, folding a fitted sheet, and using all the attachments on our vacuum.

It’d be too easy. 

This week, though, when we we’re finally under “shelter in one place” orders, their teachers sent real schoolwork: spelling tests, math worksheets, solar system research, assigned reading comprehension, and some new online pieces for all of us to learn. And for everyone’s entertainment, Zoom sessions. 

It was all impossible.

By Thursday morning, I was sitting at the dining room table, furiously typing a rather frantic and frustrated email to Nate’s second grade teacher while Sam sat next to me, busy plugging away at yet another math worksheet.

In the email, I half-jokingly diagnosed Nate with ADHD. 

In three hours time that morning, he managed to email his teacher, post a morning prayer on the class website, email his teacher again, and complete (laboriously) some math problems on IXL. And that’s it. In three agonizingly long hours.

He also found the time to interrupt both Sam’s and Tess’s class Zoom sessions to say hi to everyone, criticize the way I was feeding Lou, accidentally complete some geometry problems on IXL, tell me the entire plot of one of his Captain Underpants books, and complete two Mad Libs. I didn’t make him practice his spelling words since I was sure he knew them. His teacher gave parents the liberty to add some bonus words, one of which I made “trader” because I happened to be reading the label of my Trader Joe’s coffee, and he immediately asked whether I meant “trader” or “traitor.” 

He still had much to do—research the solar system, a religion assignment, complete the second draft of a paragraph detailing what he did over spring break, then upload audio recording of himself reading it. And he hadn’t even started the first draft yet.

Meanwhile, in that same amount of time, Sam had made me a latte (though not strong enough), completed all his math worksheets, finished coloring his language arts page, read two books to Tess, read a book about dinosaurs, completed a dinosaur puzzle, and was now in the playroom with Tess, choreographing some sort of hybrid Peppa Pig-Lego collaboration. He had done everything assigned and a little extra.

But the hardest part is that my expectations for the whole experience had been so different.

First, I had expected that Nate would be the easier student and Sam would have been the one that I would have had to keep snapping to attention in order to accomplish his tasks. He’s the one that we have to remind to take bites and chew during meals. And as Tighe always says, Sam just doesn’t “give a F*&#,” so consequences mean very little to him.

And Nate’s just so…with it. He’s helpful and sincere and likes to please. Who knew school would be so painful for him? He can do the things he’s interested in. He likes the solar system research and he loves to read just about anything I put in front of him. But the repetitive drill and kill practice problems just seem so tedious to him.

By Thursday morning, when I sent the rambling, frantic email to his teacher, I wasn’t just frustrated with him. I was frustrated that my grand plans for homeschooling were slowly melting away. 

At lunchtime, it hit me that the work he still had to complete for that day would probably take him close to two more hours. So much for walking to the park. And squeezing in a family yoga session. And teaching them fractions by baking muffins. And building a model town out of milk cartons and cardboard boxes. And playing “get in touch with your emotions” Jenga—which was good because I hadn’t fully worked out the details of that one yet. And doing lunchtime doodles with Mo Williams. And challenging our neighbors to a Lego contest.

I was coming to the realization that all the cool ideas I had for homeschooling were not going to happen. All because I had to sit at the dining room table and remind Nate to get back to work every twelve seconds. 

My expectations for this coming week will be different. I’ll be thrilled if Nate accomplishes all his assignments before 3 o’clock. I’ll make sure he gets lunch and some breaks and outside time, but I won’t count on introducing anything fun, like parabolas or Mandarin or the Industrial Revolution. If anyone needs me, I’ll be at the dining room table, saying, “Nate, get back to work!” and scrolling for memes.