So for this post I need some feedback because I’m faced with a real conundrum. I moved to this lovely place so my kids could go to school, and at the school they now attend the teachers are excellent. I moved to this place because when Elijah was six years old I kept him home with me and we butted heads like bulls competitively sparring - me for control and he for the freedom to do what he wanted, when he wanted, without my chronic nagging. We moved to this place and our relationship improved; was it maturity on both our parts or the hours away from each other – me focusing on the “babies” and he discovering limits (“So wandering around the classroom and procrastinating on assignments really isn’t acceptable? Huh”.) from an authority figure other than his mother? Their grades are excellent, both Elijah and Priscilla’s. And I’m relieved, I must admit, that the math problems (already out of my meager league) they bring home for my inspection are being taught by those for whom the carrying, dividing, and multiplying of numbers doesn’t cause an immediate short circuiting of the brain. All in all it’s a pretty good set-up, so why am I wrestling with my conscience?
I was on the phone yesterday with a very dear friend who recently pulled her own daughter out the public school system. I was affirming her decision with reasons like:
“Socializing? Who needs it? I would have enjoyed my own education so much more without the distracting drama of volatile friendships and unbridled hormones.”
“It doesn’t matter what method you use to teach her, if she is being focused on as an individual, rather than as a part of a class, she will excel.”
“Our culture is most definitely more liberal, more aggressive in its methods to propagate our children with its whacked out morals, than it was when we were kids.”
So keep them home, right? Except here is the problem: me, me, me, me me. I didn’t like who I was as a home school mom, all flustered and tightlipped while reigning in my kids for an impossibly long twelve hours. The bickering, their refusal to cooperate, the toddler sitting on my head and whining for juice while I was trying to read an assignment, didn’t exactly bring out my best attributes as a parent. I’m afraid I just don’t have the patience (or the stomach) for it. I adore my family; nothing makes me more fulfilled than connecting with them over popcorn in the afternoons, listening to the best and worst parts of their day, praising them for their test scores and encouraging them whenever, wherever, and however possible. So what’s an overly protective and hopelessly unorganized gal to do?
I would really prefer at this juncture some sort typed out memo from God, Himself, instead of a gentle, extraordinarily subtle, prompting from the Holy Spirit. If you happen to have gotten one, a typed out memo that is, having to do with this very decision please be so kind as to mail it here, to this lovely place I moved to so that such decisions would not be necessary.