{I homeschool, therefore I am}

*Disclaimer:  If you are easily offended, this may not be the post for you.
I am going to be extremely sarcastic, and will make mountains out of ant hills.
Please, for the sake of peace, return to your normal scheduled activities.
Or laugh along with me, poke a little fun, and take a think or two about the boxes
We put each other in.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

So a few weeks back I posted a link on my facebook wall.
Cause it was funny and I was having one of those days where my kids were on the verge
Of being marched over to either school next door (take your pick, there are two)
And handed off to some less-than-willing teacher.
I read this and my thinker went "ching".

This is the normal "box" that most people (non-homeschoolers for clarification) tend to put
Those of us "crazies" into.  (Some) Homeschoolers will totally understand my point of view.
(Some) Homeschool moms will be mad as hornets and think I have totally blown my good character.
(Some)Non-Homeschooled will laugh, feel pity, and smugly wrap up their kids on the next school day.
(Some) Non-Homeschool will also feel a lump of indignation, (because believe me, I'm not just poking fun at myself) (Oh no, you didn't get off that easy)

And this will be my last warning.  Beware.

What they think: (they, being non-homeschooled)
I spend the day in my pajamas. 



What they don't know:
  Really?  Yeah, actually you may be right.  Some days this is my sad lot.  But it's not because I don't want to get dressed.  You see, between dishes, laundry, breakfast, beds, grumpies, and the start of the school day, there just aren't enough hours between 7 and 9.  And for you who awaken, proverb 31 like, at 4 in the morning, holy smokes, how do you not drink 2 gallons of coffee before 10 in the morning.  Just because I homeschool doesn't mean I don't need my beauty sleep.

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What they think:
We all dress like we got stuck in the 80's or 90's, jumpers and coolats (I really don't want to google that spelling, don't make me) are a fashion trend.  And the bigger the pleats, the closer to God

What they don't know:
We're determined, this lot of us, to raise a generation of Cool kids, ya'll.  Except for the days i'm in my pajamas, I'll probably be trying fashion trends (in the privacy of my own house) you've never even heard of.  And maybe even wearing a heel or two.  Don't stop at my house.  The garish makeup on my face may make you think you've got the wrong address.  There are sincerely some of us who actually would like to come off as culturally decent.  You'll find my daughter in her sequined hat or a slouchy beany pecking away at her school work in her skinny jeans and completely clashing shirt ensemble.  The boys will be wearing some awesome ripped denim and the latest $2.99 shirts from Old Navy, Children's Place, or the Gap.  And maybe even sporting a faux hauk.  (Or hawk.)

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What they think:
Our older kids are raising our younger kids.  And we've got some kind of militant buddy system in place.


What they don't know:
Someone else raising  my kids?  You're seriously joking, right?  I mean that's the reason I homeschool in the first place.  Nah.  Sure, the big kids tote the little ones around on a good day.  But there are some days when, for the love of pete, could I just please be the Mother in this house already?  You boss your sib one more time, and it's to your room little miss.  The pleasure of parenting without the parented looking over your shoulder every second of every day, just waiting to pounce on your imperfections, will seem like heaven to you.  It'll take all the grace of God and a well seasoned therapist to work through all that baggage someday.  Can't wait.

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What they think:
My family only eats whole grains, lean protein, fruits, and we never cease to munch on a black carrot, kohlrabi, kale leaf or artichoke heart.


What they don't know:
I will readily admit to wanting my family to eat as healthy as possible.  It's good for them, and it's good for me.  I mean, have you ever had to deal with a kid coming off a sugar high, and you've got no place to hide till the little tornado ceases to spin?  There are occasional, ok-rather often, days when I'd like to slap a twinkie, a licorice stick, some iced tea, and bologna on white bread into a lunch box and let a teacher deal with it.  But instead, I'll just cook up some mac and cheese, toss some chocolate milk and a straw at them and call it lunch.  Because I just made gluten free french toast, turkey sausage, and a green smoothie for them for breakfast, for crying out loud.

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What they think:
If they talk about their cool schools and awesome teachers and well socialized kids for long enough, they might convince me to join the ranks of normal civilization.


What they don't know:
Some of us homeschool out of conviction.  And ain't nobody, nohow, gonna change my mind. I am my own man, I abide by my laws, and I will never back down from all that is good and right.  Or some of us, do it cause we don't have options.  Whether it's finances, a bad school district, whatever...some of us would gladly cry "uncle" and be done.  But we plug away, and maybe we'll secretly admit (on a good day) that, yeah, this isn't so bad.  And boy howdy how we'd miss the little men and women if they'd be gone All the day long.  On second thought, what DO mothers who's kids are gone, do all day long?  Reruns of "All My Children"?  (Never mind, soap operas are for old ladies)

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What they think:
We all play an instrument and our lives interacting with each other are like one harmonious four part quartet.  Oh, and we all dress in matching outfits.

What they don't know:
If we could just make it out of our pajamas in the morning without a time out or an intervention of some kind, it'd be a miracle.  We always have a word or character trait of the month, you know, and since patience is our word, we will sit quietly without raising our voices.  Make polite conversation while mother flips pancakes, and ask if there would happen to be something helpful they could do for another sibling.  Oh, how I long to raise the perfect quartet of children.  Polished, brilliant, with every Godly character trait in the whole book of Proverbs oozing from their beings.  If only Adam hadn't eaten that apple and spoiled it for the rest of us.  Ah, the little buggers have a sin nature.  And the people we're most comfortable with is where it all comes out.  So believe me, we're dealing with a whole lot of sin from the moment we show our bed heads till the last argument over what song we sing at bedtime.  And why would we all dress the same?  Oh, yeah, we might get lost on the playground.  Or on the college campus when we partake of the extracurricular classes they offer while we're only in the third grade.

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What they think:
That dad is called "Father" and mom is "Mother" and we have very strict house rules about PDA's and Modest is Hottest.

What they don't know:
Yeah, I went there.  Let the gagging commence. (sister, you reading this?) Prudence, when it comes to my man, is not my strong suit. You probably already know that from this post.  I happen to think my kids are lucky to be able to watch us kiss, hug, and chase each other around the house.  I'll never apologize for that.  I'll also not apologize for the Victoria's Secret bag that made it's way into my house the other week.  Because I might homeschool and raise sheltered kids, but I will be hot when it comes to my man.  I'll also not apologize for teaching my kids about healthy sexuality and writing it off as a subject learned on their quarterly school reports.  All things in moderation, I do think this can be taken too far, too much education at too young an age.  But I don't think a complete head in the sand, ignorance is bliss approach got any homeschooler an A+ for purity when they're 20.

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What they think:
We listen to quiet, orchestra music.  Music that edifies the soul and the mind.  Soothing, classical.  Or maybe even some acapella.

What they don't know:
Maybe I should be more ashamed of this than I am.  But, yo, we crank it loud.  A little bit of rap, lots of worship, and Britt Nicole, Toby Mac, and this song are on repeat some days.  And we pretend to drop it like it's hot.  Our dance moves stink, but we always come out the other side a bit happier.

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What they think:
My kids vocabulary is beyond their age.  They look like nerds, talk like nerds, and only respond to adults.

What they don't know:
Respond to adults?  They heel and sit and shake on command.  You'd be so impressed.  Talk like small brains on a set of legs?  Yep.  Statistics show that, in college, my kids will whup your kids' tails.  Er, grades.  So, take that and smoke it in your pipe.

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What they think:
I just spend days on end writing blog posts.  And in my pajamas, of course. (Redundant, we've already been over that)

What they don't know:
Yep, you got me.  I just wasted most of a day writing this, cup of coffee and a smashing oatmeal/peanut butter/choc chunk cookie in hand.  My kids ran naked through the house whooping like war indians, the laundry runneth over the baskets, the dishes smell like yesterdays chili, and the mailman delivered a whopper doctor bill. (What that had to do with this, I have no idea.  Just a plug for the greatest health care in the world.  When they sink you with a $350 bill for 30 seconds of the docs time, someone is going down.)  My apologies for making my day look so much grander than yours ever could. 
    
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We're not keeping score here, ok?  I'm not in one corner of the ring throwing punches your way, and I pray you're not getting ready to throw one my direction either.  But isn't it funny how we have these unspoken limitations on each other and our "school" choices?  How about let's just not size each other up out of the corner of our eyes and just love the differences we've got.  And how our kids are different.  And let's meet for a play date next week.  Say, 10am, on a Wednesday.  Oh, that's right.  Your children are going to be in school. Oh, that creates a vacuum.  Well, Guess I'll be having a playdate with my own kids.  Or baking a dozen loaves of whole wheat bread, butchering 10 chickens, making my own soap, and knitting a new scarf, all while answering the latest question about the culture of Lappland, or explaining a diphthong (google that, why don't you).  No offense, ok?
*Laughter is good medicine.

JO