have a nightmare.
Yesterday, our schooling didn't go so great. None of us had any energy and it all just felt blah. Because of this, I started to doubt my ability to actually provide a decent education for my children. I started to doubt my methods, my curricula choices, whether we should use wood or mechanical pencils. It went bad really fast, I tell ya.
As I watched my young sons work on math, I started a list in my head of what I needed to do to get them in school. Should they both go, should one go one stay home, where would the school place them grade wise.
When BN came home, I worried over it with him and then I got online and started looking at "curriculum in a box" thinking there's no way I can miss anything if I use one of those.
And then we went to bed and my last thoughts to BN were along the lines of, "How could they miss anything - they live life." When I was in school, I would cram, cram, cram and then dump, dump, dump. Sure I picked up lots of trivial information and can perform math computations without a calculator, but what did I really learn that was so important from a textbook. And then I recounted folks who unschooled their kids who are now in college or already graduated and are now productive little American workers.
And then fell asleep and dreamed social services walked in my front door, only it was the door to a tiny apartment, not my house, that was in total disarray and it was the middle of the day and BN was taking a nap and I was showing the apartment to a realtor (why I don't know since apparently I didn't own it) and the clients were asking if the storage closet always smelled like food and I don't even know where the kids were because they weren't in my dream.
And then I woke up.
Today, Pete showed me a story he wrote and it was cute little story but there were spelling errors. It occurred to me then that we would use those words for spelling today instead of the next chapter in our spelling book and it also occurred to me that if Pete were in a class all day, he wouldn't have time to write that story, or the comics he's written, or the movie he's written and will work on producing this weekend. It also occurred to me that if he were in school, he'd get the same spelling words that everyone else crammed and dumped on a test and that the teacher, no matter how wonderful, would never be able to tailor her spelling test to my son.
And then I relaxed.