"The Experiment"

I am sitting here staring at the form.

Notice of Intent to Home School.  That form.

In my state, there is actually not much to it.  They pretty much just needed an address and a signature.  I was surprised.  I don't know what I was expecting, but hey, I just went through a domestic adoption so maybe that's why I was expecting a bit more paperwork where a child was concerned.

It is due to district office by Dec. 12th.  The end of the business day.  I kind of laughed reading that, picturing some poor woman suddenly realizing at 4:55 p.m. on Dec. 12th that she would like to up-end her life and homeschool, rushing madly to the district office, only to be locked out.  "Oh well," she says, "It wasn't meant to be. Tra la la."

I laugh because it feels like I have been making this decision for an eternity.  I guess it has only been three months since the question of homeschooling descended upon me like a firestorm at the Hunger Games.  (I just tried to think of a better metaphor but the book is sitting right there on my desk and it is all I could come up with.)  It's been three months of non-stop thinking and obsessing and questioning and praying and researching and yapping about homeschooling.

Anna, age 2

But anyone who knows me, know that I have been pondering homeschooling long before that.  This may sound ridiculous, but I remember rocking Anna when she was a baby.  I began thinking about sending her away to school someday and I started crying.  Granted I was breastfeeding and emotional and still probably had some wicked pregnancy hormones racing through my system... but those feelings are still there, deep down.  Rocking my daughter and wondering if she really had to leave home for eight hours a day, five days a week, in order to become a properly educated human being... and if that was really necessary in life...

So, here we are... seven years later.  We are going to see if it isn't necessary in life, after all.  Every time I start freaking out ("Good gracious, Ellen, between homeschooling and keeping the 16 month-old from eating pink Legos and doing freelance art, when are you even going to find time to poop by yourself in peace?"), I take a deep breath and tell myself, "This is an experiment."  I don't have to do it all.  I don't have to be perfect.  We are going to have bad days.  My house might be a disaster.  I might be a complete failure educating my daughter for the rest of this school year.  If I am, I will admit defeat and we will figure out what the tar we should do next.

But... (and here is where I barely dare whisper the possibility)... maybe... we might actually have fun?  Maybe I will... actually teach her something neat and interesting and new?  Maybe... we will love it?  I am not going there yet.  It is too scary and fraught with precarious expectations.

Right now, I am settling for...

You wanted me to try this, God.  And I'm gonna do it.  And I am crazy scared.  But let me call it an "experiment" so it won't hurt as bad if I fail, okay?  Okay.  Loveyoubye.  Amen.