Week 4: The Honeymoon Is Over

It started out well and good.  Monday morning.  We can do this week!  Here we go!

Then my friend texted me and reminded me not to take Noah to Mother's Day Out because it was Martin Luther King Jr. Day and all the schools were out.  Oh and do we want to come hang out for the morning with all the other out-of-school kiddos.  My willpower and schoolwork plans left me and desire for female conversation and coffee took over and we packed it up and left for much-appreciated community.

"Oh, we'll just finish up our schoolwork later this afternoon," thought I.

Fast forward to Friday, and we were still playing catch up from Monday's missed day.   Anna had a grumblish week, as it slowly dawned on her that homeschool really truly Mommy-isn't-kidding-around means reading, writing and math everyday.  I had the same grumblish week, as it slowly dawned on me that I really truly had left my former Hey-let's-all-drop-everything-and-spend-the-morning-drinking-coffee-at-Francine's-house life.

It isn't as if I can't still engage in spontaneous socialization every once in awhile.  But now if I do, there is catch-up work that must be done.   It also became obvious to me that the girl... well, she's always with me.  With me.  With me.  With me.  Me to the with.

Truly, on the whole, I have been surprised by how natural most of this homeschool life feels to me.  It feels so much more "normal" now to not have Anna away from home for 8 hours every day.  That was the way of life that felt odd in my bones.  But this week seemed to drive home the sacrifice aspect of our decision to homeschool.  It's going to be long and tedious and mundane and boring sometimes.  There are going to be other things I wish I was doing.  We are going to get off-track at times.  I am going to have to juggle ten things at once most days.  We are going to have some weeks where I am still having to reteach Monday's math on yet again on Friday because my child just cannot figure out why "half past six" is the same as 6:30.

(And then there is the crabby, rebellious part of me who wants to just say WHO CARES and throw the lesson in the trash.  I mean, who really says "half past six" anyway?  We are not living in Mary Poppins' merry ole England.  Really.  I mean, come on already.)