So this was our line-up for Jonathan's lessons yesterday, after we'd completed our Morning Time activities together with Abby and Joshua. See, this photo makes me happy, really happy, because I LOVE these books. And I love how much he loves (many of) them. Our day was fun. Of course, we try to fit it all into Joshua's naptime, and sometimes that works. And sometimes it doesn't.
I've had to sort through the Fables and identify only the ones where nothing bad happens to the characters (that's a limited selection, let me tell you), because he refuses to read them otherwise. :) He's loving Rudyard Kipling's Just So Stories, and we're both really enjoying the series of American history biographies by Jean Fritz. Jonathan fell off the couch laughing yesterday as we read about Patrick Henry's dramatics, and those of his audience. The second photo is Jonathan's request for documentation that he was winning the subtraction game. He did win, for the record. Some of these things we didn't complete, and some I slipped into he bedtime routine.
But I've got a pretty good list of things I'd like us to complete each day. In fact, I strongly suspect that as I learn and grow, I'll cull the list and further simplify our schedule. There's just so much I would like us to do. I started the year telling myself that school would be a bit consuming at first and take up evenings with planning, but that once we settled into a routine, there would be more margin in my time.
It was true. We're rolling. There was some tweaking to do. I scrapped History Plan A the first week of school and went with Plan B, which we're loving. Plan B is Story of the World (AUDIOBOOK version -- woohoo! It's wonderful.) And school is juuuuust getting to a place where we're ready to do more on autopilot.
But now I'm approaching a season that looks more intimidating. Dealing with a chronic migraine that has markedly worsened the past six weeks has made this season rough. Adding in a new autoimmune condition, that seems to be worsening rather than resolving, adds an element of the unknown, as well as additional appointments. After considering the situation and my health, we've decided to embark on a new diet.
And it looks intimidating, overwhelming. Every time I pick up the book I start to cry. David looks through the cookbook and is excited and fascinated by things like Stuffed Heart Roast (oh yes, they mean get a cow's heart, I have NO idea where, and cook it stuffed with... well, stuffed with stuff). His enthusiasm really helps. It does. But I'm not sure I have the creativity and the skills to deal with the moment at 11am when I realize I'm hungry and getting a migraine, the toddler's asleep and I'm trying to get through the math lesson, and if I can just grab some cheese and crackers we can keep rolling and my brain might not explode. That's apparently the point where I'm supposed to grab some plantains and turn them into crackers in my kitchen. See?... It makes me cry.
But today I also see the window for the motif of grace to enter again into our lives. This is very likely a season to identify which are the more essential elements of school to remain on the "to-do" list, and which will happen on a more fluid "when we can, if we get to it" basis. The process of identifying what stays and what slides on days and weeks where tensions are higher and time is shorter reveals our priorities. Limitations always do that, don't they?
See, I could go into this with new spreadsheets and schedules. I could assign the subjects we don't complete in the day to be done with Daddy in the evening, ensure they're completed on weekends, or resort to "educational apps," and look for opportunities for them to be completed more independently. And all of those will sometimes be helpful. But when I prioritize "getting it done" as my goal, well... that's what I am teaching. There is value in being responsible for the tasks given to us. But if instead our primary goals are the teaching of wisdom; teaching the skills of self-education; fostering a love -- no, a passion, for learning; developing children who can determine what they need or want to learn and how to do so; and... above all, my heart tells me, raising children who have an intimate understanding of Grace, such that they can readily receive it and readily give it. Well, then... getting phonics and history and geography complete, with our mapwork and our timeline and the history spine and biographies, and practice reading out-loud and poetry recitation and on and on ... those really are more the means than the end.
And so, as we make plans for how to foster my health and our family's health, I don't think we're going to be getting it all done. And we won't instead send them to school to get it all done there. We'll be prayerfully identifying the priorities and setting the pace, and letting the lesson of grace seep in deep this year. We may learn more anatomy than we would have otherwise if we're eating "offal," which is, from what I understand, eating parts of an animal that didn't previously seem like food. We may be learning fractions a little early if we're spending excessive time in the kitchen, and we may scrap the math manipulatives and use our veggies for addition and subtraction. And we may not complete all the books started, or even start everything that was on the list in August. But I think we'll be learning a lot this year.
I discovered this poem by Julia Carney while listening to Cindy Rollins online at the Circe Institute. I've copied the first half below. I am encouraged that consistency doesn't mean a rigid every-single-day schedule. As we return to a topic or a subject again and again, despite lapses or days or seasons that don't go right, we build so much with those little drop-by-drops.
Little drops of water,
little grains of sand,
make the mighty ocean
and the beauteous land.
And the little moments,
humble though they may be,
make the mighty ages
of eternity.
Little deeds of kindness,
little words of love,
make our earth an Eden,
like the heaven above.
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