Smrt Lernins

Today, I hurt myself homeschooling.

Yes, seriously.

Technically, I sustained my injury while doing some reorganizing of Captain Science’s binders and our mutual workspace. Unbeknownst to me, the Tank had taken a pair of scissors to the metal coil on the back of one of Captain Science’s creative writing notebooks, leaving the metal coil untucked, slightly sharpened, jagged, and serrated. I sorted through the grammar binder, cleaned up the table, was in the process of handing Captain Science the notebook so he could bring it up to his room.

He grabbed the notebook out of my hand more quickly than I had prepared for, so I didn’t release it fast enough. The sharp metal sliced across the meaty of the palm just below my left index finger (does that have a name? I think I used to know the palmistry term for it, but I’ve since forgotten) and across the bottom joint of my finger, leaving me with two deep, painful cuts. The pain was unexpected and shocking. I admit to some yelping and tears, though I think I managed to avoid dropping the F-bomb on my children, for which I believe I should be commended.

The worst part, really, is that the sudden, sharp pain triggered an anxiety attack, which I’ve spend my evening trying to tamp down and ignore. Smile like you mean it.

I now have a patchwork of different sized bandages and a wounded pride that I got hurt so badly on a freaking notebook. Homeschooling is very dangerous, y’all. Beware.

I think I’ve figured out the crux of Captain Science’s issues and it mostly comes down to the above statement. Captain Science always thinks he knows a better way to do things, and when his way isn’t actually better, he has a very difficult time accepting it. The roots of this are buried pretty deeply in his psyche, so I’m not sure how we’ll dig them out, if we even can.

I’ve seen a lot of chatter on the WTM forums lately about the difference between “gifted” and “just bright.” Several people insisted that giftedness comes down to “the way they think.” I am inclined to agree, because I’ve seen Captain Science’s brain working. He really does think differently and has a hard time relating to people who are more “inside the box” thinkers (or people who have difficulty getting the whole box of concepts immediately*). The upside is that it makes him a great abstract thinker and problem solver, when he applies his abilities confidently and diligently. The downside is that it has created an unwarranted sense of his own mental superiority, which manifests as the stubborn insistence that he can always, for every subject or activity, find a “better” way to do it. He’s also constantly on the search for shortcuts, even if those “shortcuts” end up requiring 10x the amount of work as just doing it the normal way.

We saw this a lot when he was little. When Officer Daddyman would teach him martial arts, he would usually respond with, “But I can show you a better way to [roll, stand, kick].” Eventually, he did have to acknowledge that, at five or six, he really didn’t have the knowledge to school the 4th degree black belt in martial arts, but before he could get to that point, there was a lot of headbutting and chest pounding (mostly on his part, as Daddyman isn’t generally going to dignify the young monkey’s attempt to show up the big gorilla).

We’re seeing it now with math, and today it proved to be the trigger for his absurd display of hissydom. He is perfectly competent in mathematics and math foundations, so the last two days, when he suddenly couldn’t do multiplication correctly, we knew something had to be up. Apparently, he decided he could develop a better (and more importantly, faster and easier) way to do multiplication. He would only do multiplication in his new “better” way, despite the fact that the answer came out wrong every single time. The more someone tried to demonstrate that his new method wasn’t working, the angrier he became, until suddenly, he went utterly nuclear. How dare we, the simple-minded parents of his great and hideous oppression, try to act like we knew better than he? How dare we say his way wasn’t hands down the single biggest mathematical innovation EVER in the history of the world?

I’m not exactly sure what to do about this. I’m glad he wants to try new methods, but insisting they’re the right or best ones, when they obviously aren’t, has got to stop. Captain Science is probably too aware of his intelligence, which was partially avoidable (too much praise from family and teachers, too involved in his own test scores during the grade skipping and gifted class testing process) and partially unavoidable (when you’re in a class environment, it’s really not hard to compare yourself to other children, and see that your capacity or performance is different from theirs). I do think that homeschooling will help somewhat in that respect, though — instead of being the gifted kid in a mainstream classroom with diverse ability levels, he’s one several. If Eclectic Girl’s math abilities don’t poke a little hole in his delusions of grandeur, then nothing will. I also hope that being with other highly intelligent children, working on higher-level work, will start encouraging him to rise to the challenge more, rather than finding short cuts.

I agree with Patchfire when she says an IQ of 300 doesn’t matter if all you do with it is sit around and play video games. “Gifted” may describe a certain, special way of thinking, but what does that really matter if the result is a smug attitude and the constant search for cheats and shortcuts? I was a “gifted” student, too, but by high school, I was cutting so many corners in order to put in as minimal effort as possible that I was performing at a significantly lower level than the “average” students in my classes. By college, I was making no effort at all, and I’d managed to functionally dumb myself down through sheer force of “couldn’t be bothered.” The brain is like any other muscle, and if you don’t exercise it to its full capacity, it starts losing that capacity and getting mushy. I don’t want that for Captain Science.

I’m happy for him to look for a better way to do things. I don’t want him thinking his way is automatically going to be better, simply by virtue of it being his way. I definitely don’t want him falling out with the red ass any time someone points out his way isn’t an improvement over the original way of doing things.

*When Captain Science was three, his preschool teacher told me about an incident in the classroom where his frustration with another classmate’s difficulty in mastering the colors came to a head. Nick had incorrectly identified something blue as green, prompting Captain Science to say, with great exasperation, “It’s blue, Nick. B-L-U-E, blue. Not blew like the wind. Blue like the color.” A warning sign of trouble to come?

Yes, we’re having another WTF Wednesday around these parts. Captain Science, after two wonderful weeks, has been on a slow decline this week, culminating in a full blown stomping, screaming fit. Yes, he’s been assessed for all those things you’d assess a child for when he is pitching a stomping, screaming fit (that was part of our barrage of testing before leaving public school). He doesn’t have any specific problem. He’s just throwing a hissy.

My theory is that we relaxed the prison-style homeschooling too quickly, because he was being so good and agreeable. We probably needed to continue to apply it for another two weeks beyond the improvement stage. Instead, we were too quick to relax and reward, and now Captain Science is back to having meltdowns. Gotta say, the kid is a master manipulator. I’m sure he’s just waiting for one of us to go try and empathize with him or attempt to understand why he’s acting like this.

Honestly, I don’t care why. I’m the adult. He is the child. I’m not going to be yanked around by a 9 year old with a bug up his butt. I’m done with sympathizing, empathizing, or in any way trying to explore his motivations. I do not give a rat’s patoot about his motivations. It’s behaviors that interest me, and his are going to change.

So, back we go to lockdown. We’re divesting him of his worldly toys and pleasure reading, too, in the interest of full blown attention to what needs to get done. We might be taking the door off the hinges again, as he’s been slamming it this week in his fits of tantrum. We aren’t scaling back any curricula, but we aren’t adding to it, and he might miss out on next week’s board game class if he can’t improve in the next six days. We’ll go to Patchfire’s house for science, then come straight home with no playtime.

At least Officer Daddyman was home to witness the sound and the fury. Also, I didn’t get even remotely upset about this magnificent display of jackassery (at least, not externally), so Captain Science didn’t accomplish getting a rise out of either of us. He is going to learn he can’t control us, but he had better damn well learn to control himself.

Ticked off mama is ticked off.

If you’ve ever wondered why I’m not a fan of unschooling, this pretty much sums up my concerns about what unschooling has the potential to become in the hands of someone who believes children innately have the foresight to know exactly what they need to know, and thus, makes no effort to adequately prepare her children for the future. A woman on the Mothering.com forums writes:

My children have been mostly unschooled which has meant engaged kids who are lovely people.. however they are at an age where they are looking to go to college (like the end of high school, kids here in the UK go at 16). Nearly all home-schooled kids want to go at 16 and mine are no different.
Their literacy is not great though. Spelling is difficult, punctuation and grammar need some work and they need to learn eg. how to write an essay. Most books with this in are aimed at quite young children. Does anyone know any books, websites etc. that we can use to get thier literacy improving?
We have the writing strands programme which is great but we need to work on the other bits of writing which aren’t covered in this.
Any advice?
TIA x

Yes, her children are “engaged, lovely people” who can’t read or write. This isn’t the first time she’s talked about her children’s functional illiteracy on the forums, or about her children’s struggles with math and other subjects, but she has taken no advice and implemented no measures consistently enough (or at all) to lead to any notable difference. When asked if tutoring or putting the children in school is an option, her response is:

School is not an option, they lead busy full happy lives and would not want to go.
Yes we have literacy struggles. I think the eldest 2 are dyslexic but can’t get help till college. We have tried various things, programmes and books. Mostly they type on keyboard which they prefer to writing and use spell-check. They have each just completed a qualification that is an exam equivalent but with no exam and they typed the stuff up. They don’t enjoy writing so I suppose it is a wait and see, carry on what we are doing and let college help them. Thanks for your replies
I was only asking if anyone had suggestions for books that may explain spelling rules/punctuation for older kids.

There is so much wrong with this picture. SO much. How has this mother’s brand of “unschooling” failed her children? Let me count the ways:

1. At least two of these children have a potential learning disability that their mother refuses to address, placing the responsibility for that on the college. Her children “can’t get help,” though I am sure they could if she were to enroll them in any sort of program.
2. Her children cannot read well, cannot use grammar, cannot spell, and do not know the basics of writing an essay, yet she believes all of this can be solved by a book that “explain[s] spelling rules/punctuation.” She also seems surprised that books on basic grammar and usage are all geared towards younger children.
3. Her children’s “busy lives” and “not want[ing] to go” to school apparently outweigh the fact that their mother has allowed them to reach their teen year without the basic abilities to read or write, yet she expects they will magically do well in college.
4. These children have apparently never been made to do work they do not enjoy, yet she expects they will waltz right in to college and be successful there.
5. These children have not been taught even the basics of writing, cannot read, cannot spell, cannot use grammar, and have not yet successfully passed an entrance exam, yet she expects they will waltz right into college and be successful there.
6. She believes that it is the job of the college to teach the children the basics of reading and writing that she has failed to teach them.
7. Her child, who didn’t even realize until age 14 that she would need to know these things, requested to learn them through a curriculum, and had her mother turn down that request because it would be “spoonfeeding her.”

I love how she mentions several times what delightful people her children are, as though that makes up for her complete parental failing to instill any form of academic education in her children. Being pleasant is great and all, but 16 is a bit late to be learning to read, and it’s certainly way too late to be addressing a learning disability like dyslexia. Her “engaged” and “lovely” children could have a successful career ahead of them at Chick-fil-A (which has delightfully pleasant servers). However, her daughter who does absolutely no math (outside of “money stuff”), cannot read well or write well, and who spends hours a day watching “Gossip Girl” and doing trampoline (according to this woman’s other posts) is not likely to flourish in college.

Sure, some of you will say, “Well, this lady is just one example of unschooling gone wrong. She’s hardly the rule!” Take a moment, if you will, to read some of the comments to that post (or to any posts in the unschooling forums on MDC) and you’ll find other unschoolers telling encouraging her in her gross negligence with little gems like, “If your daughter wants to go to college next year, it is up to her to make sure her writing skills are up to par. She can use you as a resource, but it is not your responsibility – it is hers,” “I’d make it HER responsibility to prepare for college- if she slacks off, the result is that she may have to wait longer to go,” “I think because our kids have choices and control over their lives, it’s unlikely that they’ll turn around and say something like, ‘You should have made me do xyz.’”

Yes, mom completely fails to teach her child anything, because the child doesn’t “want to.” Then, when that child is finally old enough to have that “oh shit!” moment and realize that perhaps a little learning might be necessary for a future, the mother is in no way obligated to help, nor is she culpable for the lack of education up to that point. The Unschooler Mantra (or “Radical Unschooler” Mantra, since all the unschoolers always say that what these people are doing isn’t “unschooling,” but “radical unschooling,” despite the fact the people actually doing it just call themselves unschoolers) — if they don’t choose to learn it, don’t make them learn it, and then take no responsibility that they didn’t learn it. Must be nice, being completely absolved of any responsibility or obligation to your children. Of course, it’s nearly impossible to play catch up for 10+ missed years of education in one or two years, but hey, let’s blame the kid!

As an aside, where did these unschoolers get the idea that reading alone will teach everything you need to know about proper grammar, spelling, and usage? Is it to make themselves feel better about the fact that their teenage daughter reading Twilight is the closest thing to an education she’s getting?

This week started out rough, but ended up productive.

Since winter break, Cpt. Science has been completely unwilling to do any work. Along with that, he’s been Bad Attitude Boy, smart mouthing and back talking and arguing. Things finally came to a head on Tuesday, when he pitched a shrieking, stomping tantrum at the park. Well, I don’t tolerate a tantrum from a nine year old, so we implemented what I like to call prison-style homeschooling: confinement to the house, most basic of subjects only (math, language arts, history), and lots of running if work isn’t completed or if there’s any back talk or rudeness. Captain Science ran an awful lot on Tuesday. He also missed out on science lab and wasn’t allowed to play with friends, visit Nana, or leave the house for anything but running.

Miraculously, he woke up on Wednesday, had a morning run, and was downright chipper. Not only did he finish his work in a timely manner, he did it with a glad heart, and the work was top notch! At the least sign of the return of the bad attitude, he was sent out to run four laps up and down the street. Each time, he came in with an even better attitude and work ethic. By today, he was zooming through his subjects with enthusiasm and determination, turning in top-notch work and using his best manners. He was rewarded with a short trip over to Nana’s house to play with his friends there, something he hasn’t been able to do during our week of prison-style homeschooling.

During three days of near-perfect homeschooling, Captain Science read about the fall of Rome and wrote a lovely essay about that, then made a great joke about part of Rome being attacked by birds, and becoming Turkey. He passed the bridge to chapter 15 in Life of Fred: Decimals and Percents in two tries, missing only two on the first try (most likely due to misreading his own handwriting in the middle of a problem) and only one on the second try (due to misreading “0″ as “6″ in the middle of a problem — time to work on handwriting again!). He read several chapters in Science: The Definitive Visual Guide, which we discussed. He did the last chapter in Vocabulary from Classical Roots that he will be doing, then passed the test on the previous four chapters. He also finished several sections in Writing Strands 3.

Next week, we toss Writing Strands, Vocabulary from Classical Roots, and Editor in Chief A1 in favor of the Michael Clay Thompson Town-level language arts curriculum. I’m so excited, and so is Captain Science.

Mostly, though, I’m excited that we’re finally back on track again!

Let’s talk about the weather or international disasters or politics. You know, something less painful.

Captain Science is…well, I’ll just call it “boundary testing.” I believe I mentioned that a little earlier this week. Of course, I made the huge mistake of commenting that he’d improved greatly by Wednesday, which of course means that by Wednesday afternoon, it had all gone to hell in a tightly-woven, decorative, but highly functional Longaberger hand basket*.

Sometimes, Captain Science is not the most forthright of children. He occasionally sneaks, cheats, and/or lies, especially if he’s trying to do something fun that requires polishing off a few chores or some work first. Along with being slow, slow, slow this week, he opted to do a little copying down the answers in Life of Fred and turning it in as his own work. Of course, because the answers to each section of Life of Fred are just right there, I can understand the temptation, but really, if you’re going to lie about having done the work, pick a problem where it’s not so obvious. Pal, I know you didn’t convert .875 to a fraction in your head that quickly.

Captain Science had been warned that lying would result in writing lines, so he got to start a page of lines that said, “I will not lie and I will not cheat.” That took him about fifteen times longer than it ought to have, pushing back even more work. Every task this week, with the exception of the first have of Wednesday and science on Thursday, has been like a long, slow tooth extraction. I’m pretty sure he’s accomplished a few chapters of Life of Fred, perhaps 11-14? He also managed to do a lesson of Editor in Chief and two Writing Strands sections. Before he goes to bed tonight, he’ll do a chapter of Vocabulary from Classical Roots. It’s not that the week has been educationally fruitless, it’s just been rather devoid of joy.

We’re trying some new things to get us back onto track, but it will take a couple of weeks to see how they pan out. Wish us luck and that week 21’s review is more positive than this week’s.

*The Nana collects these. She’s not really the collecting type, but she does love a basket, because “you can put things in baskets” and they are useful in the event of a disaster. The children all have Longaberger Easter baskets. I am not a Longaberger consultant or anything, but if you want to buy an expensive, but very nice, basket, Longaberger is the way to go.

If you have ever, ever taken even the slightest bit of advice from me in the past, I urge you to reconsider ever doing so in the future (Other than this piece of advice: don’t listen to me! Except for that thing I just wrote. Listen to that). I am a miserable failure at homeschooling and should never be asked for advice on any subject. Unsolicited advice from me should be summarily ignored. Move along. There’s nothing to see here.

Captain Science has decided to just not do his work. Not only is he not doing his work within the time limits proscribed by my color-coded schedule, he’s not doing his work within the time limits of the actual day. We have not yet integrated any of our new subjects into the schedule, because we can’t make it through the basic four subjects (math, language arts, history, and science). We have the first chapter of our Latin materials ready to go, and have not even begun to begin them. I have another poem ready for Captain Science to memorize, but I can’t imagine even trying to integrate that into our day right now. My big plans to start art have gone out the window.

Three and a half hours: That’s how long he spent completing one chapter of Life of Fred: Decimals and Percents. You may be asking (if you wouldn’t ask this, play along, because darlins, I am at the breaking point), was it too difficult? Am I pushing him too hard or thinking too highly of his abilities, thus presenting him with overly-challenging materials? Am I asking for too much work in too short a time? No to all of this! He just can’t be arsed to sit down and finish his work. He can’t be bothered to make a freaking effort, even the minimal amount it would take to answer a hand full of questions in Life of Fred.

Instead of the beautiful color-coded schedule, we’re implementing a simple black and white schedule with only four subjects, plus piano. No Latin. No typing. No memory work. No logic. Until the basic subjects are being completed within something resembling their allotted time, nothing extra will be on the agenda. Until all school work is being completed within school hours, no electronics will be enjoyed, including the new iPod Touch Captain Science received for Christmas.

He has the choice to do his work or not, but doesn’t have the option of doing anything else as an alternative. He can decide whether he wants to do his work in a timely manner, but he can’t decide to fill his time with anything other than the work. In other words, do it or don’t do it, kid, but until you do, that’s all you do — I am just plain tired of standing over your shoulder. Own it.

I don’t know if this is going to work or how long it will take if it does work. He’s probably going to be scarred for life. He is certainly not going to be making any forward movement in his subjects for a little while. At this point, however, I no longer care. It’s bread and water education until he starts showing a little bit of freaking effort.

A better homeschooler would motivate her child to learn. She’d probably throw out all this boring stuff and let him do FUN!!! things all day long to inspire a love of learning, and surely he can learn about decimals from helping me shop for groceries! A better homeschooler’s child probably wants to learn and doesn’t ever balk at it. He wouldn’t go through stages of boundary-testing to see if she’ll find a way to make him do the work. She would let him play Pet Society all day long and call it veterinary science, and he’d definitely like her a whole lot better than my kid likes me right now.

Don’t take any advice from me. Go take some from her. I’m doin’ it wrong.

Let’s just put this out there. Compared to other homeschoolers, you are woefully inadequate.

I’m not speaking to any specific “you,” because it would take too long to address each of you to whom this applies individually (as it applies universally), but to the general “you,” which also includes me*. You are a woefully inadequate homeschooler, and if you didn’t realize that, you haven’t talked to enough other homeshoolers. You may feel pretty good about your current course load or you may, like Earnest Mom here, always feel like you’re doing slightly less than you ought to be, but one good conversation (or forum thread) with a pack of other homeschoolers will make it clear to you: compared to them, you are doing it wrong.

I’m sure we all have our categories of homeschoolers towards whom we feel slightly superior academically. I confess, when I see people writing about either “unschooling” (especially “radical unschooling”) or using certain “Bible-centered curricula” from certain publishers, I have a brief moment of feeling our academics are rigorous enough by comparison. That is the crux of it, though, isn’t it? It’s always “by comparison.” Whenever I feel good by comparison, you can be sure that someone else is going to come along and by comparison make me feel like I’m trying to educate my children with three crayons, a wet dictionary, and a broken sliderule.

Part of it’s financial. Most of us aren’t Pioneer Woman, with our very own one-room school house and nigh limitless money for curricula and craft supplies. At the McLernins home, we’re raising three children on a police officer’s salary, with a slightly-below-the-American-average-but-still-too-high-for-comfort level of debt and student loans to pay off for a Smrt Mama who doesn’t work outside of the home. I will always wish I could afford more curricula and supplies than I have. I want to buy the best books and the workbooks and teacher’s guides that go with them. I want full color, full content, all the volumes. I want to buy books at least a semester, and preferably a year, ahead of time to better prepare. I would like to have the full scope and sequence in my possession so I could be sure that I’m covering everything I need to cover, not discovering in 11th grade (or the 11th hour) that we missed something crucial all because I didn’t have all the curricula together in one place at one time. It could happen, ok?

I often feel inadequate about my space. I will always long for a dedicated school room, not a school room/office that used to be a dining room. I want more storage and a better filing system, both of which are limited, not by Officer Daddyman’s ability to containerize (which is, let me tell you, simply magnificent), but by space**. Space is also constrained by money, because we can’t afford a bigger house or to build an extension on this one just for the sake of having a large school room. Filthy lucre. Dirty luck.

Then there’s the time issue. Even with a color-coded schedule, I can’t find the time to fit in everything some of these homeschoolers are doing, because (back to the money issue) we’d have to travel for some things (which takes away more time) and we have to eat, sleep, and teetee sometimes! I guess if I were willing to wake my children at 6 and have them working by 6:30, we would have time for music and art every day, for more regular field trips (no, wait! that pesky money thing again!). We do unexpectedly find ourselves with an entirely empty Tuesday, as our secular homeschool co-op went to pieces this morning, so I’m hoping to shove some art in there, along with creative writing and Patchfire’s class on the human brain, for a little mini co-op of sorts.

At the end of the day, all I have to do to feel like I’m failing miserably is to log on to the Well Trained Mind forums, especially the accelerated learner board, where if you’re doing two advanced math programs with your 8-year-old, they’re doing three more advanced programs with theirs, and where if your child is reading five grade levels ahead, theirs is reading Dostoevsky in Russian by choice, and where their children are all enrolled in five extra curriculars, put in seven hours a day in academics at home, and still have time to write their novels, finish their cross-stitched pillow cases for charity, and make inlaid mosaic murals from glass tiles they made themselves using self-taught glass-blowing techniques (which the do in their specially-designed-for-homeschooling school room, with built in shelves full of the entire set of curricula they’ll use between now and their early enrollment in college at 14).

I have two options: wallow in my feelings of relative inadequacy or decide that they’re just making it all up to cover for their own crushing sense of inadequacy. Who’s with me on option #2?

*In fact, it mostly means me, but if I say “you collectively,” I feel better about myself, because I have company.
**Next week’s “Ask a [Smrt] Homeschooler” question comes from Officer Daddyman, and is, “Are you going to keep all of this?” with a frantic gesture at the pile of last semester’s papers.

“Everyone homeschooler thinks her child is gifted.”

I haven’t even been homeschooling for a year, and I’ve already heard that statement more times than I can count. The perpetrator of the remark is usually a fellow homeschooler, though public/private schoolers sometimes say it, too. I’ve heard it said sarcastically, dismissively, bitterly, apologetically, patronizingly, and sometimes good-naturedly (with a little “bless their hearts” chuckle). I’ve seen it in blogs and on forums. Whether or not this is an attitude that the majority of people believe, it does seem to be fairly ubiquitous in the collective homeschooling mythos. I think there are a few different thoughts/intents behind the statement:

1. “My child isn’t gifted, so yours can’t be” (or the variation “My child isn’t gifted, and I’m resentful that yours is”).
2. “My child is gifted, but I’m afraid that if I say that, people will think I’m one of ‘those’ homeschooling moms.”
3. “I don’t understand the motivation to homeschool (or I fear that you think less of me because I don’t homeschool), so I’ll dismiss it as Special Snowflake Syndrome.”
4. “I’m tired of hearing bad behavior/developmental issues/general unpleasantness in a child rationalized by ‘he’s gifted!‘”

Now, I’m totally on board with that last one. I, too, am tired of all manner of behaviors being somehow justifiable because a child is supposedly gifted. Being smart doesn’t give you license to be a jackass. Quirky, yes. Eccentric, yes. But not a jackass. Having a gifted child doesn’t absolve you of your obligation to parent him, guide him, or correct him when he’s being a jackass. People are a lot more willing to accept your child’s giftedness if it isn’t wrapped in a box made of obnoxious jerk.

As for the others, well…

Here’s the thing: I do think there may be more gifted children among the homeschooling population than the mainstream school population, not because I think homeschooling makes your child gifted (I believe giftedness is inborn), but because I know there are many parents like me who have gifted children whom they have pulled from mainstream school because that particular set-up fails gifted students. Gifted students need to be taught differently than most public school teachers have been taught to teach. Homeschooling allows for working around some of the quirkier habits many highly gifted children share, while still challenging them to their fullest ability. For twice exceptional (2E) students, who are both gifted and have a learning problem, a homeschool environment can be even more beneficial. So yes, I think many, many parents have turned to homeschooling as a means of addressing the frustrations of the public school system (which was just not designed to teach the highest level of students).

In the homeschooling world, admitting you have a gifted child seems to be almost shameful. There’s the assumption by other that you’re making it up. If you don’t have “proof” of your child’s giftedness, you’re probably just another Special Snowflake mom with delusions of her own child’s grandeur. Of course, the parent of a truly gifted child can usually tell you as well as any test that something is different about her child. Gifted children don’t just work at a higher level, but have an ability to comprehend that is often far beyond their years. You can’t live with a child and not see that they grasp concepts most kids their age can’t.

Despite this, if you don’t have proof through testing, your child’s giftedness is in question in the homeschool community. As a result, parents write forum posts that include phrases like “my daughter isn’t gifted, just really bright…” and “my son is he’s working three grade levels ahead in all academic areas, but he’s not officially gifted…” Without proof of giftedness, they’re afraid to use the “g” word. If they did use it, the responses might vary from “why do you think your child is gifted?” to “a gifted child must use xyz curricula” to “you’re pushing your child TOO HARD!” Not only are you incapable of figuring out that your child is gifted, but on the off chance that he might be, you’re probably failing him academically, so it’s best to just keep your mouth shut about the whole thing (or just don’t mention your kid’s age when talking about curricula).

The first few times I heard “all homeschoolers think their child is gifted,” I said nothing. I wasn’t sure what to say. “My child is gifted” always sounded both defensive and like I’m exactly the kind of mom they’re talking about. Now, however, I’ve decided I can’t let that sleeping dog lie any longer. Captain Science is gifted — not “special snowflake gifted” or “working above grade level in a few areas gifted” like some people assume I mean, either. He knew upper and lower case letters and could write several of them at 18 months, could read at two, could follow (and often participate in) adult conversations — and understand that we’re an intelligent family (my brother, my parents, and I all tested into gifted classes when we were in school), so our conversations are often pretty fast-paced. We were told by his first school that they couldn’t challenge him enough because he already knew their whole curriculum through preK 4. He was skipped past kindergarten and into first grade by his second school. Before enrolling him in public school, we had him tested privately, and he tested an additional grade level ahead of his age (though we opted to not advance him a second year). In public school, he tested into gifted classes through both cognitive testing scores and subject knowledge testing scores. He’s gifted by any definition of the word — and still, I feel I have to justify my description of him as gifted (in fact, I’m doing that now, aren’t I?).

Let me tell you a little something about gifted children: A gifted child can still be awkward. He can still be as dorky as any kid. He can be totally disinterested in a subject. He can be perfectly willing to foist the work off on someone else. He can fail to grasp a concept on the first try (or he can care so little about the subject that he becomes purposefully obtuse). His sense of humor may seen absolutely bizarre to many people. He has areas of greater skill and natural talent, and areas where he’s ahead of grade level, but it’s still not his area where he flourishes. Just because the child in question does those things, it doesn’t mean s/he isn’t gifted.

Should I hide his light under a bushel because people believe identifying homeschooled children as gifted is de rigeur? Should I exhibit modesty topos on the Well Trained Mind forums for fear of people thinking I’ve misassessed my child’s abilities? Should I pander to the myth that gifted homeschoolers are a myth?

Personally, I’m inclined to tell them all to stuff it.

With Thanksgiving right around the corner, I though today might be a good idea to answer some questions about those parts of homeschooling for which I am most thankful (and, yes, least thankful).

Zelda asks, “What is your LEAST favorite thing about homeschooling? What is your MOST?”

Since one of the glories of homeschooling is that I have no obligation to do things “in order,” I’ll address my most favorite first.

I love many things about homeschooling: not having to get up at 6am, having control over the depth and breadth of the curricula, having the freedom to take our work with us, having the opportunity to take fun classes through the co-op, developing a wonderful new community of friends for both of us, and more. The thing I love most, however, is how much homeschooling has improved my relationship with Captain Science.

This was actually the area I was most concerned about before we started homeschooling. We butted heads over homework so often when he was in public school, and it led to a lot of tears, yelling, stomping around, and general frustration and unhappiness. When homeschooling first popped up on our radar as a possible solution for Captain Science’s school problems, family member questioned whether the parent-child relationship could really hold up to me being the primary instructor day in and day out.

Miracle of miracles, however, we are getting along better now than we ever have! I enjoy working with Captain Science, and I know he can see that. My positivity over the curricula and the educational experience rubs off on him, and his joie de vivre that comes from not having to sit in a boring classroom, going over repetitive work as a snail’s pace rubs off on me. This isn’t to say that every day is easy, joyful, and stress-free. It’s not (and I think I blog about that pretty frequently, too). Our overall attitude towards school and each other has changed, though. We like each other’s company more. We don’t have to go back and forth over homework that neither of us see as being worthwhile, but I feel obligated to make him do to keep him from failing a subject that he mastered two years ago. I’m proud of his hard work now. I’m excited to see him engaging with challenging subjects. I’m in love with his love of learning. I’m rediscovering what an amazing child I’ve brought into this world and seeing what a remarkable person he is growing up to become. Who wouldn’t love that?

Homeschooling is definitely more than just joy and good times, though. It has its own host of frustrations and difficulties. I’ve written before about the isolation that a classical, secular homeschooler can experience, my frustrations with religion being so pervasive in homeschool curricula, and some of the (stereo)types of homeschooling moms with whom I have come into contact (including the ones that are homeschooling their 11-month-olds). I dislike the lack of diversity without our homeschool community, having to always be the one who has to take care of everything, and those days where Captain Science dawdles and wastes everyone’s time.

Despite all that, however, the one thing I have to say I like least about homeschooling is no more school lunch. I didn’t go up and have lunch with Captain Science often in the previous year, because the temptation to bitchslap his teacher into next Tuesday was just too hard to resist, but when I did, I usually planned it carefully around what they were having. Seriously, I love school lunch. Those little Krystal-style hamburgers, the fluffy rolls, the practically-cardboard school pizza, and little cartons of orange-flavored pseudojuice — HEAVEN! Alas, we bid farewell to that world of giant cinnamon rolls, diced peaches in a tiny plastic container, salad dressing pumps the size of my torso, and the weirdly delicious meat-floating-in-gravy that I can only assume is supposed to be Salisbury steak. I’m pleased that Captain Science now gets a more nutritious meal every day for lunch, but I do miss those pastel-colored sectional lunch trays full of tasty, nutritionless, institutional faux food.