In Which I Become a Homeschooler

Yes, I am a homeschooler. I've always been open to the idea, but I never actually thought it would happen. But our little M hated kindergarten after just a few days (actually after just a few minutes, but that's another story . . .). I'm not sure why, exactly. She's given me several (spurious) reasons. For example, "I don't like playing on the little playground." "I wanted to put my fingers in my nose sometimes when it itched, but it was against the rules." "There were some people I didn't like in class." "I missed you, Mommy." (That one I believe.)

For my part, I was not impressed by what she was doing in class, so I told her she could stay home another year and do kindergarten at home. Which she readily did.

This is how homeschooling M works. She gets up in the morning and says, "I think I'll do XY and Z today," and then she proceeds to do so. Sometimes I give her a suggestion, like, "Why don't you make a Writers' Workshop book like E did in kindergarten," and then she spends the rest of the day doing it, with verve, panache, and all those other French attitudes.

Now, just take a look at today's (self-imposed) task, and understand with me why the public school couldn't keep up with her RPMs:

Oh, to be Three Again

Tooie turned three last week. His GrandMarmot sent him two dollars via the USPS. There was much rejoicing all around. He carried his two dollars around with him everywhere for a couple of days, set them down along with his birthday card next to him on the sidewalk, and patted them every now and then. He refused to let me put them in his pocket because he wanted to be holding them whenever possible.

Today we finally went out to spend his money, after a nasty round of the stomach flu for everyone. Before we left he was very worried because he didn't have any "round money" for an ice cream cone. So M traded him a dollar in change for one of the paper dollars, which she likes better, anyway. And off we went. We had a few stops to make before we finally made it to the thrift store. He found a little Fisher-Price airplane (not quite like the one I got him for his birthday, but good enough, and only 1/10th of the price I paid, even though mine was second-hand, too) for $1.50 and paid for it proudly. (He and M played dueling airplanes all afternoon.)

Then I had mentioned going to the grocery store for a $.50 ice cream cone afterwards, but, heaven help me, I had been running errands for three solid hours with three little kids, and I just couldn't do it. So, as he cried, I promised him that Daddy would take him on a special trip tonight to get his ice cream cone. Heh heh heh. Sorry, Papa. What I didn't know was that Daddy would have to stay at work until 6:30, after having arrived there around 6:30 a.m. But I couldn't postpone the poor child's joy any longer.

So after dinner we popped him into his pajamas and sent him on his way to get his ice cream. Marmot Dad reports that as Tooie was slowly falling asleep in the grocery store, and as his ice cream cone, paid for with his very own (round) money, kept dipping towards the floor, he announced, "Daddy, this . . . this . . . this . . . this was . . . this was . . . this was . . . a good day."

Thank you, GrandMarmot!