Something began last Monday that’s been creeping up on me for years. Something exciting but not as much as it is totally terrifying, that signals both the end of a season and the start of one. No, I didn’t turn 30 (been there, done that) or start a new diet. I began homeschooling my daughter.
If the last time you checked Norah was three-approaching-four, that is still true. But the older she gets the scarier it gets, so I took the plunge now. I also want time to build up habits and routines and make lots and lots of mistakes. This is my trial-and-error period. (After which time I will make no more mistakes or misjudgments. Ever.) It isn’t really too soon because, in England, children begin “nursery” at three, where they receive preschool instruction. There is free nursery at least three mornings a week for children three and over. And we live in England. But homeschooling isn’t really done here and, in fact, I haven’t any friends this side of the water who are currently doing it (of which I am aware).
The Facts That I Spur Myself On With: (1) We have really agonized over this decision and feel convinced that is the best one at this time in this place for our particular family circumstances. (2) I am technically an elementary school teacher by profession. (3) My mother did it for the first seven or eight years of my own education. (4) It is a blessing to be at home with my children. I want to make the most of the time. (5) I’ve been spinning ideas around in the back of my mind, reading Charlotte Mason, having conversations with everyone who will talk to me on this subject, and praying about it for a long time . . . and nothing can be postponed forever. It’s time to leap in the deep end. So I did.
What precisely am I doing? How have I set it up? If anyone is interested in this, I’ll be posting on that tomorrow.