An Apology Letter to my Former Students

To My Former Students, 

First let me say, I loved being your teacher, I loved being in the classroom with you, I loved watching your light bulbs spark and I loved watching you grow and learn. BUT...I am sorry for not seeing you in the right light. I am sorry for taking away precious time from your childhood and filling it with developmentally inappropriate expectations that were placed on me to place on you. I see now the importance of unstructured play and so much more. I said I knew it then, but I didn’t really.

I’m sorry I presented you with what you should be interested in rather than asking what you are interested in. I’m sorry I cut you off when you had one more question about our lesson because the clock said we must move on to the next subject. I’m sorry I didn’t take the time to answer all your questions. I told you there was no such thing as a silly question, but I wasn’t afforded the time or space to embrace your curiosity.

I am really sorry I had you monitoring your behavior in class in front of your peers. I hate that I asked you to move your clip to the red zone because you were talking when I was talking. I hate that you saw some friends get to choose from the prize bin every Friday while your points just didn’t add up yet again. I was taught this was supposed to help your behavior, but I see now it was only to help manage a classroom environment from erupting into inevitable chaos and place you in a mold that I shouldn’t have tried to make you fit into. 

I’m sorry I pulled you in from the playground in the middle of a game which I now see was a very important human skill being practiced. I’m sorry I tested your 5 year old brain on words I was told you were supposed to know before entering Kindergarten. I’m sorry I tested you on anything at all. Your intelligence shouldn’t have been measured by standards that an "expert" somewhere decided must be a baseline for children your age. You are an individual and should be treated as such. 

I’m sorry I made you sit still behind a desk or in a spot on the rug and silently walk down the hallway with your hands glued to your sides when your body yearned for movement and sensory input.

I’m sorry I pushed you to perfect your handwriting when I know now that squishing in the mud or building tiny fairy houses are far better ways to develop your fine motor skills. 

I’m sorry I urged you to color inside the lines. Maybe there will be a time when you must be inside the lines, but that time isn’t when you’re six years old. I wish I would have encouraged you to cultivate your shape and not fit into a box I needed to check.

I’m sorry I made you stay inside when it was raining. Outside time is so important, and we shouldn’t have missed out on all its benefits just because it was wet and somebody in charge somewhere decided it would be too much to deal with wet children in a dry classroom.

I’m sorry I snapped you out of a daydream while you were twirling in your pretty new dress, to bring you to a math lesson. Your daydreams are important. 

I’m sorry I simply did what I was told without questioning, modeling for you to do the same. 

I am sorry I didn’t know what I didn’t know and I’m sorry I didn’t fight for you.  My promise to you is that I take all the things I am apologizing for and make them right with all the children I am lucky enough to teach without using my degree and certification in teaching. It’s been a lot so far, including my own children, and I hope I am lucky enough that there will be many more. And I hope that with each child I encourage to be free to learn in their own way, that a piece of you will shine in them. The piece of you that had to be dimmed or trimmed, pulled or twisted, stretched or flattened to fit into a specific space. Those pieces I am sorry I didn’t let shine, I hope they shine bright enough in the world so more people see that those pieces are the best kind. The colorful, messy, creative, wrinkled, thoughtful, imaginative, jumbled, clever, unruly and beautiful pieces…those are what matter. And I’m sorry I didn’t see that sooner.

Sincerely, 

Your Teacher Who Learned Better After Leaving the Classroom

When a Book Just Hits...

So the kids and I read this book for the first time a few nights ago and I almost couldn't make it through. Okay, that sounds dramatic and I didn't actually cry but I got all the feels. It actually felt a bit like an out of body experience (ah ha! There's the drama;) But let me tell you why it pulled at my heartstrings big time and why I'm so thrilled it exists. 

For someone who has struggled with mental health issues for what feels like my entire life, to have a children's book connect this way is really special. 

I remember feeling the confusion and frustration of being depressed when seemingly nothing outside of my own brain was contributing to my unhappiness. I had friends, an awesome family, sports, singing, writing and all sorts of outlets I pursued and enjoyed. But I remember this dark mist surrounding me just blocking out the pure feeling of happiness. I often lived in this mist, unable to figure out what it was or how to get out of or through it. I would smile, I would participate, I would chat with friends, always playing the part of a regular me, but inside always wondering what and who that "me" was and what was wrong that I couldn't fully feel or embrace the happiness others seemed to. 

"Nimbus didn't know why she couldn't be sunny all the time." 

I don't think anyone can truly be happy ALL the time, but a chemical imbalance in your brain is different than just feeling sad. And this book, written for kids, put it out there so simply. It was done so beautifully that it left me slowly pouring over each word, holding my breath while turning the page, wondering how this author could really be speaking to my soul.  

And in such a short and sweet way. Simple enough for kids to understand, but deep enough for me to need to catch my breath after reading. I wish I had written this book myself. Nimbus tries all she can to push the cloud away, bury it, ignore it, everything I tried to do to my misty depression. She got by doing that well enough, until she didn't. Until it grew too big and exploded, allowing her to basically have a breakdown in front of all her friends that left her running away crying. 

But then she faced her cloud, she got to know it, she asked it questions, she interacted with it. She FELT her feelings. She decided she was ready to share her cloud, but who with? That's when her best friend showed back up, he'd been looking for her, finally found her and allowed and encouraged her to open up. He listened, he cared, he didn't judge. All things I try to teach my kids to do as a friend. And all things this book reinforced for them. 

Nimbus shares her worry with her friend and in doing so finds the courage to share her true self with everyone, finally feeling it's okay to not be sunny all the time.

Such a touching little message and one that I am so glad I got to share with my kids through a children's book. And one that I'm glad is out there in the world for all kids, so they know it's normal and okay to feel their feelings. And that there are friends out there who not only allow other people to share their clouds, but to embrace them, help carry their cloud along and sometimes even feel brave enough to share they have their own cloud, too.

I Love You More Again

 

I wrote this poem for a poetry contest (spoiler alert, I did not win🙃) last summer. On the eve of my oldest mini human turning one whole decade, I thought it might be nice to share❤️ The one who made me a mom, the most special and amazing thing I ever wished to be. The magic of being a mother is ever evolving.

I Love You More Again

Mother. 

Child. 

We are on this journey together, experiencing life for the first time. 

You’ve never seen the world,

I rediscover through your eyes, I show you what I know. 

But I’ve never seen the world like this. 

It’s brighter, more exciting, scarier, more beautiful. 

You learn to walk and I learn to watch. 

You learn to speak and I learn to listen. 

You grow, I gape. 

You learn to lead and I learn to let go. 

A breath, a blink, a moment, a lifetime.

Childhood fleets, motherhood lasts.

Everything changes but nothing changes at all.

I continue to repeat “I love you more.” 

More than when I found out about you.

More than when I met you.

More than your first smile sparkling up at me.

I surprise even myself, I love you more again.

I picture us 

together in what’s ahead,

still breathing, still blinking, still learning.

Then you, living new again; watching, listening, gaping. 

A new phase, an exquisite beauty we get to share together once more. 

I’m not surprised this time, 

I love you more again.

The Magic of Pratt: An Ode to Our Fave Place

For Christmas this year, my mini collaborators, editors and fact checkers and I wrote a poetry series for their nature school teachers. We tried to capture the magic of this place during all seasons, all the people, places, animals and education they receive there. While some of the rhymes are a stretch, and the flow can be rocky in spots (see what I did there??) we hope the sentiment is clear:)

The Magic of Pratt

We’ve all heard it said, Pratt’s a magical place

but what makes it so, more than any old space?

The people, for one, are unlike any other

and the land is there just waiting to be discovered.

A classroom without walls? But what will they learn?

Creativity, problem solving, physics, the life cycle of a worm!

Build an intricate fairy house with tiny twigs,

sit on a log, imagine you’re driving a big rig!

What’s that you say?

It’s all “just play?”

The tiny buildings and big ways to find thrills,

all develop fine and gross motor skills.

Emotional regulation, spatial awareness, stress reduction,

physical and mental well-being, the importance of collaboration.

If they’re wondering something, they figure it out.

Facilitating learning opportunities, what Pratt’s all about.

Spark a flame, not just of fire, but learning

solving the problem of most children’s yearning;

to be heard, listened to and understood.

Only Pratt people make something this good. 

In nature, neurons are connecting all over the place!

There isn’t much offered for kids where all this is the case. 

A childhood as smooth as tumbled river glass,

but open to the bumps and skinned knees full of grass

teaches the ways of the world

to children whose worries can unfurl

all because of one small thing

and the great amount of joy it brings.

The magic of Pratt is in Diane, Dave and Haley,

Sara and Jessica, Adam and Melanie. 

The kids get to embody their spirits

with an education they’re lucky more than just fits. 

It happens seamlessly and with lots of love,

Earth, soul and Pratt are what life is made of. 

Seasons at Pratt 

The newly green leaves rustling under the willow

welcome spring as goldenrod sprouts in the meadow. 

A time when not just the fields are in bloom,

children flourish too, if you just give them room. 

Room is one thing Pratt has and it’s teachers create,

helping children learn, grow and feel safe.

A hot summer day takes you to Gold Rush,

when you wade in, relieved by the river’s cool touch.

Then, you watch vibrant leaves fall with the breeze,

as deep breaths with your buddies fill you with relaxation and ease.

Below your boots, the brown leaves crunch

while the squirrels scatter, gather and munch.

The weather turns colder and the hill’s covered in snow

until giggles and screams break the silence of the fresh fallen glow.

With a Pratt education, there’s never a time to NOT be outside,

Pratt kids boot skate, puddle jump, sun bask and mud squish with pride.

What is it about Pratt?

It’s the sticks and rocks and mud,

the beavers damming and causing a flood.

It’s Eleanor’s excited bray

when gaggles of children come running her way.

It’s Pancake and Rosie plotting their hunt

to steal some lunches and pull off quite the stunt.

It’s catching frogs by the pond,

or carving sticks into wands.

It’s hiking past Willow to get to Corner Spot

or hiding in the phragmites when the sun is too hot. 

Some days it’s up to the top of the mountain

and watching the creeks flow like a fountain.  

It’s water rushing under the log along mermaid beach

where you have to be careful or your crocs might sail just out of reach.

It’s using fluffy duffys as they learn to spark,

taking precise aim at archery in hopes of hitting the mark.

It’s kids not wanting to leave at pickup,

climbing just one more time to fill up their cup.

Add this all together and what do we find?

A magic childhood that stays in their mind.

And the minds of all the Pratt lives that are touched

spread the magic of this place that we all love so much.

Life of a Pratt Parent

14 pair of extra clothes, well stocked in the car,

5,000 pieces of river glass tucked inside a jar.

Rocks and sticks and stones are everywhere;

pockets, dryers, in a bed isn’t even that rare!

Stains and mud on all the things  

are simple reminders of the joy Pratt brings.

Squishy squashy with each step,

excited to see their grownup

and show them the waterfall coming out of their boots

sometimes with pebbles or knotweed chutes.

Hauling that coveted branch across the street

to be brought home to a new stick family to meet,

adding to the corner of the garage pile,

laid out all together would cover more than a mile.

Collections of nature welcome, no matter what- 

even boulders weighing down backpacks- no ifs ands or buts. 

Being encouraged, “eat an autumn olive berry!”

puckering your way through, a little bit wary.

Oh, the things they know and the things they bring home

even the stories of Roger the gnome

hold a special place in all of our hearts,

thankful for the wisdom Pratt imparts.

Take off your glasses, it doesn’t matter, 

Everything is rose colored as long as Pratt people gather.

Differentiated Instruction

Differentiation: the process of tailoring lessons to meet each student's individual interests, strengths, and needs.  

Homeschooling: see above

It often surprises people that there aren’t many things I can take from my time as a teacher that have helped in our homeschool journey. So, I’m here to share one takeaway from my time in grad school and my experience in the classroom that has helped develop me as a homeschool mom, and that is the process of differentiating instruction. Last week put a spotlight on that in the most beautiful way. This semester in our co op, I’ve been teaching a building class for Charlie’s age group. These little engineers blow my mind every week, and the moments of planned and on-the-fly differentiating happen weekly as well. But recently we had actual building kits. Like hammer, nails, screws, wood glue building sets. With step by step instructions. I was a little wary of how it might go with my little buddies who don’t love directions like that. 

Children inherently think outside the box. Until and unless they’re told not to. The freedom in homeschooling allows for my kids and their friends who I get to teach, is that there isn’t really anyone telling them not to think outside that box. They're actually encouraged to follow their outside-the-box thinking. And let me tell you, it is so very cool to see where it takes them! And while there is a time and place for following stringent directions, my class full of 5-7 year olds isn’t one of them. 

So let me paint you the picture;

After covering all the safety measures of children using hammers, nails and screwdrivers, the kids were ready to open their kits and begin building. In my mind, I thought we would all do the first step together, then move onto the next, and so on. (Take note-I used to teach a classroom full of public school children…following directions to a T was necessary, important and praised.) 

What unfolded in my classroom that morning was certainly not what my holding-on-for-dear-life-teacher-brain had envisioned. Sure, there were a few kids who wanted to follow the steps in order and sought the reassurance they were doing it right and ready to move to the next step. But then there were the ones who didn’t. My son being one of them. He moved himself to an empty table, laid out all the materials in front of him and began putting things together simply because they looked like they should go together. First, I panicked and was a bit annoyed with him, if I'm being honest. They were making binoculars and if he didn’t put it together correctly it wouldn’t work. Then I saw his determination to simply complete a task, just build. 

He had the picture and word directions in front of him but barely glanced at them, so I let him be (after one minor correction of showing that the reason what he was doing wasn’t working was because he was using a screw instead of a nail.) He didn’t want to hear it from me, so I walked away only to glance over my shoulder to see him hammering a nail where he was previously trying to drive in a screw.

Another one of my kiddos asked if he could go on building without waiting for everyone to get to the next step, to which I said of course. This kid was actually looking at the pictures and interpreting them himself. The curve of his lens was backwards and one of the wood pieces was upside down, but he worked diligently. And yet another who was trying very hard to “keep up” until I told him that everyone was going at their own pace and he could too, and that if he needed any help, I was there for him. I saw him relax after that and begin to do his own thing until he came across a problem which he solved himself. The table was shaking from his peers hammering and he couldn’t align the nail properly which was frustrating him. So he took his things and moved to an empty table and completed his next few steps there. 

Meanwhile, back in Charlie land, a complete set was built. Were there pieces facing the “wrong” direction? Yes. Was each piece of wood perfectly aligned with its partner? Nope. But did I have a kid beaming at me with a finished product that he made all by himself? Yes. Yes, I did. And it made me so proud watching these kids figure this all out. Each had a set of binoculars that they were so proud to have built. Were these binoculars going to help them truly see things far away? Doubtful. And my students (which I don't really like to call them, because I see myself as more of a facilitator than a teacher and them more as collaborators than students...but that's another blog post) helped me to see that didn’t matter. These kids are 5, 6 and 7 years old. There will be a time they’ll need to follow the directions closely in order to have a working end product. But they helped me to see I am solely laying the foundation for those future instances.

 

The week prior to this lesson, my kids and I read a book about the man who created the first balloons for the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade (Tony Sarg, look him up, it’s pretty cool) and what he was like as a child. When he was six years old, his dad gave him a chore to feed the chickens at 6:00 every morning. Little Tony didn’t want to get out of bed at 6 am so he rigged up a pulley system that went from his bedroom window to the door of the chicken coop. He put the food out in the evening before he went to sleep and closed the chickens in the coop. When his alarm went off at 6 am, he sat up in bed, pulled the string from his bedroom window, opening the chicken coop door and letting all the chickens out to eat the feed he left the night before. Without ever leaving the warmth of his bed.

This made us think; most of the books we’ve read about famous inventors, scientists and engineers, all tell a similar story of their younger selves. Thomas Edison, the Wright Brothers, Albert Einstein…all “different” kids who didn't do things the way society (and/or their teachers) said they should. They tinkered and played and made things work in ways people didn’t think they could. Imagine if these children stopped questioning, wondering, tinkering and playing in a way that made sense to them. Their inventions were rarely, if ever, perfect the first time or two, or three, or more! But they kept pushing forward, trying in a different way, skipping over a few steps or adding in their own. But they created the light bulb, an airplane and the freaking theory of relativity! Maybe I should have seen what would happen if I didn't point out to Charlie to use a nail instead of a screw! 

Anyhow, my point is if we are meant to educate our children, why can’t we do that in a way that is most beneficial for them? I used to love coming up with ways to differentiate in my classroom; something for the kids who needed a challenge, something for the kids who needed a little extra time or help. And now? All we do is differentiated instruction! I love that I just continue to recognize more and more ways that homeschooling is right for us. Their world is open, their education is endless and their drive and passion to learn is infinite. And me? I'm just lucky to be part of it.

Filling Back Up

I remember reading an article early on in my parenting about a mom who asked for a night in a hotel for Mother’s Day. I also remember my reaction to that article and that request. I thought it was strange, to put it kindly. I waited my whole life to be a mom, I loved being a mom and I couldn’t imagine requesting to not only have a specific planned time away from my child, but on Mother’s Day of all times! I’m not proud to admit it, but I definitely judged the mom featured in the article. 

Cut to me, sitting in a hotel room writing this, a number of years later. It’s not Mother’s Day, but a random Tuesday where I have chosen to take time for me. It still even makes me uncomfortable to say out loud and the fear of being judged is there too. What I needed to learn was that while I haven’t ever felt like I lost myself in parenting, I have lost something. My ability to take care of myself. I published a whole piece once about how I actually found myself in motherhood, but it doesn’t mean I don’t need to replenish in order to function at my best. My best as a mom, a wife, a daughter, a sister, and a friend. 

So, real talk coming in here- the last month or so was hard. My mental health was not okay. On top of being bipolar and suffering from often crippling anxiety, I began feeling like I was drowning. I began seeing a version of myself that disappointed me, made me feel weak, and honestly, scared me. I am a good mom. Like, a really good one. But I wasn’t seeing that mom in myself. I enjoy exploring outdoors with my kids, doing projects and crafts, reading hundreds of books, answering the why’s and working together to find the answers to the ones I don’t know. I enjoy the parts of motherhood some find mundane, like packing lunches and sudsing up a mini human’s little blonde head. I love the hard parts of parenting because they challenge me and make me better. But recently, I got lost. The projects and crafts were more of a chore, I would set them up to paint or play with clay solely so I could sit on the couch and do nothing. I’d read books but wasn’t feeling the joy of watching their eyes light up with wonderment at each page. The questions became incessant and annoying rather than the usual awesome opportunity to learn together. Packing lunches and other mom duties I’ve grown to love became endless chores I slugged my way through.

And on top of all of those changes, I found my patience thin and my monster coming out far more often than I care to admit. I would yell, snap and scream at things I would normally be able to either handle calmly or walk away from to catch my breath for a minute. I worked hard in the early years of toddlerhood, then mother of two-hood to research the psychology of children, the psychology of positive parenting. I was good at it. But recently? I lost all those tools and succumbed to yelling, threatening and not so positive behaviors. I don’t mean I was like this ALL the time. I just found my reactions were bigger and angrier than usual more than I would have liked. But that means all my kids saw was inconsistency. Mommy was kind, gentle and helpful when I spilled something this morning, and now she is freaking out and yelling when I spilled something tonight. 

I saw it in their reactions. When one would have some sort of accident; spill something, break something, get paint on something, etc., they’d immediately say “sorry mommy! I’m sorry! It was an accident!” and my heart would crumble because I knew what was making them react like that. 

My normal response to those types of situations? “That’s okay, what can we do to fix it?” Get a paper towel, a wipe, some glue or tape, etc. then we fix the problem together. But the inconsistency in my parenting was not just killing me, it was hurting and confusing them. Am I a perfect positive parent at all times normally? No. Gosh, no. But my reactions and general attitude sucked for a bit recently. Sucked bad. And it’s because I was burnt out. I am a stay at home and homeschooling mom. I do everything with and for my kids. And I love that I am able to live life like this. I get to watch them learn and grow and communicate, make mistakes, and navigate their way through life. I am here for it all. And happy to be so. But it also means that I lost myself in giving. Physically and emotionally completely depleted and drained. Drained and numb. My inconsistency and terrible attitude, quick temper, irritability, all came from being empty. So empty I felt like I was a shell of the person I know myself to be. 

So, here I am in a hotel. By myself. Filling back up so I can get back to the version of me I love. The mom who is caring, understanding, open and healthy. The friend who is there when you need her, the wife who doesn’t walk past her husband without pausing for a kiss because her mind is reeling with the thousand things she needs to get done. I know I bring a lot of my stress on myself. I want my kids to have the best, I want to be there for them, I want to provide opportunities for them to thrive. I am in constant GO mode. I’m currently working on how to ensure I don’t fall below empty again. I need to rely on others and not feel like I am putting someone out, I need to accept help when it’s offered and I need to stop feeling selfish or guilty for taking time for myself. I’m journaling again, I’m setting healthy boundaries for myself and I am working on being more mindful of how I’m feeling so I don’t get to a place where I just want to sit on the couch and scroll mindlessly on my phone just to go blank for a few minutes. 

I am a work in progress and it shows by the fact that I am sitting here writing this on a trip away from my family just for me when I hardcore judged that mom in the article years ago for doing the same thing. And I am sending an apology to that mom for being a judgy jerk and doubting her choices. Good for her for knowing what she needs, acknowledging her feelings and making time to take care of herself. Now it’s my turn.

Unschooling? No Way! Well...Actually...

No curriculum. No workbooks. No set time for instruction. Three statements and ideas that were fairly anxiety inducing a mere two years ago. Now? No curriculum. Workbooks left on a shelf with arts and crafts. Instruction all day everyday. 

What changed? I followed my heart and stopped listening to my head (kind of...) When I first heard of unschooling (loosely defined as an informal way of learning/educating, which encourages learner-chosen activities as the main-and often only- way to learn), I scoffed and knew that would never be for us. Upon entry into our first full year of homeschooling, I purchased a few different curricula, transformed a room in our house into a classroom, complete with parts of speech posters, sight word cards and math equations splayed across the walls. An entire bookshelf was dedicated to schoolwork; workbooks, worksheets divided into color coded folders, a teacher planner, a kid-friendly calendar, highlighters, crayons, markers, pencils, erasers, glue, scissors, mini whiteboards and notebooks. One of my favorite parts of teaching, after all, was setting up the classroom and organizing all the things. I was ready.

Ready for what? To re create my public school classroom in my home. Ready to teach my first grader all the things I knew she needed to know by the end of first grade. Ready to meet all the standards set forth by the state for my then six year old. And ready to do it all in a timely manner, just as I had done in my classroom over the years. 

But I wasn't teaching in a classroom and I wasn't teaching 20+ students. I had one individual who learns best in one way in some areas and best in another way in other areas. I got to know this individual. I watched her thrive, I watched her struggle, I watched her enjoy having mom as a teacher and hate having mom as a teacher. I don't know when it changed, it was gradual I guess. I began noticing the moments she loved having mom as a teacher were the natural moments we would learn together or I could share information with her without sitting her down and directly and purposefully teaching her a lesson. 

We spent less and less time in the "classroom" and more and more time reading in front of the fire, googling newfound interests in the kitchen, poring over books at the library, observing a robin's nest from start of building to fledglings leaving the nest, taking our workbooks to park benches and beach picnic tables, spending more time at those places while leaving the workbooks in the car...then at home...then just about forgotten entirely. 

The nagging voice in my head said, "she needs more instruction! She needs to know how to write multiple paragraph stories with correct spelling! She needs to learn mathematical operations and algebraic thinking!" The voice was loud. The voice was my upbringing in public education, my time teaching in public and private schools, it was my societal knowledge of what's expected, it was my Master's Degree in Elementary Education.

I acknowledged the voice for a while. I let it make me feel guilty every time we went for a hike, played at the beach or spent the morning painting instead of sitting down and doing lessons. But then I started leaning into her interests. In public school I would teach a unit to the class and at the end of the unit we were finished. Students who had more questions or a burning interest to delve further into a subject (i.e. the solar system, moon phases, non fiction books, fairy tales, poetry, etc.) were told they would have to do that on their own time. I wasn't afforded the time as an educator to do anything but move onto what was next on the list of standards we needed to complete in 180 days.

Now? Now I had a child interested in dog clicker training because a character in a book we read was helping her aunt train dogs. So we went to the library and checked out every book we could find about dog clicker training; the psychology behind it, how it works, what breeds it works best with, how and where to begin. We watched videos of professional dog trainers. And finally, we purchased a clicker and she began proudly and effectively clicker training our pup.

I found myself making more and more time and more and more space to follow these interests. She wanted to start a business, so she took what she learned in a Sunday school service project and began making dog toys. Then she added cat toys. Then she applied to be part of a children's entrepreneur fair. She prepped for weeks, learned about business models, advertising, start up costs and investors. Not to mention the time she spent actually making the products. Then, the day of the fair came, she greeted customers, did the math to add up their purchase totals, made change for them, wrapped up the product and handed it with a smile and "thank you!" She made some money, won an award, walked away with only a few pet toys left in her inventory and beaming with pride.

This is all real life experience. We were far from workbooks and curriculum, yet she was learning SO much. So after months of denying it myself, I finally admitted out loud that we are unschooling. All we do is informal, interest-led learning. The nagging voice is still there, (sometimes still making me wince when I say "we unschool") it yells things like "what about her spelling and handwriting? what about her math skills? have you given her a DRA lately?" 

The less I pushed curriculum and standard based lessons, the more she did on her own. She came out of her room one day and excitedly told me she was on chapter 6 of a book a friend gave her. I said, "chapter 6 of what?" And lo and behold she was reading a full blown chapter book. No pictures, just text (the text she would tell me when sitting to read together was "too long, too many words, you read that part.") I asked her to tell me about it and she gave a full synopsis, with character names, setting and plot lines. Mom's mind blown. Another time? She pulled an old workbook off the shelf and asked me to make a point system for each page completed to earn enough points to get a new, highly coveted stuffed animal. She would wake up, go straight to the kitchen table and work independently for more than half an hour. She felt pride in her work, would ask for help as needed, and on she would go. She earned that stuffed animal in less than 48 hours. 

Education is happening here. It may not (no...it definitely doesn't) follow the guidelines or the common core standards I was taught in grad school or during my time in the actual profession of teaching. But it's happening in an organic way that means something to her. And what does that mean? She loves to learn. She's learned how to learn. And she remembers everything because SHE chose to learn it.

Does this work for everyone? No. Heck, I was adamant it would never work for me, but here we are. If things change at some point, we'll change our method of homeschooling. Because the biggest lesson I've learned as a homeschool mom is that it is an everchanging and ever evolving way to educate and way to learn. And my biggest mantra as a parent has always been "do what works until it doesn't work anymore, then find something else that does." 

And that nagging voice? It's definitely still there...not as loud, and I am able to quiet it by ensuring we do real world things that I know she will actually need to know. When she wants to write and can't spell something, she asks and I give a snippet of a phonics lesson while I cook dinner and she writes new song lyrics at the kitchen table. When we go to the grocery store we discuss estimation, rounding up and down, addition, multiplication and other need-to-know math concepts. While we also discuss life lessons, like how to pack a grocery bag with heavier things on the bottom and lighter things like bread on top so it doesn't get smushed. 

And while I would like to say that I have come to admire and stand firm in our way of home educating solely from within myself, I admit one big reason I am able to quiet the nags is because I had another homeschool mom point something out to me. It was an ah-ha moment I didn't know I needed. Something I'm sure others who choose to unschool may not even need, but with all that's ingrained in me educationally, I did. 

While telling a homeschooling mom friend of mine how I admire her structure around homeschool, her ability to sit her children down, teach them a lesson, have them produce meaningful work and complete assessments (all that was instilled in me as an educator,) she said something that will stick with me. She explained that because I have a background in education, I make every moment a teachable one. Everything we do all day long is an opportunity for me to teach and an opportunity for my kids to learn meaningful lessons. She said she has no background in education and simply doesn't have the skillset or trust in herself to do what I do. She said she needs the curriculum not just for her kids but for her; to show her as the teacher what to teach, when to teach it and how to teach it. 

What works for one, might not work for others and that's okay; better than okay! It's what we need; different learners, different educators, different outcomes. So my inner formally educated voice took a deep sigh of relief, coming to the realization that all our kids are getting what they need when they need it because we are present. And what's better than being present for the life happening right in front of you? I don't believe I can think of anything.