Homeschooling Can Be A Real Pain

Lest I give the false impression that homeschooling is all daisies and sunshine, I’ll be dedicating the next few paragraphs to the less-than-joyful side of the lifestyle. This is called reality, and I could fill a lot more than a few paragraphs.

I try not to be a whiner, so I don’t talk about this aspect of our life too frequently. But I’d be less than honest if I said that homeschooling is all-around delightful. It’s hard work, requires a lot of sacrifice and can be a real pain in the butt.

Much of my Saturday and Sunday afternoons are not spent napping, running errands or watching television. Instead, I sit in front of my computer and write lesson plans. It’s laborious. I’m not teaching one grade level; I’m teaching three. Next year I’ll be teaching four, and have simply tucked this fact away in the part of my brain called “Let’s-Just-Not-Think-About-That-Right-Now Land.” Most teachers get paid to do this. I get nothing, unless lesson plans become currency someday. Then I’ll be loaded. 

My mornings are organized chaos. Some people have the very false impression that homeschoolers can stay in their pajamas all day, do their academics at a relaxed pace, and have time left over to bake cookies. That’s not my experience. All the kids are woken at 7 and have two hours to get dressed, eat and do their chores before school starts promptly at 9. We don’t laze around, sleep in, or work at our own pace. I am quite the slave driver when it comes to academics, which makes me my children’s least favorite – albeit only – teacher at times.

So it’s not always a love-fest here. I have to yell sometimes (I come from a long, proud line of yellers, hailing primarily from middle Germany and Sicily), and often have to take away privileges until work is completed. I’m sure that’s not much different from parents of children in regular school, except this is happening seven to eight hours a day rather than simply before and after dinner. It can become exhausting.

From August through May, I do nothing before noon except school. We don’t go to the store, library, park, or doctor (except in an emergency). I just consider it my job. Yes, we have freedom, and yes, we could do these things if I so chose, but instead I choose to keep our collective nose to the grindstone. Adhering to a strict schedule allows us to finish a few weeks ahead of public school and truly explore spring fever. But it means little flexibility during the school calendar.

Although I am a huge believer that parents are the best teachers for their children, sometimes my kids get on my nerves. I rarely get a break from them. I accept full responsibility as this is a chosen lifestyle. But that doesn’t change the fact that they are 11, 9, 6 and 4 – the best and worst of ages all at the same time.

While other children are at school being lazy, poking their classmates, pouting about grammar and math, those things are happening four feet away from me. Add a 4-year-old princess who, when not given an answer she likes, simply increases the decibels, it’s a wonder I’m not popping Tylenol with my granola every morning.

Fortunately, I have a fairly long fuse. When the recent blizzards kept moms locked up with their children, the comments on Facebook made me chuckle. If you’re tired of your kids after 7 extra days, try every day. Every. Single. Waking. Moment. My mom comes by it honestly. She says all the time, “I never could have done it.” Then shakes her head in disbelief – or amazement. I’m not sure.

But the truly amazing thing is, after all the cajoling, tears and grating-of-my nerves, after they are in bed and sleeping, I often sneak in to stare at them, stroke their faces, kiss their fuzzy cheeks. Because even after the every waking moment, I actually miss them when they sleep. And I think that must automatically place me on some people’s loony list.