I'm Lindsay Ferrier, a Nashville writer with a passion for family travel, exploring Tennessee, and raising kids without losing my mind in the process. This is where I share my discoveries, along with occasional deep thoughts, pop culture tangents and a sprinkling of snark. Want to get in touch? Use the CONTACT form at the top of the page.
September 23, 2009
>When I decided to send Punky to kindergarten this year rather than home school her, I promised myself that we’d still make time for all the special things we did together last year- the park classes, the free city ballet lessons, and the many kids’ events that happen around town.
Last weekend, I made good on that promise by taking her to a homeschool activity at a local farm. I didn’t think twice about signing her up for it a few weeks ago, but once the day arrived, a few small details occurred to me.
“Uh, Punky, don’t talk about your kindergarten class while you’re at the farm, okay?” I said as we drove there.
“But why, Mommy?” Punky asked from the backseat.
“Because this is a homeschool event,” I said. “That means these kids go to school at home and their mommies teach them, like I taught you last year. They might feel bad if they find out that you get to go to school every day.”
“Okay,” Punky promised solemnly. “I won’t say anything about kindergarten.”
I sighed in relief. I knew the organizers and didn’t think they’d mind if they found out that Punky wasn’t technically homeschooled anymore. But I could see some of the parents getting snippy about it. One thing I learned about home schoolers last year is that they are a tight-knit crowd, and if they knew there was a um, schooler in the bunch, and a public schooler to boot, they might actually beat me to death with their bags of granola.
Heh.
Anyway, I had nothing to fear. The event went off without a hitch. Punky didn’t mention kindergarten and all was well.
Relieved, I let her play in a big barn afterward with Bruiser and a bunch of other children.
And that’s when it happened.
“How old are your kids?” asked a mother standing beside me.
“Five and two,” I answered reluctantly.
“And you’re homeschooling your five-year-old?” she said. I looked her up and down quickly and noticed she was carrying a particularly large and heavy bag of granola. I decided to do whatever I could to save myself.
“Why, yes,” I said nervously. “Yes I am.” And the die was cast.
“Mine are four and two,” she said. “I’m just now getting into this homeschool thing, so I’ve been asking other moms as many questions as possible. What curriculum are you using?”
“McRuffy,” I gulped. Luckily, I had homeschooled Punky with an actual kindergarten curriculum last year, so I knew what I was talking about.
“McRuffy? I don’t know that one. What do you think of See and Say? Or Little Learners?”
“I’ve never heard of them,” I said. She looked surprised.
“Are you in a homeschool co-op?” she asked.
“No.”
“Do you know other moms who homeschool?”
“Uh yeah,” I managed a laugh and hoped it was convincing. “Of course I do.”
“And which curricula are they using?”
“Oh…” I coughed into my hand. “Shmeel. Ahem.”
“What?”
“Mc… Shmeel.” I repeated in a whisper. She stared at me for a moment. I broke eye contact and looked around desperately for my son.
“Bruiser! I think I see a tick in that haybale!” I fled from the woman and went for my son as if I were a drowning man and he, an inflatable raft. Scooping him up, I turned… and found her standing right behind me.
“How much time do you spend homeschooling each day?” she wanted to know.
“45 minutes,” I answered. That was about how much time it took me to go through Punky’s lessons with her last year.
“45 minutes?!” she responded. “My friends are all spending three to four hours every day! How are you managing 45 minutes?!”
“Oh…” I thought quickly. “My daughter’s a speed reader.”
“Where do you live?”
“Bellevue.”
“I live in Pegram!” she said. “We’re practically neighbors!”
The situation had become dire. I knew without a doubt what the very next question would be. “Gotta go!” I yelped, rushing off toward my daughter. “We’re late for a big project!”
“But I thought we could exchange…”
“A big homeschooling project!” I shouted over my shoulder. “With granola!”
I grabbed my daughter’s hand and pulled her away from a miniature cash register. “But mommy, I’m not done playing!” she whined. “I haven’t checked out my customers!”
“Come on, Punky,” I said breathlessly. “It’s time to am-scray!” Reluctantly, she trotted along beside me as we made a break for the car.
I got out of there by the skin of my teeth. I looked back in my rearview mirror and could see that the woman had alerted the others. They were all stumbling toward my car like zombies as I screeched off in a zig zag down the farm’s dirt road.
I didn’t realize it until now, but breaking away from the homeschooling ranks is a little bit like the time I de-sistered from my college sorority. When you’re in, you feel like you’re part of one big happy family.
But once you decide to leave, don’t even think about trying to come around again for a visit.
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