I had read all the instructional guides for our first week's lessons. My lessons were even written out in my nifty lesson plan book.
We were starting the first day with swimming lessons. Probably not the best idea. And we were out of town the weekend before the first day. Again...probably not the best idea.
The first day was long. Very long. It seemed like everything took much longer than I anticipated. But I continued checking off our lessons in my nifty little lesson plan book. I didn't want to fall behind on the first day. Yes, I am that person. I know it's annoying, but I can't help it. And in between lessons....It seemed we kept having the same conversation over and over. This conversation has been going on for a few months now and I thought I had heard the last of it. I was wrong.
"I want to go to real school." A big, yellow, bus used to stop across the street right in front of our house. She was very intrigued with the bus and couldn't wait to ride one. The little girl who was riding this bus moved. Yay, no more bus. I was thrilled. Things got easier, however, on this first day of school it all came back and then some. I didn't know the expectations of the first day. She thought she was going to "real school." As in leaving the house. She thought she was getting on a big, yellow bus that would be stopping in front of her house on her side of the road this time. We had been over this and over this. We were homeschooling. We were homeschooling. And that was final.
So we had this conversation again and again. I tried being nice. I nicely explained how we were her parents and really had her best interests at heart. I nicely explained how we, as her parents had weighed all the options. I ever so nicely explained that she would be disappointed and become easily bored. No teacher would give her what she needed in "real school" because of time constraints, testing, etc. I was afraid if I sent her to "real school" they would only test her, and because she would test above grade level, there would be no academic challenge. She would simply be stagnant in her learning.
After having this conversation several times and getting no where rather quickly. I got out my teaching license. "See this fancy paper? It says I can teach you. It says I can teach you all the way to 2023." So there! End of story. We ARE doing "real school" regardless of what her idea of real school is. We are doing "real school" despite what anyone else says. And that's that. And it was over. She did a slight gasp and that was it. We've not had this conversation again.
I crawled into bed that night exhausted. It's tiring to argue with a five year old. I somehow still managed to plop an edible dinner on the table, although it was later than expected. I ironed exactly one set of clothes for my husband to wear the next day and said, "Phooey on ironing the rest. I'm too tired." I quickly ran the vacuum and gathered my school books for another, hopefully, better day, pushed the start button on the dishwasher, and fell into bed. I slept like my husband that night.
