How I Do It

When people learn that I home school, the responses always fall into one of three categories.

1. There is the "I Wish I Could Home School, But I Don't For Reasons X, Y, or Z". Money, time, or lack of self-confidence are the usual reasons. In fact, while writing this, I'm racking my brains trying to think of any other reasons that have ever been cited, and I can't think of any (but that doesn't mean I've never run across them. I've mentioned on more than one occasion that my brain is full of holes.)
   
2. The next response, which I haven't come across often, is "Outright Hostility". In fact, the most glaring case of this I've ever had directed to me didn't even happen to me, but rather to my sister-in-law when she was explaining to a couple she met at the farmer's market that I home school. And the thing with outright hostility is that it's usually so rude in its manifestation, you're left reeling from that aspect, rather than the home school part. I am so grateful to the pioneers of homeschooling who must have dealt with this all the time in the late 70s and 80s. Homeschooling is swimming against the stream to be sure, but they had to swim against a tidal wave.
   More on them in another post, though, because we're focusing on me here, people. Me! Me!
   
   
3. The last response is "Well-Mannered Hostility". This is what I come across most of the time. It looks like this:
   

• What about socialization?


• Our schools are so good in this city, why wouldn't you use them?


• I knew someone who home schooled once. Until (insert random grade level here, generally high school). The implication to this one being that it's "ok" to indulge in nonsense- until you reach the "important" grade levels.

and the one I hear most frequently, and is the subject of this post:

• I don't know how you do it. I never could.
  

I think about this one a lot, trying to unpack the meaning behind the words. What do people mean when they say that? What aspect of home school do they think they couldn't do? The organization? The planning? The discipline? All those things are easily addressed, though, given the desire to address them.

Maybe that's part of it. Maybe people who insist they never could home school don't want to invest the energy necessary to do it. Maybe it's more comforting to have someone else do it, so if something goes wrong, they don't have the same personal responsibility in the breakdown that I'll have.

Maybe.

But there's another aspect to the "I don't know how you do it" statement. And it's followed by a description of me as a mother, teacher, and person that is not only untrue, but unobtainable. I'm not a saint. I'm not a superwoman. I'm just a regular person who sometimes plays on the computer instead of doing housework (OK, "often"), sometimes loses her temper and yells at children, sometimes wants to fling schoolbooks at the wall, and who sometimes wonders why the hell she's doing this.

Sometimes I wonder why I'm doing this so much that I call Ken at work and demand that he tell me. And in mild, soothing tones, he reminds me that we're offering a superior learning environment to our children. He reminds me that we're allowing them to be kids, and keeping them from being consumed by a hyper-sexualized, morally relativistic, intellectually lazy culture. He reminds me that once innocence is lost, it can never, ever be regained. He reminds me that I have the opportunity to really get to know our children as people. He says all this without saying all this. But what I really want is an "atta girl", some kudos, and maybe a ticker tape parade with twinkly lights spelling out "Cari is awesome for doing this, because I never could."

And then I get over myself. And then I run across some article about the declining intellectual, moral, and social climate of conventional schools. And then I remind myself that sometimes you have to fight for what is right.

I am always in awe of people who are willing to literally put their life on the line in defense of a greater good. When we were in Boston, walking the Freedom Trail, I wondered at all those people willing to give up life and livelihood to help build a better nation. When we were driving through the Shenandoah Valley, on the way to Connecticut, I wondered at all those people willing to give up life and livelihood to help keep a better nation united. How do they do it? I always wonder. Why do they do it? Getting run through with a sword would hurt. Having limbs amputated or an arrow in your head or a pike jammed into your leg would hurt. Badly.

And then, I ran across this video: Go ahead- click on it and watch. I'll wait.

I am that woman. I am scared to death, and terrified that things will end badly for me personally, and really hoping to avoid being run through with a sword or hit with an arrow or whatever, but I'm still there. I'm still there, going to fight against dark forces. I am still there, working to build something better than what is. I am still there, cradling someone small in my arms and whispering words of courage to both of us. I am still there, with others who are there too.

So to respond to the statement at hand- that's how I do it.

"Forth! And fear no darkness!"

New York City: Bonus Material- that Ken and Cari Shot

I have daydreams of the kids putting together pictures for Ken and my 50th anniversary (which is only 39 years away! Get cracking, kiddos!) and looking fondly over 50 years of the Ken and Cari shot. They will comment on their dad's long-suffering glares and their mom's joie de vivre. And really, if you have kids planning your 50th wedding anniversary, and commenting on your joie de vivre, you've done a good job raising them, I think.

Anyway, here they are: The Ken Cari shots from NYC!

At Bridgeport. Clearly, someone's not ready for his closeup.

There we go! Look how indulgent he is with me! Must be the beginning of the trip.

Waiting in the Staten Island Ferry depot, Manhattan side. I wish I knew what he was looking at. Whatever it is, he clearly disapproves.

On the ferry. I love how he's not even making an attempt to smile any more. He's just enduring.

Last one for the trip- taken from the ferry. Ken flat out refused to pose for any more of these pictures. Big baby. But that's why while planning for our 50th wedding anniversary, the kids will not be reflecting on his joie de vivre.

Ooooh....burn!

New York City: Part Four- Times Square and the Train Home

So from Battery Park, we took the subway (what subway? the number 4!) back to Grand Central, and from there onto the number 7. Of course, there was a slight glitch at the Battery Park subway terminal, involving insufficient fare, families separated by turnstiles, and large groups of Sikh men entering the subway through the "Emergency Exit" gate, causing a loud alarm to ring, compounding the chaos of the situation, but I didn't have the wherewithal to photograph that part.

Anyway, God loves a what? That's right- a fool, and eventually we found ourselves in Times Square. Times Square, y'all!

We were all powerful hungry, and more than a little overwhelmed by the scene in which we'd found ourselves, so I walked to the nearest corner, and looked in all four directions, to see what restaurants I could see. This tactic, while serviceable, meant that we were assured of having dinner from a grossly overpriced chain, but whatevs, next trip will be all about culinary adventures. This trip landed us at Bubba Gumps, because it had a sign large enough for me to see from the corner of the subway station. Which on the down side, had a 45 minute wait, but on the up side, was right in front of this:

Dude, that's the New Year's apple thingie!! In real life!

Times Square is a giant seizure-causing riot of advertising. All you can do is embrace the horror. And cut your kids off of screens for six weeks following, as a sort of commercial detox.

I love this picture. Debra looks so serene in it. Can you imagine how excellent it would look with a new camera? Like, saaaaay, a Nikon D90?

At some point, the kids passed "tired" and went full on into "zombie mode". Even the giant Toys R Us across the street couldn't rouse Lotus out of her trance. Poor kid.

I, however, wasn't going to let fatigue win. Times Square, baby!

Ok, so I'm a little glassy-eyed, too. But I'm going down swinging!

By the time dinner was over, it was past eight o'clock. When we were in Boston, I'd scared the kids silly by telling them some story about how cities swallow you up if you're in them past sundown. I'd long since forgotten my nonsense, but the kids hadn't. They were very concerned that they'd end up in the sewers like I'd told them would happen if Boston swallowed us. Thinking quickly, I assured them that each city did something different with the tourists it swallowed. New York wouldn't deposit us in the sewers- New York would have dreams about us.

I don't think this comforted them.

Papa doesn't want to be in New York's dreamscape, either.

Beat it! The fuzz!

Somehow, we managed to avoid being swallowed by a nighttime city, and made it back to the train to Bridgeport, which Joaquin and I almost missed because Joaquin was talking the ears off a police officer we saw in Grand Central.

Once everyone was loaded on, and the train left the station, all babies fell into an immediate and complete sleep.

Not fun to wake up.

Didn't wake up, because someone carried him off the train.

Needs someone to carry her off the train.

Once we got back to Bridgeport, there was some confusion about getting our car out of locked parking, but it was resolved in a manner that was much cheaper than expected, and we drove home, all planning our next trip to NYC.

Well, except Ken, but he's stubborn that way.

New York City: Part Three- Battery Park, Staten Island Ferry, and the Statue of Liberty

I've drug this thing out for so long, I can't remember where I left off. Curse my swiss cheese brain!

Well, judging from the pictures I uploaded four hours ago, then got distracted and wandered away from, I see we've finally made it to Battery Park. Which, on my left hand side, didn't look like a park at all, but rather a beautiful, scary, urban skyscape. See?


You can't tell, because I don't have my glorious camera *coughKenIwantaNikonD90cough*, but there are faces under each portico on the building. And each face was unique! It was amazing.


Another scary/beautiful skyscraper. In Memphis, there were two "skyscrapers". And yes, they deserved the condescending quotation marks.

To my right were a bunch of food and souvenir vendors. We were all a bit peckish, so we bought a mess of waters, pops, and soft pretzels. And then we sat around and beat off the pigeons while we ate them. "Them" being the waters, pops, and pretzels, by the way. Not the pigeons. That would be gross. Even for the meat eaters among us.

Keep one eye on your food, kids, and the other on the pigeons.

Only thing is, the pretzel was gross. It was dry. It was crumbly. It was wretched. It was, in fact, the most awful soft pretzel I've ever eaten. It was so disgusting that I had to photograph it, just to share the horror.

No, I don't have a nail fungus. I have lazy. What you see on my nail is the remnants of my french manicure from girls' day out with Lotus. I'm busy, ok?!? Look at the dang pretzel!

Horrible example of New York street cuisine pitched, we hoofed it over to the Staten Island Ferry depot. And what did we see en route? Not a rat (which I was still sort of hoping to spot), but a street performer! He was awesome!! We saw breakdancers in Boston, and Ken and I tried to impress upon the kids the importance of the scene- people who have a non-traditionally marketable talent, earning an honest living off it nonetheless.

Not that I'm hoping for my kids to be street artists.

You can't tell from the quality of my camera *coughKenI'mlookingatyoucough*, but all the man's drums were made from found objects.

We got to the depot, rode up an elevator, and what was casually displayed to our right? The Statue of Liberty! The very first time I've ever seen it in real life!

There she is! Give me your tired and your poor. By this time in the trip, we were very nearly both.

Also in the harbor was a random tall ship. Joaquin, who very much wants to be a good pirate when he grows up (don't ask, I don't have the heart to tell him that this is an oxymoron), was immediately enchanted.

Someday you will be mine, tall ship.

I posted this one just because of Joaquin's stance. He looks so brokenhearted that the ship is sailing away without him.


Here we are, waiting for the ferry. Which we were all prepared to ride to Staten Island, not disembark, and ride it back to Manhattan. That was the plan, which was laid out by my Google directions and confirmed by three other websites. The ferry is free. The ferry does round trips. You do not have to get off the ferry at Staten Island. No one will find this odd.

NYC makes Kala crazy.

We got on the ferry, and got all ready to see the Statue up close and personal.



Ooooh look! The skyline of some part of NY not Manhattan. I don't know where this is. Brooklyn? Jersey? Who knows.



Cute cute little fire boat. Cute!

Ok, so it's at this time we realize that we're on the wrong dang side of the boat. The wrong side to see the Statue, that is. But it's ok, remember? All we have to do is get on the other side of the boat on the return trip. And we won't even have to disembark this ferry! Brilliant!

Cute cute little ferry. Cute.

Only thing is, once we got to Staten Island, this announcement came over the loudspeaker informing us that the particular ferry we were on was not going to be making a return trip to Manhattan, we were going to have to disembark, and, oh yeah, good luck getting a spot on the next dang ferry, tourists!

Somehow, Ken manages to convey with only a glance his thoughts that this is all my fault.


Lotus is embarrassed for me, who somehow is responsible for the ferry debacle.

But, as has been demonstrated with blinding clarity, God loves a fool. We did get on the next ferry, and we did get on the Statue side. Tourists, One.

Debra and her mom enjoy the Statue view.


Do I need to mention the detail we're missing here due to my substandard camera equipment?


Hello, Lady!

Awesome! I said a Hail Mary on the way back for all the souls who ever caught the same glimpse of the Statue on their way to this country. It was a beautiful thing. Just because something is a tourist spot doesn't make it bad.

Next (and last NYC) post: Times Square, baby!!!

New York City: Part Two- Grand Central and the Subway

So Fate smiled upon us, and at the end of the train ride we ended up in- wonder of wonders!- Grand Central Station!

Only, when the train doors opened, it didn't reveal any Grand Central Station that I expected. I expected a scene from Madagascar, you remember? When the lion, giraffe and company get surrounded by police and such? But yeah, it didn't look like that. It looked like....well, like this:

A dreary, hot, steamy tunnel packed with people who seemed to know what they were doing. But not a single NYC sewer rat to be seen, which I was perversely hoping to see.

Ken put all our fears to rest, however, by assuring us that the Grand Central train does not spit passengers out at the station proper. Rather, we had to walk a dreary, hot, steamy, strangely rat-free tunnel to get to the station. So we did. And we were rewarded with this:

Since I'm in the picture, you can tell it's not from my camera.

If I had my wicked awesome new camera *coughKenIwantaNikonD90cough*, these pictures would have been more detailed.

Next, we had to figure out how to navigate the subway system. So I did what any sensible tourist would do- I asked the first person in a uniform (any uniform) for directions. The janitor I accosted seemed surprised by my question, but was very helpful. MetroCards purchased, we went back into tunnels, and waited for the number 4 or 5 subway into Battery Park, per my Google directions.

Ken and Jude wait for the number 4 or 5 subway. Either one, apparently it's irie in the NYC.

We started getting nervous, so we would remind ourselves what subway we were looking for. What's that number again, Papa?

Ok, one more time- someone tell me what subway we're looking for?

Oh! I see something! It looks like- like!- oh shoot. It's the number 7.

We've got time. Let's ham it up!

Finally, the number 4 came, we jumped on it (I had in my head some idea that the doors weren't open for very long, and would close no matter what was stuck in them- be it stroller or limbs, they weren't opening again for anything.)

Ken indulges me in my new germ phobia and instructs his daughter and niece to keep their mouths off the poles. Why this should even have to be explained is beyond me, but still.

Papa makes sure Emma is safe from muggers. Or Improv Everywhere folks.

Eventually, we figured out the mysterious subway system (thanks, in large part, to the friendly maps, that had helpful lights showing which stop one was coming to), and made it to Battery Park. Which I will be sure to tell all about.

In my next post.

NYC: Gabriel Will See Faces

NYC: Ken Protests the Trip