Edgy

Lara's cardigan is nearly done, and I'm working on the lace edging. "Lace" sounds like it's a dainty, wispy thing, though, and it's not. This is sturdy lace, the only kind you'd give to a toddler. Even in sportweight yarn and #3 needles, it's not dainty. It is, however, somewhat endless. I say "somewhat" because I know it will end; I need 30 triangles and I'm up to 17 and they'll be here Saturday. So it will end, even in time for blocking and even with school at home. It will. Yarn over, knit two together, yarn over, yawn.

For seven plus years of homeschooling, I have abhorred the term "school at home." It is what we don't do, what we are avoiding, what we make fun of newbies for doing. But in a university model school, it is what it is. And boy, is it fun. It's just past nine and Emily hasn't started yet, which means we have a full day of math, history, Latin, Bible, grammar, and writing ahead of us. I haven't yet been able to avoid the homeschooling "we," though. It certainly feels like it's us. I especially noticed this on the way home from school yesterday.

"I got a white slip," Emily said. The white slip is the dreaded herald of having done something wrong.

"Why?" I asked.

"I forgot my history homework."

"No, I put it in your folder. Right side, at the back, three pages stapled together."

"It's not there."

"Yes, it is. It was there last night. Just look."

(Repeat the last two lines twice, with growing intensity.)

Silence.

More silence.

"Did you look?"

Silence.

"Is it there?"

Nothing. Then: "I cannot believe I didn't see this!" in a bit of a wail.

"That's OK, your teacher is used to this. Just tell her you had it and didn't see it, and..." I bit my tongue. Blood rushed from my head. I was just about to tell my child to make sure her teacher knew that I, her mother, had indeed put the papers in question where they needed to go. It's my daughter's fault, not mine. Because I sure don't want a white slip.

Today's lesson: letting my daughter go to school by herself.



The actual homeschooler in the house is still in bed, and faces a similar day, although he'll go about it much differently and with an undetectable amount of energy.