Knitting Elbow

No, not knitting AN elbow, although goodness knows that would be different. Knitting elbows, or knitter's elbow, or just garden variety tendonitis. It would be tennis elbow except I can't play tennis to save my life. I could use ibuprofen, or ice or heat, or a nifty little velcro thing (I could knit one!) I've already changed the way I hold my arm, I already knit continental. Lots of breaks and exercising.

Yes, the knitting is back and in a big way. I'm as obsessed as I ever was; guess I just needed a break. Here's the production from the last few weeks:

Those are machine hats on the right, handmade on the left, including Emily's red beret. Ignore the possessed cat in the background.

And yes, those are some odd yarn choices. I'm using up a lot of odds and ends. These are all going to charity, and they'll fit someone somewhere!

And there are those baby hats too, going to a charity online auction for the Galilee School in Nairobi.

Now I've cast on for a cotton vest, and it's lace knitting and what was I thinking? I know lace is difficult, both physically and mentally, and yet, do I remember? I already dropped one stitch when my Options needle pulled apart and a dropped stitch in lace is a panic situation. Ordinarily I don't mind a dropped stitch, even like the change in pace while I stop and rescue the little beggar, but in lace it's a whole different thing.

I have wallpaper to remove, though, and rooms to paint, so I have plenty to do otherwise.

The mystery of the Zune

I received my mp3 player last year. It was a mystery to me. It's a Zune, and it's in an absurdly small container, like a Lego. Not as small as the mp3 that was handed to me for viewing several videos about dog nutrition at the recent convention, though.

"Oh, it's an Ipod Shuffle," my daughter said. It looked like a potato chip.

I'm really trying to get along with the Zune. My husband found ear (things... not plugs... ear phones? BUDS! Ear buds...) that didn't seem to carve ulcers into my ear cartilage and I actually uploaded an audiobook from the library, all by myself. It only took slightly longer than it would have taken to drive to the library and check it out, but here it was, ready to entertain me on purely theoretical treadmill workouts. I felt that it was somehow rooting me on.

Only, I sort of fell asleep when I was trying it out and now it's on Chapter 5 and the last I remembered was somewhere in Chapter 1, not to mention I set it down without turning it off since none of the buttons I pushed seemed to respond, and so: dead battery. I thought it would just know when I was done and would turn itself off out of sheer boredom.

We're currently recharging, both of us. It assures me it's "connected." It's been assuring me of that for five minutes. Before that it was "syncing," with a little display of what Richard Dreyfuss saw when he looked up at the mother ship.

"Connected" apparently means "I'm communing with a battery somewhere so leave me alone right now." I thought maybe we could reach some sort of electronic harmony, where it could recharge while I checked on the audiobook, but no. It has to recharge in private, no multi-tasking allowed. Now my appliances are giving me reasons to put off the treadmill. Cool.

And the recharging? I understand cell phones, and computers, and even rechargeable batteries, but this thing requires a middleman. It's connected (I know, because it says so) to my computer, which is connected to that square thing that's connected to the outlet. You'd think the electrons would be pooped by the time they make their way out to the Zune. Milling around, as electrons do, wondering where to go next. I do know how to connect wires to places they look like they belong, though, because Bill's company puts little pictures on the connections. I appreciate that. I don't know what they mean, but I can match stuff up. Turns out those nursery toys were useful after all.

Wait! I just went to check on the whole connecting process, and clicked on a few things and now I'm transferring music onto the Lego! David had transferred Simon and Garfunkel for me, and bless them, I love the album, but there are only so many times you can listen to "Cecelia" before the uncontrollable shaking starts.

And.... (this is later, now it's "syncing" again....mother ship!) Much music downloaded! Or uploaded! Whatever!

My head's spinning. So many albums! Only they're not albums anymore! So many.... digitally compressed bytes of information that will sound musical once the Zune is no longer "connected"! Right in my nonulcerated ears!

Technology, it is a wonderful thing, if you can keep it charged up.

He's leaving home

What? You thought I wasn't going to post about this?

I spent a lot of time thinking about it. Should it be funny? Serious? Poignant? Can I spell poignant?

I had a few ground rules. No baby pictures. No cute stories. No metaphors.

I'm ready for him to go. His staying here would be wrong, the way pulling up a plant you've been nurturing is wrong. (Dang metaphors.) I know it's time. So why do I feel bereft? It's more than giving up control; I gave that up long ago. It's not that someone else will be teaching him; he's had other teachers for years. It's not that he could have a wreck, although that is always on my mind. It's just the hole he leaves here. Our little family of four is now four, take away one. From here on, his experiences are his, and we share only what he chooses to share. He'll make new friends, new decisions, new directions. We'll watch, from a distance. I am already in awe of the person he's become. I expect that will continue.

He's ready. I'm ready. And I'll miss him.

Thirteen

Daughter is turning thirteen at the end of this month. The very end, shared with Harry Potter and J.K. Rowling, which pleases her greatly every year.

But our friend Harry is not the focus this year, although we have yet to see his latest movie and feel a certain urgency thereto. The focus this year is a certain group of vegetarian vampires, and thus entered the Cake. The Cake is a feature in a key scene in the new movie about the VV group, a scene included in the movie's trailer, which trailer was the entire reason we had to watch the MTV Movie Awards, which afflicted me with the sight of Bruno upside down in Eminem's lap, something I'm still trying to scrub from my retinas.

I digress. Back to the Cake. In the book, it's pink, and Daughter being a purist, she asked for a pink birthday cake. Actually, that's all she said at first.

"I'd like a pink birthday cake this year."

Being a naturally suspicious sort, I asked her why. Pink hadn't been on her list since, well, since she was three. Pink is not in the palette. Pink is gross.

"Hm, mm, mumble, Bella, you know..."

Ah. A Twilight thing. It was beginning to make sense. I researched, first the book (the cake was indeed pink) and then the movie. Here's what she has in the movie:

Not pink, as you can see. But we all know movies make changes, and... did I mention purist?... she wanted a pink cake. In my fondant naivete, however, I thought I could make a similar cake, only in pink. A combination of book and movie, as it were. I could do this, especially since the cakes at the local bakery started at $32.50.

Now, let's just say I'm no baker, but I've done a few birthday cakes. There was the ladybug cake for her first birthday. Yes, that's tinted coconut, and yes, I made my own gummy worms on the cupcakes. There was the Barbie cake, with a real Barbie, not those fake ones just for cakes. And the dragon cake I made for her brother. I didn't mind showing any of those to complete strangers, so I thought, hey, how hard can a little fondant be? And it's not like I'm going to attempt three tiers, let's not be silly. Two is plenty.

A friend on Facebook recently did her first fondant cake, so I cribbed the recipe from her. And I checked to see how to beef up a box cake mix to make it more carvable and sturdy (double the oil, add an extra egg, a box of pudding, and a cup of water.) And what the hey, I bought frosting. Wasn't up to whipping up buttercream.

So we made the cakes last night (chocolate lower tier, strawberry upper tier.) And we made fondant. It involved melting marshmallows and kneading in vast quantities of powdered sugar, then dividing in parts and tinting them pink, then more kneading, with Crisco on one's hands and on the table. Lots of Crisco. Great for the hands.

Today, we started putting it together. Second trip to the store for more frosting. Rolled out fondant, cut two- and three-inch stripes, applied to the sides, finished with the Easy Flow Decorating Icing in a Color Not Seen In Nature, added birthday candles that spelled Happy Birthday (thirteen letters, see?) and I wrote her name on the top.

Ta. And Da.

Only... let's just say I have a new respect for those who bake and decorate cakes, and maybe I won't laugh quite so much at Cake Wrecks. Maybe. Because le fondant is the devil's own Play-doh. How do they get it so straight? And why didn't I just slap on pieces of bubble gum? I think I'll stick with Betty Crocker.

But it was worth it. Time spent with daughter = always priceless.

Confessions of a Casual Vegetarian

It was three and a half years ago that my nine year old told me she wanted to be a vegetarian. Ever the supportive mom, I said I would be too. It would last a week, I figured.

As the months passed, and it lasted, we found ourselves discussing nutrition, how we treat food animals, and the various pros and cons of different veggie burgers. I learned to make veggie versions of chili, chicken pot pie, casseroles, burgers, hot dogs, pasta dishes. I made two of everything, one for the omnivores in the house, and one for us. I discovered all sorts of meat substitutes, had a love-hate relationship with tofu, and grumbled about the fact that most restaurant salads are contaminated with meat. I mean, come on; it’s a salad!

My latest checkup, however, revealed slight anemia , although my cholesterol levels were greatly improved. I decided to reintroduce chicken and turkey, things I'd missed the most. The entire experience left me with many lessons, though. I was already of the opinion that if you’re going to eat meat, you should have, at least once in your life, a nodding acquaintance with the source of your nuggets. I have done that: raised them, fed them, cleaned up after them, then slaughtered and ate them, with no moral repugnance at all. I’ve visited a slaughterhouse as a vet student, once to observe and once to collect pig noses to check for atrophic rhinitis. (Yes, that’s just what it sounds like. It involved pig heads and a hack saw.) I am not sentimental about farm animals, but I do want them to have the highest quality life they can have in their brief time here, and a quick transport and death when the time comes.

Now I buy cage-free eggs and I look for organic meat. It’s not a perfect solution, but it’s a step in the right direction. There are some things, like hamburgers and hot dogs and most red meat, that are permanently off the menu for me. I’ll still have many meat-free meals. And I’m more aware of the whole process of food production and how it affects all of us.

Green smoothie, anyone?

Reunion

It was the red dirt that let me know I was almost there.


Southwest Oklahoma is a hard land. It was never meant to be anything but prairie. I showed my daughter a satellite picture online; it was all squares. That’s why I know north and south, east and west. I learned to drive where every mile was marked in squares, where you could see to the horizon unless the wind was blowing, where the red dirt covered your car, your feet, your life. It looked like everything had boundaries, when really, we had to find them ourselves.

I traveled back in time to my thirtieth high school reunion, and it was a pleasant surprise. Not the town; the town was the same. There were a few different stores; one theater had closed, a multiplex had opened. There’s a Walmart now, and a new subdivision. But the essence of the town was the same as the day I first saw it in 1975.

It was the people who surprised me. Many classmates never left or they returned after college. They are farmers, manufacturers, bankers, lawyers. They are the solid citizens who keep the town on track. They host barbecues at football games and teach vacation Bible school and raise money for the kids’ band trips. They don't much resemble the teenagers I once knew.

The rest of us had left and taken root in other places, but we had this one tendril still stuck in the red soil. Our time in this corner of the world had changed us forever. We were in school, but we learned more than algebra. We learned who to trust, who to watch, who to befriend or not. We learned that a sense of humor can carry you longer than anything else. We learned how to stand on our own two feet, and how to lean on others. We learned to stay safe.

After the lunches and brunches and late night buffets, after a hundred hugs and reintroductions and pictures, I drove away with rows of cotton marking my passage. The unbearable heat of the day before had broken with a light shower, just enough to beat down the dust. The day before, I'd seen a doe bounding away, several wild turkeys running awkwardly across the road, a rabbit crouching in a yard, a stray cat moving her kittens. There is an abundance here that isn’t visible to the casual observer.

At Nine Mile Hill I could see forever. I didn’t look back.

The year in review, so far

I didn't want the first post after a six month hiatus to be all apologetic, so let's make it the second post. Sorry about that. When the writing muse makes herself scarce, I don't have a good way to bring her back. I don't know what real writers do. Maybe there are incantations.

And of course, I can blame it on Facebook. And working. In January I started working full-time for three months and that meant intense rescheduling of all the really important things I needed to do, like drop into a coma in the evenings. We're not going to talk about Facebook, the evil time-sucker. I've learned to scan updates, post something vague in my status, which will never be as funny as my husband's, and stay away from the games and quizzes. I don't always practice this, but I have learned it.

So here's the quick review of 2009:

January: I did get the pig picture for Christmas, so I hung it on a convenient nail in our bedroom until I found a better spot and it is there today. I'm sure there's a better spot, and at some point shall embark on a picture hanging mission the like of which this house has never known, but until then, it is at least vertical. Emily celebrated her half-birthday. Why not? Cake is always reason enough.


February and March: Nothing happened. Well, we made a Jell-O cell model for Emily's science class.





I completed a baby sweater and hat set for the Lewisville Christian School auction.

April: Celebrated my parents' fiftieth anniversary. I finished up a scrapbook for them that was a lot of fun to put together.




May: Had both sets of grandparents in town for Sean's graduation. We had a ceremony for friends and family on Saturday, then the church's senior recognition on Sunday. I managed to get through it without crying, thank you very much.

And now it's June. It goes that fast. I'm back to a four day schedule, for now. The gardens are going gangbusters; I have the volunteer zinnias and marigolds back, and in the vegetable garden, volunteer tomatoes, basil, donated watermelon, and last year's seeds, most of which are coming up. I don't remember what all I put out there; that's part of the fun. I consider anything I plant to be a Victory Garden!

Of change, and the preparation thereof

The kids have left for camp, and we're getting a taste of the empty nest. Of course, this fall it will only be half-empty (or is it half-full?) but it never hurts to be prepared.

I feel like this large box has been delivered to the doorstep and I'm circling it cautiously, not sure whether to open it right away or call the bomb squad.

Inside the box is heartache and opportunity, loss and potential. It's what we signed up for eighteen years ago, but that doesn't mean I was ready for this. I look at the young man living with us and I know he's ready for this next step, and I'm ready for him to take it. In the meantime, I'm swatching.

For the non-knitters out there, I'll explain: swatching is what you do before you start a knitting project. There are a few things where it doesn't matter; potholders and shawls come to mind, but for most things, you have to swatch. You'll knit a 4"x4" square using the chosen yarn and the needles suggested in the instructions, then you'll wash and dry this square, and measure it. You need the same number of stitches per inch that are in the instructions, or the garment will not fit. At least, it won't fit you, and you'll find yourself eyeing friends and strangers of the proper dimensions to see if they look like they need a sweater or a pair of socks. It has to be right on, too; a difference of a half stitch per inch doesn't sound like much, but it adds up to several inches off on a finished item. I've found ways around swatching at times, but in general, you have to swatch.

I started the purple one thinking of a sweater I'd like to knit for myself. I've wanted an assymmetrical cable sweater since I saw a pattern for one years ago. Naturally, I can't find that pattern again, but I found this and loved it. I have the yarn, but it's lightweight and I'll have to use #5 needles. It'll take forever! While I was washing the swatch over and over to see how it would hold up, I found a pattern in a magazine and liked it. I tried swatching with some sportweight off-white Wool-Ease I've had forever and need to use. No, it's not the adorable bamboo cotton yarn in the pattern. It won't look as breezy as the model it's on. I tried size 8 needles, then 9, 10, 11, added a strand of blue, and finally the 10.5 in blue. Now I have to decide if I want this sweater at all.

It's all prep work. And for the first time, it's because I want to make something for myself. I want something I've dreamed of, planned for, labored over, worked on... for myself. I want to keep it forever, so I can wear it when it's cold outside, pull it up on my neck, throw it over my shoulders in the theater, maybe even (who knows) snuggle into it during a hockey game. I want it to have hot chocolate stains, and turned-up cuffs, and a snag where the cat's claws caught it.

I want it for me. To keep.

I think that's what's in the box.

Go get your own metaphor.

The knitting drought is over!

Update from the last post... most likely contender: double zinnias. Thank you for your entries!

Here's the thing. I haven't talked about knitting lately because I've had a bit of a dry spell. It was the introspective sort, brought on by the desolation of watching a sweater grind to a halt under the crushing suspicion that it Wasn't Going To Fit.

That and I was using what felt like rug yarn that I'd bought off Ebay because it looked so yummy in the picture. Anyone else spend a couple hundred hours lately with someone you picked from a picture? Feel let down? Like that.

Now let it be said that the recipient, my mom, is gracious about her jacket and expressed delight and even wore it, although I don't blame her if she doesn't wear it much and I know she's reading this, so now you know, Mother. But really, I kind of hate your jacket. It's just that I spent too much time with it, and there was the panicky re-order when I ran out of yarn that one time, and the stuff hurt my hands and then there was the panel I had to knit and graft into the back, and the panels in the sleeves, and the crocheted button band, and the extra crocheted panels in the yoke, and really, I'm just glad it's out of the house. It nearly crippled me. I'd want to start something else, but I knew it was squatting in the closet, balefully glaring at me, the most ungrateful UFO* I've ever had. I've had stuff on the needles for years that didn't bother me as much as this one did. But it's done now, and here it is along with the cardigan I made for my dad:

(*UFO: UnFinished Object)

My mom's jacket is Sonnet, from Knitty, and my dad's is from an issue of Creative Knitting a few years back. I still don't know why the neckline and sleeves on Sonnet came out so differently than the pictures in the pattern, but it's over now. My dad's turned out beautifully; it's knitted in Bernat Denim Style, which is warmer than I'd thought, but also heavier. I'd go with a wool next time.

Once it was done, things picked up. I started Coronet, finally, after printing that pattern four years ago, and then I started it again. Why? Because I used a ball of Simply Soft Shadows, which is great till you get about halfway up the head, and then you need your second ball. The second ball... you know, the one you're SURE you bought, and it's with the pattern. The pattern, the one you're SURE you printed off and can't find, so it must be with the ball. I still think they're out there somewhere, snuggled up together and staying warm, but now I have something that more resembles a nicely cabled headband. No problem, I'll just pick up another ball of yarn. The yarn that I suddenly can't find anywhere; apparently it's been discontinued. Yes, that's the one.

So I started it again, this time with the Baby Alpaca Grande. I should have given this yarn its own name; it was the first expensive yarn I bought, and I bought it at an alpaca farm on San Juan Island in 2004. It's lovely. It's super bulky (I didn't know from super bulky back then, I just thought it was pretty) and so soft. For four years it's sat in my closet and I would visit it and pet it and then put it back on its shelf. Finally, though, it's becoming Coronet, and about time.

In between I've made several hats on the Innovation machine. High time I reduced my stash. I've made some for gifts (three in Harding colors alone, just to figure out one that would fit my dad) and some for the Halfknits. Then my son drew my boss's name for the office Christmas party, and we all recalled the episode of The Office where Michael got a knitted oven mitt from Phyllis. Naturally, there was only one thing to do.

I used the Innovation and Wool of the Andes from Knitpicks. I cranked out a tube, cinched up one end, put in an afterthought thumb, made a tube out of black yarn, felted both, and then cut and sewed the black insert onto the red mitt. One more felting round, and it was done. That ugly seam is my misguided attempt to align the stitches. I should have just turned the piece sideways and sewn it on that way.

It opens up the possibilities of all sorts of felted tubes and bags, though. I need to get back to knitting panels on the Innovation, and then the sky's the limit!

Flower Identification

When we put in the landscaping last year, there were many plants listed on the plan. What they didn't list were the volunteers, and they have been the most fun to watch this year. I just don't know what they are!


On the right are beautiful pink flowers with yellow centers. I was wondering about clearing them out, thinking they would be good as cut flowers, then I realized I would have to cut them if that were the case. I did, and they're now brightening the kitchen. The yellow ones below have similar leaves. They all got three and even four feet tall. Anyone know what they are? I'd like to set them out intentionally next year!

We had other volunteer flowers, but we won't mention the nut sedge. We hate nut sedge. It is of the devil. It's mostly gone now, thanks to many weekends of weeding, and I have about 20% of the back landscaping covered in newspaper and mulched now. Only 80% to go.....

This is purple fountain grass, and I just love it when it feathers out. This is our best one; the others didn't do as well. There's a stand of it on 3040 and it's great to see!

The new bird

Forty-seven, I thought. I'm forty-seven years old and I have no business being up in a cedar tree on a Sunday afternoon trying to flush a stray cockatiel out of it. But my daughter was distraught, all the other people trying to coax the bird down had left, and there was just this cedar tree standing between us and the bird.

I hauled myself up there (quite gracefully, under the circumstances) and reached toward the bird, who very sensibly flew away. I got back down without ruining my shoes, and consoled my daughter. The bird was gone. We'd done all we could. Maybe his owners would find him. We started to drive away, and a Helpful Young Man in a car stopped to tell us that the bird had flown to a soccer net across the field. We drove over, and sure enough, he'd flown about a hundred yards and was roosting on the net, this time at ground level. A few minutes later, he was wrapped snugly in a spare sweatshirt I had, and was grinding my finger in his beak. I extracted the finger without blood-letting, either his or mine, and we installed him in a canvas bag I had in the car (and this is why you shouldn't clean out your car very often. How do you know what you'll need that day?)

A stop by the pet store for Nutriberries, and a stop by the clinic to set him up in the incubator, and we were off to the hockey game. The next day I posted him on spca.org and checked with the closest bird store and Farmers Branch animal control, and nothing came up. We named him Beanie, after the play we'd been to see on the Brookhaven campus where we found him. This may change, since, let's admit it, Beanie is an awful name.

So help us name the bird! He's a boy, and a good flyer until I clipped his wings. He hasn't bitten seriously since I caught him, so I think he'll be a pretty good pet. He's not too freaked out by small dogs and a certain cat, who do think he's fascinating and would love for him to come out and play.

And, yes, that is a brand new cage and perch and food and dish and toy. Why do you ask?

Fall Bulletin

I like this picture (from Living Art-N-Life) and if I can't afford it, I can at least have it here!

So many, many things going on, and yet they all are just part of life right now. It's hard to prioritize.... the kids' school, the election, my forgetfulness, the difficulty of finding decent raw almonds, all combine in a general haze that includes mice in the garage, giant okra, friends' health issues, upcoming travel, hockey injuries, and my lack of knitting. They swirl around me and once in awhile, one will struggle to the surface... "should think about a graduation ceremony next spring".... "need to Ebay lots of stuff".... "buy a physics course".... "exercise".... "study for class"..... but it soon recedes.

Therefore, topically and lately and in no particular order:

1. I just love fall. Apparently my garden does too. I'd just about given up on things, when they all started producing in earnest; I'm still getting cantaloupe, there are finally two watermelon out there, the tomatoes revived, and I believe I mentioned the okra. One day they'll be just a touch too small and the next they're six inches long and more suitable for building material than eating.

2. Forgetfulness. Not only the boy's traffic ticket last week (hubby and boy managed to get him signed up for a driver's safety course thirty minutes before his court time) but twice I've forgotten what day it was while talking to clients. This necessitated back-tracking and apologies. My mother says it's the Splenda (I have a single Pepsi One daily, plus two packets in my tea in the mornings) but Emily's having the same issues, and she's artificial-sweetener-free. We're working on it and I'm running out of Post-It notes.

3. It's finally close to the election (after which the race for 2012 begins!) and I don't know who I'm voting for. I've been registered both Democrat and Republican at various times, and rarely vote straight tickets. It's hard to find online conservative viewpoints that aren't fundamentalist or do nothing but raise allegations without backing. Obama's positions scare me, and Palin herself scares me. If someone promised me that McCain would be alive and functional in four years, I'd feel much better.

4. I've started several knitting projects that are unfinished. I'm working on relaxing with it again, but have been spending too much time with mystery novels.

5. While spending the too much time on junk novels, I've still uncovered some jewels. One character in a novel referred to some Christian philosophers that I've been researching. I needed a little expansion of the mind.

6. One goal this fall was to get more involved at church. Correction: get to know more people. It was feeling like a job; teaching the two year olds, helping with the youth group, but never talking to my peers outside our life group. I went to the ladies' retreat for the first time in years, and helped with a skit. I declined working with the middle school on Wednesday nights for the first time in awhile so I could attend the ladies' class. I sort of asked God to use me there if possible, and a few weeks later was asked to finish teaching the semester. It's going well, I think, and the main thing is that it doesn't feel like a job anymore. I'm enjoying the stretch, and most of all, I feel like I'm back where I'm called.

7. I'm thoroughly enjoying these last, few, so few, months before one of our family members leaves home. It's still a mad rush at times, but our conversations are back and we do still have Algebra 2 and physics together this year before he goes.

Homeschooling and the S word

As it does once in awhile, the socialization question has been brought up on my main homeschooling list again. This is what I said:

Look at us, all talking about the S word.

But, as much as we like to deny it, and write essays about it, and repeat how teachers always tell students “you’re not here to socialize!” it still bothers us. So let’s uncouple socialization from school altogether, for just a minute. Remember, the only reason it comes up at all is that public school kids are in school for the majority of their waking hours. Try to follow the reasoning here: school is virtually the only place children can interact with other human beings, therefore, it is where they have to learn socialization, therefore it is the best place to learn it, therefore, all children should be in school. You don’t have to pass Logic 101 to see the flaws there.

If we’re going to take responsibility for raising these precious humans, we must equally take responsibility for giving them the opportunities and experiences they need to develop into adults healthy in mind and body. This has very little to do with whatever educational choice we make for them. If a parent does send a child to public school and then assumes that all their socialization needs are met automatically, that is as big a mistake as one who homeschools a child and never leaves the house. You cannot provide everything your child needs from birth to adulthood. You must give them opportunities to meet and interact with other people, wherever that is.

Moving from the general to the specific and not forgetting our original poster: “I feel like they are missing out on all of the fun stuff kids get to do at school. Especially meeting new friends.”

Here’s the thing: School does not equal fun stuff. Granted, there may be isolated fun at school; the last bell and the (very) occasional field trip come to mind. I just spent five days at a conference, up every morning early, in lectures six hours a day, back the next day to do it all again. It was torture. I had to be at the right class at the right time, I had to listen and take notes, and the food wasn’t even that good. Yes, I got to socialize with a few peers, but it was not worth the rest of it. I think most school kids would tell you the same thing. So if the stuff isn’t even fun, it’s the friends.

I think the best we can do for our kids, homeschooled, private schooled, or public schooled, is to give them plenty of opportunities to meet other kids. I found out early on that simply setting up a play date or a class or a club with boys my son’s age did not mean that he was going to find a friend there. As it turned out, it took continued exposure, and each year we took part in at least one outside activity, whether it was a co-op or club or class I taught or park days. They both made friends, but their closest friends usually came from church. There I was, working on making sure they met plenty of friends and they were making them fine without me. For several years we would have two birthday parties each year for my son, one for his church friends and one for his homeschool friends, because I just didn’t want that many boys in my house at one time. Now that he’s in mostly outside classes, his best friends are from church and summer camp.

My daughter’s friends are more from our old co-op and now school. She’s at a private school and jumped into the social scene with both feet. To me, though, it’s just a venue for her to meet people, and church or co-op worked just as well. I did have to work harder to get her to play dates and sleepovers when we homeschooled, but then again, one of her new friends lives in a town twenty minutes away. It’s still a lot of drive time, but that’s how it goes. I’m committed to facilitating those relationships, and we just work it out.

Equally important, my kids have adults they feel close to, both in our family and among our friends. They’ve had volunteer opportunities where they can interact with people they would not normally encounter. In short, meeting their socialization needs can vary from child to child, but is just as important a part of their education as anything else. You have to try lots of things; most of them won’t work, but you keep trying. And at some point, you’ll be rewarded with young adults who make you so proud you have to blink and turn away until you can form the words. There’s no substitute for the chance to be with them during these years, and no reason to hand that over to the government. Keep them busy, keep them meeting people, keep them learning, and keep them home!