Decompression

Yes, I'm up at 1 a.m. blogging. But I fell asleep before 9 p.m.!

This week has been unusually filled for us. The Monkeys and I were up, breakfast completed, dressed, and out the door before 7:30 a.m. three mornings in a row in order to drive to Manassas for a Classical Conversations' Parent Practicum. The drive took about an hour and fifteen minutes, plus the inevitable potty break for the three-year-old, always within four miles of our destination. We unpacked from the car, sorted out the toys, and I escorted them to their playcamp classrooms before getting myself into the morning session.

The speakers were wonderful. April Cr... can't remember her name..., a homeschooling mom and Classical Conversations tutor who has schooled in several different states, spoke about "Children are souls to be nurtured, not products to be measured" and the stages of classical education -- grammar, dialectic, and rhetoric. Also each morning we listened to an audio lecture from Andrew Kern of the Circe Institute and discussed it. The first morning was filled with C.S.Lewis, Dorothy Sayers, and Tolkien. The second morning criticized Darwin and Dewey. The third morning wrapped it all up, urging the need for the classical method of learning. In the afternoon I attended sessions reviewing English grammar.

I probably need to back up.

Monkey1 is still on the wait list for our parish's school, and her name is not advancing up the list. So we are preparing to homeschool, and I have found a community and educational philosophy called Classical Conversations. It is a national group with chapters all over the U.S. It preaches three stages of learning: grammar, dialectic, and rhetoric. In the grammar stage, approximately kindergarten through sixth grade, the basics of language, math, history, etc. are emphasized, and yes there's a lot of rote memorization. The trained tutors (other parents) help introduce the weekly lessons. Around third grade the dialectic, or logical, stage starts coming into play, with more in-depth learning about the lists memorized -- and continually reviewed -- previously. For example, first a child will learn to spout off the definition of a verb. Later, the child will learn to look at a sentence and find the verb and eventually diagram it. Finally, the rhetorical stage, approximately the high school years, will build upon the blocks before it...

dang it, it is 1 a.m., how'm I supposed to remember all this when it is still new to me and some of it is years and years away? If we even get that far. Homeschooling feels temporary right now, "until Monkey1 gets into" our first choice school, my husband keeps saying. But as I read and read and learn about learning, and talk to other people, and observe my nephews and nieces who attend public schools and private schools, and think about my own education, both in school and at home as my mother helped me with my homework, I see I am falling in love with the idea of homeschooling and particularly this classical model of education. Leigh Bortins' "Echo in Celebration" and Jessie Wise and Susan Wise Bauer's "The Well Trained Mind" helped and excited me so much, I wanted to get started right away!

But can we do it? Well, it's kindergarten, not calculus. I'm eager to try. We know so many homeschoolers that the idea is not at all worrisome to Monkey1, whereas the classroom idea is fraught with anxiety, separation, and conforming. These can be addressed in time. After all, homeschoolers do not just stay home; the world is our classroom.

Psychic Paper

How much did I watch "Doctor Who" while pregnant with Monkey2? Apparently enough for her to learn one of his tricks.

While on vacation, Monkey1 brought me a note from my mother, asking if Monkey1 could have lunch with her at "The Hive." I sent her off with a yes.

Monkey2, seeing this, soon appeared at my elbow with a sheet of paper the same size as Monkey1's note. With a beaming smile, Monkey2 asked that she also have lunch with grandma.

The paper was blank.

Driving Test

Recently I borrowed my mother-in-law's car, a 1997 VW Golf, which turned into a driving test pulling from my twenty years behind the wheel. (Yes, I did just have to sit here for a few minutes and do the math.)

Test 1:
Find reverse.
On a VW with a stick, there's a trick to this. Lean down on the stick shift while shoving it to the left of first gear. Reverse out of the driveway.

Test 2:
First gear, second gear, third gear.
The cars I've driven regularly for the past decade have been automatic transmission. Fortunately I learned to drive manual -- after burning out the clutch on the Ford Aerostar van, I was moved to a Toyota Corolla -- and quickly re-recognized the certain noise of the engine as the next gear was needed.

Test 3:
Starting on a hill.
The first stop sign was a hill start, with a left turn onto a plateau of road where the cars crested the hill to my right and left, usually well above the posted 35 mph speed limit. With the emergency brake and playing the clutch and gas, I moved into my lane without stalling.

Test 4:
Fill 'er up.
Which side was the gas tank on? I guessed, the same as my 2002 Golf? I guessed right. But how to open the tank? There was no lever or lock button inside the car. I went outside to investigate. It was simply a push-the-tank-door operation, and the screw cap inside was not attached with a cord. I put it on the roof of the car, mindful of the time when my boyfriend (now husband) sprinted across a highway to retrieve one that had blown off the roof.

Test 5:
What speed?
I headed to the highway, worked my way up to fifth gear by ear, looked down at the dash board, and saw I driving at 0 mph. The speedometer had been working fine until now, so obviously it was a quirk of car age. I'm not a speeder, so generally if I'm going slower than everyone else, I'm going the speed limit. However, on the highway, how slow is too slow? After a few miles, the speedometer needle suddenly rocketed up to 55 mph, though now I was rather distrustful of it. I was glad to get off the highway.

Test 6:
Turn right.
Blinker to the right. It had a fast clicking sound. On VWs, this often means the outside indicator bulb is burned out. But at the next right turn, the blinker clicked at a normal speed. Later, it made no noise at all. When I parked, I left the car running and walked around it to inspect the lights, everything was working.

I whispered to my husband that I'd like to take the car to my favorite auto shop and have them look at the blinker, but I was afraid they'd find fifty other things wrong with the car and not let me have it back. My husband urgently insisted I NOT take the car anywhere near a mechanic. Back to his parents' driveway, ONLY.


Did I pass?
I did not stall out once.
I did not get pulled over and have to explain that the name on the car's registration and my driver's license are the same but the addresses are not the same because the car is actually owned by my mother-in-law, and yes, we share a name.
I returned the car with a fuller tank.

Yes, I passed.