What IS it with family?!

My mother stopped by the other day.

Now, there are two things you should note, dear reader, about the above statement. One: my mother lives in Pennsylvania, and I live in Virginia; it's difficult for her to just "stop by." Secondly, I referred to her not as "my mom," but as "my mother." Never a good sign.

Don't get me wrong -- I love her dearly! She is a fantastic grandmother and a very kind, giving person. In spite of our moral and political differences, she always (OK, usually) defers to me when dealing with my children. She tries very hard not to undermine my "authority." She's never once spanked or smacked the boys, though I'm sure she's occasionally wanted to and probably doesn't know any other way of handling young children's misbehavior. She mentions Jesus sometimes but never pushes the church thing. And until last year, she never questioned our homeschooling decision.

OK, maybe she questioned the decision, but she put on a supportive face for the kids that -- I thought -- became sincere over time. Keep in mind that we've been at this for nine years now. Last year I made the mistake of telling her that we made the leap into unschooling. What the hell was I thinking, you ask? I was thinking that after years of waffling on the subject, I was excited that I'd finally jumped into the lifestyle. I was excited about the whole idea of unschooling, of using the whole world to learn and teach my kids. I was excited at finally having found what really works for our family.

But I'd forgotten that my mother is a former math teacher. In the public schools. {groan} What have I done? Ever since I told her about unschooling, every visit is punctuated by pop quizzes for Noah. Being the real trooper that he is, he handles the questions deftly, translating what he does with his time into educationese like a pro.

But the look on his face the first few times was heartbreaking. It said, Why is Grammy betraying me like this? He couldn't understand why she had suddenly switched into school-principal mode. Before, her questions were all about what cool things he was doing. Suddenly the questions became more schoolish: What are you learning in math? Are you doing grammar? What about science? When can you take time off from school to come visit me?

At this visit, Noah received more of the same. Luckily, Aengus was sleeping over at a friend's house, so he missed the grilling. Apparently, my mother feels it's time he was "doing school," too. She asked if we started with him yet.

"Nope, he's learning just fine on his own."

Will he be starting school next year, then? (Nine years, people!)

"Uh, no."

Won't he be in first grade next year?

"I guess."

Does this mean you're skipping kindergarten?

Shrug. "Sure."

Now, I know that she meant "formal academic studies" when she said "school." Still, I have told her repeatedly how much Aengus has taught himself and that we're allowing him to continue to do so. She just seems hell bent on us using formal curriculum, and I don't know how else to put it so that she'll understand that we aren't using that method.
I guess what it comes down to is that I no longer speak her schoolish language. What is obviously an adventure in writing, spelling, problem solving, critical thinking, history and social studies to me is simply "Runescape" to her. In her mind, if it's not in a textbook or coming from a teacher's mouth, how can it be learning?

I suppose I'll handle this the same way I handled the spanking issue: stick to my guns and wait for the results to speak for themselves. I just hope my mother doesn't destroy her relationship with her grandsons in the process. She's too good a Grammy to lose.