Cult of Personality

Wow. For an online quiz -- which asked questions in a way that made me wonder just how accurate it could possibly be -- this one was eerily on-target. From the site [emphasis mine]:

"INTPs are relatively easy-going and amenable to most anything until their principles are violated, about which they may become outspoken and inflexible. They prefer to return, however, to a reserved albeit benign ambiance, not wishing to make spectacles of themselves." - INTP Profile (TypeLogic)

"The INTP is above all a thinker and his inner (private) world is a place governed by a strong sense of logical structure. Every experience is to be rigorously analysed, the task of the INTP's mind is to fit each encountered idea or experience into a larger structure defined by logic." - An INTP Profile (intp.org)

"INTPs live in the world of theoretical possibilities. They see everything in terms of how it could be improved, or what it could be turned into. They live primarily inside their own minds, having the ability to analyze difficult problems, identify patterns, and come up with logical explanations. They seek clarity in everything, and are therefore driven to build knowledge. They are the "absent-minded professors", who highly value intelligence and the ability to apply logic to theories to find solutions." - Portrait of an INTP (The Personality Page)

"The Architects' distant goal is always to rearrange the environment somehow, to shape, to construct, to devise, whether it be buildings, institutions, enterprises, or theories. They look upon the world -- natural and civil -- as little more than raw material to be reshaped according to their design..." - The Portrait of the Architect Rational (iNTp) (Keirsey)

"INTPs contribute a logical, system-building approach to their work. They like being the architect of a plan, because of the scheming and thinking involved, far more than being the implementer of that plan. Implementation tends to be drudgery. They are content to sit back and think about what might work, given their view of the situation. INTPs may ignore standard operating procedures. The hours that they spend are not what is important to them, but rather the completion of their thought process" - INTP - The Wizard (Lifexplore)

"likes solitude, not revealing, unemotional, rule breaker, avoidant, familiar with the darkside, skeptical, acts without consulting others" - Jung Type Descriptions (INTP) (similarminds.com)

And this explains SOOOO many things: only 2.5% of the entire population is an INTP type, and only 1% of females fall into this category. So it's not just that I feel like an oddball; I really am one! But I'm in good company: Lincoln, Einstein, Darwin, Adams (J.Q.), and the Olsen twins (Hey, they're billionaires. That's a good thing!).

And the Award Goes To...

I'll take that Bad Mommy Award back, Stephanie. This week, it's all mine.

Friday was Aengus's 7th birthday. A magical number, so the home educator in me thought, Harry Potter theme, magic everywhere! But Aengus wanted a Nintendo DS, so we used all the b-day budget and gave it to him. I figured hey, he'll see all his friends at co-op anyway; I'll bring a cake and we'll call it a party without all the expense.

So that's what we did. Aengus played with all his friends and had a blast. No organized games or crafts or anything (none that he participated in -- as usual), but plenty of full-on fun and a few presents to boot. I brought a cake, and we all had some, but it was very casual and disorganized. Hey, that's how I run. I said, "help yourselves," and they all did. It was cool.

Later that night, Grammy and Papa came for a visit. We had a brilliant time playing with Aengus's new toys and games. The next day Aengus had his last soccer game (against us parents -- I scored twice, but we lost because the dads were being all nice and gentle on the little beasts) and Aengus got a cool new trophy. We played together all day, then Papa treated us to Chinese for dinner (how does a man live 56 years without ever eating Chinese?!) and we watched a movie. All in all, it was a great day.

Sunday came, and my parents went. We did chores and chilled out. It wasn't until Aengus was in bed that I realized what I'd forgotten: We never sang, "Happy Birthday" to Aengus or gave him candles to blow out. Never, all weekend long. He never got to make a wish.

Childhood is so short; the time for innocence even shorter. How many chances do we get to believe that our wishes will come true, if only we get all those candles out in just one breath? I have a feeling this is the last year for Santa at our house; the Easter Bunny and Tooth Fairy will be the next to go. How long after that can Aengus's faith in wishes and magic last?

Yes, he'll probably get another birthday or two in which his faith will hold fast; one or two more chances to wish with all his heart then blow with all his body. One or two more chances, and that's it: Truth will set in, then cynicism will begin its slow takeover.

And I took away one of those few precious opportunities through sheer forgetfulness. What's the matter with me?! How could I forget such an important thing? It's bad enough that Aengus doesn't get bedtime stories or lullabies or any "mommy-and-me" activities. It's bad enough that my family rarely gets any veggies, let alone a decent home-cooked meal. And it's bad enough that my children often miss out on field trips and activities. Now I'm actively taking away their innocence.

Hand over that award, Stephanie. I'm the Bad Mommy this week.

The Bitter Homeschooler's Wish List

From the pages of Secular Homeschooling Magazine, Issue #1
http://www.secular-homeschooling.com/001/bitter_homeschooler.html

1 Please stop asking us if it's legal. If it is -- and it is -- it's insulting to imply that we're criminals. And if we were criminals, would we admit it?

2 Learn what the words "socialize" and "socialization" mean, and use the one you really mean instead of mixing them up the way you do now. Socializing means hanging out with other people for fun. Socialization means having acquired the skills necessary to do so successfully and pleasantly. If you're talking to me and my kids, that means that we do in fact go outside now and then to visit the other human beings on the planet, and you can safely assume that we've got a decent grasp of both concepts.

3 Quit interrupting my kid at her dance lesson, scout meeting, choir practice, baseball game, art class, field trip, park day, music class, 4H club, or soccer lesson to ask her if as a homeschooler she ever gets to socialize.

4 Don't assume that every homeschooler you meet is homeschooling for the same reasons and in the same way as that one homeschooler you know.

5 If that homeschooler you know is actually someone you saw on TV, either on the news or on a "reality" show, the above goes double.

6 Please stop telling us horror stories about the homeschoolers you know, know of, or think you might know who ruined their lives by homeschooling. You're probably the same little bluebird of happiness whose hobby is running up to pregnant women and inducing premature labor by telling them every ghastly birth story you've ever heard. We all hate you, so please go away.

7 We don't look horrified and start quizzing your kids when we hear they're in public school. Please stop drilling our children like potential oil fields to see if we're doing what you consider an adequate job of homeschooling.

8 Stop assuming all homeschoolers are religious.

9 Stop assuming that if we're religious, we must be homeschooling for religious reasons.

10 We didn't go through all the reading, learning, thinking, weighing of options, experimenting, and worrying that goes into homeschooling just to annoy you. Really. This was a deeply personal decision, tailored to the specifics of our family. Stop taking the bare fact of our being homeschoolers as either an affront or a judgment about your own educational decisions.

11 Please stop questioning my competency and demanding to see my credentials. I didn't have to complete a course in catering to successfully cook dinner for my family; I don't need a degree in teaching to educate my children. If spending at least twelve years in the kind of chew-it-up-and-spit-it-out educational facility we call public school left me with so little information in my memory banks that I can't teach the basics of an elementary education to my nearest and dearest, maybe there's a reason I'm so reluctant to send my child to school.

12 If my kid's only six and you ask me with a straight face how I can possibly teach him what he'd learn in school, please understand that you're calling me an idiot. Don't act shocked if I decide to respond in kind.

13 Stop assuming that because the word "home" is right there in "homeschool," we never leave the house. We're the ones who go to the amusement parks, museums, and zoos in the middle of the week and in the off-season and laugh at you because you have to go on weekends and holidays when it's crowded and icky.

14 Stop assuming that because the word "school" is right there in homeschool, we must sit around at a desk for six or eight hours every day, just like your kid does. Even if we're into the "school" side of education — and many of us prefer a more organic approach — we can burn through a lot of material a lot more efficiently, because we don't have to gear our lessons to the lowest common denominator.

15 Stop asking, "But what about the Prom?" Even if the idea that my kid might not be able to indulge in a night of over-hyped, over-priced revelry was enough to break my heart, plenty of kids who do go to school don't get to go to the Prom. For all you know, I'm one of them. I might still be bitter about it. So go be shallow somewhere else.

16 Don't ask my kid if she wouldn't rather go to school unless you don't mind if I ask your kid if he wouldn't rather stay home and get some sleep now and then.

17 Stop saying, "Oh, I could never homeschool!" Even if you think it's some kind of compliment, it sounds more like you're horrified. One of these days, I won't bother disagreeing with you any more.

18 If you can remember anything from chemistry or calculus class, you're allowed to ask how we'll teach these subjects to our kids. If you can't, thank you for the reassurance that we couldn't possibly do a worse job than your teachers did, and might even do a better one.

19 Stop asking about how hard it must be to be my child's teacher as well as her parent. I don't see much difference between bossing my kid around academically and bossing him around the way I do about everything else.

20 Stop saying that my kid is shy, outgoing, aggressive, anxious, quiet, boisterous, argumentative, pouty, fidgety, chatty, whiny, or loud "because he's homeschooled." It's not fair that all the kids who go to school can be as annoying as they want to without being branded as representative of anything but childhood.

21 Quit assuming that my kid must be some kind of prodigy because he's homeschooled.

22 Quit assuming that I must be some kind of prodigy because I homeschool my kids.

23 Quit assuming that I must be some kind of saint because I homeschool my kids.

24 Stop talking about all the great childhood memories my kids won't get because they don't go to school, unless you want me to start asking about all the not-so-great childhood memories you have because you went to school.

25 Here's a thought: If you can't say something nice about homeschooling, shut up!

Flea Bitten

I dipped my cats tonight. Yippee-frickin'-doo, what a way to spend a Friday night. The fleas are taking over, though, so I bought out Petco of every last poisonous chemical that would guarantee death to the little bloodsuckers and got ready for some fun.

It was just Aengus and me, so of course we had to make this a little game, right? Aengus chased our poor cats all through the house with the box from our new, cheap-ass coffee maker (long story; the gist of it is that I am once again caffeinated). He figured that once he caught a cat in the box, we'd transport it to the tub and proceed to give it the bubble bath that would so obviously be a lovely experience for the kitty.

Silly boy.

Well, he did manage to catch one cat (Spot, the most timid of the lot) in the box. No sooner had I gotten the lid shut on her (am I the supportive mom or what? Restrain a cat in a small, dark box? Of course we can, honey!) than she slipped through a crack and skydived across the kitchen and hauled ass upstairs.

Round two: Smoochy. Now, Smooch is our most vocal feline and would be voted Most Like a Crackhead. Let's just say she's a little twitchy. Well, I managed to grab her without trouble, got her in the bathroom, held her in the tub, and started to tell Aengus to "Shut the door! Quick! QUICK!" when Smooch flew across the bathroom and through the doorway, bounced off the opposite wall in the hallway, and tore down to my bedroom to seek safety. Aengus is, by this time, in absolute hysterics.

Yeah, laugh it up, boy. Just you wait until we actually get one of them wet.

Finally, we caught Rumer. Now, Rumer is our eldest cat, being close to 100 in people years. He's ornery and slow and seems arthritic. Once we got him in the tub and started the water, though, he seemed to find that he had a little spring left in his step. I managed to hang on to his flea collar through the process, so he couldn't escape, but he showed me just how vocal the ol' coot can still be. Oy. He was howling up a storm, and Spot and Smooch were out in the hall, howling right back.

"Help! Get me outta here!"

"We're trying, we're trying! How do we get this damn door open?"

"Just bust it down and get me away from this bitch!"

Poor guy. I'm just glad the whole thing didn't give him a coronary.

With Rumer safely deflea'd and released, it was time to hunt Spot again. Surprisingly, she was easy to find: the dummy was waiting for Rumer in the hallway. Thinking a lot faster than I usually do, I scooped her up and dashed back inside the bathroom.

I felt terrible dipping Spot. She's so delicate and timid. Plus, she's mostly white (with... you guessed it, spots), so you could see her pathetic pink skin and fragile little limbs. And with her chosen method to attempt escape, I basically had to hold her in the air by her flea collar, practically choking her the whole time. Sorry sweetie, but you'll be happier without the fleas.

And finally, we were back to Smooch. Holy. Crap. That cat did NOT take it like a man, let's just say that. And I thought Rumer had howled; Smooch sounded like she was dying. Slowly. And she was constantly twisting into the air and spazzing and trying to escape, which made Aengus laugh all the harder. Thanks for your help, buddy.

We tried Aengus's suggestion of filling the sink and dunking Smooch to rinse her off. It actually worked, kinda sorta. And she looked damn cute in her little kitty hot tub. But she still needed a run under the handshower to get all those poisonous suds off her, so I hosed her down quickly. The second I released her, she shot across the room and sat, shivering, at the door in a huge puddle. Do you have any idea how much moisture a cat's coat can carry? We're talking gallons here, people. (And that was your science for today, Aengus.)

The original plan called for a dip o' the cats and the dog, then a bombing of the house, too. But I'm exhausted, and I don't have enough bomb for the whole house, anyway. So Bear gets a reprieve. I'm replenishing my energy stores, buying another bomb, and getting all the foodstuffs out of the house. Once the dog gets her fun in the tub, I'm declaring war on the house.

And goddammit, I'm buying Frontline in the spring!

Blogging, Schlogging

This thing, this ... "Blogosphere," is a strange place. What a wonderful opportunity to share with friends, family, the world all about your life. A convenient exercise in writing. A great way to learn something new and share all you've learned. A place to get things off your chest or toot your own horn.

The problem is...
Who the fuck has the time to post?!

A Rant:Or, Why NLSV is Becoming an Official Nonprofit Organization

{dusting off soapbox}

I read the other day that public schools in our region spend about $10,000 per student per year. I assume this includes everything from books and teachers to buses and nurses. But it also includes art and music supplies and playground and gym equipment. How much is spent directly on the "academic" portion of molding young minds, I don't know, but the overall expense to basically shepherd a child into adulthood is a whopping $10,000. Each student. Every year.

Go back and read that again. Now tell me this, fellow home educators: what kind of education would your children receive if you had that kind of cash to put into their upbringing?

My family brings in about the same amount after taxes -- for the whole year. I know we're on the low end of the financial spectrum, and we've occasionally received assistance from others. But not only can I educate my two children --year round!-- I can also feed them and their parents, keep a house and drive a car (less lately), all for the price of what our schools are spending to teach those kids from 7am to 3pm. It boggles the mind.

Not that I want the schools to spend less per child for the education they try to give these kids. And I certainly don't wish on them the stress of stretching the $$ they way I need to. God, no.

What I do wish is to have that kind of money to spend on my kids' education. Do you know what I could DO with 20 grand?! We could go stand in front of the Sphynx and inside the pyramids when we study ancient Egypt, experience the true immensity of the Grand Canyon or the California redwoods when we learn about Westward Expansion, or learn to haggle in Spanish in a real Latin American street market when we explore foreign languages.

Noah could have the much-easier-for-mom algebra program and be involved in fencing and Lego League and have his own real lab equipment. Aengus could have every possible board and card game, take part in every sport he wanted, and experience all the art and science activities I could find.

We could go on every field trip our friends get to go on, catch all the movies we love to use in our curriculum, visit every museum we've been dreaming about, and take all the wonderful day trips our area has to offer. What a wonderful education they'd have!

But they're stuck with broke parents who can only give them the basics -- much of what they'd get in school, actually. The environment is certainly better here at home, and they will definitely learn the material here (as opposed to reciting the information onto a test and promptly forgetting it). They get P.E. and music and the 3 R's and science and history. And they get it in some interesting ways other than through the read-the-textbook-and-take-a-test method. In short, they get a comparable education in a more gratifying way than the public schools -- without the expense. But with that $20,000 ... Now that's the education I want for my kids.

Which, of course, begs the question: What about vouchers and tax credits? Bah. I want nothing to do with them. Ever the middle child, I can see both sides of those political issues. But whether they are ethical or constitutional or moral or even practical is irrelevant to me. The fact is, once the government is, in essence, giving us cash, they are giving themselves the right to have a say in how that cash is spent. And until a law is written in which we get money with no strings -- and no potential for strings -- regarding the education of our own children, they can keep their money.

I believe that all home educating families understand the value of these enrichment oppotunities, though, and that many of us are struggling financially. I doubt any of us would have trouble finding a fantastic educational opportunity for our kids if we had a little more cash. So, given those dreaded governmental strings, we need to look to the private sector to help fund these so-called "extras."

This is why I want Natural Learners to become a way for homeschooling families to connect with people willing and able to support our cause. "Our cause" is the same as the public schools, but without government support: that of an educated populace. Granted, our methods and standards are a bit different, but we all want our kids to be happy, educated, and hopefully successful contributors to this society.

{neatly placing soapbox back in the attic}

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.