Homeschool, Homeschool, Give Me a Break!

To set the scene: in our new, walls-closing-in, purely chaotic K-12 world, the following terms apply:

• Distance learning = homeschooling;

• Online classes = 45 minute interactions with now former teachers about homeschooling;

• School = homeschooling;

• Work = homeschooling;

• Our lives have been taken over by = homeschooling.

And the actual home school comprises two specific areas on the main floor of our home: the kitchen (which doubles and overlaps as a food preparation and consumption mess…space), and the office (oh the office…it used to be a sanctuary…a cozy, comfortable space with a door that closes…but it is now permanently soiled with the memories of “DAD! IT’S PASS FAIL – I DON’T CARE IF I LEARN IT!”).

And yes, this is another post about parenting the children. But hear me out. I know many of you made the (looks pretty good right about now) decision to not have children – well, not the human kind, anyway. Or you are the grandparents/aunts/uncles/friends. To all of you I say…nay guarantee – you will absolutely enjoy this post WAY MORE than anyone because you can laugh and laugh, then go online to check your larger than we- who-have-kids bank balance, then contentedly look around your likely not-destroyed abode and nod approvingly, and then perhaps cock an ear to the SILENCE/CHOSEN SOUNDS you very well may be experiencing.

Ok – on with the show. Home school in our home looks like this:

The children receive their work assignments for the week on Monday mornings, which means Jeana and I get to sift through 4,963 emails received in a seven-minute period from all the teachers, whose new roles are to assign work, endure 45 minutes a week of online “interaction,” and grade the work. Is there something missing? Oh, something’s missing, all right. Let’s just say that any teacher who ever said that either of my children were a pleasure to have in class were clearly LYING.

The online sessions take place in 45 minute blocks: one on Monday afternoon at 1 or 2 pm; one Tuesday morning at 8 or 9 am and one Tuesday afternoon at 1 or 2 pm; one Wednesday morning at 8 or 9 am and one Wednesday afternoon at 1 or 2 pm; one Thursday morning at 8 or 9 am and one Thursday afternoon at 1 or 2 pm.

Some thoughts on the paragraph above that you just read:

• It took me 45 minutes to write that sentence;

• They have sessions at the same time only once during the week. Once.

• I don’t know about you, but I based my entire college and grad school schedule on not ever taking any class at 8 am; and

• We only have two children, and keeping all of this together takes two educated adults, three apps, two dogs, and a fair amount of yelling. God help those who have more than two kids…sending thoughts and prayers.

We try to wake the kids at a “decent” hour (before Noon) on Mondays to get them back on track, which is a challenge because they slept in the past three mornings when they didn’t have morning sessions. The 16-year-old girl is easier to wake, although she inexplicably yells at the top of her lungs (whilst stretching) when we wake her – so Jeana and I draw straws on who goes in first. But it’s not like there’s a winner. The boy is impossible to wake unless: 1) the large dog attacks him, which is fun for a minute but then we feel bad – for the dog; 2) we tell him we just baked cookies/cooked bacon, at which time he tries to get up but ends up on the floor crawling towards the stairs; or 3) you sit in his room and endure a litany of whining and thrashing for at least 10 minutes until he has woken himself up sufficiently.

The rule in our house is that the hoodlums do at least two subjects a day Monday-Wednesday in an effort to attempt to manage our lives – and to try to condense the Hell on Earth timeframe as much as possible. If we pull it off, they only have their sessions on Thursdays, and no work until Monday morning when this shitshow starts again.

That makes much of the week look like this:

• Wake them at different times (see above for how easy and fun that is);

• Make sure they are awake;

• Make sure they log into their sessions on time;

• Make sure they didn’t fall asleep during the session;

• Maybe do some of OUR work;

• Make sure that they come downstairs when the sessions are over rather than fall asleep or play games/watch shows on their devices;

• Force them to eat something;

• Get them started on homework, which takes an hour of pleas, threats (how many times will he lose his phone until he’s 40?), and outright bribery with cold, hard cash;

• Try, try, try to get one class finished before the afternoon session…the success rate – 34% and falling;

• Make sure they log into their afternoon sessions on time;

• Maybe do some of OUR work;

• Make sure they don’t try to hide from us after the afternoon sessions;

• Force them to eat something again;

• Begin the AFTERNOON HOMEWORK HAPPY FUN TIME

The Afternoon Homework Happy Fun time is when the absolute best parenting happens. I am certain that, when we look back on these days years from now (and perhaps reminisce about them during family dinners – if we ever have those again), we will be filled with pride. Yeah, right. We’re just trying to stay above the Child Services visit level. We have, however, come to an agreement that much of what is said/threatened/decreed during Afternoon Homework Happy Fun Time is taken in the appropriate context and is reviewable after dinner. Inevitably, Dave has grounded the boy for six years by 4 pm every day, and Sofia has performed at least three Academy Award-level dramatic acts, so there’s a lot to talk about before the children disappear until TV time.

In conclusion, we hereby decree that teachers should be paid $1M. Per hour. It’s only fair.