I once was quite enamoured by the idea of homeschooling. That was before I had children! I make a joke out of it but I truly realised that I would not have the patience. And I think my son and I are very similar so we tend to clash.
So Monday 9.00 o'clock found us at the gates of our small local school. Who was nervous and who was excited?
We were introduced to Will's teacher and his class of about 15. Another new Mum and I followed them around as they went to physical ed, which consisted of 10 minutes skipping with the whole school; assembly, where the principal pulled out a guitar and sang happy birthday to the kids who had had a birthday over the holidays; and then back to the classroom for reciting the date, months, numbers and shapes. I left when they started doing reading and writing practice.
I hugged my boy and left him sobbing.
Lunchtime I came back as arranged to see how he was doing and probably pick him up. I peeked in the class window and saw him sitting on the mat at the teacher's feet happily working away with a pencil in his hand. Other children were working at their tables and would periodically come up to the teacher and ask for help. It looked peaceful and industrious and what gladdened my heart was the smile on my son's face.
He decided to stay the rest of the day.