The First Time In A Long Time
It's spring.
Southern California surprised us with late winter cold and rains, as if the groundhog actually knew what he was talking about, but today is sunny and pleasantly warm, with green leaves unfurling on the trees, and the first roses of the season showing fat pink buds that will explode open in a day or two.
I realized today that I don't have a learning year to plan for this coming fall.
Umm ... I'm not sure what to do with myself.
My nest isn't emptying out; the son who took a gap year is still at home, as is the one who graduates in 11 weeks. They both plan to enroll at the local community college this fall, living at home to keep expenses down while they try to decide what majors might interest them.
Already, my youngest has moved into the unschooling portion of his learning year. He did all of the same graduation requirements as his older brother, and so this year was always intended to be more student-led. He did some additional work in trigonometry in the first semester (using a different program than last year), and started calculus, but at his own pace. He's continued with music study and physical education, and is pursuing several of his interests, including 3D design and printing, game design, and creative writing. He revisited Romeo and Juliet, and has continued with his interest in science fiction, fantasy, and dystopian fiction. Rarely do his studies require my input; he has taken ownership of his learning.
But spring, spring is when a Waldorf homeschool mom's thoughts turn to fall, and the return to rhythm (which tends to fly out the window during the last few weeks of the learning year), along with block planning and secondary lessons.
I feel bereft. I want to find a few 7 year olds and teach them grade 1. I want to open a Waldorf preschool in my home, lazure the walls, and put my apron on. I want to return to the past ...
Of course, I can't. My goal isn't to take teacher training and become a Waldorf or Enki teacher. I could go in that direction, but that is moving backward, not toward my future. My future involves supporting my adult children in their endeavors, creating the next chapter in my life as a wife and partner, and discovering who I am as an older adult woman who is no longer mothering young children or adolescents.
I have loved being a mother; nothing else I have done in my life has brought this kind of joy and contentment. I am proud of many parts of my life before children, but it doesn't hold a candle to the joy of spending my days in the presence of my two boys. As we transition to friendship and the mentor relationship between adult children and their parents, I am so glad that we kept them close, attached, valued, respected, and loved. They, along with my husband, are my favorite people in the world.
Indeed, just a year or two ago I used to think that I didn't understand our cultural idea of sending young people out into the world at 18, ready to make it on their own financially and emotionally. I wanted my boys to stay with me forever. Truth be told, I am in no hurry for them to leave, but now that I am here, on the cusp of both of them being adults, I am excited by the possibilities that the world holds for them. When they are ready to go, I will bid them farewell knowing that they are ready for the next adventure life has for them.
But still, I long for a planner, a pencil, and a long weekend so that I can sketch out blocks, plan reading lists, order art supplies, and imagine yet another amazing year of home learning with my boys. I can hardly believe that this is where I am, at the end of home educating these two fantastic young men.
Instead, it seems that it is time for me to turn my focus to my own education, the education of not only my mind, but my heart and my hands. It is time to take up projects that got pushed well beyond the back burner. The possibilities are limitless. Perhaps I can grab that planner and pencil, after all.
Southern California surprised us with late winter cold and rains, as if the groundhog actually knew what he was talking about, but today is sunny and pleasantly warm, with green leaves unfurling on the trees, and the first roses of the season showing fat pink buds that will explode open in a day or two.
I realized today that I don't have a learning year to plan for this coming fall.
Umm ... I'm not sure what to do with myself.
My nest isn't emptying out; the son who took a gap year is still at home, as is the one who graduates in 11 weeks. They both plan to enroll at the local community college this fall, living at home to keep expenses down while they try to decide what majors might interest them.
Already, my youngest has moved into the unschooling portion of his learning year. He did all of the same graduation requirements as his older brother, and so this year was always intended to be more student-led. He did some additional work in trigonometry in the first semester (using a different program than last year), and started calculus, but at his own pace. He's continued with music study and physical education, and is pursuing several of his interests, including 3D design and printing, game design, and creative writing. He revisited Romeo and Juliet, and has continued with his interest in science fiction, fantasy, and dystopian fiction. Rarely do his studies require my input; he has taken ownership of his learning.
But spring, spring is when a Waldorf homeschool mom's thoughts turn to fall, and the return to rhythm (which tends to fly out the window during the last few weeks of the learning year), along with block planning and secondary lessons.
I feel bereft. I want to find a few 7 year olds and teach them grade 1. I want to open a Waldorf preschool in my home, lazure the walls, and put my apron on. I want to return to the past ...
Of course, I can't. My goal isn't to take teacher training and become a Waldorf or Enki teacher. I could go in that direction, but that is moving backward, not toward my future. My future involves supporting my adult children in their endeavors, creating the next chapter in my life as a wife and partner, and discovering who I am as an older adult woman who is no longer mothering young children or adolescents.
I have loved being a mother; nothing else I have done in my life has brought this kind of joy and contentment. I am proud of many parts of my life before children, but it doesn't hold a candle to the joy of spending my days in the presence of my two boys. As we transition to friendship and the mentor relationship between adult children and their parents, I am so glad that we kept them close, attached, valued, respected, and loved. They, along with my husband, are my favorite people in the world.
Indeed, just a year or two ago I used to think that I didn't understand our cultural idea of sending young people out into the world at 18, ready to make it on their own financially and emotionally. I wanted my boys to stay with me forever. Truth be told, I am in no hurry for them to leave, but now that I am here, on the cusp of both of them being adults, I am excited by the possibilities that the world holds for them. When they are ready to go, I will bid them farewell knowing that they are ready for the next adventure life has for them.
But still, I long for a planner, a pencil, and a long weekend so that I can sketch out blocks, plan reading lists, order art supplies, and imagine yet another amazing year of home learning with my boys. I can hardly believe that this is where I am, at the end of home educating these two fantastic young men.
Instead, it seems that it is time for me to turn my focus to my own education, the education of not only my mind, but my heart and my hands. It is time to take up projects that got pushed well beyond the back burner. The possibilities are limitless. Perhaps I can grab that planner and pencil, after all.
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