Back in September-ish, one of my kiddo’s school situations became untenable after several years of tucking and rolling. I have one of those boys who just wasn’t created to sit still, who wasn’t created to be super-organized at the age of 11, who is smart and funny and who is, much to the dismay of a string of teachers, noisy. But he is incredibly smart, an 11th-grade-level speller, and a whiz at all things computer. Without going into gory detail, it became a story about the failings of adults of every personal and professional stripe, including me for not intervening sooner, and a kid who was falling through the cracks. Falling through the cracks is something you should never have to pay extra to do at a private school, by the way. I have a family chock full of teachers. I love teachers. Some of the greatest advice I received this year was from teachers. This was just one of those situations that wasn’t working.
Having explored every imaginable option up to and including moving, we took a path that up until the moment it came out of my mouth seemed previously unimaginable. Homeschool. It even sounds weird now. But, boy, we all held hands standing at the edge of the cliff, took a deep breath, and jumped. It looked like it was a mile down to the rough water below and I assumed it would be a painful entry. It turns out it was just a short, happy cannonball into a warm lake. It worked. I went into executive-mom mode and got some great encouragement and advice from a stellar mom who took the same path, though for different reasons. I researched and cobbled together a workable fifth grade curriculum, finding textbooks and workbooks and computer programs. I’m glad I wasn’t trying to do this even ten years ago. Now, the resources are endless.