Covid-19 Diary - Homeschooling, Day 10
Homeschooling Day 10.
I don't count the weekends in the Life and Education of the Biffington-Smythe Brood. Brood is probably too big a word; there are only two of them although I am not convinced at times.
There are few rules here at Le Maison d'Angle, if there ever were. My parenting has always been something of a cross between 'Auntie Name,' and 'Aunt Bea on the sauce,' and I have to admit to being less than concerned about keeping time when I can jump church.
Over on WhatsApp there is book chatter about the appropriate ways to love your books (not luv your books, you filthy animals...that's a different group). And it occurs to me that I was once given a box of checks (cheques to the Anglos among us) and I used them to buy books from myself and resell to my parents. I then would confiscate their purchases because they weren't 'using' them properly.
Damn, I was a bossy 4-42 year old. You know I know best.
I watch people highlight and I have been known to dog-ear a page. I just wonder sometimes what I would do if I hadn't fallen hard for the written word, what I would have done without friends who share that love, over distance, and time, and miles. I don't like to wander that far down that imaginary road...it makes me sad enough to want to rent my clothes (and not in a 'Rent-the-runway' context).
I had a virtual coffee with a friend in KC a couple weeks ago and he said 'How long did it take before one of us pulled out a book?' And I think this is the sign of a true friendship, the dual to WANT to share and to be SHARED with. Another friend did the same last night. These are telling to me: M, I have not seen in 17 years. S and I have only ever met face-to- face twice. But we know what we know on a gut level and we go with what we have.
This is week three. The rhythm is not known yet though the framework is there. A friend from Seattle was here before me, in a different place on the map but she took the time to share with me and that piece of knowledge made coming into today, when I will cry at the drop of a pencil or hat, listening to my daughter sharing music with her best friend when maybe I should be drilling her in times tables.
'That's just the kind of life that made me who I am...'
Time capsules? Naw. These kids will remember what they remember. I just want them to know who they are.
In my daydream time, I start making a list of large towns/mid-sized cities for later in life.
Must haves include: some sort of cultural arts and craft scene, a few restaurants/cafes, access to water, preferably a sea or ocean, access to good healthcare. Looking to invest in real estate for an income stream, thinking something that could be converted into 3-7 1 bed apartments w/ kitchenettes with a large communal kitchen. And guest space. It's a pipe dream plan but it keeps me off the streets.
Later, Dash the cat has the prison break idea backwards and my daughter tuts me as I read THE PATIENT ASSAIN. 'Mom. You're the only nerd here. Except for me. And him.' pauses. 'wait...and the cat.'
I don't count the weekends in the Life and Education of the Biffington-Smythe Brood. Brood is probably too big a word; there are only two of them although I am not convinced at times.
There are few rules here at Le Maison d'Angle, if there ever were. My parenting has always been something of a cross between 'Auntie Name,' and 'Aunt Bea on the sauce,' and I have to admit to being less than concerned about keeping time when I can jump church.
Over on WhatsApp there is book chatter about the appropriate ways to love your books (not luv your books, you filthy animals...that's a different group). And it occurs to me that I was once given a box of checks (cheques to the Anglos among us) and I used them to buy books from myself and resell to my parents. I then would confiscate their purchases because they weren't 'using' them properly.
Damn, I was a bossy 4-42 year old. You know I know best.
I watch people highlight and I have been known to dog-ear a page. I just wonder sometimes what I would do if I hadn't fallen hard for the written word, what I would have done without friends who share that love, over distance, and time, and miles. I don't like to wander that far down that imaginary road...it makes me sad enough to want to rent my clothes (and not in a 'Rent-the-runway' context).
I had a virtual coffee with a friend in KC a couple weeks ago and he said 'How long did it take before one of us pulled out a book?' And I think this is the sign of a true friendship, the dual to WANT to share and to be SHARED with. Another friend did the same last night. These are telling to me: M, I have not seen in 17 years. S and I have only ever met face-to- face twice. But we know what we know on a gut level and we go with what we have.
This is week three. The rhythm is not known yet though the framework is there. A friend from Seattle was here before me, in a different place on the map but she took the time to share with me and that piece of knowledge made coming into today, when I will cry at the drop of a pencil or hat, listening to my daughter sharing music with her best friend when maybe I should be drilling her in times tables.
'That's just the kind of life that made me who I am...'
Time capsules? Naw. These kids will remember what they remember. I just want them to know who they are.
In my daydream time, I start making a list of large towns/mid-sized cities for later in life.
Must haves include: some sort of cultural arts and craft scene, a few restaurants/cafes, access to water, preferably a sea or ocean, access to good healthcare. Looking to invest in real estate for an income stream, thinking something that could be converted into 3-7 1 bed apartments w/ kitchenettes with a large communal kitchen. And guest space. It's a pipe dream plan but it keeps me off the streets.
Later, Dash the cat has the prison break idea backwards and my daughter tuts me as I read THE PATIENT ASSAIN. 'Mom. You're the only nerd here. Except for me. And him.' pauses. 'wait...and the cat.'
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