Homeschool: the Beginning

I don't suppose homeschooling has ever come easily for us. When announced our intentions, back in 2002, we became the laughingstocks of my extended family and the objects of my mother's wrath. Joe was four years old, and my idea of homeschooling preschool was to imitate show-and-tell with his baby brother and stuffed animals. No wonder we had little credibility! Two years later, when Lydia was born, I put Joe in public school--and three months later, we brought him home, for good. O'Donnell Elementary School was a catastrophic disaster; Joe's hyperactivity and distractability were wreaking havoc in the classroom, and his teacher called me multiple times a week to tell me that no one liked him. She and the social worker complained about him constantly, yet no one offered help, and the principal said he had no special needs. So, home he went, to a "school" equipped with two workbooks since we hadn't budgeted for this. I had a newborn and a four-year-old who had just been diagnosed with autism.

Thus we began. Despite our lack of materials, it didn't take long to catch our academic sails, and the fun started. Joe and I studied the United States during the remainder of first grade, which afforded me many opportunities to milk my creative juices. Hawaii week had us cracking a coconut; Georgia, making homemade peanut butter; Oklahoma, opening a Route 66 diner in our kitchen; and Oregon, recreating the Oregon Trail using sofa cushions for mountains and a laundry basket for a covered wagon. When second grade rolled around, Sonlight had entered the picture, and we read, read and read some more. Academic life was good.