 It is 7:15 a.m., and I must get out of bed. Duncan, my 7-year-old and only child, is already up and playing in his room. I climb out of bed, stick my head in Duncan’s room and greet him with a “Buenos dias, sweetie.” “Buenos dias, Mama.” He is busily building something and cannot spare a moment to look up. Some mornings he is eager for cuddling, and we spend some time on that. But today I will go use the bathroom, then return to my bedroom and my meditation cushion in the corner. I sit for 15 minutes. Toward the last 5 of them, my mind has finally quieted. Well, that’s 5 more minutes than I would have had if I had not done my sitting!
Once I am dressed and the bed is made, I go into Duncan’s room. Time for him to dress. In our house, the rule is that we dress before going downstairs for breakfast on weekdays. Dressing used to be more difficult for him, a very contracting activity. Nowadays, it seems he hardly gives it a second thought, especially if there’s something he really wants to get downstairs for. So, he is dressed in an instant, and we head downstairs for breakfast.
Depending on the day of the week, we have a certain breakfast. In our house, Tuesday is laundry day and waffle day. Today is Wednesday, so he will have his Wed. breakfast. I don’t know that he really keeps track of what meal he gets on what day, but it helps me to have built-in variety and to know when I come downstairs what I’m going to make him to eat.
We share breakfast at the table while looking out our dining room window at the trees and the birds who inhabit them. Sometimes we don’t talk much. Other times we talk about what we see out the window, or whatever pops into Duncan’s head. I try to let him initiate the conversation. If I can slow down to his pace and give him time to take the lead, he will take me to the most interesting places on our holistic homeschooling adventure.
After breakfast, we clear our plates. That’s freeplay time for him, cleanup time for me. I empty the dishwasher, put away clean pots & pans, make a few phone calls. It’s best if I don’t take more than 20 minutes for this time. Any longer, and I’m assured of a grouchy encounter; he gets too far into what he’s doing to break and move to the next thing. We brush our teeth, I start humming our “going out” song, and he goes for his shoes and coat.
Next, we are out the door for our morning walk…our “daily constitutional,” as we call it. We take a 15-minute walk around our suburban neighborhood to get our hearts pumping, but also to say “hi” to any neighbors who are also out, and—for me, equally important—to get into the outside air. To connect with whatever is happening in the outside world. And there is almost always something to connect with. Cool things dropped by trees. Beautiful leaves to pick up. Materials to gather for craft projects later. Puddles to stomp in. Hmm, how did that box get up there in the top of that really tall tree? Wow, that was a big truck that went by. Mama, can you walk on this curb like this? Mama, can you do this silly walk? What a beautiful morning! Like the breakfast table, if I can keep my “Oh, look!” to a minimum, I am rewarded with a glimpse of what he is seeing, which is often different from what I’m noticing.
 At the end of our walk, I invite him to follow me on the magic (and invisible) tightrope at the end of our driveway. This one is magic because it doesn’t have to be stretched in a straight line to work. It can take any shape. So, we walk it, mapping out the form that we will draw later this week.
Next, we head inside for a drink of water, then circle. We flap and hop and gallop our way around the first floor of our house during circle. Circle time allows me to involve Duncan in different neurologically integrating activities that are hard to do out on the wet grass. And by using the seasonal songs a lot, it reinforces our connection to the season we just came indoors from. Most of the time, Duncan is cooperative during circle. If he’s too hungry, though, we have a small snack before circle. Eating before doing circle may not be ideal, but, sometimes, it is preferable to butting heads with a hungry, irrational 7-year-old who is only going to get crankier if he doesn’t get food soon. Really, it’s a no-brainer—if I don’t get sucked into a power struggle because I’m hell-bent on sticking to my original plan. Man, this holistic homeschooling demands flexibility. Maybe I should have reviewed the requirements before taking it on J.
So, circle goes well this morning, and we follow it with a snack. While I get snack, Duncan putters about, checking in with his toys and paper airplanes. He joins me at the table for snack. When we’re done, I move to the playroom/school space with our recorders, humming our “transition to recorder time” song. We spend about 5 or so minutes with the recorders. We do our warm-ups, sing the song we’re going to play, then play it. He is a quick study, so he gets the notes quickly, but there is some fine tuning he can do with his finger positions, so we do it a few more times. Before he can get bored with it, we are done. A little bit goes a long way here.
We put the recorders away, and I hum our next transition song. Duncan sits in his beanbag chair and I sit on the floor, not facing him directly. And I begin to try to recall, in kind of a conversational tone, the story we read yesterday. If I am wrong on a detail or really can’t remember a part, he always steps right in to fill the gap. But I do not worry if he doesn’t recount big chunks of the story. What is interesting to me are the parts that stuck with him. He remembers certain sections of the story right down to the exact words a character says. I wonder if that is the part that resonated most with him. What does that mean to him? Food for my thoughts. Anyway, having told our tale, we move over to our work table.
At the table, we sit down, side by side. He opens his good book and watches me begin my drawing. There is a finished version that I did the night before, but we won’t look at that until we’re further along. After I’ve done some of my drawing, I gesture to him to begin his. He balks. “I hate drawing. I’m not good at it.” Hmmm. I know this sentiment. It’s how I’ve gone through life. I listen to him; think; don’t comment. I then ask, “Does that mean we should only do things we’re good at?” Silence. I return to my drawing. Then I start to laugh. “Hmmm, my people always end up with big heads,” I say (which is true). I am no master with a crayon. He laughs, and seems relieved by my imperfection. I put a crayon on his drawing pad. “Here, why don’t you start your tree? Your bird’s going to need somewhere to sit.” He grudgingly starts. And grudgingly continues. If I can engage his imagination in creating the world on the paper—“How can Sumac get to the lake if she has no fan of feathers?”, then he will continue to draw. And he is happy upon finishing the drawing. He has even said, “Huh, I didn’t think I could draw that, but I did.” That’s what I’m looking for. That he did something he didn’t think he could. It doesn’t matter (to me) what his drawing looks like. It’s that he used the crayons to bring life to his imagination. That he engaged in the process. Final results are secondary here. That’s what I want him to learn about approaching artistic expression. I won’t tell him that…. but I hope he’ll know that someday from his experience of it.
We are done with the morning’s heavy lifting. He is ready to run outside to play, and I am happy to let him. Some days, we will use this time to do some quick, local errands. But many days, he’s ready to get outside and play, either by himself or with some younger neighbor kids.
When I have Duncan’s lunch ready, I step outside humming or whistling the “mealtime” song. Once he’s inside, we eat lunch together at the table. After lunch, a short breathing space, and then it’s rest time. We start off rest time in his room, me reading him a story from his book shelves (or the library). Then I am off downstairs for my rest time, and he is usually happily ensconsed in his room with a story CD (or silence). After a 35- to 45-minute rest time, it’s his 10-minute practice time. He chooses (from an approved list) which of the practice time activities he’d like to do, then proceeds. I occupy myself in the nearby rooms. When he is done, he proudly shows me his accomplishments…and then checks off the activity on the Practice Time chart that hangs on the wall. Then, it’s “Mama, can I go outside?” And he is off.
 It is still nice weather out, and there are his neighborhood friends outside in the yard most afternoons, so that is how he spends many an afternoon. He is an only child, and a homeschooler in the midst of kids who all pile on the big yellow bus each weekday morning. So, currently, rather than do crafts or baking, or some other focused activity in the afternoon, I let him play outside with these friends. This is important to him. And he is getting much-needed physical activity. And playing with ropes, and the pulley in his new tree house, and digging in the sand pit, and reconfiguring the swings to be some elaborate pulley system…and so that’s how most September afternoons have been spent. There’s always a snack to punctuate the mid-afternoon; we have some standing playdates away from the house, and we take part in a homeschooling family chorus one afternoon a week. But we are almost always home by 4:30 or 5:00, when he can check in with his friends in the neighborhood and get that vital outdoor time.
Recently, we made a change to the schedule which has only been for the good…Duncan now has his shower before dinner. When I first heard Beth mention this as a suggestion for someone else, I thought, no thank you. We have our evening routine, thank you, and it includes shower after dinner. Yes, but it also included a painfully regular dose of tired parents, tired child, wailing, crying (usually him, not me), “I’m too tired for a shower!” and so on. My husband and I had been to Wit’s End and back many a-time over this part of the bedtime routine. Now, he is clean before dinner (and still relatively clean after dinner!)…which leaves us time after dinner for family time or some handwork. Some nights we play a board game (and if Daddy is home, he plays with us). Some nights, Duncan wants to work on a handwork project. So we do that for 15 or 20 minutes. He’s already in his PJs, with brushed teeth when we do these. So, when we’re done, it is very little trouble getting him into bed for story. I repeat, very little trouble. I say this still with some disbelief in my voice. Why did I not think of this? And sooner?! Well, live and learn, live and learn. True for Duncan, true for his parents.
Duncan’s in bed. I wish I could say that I then meditate and do yoga and enjoy
fabulous karma for the rest of the evening, but I usually sit down to handle
e-mail and do planning for the coming weeks. Oh, and I get to check in with my
husband for a little quality time. And I still don’t go to bed early enough.
Life is busy and full, but it is full most days with my child’s discoveries of
the world around him, and my own continuing discoveries about the complicated
world within my own child. Such is the world of holistic homeschooling.
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