The boys spent the morning learning how to use a smudger to make their pencil lines disappear when drawing. I thought it was cool. They tolerated it until they could get outside.
Outside, in the backyard of other homeschoolers. Outside, where there were chickens to chase, trees to climb, and cornbread fights to be had. Outside with four other twitchy boys who had never spent a day of their lives in a classroom.
Where was this, you ask? Did we travel to rural Maine for the holiday? Or back in time? Nope. We were right here in Cambridge. Where people keep chickens, and make their own bread, and compost, and drive Volvos. Other people in our fair city develop secret weapons for the military. Still others write long, boring dissertations about piscatorial poetry. (My apologies to Nick should he ever read this.) Others live off of trust funds. And others on the street. It’s a weird little slice of the planet, hard to take in at times.
But I can’t imagine doing this – homeschooling, parenting, or anything else anymore – anywhere else. That can’t be good, but as I sit here writing this post, I’m feelin’ mighty grateful. It’s good to have a place to call home.