Over the years I have jokingly referred to myself as a "Mason Minimalist" when describing my homeschooling style. I admire and follow Charlotte Mason's 20 Principles, and employ many of her methods, but....
I'm kind of a minimalist.
I didn't start out that way; when Finn was in kindergarten I created an elaborate filing system for all his "subjects" (what was I thinking?!). This system barely lasted a few weeks, if I recall correctly, in part because my sweet tornado Annie was a toddler.
Over the years I've had to hone in, revamp, make lists, toss the lists out, re-prioritize, re-think, etc. In the few months before my husband was diagnosed with cancer, I was, for the first time, following a Charlotte Mason curriculum fairly closely, using lesson plans (!)(that's so not me!). It is a beautiful curriculum full of good things, but along about late October of that school year I was just exhausted. I simplified a little and continued on until our Christmas break, and on December 18th my husband got his diagnosis. Needless to say, the curriculum went out the window.
I was forced to re-think things. I re-read Mason's principles--many times. I thought about how to stay faithful to those principles even in the midst of illness or crisis. I prayed. I journaled. I adapted. My husband had surgery in January 2018 and returned to work after a month at home, and we finished out that school year with a fairly minimalist homeschooling routine, and I was looking forward to an easy summer of pool time and thinking when his cancer recurred--with a vengeance. From May to December last year, we were dealing with surgery, radiation, chemo, living in another state for a couple of months, side effects, doctor's appointments, et cetera. I was an absolute minimalist during that time; in fact, when we lived in North Carolina, I did a bit of school here or there when I could (highly simplified), left my children to their own devices as much as possible, and felt gratitude to my best friend Allison for reading to the children, taking them to the library, and doing interesting things with them when all I could do was call the insurance company or try to help my husband manage his symptoms.
2018 was the year of cancer, but it was also the year that cemented in my mind the idea that minimalism is okay.
* * *
When Charlotte Mason homeschoolers get together we throw around the word "feast" a lot. It's a beautiful feast, this type of education: everything from history via living books to brush drawing, from hymns to modern languages, from picture study to natural history. Any curriculum that tries to stay true to Mason's methods will invariably include all of these things, and many more, in a well-organized way.
But of course that must be balanced with reality. We have to figure what is sustainable for our personalities and family situations.
{a simple supper a few nights ago, with zinnias from our neighbor}
The 13th Principle states that in devising a syllabus/course of study for a child, 3 points should be considered:
first, the child requires much knowledge; that is, sufficient "food" for the mind;
second, the knowledge should be full of variety to stimulate the mental appetite; and
third, the knowledge should be communicated in "well-chosen language" because we naturally gravitate to ideas conveyed in literary form.
The "feast" idea stems from the idea that a child needs a good variety of much knowledge. It's the buffet. Lots of choices.
In a school setting, this appears to look like short (often timed, so to be sure they are short) lessons on multiple subjects. On paper it is beautiful and I have created perfectly beautiful "on paper" plans! The issue is that in real life at home there are complications to the plans:
you need to attend a funeral (this is our reality this morning, actually) and help with the post-reception cleanup
the roofing company guy pulls up to measure your house for the new roof
the cat becomes sick to her stomach
your husband needs you to call the car dealership
your neighbor--sweetest person on earth-- needs to take her ill child for bloodwork and asks if you could watch two of her other children while they are gone
Today is only Wednesday that's my *actual* week so far!
{real life: a geriatric dog and my husband's dresser in the living room because our bathroom is being tiled and we had to move the dresser out of the way....so it goes....}
I could set strict boundaries around our school time. I could decline to attend the funeral of the dear family friend who looked after my mother so sweetly during a hard time in her life. I could ignore the roofing guy (although the roof is such a huge investment that I don't think that would be wise). I could ignore the cat issue (yuck, I don't think I could do that). I could decline to call the car dealership. I could decline to babysit.
But I'm not sure that living a life that is quite that insulated from reality, or inflexible with real human needs, would be an appropriate education for my children. I don't want them to think that our agenda is the most important one all the time.
It is healthy and good to keep boundaries in life. During the day I almost never answer the phone unless it's my husband, a parent, or a doctor's office. I try to schedule our appointments and outings in the afternoon, presumably after we have done most of our daily work. And I try to keep to a strict rule, if at all possible: no more than one Extra Thing per day, so that we can have plenty of margin.
{from a recent field trip to a colonial-era home}
But the reality of our lives is that interruptions will happen. And I agree with C.S. Lewis:
"The great thing, if one can, is to stop regarding all the unpleasant things as interruptions of one's 'own,' or 'real' life. The truth is of course that what one calls the interruptions are precisely one's real life--the life God is sending one day by day."
So that's the philosophical perspective I take when pondering the issue of how to structure our "school days." Next time I'll write about the practical side of it; how I actually structure things so that we can enjoy a 'feast' without a checklist or stress.
I was forced to re-think things. I re-read Mason's principles--many times. I thought about how to stay faithful to those principles even in the midst of illness or crisis. I prayed. I journaled. I adapted. My husband had surgery in January 2018 and returned to work after a month at home, and we finished out that school year with a fairly minimalist homeschooling routine, and I was looking forward to an easy summer of pool time and thinking when his cancer recurred--with a vengeance. From May to December last year, we were dealing with surgery, radiation, chemo, living in another state for a couple of months, side effects, doctor's appointments, et cetera. I was an absolute minimalist during that time; in fact, when we lived in North Carolina, I did a bit of school here or there when I could (highly simplified), left my children to their own devices as much as possible, and felt gratitude to my best friend Allison for reading to the children, taking them to the library, and doing interesting things with them when all I could do was call the insurance company or try to help my husband manage his symptoms.
2018 was the year of cancer, but it was also the year that cemented in my mind the idea that minimalism is okay.
* * *
When Charlotte Mason homeschoolers get together we throw around the word "feast" a lot. It's a beautiful feast, this type of education: everything from history via living books to brush drawing, from hymns to modern languages, from picture study to natural history. Any curriculum that tries to stay true to Mason's methods will invariably include all of these things, and many more, in a well-organized way.
But of course that must be balanced with reality. We have to figure what is sustainable for our personalities and family situations.
{a simple supper a few nights ago, with zinnias from our neighbor}
The 13th Principle states that in devising a syllabus/course of study for a child, 3 points should be considered:
first, the child requires much knowledge; that is, sufficient "food" for the mind;
second, the knowledge should be full of variety to stimulate the mental appetite; and
third, the knowledge should be communicated in "well-chosen language" because we naturally gravitate to ideas conveyed in literary form.
The "feast" idea stems from the idea that a child needs a good variety of much knowledge. It's the buffet. Lots of choices.
In a school setting, this appears to look like short (often timed, so to be sure they are short) lessons on multiple subjects. On paper it is beautiful and I have created perfectly beautiful "on paper" plans! The issue is that in real life at home there are complications to the plans:
you need to attend a funeral (this is our reality this morning, actually) and help with the post-reception cleanup
the roofing company guy pulls up to measure your house for the new roof
the cat becomes sick to her stomach
your husband needs you to call the car dealership
your neighbor--sweetest person on earth-- needs to take her ill child for bloodwork and asks if you could watch two of her other children while they are gone
Today is only Wednesday that's my *actual* week so far!
{real life: a geriatric dog and my husband's dresser in the living room because our bathroom is being tiled and we had to move the dresser out of the way....so it goes....}
I could set strict boundaries around our school time. I could decline to attend the funeral of the dear family friend who looked after my mother so sweetly during a hard time in her life. I could ignore the roofing guy (although the roof is such a huge investment that I don't think that would be wise). I could ignore the cat issue (yuck, I don't think I could do that). I could decline to call the car dealership. I could decline to babysit.
But I'm not sure that living a life that is quite that insulated from reality, or inflexible with real human needs, would be an appropriate education for my children. I don't want them to think that our agenda is the most important one all the time.
It is healthy and good to keep boundaries in life. During the day I almost never answer the phone unless it's my husband, a parent, or a doctor's office. I try to schedule our appointments and outings in the afternoon, presumably after we have done most of our daily work. And I try to keep to a strict rule, if at all possible: no more than one Extra Thing per day, so that we can have plenty of margin.
{from a recent field trip to a colonial-era home}
But the reality of our lives is that interruptions will happen. And I agree with C.S. Lewis:
"The great thing, if one can, is to stop regarding all the unpleasant things as interruptions of one's 'own,' or 'real' life. The truth is of course that what one calls the interruptions are precisely one's real life--the life God is sending one day by day."
So that's the philosophical perspective I take when pondering the issue of how to structure our "school days." Next time I'll write about the practical side of it; how I actually structure things so that we can enjoy a 'feast' without a checklist or stress.
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