Little boy has finished his homeschooling for the day and is happily bowling on the wii. My domestic checklist is checked off, at least for now. Cookie dough is mixed up and put in the fridge to cool. Supper is taken out of the freezer and thawed. Clean wash is put away. House is not spotless, but reasonably clean. Furnace is filled (with firewood) against the wintry chill of the wind outside. Inside it is warm and cozy--at least it is where i am cuddled up in my chair under my fuzzy covers as i write this. (The wind rattling various and sundry windows and branches makes it a little chilly around the old walls of my home.) It is a quiet day here at our house and i am queen of my castle.
When we entered our two oldest children into a small private school shortly before Christmas of 2012--the smaller school being less intimidating for them than starting at our large public school after having been homeschooled from day one of their school careers--it was a bit of a financial pinch, but do-able. When our little guy became of kindergarten age, hubby started doing the math and asked if i would be able to handle homeschooling one, just for kindergarten. Three kids in private school was just not financially a good decision for us, to say the least. I looked at his math and thought “uh, yeah; i can definitely homeschool one.” We also were beginning to entertain doubts about our youngest child’s readiness for a kindergarten classroom setting. Since we had already pre-registered him before the finances conversation, we decided to have the kindergarten testing done to see what the teacher’s opinion was. Based on the tests, she did not feel that he was ready; and based on his lack of any kind of consistent ability to sit still, that he probably would not be a good fit for her classroom. So he was not accepted into their kindergarten program anyway. This put my doubts to rest. It seemed that we were meant to keep him at home for one more year. We did not pursue having him re-take the test at a later date. Part of me was unsure of how i would do with another year of homeschooling--the anxiety and depression had become less debilitating, but something i was still learning to live with. But the other part of me was relieved to keep my little buddy at home a bit longer.
Our school year has kept the same pattern of ups and downs--some days i am tired and frustrated; but many more days i am thoroughly enjoying my little guy. He is adorable, and funny, and delightful, and a bit wearying.
The beauty of homeschooling is the things i get to do with my children. I have time to read to them, to cuddle and watch movies with them, to answer questions and look up things that i do not have instant answers for. Just to be with them. The downside is that i do not get a break. This past week, i was taking a lot of deep breaths and reminding myself to be thankful. But for the most part, today was restful in its smooth sailing.
Except for one small ripple on the quiet sea of domesticity.
My littlest boy loves volcanoes. He loves to talk about them, to read about them, to look up pictures of them. He has spent many happy hours (and i do not exaggerate when I say hours) looking at a globe and pinpointing the countries, islands, and oceans that hold his favorites. I would guess that, by now, he knows more about geography than most adults. He will watch Sesame Street, if he must, but he much prefers a weather channel special called, “Raging Nature--Volcanoes,” that we recorded on the dvr some weeks ago. He can recite most of it.
There is a volcanic island, out in the Indian Ocean, near the islands of Java and Sumatra, that was once named Krakatoa. In 1883, Krakatoa erupted with tremendous force, sending most of the island into oblivion with the loudest blast in recorded history. With this 1883 explosion, Krakatoa, as the world knew it, was gone. In the 1920‘s, Anak Krakatau (or “child of Krakatoa“) arose from the caldera of the 1883 explosion. But its name is no longer the lovely, poetic Krakatoa. Of course. It makes sense that the new island is referred to as Anak Krakatau, “child of Krakatoa,” because it arose from the remains of Krakatoa. This, to me, as an adult, is not a tragedy. Krakatoa is a lovely name, but my world will go on as before, no matter what its name has been, or becomes. But to a little boy who loves volcanoes; and most of all loves his beloved Krakatoa, this changing of the names is a sad and terrible thing. And, sadder and more terrible it is, that his mother has now become insistent on his telling the story of Krakatoa correctly if he must tell it.
Krakatoa wikipedia
We have gone back and forth about this for some time--a long time, in fact--this afternoon. An honest mistake we all make from time to time. An honest mistake is something to be forgiven and corrected. But this child has been telling this story to various and sundry people far and wide, purposefully reversing the order of the two names and telling it incorrectly to make Krakatoa the still existent volcano and Anak Krakatau the island that disappeared into the ocean 131 years ago. He is usually a very honest child (sometimes painfully so); but in this, he was intentionally telling his story incorrectly to suit his fixation with how he feels things ought to be. I left it go for a while, thinking he might move along to the next fascination, or come to terms with this name change, or whatever...but it only got more muddled as he went along and it came to the point where enough was enough. Time to tell the story correctly.
(A year or so ago, he was fixated on the number 29 for quite some time. Instead of telling people he was 5 years old, as he was then, he very seriously told anybody who would listen, that he was 29. If corrected, he became very angry and insistent that he was indeed 29. It was funny at first, but became something we had to put a stop to. That too was a painful thing for him. How he loved the number 29, and wanted it to be his very own. But he got over it in time--although he sometimes still talks about “when i was 29.” The story telling of Krakatoa was going to have to go the same route.)
“But,” he tells me--as i break his little heart with this news, (tragic sniffing, a sob here and there) “I never got to call it Krakatoa. You see,” (very earnestly, as if explaining to a small child) ,“I wasn’t born then.”
I turn away to wipe the smile off my face and pull out a few strands of hair in aggravation. I don’t care about the name. But i do care about the truthfulness of my little boy. It seems like such a little thing. Does it really matter? But it does. We cannot rearrange history to suit our particular obsession with a name or a volcano. Sigh.
I am so glad i have my little boy home for one more school year. But some days I feel a little inadequate to the task.
And then, like flipping a switch, he is back to being the cutest six year old under the sun. i bask in the sweetness of little boy hugs, and admire his adorable little face behind his glasses. He tells me that I am his Princess Toadstool from his SuperMario Bros video game. (Note that, though it is flattering and a lovely name and all, i did not use Princess Toadstool for my blog identity. Though it is lovely.) He says he is Prince Toadstool and that he will save me from Big Bowser (the villain) when Big Bowser steals me. A little boy’s heart already engaged in the eternal drama of saving the princess. But still little enough to thoroughly enjoy measuring flour and making cookies with his mama. Wanting to know if he was a good helper. He was. I told him so. And he was contented to know that he helped his Princess Toadstool. He loves me, so very much, in spite of the times i have to be the old meanie and insist on the truth. i am so very glad that he and I did not miss this year at home.
And now a bus has stopped at our house, and my big kids are home too. The afternoon quiet is shattered, but my home is full of love and happiness. The cookie dough is still in the fridge, ready to be baked. The soup needs to be put together for supper. The kids are hungry and want a snack. My hubby will be home after a while. He will be hungry too; and will be glad if i have supper on the table right away. So the sweet tasks of motherhood and family go on.
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