Monthly Archives: March 2015

I am no Scheduler of Things.

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I have never been a scheduler.  Not of things, not of events, not of this life.  Not even in brief or passing moments.  These are untimed, they free fall into place.  If they do not,  they just do not exist.

I need a scheduler of events.  I need a time table for my mess.  I think I am coming around.  The process is painless, although I may take a moment to whine.

Homeschooling in our home is not methodical.  We get up, unscheduled.  We eat on our own time.   Dress is really not even mandatory, I do prefer pants.

Teeth are brushed, yes, and hair may be combed.  Things are even read.  They are divided and multiplied, they are put in neat boxes and rows by someone who is, obviously, not me, and the thing is that this fits.   This altered view of this scheduled and filtered autism world, the one where it all must be in this package and box and uniform, it must be unwrapped in the perfect cadence, the perfect time, and then maybe it might just be appreciated without that dreaded end of the day meltdown.

THAT never came.  The end of the day came.  The end always comes.

The meltdown never came.

We have been using a program that is free.  The name is Easy Peasy.  I am not the biggest fan, as of yet.  There is reading and there is math.  I find it lacks Social Studies and Sciences, yet it does have religion…….

I shut my mouth there.

I will be looking around for something that suits our needs better as far as learning goes.  I already found what suits our needs better as a family.  Learning is the point.

Learning is always the point.

Kids do not have to be miserable doing it.

Matthew and the Homeschool Decision

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I was just having a normal day. Nothing was different, nothing was out of order. It seems when someone close to you is hurting, you should be able to feel it. Especially as a mother.
Matt comes home, a little red in the face, a little winded in this breath. Matthew is 11 and has Autism, just like his identical twin, Sam.  I asked him what was wrong. Usually the problem is a sensory problem, not this time.
“They did it again,” he says, starting to cry.
“What did they do,” I asked.
“They pulled me off of the bleachers and onto the ground.”
“Who is they?”
He gives me a name, and he tells me about how he is singled out and Sam chimes in about how some kid will not let him do his school work and calls him dumb. I called the principal. I asked him to just talk to my boys. He never did.  I wondered maybe if it was because I am a woman, the mother, that they disregarded my concerns. My step-father went to talk to them. This is his home town, not mine.
The principal suggested waiting two days for him to get to the bottom of it.
The next day, I had two boys with bruises and skinned knees, telling me how they wanted to die. They are, again, 11.
Day 2 same thing.
Day 3, Matthew comes home and looks at me and asks me flat out why I do not love him enough to make it stop. You know when you have a special needs child, you are so much more protective. You see the struggles. You are aware of every missed milestone, you feel this.
The things I cannot handle revolve around my heart, my children. My perfectly beautiful, perfectly perfect baby boys, the ones I watched struggle and we ALL know Autism and regression go hand in hand. We worked too hard to throw that away. I cannot go backwards.
The thought of home school was in my head. Not as much as a charter school, yet it was there. I have them looking at K12 for the next school year and we are probably going to finish out this year doing actual home school through Easy Peasey and any other readily available programs.
Socialization is not a problem. When your only socialization consists of your peers in a place that is supposed to look after you and your needs, it is not easy in a school of less than 700 students, that is a failure and disgraceful. I am hoping to bounce ideas off any other mothers in this setting. If you have ideas or if you need ideas, it would be nice to communicate those here.
That is our story of how we got to this point. We never wanted to be here. It seems a lot of our lives is about being places we never wanted to be.
I am looking forward to happy children who laugh in their sleep again. I am sure we can find that somehow once again.