Mental Whiplash

Posted by Elizabeth Curry | 0 comments

There are some things about homeschooling large numbers of children that I didn’t expect. Actually everything is something of a surprise since I never planned on homeschooling, much less homeschooling nine children. But I digress. The thing that is surprising me currently is the mental whiplash that a mother of many experiences throughout the day. By dinner my brain is mush. It’s not the number of children that does it, either, but the span of ages. Eighteen years old and in college down to two little two-year olds who want to do what their big brothers and sisters are doing. Meeting all of their needs throughout the day requires a mental agility that I’m not sure I always possess.

Let me give you an example of a fairly typical day.

I start out with the youngest because I’ve found if I give them some attention right away, they are happier to play while I work with the older ones. On this day I have decided we will sing songs together and for 20 minutes we work our way through my repertoire of children’s songs and finger plays. Truly I could sing the Itsy Bitsy Spider over and over because it’s so cute to watch two little pairs of hands trying to imitate the spider motion and two little voices singing the last word of every line. But the five year old is anxious to do his ‘work’ with me and so I reluctantly settle the girls with some toys and move on.

This shift between singing with toddlers to preschool activities is easy, though this son has some learning delays and I am constantly trying to figure out the best ways to help him learn. Soon the real mental gymnastics begin. A daughter comes up with her English book in hand because she has a question about her grammar. So, in the middle of helping my son count to five I am confronted with explaining the concept of retained direct objects when moving from the passive to the active voice. This is not an easy jump to make, especially since I am pretty sure at no point in my life have I ever heard the phrase ‘retained direct object.’ I look pleadingly at the book hoping that it is actually a simple concept with a different name. It’s not. I am faced with two choices: take the time to study the book so I can explain it or take evasive action and ask her to save it for her father, the English major, when he gets home. I choose the second option. We are both relieved that retained direct objects can be avoided a little while longer and I happily go back to counting to five.

When the counting lesson is done, I move onto correcting the math and English work of the three middles. This, too, I can handle as I work my way through basic addition and noun and verb identification. The multiplication is only slightly more of a stretch, but I’m still feeling fairly on top of things. That is until my oldest son walks in with a long face. I glance at the book he is holding and briefly hope he is just coming to tell me he is done with chemistry for the day. He mumbles he needs help and my hopes are dashed. Now the real mental work begins.

Having already deferred one difficult lesson onto my husband’s plate, I take a deep breath and look at the chemistry book. I look very, very carefully as I try to figure out if there is some way to avoid having to actually figure it out. Since no ideas present themselves, I begin to read about how to solve the equation to figure out the retained heat of a chemical reaction. I am briefly thrown by the symbol ‘delta T’, but am heartened (a little) that my son can explain it. After some effort, I figure out the formula well enough to explain it more or less successfully to my son and leave him to do the problems.

Feeling quite proud of myself, I am quickly deflated when another daughter comes up and starts asking a stream of questions, which I cannot answer, about the life and habits of the whale shark, about which she is writing a report. In order to encourage self-direction, I suggest some places where she can find the answers. I move onto the son who is strengthening his reading skills and he and I sit down to read the adventure book we’re working through together. This method of encouraging him to read has been great, except that I get caught up in the story and have to consciously remember not to sound annoyed when he wants to be done after just a couple of pages.

At this point I have almost made it to lunch time and my brain will be able to take a break. We read about lighthouses and then all pile into the bathroom (the only room without a window that we can make dark) and talk about how light reflects. We do the experiments with flashlights, mirrors, and lenses, while the little girls, who joined us in the bathroom alternately sing Itsy Bitsy Spider and tell people to sit on the potty. We finish our experiments and exit the bathroom with crying little girls in tow because they weren’t done playing potty.

The rest of the day is fairly simple and we proceed as usual through dinner and bedtime. I think I’m done, but then check my email one more time. Up pops an email from my oldest daughter at college. She has a paper she is writing and has finished her second draft… would I take a look at it for her and tell her what I think of it?

Moving from Itsy Bitsy Spider to commenting on drafts of college papers may cause my brain to cramp, but I wouldn’t trade it for the world. Along with the challenges of raising so many children comes the joy of experiencing all the stages of childhood at once. I may miss the days when my oldest daughter and I sang songs together, but I still have little ones to sing with. And knowing just how fast they all grow up makes those moments that much sweeter.

Elizabeth Curry is on year 14 of homeschooling her 9 children (with #10 arriving via China at some point next year). Devoted bookworms all, it’s not surprising that much of the learning that happens centers around whatever chapter book is being read. When she isn’t taking care of children or reading, she enjoys sewing, cooking, and writing. Her life of following Jesus with many children in the Big, Ugly House is chronicled at www.ordinary-time.blogspot.com .