For me, there are two ways to look at public school. One is through a historical lens, and the other is in the context of American life today.
Over the course of my research into home schooling, I have come to realize that compulsory public school is a relatively recent institution. It has existed less than 200 years. (Our
church, interestingly, was organized twenty years before the first compulsory education law in 1852 in Massachusetts. Alaska was the last state to pass such a law, in 1929). Two hundred years ago, kids were learning at home, and most were learning quite well. They also learned from the community with apprenticeships and the like. Public Schools are a modern development and have become so ingrained in our culture that they are a fact of life. For us, the certainties of life include not just death and taxes, but school as well (David
Guterson).
However, before public school, it was only the rich kids who were able to attend schools: expensive private schools. It is the American ideal of equal opportunity that lead to public education. Why should the rich have access to schools and thus greater opportunity for careers and advancement, the achievement of the American dream? The opportunity to become whatever you want to become. Sure education is compulsory, but it is also free. Immigrants whose kids need to learn English and American culture are guaranteed the chance!
Schools have done wonderful thing for equality. In fact, equality seems to be the main stamp upon public schools, their identity and purpose. "No Child Left Behind," right? These are wonderful, American ideas. In fact, during the civil rights movement, schools were at the front lines of the battle. Public schools have accomplished much and represent much to us, as Americans. By sending my kids to public school I would be supporting those ideals and by being an active and involved parent, I would be doing my part to improve them, and thus improve education for all of America's children. Home school looks like an undemocratic thing to do, in this context. It looks like a shrugging off of so many things struggled for. The problem is, I don't really believe that.
Public school has served an important purpose. But it has become a surprisingly inflexible machine for all its youth. Efforts to help public school change and adapt to match the pace at which modern life changes and adapts have simply failed. Our schools look pretty much the same as they did thirty years ago and yet our modern lives DO NOT. I have come to believe that home school can become an important part of American education and that public schools should evolve to include the option and support home
schoolers. I think this is the logical modern path and should not be resisted. No, I do not believe that more that, say ten percent of families will ever home school, but I do think they should be a welcome and regular part of the modern education scene. Regularly visible in the public schools themselves. The problem with treating everyone the same is that we are not all the same. The other half of the American ideal, that compliments equality, is the importance of the individual.
OK, so I have argued my way out of sending my kids to school simply because it is a part of American identity, or because of historical value. Although both are important, they aren't important enough. This leaves me to think about the every day reality of school itself. Moving out of the theoretical and into the literal. And this is where I start to feel real yearning to see my kids get on the yellow bus. (Thanks to
Rebecca for being honest about the sadness she felt on the first day of school when her kids didn't.)
I am going to list these thoughts in no particular order and many of them I will present simply, without elaboration.
1. I do not want to control my kids. I want them to have secrets! I want them to have private lives!
2. Over the last month, I have had many online conversations about home school and have come across many opinions and all degrees of passion. The entire spectrum from "I love home school" to "I HATE it." And this has been fun for me! I have always enjoyed the debate, the give and take of ideas. I like to hear what people have to say. As the sole teacher of my kids I will offer one opinion: mine. I see this as a tragedy. A classroom has the potential to contain thirty different perspectives and world views. I don't want them to miss out on that.
3. Teachers. These can be inspired individuals who can touch the lives of my children and open their eyes to all kids of possibilities and see in them thing sometimes a mother's love can make her miss.
4. I do not wish to shelter my kids from the world.
5. I want my kids to take part in a shared American experience. This may sound like a contradiction, since I ruled out public school's value as an American tradition way up at the top of this entry. Logically, that isn't where school gets its value, but personally, it seems sad to think of my kids never having to memorize a locker combination or stand in a lunch line. It's just something we all share, and I imagine it ties us together a bit.
So there are about five reasons. Five reasons I want to send my kids to public school. Are the big enough? Are they insurmountable? Difficulties with home school seem more easily overcome than difficulties with public school, yet this begs the question as to parental control, does it not?
Finally, I believe in God and have a personal relationship with him. I believe that he has an acute interest in our lives. I have researched and studied, discussed and pondered and will continue to do so, but feel confident that the ultimate decision will be made with divine guidance.
(One more thing, for anyone who is curious, Dillon, my husband, Homecoming King, was on the home school band wagon the first time I mentioned it! I think it is mostly because he trusts me to make the right decision and do a good job, Oh the pressure!) Oh and thanks for reading, I welcome any comments.
And a picture, because pictures make things more fun!
The day started of with a huge blessing: Dillon slept in! He missed is alarm clock and thus his train to work. We both woke up at 8:00 and I turned to him and said, "I think maybe you had better not go into work at all today." The contractions I had had all week suddenly felt very different, though not exactly painful. There was pressure on my pelvic floor that hadn't been there before. We dropped off the kids at Dillon's parents house and headed over to see my midwife, Susan, at noon at her home office in Graham. I was already dilated to a 7! But labor was slow and sluggish and even stopped while I was in her office. The contractions were 15 minutes apart and mild, as far as pain goes. My body was sending conflicting messages. Labor seemed to be saying, "relax, we'll be doing this all weekend," but my body was saying, "girl, if you don't pay attention, your water is gonna break and you'll be delivering your baby in you living room with no one but your three little kids to attend you." We decided we would pay attention to my body and head to the birthing center. First, though, we headed home. Since labor stopped when I laid down I wanted to take a nap and Dillon was insistent on cleaning the house before the baby came. He nested and I rested. I also spent time praying and pondering what I was about to experience. I felt afraid and asked myself and God what I could do to calm my fears. I was reminded of the story of Jesus and his disciples on the stormy seas. Jesus rested in the bottom of the boat while his friends were terrified, sure they were about to die. When Christ awoke and calmed the wind and waves, he rebuked the disciples and their lack of faith. Going into what I knew would be an intense and harrowing, I was reminded that God is in charge. I felt trust in him and in the body that he created for me, and in the baby that was inside my womb. This is God's plan, after all. I felt ready.
After a half hour of walking around the mall looking for baby hats and booties to keep our little one warm, labor started up again and this time it wasn't so hard to diagnose. Contractions were closer and closer together, making me stop and breathe deeply. We were soon on our way to The Birthing Inn in Tacoma where my midwife awaited me. We arrived just after 5:00 and were soon joined by my mom and Mimi, who wielded the camera. This first photo of me and Dillon shows him kicking back,eating a snack on the edge of the birthing tub. In reality, he couldn't have been more involved and supportive. He didn't need to do much, really, just knowing he was close by, that he loved me, and that he absolutely believed in me. His quiet and sure confidence lifted me up.
I was surrounded by people I love and who love me in a beautiful place, watched over by my midwife, a woman who I deeply respect and trust as she uses her intuition as well as her training and experience. I was ready. I wandered around the Birthing Center (it was empty except for us) as everyone else bustled about getting ready for what everyone felt would be a quick delivery. Susan preparing the room, Dillon ate a quick Taco Bell dinner, Mimi took some practice shots and replaced batteries, Mom started writing down contractions. Everyone was in a flurry, it seemed and I walked calmly around my room and through the lobby, preferring to stand up during contractions. I was entering that birthing place in my mind where everything falls away and all I care about is what is happening within my body. After four babies, I am a little more familiar with that place, and it wasn't as scary this time. It seems I was scared my entire pregnancy for this moment and when it was finally arriving, I welcomed it without fear. I stayed in the moment. Careful to enjoy each break between contractions, and focus on the feeling and weight of each contraction as it happened. Leaving it behind me as it ended, not worrying about the next one, and definitely not thinking too hard about the fact that I had to push my baby out! It seemed so impossible and intimidating, I could feel the fear creeping in if I thought about it too much. 
At 8:00 I was dilated to a 9, but still not contracting hard enough to bring the baby down. I was in the birth tub and Susan suggested I try bearing down during a contraction to see if a little pressure would do the trick. I pushed tentatively at first, afraid of how it would feel, what it would do. I gained confidence with each contraction and my body gained momentum, helping me along. Each time I pushed a little harder. This was so different from my other births. With the last two, pushing was something I couldn't have avoided if my life depended on it. My body took over. This seemed like more of a team effort, body and mind. Susan suggested a shift in position, Dillon was in front of my encouraging and supporting. A shift in my hips and my center of balance and suddenly I could feel the baby shift down into the birth canal. One push later, my water broke with a force that startled me it seemed to shake the world. A moment passed, the contraction ended but I could feel the baby, ready to be born. Susan reminded me to pause, to rest, to gather my strength, I leaned back against Dillon, closed my eyes, and when the next contraction came I was ready. I pushed the baby's head out at the front of the contraction and the rest of the body followed at the end. There he was submerged in the water, a blurry shape resting in my midwife's hands. "Reach down and take your baby." She told me, and the sound of her voice brought me to action. I took my baby in my arms. He was beautiful.
It was at this moment that we discovered out baby was in fact a boy! I must admit a was surprised but never disappointed. I had an idea of a little girl created in my imagination, but this perfect baby moved in and took over. He had a thick covering of vernix, the white covering that protects the baby's skin in the womb, but through that his pink healthy skin color showed through. His hair, wet and curly, was lighter than the rest of our kid's hair had been. He opened his steel grey eyes and blinked at us. The most adorable thing we had ever seen. His entire face was involved. His brow and forehead scrunched down tighly to close his eyes and then pushed up like with what looked like all the effort he could muster. We couldn't get enough.
Dad and Carol made a quick visit that night and Mom and Mimi brought me an awesome pot roast dinner from Sheri's. Everything tastes so good after laboring all day. We spent the night at the Birthing Inn and Dillon's parents brought the kids for a visit the next morning. They were all so excited to see their new little brother. A little tentative at first, Isaac was the first to give him a kiss, though only on his little toe. 
Eli couldn't wait to hold him and Eve kept shouting , "Baby, baby baby!" It is a wonderful feeling, having your family all around you, and feeling in your heart that everyone is finally together, everyone has made it safely into our arms. 
We took Luke home later that day in his hand me down pink car seat. We had a laugh and tucked him in, cozy as can be. He slept the whole way home and we were soon tucked into bed napping together. All calm and cozy and exhausted. I have tried to savor every moment with my little infant, knowing that things they change in the blink of an eye. Trying to burn in my memory the sensation of his weight as he falls asleep on my chest, the way he melts against me, molding his body into the curves of mine. The way he smells, the small sounds he makes, the smiles he gives in his sleep. All are rare and precious. 
Because I am a mother, I am automatically a different person. I don't know how it happens, but I know the change actually reverses when I am not around my kids. For example: When I am home alone, I am likely to lock myself in my bedroom because I am worried that there might be a man prowling through the house at any given time. However, when the kids are asleep in their beds, I NEVER think about things like that. I walk around my house in the pitch black dark without a single fear ever entering my mind. Also, whenever I have to get blood drawn I get nervous, my heart pounds, I talk too much, I can't bear to look at the needle, and I am very close to acting like a baby. But last week I brought my kids with me for my maternity check up and my midwife drew some blood for the glucose test. They were right there in the room with us and when she got the needle out it was as if she had pulled out a pen to take notes with, or something equally as boring. I really didn't care. I watched the entire thing, and it didn't hurt, didn't bother me a bit. She even had to fish for the vein that rolled. She might as well have been taking my temperature. And this all happening with my kids watching. So I suppose my kids make me a more brave, more confident person and this without any deep self analysis or applied parenting theories. I have to be a strong foundation for them in a scary world, as so I am. That is that. And yet it seems a miracle.
Yep, our hens are finally laying eggs. This is good news, but not the best kind of news. I've got a different kind of egg in my basket...
This is pregnancy test number 2. As you can see, Eli is a thriving little chunky man at this point. This was on my birthday, August 18, 2006. We celebrated with Thai food take out. A great day. Both Dillon and I felt happy and ready.
Pregnancy number 3, March 2008. Surprise! We were living in our little duplex in Puyallup. I was happy, at first, then terrified because Isaac wasn't even one yet! And three, as we all know, is a lot bigger than 2 when it comes to children.
