The stress I’ve been feeling about the badman review has been causing me a few sleep problems. I wake very early, suddenly wide awake with sleep a million miles away, but with my eyes feeling gritty and sore. There follows a sickening thudding of the heart as I realise what has woken me so rudely, again. Every morning is like groundhog day. An endless stream of worry, anger, disbelief, helplesness, and despair with no sign of relief in sight. Usually I manage to get back to sleep, but when that happens I wake up later than I’d like and less alert than at stupid o’clock in the morning.

The time between the two unhappy awakenings is often filled with weird and vivid dreams, two of which have stayed with me recently. In the first dream I discovered I was pregnant. The only reason I knew this was that I was in labour. No one seemed willing to either believe me or to help. So I was having to deal with my own shock at the unexpected state of affairs and others’ callous disregard for my pain. I used to be very interested in the meaning of dreams and would have interepreted this one to mean that I have a new project, which has been forced upon me and which came out of nowhere. Those whom I should have been able to rely on for help were actively making things worse. Or maybe I just had a bad stomach ache in my sleep and this dream was a manifestation of that.

The second dream appears to need no interpretation. I was at a party where the guest of honour was the badman. He asked people to tell him what they thought of the review, so I joined the queue and when it was my turn I tried to explain to him exactly how destructive and disrespectful the recommendations were to me and my family, but he appeared not to be listening, constantly turning to the more entertaining people around him. I ended up shouting at him in an effort to be heard, but although he had his ear turned towards me it was clear that he wasn’t hearing.

However depressing the situation is I’m determined not to be brought low by it all. I have to find the confidence in myself and in what we do as a family to stand up and draw my own line in the sand. Writing this I am suddenly reminded of my eldest daughter’s first day at school. I am thinking more specifically of my sad, ponderous walk home on my own after having dropped her off. I felt that I had left her entirely in the company of strangers, who had no idea of, or respect for, my views and values and who would do their best to overwrite these with their own. I remember feeling completely helpless then, as helpless as I often feel now. The difference now is that I know that there is an alternative, one that works not just for me and my family but for countless families all over the world. It can’t be shoved aside no matter how often one person ‘believes’ it can. It is worth fighting for. I will never, ever walk that walk again.

For the last ten years our children have been growing, playing and learning without interference from outside agencies, yet if the author of this report has his way, after the 19th October we will be acting illegally. Will we have suddenly started to abuse our children? Or neglect them? No. We will be acting illegally because we choose to autonomously home educate our children. One of the recommendations of this report is that “At the time of registration parents/carers/guardians must provide a clear statement of their educational approach, intent and desired/planned outcomes for the child over the following twelve months.” Anyone who knows anything about autonomous education, and from this report it is clear that Mr Badman neither understands nor wants to learn about it, knows that this recomendation is a nonsense. I can no longer say what my desired/ planned outcomes of my children’s education over a year would be than I would be able to accurately predict the weather. In fact predicting the weather would be a darned sight easier. My children learn what they learn when they learn it. End of.

 People are often incredulous when I try to explain it to them, my own family included. It is hard to let go of the belief that in order to learn something children must be taught. However over the last ten years I have had it proved to me by my children that this is not necessarily the case. My ten year old son taught himself to read at the age of six with no more input from me than reading books to him. My seven year old daughter is teaching herself to read in a totally different way, which works very well for her. I began to worry about my son learning to spell as he is a reluctant writer, yet when I asked him to write about his dreams, as he is always telling us about them, he typed a fairly lengthy piece on the computer which was word (and punctuation) perfect except for one word - tortoise. He really didn’t need to be discretely taught to spell. He reads so much for pleasure that spelling comes with it as easily as crawling, walking and running did when he was younger.

These desired/ planned outcomes will have to be agreed by a LA official. This seems odious to me as I will no longer be responsible for  my children’s education. Someone else will. If I try to circumvent this directive by stating the very minimum I expect my children to achieve I can easily imagine that the official will say it won’t be enough. My only hope is that the official assigned to me and my family will be sympathetic to AE. It seems unfair though that I have to cling to the vague hope that this one person will understand our approach.  

To say I am dismayed by all this would be to understate my feelings hugely. I am devastated. The pain I am feeling at the thought of the loss of our way of life is akin to being told that a dearly loved relative has a terminal illness. I am losing sleep over it. My waking moments are filled with fear and panic. I hate feeling like this.

Today we took Merlin for his last walk up the fell. Daddy Bear went to the vet to collect his ashes while I cooked us brunch, then we got the kids kitted out in ‘getting muddy gear’ and suitable footwear and we set off up the fell behind our house. It’s part of the Pennine Way and we met a few hardy souls on the way up. The first part of the walk, the slog uphill, was accompanied by obligatory moaning and whingeing from the kids. We had to cajole and nearly bully them to press on past the sheep and cows (cows always freak me a bit when I’ve got the kids with me, especially if they have calves at foot as they do at this time of year). The livestock were very well-behaved though, and we managed the stiles and muddy, boggy bits with a minimum of fuss and made it to the top. It was breezy but warm on top of the fell, and the views as always were stunning. We stopped for a well-earned drink and some Hobnobs, and after that it was a lot easier to keep them going. We met a couple of guys with their lovely brown and white Border Collie and big sister told them all about what we were doing and pointed to Daddy Bear’s backpack which contained Merlin’s ashes. They were very sympathetic and I could see them sneaking glances at their own lovely pooch. I just know that they’ll make the most of their dog while they have him.

As soon as our house came in sight we took the ashes out and checked the way the wind was blowing. As luck would have it the wind would carry Merlin down the fell in the direction of our house. Each of the kids had a handful or two, held it carefully then they let the ashes go as though they were setting a bird free. It really was a magical moment, and we said a silent ’Goodbye’. We saved some of the ashes for later in the walk and set off downhill to a little farm shop where the kids were rewarded with some melting moments biscuits. It was far from a sombre occasion, with plenty of laughter and horseplay, chatting to some piglets on the way. We headed for the bridge near the village and again the kids each had a handful to throw off the bridge. It didn’t go quite so smoothly this time as there must have been an updraft from the river and the cars going past. Daddy Bear sprinkled Merlin over the edge and inevitably some of the ash came up to get us in the eye. Just Merlin’s little joke. We laughed heartily and sent him on his way downstream. So now he’ll always be there when we cross the bridge and walk along the river, and on top of the fell. And we saved some to bury in the garden so he’ll always be here too. 

 I sometimes catch sight of him out of the corner of my eye while I’m busy around the house, and if I walk into a room I expect to see him lying there waiting for me, lifting his head to greet me. I find my memories of him outside are usually of his back end trotting off in front, as that was his favourite way. Following from the front, as I put it. When I popped into town I saw a familiar back end, another leggy, lean black Labrador. I thought it would make me sad to see another Labrador, but it doesn’t. It’s not Merlin. I don’t begrudge anyone their lovely dogs. I just hope they’ll always treasure them, as we did ours.

Yesterday we lost a member of our family. He has shared and enriched our lives for the last thirteen and a half years. He brought love and laughter to all of us, and brightened our days with his calm and loving nature. He protected me throughout my pregnancies, often putting himself in between me and anyone who he considered might be a threat to me, despite being more firmly attached to Daddy Bear (well, *he* was the one who threw the ball for him), he welcomed all our babies to the family and helped them to grow, and was a constant source of support and companionship. Even in his last days he seemed to think more of us than of himself, which made our final heart-rending act of love so much easier to bear.

A year ago he suddenly found himself unable to do the things he loved. He couldn’t even get out of our car to go on a walk with us. We discovered he’d been in pain for some time, but he’d carried on stoically, trying to do what he thought we wanted him to. His vertebrae had been slowly fusing, causing him immense pain. He was put on medication, which helped, but as his spine stiffened and his pain eased he was reduced to following us around the house and garden and occasionally going for short walks with us, but his discomfort was obvious. After all those years of looking after us, now it was our turn to look after him. He’d always hated being alone in the house, but now he was clearly telling us that he really didn’t mind spending an afternoon on the sofa while we took the children out. He’d always welcome us home with a smile and a weary wag of his tail.

He’d been coping with his lot up until a couple of weeks ago, when his back legs began to falter. Due to muscle and nerve wastage his legs could no longer support him. In his customary way, he tried to carry on as he had always done, cheerfully, calmly, always eager to please. The vet suggested acupuncture, which we tried in the hope that it would give him some relief. He submitted to it in his trusting and unquestioning way, sensing, I hope, that we were trying to help. It was all too much for him though and after we’d made the agonising decision to have him put to sleep and booked an appointment at the vet for two days hence, he deteriorated so quickly. I honestly believe that if it had been within his power to take the decision out of our hands and slip away quietly in his sleep he would have done it. He was that kind of dog.

Two days ago he managed to walk almost all the way round our house without collapsing, and we spent a lovely evening indulging his newly-discovered liking for mature Gouda. He sat on the sofa between us and treated us to a few precious hours of happiness with him. In the morning he could barely lift his head, and couldn’t even make it to the back door. He had to be helped outside for a wee and then carried indoors. He was telling us as clearly as he could that he’d had enough. As I said my last good bye to him before taking the children out so that Daddy Bear could take him to the vet, I kissed his head and his greying muzzle and told him how much we loved him and thanked him for being the best friend any family could have. He lifted his head and planted a wet smacker of a ‘licky kiss’ right on my face. A perfect gentleman right to the last.

I haven’t been able to cry yet. I’m hoping the healing tears will come. I’ve been carrying on, supporting Daddy Bear and the kids through their grief. Strangely it hasn’t felt like a huge effort on my part. I have been doing what I felt was my job. It helped me to get through it all knowing I was helping my family through the last difficult days. I will never forget my strong, beautiful, calm, wise, caring Merlin. He’s going to be such a tough act to follow, and I will always be grateful to him for showing my children the meaning of selfless love. When we get his ashes we’re going to take him to the top of the fell behind our house and let him fly free.

I’ve been thinking back to the early days of home ed and it struck me how totally different things are for me now, and probably others. I didn’t realise it at the time but we began as soon as Big Brother was born, sixteen years after our Big Girl. We made the decision proper when he was about 3. Our first contact with other home edders in our area was through the eo contact list and newsletter. I found out about who else was ‘doing it’ in our area by checking out the listings for our county and seeing who was nearest. And didn’t they all sound exotic? I remember thinking ‘Ooh, I wonder what they’re like and whether we’ll ever meet them.’ We found out about the local group that met once a fortnight, went along, liked it and kept going. Outings were decided on and arranged at the meeting and if things changed we used an old-fashioned thing called the telephone. If we wanted to meet up outside the group again the phone was used. Some people even had little tiny ones that they didn’t have to talk into, they could type little messages and send them to others who had a similar device. ( My Big Girl finally dragged me into the 21st century by flinging her old one pityingly at me.’Here Mum, have this. It’ll come in handy’. I rebelled, partly out of Luddism, but mostly because of the cost, but succumbed, at least to pay as you go). I gradually became aware of an even more exotic way of keeping in touch which involved odd squiggles and symbols. You had to choose a ‘handle’ as we used to call it in the days of cb, and then add a bit to it, which meant that you could then send messages to others who had also undergone this strange ritual (mostly my up to the minute friends who were still working). I remember being pretty Luddite about that too.And proudly so. I could access information on the interweb, but I know I didn’t really ‘get’ how a lot of that was done (elves maybe? holding up cards to the screen like Dylan did). I don’t remember exactly when I discovered email groups. I think my first was the eo list. Those funny email thingies came in thick and fast. Too fast for my poor brain. I got moaned at a lot for filling up the inbox with ‘rubbish’. Then slowly but surely I learnt to handle it a bit better, found out how to read messages on group websites and then I was truly up to speed. Now I have so many groups I have to cull them on a regular basis. Looking back I honestly don’t know how I managed without them.Or that’s the way it feels. They are such a huge part of my life now. I have a group for every possible need. It takes all my time keeping up with what’s going on with all of them. Then I discovered that I could check up on what my friends were doing in their everyday lives. It started off with people I actually knew, but soon I could peek into total strangers’ lives and even pass comment on their doings. I now had cyber friends. Finally I actually managed to make my own online journal. Mine isn’t as good as I’d like it to be. There’s so much untapped potential, full of feeds and widgets and other stuff I don’t understand. The computer calls to me every time I pass it, and I have to resist the temptation to sit and ‘listen’ to all the chat that’s going on ’out there’ (or should that be ‘in there’?). I even join in on groups where I feel at home. And now I even run a few groups of my own. Who’d've thunk it? And what’s next? I wonder.

Trying to remember what I was going to say about all of this because I put the title into drafts a while ago on the premise that it would trigger my thoughts on all this.

 So, pulling a sicky. Well, a few weeks ago I came over all fluey. It turned out to be something pretty unpleasant which I won’t go into except to say that it has left me with something incurable but not life-threatening. I just have to learn to live with it. Like I sooo needed something else to think about. groan. What it taught me was that even though it feels like I do very little due to low energy levels, when I was brought really low and couldn’t do more than try and keep the essentials, like washing, under control, I had to concentrate on getting well and not overtaxing my system. It also meant that I was able to focus on just being with the kids. One day while recovering I decided I wanted to do a jigsaw and the only one I could find was one of the kids’ ones. So I hiked it out and sat at the kitchen table. Littlest sidled up and wanted to join in. What followed was a wonderful hour of closeness and chat. After a while she said to me ‘I’m so glad we did this together Mum, I had a lot of fun’. Result! So the next day I decided to do some painting, nothing special, just watercolour block paints and a colouring book. Both girls joined me at the table and again a lot of fun was had. Must remember to do that sort of thing more often and kind of lead by example. It’s not just about what they want to do, it can involve my wants too. I get so busy trying to keep the house under control that I forget that the house can keep itself sometimes.

 The rucksack seems to be redundant now. I used to carry it everywhere and it contained everything you could ever possibly need for trips out. Nappies, wipes, small toys, spare knickers, plasters, the list is endless. I was very glad of it, often. Something in there would come in handy for entertaining fractious little ones. Now I get to carry a handbag, remember those? Small, neat, just big enough for bare esentials like purse, mobile and headache pills. I can still stuff interesting finds in there, like info on cool places to go, but oh, the lightness, the freedom. The loss of the rucksack symbolises how far the kids have come and how far away from me they are prepared to venture. Now they have rucksacks of their own if they feel they need/want one. They carry their own treasure and precious things and have their own space to add what they think is important.

*Irony and tongue in cheek warning.* 

I’m not usually one for horoscopes, but the one in my Green Parent magazine just leapt out at me, and more in an ambush kind of way than an inspiring way. It started off by talking about something called Eris, so I had to look that up, obviously. It seems it’s a recently-discovered dwarf planet, and as is usually the case, its size is inversely proportionate to the amount of chaos it can cause. Apparently. Just like kids.

It said “Eris was discovered July 29th” (my big girl’s birthday as it happens) “2005, and since then has been ascribed to the keyword ‘discord’. Now in your sign and taking 560 years to orbit the sun, she is in your sign for the whole of your life, so making peace with her would be a good idea. Since Aries is ‘ruled’ by Mars, the god of war, coming to terms with the true meaning of discord would enhance your life greatly. You don’t have to create waves to be seen. Try negotiations, discussion and trust. That’s the best approach in these changing times.” 

Oh great. That’s just what I need. A lifetime dogged by discord. It turns out that the Eris of classical mythology was the life and soul of the party, quite literally. At a great banquet, to which she had not been invited, she tossed a golden apple onto the table of the gods. The apple had ‘for the fairest’ written on it and Hera and Athena and Aphrodite all claimed it; when Paris (prince of Troy) awarded it to Aphrodite it began a chain of events that led to the Trojan War. Fantastic. A lifetime watching out for a malicious little goddess, who likes causing trouble. Still in some ways I’m kinda used to it. A close family member bears a striking resemblance to her, in behavioural terms at least. I’d love to think that having Eris in my life will prove to be a positive thing. I’ve already managed to avert a major family crisis by thinking as clearly as possible and keeping calm, but it was a huge effort, and all I really wanted to do was stamp my foot, rage and explode all over people.

The worst thing is that I don’t deal with conflict well. Between my kids I can handle it, but between me and other people I find it tricky. I think very carefully about things before I decide on my opinions so obviously that makes me right (tongue in cheek) and anyone who disagrees with me must be wrong.  If I like someone I tend to think that they’ll agree with everything I say and think, because it stands to reason that they’ll be like me. So I bumble on, blissful in my unthinking assumptions and then they’ll say or do something that knocks me back on my heels. Turns out that they weren’t exactly like me, and that they hold different opinions. How can this be? They seemed so nice. Heavens! Does that mean I’m not nice? Or maybe my opinion wasn’t as right as I thought. Confusion reigns whilst I equivocate and backpedal like mad trying to reestablish some common ground (’quick, brain, quick! Must find something we agree on otherwise the fabric of the very universe will be rent in twain!’).

I don’t mind group discussions, which may or may not involve a bit of discord, as long as I don’t feel like I’m the only one holding a certain opinion. Usually though I can back up my opinions with information or evidence of some kind (although there are those discussions, and we all have them, where you think of the perfect thing to say 10 mins after the discussion has finished and you’re already on the way home).

I find cyber groups really tricky when negotiating contentious subjects. If someone expresses a strong opinion on a subject which is at variance with your own, following Abraham Lincoln’s advice would seem to be politic in most cases ’Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak out and remove all doubt’. Then again, what you have to say may add something to the debate, and the back and forth of thoughts could enhance the knowledge and opinion-forming on both sides. And people may think more of you for having the courage to speak out and express yourself. Or perhaps not. It could just lead to entrenched positions and a pointless waste of energy, not to mention the threat of needless disharmony between the parties that didn’t exist before. Thanks Eris. Nice one.

 I’ve been thinking a lot about what to do when it seems that I’m the only person I know who thinks the way I do on any given issue. I was driving the kids around the countryside recently when it suddenly came to me.  We all know the saying ‘There’s someone for everyone’ and it occurred to me that you could apply that to this particular form of discord. If you know of just one other person who thinks the same way as you then you are no longer alone, and your opinion is immediately validated. Not necessarily right, but then there are degrees of ‘right’. All I needed to do was to think of at least one person whose opinions chime with mine on any given issue. An issue-buddy. I’ll list a few. This is where the nailing of colours to masts comes in. There’s no way Eris is catching me out by making me list ALL of them. There are some things it’s not worth stirring up. 

So my incomplete list is:

 Fox hunting - Anne Widdecombe (strange, but true)

Anything relating to the USA - Jon Stewart

So-called political correctness - Stewart Lee

Home edding - John Holt, Sandra Dodd and other insoirational home edders I’ve met

Birth and breastfeeing - Jack Newman and Michel Odent

If you disagree with any of this, maybe you could get an issues-buddy;-)

A song from Les Mis (a heart full of love) started playing in my head as I typed the title.  There it goes, trundling around in the background. Feel free to either ignore it or sing along.

I have come to the conclusion that I don’t run my house, it runs me - ragged. Every corner sneers and nags at me. Do this, finish that, spend some time with me. And even when I succeed in ignoring its pleadings and beratings and concentrate on the children, things start to nag me from their little dens. The aprons in the drawer and the beaters from the electric whisk complain that I haven’t done any baking with the kids lately, while the books on the girls’ bookcase shelves accuse me of not reading as much to Littlest as I did to her Big Sister. ‘There are titles here she’s never even seen, never mind had them read to her’ they complain. There are unopened science kits, websites to be trawled, educational materials as yet untried, outdoor toys languishing, well, outside, and any number of plans still to be fully explored. It’s like living life in a negative. ( remember those? You know, before the days of digital photography). The things I haven’t done, the things I don’t do and the things I have yet to do are so easy to spot, they are so much in evidence, that I have real difficulty focussing on the things we do actually do and the great leaps of understanding that happen on a day to day basis. Everyone else, I tell myself, is so busy doing really worthwhile educational things, while I can’t get even going in the mornings. Achieving just one thing a day feels like climbing a mountain, in terms of the effort taken and the euphoria when it’s done.

Given all these tyrants is it any wonder I never get around to doing the things that might bring some extra money into the house (never mind giving me some creative satisfaction)? Even if I could afford, say, a cleaner or some extra childcare, I’d feel really awkward about doing it, as there is something inbuilt in me that says that it is down to each household to run that household. And the truth is that I really do love being with my family as they grow and explore and make sense of their world. Something’s gonna have to give. What, I have no idea. It can’t be the kids, or my sleep (jealously guarded) or the house, no matter the love/hate relationship I have with it. I’ll just have to look more closely in to this cloning thing…

It’s been a funny old month, November. I’ve been realising slowly how badly winter affects me. I think I have a form of SAD because I can feel myself slipping into sadness and feelings of inadequacy as the days shorten and the weather gets colder. For some reason this november has been decidedly worse than previous ones. I guess it started when my lovely Grandma was taken into hospital 300 miles away with absolutely no prospect of being able to visit her. We’ve been trying to persuade her to come up here to live near us, but there are complications, not least of which is that she is 90 years old and very unsure of moving so far. I had the task of dealing with the hospital, social services and home help agency before she could be discharged and it helped me to be able to do something. She was finally allowed home after being assessed and having a new and better care package arranged.

Feeling overwhelmed seems to be a semi-permanent state with me at this time of year. Small things get blown out of all proportion by my over-taxed brain and I feel like I am carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders. I have described it to myself as feeling like my brain is a hedgehog turned inside out with the prickles all attacking me. I remember one particularly horrible day early on in the month when Daddy Bear said something, probably innocuous, when I was feeling low, and I went completely into myself, convinced that he didn’t understand or value me at all. I took myself off out of the house and marched myself up to a beautiful waterfall nearby where I stood crying in the rain, certain that the world was about to end. I barely noticed the beauty of the place, and I felt so very alone and unloved. Luckily when I came home we were able to talk and reconnect, and Daddy bear was able to listen and just hold me close. I realised it was more about me and my physical and mental state than about ‘us’. The mood swings since have caught me off guard and left me gasping for air at times. I wish I had upswings as well as down ones, but I am aware enough to see that if I look after myself better I can cope. It can be hard to muster the energy and find the time to do the things that I know will help, such as good food and exercise, but it is crucial that I keep on working on it.

 November is also a very full-on time for me with loads of close family birthdays, including my middle daughter. Coming as they do so close to Christmas I feel under so much pressure to find presents and create good times and memories. This November I felt like I barely limped through them all, but Daddy bear was on hand to take the pressure off and deal with some of the birthdays himself. It was a huge help, especially as he is so loving and complimentary about the job I was doing in trying to make people happy. His is one of the birthdays, and it was really happy for both of us.

So now that is out of the way and I can start trying to look forward to Christmas. I promised myself that I’d do my best to get most of the buying and sorting done by the end of November, and I have. Only a few more gifts to buy. It’ll be a more frugal Christmas than some but  no less happy for all that, I hope.

As to shifting sands, that is what I have realised that home ed relationships can be. When you think that life is fairly settled something comes along to blow your cosy ideas out of the water and unsettle you. It’s nothing really major, and I don’t think I could put my finger on it if I tried, but it all feels so fluid, as though life is going on around you and you have no power over what is going on or what people mean to you, or more importantly, what you mean to them. Living where we do, an hour’s drive from most other home edders, and with the added complication of the price of petrol to worry about, it can be easy to feel left out of the loop. I have to choose carefully what we will be involved with and make difficult prioritising decisions about the kind of interaction I feel will be best for the kids and me. I’ve no doubt that this particular aspect of home edding will continue to be problematic. I can just about cope with being uncertain as to my relationships with others, but when it starts to affect the kids it makes life very tough indeed. Both the girls are very sociable creatures and seem to need more friends than I can supply. They are 7 and 4. Their older brother seems more sanguine about it, happy to slot in with others when the opportunity arises, but content enough with our small family circle. The girls seem to crave other children, especially girls, and complain that they have no one to play with. I wish I could wave a magic wand and provide the company they need, but in the absence of this I am a little lost and at sea.

And finally, a little bit of positivity. I have 3 tuesday mornings between now and Christmas and I’ve set myself the task of going to to our tiny little local library to try and write some of the children’s books, the ideas for which have been crowding in on me for some time now. I am alternately excited and terrified, convinced of my ability and certain I’ll fail. I have absolutely no idea of the nuts and bolts of the writing business, such as how to present my work to publishers, but after ten years of looking after little ones the one thing I do know about is how books are crafted. All I have to do now is conquer the tyranny of the blank page and regardless of how it’s ’supposed’ to be done, find my own way through it and out the other side. Anyone know of any good writing courses in the north east?

This is a bit of a follow on to my September wobbles post. After acknowledging to myself that I do get all academical at times I found myself pondering about learning in general and how it applies to my 10 year old son in particular. I wondered whether one of the reasons I get a bit wobbly at times is that I find myself thinking of other children of my children’s ages and what they might be doing in school, and how my children aren’t doing that stuff and that maybe if they don’t do those things maybe they’ll never learn them. Obviously I had to sit myself down with a cup of tea and give myself a stern talking to at this point. In order for this line of thought to be productive it had to go somewhere, so I gave myself the task of trying to come up with what I thought 10 year old children ought to be able to do. So what should a ten year old be able to do? Hold an intelligent conversation, be able to build a den, make a cup of tea, cook a simple meal, add and subtract, know a few times tables, if not all of them up to 12, read to themselves? I haven’t really reached any conclusions which will help me to find ways to enable him to learn what he ‘needs’ to know.  Maybe I could think about what he ought to be able to do by the age of 18 and work backwards from there. Still didn’t get me anywhere. It’s impossible to think in those terms. I was always urged during my teaching career to be proactive. Home ed seems to be the opposite of being proactive ( I never really did figure out what ‘they’ meant by that). It’s about observing and enabling children in the moment, not at some hypothetical point in the future. It’s about seeing the joy in what they are doing right now and not always wanting them to move on or ‘progress’.