Why I stopped being a teacher...

When homeschooling first crossed your mind, did you have a vision? Did you think of yourself as a teacher right away? Were you overwhelmed or did you feel at ease? Did you have dreams of baking as a family, making crafts and reading living books (if you are new to homeschooling and have heard the term living books but are unsure of its meaning, The Unlikely Homeschool provides an excellent definition)? My idea of homeschooling before the pandemic included travel, lots of it. I imagined ourselves learning about the Roman empire while in Italy, strolling around the colosseum and eating gelato (I can almost feel the hot Italian sun). I wanted our family to be a worldschooling family but we all know how 2020 turned out to be. :-/

But even before the pandemic, I found the idea of teaching my children at home and sharing our passion for languages (well, that’s mine), real estate and travel with them inviting and scary at the same time. Homeschooling for our family has now become a lifestyle (that will probably be a future post). And I love it. I love homeschooling. As in I can’t wait to tell people that I’m a homeschool mom. Weird, I know. But that is the honest truth. Yet, I don’t always get the same enthusiasm back (shame on them). Instead, I get an oh-you-poor-thing face followed by this statement—I could never teach my children. Well, I couldn’t either.

Let me backtrack a little.

Our pandemic homeschool days started with me jumping on the curriculum wagon. I bought just about everything under the sun that guaranteed that Kind Screamer would be a star (he already is) if I followed their open-and-go curriculum. We failed. I failed. Miserably. Instead we found ourselves in our made up classroom with no energy at all and following Kind Screamer’s virtual and overpriced program while I tried to figure out what the magic recipe was for our home.

If I asked him to do something he would say (with an attitude I may add) “You are not my teacher!” [audible gasp] My reaction? Well, my jaw nearly hit the floor and I would end up saying something like “who taught you to go to the bathroom?” but most importantly I was hurt, embarrassed and second guessing our decision every day. And those interactions would mark the end of our “school” sessions. It was chaotic, painful and a memory I would like to forget but I doubt that I ever will.

So, what changed? Well, I changed the way I see myself. I now see myself as a facilitator.

I first heard the word a few years ago when I began working for a major airline and the instructors referred to themselves as facilitators. And later I read that on a homeschool book or blog (and I hope to give the proper credits one day, sorry) and it made sooo much sense. Like a laughing-out-loud type of sense. Stay with me, I promise you I’m not crazy.

I facilitate lively experiences and discussions to the best of my ability. When I have doubts about a topic I go to Sweet Papa (who is a walking encyclopedia), or I text my homeschool mom squad (everyone needs one), or I ask the far too many social media groups I belong to. Either way, I find leads, books, people and/or places that support our learning environment. That’s it.

Do you feel better? I hope so. I do. I did the moment I stopped thinking about “teaching” Kind Screamer everything that I or society think he needs. The reality is that children and us humans seek knowledge at all times. So, I chose to stay within the roles I already knew—mom, advocate and safe haven. Every day I choose to walk next to Kind Screamer and Sweet Dumper so they can have the leisure experiences I was taking away from them. I wish for them to explore, without restrictions, the beauty that surrounds us.

But they can’t do that if I bring school at home.

They can’t do that if I become their teacher.

So, I’m a mom. The one that gives kisses, long hugs (I read once that every human needs 12 hugs per day) and buys ice cream before dinner. Yeap, I’m that mom.

I’m their advocate. I’m a walking radar. Always on, scanning people and assessing the situation.

I’m their safe haven. I kiss knees, elbows and foreheads and say the Spanish version of it’s all better now. I say sana, sana colita de rana. Si no sana hoy, sanará mañana. I’m the love that Kind Screamer describes as the combined aroma of flowers and strawberries.

You get my point. I’m not a teacher or a super mom. I’m a facilitator.

Realizing that I didn’t have to be a teacher saved my self-esteem as a homeschool mom but it didn’t happen overnight. Our battle of teacher vs. mom will not go down without a fight and will creep up at unexpected times. For those days—hug yourself, hug your children and know that tomorrow will be another day. It will be OK.