It's deja vu all over again. Twice baked potatoes. Refried beans. I feel like a mother approaching Kindergarten with her firstborn. Only this time we stare down the barrel of junior high.
There are more comparisons with my preteen daughter's early years than I like to admit. All she wants to do these days is sleep. She eats all the time, or is fussy about what I try to feed her. She whines when she does not have enough sleep or food, and cries often. Music soothes her. She likes a nightlight (emanating from a computer screen as she sits in front of it). She has colic in the form of hormones, and giggles at the least provocation. At least she is potty-trained.
Unlike when she was a toddler however, I find that I am no longer able to provide for her all that she needs. Where once I was the center of her world, she now has expanded her domain to include best friends and boys, teen idols and yahoo groups. She has grown into a lovely, strong, no-nonsense young lady, and I find that I admire her. Instead of looking back wistfully and missing my little girl, I look forward to witnessing the young woman she is becoming.
Just as when she moved from preschool to school, this transition from preteen to teen is not without its decisions. We have multiple paths in front of us which we can take, any of which would be acceptable. But somehow the "best" path must be found, without being able to travel down it first. We must squint into the underbrush, trying to detect the thorns and brambles. We try to climb to the highest hill to see which path leads to the most generous pot of gold.
These multiple paths are similar to the questions that we had at the turn of the millenium. Is there any school good enough for our daughter? Should we start our fall-birthday child this year or next? Should we homeschool? We researched and toured, and attended open houses and put in applications, just to keep our options open. The ultimate decision came with a phone call from an excellent preschool which was very difficult to get into. The director was offering my daughter a position in their "gift of time" program for five-year-olds waiting to start school.
It was during this conversation that out-of-the-box thinking won the day. We decided to send our daughter to this lovely afternoon preschool after a morning of homeschooling Kindergarten. It was brilliant. (The director thought the idea so brilliant that she called me in a subsequent slow year to ask if I knew any other mothers interested in doing the same thing.) We repeated the plan with our second child, since the underbrush was already cut away. The teacher and I worked together, where I was the primary teacher and she was my support.
Once we made the decision to homeschool our daughter, I knew we were in it for the long-haul. To satisfy doubters, I would say, "We are taking it a year at a time." Yet in my heart I could see our path straight and clear for many years ahead. My son followed in his sister's footsteps, with adjustments made for him as necessary. We have worked for years with a wonderful teacher at a homeschooling charter school, where I am the primary teacher and she is my support.
I saw this new multiple fork in the road from far off, but I ignored it as we continued along picking poppies and letting butterflies land on our fingers. But it looms closer now than ever. The word I find in my mind and on my heart is this: discernment. To be able to perceive that which is obscure in order to judge wisely and objectively--this is my perseverant prayer.
Just when we thought we started this discernment comfortably early in the process, we have added a new urgency. Our K-8 church school had a second open house to attract students in this belching economy. This second open house prompted some out-of-the-box thinking. What if my daughter were to enter eighth grade in the fall at this lovely little school? She already knows half the children in her class from church and choir. It would be the softest place for her to land into the school system. Just for grins, I popped into the eight grade class to talk to the teacher. Turns out there is one spot in the eighth grade, with no one waiting.
With some consideration, I see many advantages to this eighth grade option. I would remain her primary teacher, if only in spirit, choosing to take advantage of the curriculum and offerings this school provides, in exchange for compliance to their schedule and requirements. I am used to being accountable to our charter school. Teaching my daughter would not stop; in fact, it may ramp up given the demanding nature of middle school. Another advantage is that this school feeds into the local private high school, which feeds into the local prestigious private university which my daughter knows she want to attend. It is tempting.
I ended up putting in the application to the church school, just to keep our options open. As active parishioners with an excellent student, the spot is ours if we want it. My daughter's first response was to sob, and her second to blink, and her third to see the bright side and smile. Much like when she was two. This is a serious consideration to ponder for us, as it would be life-changing in this household. But a soft place to land it is. A single class of nice kids whom she knows already, with no substance abuse or open romance. People tell me these children are more like siblings than anything, since they have been together for years. They support and tease, and play and cajole. They even wear uniforms to level the playing field. It would be a place for my daughter to belong, fully accepted and absorbed into their group. They have asked her for years to go there. The principal insists that prospective students spend a day on campus with a buddy, and my daughter is looking forward to that in a few weeks. Only she can't decide which of her friends she wants to be her buddy.
If we made this decision, I would continue to homeschool our son, mainly because he needs the personalized attention right now and I am not ready to completely give up my life. His class level at this school is full anyway, with a wait list. But in the spirit of keeping our options open, I put his name on that wait list just in case I get a phone call in a few years when the time is right. For now, the principal told us to take our time deciding about our daughter, and she promised to call us first if she got any other offers for that one eighth grade spot. We could then decide to put in our deposit or not. So the ultimate decision may come in the future with a phone call from an excellent school which is very difficult to get into. Refried beans.
Etymology moment: Refried beans are only fried once. The Spanish term "frijoles refritos" actually means “well fried beans." The error in translation comes from assuming re- is a prefix and frito means fried (which it only does in Frito-Lay land).