How we homeschooled today #101

Exciting news!

Exciting news in the Oliver household

Regular readers will know that my husband

Henry Oliver

has been writing a book about late bloomers. Guess what—it’s now available to pre-order!

Having read it myself I can tell you it’s brilliant. But of course I’d say that, so don’t take my word for it. Here’s what

Helen Lewis

has to say:

“Henry Oliver is a rare talent: smart, funny and insightful. SECOND ACT showcases his wide reading, deep understanding and playful prose style. Read this book to discover why it’s never too late for a second act in your own life.”

I found that there was a surprising (or not) overlap with homeschooling: late bloomers often take an unexpected path, or are self-taught in their field of expertise. They might focus on one thing to the exclusion of others or, more broadly, just develop on their own unique timetable, irrespective of what everyone else is doing. The book is a wonderful reminder that there’s more than one route to your destination, and that it’s never too late to follow your own path.

It’s also perfect for parents who might feel they have taken time out from their own careers in order to raise their children—the book is a celebration of the many, many people who achieve their dreams later. It’s a wonderful antidote to all those ‘thirty under 30’ lists we see in the newspapers, of the bright young things who’ve reached the top rung while the rest of us are still wondering which ladder looks interesting.

Pre-order your copy from Amazon US or Amazon UK. (And if you don’t buy from Amazon, fear not, it’s available from all good bookshops!)

If you’d like to read it with your book club, Henry is offering to join book clubs that pre-order for a video chat about the book. (The children and I will try not to wander into too many of these videos). And he’ll be sharing all sorts of free bits and bonus posts over at The Common Reader.

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How we homeschooled today

Two factors determined how we homeschooled today:

1. I’m a bit ill

2. The children are seriously off their work

I spent yesterday feeling very tired, and berating myself for being lazy. This morning I realised I’m not lazy, but ill. It’s only a sniffle, but margins are tight (for everyone, no doubt), and it’s difficult to do your best when you’re not feeling your best.

The children have been off their work all week, in the same way that children can sometimes be ‘off their food’. I keep suggesting things—snuggling on the sofa for a read-aloud, or going on a small outing—and they keep turning me down. All they want to do is play Ninjago imaginary games, and draw Ninjago pictures, and watch Ninjago on TV. (The TV bit is limited because of how we do screen time, but the rest of it is not). The unschooler in me thinks this is fine, and they’re learning lots of things even though I can’t see it, and they’re probably giving themselves a much-needed break. The straight-A student in me thinks but when are they going to do some WORK??!

But there has been lots of reading this week. At the weekend I was lucky enough to find a stash of old Ladybird books in a charity shop, all vastly underpriced. I bought:

• Kings and Queens of England Book 1

• Swiss Family Robinson

• Treasure Island

• The Three Musketeers

• Madame Curie

• Prehistoric Animals and Fossils

• Knight of the Golden Falcon (from a Tales of King Arthur series)

My son has been enjoying reading the Kings and Queens book today, and noticed on the back that there is a whole book on Henry II and Thomas (à) Becket. He begged me to buy it, and I gladly complied—anything to feel that some education is taking place.

(NB These old Ladybirds are great, and I generally buy them whenever I see them. But they are also of their time, and some of them—notably David Livingstone—haven’t aged well.)

The usual daily lists have been barely touched this week, so today I decided something was better than nothing. Each child did a small amount of handwriting practice, and then a page of their multiplication workbooks. Some days we work on a maths investigation for an hour or more, which I suppose balances out the days like today when it’s barely ten minutes. There have also been card games, and matching pairs games, and my daughter and I took a turn in the garden. (Do we sound like we’re living in a Jane Austen novel? I assure you, dear reader, we are not.)

And while I stole a few minutes to type this up, each child sat with the latest Mysteries in Time delivery and read about Ancient China. I do love this about subscription boxes—the way it feels like a present has arrived in the post, so that even children who are off their work are tempted to take a look. I’m going to go and capitalise on their interest with a short video.

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In the latest post from

Rachael Ringenberg

, Rachael linked to a 2014 post she wrote about the memories adults have of their childhood Christmasses. It’s delightful, and wonderfully reassuring if you’re trying—and inevitably failing—to get everything just so:

There was one surprising revelation from the phone calls: the things their kids loved and remembered were usually not the ones the mothers had intended. Not the three-tiered cookie tray that showed up on the right day, but the fact that the kids got to pick the food coloring colors for the frosting. Not the getting of the tree at the charming corner store, but the bag of chips they were allowed to pick out for the ride home. Not the deluxe Christmas meal, but how many candles she managed to light around the room each year. Not the gifts, but the fact that their dad built a fire every Christmas eve.

It’s as warming as a cup of mulled wine.

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