Homeschooling After Baby

My expectations for after the baby was born - for Hunter's schoolwork, household upkeep, and other non-essential tasks - have been low. 

I didn't quite remember what it was like to have a newborn, or how long it would take to be back to myself after birth, so I didn't want to overload myself with unrealistic expectations and be disappointed or frustrated.

Hunter, Damien and I have spent a lot of time in bed the last twelve days since we've been home. Damien and I, nursing and napping, but Hunter joins us every now and then to read aloud to Damien (this has been his favorite activity with his new brother), listen to me read aloud, or play a board game together.

There has been a lot of chess, and one of Hunter's new favorites, Minotaurus by Lego.

We have been reading a lot of stories and poems from The Book of Virtues, reading from the KJV Bible, and this week started a new chapter book, Eight Cousins by Louisa May Alcott.

Since the baby was born, I have told Hunter that he only has to do three independent subjects - Bible, reading, and a little bit of math. I figured this would be good for him and it takes him less than an hour a day - the rest of the day he has been getting to play with his uncle who is in town, his friends who are out of school, or occupy himself with a dozen other things he likes to do around the house.

He has started the Encyclopedia Brown books and really enjoys them (currently, Encyclopedia Brown Carries On), is reading a chapter a day from the book of Leviticus (KJV), and a few drill sheets from Math Three.

Next week we'll add a few more subjects back into our load, but we'll continue to keep things light for most of the summer as we adjust to this new lifestyle and enjoy the warm (ok, hot) weather.

"And ye shall teach them your children, speaking of them when thou sittest in thine house, and when thou walkest by the way, when thou liest down, and when thou risest up." 

Deuteronomy 11:19

Hunter is 6 years, 2 months old
Damien is 1 week, 6 days old

Fall Poetry

The closest we got to a jack-o-lantern 

Hunter and I have long enjoyed poetry together, although I realized that I don't often write about it on my blog.

We have been reading some fall poetry lately. Even though we don't get fall here. It is perpetual summer until November and then, around December the leaves will turn brown and fall off. Yes, brown.

But maybe the poetry keeps us closer to home, so at least we can enjoy autumn in our imaginations.

WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE PUNKIN
by James Whitcomb Riley (1849-1916)

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock,
And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin’ turkey-cock,
And the clackin’ of the guineys, and the cluckin’ of the hens,
And the rooster’s hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;
O, it’s then’s the times a feller is a-feelin’ at his best,
With the risin’ sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,
As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock.

They’s something kindo’ harty-like about the atmusfere
When the heat of summer’s over and the coolin’ fall is here–
Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossums on the trees,
And the mumble of the hummin’-birds and buzzin’ of the bees;
But the air’s so appetizin’; and the landscape through the haze
Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days
Is a pictur’ that no painter has the colorin’ to mock–
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock.

The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn,
And the raspin’ of the tangled leaves, as golden as the morn;
The stubble in the furries–kindo’ lonesome-like, but still
A-preachin’ sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill;
The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed;
The hosses in theyr stalls below–the clover over-head!–
O, it sets my hart a-clickin’ like the tickin’ of a clock,
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock!

Then your apples all is gethered, and the ones a feller keeps
Is poured around the celler-floor in red and yeller heaps;
And your cider-makin’ ‘s over, and your wimmern-folks is through
With their mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and saussage, too! …
I don’t know how to tell it–but ef sich a thing could be
As the Angels wantin’ boardin’, and they’d call around on me–
I’d want to ‘commodate ‘em–all the whole-indurin’ flock–
When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder’s in the shock!

"O worship the LORD in the beauty of holiness: fear before him, all the earth." 

Psalm 96:9

Hunter is 5 years, 7 months old 

Thanksgiving Reading

I finally found some good Thanksgiving poetry. The poem below was written by William Bradford, the governor and historian of the plymouth colony.

I also found a few more on this website that we have been reading. Some of them were cheesy "turkey day" poems but there were a lot of good ones. We are also reading through Psalm 100, the "thanksgiving psalm".

And lastly, we are reading Of Plymouth Plantation by William Bradford again this year. We're reading it online, since I couldn't find a full, unedited copy at the library. These readings and poetry have been great for learning more about our Christian heritage, which I am very excited about.

Here is the poem:


From my years young in days of youth,
God did make known to me his truth,
And call'd me from my native place
For to enjoy the means of grace.
In wilderness he did me guide,
And in strange lands for me provide.
In fears and wants, though weal and woe,
A pilgrim, past I to and fro:
Oft left of them whom I did trust;
How vain it is to rest on dust!
A man of sorrows I have been,
And many changes I have seen.
Wars, wants, peace, plenty, have I known;
And some advanc'd, others thrown down.
The humble poor, cheeful and glad;
Rich, discontent, sower and sad:
When fears and sorrows have been mixt,
Consolations came betwixt.
Faint not, poor soul, in God still trust,
Fear not the things thou suffer must;
For, whom he loves he doth castise,
And then all tears wipes from their eyes.
Farewell, dear children, whom I love,
Your better Father is above:
When I am gone, he can supply;
To him I leave you when I die.
Fear him in truth, walk in his ways,
And he will bless you all your days.
My days are spent, old age is come,
My strength it fails, my glass near run:
Now I will wait, when work is done,
Until my happy change shall come,
When from my labours I shall rest,
With Christ above for to be blest.

"Thy statutes have been my songs in the house of my pilgrimage."

 Psalm 119:54

Hunter is 4 years, 7 months old