As I was sitting with Luke this morning while he was doing his school work, this was my view.
An eight and a half year old boy, with ripped jeans, grass stains on his knees, dirt all over his bare feet, tangles in his untamed hair, and stains on his 4H t-shirt. There’s a bucket of dinky cars on the roughed up table (many of which are outside in a “construction site” in the garden), as he sits learning his Roman numerals, writing them in his main lesson book as the smell of sweet beeswax crayons wafts and mixes with the smell of thieves from the diffuser. His little brother is across the table whistling Martinmas songs, while learning the quality of numbers through art and story.
This is why we Waldorf. This beautiful mess is real and raw and filled with so much heart and memory. It allows for a childhood that speaks to time gone by—- filled with play and exploration and learning.
Homeschooling isn’t easy. It is often filled with fights and conflict. But it’s real, and raw and I wouldn’t change it for the world.