I
HEATHER O’STEEN PHOTOGRAPHY
t all started to unravel when the first
drop of blood hit the carpet—“it” being
my Instagram-perfect, curated vision
of what our family’s home-school would
look like. The owner of that drop of blood
(and several more drops to follow) was my
curly-headed, precocious three-year-old, the
youngest of our bunch of four kids ages 10
and under. Her chubby finger had gone after
a booger during story time, and she didn’t
stop her pursuit until her nose sprung a leak
all over the carpet. That kid is determined,
I’ll give her that.

But that soiled carpet wasn’t just any
carpet. It was the final purchase for our
playroom-turned-schoolroom. This light
blue carpet with bold alphabet letters,
accented with Eric Carle’s drawings of
animals, represented the stake I put in the
ground to hold onto some semblance of
control as the pandemic tossed all of our
expectations about the coming school year to
and fro. All summer, the emotional whiplash
of adjusting to back-to-school rumors and
various draft plans of in-person versus
hybrid versus virtual learning was wearing
me out. In response to this uncertainty, I
decided to create the best darn learning
environment I could. Hence, my tricked-out
playroom and the now-stained carpet.

Obviously, my carpet is not the only thing
this pandemic has indirectly ruined. Far from
it. Plans, finances, milestones, even lives
have been upset—sometimes tragically so—
by an inanimate virus that doesn’t care if
your kid misses their graduation or you lose
your house. As a parent, it has been tough to
keep my own sanity afloat when life seems
adrift in this sea of uncertainty. So choosing
to home-school was another stake I put in
the ground in an effort to moor our family’s
sanity to something more solid that the
shifting sands of school reopening plans.

Eventually, our school district arrived at
their final reopening plan: virtual learning. I
knew the eldest of our brood would be able
to navigate distance learning’s various logins,
passwords, schedules and platforms with an
independence and maturity that belied
her 10 years. So she will embark on a
Chromebook adventure this fall with our
local public school.

For the rest of my kids—and their
Luddite mom, most of all—virtual learning
would not be ideal. I knew that our active,
make-me-learn third grader and his wide-
eyed, new-to-learning kindergartner sister
would do much better learning from a warm
body than through the screen. So I scoured
the internet and relentlessly polled “real
home schoolers” (those who chose to home-
school long before this pandemic—they are
my heroes!) to cobble together a reasonably
effective school curriculum.

And that’s how I became an accidental
home-schooler. Yet home schooling is an
intimidating prospect. I would not have
chosen this route if the pandemic did not
choose it for me. After ten years of raising
babies, this was the year I would finally get to
focus on my back-burner marketing career.

Plus, I have the greatest respect for educators
and their expertise in teaching everything
from phonics to physics, earned from
accredited higher education institutions,
honed over years of classroom experience.

My children have benefited from countless
teachers’ care, creativity and selflessness.

Who am I to try to fill their shoes?
My only response is that I’m “mom.” I
know and love my kids better than anyone
else. I have a vested interest in their success
and will do whatever it takes to help them
succeed. But as much as I hope this primal,
mama-bear love can overcome my
deficiencies as a teacher, I’m also aware
that it poses its own challenge. As I watch
my son struggle to complete a tough math
assignment, I have to stop myself from
rescuing him and giving him an easy out,
simply because it hurts my heart to watch
him struggle.

As I write this, we are only a few weeks
into this home-schooling journey. So far, I
can say that it has been the best of times and
the worst of times, to paraphrase Dickens.

We start our days with “Circle Time,” where
we gather and sing together, read picture
books, stretch and say a prayer. Despite
occasional drops of blood on my new carpet,
this is usually a precious time together.

Then begins the worst of times: math.

I’ll spare you the details of tantrums and
tears. Sometimes even the kids get upset.

Our day then progresses through language
arts, lunch, science and history—also
known as “How many plates can mom spin
simultaneously?” as I hop between children
for various writing lessons, phonics games,
computer technical glitch fixing, lunch prep,
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