“Writing is a way of talking without being interrupted.” ~Jules Renard

I have to write. I must.

I write all the time, whether I have a keyboard, a pen or not. I write constantly in my head…. Thoughts, slogans, quotes, paragraphs, essays, novels.

I received my college transcripts in the mail late last week, but not soon enough to be able to take advantage of the school district job for which I applied. Oh well. It was still interesting to look at those and the flood of memories it brought back as I studied the units I’d taken and credits I’ve earned so far. I especially liked at the bottom where it said I was “in good standing” in case I wanted to finish my education, just one last year of college.

I had entered college with sixty credits, for guess what? Literature arts. Never again would I have to step into an English or language arts course as I’d earned all the college credit I needed toward most degrees while I was in high school.

When I’m stressed I write. When I’m troubled I write. When I’m pissed I write. When I’m emotional I write. When I’m confused I write.

I went to my youngest child’s teacher conference today, bracing myself for the report, not knowing what to expect. The twins are struggling through demanding college-prep courses in their freshman year and it’s killing me. One of the greatest challenges I’m facing right now, knowing that they need my guidance, my support and my think-about-it-this-way wisdom and advice. I’m trapped in the decision making process of whether to discipline them for the poor marks they're both receiving in their mid-semester reports or to let these slide and help them learn the skills and lessons the hard way. I don’t want the poor marks on their report cards come six weeks from now, but I also don’t want to teach them “when life gets hard, take easier classes” and walk into the counseling office to pull them from their advanced courses. I’m genuinely struggling with the decision and paralyzed by knowing I need to find more work, but knowing with all of my heart that it can’t affect my time with them. My first job, always, is mother. So back to the little one (he’s not little, you know what I mean) who received praise and accolades and “what a self-starter” and how disciplined he is in his studies. He is a “pleasure to have in the classroom and fits right into this multi-grade classroom perfectly.” What a relief. No poor marks, a few directional pointers for his weakest area – writing.

We discussed his gifts and talents, his vivid imagination, his ability to story-tell like no other, his natural gift of embellishment and imagery… just how do we inspire him to translate that into the written word? Ironic that I would raise a child who “hates writing” isn’t it?

For his classroom project (due every six weeks) we got creative and did his Family Ancestry Project using interviews via Skype, phone calls, and I performed a bit of dictation for him all plugged into a power point presentation in lieu of writing a paper. It’s difficult for me to do dictation work with my natural inclination to correct grammar but I do it for his benefit. She was impressed by the out of the box thinking that takes place in our home, she was “thrilled” with his presentation of family history, artifacts, and his enthusiasm while presenting his project to the class.



The fact that his teacher is open minded and flexible which helps his achievements leading to success in school in turn benefiting his self-esteem and reinforcing HIS strengths. She complimented him repeatedly on his self-starter attitude as well as his ability to follow directions the first time they’ve been given.

This is the moment in the conversation when it hits me. All the reasons I pulled him out of school three grades ago are the exact opposite today. The kid that would draw detailed, impressive pictures in the margins of his papers with two words to begin a sentence of the assigned paragraph… The kid that “hated reading”… the kid that wouldn’t complete math quizzes because he “was distracted” was now a stellar student. The investment I made over the past two years in my choice to homeschool him despite the resistance and disapproving, constant barrage of comments from his father how I was hurting our child’s progress. The investment I made to take the time to give him the pace he needed to not only mature, but develop the love of learning. The battle with his self esteem that he was “stupid” and “can’t read” took two years of my time, energy, tears and effort, but it paid off.


I let that sink in for a bit. I was right. I made the right choices. I did what I knew in my gut was best for my child. He is a success today because of my sacrifices, effort and commitment to his needs to learn a little differently.

I know I have it in me to help these other two through their first, daunting year of high school. I know it’s there - their very own motivations to learn. I just needed the reminder today that the days are long but the years are short and that each one of us have our very special ways of thinking, learning, and once we find those the real beauty of loving to learn begins - grades and academic success will follow.

All thanks to twenty year old transcripts and a fourth grade teacher’s conference.