You'll find them here and here.

Great questions. I think the answer to the first is personal to the OP (i.e., her general sense of what progress represents.) The answer to the second? Well, homeschooled students are bound by the standards of state law, right? Illinois law, for example, mentions providing an education in English comparable to that of same-aged peers in public school and notes the number of days required. In my situation, then, the minimum standard is that my students receive 180 days of education in the same subjects as their eighth- and tenth-grade peers. But there's the rub. Which eighth- and tenth-grade peers? The ones in the various gifted programs? The ones on the honors path? The traditional college-prep path? The students in the basic skills classes? The "average" student in those grades? What is "average," then? Now may I point out that there is a difference between the education their peers in our town are receiving and that their peers in some nearby towns are receiving. Which standard shall I use then? The seemingly more rigorous? The other? Oh, and I put my eighth-grader in ninth this month. What's the standard for her? Should she be held to the standards of her peers in middle school or those in high school? As I mentioned in my response to the resurrected thread, the consistency, rigor, and quality of education being provided to the children of the posters on this board varies -- sometimes greatly -- from poster to poster, not to mention across the ever-expanding ranks of homeschoolers in this country. The exact same thing can be said of the consistency, rigor, and quality of education being provided to the children in public and private schools around the country. In other words, there is no single standard. And after fourteen years of this gig and one graduated student, I can say with some confidence, I don't want a standard (beyond the open-to-interpretation law on the books in this state) imposed on my family-centered learning project.

Thank you, Joanne. (*grin*)

The last time I participated in a discussion like this was nearly seven years ago. And for the most part, I'd give a reply similar to the one I offered then (although the intervening years have, as one virtual friend said, softened me): One of the reasons I homeschool is that I'm not terribly interested in what everyone else is doing -- how woefully underprepared Suzy Homeschool's kids are, how inarticulate Peggy Publicschool's kids are, etc. Really. Not. Interested. I'm concerned about the progress of two young adults. Hey, look at that. They both live here. _________________________________ The OP spoke of being frustrated by lowered standards, but, simply put, there is no one set of standards to which home educators subscribe. The consistency, rigor, and quality of education being provided to the children of the posters on this board varies -- sometimes greatly -- from poster to poster, not to mention across the ever-expanding ranks of homeschoolers in this country. The exact same thing can be said of the consistency, rigor, and quality of education being provided to the children in public and private schools around the country, though! So, while I subscribe to what many would call "rigorous standards," I know someone else -- whether home, public, or private schooled, might disagree. And that's okay. He or she isn't in charge here. I am. Similarly, while I may have some fairly strong feelings about what can be accomplished through home education (Oh, and I do!), I know that it's really none of my durned business if someone chooses different methods, philosophies, and/or goals. Related aside: In the last couple of years, I have begun to wonder if the homeschooling community, which still represents such a small fraction of the country's student population, does itself it great disservice by publicly deriding its participants. Then again, many are challenged and inspired by such virtual conversations.

nt

Congratulations to your oldest, and health and happiness to all of you!

I just finished The Geeks Shall Inherit the Earth (Alexandra Robbins), which is my forty-fifth book of 2011. I've pasted the titles of the other forty-four below. They are, more or less, in reverse chronological order. I've included links to my monthly on the nightstand / reading life review posts. May (reviews/discussion here) ■ Daughters-in-Law (Joanna Trollope; fiction) ■ Sempre Susan (Sigrid Nunez; memoir) ■ Gardening Step by Step (Phil Clayton, et al.) ■ John Brookes' Natural Landscapes (John Brookes) ■ Month-by-Month Gardening in Illinois (James A. Fizzell) ■ The New Gardener (Pippa Greenwood) ■ Glorious Gardens (Jacqueline Heriteau) ■ Midwest Top 10 Garden Guide (Bonnie Monte, ed.) ■ Midwest Gardens (Pamela Wolfe) ■ Low Maintenance Garden (Jenny Hendy) ■ The Complete Beginner's Guide to Archery (Bernhard A. Roth) ■ Know the Sport: Archery (John Adams) ■ Sherlock Holmes: More Short Stories (Sir Arthur Conan Doyle; fiction) ■ The Outsiders (S.E. Hinton; YA fiction) ■ The Raising (Laura Kasischke; fiction) ■ The Life before Her Eyes (Laura Kasischke; fiction) ■ No Time for Goodbye (Linwood Barclay; fiction) ■ Too Close to Home (Linwood Barclay; fiction) April (reviews/discussion here) ■ Things a Brother Knows (Dana Reinhart; YA fiction -- the book that reminded me that I am, in fact, a reader) ■ Illyria (Elizabeth Hand; fiction) ■ The Merchant of Venice (William Shakespeare) ■ Model Home (Eric Puchner; fiction) ■ Mouse Guard, Volume 1: Fall 1152 (David Petersen; graphic novel) ■ Mouse Guard, Volume 2: Winter 1152 (David Petersen; graphic novel) ■ The Worst Loss: How Families Heal from the Death of a Child (Barbara D. Rosof) ■ Beyond Tears: Living after Losing a Child (Ellen Mitchell) ■ Love Never Dies: A Mother's Journey from Loss to Love (Sandy Goodman) ■ After the Death of a Child: Living with Loss through the Years (Ann K. Finkbeiner) ■ Trapped (Michael Northrop; YA fiction) ■ Sherlock Holmes: Short Stories (Sir Arthur Conan Doyle; fiction) ■ The Colony (Jillian Marie Weise; fiction) ■ The Sandman, Vol. 3: Dream Country (Neil Gaiman; graphic novel) March (reviews/discussion here) ■ The Source of All Things: A Memoir (Tracy Ross; memoir, review copy) ■ Heaven Is for Real (Todd Burpo; memoir, religion) January (reviews/discussion here) ■ The Nest Home Design Handbook (Carley Roney) ■ Decorating Ideas That Work (Heather J. Paper) ■ Speed Decorating (Jill Vegas) ■ Flip! for Decorating (Elizabeth Mayhew) ■ Home Decor: A Sunset Design Guide (Kerrie L. Kelly) ■ Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother (Amy Chua; memoir, parenting) ■ Macbeth (William Shakespeare) ■ The Other Side of the Island (Allegra Goodman; fiction) ■ A Lantern in Her Hand (Bess Streeter Aldrich; fiction) ■ Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day (Winifred Watson; fiction)

It's good to "see" all of you!

Heidi, you're allowed to say, "No." More, you're allowed to say, "No," without experiencing guilt or regret. The only people we *owe* time are ourselves, our families, and our employers. Anything after that? We get to pick and choose. You have four young children, a busy household that includes a commitment to home education, and a vibrant photography business (if I'm remembering correctly). "No" is an utterly acceptable reply -- no matter who is asking. Do have any time? Is this what you want to do with it? If not, don't. Did the "board fairy" make it over here from the old boards? I'm sure she'd be happy to give you permission, too. (*wry grin*) Best regards.

Our lives have always comprised routines punctuated by interruptions. Over the last six months, the interruptions have, at times, appeared more apparent than the routines (*wry, sad grin*), but I still maintain that life is both family movie nights and broken garage doors, bicycle rides and funerals, breakfast at the table and dinner on the run, blue ribbons and bills. And so it goes. When we are in the middle of a storm of interruptions, it is natural to become overwhelmed. It often amazes me, though, that it is not the big things that undo us. When we finally arrive at the point that we speak up, scream at everyone and no one, “Attention must be paid!†it’s rarely death, illness, debt, and the rest that prompt us. We seem to absorb the staggering blows bravely… until the slow accretion of little, seemingly insignificant things add seasoned salt to our wounds: The cat pukes on our new sofa pillow. Our student fails a math test. They leave a soap trail in the tub. Again. The neighbor mows another inch into our yard. Again. The doctor forgets to return a call. The server goes down. The washer breaks. And the refrigerator. And then? And then we realize that, indeed, things are CRAZY and maybe have been for a while. And when will this end? Another poster mentioned the rollercoaster analogy. That works. But I personally think life more resembles the swings. You’re flying around out there, two slats of wood beneath your capacious bottom, thin chains and uncertain bolts suspending you from a listing top. And it's all moving much faster than you believed was possible. Only one thing to do: Reach out and hold hands with the person dangling beside you. Wishing you and yours health, peace, and better times.

Although we did Suzuki violin for one year when my oldest daughter (Miss M-mv(i)) was four, music lessons actually "stuck" beginning in October 2006, when my daughters were ten and nearly nine, respectively. At that time, they took up piano, and they were not enrolled in a Suzuki program. Still, something in our experience may help you. Here is what I have learned [taken from my 11.23.2009 post on the subject; the Misses have now been with Mrs. R. for two years]: I think I always knew that the Misses' first teacher would not be their "forever teacher," but it took me two years too long to move on. By the second book in the series that the teacher had arbitrarily selected for her (the sole criterion being that it was not the series selected for her sister), it was obvious that Miss M-mv(i) needed a change, but she was told, "Let's finish this up, and then we'll try something else." But "something else" was always the next book in the series. More, apart from the oversimplified theory and musicianship espoused in their respective series, the Misses' studies lacked a cohesive philosophy or pedagogy. We tried to cobble together an understanding of the literature on our own and often brought exercises and pieces to our teacher's attention, which seemed, alternately, to amuse and annoy her. And, motivated to improve and grow, we steadily increased practice requirements, likening the pursuit to that of swimmers and chess players: Master the fundamentals and the rest will follow. Finally, to ensure that all of the so-called "extras" we had discovered were reviewed, we even increased the Misses' lesson time. But mastery requires more than a will to succeed and a desire to improve, doesn't it? After all, "the quality of an education system cannot exceed the quality of its teachers." Enter Mrs. R. After only a week, the Misses' hands and posture were corrected. After a month, their understanding and application of the basics were vastly improved. And now, at the end of nearly four months, they routinely delight her with their pieces. Not that she is easily moved. On the contrary, she is strict, firmly rooted in classical training, and absolutely unafraid to say, "No! That is not it! Like this. Try again. No. Again. No. Again!" Again. Again. Again! Once she spent an entire lesson on one measure. One measure. And Miss M-mv(ii) grinned as she was dismissed. Grinned! Said, "Thank you, Mrs. R. See you next week!" And animatedly sang Mrs. R.'s praises all the way home. And, by golly, if that piece wasn't a smoothly polished stone two weeks later. "Oh, that is so nice!" exclaimed Mrs. R. "I am so happy. But..." And more work. More tweaking. More attention to what the composer intended, what the musician must do to improve. And so it goes. Now this is teaching, I think during every lesson. So let my experience serve as cautionary tale. If you sense that it's time to move on, don't dither: Move on. Find a better teacher because no matter what the subject and no matter how good the student is, he or she cannot move past inadequate teaching.

I guess it is. Well. Okay. Six years ago, my son and I read Rand's Anthem for our family-centered book club. (Related entry, including some helpful links, here.) I had read Atlas Shrugged in 1993 and The Fountainhead in 1997 or 1998, so I knew what to expect, so to speak, when we approached the slimmer and more accessible Anthem. What an interesting series of discussions we had! It seems, though, that your choices are between Atlas Shrugged and The Fountainhead, so my vote is for The Fountainhead.

Danielle (The Loner) shares many of the characteristics you have attributed to your daughter. You both may be interested to see what Robbins concludes.

Here's my recent entry: Reading life review: May.

(1) Thank you for the lovely words and, as I said, for remembering. He was such a funny, wonderful, smart, *good* boy and man. (2) A shout-out to Susan and the board moderators: In the days following our son's death, the intersection of my professional, personal, and virtual lives proved more than a little disconcerting -- overwhelming, even. In an effort to preserve some sense of privacy, the board moderators and Susan herself honored my request to delete both my (practically brand-new) account and my posts. I deeply appreciated their kind consideration. [MIch elle, I think this answers your question about H.B. And when I rejoined yesterday, it just made sense to be what I was, MFS of M-mv.] (3) As for answering my own question, I am finishing up The Geeks Shall Inherit the Earth (Alexandra Robbins). Of one of her other books, a reviewer wrote that it was part soap opera, part social treatise. I think the same can likely be said of this. More, the soap opera sections ring truer than the social treatise assertions. Heh, heh, heh. Next up? In the Basement of the Ivory Tower (Professor X.), I think.

Six months ago, our son, LCpl M-mv, died in an off-duty motor vehicle accident. You can't know the joy it brings me to realize that even virtual acquaintances remember him. Thank you for remembering starfish hands, Valerie.

Hello, everyone! I was worried.... Anyway, coffee, please, Audrey. And Julie... a life update, eh? Where to begin? How 'bout this? The Misses are both in high school now. Do you read M-mv? If not, here's a photo of them. I know: They're growing up *so* quickly. Mr. M-mv and I celebrated our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary last month, so I guess *we're* growing up, too. (*wry grin*) And without casting a pall on this merry reunion, I'll just say that we continue to miss our son fiercely every single day, but his laughter still rings in our ears.

I'm not even sure I see any familiar faces. Might you wave me over to your couch if you "know" me? [*Padding gingerly across the room.*] Excuse me. Hello. Hi. 'scuse me. May I sit here? So. How have you been? What are you reading? Am I in the right place?