My husband says,
“My face hurts – I feel like I just got slapped with Home-school.”
He loves to tease me about my history as a geeky home-schooler and it gets worse when I talk about knitting sweaters for fictional literary characters, or admit that I had a wicked crush on Jimmy Stewart as a teen and not Brad Pitt, or argue that the Civil War had precious little to do with slavery. His life with me has been one very long slap of home-school. What can I say – I’m his first home-school experience, I want him to get his money’s worth.
I have little home-school moments when I feel like no one understands me and I revert to a Jane Eyre-esque state of stoic hysteria.
“Do you think that because I was home-schooled I have no heart? No sense of fashion? A slanted education? No interest in the world around me? No understanding of popular culture? No dreams, no needs, no desires?”
Then sometimes, it’s more like this:
I’m talking sackcloth and ashes home-school heartbreak.
Then I get over it and move on to the next sweater, the next fond memory of my dead-man crushes, the next argument about states’ rights and how I think pot should be legalized.
Ok, that last gem was more of a Hippie thing than a Home-school thing.