"Verisimilitude to an otherwise unconvincing narrative."

Unless you're a particularly self-possessed specimen of motherhood, I expect you've felt that ever-present mom-guilt about not doing enough for your kids. 

I think the same thing happens, perhaps even more so, in homeschooling. I see all these amazing and colorful highlight reels from other people--endless ideas--and I think, I should be doing all those things, too. On top of that, homeschooling attracts all the little judgmental quips that are basically unavoidable; I've chosen the different path of keeping my kids at home instead of putting them in the "normal" system and since my kids accompany me to just about everything--every dentist appointment, every grocery shopping run, every oil change, EVERYTHING--we are somewhat ostentatious. Add to that the creative ways we try to make learning more all-encompassing and personalized, that can make me feel somehow...illegitimate as an educator.

I assume other families have found ways to deal with this feeling. I know a family that had the kids wear school uniforms during class time; another family has a dedicated school room with desks where they actually do their school; I love how HSLDA sends me a teacher ID annually with my membership (discounts at office stores, y'all!).

This brings me to my main point. 

When we first started homeschooling first grade, I took some time pondering long-term goals of our homeschool. I prayed, I studied scripture about childrearing/teaching, and I discussed these things with my husband. All of this came to a point when my husband and I decided to call our homeschool "Overlook Preparatory School" (or for our very young kids, technically it was a "Pre-Prep"). 

I made up a simple little logo, designed a letterhead, chose a font for all my document headers, and I gave us a little motto, personalized to the focal point of this endeavor: "Perculum, Iustitia, Virtus." I got my Latin-expert friend to help me get those right--it means, "Danger, Justice, Valor," (our kids' middle names) and I also think it is a reasonably appropriate description of our educational method and goals, haha.

I know it's nothing, and for goodness sake, I made it up, but having our little logo on all our documents, and having letterhead for records, and having a streamlined design for all our docs makes me feel more official. It's like, gasp, we're a real school. Because, guess what? Someone makes up their logo and letterhead and print design suite, too. All these trimmings are just that--trim. But it's those little things that make an institution seem more, well, institutional. As one of my favorite fictional characters says, "It lends an air of verisimilitude to an otherwise unconvincing narrative."

And when I think of it that way--that some random person also makes up all the stuff for "real" schools, I realize I am every bit as legitimate as they are, and, thank the Lord, every bit as equipped and qualified (possibly more so!)

Now, obviously, having a logo has absolutely nothing to do with whether or not I'm giving my kids a good education. No more than if they were in a private fancy school with fancy logos and letterheads there would mean anything toward the actual work being done there. And yet, somehow, it makes me feel better. And I suppose you could argue that anything that better equips and enables a teacher to thrive is also beneficial to the education of the students being taught. 

We sometimes talk about "delight-driven" education, and I would argue that the educator's delights are important to the drive of education as well as the student's delight.

It really is the little things.