To Post or Not to Post . . . the POW

I have been debating whether or not to share the POW, or plan of the week. My military friends already know that acronym. To my civilian friends, I resigned my commission in 1995 to homeschool the kids. You can take the girl out of the Navy, but you can't take the Navy out of the girl.

I left you hanging on how our first week of school went. FANTASTIC! Many sweet moments that I will treasure in my heart. Many "aha" moments when something clicked for Pamela or a new idea sprouted. Many hours of slogging through books and things and papers and pencils and markers. We even managed to soak up some fresh air.

I was a bit nervous because last week's POW looked way too ambitious. In fact, I am reluctant to post it because some families with autistic children might feel inadequate. Others with brilliant aspies heading to MIT in a few years may snort at our slow pace. Please do not feel guilty because each child is a person with her own mix of scattered skills, his own strengths and weaknesses, her own enthusiasms and meltdown triggers, his own ability to self-regulate. Each family has their own circumstances that makes what I am posting impossible or a total joke. A couple of people want to see the POW, which is the reason for this post.

Pamela learned to be a good apprentice many years ago. She enjoys a Charlotte Mason approach because of the short lessons. Last week, her most common exclamation was, "It's short!" Most of her lessons are ten minutes long (book readings), except for mathematics (forty-five minutes) and science (thirty minutes). Some--like poetry, singing folks songs (Spanish and American) and hymns, listening to Spanish stories, or copywork--only last five minutes. In less than five hours, we surf through a wide and varied curriculum. Because she transitions well and highlighting accomplished lessons spurs her on, she presses onward and upward. I shared our first day and narrations last week. We ended up accomplishing everything but a rained-out walk and one pear experiment that is still in progress. I call that a win for us!

Pamela is twenty-one years old and is able to live up to the ambitious schedule I honed for her over the summer. It has taken us MANY years to get to this level of learning!

. . . When she was six years old, the sight of a pencil launched a nuclear meltdown.

. . . When she was ten years old, ninety minutes in the morning and ninety minutes in the afternoon zonked us.

. . . When she was twelve years old, listening to her read aloud was more painful than sitting in a dentist chair.

. . . When she was fifteen years old, she could not put five words into a sentence with correct grammar if her life depended on it.