(Henrietta's children at the time of writing were... a boy of 8, a girl of 7, a boy of 6, a girl of 5, a boy of 4, a girl of 3, a toddler of nearly 2 and a baby! None of them has ever been to school.)

Henrietta writes:

I got up about 8am. The children were already squabbling over Cheerios or Frosties in the kitchen. I ought to get up earlier, but I can't (usual excuses apply). First things first, go to check my email (a woman has to check her email first thing in the morning, despite having eight children).

Biology for the 8-year-old

Nine o'clock before I know it - I should get up earlier. My oldest child A (8) is reading thru a GSCE biology book. Three quarters of it is over his head, but the other quarter he loves, and spends ages typing out complex genetic charts, full of explanations of black and white rabbits, and the probability of Bb B, or whatever. It is all over my head. Since he knows we are expecting another baby, he types out mispelt screeds on the probability of it having brown/blue eyes or brown (like me), blonde (like dh) or ginger (like three of the children) hair. I get tired of suggesting whether I think it is a boy, a girl or has ginger hair. Or trying to explain why you can't tell what colour its hair/eyes are on an ultrasound scan.

Mothercraft for the 7-year-old

The baby starts to yell. I pop in his dummy. C (7) has her nose in a book on medicine through the ages. 'What about maths, dear?' I suggest. She moves about a bit, and I assume she has gone to do it. Later I notice the maths book in the bin - oh dear, I knew she didn't like it, but. . . She is on Y4 (8 - 9 yr old) maths, and plainly hates it. Why should I make her do it? I rescue the book (in case the next child likes maths) and offer her a Letts workbook for 7yr olds. (The baby is yelling again.) She takes it, but two minutes later is sitting on the rocking chair with the baby, rocking him and reading about the Great Wall of China. Oh well, if she wants to practice motherhood . .. and it keeps the baby quiet.

Reading for the 4-year-old

J (4) is desperate to read. I am a bad home ed mum, or he would be reading now. We do a couple of pages of Peter and Jane; but then the toddler starts yelling - must be tired. I suggest 'cot?' to him, he yells even louder, but when I take him to the bedroom he falls asleep before I leave the room.

Can I escape to the bathroom? J has followed me all the way, with his book under his arm, asking patiently, 'What does that word say?' 'What does this one say?' I can answer over my shoulder - but get stumped when he asks 'WHY does it say that?'

'It just does,' is not a very technical explanation, but all I can manage right now.

Can someone get me a bowl of Cheerios?

Writing for the 5-year-old

Five accounted for . .where are the other three? L (5) has been patiently copying out a page of "f" and "j" - all back to front. She is anxious, 'Is it good, Mummy?'

'You've done very well,' I say, sighing. It is only the 17th time we have tried to get it right. Seeing her face crumple I hurriedly suggest she does a page of (what can she not get back-to-front) "o". Happy, off she goes.

A interrupts me to explain genetics patiently. I don't understand. He sees my blank look and compromises - 'I'll show it to Daddy.' Whew.

Chess for the 6-year-old

The video is blaring in the playroom room. I assume R (6) is watching it. He is fascinated by visual media, and can usually be found in front of the video. I am sick (really sick) of the Number Crew and their songs. No artistic or musical merit whatsoever, but I guess the maths content is good. But do we have to have it on 6 hrs a day? No one is watching it.

R is on the other computer, playing chess. Oh well, good for his strategic thinking. So long as he does not ask me what I would do next! Mummy doesn't understand chess. How can anyone not understand chess, he wants to know.

Craft for the 3-year-old

Little J (nearly 3) is sitting quietly in the corner of the playroom, cutting all the hair off her doll. Oh well, at least it is the doll, not herself. . ... but WHO (I explode) left scissors in the playroom? She could have cut her throat or cut thru the video cable . . even as I say it, I know I am talking rubbish.

The end of a peaceful morning...

By now it is nearly lunchtime. And what happened to my Cheerios? (They are soggy on the kitchen table). A has ditched biology to challenge R to a game of chess; soon they are squabbling over who did what (like re-set the game when they were losing, and I refuse to intervene: I don't understand chess, I insist).

C has settled the baby, hidden her maths workbook and is writing to a friend. Can you spell (every second word in the letter) she is asking.

L has copied out a page of "o"s, got bored,and has drawn hundreds of them on the table, some with little legs as turtles.

J has gone to the bathroom and done some investigative science - if I pour all these chemicals on to the wooden windowsill, which will corrode it quicker? Huh!

Little J has found paper (is it the book I am editing??) and is shredding it with scissors into tiny pieces to chew. 'Who left the scissors . . ?' I don't bother finishing the sentence.

The toddler is asleep, bless him. And it is time for me to check my email.

'Lunch!' I say, and they stampede for the kitchen. 'I'll get pizzas on!' volunteers A. 'Can we have ice cream too?' (pizza and ice cream - whatever would my mum in law think?)

Henrietta, May 2000

Other approaches to home education:
Gayle - Heather - Jane - Kathie - Paula - Sue