School on Sunday

I wonder how much I need to keep track of "lessons." Not for the Commonwealth of Virginia, which could not care less, but for my inner record keeper. I have gone so far as to write up a plan for our unit study for Little House in the Big Woods. The words "objective" and "teaching method" appeared, I guess because some habits die hard.

We listened to the book this evening, which happens to be a Sunday. The girls worked with yellow play dough as we heard about the sugar snow, the dance, and maple candy. They didn't do anything school-ish, like a product to show comprehension. (There are no work sheets in the kindergarten class at Princess Baking School! There will be lap books.) Proof that TJ is listening: she giggled when Laura and the other Laura Ingalls got into a spat over who had the prettiest baby sister.

Nothing is really different in the way we go about our days, and the fact of not changing is taking some getting used to. September, to me, meant disrupting what felt like the natural order of things. As the school year wore on, a stomach ache always arrived on Sunday evenings in contemplating the homework I had left to do for Monday.

I will have to remember that we "did school" on Sunday so that, maybe, I can feel a bit less guilty about "doing nothing" later in the week.