Small Places is a newsletter and podcast which talks about parenting, education, and children’s rights.
A quick heads up before you begin reading: only the first part of this post is available to free subscribers; the rest of this post is reserved for paid subscribers only.
Christmas subscription offer! Until 6th January, I’m offering 20% off all subscriptions - forever! By going paid, not only do you get to enjoy exclusive posts and access the archive, but you can feel good knowing that you’re supporting independent writing on children’s rights. Every subscriber makes a difference and I am so grateful for your support.
We’re about to start a new home ed ‘term’, which means one thing: planning.
I love planning.
As a neurodivergent home educator, my brain can easily get caught up in the chaos of daily life unless I have systems in place which help me function. Planning is one of the tools I rely on to reduce overwhelm and to free up time and headspace for the fun stuff - art projects, playdate organising, trips, and sourcing the books or materials we need - as well as the daily Sisyphean tasks of cooking, cleaning, laundry, and putting away the myriad pens which seem to appear on every surface no matter how often we tidy them up.
There is a limit to what planning can do, of course. Although it feels soothing and provides the temporary illusion of control, I’ve learned the hard way that it is not a panacea. I’m writing this post with bags under my eyes, having spent the small hours of the night administering Calpol and cuddles to a sad child with earache, a reminder that no amount of planning can stop us getting ill or needing a break. Nor can it stand in for the messy, difficult, beautiful work of deschooling myself and challenging the adultism which shows up in my relationship with my daughter. The most meticulous plans can do nothing for us in the face of a dud resource, a heatwave, or a new beloved interest or friendship which suddenly commands my daughter’s time and energy.
I’ve also come to realise that I get the urge to (over) plan when I’m feeling anxious, and that - and I say with kindness to myself! - the notes which emerge from these stress-induced planning sessions are not worth the paper they are written on. When my plans come from a place of calm rather than fear, they are far more likely to be useful and realistic.1
In this post I’m going to walk you through two things:
How I plan, how I involve my daughter meaningfully in the planning process, and what I’ve found to be the sweet-spot for planning which helps me relax into our homeschooling without feeling like a piece of paper is more important that my daughter’s needs, interests, and preferences.
My pretty detailed - but very flexible! - plan for the first half of 2024.
Brace yourself, there will be some extremely scrappy photos.
Free subscribers, this is where you’ll be leaving us. If you’d like to read on, you can get 20% off your subscription if you sign up before the 6th January.
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Small Places by Eloise Rickman to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.