I’m a Virginia mom who homeschools; here’s what it really looks like

I tried to homeschool like the Instagram reels—then realized it’s okay to throw out the plan.

If you’re hoping for a “this is the perfect way to homeschool your child” kind of article, I’m sorry to say you won’t find that here. 

But if you’re a Virginia parent balancing work and home with a schedule that looks like a drunk squirrel designed it—and you’re still curious about home-based education—you’re in the right spot.

Today, I’m here to strip perfectionism out of the conversation. And if you’re intrigued by adopting a similar lifestyle, I want to help you navigate the realities of homeschooling in the 21st century using discernment, not performance.

Yes, I’ve watched the same Instagram reels you have. The ones with the mom in her long, flowing dress, baking sourdough from scratch in a 1940s oven, a cloth-diapered baby on her hip and a buttoned-up-shirt boy gently clutching an antique slate to begin the morning lesson. That, apparently, is the dream. 

I bought the 1880s school desk. Our first readers were Dick and Jane. It was our first day of kindergarten—what I imagine would be a sweet, simple morning. 

Instead, it quickly turned into pure chaos.

I spent the first few hours setting up Colton’s Chromebook and registering for an online homeschool program. We finally kicked things off after lunch, just in time for ADHD to take full hold of the attentiveness I expected. 

The WiFi cut in and out. Less than an hour in, we were both at our wit’s end. He was jumping around; I was on the verge of tears. And it didn’t get any better the following day … or the one after that. 

After a few days of trying to play teacher, mother, housewife, and editor all at once, I took my exasperation to the expert: Mrs. Young. She taught me from kindergarten through fourth grade—and had about 40 years of experience under her belt. 

“I feel like I’m doing everything wrong,” I told her. “Nothing’s going the way I had planned, and I don’t know what to do.”

My biggest concern was reading; I figured if we could just get that right everything else would flow more naturally. I also brought some of my previous education reporting into the conversation, talking about how kids who read earlier were more likely to graduate.

She didn’t interrupt. She also didn’t immediately offer a solution. Mrs. Young listened, then nodded, and even paused before she spoke.

“Amie, he’s 5,” she said. “If he’s not ready yet, it’s okay.”

My expression must’ve given away my surprise because she continued.

“If he’s not interested in learning to read right now, that’s alright. In fact, I wouldn’t start teaching him that until he’s 6 or maybe even 7. They start kids off too early these days; it stresses them out, takes all the fun out of it. You want him to love reading? Then you wait until he’s ready—and even then, you take breaks to do jumping jacks every 10 minutes to get out some of that energy. Both of you.”

I left that conversation with a renewed spark of hope. It wasn’t some grand firework display of wonder, but rather permission to scale it back and to make it work for us. Besides, the whole idea of homeschool means we don’t have to do everything exactly the same as any other system. I could cater the plan uniquely to our home—not what Instagram told us it needed to look like. 

I realized my kid didn’t need rigor. He needed room.

I put the 1880s school desk in storage. I altered our homeschool schedule to an hour-and-a-half per day, tops. And on days when he met with friends at a local homeschool co-op? That was his lesson with no additional schoolwork on top of it. 

I won’t say it’s been easy. Or that I feel like I’m getting it “right” all the time. But I’ll tell you this: A couple weeks ago, I watched my boy confidently read five books to a dog at our local library. I saw the joy on his face when he beat me in a 1s, 10s, and 100s math test race. And I’ve started smiling big when people ask where he attends school and he responds with his whole chest, “I’m homeschooled!” 

So, no—for us, homeschool isn’t about suspenders and paisley dresses after all. Our style’s more pajamas and joggers. We aren’t sitting at a desk; we’re using snacks to explain the differences between the Virginia House and Senate. 

And that timeline I was so worried about? The day he didn’t have to read—but picked up a Pokémon book and chose to—was the day I truly understood:

If loving learning was the goal, then we were right on time all along.

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