Way back when I was a new bride, I read Mary Pride’s The Way Home. Her ideas prompted me to consider homeschooling my children, even though my children didn’t exist yet.

My husband I turned out to be infertile and by the time we adopted twins, I had a head jammed full of ideas. I listened to Dr. Dobson (before he got all political) and really knew that I knew The Right Way to parent. I would homeschool them and they would be eager students and obedient children and I would manage to look cute throughout their childhoods. Oh, and I’d have lots of girlfriends to call who would meet us for playdates and educational field trips. My children would study museum paintings, sketchbooks in hand.

My kids were supposed to learn to read early and spend hours coloring with unbroken crayons. They were supposed to be naturally tidy and easy-going. They were supposed to always wear double-knotted shoes when they went outside.

But my boys surprised me. They wore socks outside while they dug holes in the dirt. They threw sand at each other. They didn’t want to listen to books and they never met a crayon they didn’t want to break and then throw. My blue-eyed twin challenged my leadership every day, every hour, nearly every minute. My brown-eyed twin whined and threw his apple-juice cup every single time he finished. Every time. Sometimes it would hit me and I would cry.

We lived in a very rural, poor area of Michigan with terrible schools and I decided that I would homeschool them. Before that arrived though, several events occurred which jumbled up our plans. First, I became pregnant (not an easy task for an infertile woman), and then we moved.

We moved the September the twins were old enough to go to kindergarten. My baby was seven months old and I’d been babysitting for two years. I was eager to spend time alone with my baby. The school district in our new home enjoyed an excellent reputation. So, off they went, much to my joy.

I admit it. By then, I really needed a break from them. These boys that God gave me were nothing like the embroidering-stitching girls I’d expected. I wasn’t so sure of my ability to teach them and to juggle a baby and schooling.

Besides that, my husband is a pastor. That makes my kids Pastor’s Kids (PKs). PKs have a decidely different life than your average child. They face higher expectations from their church community, for starters. Their peers can ostracize them based on their dad’s job alone. We did not want our kids to be seen as the weird pastor’s kids who wore pants too short and eyeglasses too thick, the kids who were isolated from life. Is that a stereotype? Sure, it is. But there’s a bit of truth to it and we were seeking a balance.

Their first years at school were okay. My brown-eyed twin struggled with writing and reading. The teachers sort of shrugged their shoulders. His second-grade teacher said, “Well, it’s only second grade. It’s not college,” when I raised my concerns. He struggled more than his twin brother and I suspected more than most children. He constantly lagged behind in math and writing and reading.

My blue-eyed twin excelled in everything but handwriting. But he’d come home so crabby, so irritable. As the years progressed, his foul moods increased. I didn’t know until much later that starting in fourth grade, the other kids had begun to target him for teasing and bullying. He has a strong personality (remember how he challenged me constantly as a toddler and preschooler?) and odd mannerisms. He wanted nothing more than to be a cool kid and yet, coolness eluded him. He tried too hard.

During fifth grade, my brown-eyed twin struggled for passing grades. His teacher noted that if a leaf fell from a tree outside the window, my son would lose his focus. He never caused trouble, though. He just sat quietly and didn’t do his work. Homework every night was torture–and he didn’t like it much, either.

We decided then that we needed to intervene, to save our boy. Sixth grade would involve a confusing change of classes and less supervision by teachers. More homework, more responsibility, more demands. I did not want him to end up being the kid smoking illicit cigarettes in the parking lot while skipping class, so we brought him home for school. Our blue-eyed twin asked to school at home, too.

Initially, I planned to homeschool in the traditional sense. That is, I intended to piece together curriculum and teach them myself. I dreaded this because my daughter was two years old then and extremely clingy. At the same time, our school district decided to offer an at-home program using an online curriculum. The program falls under the category of “alternative education,” and the curriculum was provided at no cost to us because our children are still enrolled in the public school district. Therefore, the public school district gets tax dollars for our children. We get curriculum at no cost. We do have to follow school requirements. I log attendance and we meet with a teacher weekly who is “mentoring” the boys. (This year, I think we’ll be able to do the meetings by email and phone, which is a relief to me.)

I do not mind the school district having a hand in educating my children. My 7-year old is a very successful and happy public school student. He’s confident and smart and doing great. I am the product of a public school system and so is my husband. We have many friends who are teachers. But I found that these particular children, my boys, did not fare well in the public schools. They need more attention and protection.

Some homeschoolers hate the idea of a public school system offering school-at-home. Some of them believe it’s a scheme to eventually erode the rights of homeschoolers or a way to trick people back into the public school system. They do not want anyone to tell them how and when to educate their children. They are called “independent homeschoolers.” Some independent homeschoolers are quite antagonistic towards school-at-homers and believe that we are not “real” homeschoolers.

And while I completely respect their position, that’s not me. I have no qualms about accepting free curriculum, even though there are strings attached. What I do is pretty much the same as what they do. I just do it with the oversight of professional educators (though not much oversight, truthfully).

We attempt to find the middle ground as we parent our children. Not too strict and not too lenient. We shield them from inappropriate material, yet they play video games and watch television (they are currently hooked on the old episodes of “Full House”).

What I’ve discovered the longer I am a mother is that my children never read those books I did about their behavior and how I would be able to curb and control it. They are individuals. Does the fact that they share no genetic material with me make a difference? Is it that they are boys? Or the simple fact of being adopted and the pre-verbal losses they suffered? Are their personalities just foreign to me?

I don’t know, but I know this. I am doing the best I can. At this moment, at this stage in my own “full house,” I gratefully accept curriculum and the ties to the public school. The minute it stops working, we’ll reassess. Meanwhile, we impatiently await our curriculum and they are busy reading upstairs, safe and sound.

And my blue-eyed twin is no longer irritable and my brown-eyed twin isn’t lost in the shuffle.