How Unschooling Doesn’t Guarantee a Fairytale Life

Yesterday evening, like all Sunday evenings, my kids who live locally came to dinner. Six of us gathered around our dining room table, savouring a meal cooked by my husband while enjoying the usual end-of-the-week lively catch-up conversation.

There was a time when we dreamed that all our children would buy houses on the same street as our family home. They’d move one by one, just a few houses away, so that we could gather at each other’s tables and continue to share our evening meals.

Twelve years ago, I wrote:

I hardly ever cook because there are many willing chefs in our house who are more than happy to provide dinner each night.

Tonight, it’s Imogen’s turn. She lifts the huge, heavy pan of bolognese sauce off the stove and carries it over to the kitchen bench, where a pile of bowls is waiting. Soon, all the bowls are full, and there is still plenty of sauce and spaghetti left in the pan, enough for visitors, second helpings, or tomorrow’s lunch.

Sophie carries the bowls to the table when eight hungry people are waiting.

“How are we going to cope when we leave home?” asks Charlotte, looking at all the food. “We’ll only have to cook dinner for one or two people.”

“Yes, we’re used to cooking enough food to feed a crowd,” agrees Imogen.

“We’d have to scale all our recipes down,” says Sophie.

“I hope your maths is up to scratch,” grins Gemma-Rose. “Fractions and all that.”

“If we reduce the amounts, we’d only need part of an onion or half a can of something,” says Imogen. “We’d have lots of leftover ingredients. It doesn’t seem worth cooking for so few people.”

“What do you do with part of an onion?” Charlotte wants to know.

“A lot of single people don’t cook for themselves,” says Callum. “They eat takeaways every night. We could too.”

“Or we could go to a restaurant,” says Gemma-Rose. She smiles at this new idea. “I love going out to eat Italian food.”

“Imagine how big we might get if we ate that sort of food every night,” I say.

“And we’d soon be poor,” adds Imogen. “Restaurant food is very expensive.”

“You need to eat healthy food,” I insist. “It’s still worth cooking good food, even if you only cook for yourself.”

“What did you do about dinner when there was only you and Dad?” asks Charlotte. What did we do before we had children?

“Well… er… We ate takeaways,” I admit with a smile.

Everyone laughs.

“You could cook the normal amount of food and then freeze the leftover portions,” I suggest. “If you do that for a week, you’ll have enough meals to last a very long time.”

“Or we could just not leave home,” says Imogen. “We’ll stay here with you. If we did that, we could continue cooking the same amount of food. That would solve the problem.”

“Or we could take turns at cooking,” says Sophie.

“Huh?”

“We could visit each other for dinner.”

“Yes,” says Duncan, “we could eat at Callum’s house one night and then at Imogen’s the next…”

“Everyone would cook the usual amount of food, but only every few days,” explains Sophie.

“We’d have to live close to each other,” observes Gemma-Rose.

“I’ve another idea,” says Callum. “We could all buy houses on this street. Then everything would be very easy. We could just stroll along the road to the house of whoever’s turn it is to cook dinner.”

I think about the Elvis family taking over our street. I imagine wandering down the road to see the girls. We could all still meet for early morning runs. I could still enjoy coffee with the boys. I could continue to sit around a table discussing anything and everything with all my children. Callum could even bring his washing home, I suppose. I wouldn’t have far to go when I feel like a hug. And I would still never have to cook dinner.

The house opposite us has a ‘for sale’ sign on the gate. I peer over the fence. I wonder how much the home will cost to buy. It’s bound to be listed on the Internet. Should I look it up?

One day, Andy and I will once again be alone. I’ll be cooking dinner for just two people. We’ll only need one small saucepan. Will we sit at opposite ends of the table in our usual places? Or will we move closer together, down one end? I guess meal times will be quieter. There’ll be no lively conversations where everyone lets their imaginations go wild and jumps in with silly suggestions. Less noise, less laughter. I will miss all that.

Eight Elvis homes on one street. It’s fun to dream.

So, here we are, halfway through 2025. Our youngest child, Gemma-Rose, still lives at home. None of my other kids live on the same road as us. Several have moved far away, setting out on their adventures, not wanting to stay with us in their childhood town. Although I’d like them to live closer – I miss them immensely – I understand. They need to make their own choices and chase their own dreams. They can’t organise their lives to suit me. They can’t live just down the road, so I never have to cook.

There was a time when we cooked a giant pan of food every evening and sat down to eat it at our long kitchen table. Andy, my kids, and I chatted between mouthfuls, dreaming big, laughing at the things we imagined, but somehow hoping they’d turn out to be true. But that’s not the way things work. Sometimes life is more difficult than we’d like. We have to endure what we can’t foresee.

Unschooling didn’t guarantee a fairytale life. I didn’t really think it would. We adopted this way of life for a far more important and powerful reason than unattainable perfection. We chose it for love.

My love constantly grows. It overflows. I hope it will one day draw all my special people back to our family table.

In the meantime, I’m grateful for Sunday evenings.

I told some dinner table stories in episode 7, Unschooling is Carried by Conversations, of The Ladies Fixing the World podcast.

The Video Version

The Audio Version

Also available on all other podcast platforms – find the links here.

Why not pull a chair up to our unschooling table and join in with the conversation?

Images

1. Margaret Jaszowska, Unsplash

2. Debby Hudson, Unsplash