One-room school

Five hours a week of instruction: that's the maximum my homebound new mother is allowed. High school, distilled down to its essential elements-- or at least the essentials that the school board will fund. It's not much, but, unsurprisingly, she's keeping up just fine, even though that time must also include an allowance for me watching her take one test and then another as I hold or feed her baby when su abuela is at work. Call it a perk.

I'm not one of those baby-cravers who make a bee-line to unsuspecting infants despite the wishes of their moms. I was never even a babysitter; the only infant I ever cared for was the one I gave birth to, and I think I could probably name the ones I've picked up since. But these afternoons are kinda nice. And it's probably not a bad thing that the sense memories remind me of all the things about babies I once knew. Because this child--the 17 year-old one--while doing a fine job so far with her thriving newborn--has ever so much to learn. So if I can teach her a little bit of something while I babysit her exams, well, it may not be quite board-approved, but at least it will be education.