People often ask about my childhood. I'm the first to admit my parents raised me differently, albeit hippie-ish. I suppose when you're a parent you just make up the rules as you go, but my mom is a breed all her own. She never went to college, wasn't keen on math, but she loved teaching. Teaching anything. Everything. To her, the world was her blackboard and mistakes was her chalk. So when Mom announced she was going to homeschool her children, one could imagine it was much to my grandparents' chagrin.

My mom couldn't afford buying us text books, so she simply went to the library and borrowed books to create her own curriculum. She was on a first-name basis with the librarians and they'd often extend her book loans without penalty. Mom–with her plastic grocery bags filled with books–would often take us on the bus to the library where we'd choose what we wanted to study that semester. And just like that, it was decided I'd complete a study on koalas. Or Amelia Earhart. Or air. Or hearts. I, essentially, made school my own.

A teacher once worried mom cheated us out of a “real” education because we didn't study art like other third graders. Off to the library we went. Mom collected books and large pictures of replicated art, covered in plastic sleeves. She borrowed grandpa's car and steered us away to a park in Sierra Madre where they made her pay $2.00 for parking. Mom found the money in grandpa's ashtray and thanked God under her breath. That's so they keep the riff raffs out, she said. I wondered what would've happen if we didn't find grandpa's money.

At the park, she made us take off our shoes and swing high on the wooden swing set. Higher, higher, she bellowed from the grass below as she brought out a tape recorder to play classical music. Mom recited poetry, her voice becoming louder with every dip of the swing. Later, over bologna sandwiches, she brought out the plastic covered pieces of art and we discussed the work. After she made us recite poetry. And then she took a nap while my sisters and I chased butterflies.

Still to this day, I think back to that swing set. In Sierra Madre. Mom laying on a blanket. I still don't know multiplication (darn you 8×7!), but I somehow discovered that life is best lived making up the rules as you go along. In her own silent way, Mom showed me this first hand.

And CONGRATS to Samantha of S'Moore Photography for winning Friday's contest…holllla!

Happy Monday.