The school you wished your kid could come home to.

The problem

Homeschooling works. Six years of it taught me that. What doesn't work is doing it alone, from scratch, with no one who ever built the thing you actually needed.

Every family that homeschools ends up solving the same problem by hand: a planner here, a curriculum there, a dozen browser tabs, a folder of paperwork they dread. None of it talks to the rest of it. Every state wants something different, every kid needs a different pace, and every parent is expected to be the whole faculty — teacher, principal, records office — with no training and no staff.

"Why does something this hard have to feel this lonely — and this disorganized?"

That question is six years old. I kept waiting for someone to answer it. No one did. So we built the answer.

What we built

A platform where:

• Every subject has a teacher trained on the curriculum that matters for it — Math. Reading. Science. History. Hebrew, Latin, Spanish, Mandarin. Bible, Chumash, Catechism, Quran — every faith, first class.
• The day plans itself, and re-plans itself. No blank grid, no schedule to build by hand. Life happens — a sick day, a missed week — and the plan absorbs it instead of falling apart.
• The curriculum you already own gets used. The book on your shelf, half-finished — tell us what it is, and it gets laid across the year, chapter by chapter, day by day, pacing itself as your kid moves through it.
• State paperwork writes itself. All 51 states. Letter of intent, year-end portfolio, transcript, ESA application — built from what your kid actually did, not from memory in October.
• The technology carries the weight, never the parent. The point was never to hand a child's education to a machine. It was to stop drowning in the logistics of it — so the parent gets to go back to actually teaching.

Who it's for

Every kid. The expelled. The bullied. The bored. The dyslexic. The gifted. The kid in foster care. The kid whose mom works doubles.

The thing stopping most families was never the kid. It was that nobody had built the tool that understood homeschooling from the inside — not a school squeezed onto a screen, but something built by someone who had actually lived the six years.

The mechanism

A teacher for every subject

Every subject has a teacher trained on the curriculum that actually matters for it — not a generic chatbot, but one trained on Singapore Math, Saxon, Math-U-See, Beast Academy. The Hebrew Agent knows tefillah vocabulary and parsha context. The Chumash Agent knows Rashi. The Catholic Studies Agent knows the Catechism. The Mental Health Companion knows when to step back and ping the parent. (27 of them, and growing.)

Earned-help is the rule, not the exception. When a kid asks "what's the answer," the agent asks back. "What did you try first?" "Show me your work." Step by step, hint by hint, the agent ladders up to the answer — but only after the kid has done the thinking. There are no cheat codes.

The day, run for you

You open your dashboard at 7am. You see:

• Right now: Bible Study starts in 12 minutes.
• Up next: Math (Singapore 3B) for Meira. Hebrew for Akiva. Pre-K Numbers for Noa. Reading for Gavriel. One kid or fifteen — every one of them gets their own line.
• Wins to celebrate: Meira's reading just hit a new level. Akiva's on a 47-day math streak.
• Needs you: Gavriel's math streak broke. Tap once, the Math Agent is on it.

The plan adjusts when life happens. Sick day? Drag it forward, the agent rebalances. Field trip? It logs the hours toward your state's requirement.

The paperwork, gone

Every state has rules. New York wants quarterly reports. Florida wants an annual evaluation. Pennsylvania wants a portfolio. The moment your kid finishes a worksheet, an essay, a science lab, a scripture study — it gets logged, categorized, and quietly assembled into whatever your state needs. Year-end, you hit Export portfolio. You get a PDF. You send it. You go to the beach.

And if you live in a state with universal Education Savings Accounts — Florida, Arizona, Iowa, West Virginia — plus expanding scholarship programs like North Carolina's — I find the money you didn't know your family qualified for. In Florida, the universal ESA is roughly $8,000 per child, per year — and it applies per child, so it scales with however many you have. Most families don't know.

The safety, by architecture

Your kids can't hide anything from you. Every question they asked every agent, every page they visited, every search they made — it's all on your dashboard. Not because I don't trust kids. Because that's the kind of platform you'd actually want.

If anything in your kid's day even smells like a crisis — sadness, fear, hints of being hurt — three things happen: your kid sees the 988 lifeline and the Childhelp number on screen, you get a quiet ping on your dashboard with the exact words, and I turn the agents off for that kid until you've checked in. No one but you finds out first.

The platform

Everything below runs through the same mechanism above — the same plan, the same records, the same paperwork. Nothing here is a separate app bolted on.

The book already on your shelf

Most families already own a curriculum — half-used, good bones, no structure left in the year to finish it. Hand it over: a PDF, a photo of the table of contents, or just the title typed in. It comes back as a real course — every chapter turned into paced, day-by-day lessons that slot into the plan like anything else. A parent grades the work that needs a human eye and can attach a photo of the actual page. It counts the same as everything else in Records.

Records

Every subject has its own page: progress bar, first-try accuracy, the misconceptions that keep coming back, every chapter checkpoint and whether it passed. Under that, a timeline of every lesson actually done. Under that, the work samples themselves — the handwritten pages, the science lab photos, tagged by kid and date. At year's end, the whole thing seals into an archive that doesn't change and doesn't disappear.

Languages

A full language is built the same way a subject like Math is — real audio, real lessons, a proper progression from a first word to a full sentence — not a vocabulary quiz dressed up as a course. XP, streaks, and a family leaderboard turn the daily drill into something a kid actually looks forward to, because the fastest way to learn a language is to want to open the app again tomorrow. We started with one and we're adding more from here — the goal was never to offer every language on day one, it was to build the first one properly and use the same care on every one after it.

Arcade

A dozen games — math sprints against the clock, spelling, memory, a daily logic puzzle, chess — built to be genuinely fun first, so a kid asks to play again without knowing they're drilling. That's the actual trick: the games don't feel like schoolwork, they feel like games, and the standards get covered as a side effect of a kid chasing a high score. None of it is busywork dressed up in confetti. Every session still logs to Records the same as a math lesson does, so the fun is real and the progress is real at the same time.

Typing Dojo

A 10-lesson ladder takes a kid from home row to full sentences, finger by finger, the way a real typing class teaches it — not just "type this paragraph" with no instruction underneath. Once the ladder's done, three modes keep it from going stale: a speed mode, an accuracy mode, and a falling-words mode that plays more like a game than a drill. Kids come back for the high score. The muscle memory is the part they don't notice they're building.

Scripture, and what keeps growing

Community

A homeschool day doesn't have to happen at one kitchen table. Families post real meet-ups — field trips, co-op sessions, park days — and other families in the state RSVP. Filter by this week, online-only, or just the ones you're already going to. Nobody homeschools completely alone unless they choose to.

The text itself, not a summary of it

The Torah is here — real Biblical Hebrew, verse by verse, side by side with the English, all five books readable start to finish. The lessons are taught as a full interactive course on top of that text: real lessons, not a worksheet about the Bible. The architecture underneath wasn't built for one faith and retrofitted for the rest — it was built from day one to hold every tradition's canon on the same standard. A Baptist family, a Catholic family, a Latter-day Saint family: your Scripture, your translation, taught the way your tradition actually teaches it, gets built into this same architecture next. Every faith gets the real thing, not a summary of it.

A curriculum catalog that doesn't stop

THSF Math, THSF Spanish, THSF Hebrew — the house-built courses — are not a fixed set we shipped once. Every one of them is built the same way: authored, checked, checked again by a second reviewer looking for exactly the mistake the first one might have missed, then released. That pipeline doesn't stop after launch. New chapters, new grade levels, new subjects get added to the same catalog on the same rails — and every family's plan just picks them up, the way it already does today. A platform that stops growing is a textbook. This one isn't supposed to be finished.

This is the part most software companies get backwards. They ship a product, then let it calcify — features frozen the day of launch, updates a once-a-year event announced with fanfare. We built the opposite: a catalog that grows the same quiet way a good teacher's lesson plans grow, a little more every month, because a child's education was never supposed to be a fixed inventory. Every new chapter, every new grade level, every new subject is built the same way the first one was — with the same review, the same care — and it lands in your kid's plan without you lifting a finger. You are not buying a snapshot of what we had built the day you signed up. You are buying a curriculum that keeps getting bigger, on your behalf, for as long as you homeschool.

Here's the whole thing in one breath: homeschooling was never too hard for a parent to do — it was too hard for one parent to build alone, and nobody had built it for them. So we built the teacher, the plan, the paperwork, the records, the community, the whole school your kid never had — one platform, one family at a time, growing every month it exists. That's it. That's the whole idea. Everything after this is just the proof.

The future

Why it's built this way

Everything in this platform is built so the parent stays the one teaching. The agents carry the logistics — the pacing, the paperwork, the tracking — because that was never the part worth doing by hand. The teaching was always the point. We just removed everything that was standing between a parent and the part they actually wanted to do.

Nobody built this before because nobody who understood homeschooling from the inside had also built software. It took living the six years to know exactly where it hurt, and it took building it to actually fix it.

Where this goes

Homeschooling is not a niche anymore. Millions of families are leaving a system that was never built for their kid, and most of them are doing it with the same disconnected tools every family before them used — a planner, a curriculum, a folder, and no one who's built the missing piece. That's the gap this platform closes. Not a better version of the tools that already existed — the tool that was supposed to exist all along.

Every family that joins makes the plan smarter for the family behind them. Every state's paperwork we automate makes the next state easier. Every subject we add is a subject no parent has to teach alone anymore. This is not a product that stays still — it grows with every family that uses it, the way it should have from the start.

Who's behind it

I'm Annie Cohen. Frum mom of four, Miami. Six years homeschooling before I built this. My husband built what I designed. My face is on the company because there's no team to hide behind — just the people who lived the problem and then fixed it.

The school you wished your kid could come home to.

"I didn't want to outsource my kids' education. I wanted to stop drowning in the logistics of it, so I could actually teach them."
— Annie Cohen, founder