Thoughts on Homeschooling and Life

Some days I say there's no way I'll do this homeschooling thing again next year. Like parenthood, it's relentless. Some days I say there's no way I'll ever give it up.

Wouldn't it be nice if life came to us in little boxes labeled "Stuff that will make you feel warm and fuzzy" and "Stuff that will make you throw things" and "Stuff that will make you want to drive to Mexico and live a life of anonymity selling corn tortillas"? I'd find that helpful.

But alas, life doesn't work this way, and homeschooling, like parenting, is part of my life. At least right now. And relentless though it may be, I really am enjoying this year.

How else would I know that Joshua is so curious and innovative and that Sam is such a history buff? How else would I hear all of their interesting takes on books we're reading? How would I hear them say "Mom! He said 'Pandora's Box!'" while listening to NPR in our rockin' dust covered minivan?

There were no discussions about literature and history last year. There was no reading for fun. What I saw coming home in their folders were poor representations of what was actually going on in their heads, and well, we just didn't have time to do more than the minimum requirements for every day.

I'm not saying this homeschooling thing has becoming a life calling for me, but there's a lot about it that fits in the warm and fuzzy box. And there are a few things that fit in the other two. I guess I'll just have to keep taking them as they come.

Surprise Surprise Surprise

I've heard it said that life is full of surprises but mine really isn't. Mine is pretty much full of the same thing every day. Except yesterday.

Yesterday, my mailbox held a paperback-shaped surprise. Barbara, a kindred spirit of a friend had packaged up some love and sent it through the mail. It came in the form of Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott. This book has been in my Amazon cart for months.

On the front page she inscribed: To Serenity. Love, Perfection. Then it said, "Loved and chosen, girl. Loved and chosen."

And just like that, the time change blues were gone.

The Time Change Blues

The days are too long and too short all at the same time.

I can't seem to sleep past 4:30 in the morning, then the dark starts closing in around 4:30 in the afternoon. That means three restless boys are running around the house making fart jokes for four hours before they go to bed. (I can hear my mother saying "Don't be common" as I type.) But it's true. I mean seriously, how many words in the English language can be turned into variations of the word "fart"?

"Hey Mom! We're having a farty!" "Look at all of our Halloween poot!" "Don't tear that afart!" And believe me when I tell you I'm sparing you the worst of it--the jokes that sound like body parts.

This post started out as a lament about the blues that I fight at this time of year. I think I've just cheered myself up. Apparently, these jokes are funnier when I'm not having to hear them out loud.

Come back tomorrow for another high-quality, high-class post. That's why I'm here. I live to serve.

To the Changing Season

"The first part of every relationship is pure, whether it be with friend or lover, husband or child. It is pure, simple and unencumbered. It is like the artist's vision before he has to discipline it into form, or like the flower of love before it has ripened to the firm but heavy fruit of responsibility. ... It moves to another phase of growth which one should not dread, but welcome as one welcomes summer after spring. But there is also a dead weight accumulation, a coating of false values, habits, and burdens which blights life. It is this smothering coat that needs constantly to be stripped off, in life as well as relationships."

Anne Morrow Lindberg, A Gift from the Sea, p. 58-61

Serenity Now

The older boys regularly inform me that they've changed their names and that I should address them accordingly. The latest ones are "Sonic" and "Knuckles." No kidding.

I've decided that I, too, am going to change my name, and I'll announce it here today: Serenity.

Please remember to address me as such from this point forward. (I met a woman over the summer named "Serenity."I want this name.)

Of course, all who know me see the humor here. I could more accurately be called, "Anxiety," or "Up-tight-ity," or "Stressed-out-about-unimportant-things-ity." But I'm looking to the future. "Serenity" it is.

Loved and Chosen

Sometimes when I call the boys into a room for our next subject, I say something like, "If you're wearing a Timberland shirt with gray sleeves, you're loved and chosen to come to the green room." I'll keep loving and choosing until all are present. The routine is predictable now, but it hasn't gotten old. Everyone loves to be chosen.

I got this idea from one of Anne Lamott's books. Can't remember which one. Anyway, yesterday I just called them in without the ritual, and Joshua--our-most-prone-to-mope child--bounced in and said, "I'm loved and chosen!"

If this year of homeschooling produces nothing more (and lets hope it produces plenty more) I'll be happy knowing I got all of this extra time to lavish these little men with love and security. I'm not as concerned with what they'll do someday as I am with who they will be. They'll certainly be loved and chosen.

"Put on then, as God's chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience, bearing with one another, and if one has a complaint against another, forgiving each other; as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive. And above all these put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony. And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in one body. And be thankful."

Colossians 3:12-15

We Live What We Believe

"I think it might be demonstrated that almost every heresy that has afflicted the church through the years has arisen from believing about God things that are not true, or from overemphasizing certain true things so as to obscure other things equally true. To magnify any attribute to the exclusion of another is to head straight for one of the dismal swamps of theology; and yet we are all constantly tempted to do just that."

A.W. Tozer, The Knowledge of the Holy, p. 123