What we’re up to…

Blog posts are few and far between these days.  I get the bug to write, well, always, but the desire and the time don’t always hit at the same instant.  Know what I mean?  My laptop died, and that is where my photo software is, so for now, photographs aren’t as easy to share.  Also, if you have been reading this blog for awhile, you know that when I have big things on my mind, I can’t always articulate them.  Until I’m ready to sort out those things and write about them on my blog, let me share some of the things we’ve been up to:

:: Baseball and more baseball.  We have one child on a “pitcher machine” Little League team, and his brother is on a 4-year-old t-ball team.  The little guy reminds me frequently that it is T-ball, not baseball.  It’s all baseball to me.  I’m tired  of washing uniforms (including those strange, itchy long black socks), sitting on bleachers, trying to make an almost two year old sit on bleachers (FAIL), explaining why we cannot eat the vast majority of things offered in the concession stand, and trying to keep everyone happy at games that run far too close to bedtime.  BUT baseball brings good things to us.  Baseball has helped our big boy overcome a fear and realize that sometimes it feels good to push yourself.  Baseball brought us some new friends and a chance to deepen our friendships with a family from our church.  Baseball brought the fun of winning.  I’m not much of an athlete myself, and I’ve never been part of a winning team.  I played softball for a short time and tennis throughout high school, but they were totally for fun only.  I wasn’t competitive.  I adore Taekwondo, and I still practice it when I can, but tournaments were always secondary and only for the experience.  My boy, on the other hand, is really enjoying being part of a division-winning baseball team.  He and his teammates are so proud to be beginning their play-off run tomorrow!

:: Preschool has ended!  My little guy finished his VPK (Voluntary Pre-Kindergarten) program.  He insists that he learned nothing except on Polar Ice Day (funny!), but from the look of his letters, numbers, and drawings, he has come far.  The graduation ceremony and program were precious!  It was a joyful day as we celebrated his accomplishment and looked forward to having the whole troop home for learning as of NOW.  Yay!  We made it!

:: Musical time!  Our first-born is part of a wonderful youth choir in our church.  They put on a full musical production every Mothers Day–complete with sets, costumes, and music.  This year, they performed Oh, Jonah!, and it was delightful.  They truly rose to the occasion.  A few of our homeschool friends were in the play as well (including the lead), and we loved watching these children that we’ve come to love strut their stuff on stage.  Such a blessing!  Our little sailor was nervous, but he did a wonderful job.  I could see him relax and begin to really enjoy himself.

That’s the scoop for now.

Being a Mom to a “Big” Kid

My oldest son is seeming far too big lately.  He is seven.  Eight in August.  He does many things with grand independence.  He is brave and curious and funny.  He asks great questions, and he doesn’t seem phased when he stumps me.  He accepts my returned questions, my “hmm…we’ll have to look that up” with interest and enthusiasm.  He’s been this way practically since birth, so I can’t say that these traits necessarily indicate growing up, but there is a subtle difference.  His questions and his observations are tied to past knowledge now.  He is building that spider’s web of information that we all carry around in our brains.  The web is strong, yet flexible.  It adjusts to incorporate new pieces and grows wider with time and effort.

I think it is important to keep some of the harsher truths of the world away from the eyes and ears of small children.  I’m not saying that we should lie to the young people in our lives.  Oh no.  But they should not have to carry the full weight of evil and grief and darkness yet.  They can take in the truth in manageable bites that ultimately carry the same big message: you are safe, and you are loved.  Based upon that notion (and a general lack of interest), we don’t watch television news.  Independently, my husband and I look at the news online.  I usually turn to MSN or CNN for a quick update, and we both like to read the good old Pittsburgh Post Gazette.

So…given the fact that my kids rarely see or hear the news, I was really surprised that my boy knew so much about the Boston bombing this week.  We were driving to our homeschool co-op, and I decided to tell him some of the story because I wanted to talk about how God works through tragedy and how people around the site of the bombing jumped in to help.  I began by sharing the circumstances of the event, and he interrupted to provide many of the details–from the few details that were available only a day after the bombing.  At first I was surprised, but then I realized that Cory and I had been talking about the bombing on Monday evening.  Even though our kids weren’t in the room, apparently they were in hearing distance, and this kid of mine took in what we were saying.  Mental Note to a Mom of a Big Kid (all kids, actually): He is listening!

But here is what stopped me in my tracks.  He made a connection between this event and the theater shooting during the Batman movie last year (July 2012).  His web of knowledge is growing.  There was a time when “last year” was too long ago for him to actively recall, and now he can play connect-the-dot with two headline-grabbing, heart-breaking events.  Two horrifying tragedies.  My heart sinks as I write this because he is building a timeline of terror, a list that all of us have.

My first memory of national mourning was the Challenger explosion.  I was five and a half years old, a kindergartener.  I remember my grandparents picking me up at school because one day per week my mom helped the treasurer at our church count the weekly offering.  Grandma and Papa took me and my little sister to lunch at the Five & Ten, a practice I remember fondly.  I always ordered grilled cheese and chocolate milk.  Papa would share bites of his coconut cream pie.  That day, the small restaurant was buzzing with anxious conversation.  People were excited.  I saw the footage of the explosion later, and when I was in first grade, we read about the accident in our Weekly Reader.  For years, I thought of those astronauts every time I said the pledge of allegiance or heard the national anthem.  I’m not sure why the pledge and The Star Spangled Banner were so closely tied to the Challenger in my mind, but I connected the event with heroism and patriotism–maybe because for elementary children of that time, the telling of the story hinged on the bravery of school teacher, Christa McAullife.  I held on to that story.  In ninth grade American Cultures, I wrote a report about McAullife, and she still comes to mind from time to time.  I think of what teachers will do to catch the interest of their students and how they model a love for learning.

What will my son take away from the scary events that are coming into his awareness now?  The two tragedies in his immediate memory were not accidents.  They don’t carry patriotism as their major theme.  They were acts of terror, of evil.  I’m the mom of a big kid now.  It is up to me and to Cory to frame this in a way that conveys truth and hope in the same breath. It’s terrifying, but I’m grateful to be in this position with a smart young man who wants to think things through.

I read the following article this morning, and it inspired some of my thinking today.  I am a huge Mr. Rogers fan, and this piece brought me to tears.  Of every celebrity in all of time, Fred Rogers is the one I wish I could have met.

http://www.sparklestories.com/blog/2013/04/blog/why-we-go-to-mr-rogers/

Looking Back at Easter

I’ve been thinking about home and family quite a bit lately.  Homesickness hit me hard this winter and into these early weeks of spring.  I’ve felt that tug more lately than I have since the first days of our southern adventure.  Since Christmas, my family in the north has been experiencing some hard times, and I feel the distance between us more fiercely than ever.  I want to be there with my loved ones, going through the trials with them instead of hearing about this and that over the phone and doing my best to be present through sympathy and prayer.  That’s tough.

I know that here is my home.  This is my family.  But my history is somewhere else, and a huge slice of my heart lingers there.  On some days, the missing piece leaves an awful emptiness.  Yet, spring brings the promise of a summer trip in the near future, and for weeks, we have been anticipating some April company!

We had a lovely Easter visit with my husband’s parents.  How nice to have Grandma and Papa in our home for eight busy days!  Here are some shots from our time together.

Photography Class. Eek!

I didn’t know if I would blog about my photography class. I’m a little embarrassed. Why would I take a photography class?  I don’t want people to think that I think I’m some kind of photographic whiz kid.  I have no illusions of being a professional photographer or some kind of artist or anything.  I just want to have pretty pictures of my pretty kids–photographs that are good enough to frame on my own walls and maybe pass to a grandparent.  Nothing more.  Oh…and maybe spruce up my blog a little bit.

As a sort of Valentine present, my hubby gifted me with the opportunity to take an online photography class with the photographer and teacher, Nick Kelsh.  The course began on March 4th, and it runs into mid-April.  It’s been a lot of fun.  I’m pretty comfy with how to operate my camera already, but I’m learning plenty on how to look for good, natural lighting.  Here are a few shots that I’ve taken for class:

 

A Special Find

A few housekeeping items before the post:

1. My Lenten Tree post was mentioned on another blog!  How exciting.  Please take a look at “A Time to Take Root” over at Christian Ed. at Holy Family.  The post title is hyperlinked (This new font doesn’t seem to show the links very well.).  The blog has a number of great resources for Lent.
2. I loved the feedback I received on Monday’s post.  I heard from a number of you on Facebook, here on the blog, and even in person.  Thanks!  I feel I need to clarify a few of things.  First, I’m not running off to Uganda or some other far off place!  Not any time soon.  My home is my mission field.  I remind myself of that frequently, and I take joy in it.  I’ve been given this time and this place to use my skills and my energy to glorify God here–right where I am planted.   I mean to focus on study, prayer, and advocacy in quiet ways–not some dramatic mission!  Secondly, I did write a note of encouragement to the mom that I mentioned.  Monday’s post kind of sounds like I stopped myself from encouraging her when I actually did write the message.  Finally, whether my post said it or not, I do believe that God gives us different seasons for different actions.  I, in no way, meant to imply that a person who doesn’t serve outside of the home or the mom who feels too overwhelmed to put on matching socks let alone head a committee or fly to Africa is wrong or bad or missing God’s call.  Nope.  Not at all.  We are each given different, worthy tasks, and I feel called to greater study and prayer at this time.  Maybe that seems selfish.  After all, it’s not very outwardly focused.  I just know that I’ve been ignoring it for far too long.

Okay!  On with the post…

I bought a little bag of bouncy balls at Target.  I am sharing this fact with you at great risk of public embarrassment.  My hubby really made fun of me–in the kindest of ways, of course.

When I saw this little bag with its cheerful colors peeking through the mesh, I was hit by a wave of happy nostalgia.  I grabbed them immediately and tossed them in the cart, hoping the kids wouldn’t notice.

“What’s that,” F immediately asked.  So much for my stealthy moves.

“They’re for me,” I replied with an unintended territorial edge.

Not giving up, he asked, “Well, what are they?”

“Just some bouncy balls,” I said.

But they aren’t just some bouncy balls.  They are a fun, sweet part of my childhood–a part that I hadn’t thought about in a long time.  I guess you could say that my sister and I had imagination to spare.  We collected rubber balls and played with them like someone might care for pet rocks.  We actually gave them names.  I kept mine in a coffee can under my bed.  I know how silly this sounds, but it is a warm memory for me (and probably my sister if she isn’t ready to kill me for posting this! ).  I’ve come across bouncy balls many times in the last decade, but I think I had an immediate emotional reaction to the bouncy ball sighting at Target because these were THEE balls.  The world is full of little rubber balls, but these ones are sort of translucent.  Their color is half-half like the “fancy” Easter eggs we try to dye each year.  They have a slightly rough exterior unlike glossy jacks balls.  They are smaller than most super balls, and they feel great in my hand.  Rolling them around in my palm, even making a mental note of their particular smell and weight, I feel like my old self.  Making my way to the check-out line, I smiled inside and out–even as I missed my sister almost too much to bear.

Funny Girl

Our Charlotte is growing and growing in so many ways.  She brings joy, humor, and of course challenge to our life.

Doesn’t she look ready to join the Pittsburgh Steelers?  She is one tough cookie.

Charlotte is so tender with her brothers though.  We spent Sunday afternoon at a local garden, and J was sad because he had broken a “favorite” stick.  Charlotte would not leave him alone until she got a smile out of him.

It took some effort, but in no time, J was giggling and romping, too.  Sorry, Steelers!  This girl might be a wrestler.

January to February: Resolution or Revolution?

Several years ago, I heard a psychologist on the radio suggest that instead of trying to jump-start a New Year’s resolution or major life change on January 1st–right in the midst of the hustle of the holiday season–why not use January as a month for reflection and planning so that FEBRUARY can be the month for a new start?  I liked that suggestion.

I came into the month of January with a lot of ideas about the goals I would set for 2013.  I already knew that I would work on focus.  I knew that I needed deliberate practice in being mentally present in my day-to-day life.  Maybe you are like me.  I do a lot of daydreaming, a lot of planning for the future.  I can get stuck in a week’s worth of daydreams just because I found a hypothetical something that tickled my imagination.  I am easily distracted from NOW because I’m thinking about later.  Partly, I think I’m like this because I’ve been a student from the time I was four until I left my PhD program about a month before my thirty-first birthday (more about that here).  As a student, especially a graduate student, you are kind of living for the future.  There is always a goal to reach, a step to take, an accomplishment to check off the list.  All of these things hold the promise of something better later.  Graduate school is a great exercise in delayed gratification.  You live like a pauper hoping that someday you won’t have to!

I digress.  (Ironic!)

So in the midst of planning to focus, I started planning a lot of other goals.  I was going to commit to keeping a journal, and then I decided that I needed two journals–one for practical matters and one for fun, artistic stuff.  Then I decided that I also would need a prayer journal.  So much for being focused, huh?  I set some goals about organizing my home.  I set a goal about money management and keeping my e-mail inbox clean.  I set exercising goals and made a plan to read more, take more pictures, and be in more pictures.  Sigh.  I’m really bad at being focused.

Then, right at the end of the month, everything became clear in a three part mini act of God.  First, one of my favorite blogs featured a post that looked a little like mine.  A sweet, godly mom was reflecting on how she had been in survival mode rather than growing in her faith journey.  I quickly wrote to defend her, but I realized that I am doing the same thing, and in writing to support her, I was sort of telling myself that “I’m okay” when maybe I am not.  Secondly, my husband realized that we had drifted pretty far in our financial giving to others and to our church.  In the past, we have seen how much we are blessed by giving, and we want to be generous even in our own struggles.  Very hard, and we totally fail…often.  It was not some sort of legalistic You-Must-Give-Everything-You-Own-Or Else moment; rather it was just a self-assessment of where we once were compared to where we are now.  I, too, had felt that we’ve been living for us instead of truly living for others as we’ve been called to do.  I began to reconsider my New Year’s resolutions at that point.

At the start of the final week of January, I volunteered to teach our Sunday School class on February 3rd.  The people in the class take turns leading it, and I was just in the mood to take a Sunday.  During the service, I decided to sneak a look at the passage that I would be teaching:  Hebrews 5.  Ugh.  That’s a tough one.  And here is where my attention was truly grabbed:

12 For though by this time you ought to be teachers, you need someone to teach you again the basic principles of the oracles of God. You need milk, not solid food, 13 for everyone who lives on milk is unskilled in the word of righteousness, since he is a child. 14 But solid food is for the mature, for those who have their powers of discernment trained by constant practice to distinguish good from evil.

Hebrews 5:12-14

While I’m busy caring for kids, tending to a home, messing around on Facebook, folding laundry and neglecting to put it away, driving to and fro, glancing longingly at other people’s lives on cute blogs, reading this and that, sweeping up endless amounts of dry cereal, and doing more laundry, I’m not always growing in the ways that are important–to me or to God.  I am not complaining about my current season of life at all.  I actually love this time in my life with all its messes and demands.  I wouldn’t trade all the cereal for even the biggest paycheck.  Nonetheless, I’ve been in a funk, and I knew I wanted to stop moving through this comfortable but very safe life and instead feel what it is like to have nothing holding me up but God’s will.  Does that make sense?

I used to be on a major spiritual growth spurt.  During college, I was on fire!  I was reading my Bible and building a healthy prayer life.  It was a great time.  But it was also a time of personal struggle for a lot of reasons, and those dark moments fueled my hunger for God.  I wanted to feel Him and know Him better.  I guess I got too comfy in recent years because the hunger has changed.  I still long for God’s presence and His care, but I seem to want to meet that need in ways that don’t require my work or my time.  Hmmm…not good.  I’ve had “the milk” many times over, but I have to wonder: am I ready for the solid food?  Am I going to just remain satisfied to sip at the sweet but simple parts of the gospel or chomp on the hard stuff?  The real question though: am I going to live it or just think about it.  Some more.  Again.

If you made it to the end of this very long post, here is the conclusion that I’ve reached:

I can set a New Year’s resolution.  It would fine if I worked on the goal to keep my laundry washed and my bedroom floor clear of clutter.  Those are good things.  It would be okay to commit to exercising five days per week or eating more veggies.  But I decided that I don’t need another resolution.  I need a revolution.  I apologize for the corny play on words, but maybe it will stick in your head the way it has in mine.  I need to turn back to the things that matter beyond my day-to-day.  It does begin with focus as I said in the beginning, and the follow-through is a big dose of study and prayer, two things that have moved to the periphery as I unconsciously decided that my house and homeschooling and money (or lack of it) and many other things were more important.

I have no idea if this blog matters in big ways or even small ones, but since it is an extension of me, Warm as Pie is going to change, too.  If you’ve been here before, I’m sure you noticed the new look.  The menu across the top has an addition that I hope you will explore, and the “About” section has been updated as well.  I’ve added a few things to the “Places I Love” page, too.  Each month, I’ll be highlighting different blogs, websites, and even family interviews.  I cannot wait to introduce you to my first family!  But if you’re not really a fan of change, don’t worry.  Most of my blog content will be pretty much the same.  Just me thinking about stuff, taking pictures, and sweeping cereal.

Christmas 2012

I have discovered a hidden blessing of moving far away.  Christmas has acquired a special magic.  I have always loved Christmas, but since most of my family lived close by for most of my life, the idea of “being together with family” for the holidays was basically lost on me.  I was always with family.  During my childhood, my mom’s side got together for a huge meal and fun together every single Sunday afternoon.  Christmas was like a Sunday with gifts and extra cookies added in.  But now.  Wow.  What a difference.  I anticipated the time we would spend with family like I used to wait for the arrival of Santa.  I had butterflies in my stomach as we made the drive north.  I couldn’t sleep.

What’s more, now that I have children who are at the age when the story of the Christ child can really mean something to them, I feel more pressure to capture those good teaching moment and less pressure to live up to the worldly expectations that can weigh Christmas down.  It’s a wonderful balance to navigate.  I baked just one batch of cookies from pre-made dough.  My Christmas cards are still sitting in a box waiting to go out into the world.  I’m totally okay with the incomplete to-do list.  I’m just happy.

Our Christmas celebration had some particularly memorable moments.  During our Christmas Eve time with my husband’s side of the family, the electricity went out during our gift exchange time.  Out came the candles and a sweet little oil lamp that gave our evening a beautiful glow.

Christmas morning was its usual mix of happy chaos and poignancy.  Little moments of joy and surprise will stick with me all year.  Our boys received beautiful nutcrackers, a special wish that our oldest has carried for three Christmases!  He is fascinated by soldiers and anything related to swords, so I guess–for him–the nutcracker is the ultimate Christmas soldier.  His reaction was so honest and precious.

For me, the ultimate moment was when Aunt Kristy revealed her homemade gifts.  As you may have seen in earlier posts, Kristy’s handmade capes are an important part of my kids’ wardrobes.  Well, one cape was tragically lost on our return trip home in the summer.  We were heartbroken, but Aunt Kristy saved the day in true super hero style by creating a new cape for Christmas.  All is right in our small world once again.  And guess what! Little Charlotte has joined the ranks.

J still has a cape, so Aunt Kristy created an adorable apron for my boy who loves to be my kitchen helper.  Although I didn’t have time for nearly as many homemade gifts as I would like, I knitted cowls for Kristy and my mom.  I also tried a pair of fingerless mittens for my sister-in-law.  All three worked well, and I hope they will bring some cuddly warmth to the winter for three special ladies.

Happy New Year, friends!

Advent: Week One

Oh, how I love Advent!  I always have.  When I was a little girl, I felt immediate excitement when we walked into the church to find the Advent wreath standing next to the Communion Table to start the season.  The shiny, brass stand and candleholders caught the glow of the santuary lights, but the candles were still dark, waiting for the counting to Christmas to begin.  Even if I understood very little of the theological meaning of Advent at the time, I knew that the candles meant Christmas and anticipation and joy.  The congregation joined together in song as one family climbed the steps to the wreath, bearing a tiny flame on the end of a long, elegant brass candlelighter*.  A member of the family read a short litany while the others lit the candle.  Sometimes the family was mine.  Sometimes it was a family that I knew.

Advent is a wonderful way to bring the tangible practice of our faith from the church to our home. It is a chance to tell the beautiful story of Christ’s birth again and again. Advent presents the opportunity to make the story visual and tactile. With four weeks to deliberately revisit the details and themes of the coming child, repetition becomes a powerful teaching tool.

This year, in addition to the Advent wreath, we are going through Truth in the Tinsel.  It’s a delightful e-book with short, simple devotions and an ornament craft for each day–December 1 through Christmas.  We are working through the materials at home, and on Tuesday mornings, we are gathering with our homeschool co-op to do that day’s ornament and reading.  I usually get off track on similar one-per-day activities, but so far, we are keeping up fairly well.  We’ve only had to double up twice.  I highly recommend this book.  I can see how it would be easy to adapt for various age groups, and I think it’s perfect for the ages of my boys, 4 and 7.

Sunday marked the start of the second week of Advent, so our wreath is now aglow with two bright lights.  I am grateful for less squabbling over who gets to light the candle each night.  How appropriate that the second candle is the Candle of Peace! 

 

*In case you’re wondering, that “thingy” that people use to light candles in church is actually called a candlelighter.  I looked it up.

The Post I Never Thought I Would Write

I have been drafting this post for weeks, months even.  This is the fifth SIXTH consecutive day during which I sat down at least twice to work on this post.  It hasn’t come naturally.  I didn’t expect to ever write it, and then I didn’t know if I ever wanted to.  On Thanksgiving Day, while walking in the cool air and warm sunshine, enjoying the holiday and feeling tremendous gratitude of a year well lived, I thought I might be ready.  Maybe.

This academic year marks the start of our life as a homeschooling family.  There.  I said it. 

We are homeschooling our oldest child with the expectation of bringing our little guy home for kindergarten next year.  This decision was a surprise!  To me and probably to my family and friends.  This decision has been a blessing and an adventure and a joy!  So, why is that so hard to say publically?  Well, I have a few reasons why I didn’t expect to ever write this post, and they feed into the question of why this post is so hard to write.

::ONE::  I had trouble writing this post because I was not ready to face the criticism that might come.  Most of the people who read this blog are people I love dearly.  I respect their opinions and appeciate their friendship and their investment in my life and the life of my children.  I know that most concerns that they may have about our decision to educate our children at home will come from a place of love for us and a desire to see our children thrive.  Thank you for loving us!  But sometimes criticism comes from fear of the unknown, fear of difference, fear that our choice is a condemnation of their choices, and I hesitate to open that well of deep, shadowy things.  I am not ready or willing to be the representative of all homeschooling parents.  I am not an advocate or a lobbyist.  I’m just one mom doing what every loving parent does–making the choices that are best for this family.  When my husband and I were trying to make the decision to bring our children home for their education, one experienced homeschool mom and friend said something that helped me:  homeschooling is not the right choice for every family, but it is the right choice for our family right now.  Those words really helped me to feel freedom in our decision.  By choosing this path, we are not saying that schools are bad or that every family should teach their kids at home.  By choosing this path, we also do not have to make a lifelong commitment.  We know that life may change, and our needs may change.  We also know that of our three children, our oldest is a great candidate for homeschooling, but it may be too soon to make that decision for our younger kids.  Time will tell, and we pray daily for the wisdom to always make the best choices for the individual needs of our children in all matters, not just education.

::TWO:: I had trouble writing this post because I never really thought that I would be a homeschool mom, and I find it hard to put words to my feelings in this area.  I loved school as a student.  I love schools now.  I feel giddy when I walk into one.  I love teachers.  I love desks and metal chairs on shiny, checkerboard floors.  I love school plays, school libraries, playgrounds, science fairs, spelling lists, and field trips.  I respect the work that teachers do.  I admire and revere their devotion to students and dedication to the belief that every child deserves an education.  I know that they give up their afternoons, evenings, and weekends to plan, prepare, and do grades.  When the worm of homeschool curiosity wiggled its way into my mind and heart in 2008 (after reading “The Never-at-Home Homeschoolers” by Patricia Zaballos), all of the things that I loved about traditional schooling kept coming back to me.  Hubby and I discussed homeschooling briefly before we had school-aged children.  He was in favor.  I was not.  I worried about being “different” and potentially making our children “different” in a way that could hurt them in the future.  I worried about being criticized.

From the time I became a mom, I operated under the belief that parents are a child’s first teachers.  I conducted our home life as a life of learning.  We have always been up to one project or another.  Always a craft, a lesson, an experience.  That’s the kind of parenting that came naturally for me (probably because my parents work that way), so it’s not surprising that my heart kept coming back to the idea of homeschooling.  When our first son approached kindergarten, we had trouble finding a kindergarten that suited us.  In our community, schools were moving to a full-day kindergarten format.  We preferred a half-day class for our little guy because we believe that at such a young age the best learning happens through play.  We didn’t want to move him into a classroom setting for the majority of his day.  We revisited the issue of homeschooling at that time, and I dismissed it again.  However, by this time, the article (linked above) by Zaballos had begun to do its work on me.  My “reasons” for not homeschooling were becoming less and less reasonable.  They even seems a little selfish.  I offered my last primary excuse to my husband:  I didn’t know anyone who was homeschooling (although we had friends who were planning to as their children grew), and I told Hubby that I would never do it without an excellent group of families to share in the experience.  I spent enough years doing graduate work in education to have formed a few of my own theories about learning, and I firmly believe that learning is best done as a collective experience.  Meaning is constructed through interaction.  I dug deeply into the work of Lev Vygotsky in graduate school, and I still ascribe to many of his ideas about collective learning.  So without a cohort of learners, homeschooling would not be the best choice for my child.

And then we moved.  The question of school came up again.  We discussed homeschooling.  My heart wanted to.  I saw in my son an energetic, creative, dynamic, enthusiastic child who would have to lose some of his effervesence in order to fit the mold of school.  I knew that with certainty.  I had researched homeschooling and even prayed about it.  I felt God’s tug, but AGAIN, I talked about the “collective” and “constructed meaning” and “cooperation” and “socialization.”  My husband yielded to me, and we selected an elementary school in the charter system–a school that many families scramble to get into.  Selection for the school is primarily geographic, but there is a waiting list for children outside of the boundaries.  While house hunting we looked at homes inside this particular section of town.

The first grade year was fine.  Fine.  His teachers were dedicated and pleasant, experienced and kind.  The school was safe and orderly.  Completely adequate.  But by the middle of the year, I had come to know quite a few homeschooling families.  I watched their children doing amazing things, embracing exciting ideas, and forming meaningful relationships and healthy social skills.  These families weren’t just homeschooling, and they were doing it beautifully.  In the mean time, communication was difficult in our current school situation.  I felt disconnected from my son’s education even though I was keeping in touch with his teachers and participating in school activities as much as I could.  My husband and I had a long conversation while driving 1000 miles from our Christmas festivities back to our home.  The question of school was finally “out there” in a big way.  I couldn’t get rid of it.  I knew we had crossed some kind of divide.  I realized that our family is in the perfect situation to educate our children from home and do it well.  Both parents are readily available for teaching.  (My husband gets home in the early afternoon most days.)  Our community has an active, successful homeschool cooperative (co-op).  We love to learn together, and we believe that learning can happen anywhere and everywhere.  That’s a pretty good formula for success.

We made a tentative decision at the end of February after speaking with the grandparents and my sister (an elementary teacher).  We did a bit of a trial run in the summer with some reading, math review, and a few Bible lessons.  At the end of July, we submitted our official paper work to the state.

Verdict after three months: challenging, exciting, fun, frustrating, joyful, amazing.

The picture above cracks me up.  This is exactly what homeschooling with a toddler looks like.  Charlotte emptied most of the baking soda onto the porch, but at least we got enough for our experiment!

Although J is still in preschool, we save most of our “hands on” learning for when he comes home.  It gives me a glimpse of what next year will look like, and I can’t wait!

The white board is our friend.  Using fun markers makes every task better–though you wouldn’t know it by F’s expression here.  Hee hee.

(Yo Ho Ho!  Pirate ship art plays an important role in many of our days.)

We feel tremendously blessed to have the freedom to educate our children in this way.  We joined an incredible co-op that provides excellent instruction in memorization, art, physical education, and geography.  It is a great place to learn the etiquette of school while making room for friendship and fueling the hunger to learn.  We have lots of time for play and imagination.

I know a few of you are reading this with questions and real concerns.  That’s okay.  I’m happy to answer your questions privately, but most of all, I would love to simply have your prayers.

There.  I did it.