We started Year 5 of homeschooling just two weeks ago, and already I'm feeling the old familiar crunch of time, energy, and mental bandwidth. If you didn't know, homeschooling is not for the faint of heart. Next to birthing each one of my kids, homeschooling them is probably the most difficult and demanding thing that I've done so far as their mother.
In our home I've got a little microcosm of the public school classrooms I used to lead: the perky over-achiever, the class clown, the moody preteen, the special needs kiddo, the grumpy one who likes to push my buttons...all of them...repeatedly...aggressively, the one who's motivated by verbal praise, the one who prefers tangible rewards, and the one who refuses to be motivated by anything if he's feeling bold and sassy that particular day...which is most days. I've got it all, and it's never the same day twice!
So, as a trained and licensed teacher, I've learned how to (mostly) navigate all those personality traits that keep the "classroom" lively and interesting, and keep me on my toes. I'm pretty good at keeping order without crushing tender little spirits, and adjusting content and tempo for different needs and abilities. But sometimes it all goes sideways when those students are your very own kids...kids who stay at your house even after the school day has ended...kids who eat at your table and expect you to laugh at their pitiful jokes and attend lovingly to their bumps and bruises - whether they've been perfect little angels or the most devious little self-absorbed buggars you can imagine...kids who know you're just plain old ordinary Mom, even if their co-op buddies have to call you Mrs. So-and-so. They know you inside and out - all your faults and foibles.
In the course of an average day, they've seen me happy, silly, sad, sleepy, frustrated, angry, overwhelmed, highly annoyed, ambitious, grateful, resentful, hopeful, creative, lazy, energetic, and totally wiped out. There is no hiding or faking anything when you've got three observant children watching your every move all day long. And I think these are some of the things that are most challenging about homeschooling - the constant demands, the personal accountability, and the scarcity of quiet alone time, which an introvert like me needs like I need oxygen. I want them to have the best learning experience possible with the most inspiring role models, but the weight of that dream largely sits on my shoulders. Because most of the time, I'm that role model, and I'll tell you what - it's a whopper of a gig to maintain!
My kids are watching and listening when I accidentally slice my finger on the serrated bread knife buried in the soapy dishwater. They hear me navigating awkward and sometimes heated conversations on the phone. They watch my expression when I find out my husband's flight out of Atlanta is delayed, which extends my evening and adds more responsibility to my plate when I thought I was nearly able to punch out for the day. They see me scrolling mindlessly on my phone, trying desperately to zone out for a few blessed minutes, when I'm actually supposed to be folding laundry or sweeping the floor or reading my Bible or prepping yet another meal. They witness my meltdowns, my over-reactions, and even a few tears of self-pity. They can tell I don't enjoy multiplying decimals any more than they do, and my facade of excitement falls flat.
"We've got your number, Mom."
And so sometimes I do miss the brief few months just before Covid when the three of them were finally in public school all day (4th, 2nd, and Kindergarten), and I could live my life blissfully at home alone - sorting through all the obligations, responsibilities, and emotions of that day in private, deciding what I wanted to do and when. It was so much easier to greet them all with kisses and smiles at the end of the day when we'd had some distance from each other and I had a chance to "do my own thing."
But all that being said, the way things are now is so much richer. There are so many beautiful moments when I'm learning and living with my kids all day. Ridiculous pranks, exciting discoveries and ideas, snuggles on the couch, read-aloud books that make us snort with laughter and choke up with tears, heartfelt prayers spoken with childlike faith and often answered with such specificity that it leaves me speechless. And so many opportunities to apologize, to be humbled, to forgive, to do better, and to give each other second chances. Every day I have countless opportunities to be unselfish and to live out my faith in meaningful ways right in front of their eyes. I don't always capitalize on those opportunities. But the good news is, every day is a new day, and I get to try again.
Mornings of joy and mornings that feel endlessly dismal. Days of success and days that flop. I'm here - with them - for it all. And I wouldn't have it any other way.
Psalm 127:3 - Children are a gift from the Lord; they are a reward from Him.
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