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On days like today when hitting myself with a hammer sounds more appealing than teaching adjectives to someone whose focus skipped out with the sunshine, I try to remind myself that if homeschooling were easy and guaranteed some semblance of sanity, then we’d all be doing it.

Maybe.

I don’t know.

It’s just that some days I forget.

I forget how much I love to see my kids learn.  Or how much I love it when their eyes pop with genuine wonder at some fact we just read.  How their mouths open as they turn to look at me.  “Is it true?” one asks.  And I nod, “Can you believe it?”

I forget what a privilege it is to have them lean against me, one on each side, so tight sometimes I can barely turn the pages. And then as the story gets better and I can barely hear them breathe, I forget how much they trust my voice to read, to whisper, to bare emotion.  How much they rely on my hands and my heart to teach truth and share life one page, one lesson, one chapter, one anything….at a time.

I forget how much they need me to show love.

They need me.

They…

need me.

I just forget.

And so today, this moment, I will relish in traced letters.

I will respect privacy.

I will gush over the paper version of my son.

I will sweep.  I will sip.  I will slooow down.  I will gather, gargle and get off my rear end.  I will hide, hum, holler and hug.  I will wipe, flush and wash.  I will applaud the child who understands action verbs.  Then I will sit down before I pull a muscle.

I will praise the correct use of scissors.

I will share this child’s joy.

And I will remember that God’s mercies are new every morning.

Every. Single. Morning.

Amen.

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