09 | If you could be any character in a book, who would you be? Why?
olive | WonderWoman in the comic books because she’s so strong and has an invisible jet. | When a cold front came through this week, I found you layered with 4 shirts and 3 pairs of leggings, just to avoid wearing a coat. In the end, you needed it anyway and flashed me a smile showing your mostly toothless smile.
blythe | Susan in The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe because she gets to visit Narnia, and she’s the oldest. |On a rare day when the sun was warm and delicious and you found a spot under it to write in your journal.
burke | Pa in Little House in the Big Woods because he’s determined, light-hearted, and gets things done. |Sometimes you lounge around the house like a cat, moving your limbs in the slowest of motions, but you love a good game outdoors, especially when it’s something you and Liam make up together.
liam |Either Legolas–in the Lord of the Rings, not The Hobbit–or Harry Potter. Why not The Hobbit? In the LOTR, Legolas is free and powerful. He dangles from ropes, walks on snow, and shoots his bow and arrow using his mouth. In the Hobbit, he seems more lifeless, like he’s in a trance. Plus, his father is a dream-killer. And Harry Potter? It would be so fun to ride a Firebolt and play Quidditch. | You’re getting older. I know it’s a simple thought, but sometimes when I sit and we discuss big books or you ask to watch an episode of Seinfeld, I remember: you’re growing so quickly.
Finding friendship as a mother can be challenging. Our time is so often filled with taking care of our homes and children and work that we can simply forget to reach out to our existing friends, let alone form new ones. Some friendships are for specific seasons, connections to help us through a specific time or transition. Others, often the most surprising ones, linger longer and move with us through all stages of life. During my decade of motherhood, I’m so grateful for all of the women who have trickled in and out of my life, knowing even the briefest connections have left lasting impressions and impact.
This weekend, I spent time with a few friends who I began homeschooling alongside so many years ago. Due to our growing families and life circumstances, our paths do not always cross in the same consistent ways they once did, but the sporadic meet-ups where we hear and share the hard and sweet spots of our journey with one another are still so sweet for my soul. As I shared an image and thought of these women through social medias last night, I realized these sentiments might be hurtful for women who aren’t experiencing connection, women who long for at least one friend with whom to share the journey. I am a fairly introverted person who also homeschools and works mostly from home, too, so I know this season can feel isolating. It is easy to see images on the internet and hear stories from other people and feel like we’re missing out, that somehow we are the only ones who are lonely or are caught up in the rote path of motherhood or home-education. It is simply not true.
Occasionally in life, we are fortunate enough to stumble into an already existing community of friendship, and other times, we have to go out and discover it ourselves. Either way, friendship and community always require work and initiative, but as most anyone will tell you, the reward is worth the effort. For any of you feeling isolated or struggling to find relationships, here’s a few different ways I’ve made friends over the years. They are simple thoughts, but I hope at least one will resonate with you and encourage you to keep searching for community.
take a look around, right where you are / Is there someone casually in your life who you want to spend more time with? Have you noticed a mother at your library, park, gym, or church who you naturally gravitate toward? If your children are in school or take dance, music, or art lessons, play on a sport team or participate in a nature club–look around at the other mothers. Are there any you might connect with? Who do your children naturally gravitate toward? Be bold: ask for a play date or meet-up.
initiate the invite / Don’t wait for someone else to invite you. For various reasons ranging from moving to a new town or country to the fact that we are deeply introverted, it can be difficult for anyone to work up the courage to initiate friendship. Be courageous. If you’re wanting friendship or needing community, reach out to another mom, even if it’s just one and invite her over for coffee and/or for her kids to play. If you live in a small home or apartment, find a public place to meet: park, local children’s museum, or local eatery with a play space for kids.
search for local play groups / Sometimes larger homeschool or play groups post meeting times and places on websites and blogs. A simple online search with keywords, such as playgroup, homeschool group, nature club, with your city and state, can turn up several options for you to try. Like anything, if you’re wanting to connect with smaller, more specific niches, use more specific key words, such as waldorf, unschool, montessori, classical, charlotte mason, instead of simply searching homeschool group. Although these groups don’t necessarily mean you’ll find your best friend, you just might, and at the very least, you’ve begun your journey for community.
find online community / Sometimes our life circumstances or locale make it more difficult to connect with mothers in person. Everyday beautiful online communities of women are forming and growing. Instagram has been one of my favorite (and easiest) places to connect or be inspired by other mothers regularly. If you’re needing a place to start, Wild+ Free and Childhood Unplugged are my favorite collaborative accounts for encouragement, inspiration, and laughter as a mother and home-educator. They always tag the mothers who capture the moments, so don’t be afraid to follow bunny trails or send an email or direct message to one of the mothers who resonates with you.
week 08 | what do you love most about homeschooling? more specifically?
olive | I love reading activities and playing dress-up. (That part about the reading isn’t always true.) Most days you flit around our home in dress-up and play, and I’m learning again to move with you as I did with Liam, skip counting while you bounce around the room and incorporating stories anywhere possible. On the best of days, you really want to practice reading, although where this happens always differs–on your bed, on my bed, in the kitchen, on the floor, even sitting on the table.
blythe| I love getting to learn at home and that you’re my teacher. Science and history are my favorite times, especially when we get to make things. This week you received an invitation to test for the next level in ballet. You squealed with excitement, “a test?! I love tests!” You really do, and I love this about you. I love your relentless focus and joyful work ethic, Blythe, and as you continue to thrive in your work–academic, ballet, or otherwise–I hope you will also grow with the knowledge and wisdom that life is more than a test. So much more.
burke | I love that I’m not sitting in a classroom all day and that I get to learn with you. I love when we study important people in history and then draw and write about them. Learning to read at age four, you were certainly our earliest reader. It came naturally for you. Even now, I always enjoy hearing you read aloud, listening to the inflection and life you give to your words. Although you love quiet spaces and places to work, you enjoy the silliest play and wildest imagination–a fun mixture in a person, I think. Careful and silly. Quiet and gregarious. Methodical and dramatic. Years into our homeschool life together, I know there are so many things I may have misunderstood (or missed altogether) about you. I love experiencing the daily ways you live out of your quiet heart.
liam | I love that I get to learn with my friends and family. Science, history, and language are my favorite things to learn about–I really liked studying the heart and circulatory system, reading, writing, and drawing about Medieval knights, and diagramming sentences. I took this image a couple of weeks ago when we were studying the human brain. This is the dimension I love about learning together at home–the crafting and creating happening right alongside the reading and writing and rote practice. Learning about anything is an experience with you, Liam, one that has challenged me to see all of life in entirely new ways.
olive, 5 | I either want to be an artist, a dancer, or a pizza girl. | This week I found you playing outside hosting a tea party with tasty treats and drinks made from mud. When I asked you if you were using my dishes, you simply looked away and sulked. The answer was obvious, yes.
blythe, 8 | I want to be a doctor or a veterinarian and definitely a coffee girl! | You’ve been doing grammar lessons together with Burke, and two of you learn together in such a specific way. You try so hard to keep up, aiming to blurt answers before he does–such a competitive little sister.
burke, 9 | That’s such a hard decision–probably a paleontologist. | We worked in the yard all day on Saturday, preparing the yard for Spring gardens and grass. Each time I looked over at you, you had a creature in your hands, sometimes a snake, sometimes and toad.
liam, 11 | I either want to be photographer or an architect–any job that doesn’t require me to work in a cubicle or wear a tuxedo. | This week you told me you wanted to go to school at Oxford. I can hardly think about how close those years and decisions are.
Since the kids are getting older, I have tried to think of ways to incorporate more of their voice into this portrait project. I’ve opted to add a new dynamic by asking each of my children one new question each week. I’ll continue adding my little anecdotes afterward, but I think this will be such a great addition to our annual portrait album. I’ve asked them six other questions that I plan to back post in weeks 1-6, some of the answers have honestly surprised me, in a good way though.
There’s a large hole in the window screen just over our kitchen sink. Inside it, two tiny wrens are building their nest, their secret. All day, they pop in and out of that hole, one pinching a twig in its beak, another grasping an old leaf. Sometimes they pause on the branches of the nearby tree and sing a song. Other times they simply gather new pieces and begin the process over again.
Patience can be such a funny lesson.
As children, we learn to practice patience externally. Wait for dessert. Wait until I’m finished talking. Wait until we get there. As an adult, patience becomes a matter of the heart. Wait for that opportunity. Wait for that person. Wait for that dream. Wait for God. Like the birds in my window, our hands and bodies remain busy with rote while internally we continue waiting for what’s yet to come. As the circumstances change, so does the waiting. Somewhere in this process, I am learning to be patient.
olive | Last weekend, you asked me to buy you a Teen Vogue Magazine and these $1 earmuffs while we were running errands. Although you could not understand why I said no to the magazine, you have worn these earmuffs everyday this week and keep telling me, “they keep my ears so warm.” I secretly hope you wear them into the spring.
blythe | We traveled out to the country for a day this week to spend time with good friends. One of their daughters gave you these slippers, a gift she could no longer wear. Everyday since, I watch these giant, pink lizard feet pace and skip and dance through the house, a natural compliment to your bright pink robe.
burke | When I bought you all new art journals last year, you requested the small, pocket-sized one–a perfect choice for car trips and outdoor walks. You’ve recently taken to sketching trees and told me you particularly loved the way this one’s trunk was turning out, “a little wider and twisted.” This little book is such a gift for you to collect your favorite observations and insight. I’m hoping it will continue to evolve into more of an art journal for you, a place where you can write your heart and the way you see the world.
liam | Although you are an avid reader, you love comic books and often create your own. I’ve noticed more and more how you are changing, maturing, wanting to be seen more as an adult than a child. You pay attention to the social nuances and many times try to lead peers and younger children around you into resolution and smart decisions–always in a fun-loving and gentle way. You certainly aren’t perfect, but I love watching how some aspects grown and change while other playful ones remain.
Cooking is both simpler and more necessary than we imagine. It has in recent years come to seem a complication to juggle against other complications, instead of what it can be—a clear path through them.
– Tamar Adler, An Everlasting Meal
When we sold our last home–a mid-century ranch we had renovated and transformed over a seven year period–the couple moving from Germany asked to include our large farm table in the sale, too. My husband looked at me with eyes that said, “well, what do you think?” and it took only as long as my mouth needed to form the word no to answer. They could have the newly refinished oak floors, the limestone countertops, the fridge we had bought for our first home, my favorite dining room light fixture, the large garden we had built from scratch and the new Oak trees we had planted to take over after our old, tired Oaks gave way–but the table felt sacred to me. It was more than wooden utility. For me, the table is story. In the cup rings, scratches, and uneven stain, I see hundreds of meals shared with friends and family, the school days and watercolors, the birthday parties and candle-lit dinners, the celebration of new marriages and babies, the tears of hardship and the stories of courage and belief. For almost a decade, this table has soaked up our life-spilled stories and days and every crumb we’ve shared in between. This piece was moving with us.
Yet somewhere in all of the transition and pace of last year–in the repairing of our new home, establishing new rhythms, and the haste to make ends meet financially–our family table became buried beneath tools and dust and projects and life, and our mealtime and cooking practices were buried along with it. Meals became forced and hurried, as did the connection we had with one another around it. Even this, the wandering and forgetting, is part of this table’s story. By the end of the year, I yearned for the leisure of this space, the connection with one another through food and conversation, even the messy and loud sort. I had realized that in all of my efficiency of routine to get things done, to simply take care of needs, I was skimming off some of the richest parts, the creme of our family life, our togetherness. We were becoming a familiar modern story of fast-food and moving meals.
I realize my story also belongs to many of you, not a tale about a piece of furniture or a specific food group, but one about a way of life, a connection with meals and togetherness. As Edith Schaeffer wrote in The Art of Homemaking, “Meals can be very small indeed, very inexpensive, short times taken in the midst of a big push at work, but they should be always more than just food.” Your family mealtime might take place at a beautiful formal dining table or perhaps around a kitchen island, a card table, or breakfast nook. Whatever the spot, a family meal doesn’t always require a dining room, fancy food, or a tablecloth, and although I prefer the slower, longer meals, it doesn’t always have to be that either. The true beauty is that the family table takes on as many shapes and forms as the people who fill them. The point is to keep returning, to keep nurturing that mealtime togetherness regardless.
At the end of last year, my husband and I began to evaluate our home-life, looking to mend the connections, relationally and practically, that had been neglected and strained during all of our change the last few years. Our family table seemed to be a simple place to begin, a place that we all longed for and needed for its regular meals and togetherness. Like few other things, the table nurtures and nourishes us. It cultivates story and memory with one another. It reminds us, even in a ten minute lunch, how to pause and receive. Below I wrote out some of the ways we’re reprioritizing this space and using our time around the table together. They will of course look different in your own home, but I hope they will somehow inspire you to keep nurturing your meals and the people you share them with.
start the day together // Since Mark leaves for work each morning just after 7am, we’ve been waking the kids up at 6:45am to come to the table, eat a simple breakfast, read this, and pray together. This time is usually quite simple and only 15 minutes or so long, but it’s become a sweet consistent way to begin/reset for our day.
add fresh florals // Fresh flowers and greenery are always one of the first meal details to cut from our budget. While they’re not a practical necessity, fresh flowers naturally draw attention to a space, to a place. I’ve noticed as my children are getting older, they notice and appreciate these details, too, “ooh, pretty flowers, mom!” This year, I decided to take a bit of our grocery cash each week to set aside for a few fresh blooms and leaves. It’s a small thing, but significant in nurturing a specific space, I think.
clear and clean the table // Without paying attention, I’ve realized it’s easy to simply get up and walk away from the table after a meal, leaving the dishes and crumbs right where they were. (I’m sure that’s not the case in your home.) Additionally, our table, naturally located in the flow of foot traffic, also becomes an easy place to drop mail, keys, library books, unfinished school work, etc. Although it seems obvious, no one enjoys gathering around a dirty or cluttered table. Take time before and after meals or other activities to clean up. Each of our children have specific jobs around mealtime preparation and clean-up. Currently, our girls (ages 5 and 8) are in charge of the table space right now, making sure it’s prepared and cleaned afterward, while the boys (ages 9 and 11) clean and clear the kitchen workspace and dishes.
make time to share // When we lived with my sister and brother-in-law for a year, there were ten of us at each meal (if no one else joined us). We needed a way to connect with one another in a very simple way, so my brother-in-law, Tim, began a tradition called “best/worst.” Each evening, one person begins by sharing the best and worst parts of their day, then they choose someone else at the table to do the same. This person shares and then chooses the following and so on until everyone has had a chance to share. We still practice this several nights a week, and I’m always surprised to hear the highlights of their days, often they’re far more simple than I expect, sometimes event the food iteself.
include the kids // Perhaps this is another obvious point, but having the kids participate in meal-planning and meal-making naturally slows us down, gives them familiarity with different cooking practices, and cultivates expectancy about the meal itself. Depending on their age, they might chop or process vegetables. They can sauté the onions, line the parchment paper in the pan, stir a pot of soup, kneed dough or butter the bread. Create space and time to have your children with you in the kitchen. Teach them how to protect the fingers while chopping or properly wash the food beforehand. Give them cookbooks to flip through and discover what they might like to try.
What are some of the ways you/your family connect at mealtime?