When I first began this home-education journey with our children seven years ago, I had no idea what I was doing. I wasn’t homeschooled myself, and I wasn’t even sure it was the right thing for our family. Homeschooling with little ones was hard, and I constantly wrestled with this looming thought, “am I going to screw up my kids?” For several different reasons, we kept moving forward, a few peers in tow, paving the way for our children to learn right alongside us.
As I’ve written here, on Instagram, or for other publications, I’ve realized more and more how large and diverse the national and international homeschooling community is. I’m looking to find out as a group, who are we? What are the needs and goals within this community? Would you mind helping me out by filling out this brief anonymous survey? It’s actually quite brief (2 minutes, maybe) and multiple choice for ease and speed. And it truly is anonymous, no personal info necessary. Thank you!
The world is dark, and light is precious.
Kate DiCamillo, The Tale of Despereaux
For all of us, there are life seasons that feel bright and effortless. We move through our days with sun-kissed hearts, alive and alert to life and to God’s goodness. Other seasons, plagued by pain and loss and doubt, feel darker. These seasons require us to fight the urge to hide under the covers of our circumstances and to instead rearrange the furniture of our hearts and shove it toward the light. We are compelled to unravel God’s goodness and promise, like strands of twinkle lights, and drop them into the dark rooms of our soul. It is there, clouded by the world’s darkness, we remember the gift of light is most precious and, above all, good.
The kids and I have recently finished reading The Magician’s Nephew, by C.S. Lewis, and The Tale of Desperaux, by Kate DiCamillo. The simplicity and poignancy of both stories concerning themes of light and dark, grief and hope, courage and goodness are remarkable. They have been a source of encouragement to me in a new way this season as I work out a deeper level of belief in my own heart, but they have also been a sweet and concrete way to discuss the more difficult matters of the heart with our children. I highly recommend both, and I especially recommend listening to Desperaux on audiobook. The reader is phenomenal. Also, you should be able to find all of these at your local library.
olive // The last of your front baby teeth dangled strangely in your mouth for days because you didn’t want to pull it. This week, it finally popped out completely, leaving an even wider hole in your smile.
blythe // When we go to the library, your bag is packed and your card neatly hidden in the right pocket for you to hand the librarian at the end of our visit. This is your favorite part, I think–showing you are responsible and trustworthy.
burke // The sun popped out of the clouds briefly during our school morning last week. While you sat on your bedroom floor thinking of math solutions, the dust and light danced around you like magic. It made me wonder how often in life I try to solve equations when I should be enamored with the mystery.
liam // The last year or so you’ve been smitten with flat-billed hats, and although I might choose to style you differently, I want you to freely explore and find your own style niche. However when your adult-self wants to know why this particular one was in every single portrait in 2015, you will need to thank your aunt and uncle who generously gave it to you for Christmas.
These last several weeks have been quiet here, I know. The grey days have kept us tucked inside more than usual, where we’ve enjoyed one another in very simple ways again, often near a wood-burning fire, underneath soft throw blankets. Honestly, I’ve relished the slowness after the fast-paced, almost dizzying 2014, and have felt unhurried to resume typical routines. Instead, I’ve been patiently reflecting on the last year, its beauty and difficulty, triumphs and defeats. 2014 was a sweet year in so many ways. Personally, I stretched into new writing ventures; met and worked with several incredible people; joined my talented sister and brother-in-law in their photography studio; connected with the beautiful Wild+Free homeschool community and even shared a bit of our journey at the conference in the Fall. I have nothing but gratitude for all of it.
While lovely in so many ways, this year was also a hard, defining lesson in personal capacity–a year of treading physical, creative, and relational limits. It taught me to dig deep both spiritually and soulfully and to be brave with my heart, but I’ve realized too much of myself was expended in producing. By the end of the year, I felt threadbare and soul-thin, hungry for more of the nothings that mean everything–la joie de vivre–the time spent with my husband and our children, time with our families and community, and time with Jesus.
When I first began this small space, it was a journal. A place where, as I wrote in my first post, I sucked out the marrow of life. Or tried anyway. I wanted to see the poetry of motherhood–the light and the dark, because there’s always a mixture–and to continue practicing the art of words. I hoped other parents might be encouraged to see their own lives in a new way, not to be like ours necessarily, but to discover the unique and beautiful nature within their own. I hope this year to return to that place, a collection of vignettes and dialogues, poetic ramblings and simple photographs as I continue journeying through motherhood, marriage, and home-education. I realize these changes may not be the best career move and that I may not ever become someone important by the world’s standards, but I will never regret choosing them, choosing my children and husband, choosing now.
On that note, a few goals I scribbled down for the new year:
// pay attention. //
// guard my time //
// nurture our home life + relationships //
// infuse the arts more into our home life and homeschool //
// regular time with Jesus //
// live “less is more” //
I’m so grateful for all of the people who have supported this space through sponsorship this last year, but for purposes of time and simplicity, I’ve decided to let go of that aspect of cloistered away. I will continue working with small businesses and creatives who I love and feel that in some way you might, too, and as always will make a note in the post when that occurs. I’m so grateful for the sweetness of this readership. Thank you for loving me and my family here. With all of me, thank you. Cheers to each of you, to the journey, and of course, a new year.
”a portrait of my children, once a week, every week, in 2015″
If you haven’t noticed yet, I’m slowly easing into this new year. I’ll write a bit about that later this week, but for now I’m beginning the new year of portraits–no specific angles or plans, only life with my children, broken down week by week. This part of this project has been my favorite, actually. Each year on their birthday, I write my children a letter. Often I have shared them here, but these letters can be overwhelming, paralyzing even. Children change so much over the coarse of the year, it’s hard to write it out all at once in a way with detail. This project has helped me to collect the little bits along the way, and I know they’ll enjoy looking through and reading about it years from now, as will I.
olive // You prefer to drink out of a mug, opposed to a glass and insist on dragging warm, fluffy blankets around the house with you in lieu of wearing warmer clothes. This first week of the year has been cold, and I’ve found you here at the hearth most of it.
blythe // On this cold morning, you ate warm oatmeal, your oversized blanket wrapped around your head like an eskimo, next to the drafty window and grey skies.
burke // You have been reading the youth edition of Unbroken this week, snuggled in this chair between the cloudy window light and the warm fire.
liam // I asked you to turn on the kettle so I could make a cup of coffee. When I went to the kitchen several minutes later, I noticed a hot cup of coffee on the counter with a smily face taped to the side. Beneath that taped paper is a quote by Emerson, “What lies behind us and what lies before us are small matters compared with what lies within us.” I think you’ve just made his point.
For years, my sister and I have talked about having a fancy party with our kids on New Year’s Eve, but each year something happens–sickness, travel, or life–and the evening comes and goes just the same. This year, our three nieces came to stay with us the four days leading up to the New Year, making it the perfect finale to their visit and our crazy Christmas holiday. We all wore our best clothes, and I styled each of the girls’ hair as they wished with a dab of lip gloss and blush. We made the simplest finger foods and served them with bubbly drinks and party headbands and hats. Tim set up a photo booth and we danced our hearts out in the dining room until everyone was tired (about 30-40 minutes later–wink) and decided to sit near the fire instead. Good friends popped by with their toddler to join the fun and we dropped the ball and saluted the new year at 8:30 pm–with flutes and yelps and kisses. Welcome, 2015. xx
“a portrait of my children, once a week, every week, in 2014″
When we set up a photo booth on New Year’s Eve (more on that later), I thought it a fitting finale that each of the kids take their own final portrait of the year, unrehearsed or coached. I love how each of their personalities shine through, and can you believe it’s been 52 weeks already? I hardly can. Although this project was difficult at times, I so value how it forced me to stop regularly to really see each of my children in a new way and independent of the others–a valuable gift considering we’re all together so often. I plan to create a book from the project soon and continue the project into 2015. I hope you’ll continue to follow along! Thank you, Jodi, for inspiring so many of us with this beautiful project.
liam // playful like a boy, conversing like a man
burke // anxious to grow facial hair–until then, a sharpie will do
blythe // I’m sure, in some respect, the balloon-man was not following the rules
olive // you rubbed your chin raw on the car seat fabric, just because you were curious