This week in some random run on sentences.

New bed for Jack. New sheets with monsters on them that are very cuddly. Spending lots of time with our favorite dog. Reading. Lots and lots of reading. Expanding our writing chops. Vocabulary words. SO thankful for Khan Academy. Learning about pulmonary systems. Crash course of History of the World. Lunch outside. Sunshine. Lots of laughing. Lots of talking. Talking about hard things. Park day. Classes at the college. Student small group. Reading to my boy again. I missed that. It was my favorite. I know he’s safe. He knows he’s loved. We can absolutely do this.

I would take a bullet for him. I’d step in front of a moving train for him. And yes, I’d even homeschool him if I had to. I’d do anything for him.

The rug was somewhat pulled out from underneath us last week. Details aren’t really important, but Phillip and I were put in a situation where we needed to make the difficult decision to withdraw Jackson from public school. It was pretty unexpected and unplanned. We’ve been struggling with many different aspects of public school since we put Jackson back in the second half of 5th grade. I homeschooled Jackson from 2nd grade through the first half of 5th, so we always knew that we could go back to homeschooling if we ever felt we needed to. Last week it became painfully apparent that we need to.

So after a difficult couple of days of going through the motions, in somewhat of a fog, I think maybe I have a grasp on what we need to do. When I have homeschooled in the past, I spent weeks researching, planning, purchasing, reviewing, etc. This time I had no time at all. We are still trying to find our footing.

And because I am very aware of my dependence or addiction, or whatever it is, to Facebook, I’ve decided to deactivate my account for a time. If I decide to reactivate it at some point, all of the old stuff will still be there. I need to focus on my boy. I need to break some bad habits. He needs to reset his brain and so do I.

So that’s kind of where we are right now. Last week this whole thing felt like a crisis situation. But it’s not a crisis. I’m choosing to think of it instead as a crisis averted. At least I hope so anyway. For the handful of you reading this, please just pray for wisdom for our family. And please respect our privacy and try not to bombard us, especially Jackson, with questions about this. Remember, we are in reset mode, not rehash mode.

Grace abounds for us all. Please give us grace.

 

Confession.

Confession: Our mornings have been bad since school started back after the Christmas break.

I am not sure why. Maybe they were bad before and I hadn’t noticed. Maybe it took two weeks of relative calm for me to see how chaotic school mornings are. Maybe it’s the added element of a puppy, running around, grabbing shoe laces and pants legs, that is tipping things over the edge. I don’t really know. But what I do know is that my family is leaving me, leaving our house in the morning, not with feelings of happiness and peace, but with their stomachs in knots. And ultimately, it’s my fault.

This morning, I had the real feeling, not even a feeling so much as a knowing or acceptance, that they’d be better off without me. I am poisonous to their mornings. I am poison.

Why do I care so much if we are running five minutes “late” when in fact, five minutes late is still leaving 15 minutes before school starts? The school is five minutes away. We’re not even late, but we’re late according to me. Why do I care? Why can’t I be flexible enough to look at ALL of the papers from their backpacks, as we’re walking out the door, because they, because they are children, didn’t bring the papers to me yesterday after school? Why do I expect them to remember this? Why? Why can’t I just turn the boy’s bedroom light off myself, every morning after he leaves, and be thankful that I have a boy whose light is left on every day? Why can’t I just relish in the proof of life instead of feeling tortured by everything they do that is “wrong?”

They must think that they can do nothing right. They must think that my love is conditional. They must think they need to try harder to make me happy. How could they not? And what damage is it doing?

I want to be a source of peace for my family. But honestly, I’m poison. Many mornings, I say the phrase, in anger, “Every morning is the same!” And they are the same. Every morning is the same because I’m the same. They are the same because I won’t change.

How can poison become a salve instead? How can I change it?

There’s no happy wrap up to this post. No Bible verse to fix it all. And honestly, if you give me one, I’ve probably already read it. And guess what? It hasn’t helped. No plan of action. That’s not what this is. I don’t need anyone to try to fix me. Because I have to fix me. This is just simply a confession and a marker that I acknowledge how things are.

Sometimes there is simply healing in acknowledging how things are.