What I want to remember this school year

Ready, Set,

Homeschool…

 

What I want to remember daily:

 

Grace.

Invite those precious minds to the water, wet their appetite, give them sips, but don’t let them drown!  And always, always, always, hold out grace open-handed.  (I love this sign!)

Remember wonder.

Remember getting your hands and knees dirty.

Remember the importance of learning how to learn…show them what round-the-cape wide-eyed exploration feels like.

Remember that the homeschooling mother’s best gift is her own love of wonder and desire to grow. (Thanks Ann)

Last time I homeschooled, I put too heavy a broken-back burden on all of us and we wore out.  We wore our love thin.  Sure, we had sweet saccharine moments reading books together on the red couch on a rainy day, but if they could do a little, I figured, I would push longer and we would end up in a heap…a tangled, frustrated mess.

My sister shared about a story she heard on NPR (I can’t seem to find) about gifted children and she said that this is what struck her: “a child learns best when he walks the edge of his competency.”

This year…grace.  Start out small and build…and don’t forget to watch the back of the pack for stragglers.

by Summer Gross

I’m joining Ann and counting thanks:

1. a lovely first day of school started with lip-smacking cinnamon rolls (I know it’s Labor Day, but honestly, I just couldn’t wait.)

2. the boy who came in from “recess:” I want more, please.

3. reading A Wrinkle in Time to Madeline cozy under my white comforter.  “Love is the one thing that IT does not have.”

4. the joy of friends, fresh ones and the cozy familiar…

5. my mother flying in to watch my little ones so I can go here

6. tiny red tomatoes that never make it in the door

7. oogles of amazing, intentional homeschool moms who inspire across this WWW… thank you

8. a river that runs through our town that provide dates on sailboats and long breath-catching walks in the morning

9. Indonesian Ginger Chicken.  I could write sonnets to you, Ina Garten.

10. The promise of a long chat in the park, the charcoal getting hot.