Yesterday

As a reader, a friend, a human being, I crave vulnerability. When I decided to homeschool, I was hoping to discover a completely transparent blog that would provide full disclosure about what I was getting myself into. More than that, I crave flesh and bones in front of me that offer transparency, not necessarily about homeschooling, but about what makes us each human.

As a writer, a friend, a human being, offering vulnerability comes tempered with trepidation.

I promised myself to write honestly about our schooling experience, because, as a reader, I desired it.   Then arrives yesterday.  Yesterday was a complete fail in all areas I have decided to pursue, and I can understand why others seldom decide to take up their failing days as worthy blog material.  Who wants to proclaim - for the world to read and criticize - their most awful days?  Who wants to announce one of the areas they have decided to pursue (in my case, homeschooling) and then follow up a month later with their colossal failure of that pursuit?  Not I, not I.

I wonder, now on the writing end, if there isn't a sense of appropriateness in keeping blogs less than vulnerable, for out of contexts of relationships, spears of judgement glide more freely.  As a reader, I have to remind myself this. What I see is - in most cases - the best foot forward.

Yesterday was my worst foot forward.  My children were a mess, I was a mess, it was not a pretty picture. The crescendo of our day was missed soccer practice because my six year old was throwing a temper tantrum about having to look for his shin guards himself, despite me telling him exactly where I thought he would very likely find them.  Yes, he was obviously overtired, not to mention a fierce fit thrower since birth. And yes, I thought this a great opportunity to remind him that not too long ago he threw fits because I insisted he wipe his own butt.

Yesterday schooling was a disaster.  C whined all through math.  He fought with his brother while I tried reading thrilling history to him.  In a moment of creative inspiration I decided we would create outdoor cave art to fit with our history unit.  There were a good three minutes of picture worthy moments in the midst of the activity, and then I was yelling about the filthy hands and clothes that were making their way through the doors all along my hallway walls.  Yesterday I forgot about a science worksheet that was due today for class, so five minutes before bedtime I was fighting unsuccessfully to have my child write "invertebrate" on the necessary lines.

Yesterday.
ended.

It is truly the most wonderful thing about yesterday.   It ends.

And I am given a gift of today.
I begin bowing low.
Because I have to, because I'm desperate, because I can't pull off anything worth anything on my own.
Then I look up.
"I lift up my eyes to the hills - where does my help come from?
My help comes for the LORD, the Maker of heaven and earth."
I start again.
I remind myself to refocus on building character, not trying too hard to check things off of my list of accomplishments.  I mentally slow down, emotionally slow down.  Remind myself that sibling fights are opportunities, not interruptions (I know, I know, overly idealistic sounding and much easier said than done).  I remind myself that it is normal for my six year old to pawn off any responsibility on me that he possibly can and it is my job to gently pass it back to him.  I discuss with the boys what would happen if I didn't require them to do things appropriate for their age.  I would still be wiping butts and spoon feeding.  C seems to find this worth a laugh.

We head off this morning to a formal two hour class, each of us departing to our own classrooms.
We return home, sit down and school, and C insists on "beating his record" of number of math pages accomplished in one sitting.  And there, in the midst of his math beating record, we have the following conversation, that overrides nearly every bad parenting moment to date.

"Mom, [my friend] was making fun of the blind girl in our class."
My stomach drops, for the sake of the girl, for fear of what happened next.
"He did?!" I ask, incredulously. "What did he say?!"
"She said 'Why do I always have to be at the end of the line' and he said (with attitude) 'Because you are blind.' "
I'm nearly in tears at the injustice of it all when I ask "And what did you do?"
"I said '[Friend's name], that's not nice."

And there in those three simple words is my most proud momma moment.  Because my extremely timid son, who only seems to rear his strong head in temper tantrum moments, who is too scared to sit in a dark movie theater, my same son who was deathly frightened the entire drive to his first t-ball practice three months ago, decided to have courage when it mattered most by speaking three simple words to stand up for someone else.

I am so stinkin' proud.

My day of parenting ends when this same son says yes to his little brother's request to snuggle in bed with him and the two fall asleep side by side.

Today is dripping in grace.   I only recognize it to be grace because today sits just hours from yesterday. Yesterday, brimming over with messes and chaos and reminders of what little I can accomplish on my own. But ended, nevertheless.