Post by TaQuilla on Feb 21, 2007 8:39:29 GMT -5
I get a weekly e-newsletter from www.thehomeschoolmagazine.com and just thought I'd share this weeks articles:
HOME Where They Belong
Gena Suarez, co-Publisher, The Old Schoolhouse Magazine
Most of us homeschool mamas have a husband. A beloved partner we are privileged to serve and grow old with, right? A man who galliantly returns home from work each day only to waltz in with flowers in one hand and a dark chocolate mocha for us in the other. A man to whom we swoon over, adore and quickly serve dinner all the while bearing our 12th child. A marriage so perfect and so wonderful that it is almost a fairy tale incarnate. Sigh.
Before I began homeschooling, I had visions of hot, home cooked meals, Daddy at night in his easy chair with all of our braniac children (because of my teaching, of course!) surrounding him to show off their latest bronze art sculptures or science experiments (like their highly specialized robot creation that cleaned house). These perfect offspring would all graduate by the age of 12 and have their Masters degrees by the tender age of 17. They'd go on to win Nobel Peace Prizes... My house would always smell of the deep forest after a spring rain, and whole-grain homemade bread would perpetually come prancing out of the oven, hot and fluffy.
Then I woke up. Ummm. Let's be real, here, OK? My house may smell of a rainforest some days but that's not fresh rainwater you're smelling; it's probably mildewy socks that got lost under the rug. Or, it could be toilet water (don't ask). And I do make bread, but often it is from a mix or I "make" it by untying the twisty tie and pulling it out of the cellophane and tossing it on a plate. Maybe we'll even have butter tonight (or perhaps not). And yes, my husband does bring me a mocha sometimes; he's so sweet. But rarely do I thrust my arms about him when he valliantly rushes in - and often dinner is late or overcooked. And no, I'm not on my 12th child. I seem to have stopped at four - and I've not noticed that perhaps I could be on my 9th by now. Where does the TIME go? Drat. I guess my dreams didn't come out like I thought. You know what? Thank goodness!
I love my life - my REAL life. I look for the happy times, the joy I can find in each day. Through the gross smells, vomit-ridden flu seasons, snot in my hair when a child has cried into it - I find real life. I've found true love. This is where I live. My family is my greatest love, particularly my husband. To honor and serve him is my greatest blessing. God Himself has smiled on me with the family I've been given, and He blesses me when I obey Him by serving said family. So yes, those pre-homeschooling dreams sorta went POOF when real life took over. Isn't that GREAT?! Welcome to the real world. It may smell funny, but at least there's nothing phony going on (like our silly expectations). Go hug a child (or 12) right now. And when Hubby comes home tonight...get the cookies and candles out. ;-)
- Gena
HOME Where They Belong
Gena Suarez, co-Publisher, The Old Schoolhouse Magazine
Most of us homeschool mamas have a husband. A beloved partner we are privileged to serve and grow old with, right? A man who galliantly returns home from work each day only to waltz in with flowers in one hand and a dark chocolate mocha for us in the other. A man to whom we swoon over, adore and quickly serve dinner all the while bearing our 12th child. A marriage so perfect and so wonderful that it is almost a fairy tale incarnate. Sigh.
Before I began homeschooling, I had visions of hot, home cooked meals, Daddy at night in his easy chair with all of our braniac children (because of my teaching, of course!) surrounding him to show off their latest bronze art sculptures or science experiments (like their highly specialized robot creation that cleaned house). These perfect offspring would all graduate by the age of 12 and have their Masters degrees by the tender age of 17. They'd go on to win Nobel Peace Prizes... My house would always smell of the deep forest after a spring rain, and whole-grain homemade bread would perpetually come prancing out of the oven, hot and fluffy.
Then I woke up. Ummm. Let's be real, here, OK? My house may smell of a rainforest some days but that's not fresh rainwater you're smelling; it's probably mildewy socks that got lost under the rug. Or, it could be toilet water (don't ask). And I do make bread, but often it is from a mix or I "make" it by untying the twisty tie and pulling it out of the cellophane and tossing it on a plate. Maybe we'll even have butter tonight (or perhaps not). And yes, my husband does bring me a mocha sometimes; he's so sweet. But rarely do I thrust my arms about him when he valliantly rushes in - and often dinner is late or overcooked. And no, I'm not on my 12th child. I seem to have stopped at four - and I've not noticed that perhaps I could be on my 9th by now. Where does the TIME go? Drat. I guess my dreams didn't come out like I thought. You know what? Thank goodness!
I love my life - my REAL life. I look for the happy times, the joy I can find in each day. Through the gross smells, vomit-ridden flu seasons, snot in my hair when a child has cried into it - I find real life. I've found true love. This is where I live. My family is my greatest love, particularly my husband. To honor and serve him is my greatest blessing. God Himself has smiled on me with the family I've been given, and He blesses me when I obey Him by serving said family. So yes, those pre-homeschooling dreams sorta went POOF when real life took over. Isn't that GREAT?! Welcome to the real world. It may smell funny, but at least there's nothing phony going on (like our silly expectations). Go hug a child (or 12) right now. And when Hubby comes home tonight...get the cookies and candles out. ;-)
- Gena