Yesterday, my oldest four returned to school. We all awoke eager, greeted by early morning darkness. Clearly, my people sensed we might need extra time to prepare.
The boys looked grown up in their freshly pressed uniforms, and they shoveled in breakfast at a breakneck speed. As they strolled out the door with their backpacks to load them in the truck, I secretly prided myself on how organized I was this year. After all, my early preparation had seemingly set us up for a smooth morning.
But, when we arrived at school, it all went down. Forgotten math summer workbooks and incorrectly assigned summer reading books (I just happen to have let my oldest read the optional list instead of the required list) were the first of the mom-initiated organizational faux pas.
After school, when my children piled into the truck, each one was quick to communicate about their day, and apparently everyone was missing at least one very important item from their supply list. Maybe more than one….
In my self-talk on the way home, I told myself: I’m giving myself grace to make mistakes in this journey, this model. But returning to something I think I already know requires a lot of humility. I’ve homeschooled all of these grades at least once, some more. This whole system should be my jam.
So, in the grace I’m attempting to bathe in, I’m praying for accuracy. I desperately want to hit the mark as we return to this model, which promises to aid me in educating the hearts and minds of my kids. But I think the greatest challenge for me this year is this.
In my believing I should know how to do this, I must believe that being on my knees and crying out to Him in the only way I can really love teaching my kids at home.