haunting decisions

With a notarized paper in hand, I walked into the elementary school and un-enrolled my kids.
Happy Halloween!

The decision to homeschool my kids has been haunting.  I love the elementary school, the teachers, and the friends.  School itself has provided many opportunities for my children to grow and explore who they are.  But like a coin, there are always two sides to any story.

School life, has made family life very hard.  My kids cry and complain when it is time to leave for school because they want to be home with their brothers and baby sister.  Homework is a nightly challenge.  Bullying behavior and words are sashaying home to be repeated by the three-year-old.

And I get it.
I get that this is part of raising a family.

But... I don't get it.

I don't want to spend these awesome years with my children rushing them away from me and from each other.  Too many people have reminded me that these years with my kids will pass quickly and that I should enjoy them while I can.  Honestly, I don't enjoy my kids when I am too busy rushing them around.

I know that homeschooling isn't the answer for everyone.
Heck, it might not be a long-term answer for me.

But right now, homeschool is the answer for my little family.  And while the decision to homeschool has be incredibly haunting, I am oh-so-excited to stop rushing.  I am thrilled to slow down, read more books to my kids, perform science experiments at the kitchen table, and explore the world with the  little minds I love the most.  

building dreams

"Mom!  You got to see what I drew at school today,"  my six-year-old says, dropping his first grade back pack to the ground with shoes flying in every direction.

"Awesome.  I'm excited."  I say.  Reaching into his backpack, he hands me a completed math assignment with drawings on the back.

"It's my dream house!  Look, it has everything we need.  An attic, bedrooms, stairs, and the best part is the fun room.  Doesn't that look like fun?  The bathroom is here and our garage is huge.  Big enough to fit all of our bikes.  The stairs are kind of crazy, but that is what makes the house fun... right?  What do you think?  Should we build a house like this?  Should we?"  Cheeks are pink in anticipation as he bounces from foot to foot.

"I love it,"  I say with my  lips pressed against his cheek in a welcome home kiss.  "and yes, we should definitely build it."

Because why not?
Even six-year-old boys need space and time to build their dreams.

At times I am jealous of his dreams.  They are so simple, honest, and genuine.  Free from building codes, design magazines, and pinterest boards - he created the home he wants.

Over the last couple of months, I have been searching through many writing technique books.  Amid the fabulous advice, sometimes I begin to forget my dream.  Stairs shouldn't be crooked and writing should be perfected.  I begin to question my skills, talent, and dreams based upon the advice of the world.  Maybe a dream (like mine) is unsafe or unreasonable.

We begin building his house of dreams with Lego's.  One red brick here and yellow one there.  Brick by brick the house grows and eventually, the house will be completed.  Perhaps my writing dreams are the same?  Day by day, word by word, and sometimes breathe by breathe.  The house of words will grow, and my writing technique with it, but only if I dare to chase the dream.

As artists and mothers and people of the world, if we don't have the courage to dream big... who will?