I made the decision to homeschool Maggie months ago. I know this doesn’t match the experience of most parents this year, during this odd pandemic. Most parents waited on pins and needles for schools to announce their plans, reacting to the alignment with CDC guidelines, or something like that. Not me. Maybe it’s because I am remarkably stubborn. Or maybe it’s because I have worked in higher education for 12 years and understand how the whole public education system works just enough to know that whether they say so or not, it’s going to be pandemonium, I opted to make my own plan with or without any announcements from the school system. I am so glad I did.
I wholeheartedly felt convinced God wanted me to do this. My daughter’s first grade experience left her lacking strong literacy skills even though she finished kindergarten ahead of her peers.
The good news is she’s a super smart kid; she’ll be fine. However, I knew she needed help to regain academic confidence and skill, not to mention a love for learning. This, coupled with the COVID pandemic and the weirdness it would inevitably bring to the realm of public education, weighed on me as a mom. Did I want to send her back to the classroom? Nope, although I honestly did not look forward to having her around the house while I tried to work on a daily basis either.
Do I look forward to homeschooling her? Yes and no. We’re two weeks into the school year. And I can still say… yes and no! No, I don’t look forward to trying to find time to clean the house, run errands, and manage my own business… all with my child underfoot. No, I don’t anticipate 100% sheer joy while trying to play mom and teacher to a child who already questions my decisions because she’s coming into her own very independent personality. And no, I don’t think it will be easy to practice great self-care or carve out time as a writer, much less a woman, while still distancing ourselves in the midst of a pandemic.
But the redemptive part is this: I asked God for this. When I quit working full-time over four years ago and started my business to spend more time with my daughter, I felt great sorrow. When I had worked full-time, I knew I had made a big difference in others’ lives. But I had done that at the expense of missing out on my daughter’s life. There were days when I’d come home and not had the chance to play with her while it was light outside. And I don’t mean like one day or so here and there. It was like that for months at a time–for seasons. Maybe that’s okay for some moms, for some parents. That was not okay for me. I could not live with myself that way. It wasn’t just the “mom guilt” we hear about. It was a spiritual conviction, a knowing in my soul that I was not aligned with what God would have me do.
It had nothing to do with what I wanted to do. It had everything to do with me choosing to do what was the best and right thing for my kid. As a follower of Christ, it was time to live like one.
Since then, I’d always hoped for an opportunity for redemption, to get back the years when I had not been with her. And here it was—a full year of mom and Maggie time.
Every time I find myself whining about how hard it might be, or how I’ll never get any work done during the day without coordinating my schedule with my husband’s, or how she might hate me because I will be helping her learn to write cursive, I remember this. I asked for restoration. And I am getting it.
That is something to be grateful for.