On Homeschooling, Dyslexia, IEPs, & my 9 yo Poet/Astrophysicist

My 9-year-old confessed to me the other day: “You know what, Mom? I feel so much smarter here than I did at school” [my Mom heart sank a bit and my eyes froze on her expressive face with her little dyslexic mind deep in thought].

“…At school it seemed like I spent all of my time just not being able to read while everyone else could, but here at home I learn about black holes and supernovas and invent stuff and write poetry. And I’m really good at those things [Exhale. There’s the confident mini-woman I know and love].

This kid. She braved through one year of IEPs the year before last like a champ, and while unlike her it often left me in tears (and few things do), the contrast of it all helped us both realize how much she loves learning. In ways a system (as supportive as it truly was), could never have brought forth.

At school, her remedial reading handed her nothing to wonder and dwell on, while at home she can ask me to read her cosmology, theology, and Longfellow to her heart’s content.

…I was hanging up some clothes in her closet and discovered her sweet impromptu solar system☝️

She informed me that she’s decided to be an astrophysicist. Because: “I think it would probably be a more stable job than a poet”😆

It’s a fascinating thing to go about our days together as I slowly figure out how her mind and soul work and what they were made for.

She will eventually learn how to properly read all the words and ideas she’s grown to love, she will eventually learn how to properly spell all the poetry and stories that pour out of her, and I will eventually learn how to properly channel the beautiful, quirky intensity of this kid I was given. …The one who can’t decide if she’s gonna be an Einstein or an Anne of Green Gables, but I have a feeling she’s going to figure it out.

(I share this because I know many are having homeschooling thrust upon them in ways none of us envisioned. But I can say with confidence that along with its high and lows, which there are, there’s an unmatched freedom to it that allows some minds and souls to become far more themself than they ever could have otherwise).

Her first tourtière🏆 (everything tastes better when cooked in an apron and snakeskin boots)

“Doing Modern Art” when she was supposed to be doing math🙄

Black Holes and distant galaxies🌌

Fiddling in the meadow💕

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“I am, I Can, I Ought, I Will”

[Trying to get this kid to come start school this morning/afternoon for the umpteenth time]:

N: “…but Mom, I just really can’t. I’m working on something SO important right now. I’M RE-DOING MODERN ART.”

It was a really tough day with this one in particular, who was fighting against Monday with all her might after a busy holiday week of traveling. But as I lay here now and think back on the day, I realized she was at her best when she was making.

…Mounds of construction paper snowflakes before I was even out of bed. Intricate train track towns slowly filling the room as I worked with the other kids. Pages of Mondrian-style artistic creations because a right-angled ruler and a tin of colored pencils caught her eye on her way to start math. Slowly and attentively tackling “Good King Wenceslas,” for the first time with her violin teacher, because even though she grumbled all the way to practice, she simply couldn’t stifle her desire to make music.

“I am, I can, I ought, I will,” is the Charlotte Mason student motto so often before me, and I’m struck by how even on days where our children get nowhere close to the end of that motto, the “I am” part of it never changes. It’s always there. And I’m convinced the only way they will ever truly make it to the whole “I will” part — at least in the way they ought — is by knowing who they are, whose they are, who they were created to be, and what they were created to do.

Even at her worst, my dear tired little girl, just couldn’t keep herself from making and creating.

Yes, we must do math. Yes, we must figure out how to teach her dyslexic little mind to decipher all the words she so loves to hear and speak. Yes, we must (all) learn to actually do what we ought because it’s how we do right by others and ourselves. …BUT every so often, if we have to spend an entire Monday just camping out on that tiny little, but eternally significant “I am,” and go to bed praying that grace will get us closer to the “I will” tomorrow, well gosh darn it, that’s just what we’re gonna do😂

#iwillbecauseiam

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Dear Daughters

[Originally posted HERE at Servants of Grace]

To my dear daughters (whether knit within my womb, or the wombs of others), as well as anyone who has ever loved one:

These days have been laden with a palpable heaviness. I see things, I hear things, I read things and they press on my soul because they’re painting a picture for you and of you that is not from God, or in his image. It differs from what he created and tenderly looked on, beholding its goodness. It does not reflect him or his purposes for you, and it was not what you were intricately woven for. It’s a weight I struggle to ignore and can’t help but wonder how you will come to carry it. I mourn the deep scars it has left on daughters before you, and I yearn for you to have the strength and wisdom to navigate its seemingly inevitable forces.

I see violence against daughters. Their bodies, as currency to steal and spend for power and pleasure. Anonymity used to take what was wanted in the darkness that could never be had in the light. Strength used not to protect but to hurt, and wit used as a weapon for evil rather than good.

I see manipulation of daughters. Sex, as something entitled and owed. Fame or charisma used to coerce or defraud. Popularity as invincibility. Trust used to trespass, and means used to procure more and more and then take what can’t be bought.

I see objectification of daughters. Flirtation and advancement as means of feeding desires wanting to be fed. Respectability used to pardon indiscretion. Past victories used to dismiss present downfalls. Habits allowed to furrow, becoming blinders to seeming hypocrisy. Depersonalization, as a way to view daughters apart from their eternal souls.

Distortions and Definitions

These are not new distortions. They’ve been around in various forms since time was young, but you must learn to fight the forms they take in your time. These are not the only distortions. They are few of many — some you will face, some others will face — but all should be battled against because they distort the truth. I want to help you fight those coming at you, so you’ll be better able to fight those coming at others.

In the age-old narrative of a Father bringing his children to himself and a bridegroom desiring to be united with his bride, daughters have played mighty and graceful roles. Many will over-simplify and condense your character, stripping it of its uniqueness, because it makes the story easier or more comfortable to tell. Many will deny your consistencies and symmetries because it makes the story mesh better with their own tales or perhaps be about something other than what it is.

Be careful of that. Be wary of definitions of yourself that come from someone who didn’t make you.

The Anchor of Who We Are and the Beauty of Who We Can Be

Daughter, as you grow and walk through these weighty times, I want you to do two things:

  1. Rest in the unchanging ways you reflect God as his child and his daughter. The more you understand who you are and aren’t in relation to him, the harder it will be for the world to label you and convince you you’re something you’re not. You have something they can never take.
  2. Learn and understand the varied ways you reflect God as his utterly unique creation to display his glory in ways no one else can. Discover what he made you for and act on it. The more you grasp how God wants to use you, the harder it will be for the world to use you. You are something that has a value and a worth that can never be stripped.

Understanding what steadfastly remains the same and what grows and varies, will help you not lose your bearings or lose your vision.

The Solid Rock and the Living Water

Remember the more you know and seek your Creator, the more you will see him in his creation (including you!), and the more comfortable you will become in understanding yourself as his daughter.

Look at the clear and comforting rhythm of the seasons and cycles that you learned to anticipate before you could articulate. That expectancy of a cool dip to soothe the heat of summer, the recognition that the smell and crispness in the air indicates approaching snow. The birth brought forth in Spring, the death that approaches in Autumn. The life cycles of the plants you pluck and the insects you catch. The life cycles involved in the pregnancy and birth that brought you into this world. Yet every morning is new, every season is different, and every tiny little fingerprint is distinct.

And since the God of these is writing your story, you know his chapters and characters will be soothingly consistent and familiar, yet exceptionally fresh and varied.

Find security in the unchanging ways you reflect our unchanging God. The order and symmetry in how you my daughters, distinctly reflect certain aspects of God’s character that my sons do not. How both of you exhibit other aspects of God’s character together that we see consistently across his vast creation.

Find purpose in the extraordinary ways you reflect our God of unending beauty and creativity. The artistry and originality in how you reflect your Creator, uniquely from all my other children and from all of his, because of gifts and traits singularly woven together in you alone.

Our Legacy

Look at his past chapters. God’s cast of righteous female characters is both narrow in the seeming source and object of their faith, yet broad in the ways and means and personalities his image-bearers display his glory. We see daughters who were wise judges and mighty leaders, we see daughters who were meek and who clung to the feet of Jesus. We read of daughters who build homes with wisdom and perseverance, and daughters who destroy strongholds of sin and injustice. We hear of daughters whose hands compassionately feed the poor, hands that skillfully deliver endangered babies, and hands that drive tent pegs of justice. We see daughters who save lives, who risk their lives, who give their lives. We see God accomplish his purposes through his daughters whether a queen or prostitute, fertile or barren, married or single, young or old, strong or weak.

Daughters, you were formed in this place and moment for a reason. You are part of the symphony that takes the same notes that have been played for ages, and arranges them in ever-new, ever-relevant, ever-praiseworthy ways. You were chosen by the composer himself to be woven into his masterpiece, in moments and means that would not be as glorious or excellent without you.

My daughters, I pray for you, a mind that is fiercely wise. A heart that is tirelessly compassionate. A soul that is selflessly brave. Words that are true and deeply kind. Arms that are strong to build and defend and care. And eyes that continually seek your Lord as the source and object of your strength.

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Hands Worth Holding

Hey, baby girl. If you’re gonna find a guy later, find one like him. One who loves you every ounce as much when things are falling apart as he does when things are wonderful.

Like when you’re having a meltdown on the boardwalk because too much sun and too little sleep leaves you at less than your best. And things like walking and eating ice cream simultaneously feel like a really big deal, yet stopping to eat it feels bigger.

But guys like him just hold your hand and wipe your tears and patiently spoon feed you while you take deep breaths and walk at that perfect pace that’s not so fast that you feel out of control, but not so slow that you feel left behind.

And it gives you the chance to remember who you are and who made you.

Those are the kind of hands worth holding and shoulders worth leaning on. Trust me on that one…


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On Learning Our Children

We take it year-by-year, but these last few years we’ve schooled our kids at home. It’s not some big principled, reject-the-system, religious-exemption sort of thing, we just decide with each child, each Fall, in each place, where we think we should put them based on their needs and our abilities.

Partially due to two years of moving, even when abilities and bandwidth were low my third kid is one who has never had report cards or textbooks or bus stops. But she’s played and experienced and learned naturally. It’s what I kinda had wanted for all of my kids. Because I truly believe that it’s hard to make a child love to learn once you’ve killed their awe and wonder, and it’s difficult to nurture that when you remove playing and exploring and discovering too soon. And boy, does this girl love to learn. In a way that I’m not entirely sure she would have discovered if she’d been sitting in a desk instead of out in the world.

But there have been moments of fear. I recently went to bed a few weeks ago in tears and panic and exasperation because this spirited, recently-turned-7-year-old is not independently reading. I mean, I was reading The Chronicles of Narnia and Nancy Drew when I was seven, and this girl could care less about barely being able to read a cereal box. She has big brothers to read her words, parents to read her stories, and she simply has never felt the need. While I thought I was maybe okay with this, the system we still have to peripherally navigate, isn’t really. A (self-imposed) 30-minute evaluation resulted in words like “delayed,” and “potential learning disabilities,” and “totally not ready for second grade,” kinda shook me and made me second guess all sorts of things.

Just know, I LOVE teachers. I so appreciate schools. They’ve provided structure at times for my children who needed it. They’ve provided support at times for my children who struggled with things I didn’t feel equipped to navigate. Systems are needed when you have to educate millions of children in a nationally standardized way. I could never do what they do, day in and day out.

Systems can be hard though. I think they catch some big and important things and I think they overlook some big and important things. I’ve had a child who struggled with the system because he learned, and processed, and read much slower than others. I’ve had a child who struggled with the system because he learned, and processed, and read much faster than others. But for the most part I’ve agreed, and understood, and felt as if they were hurdles that were beneficial to learn how to navigate as a part of life. Hard work, patience, respecting authority, self-control, waiting for others…

The Things That Fear Hides

It hit me differently with this girl, this time around though. It was unexpected in that they were words and descriptors that were so utterly different from the ones I’ve gathered while observing her vivacious, bright, quick-witted mind for the last 7 years.

This child I birthed and know so deeply in ways others don’t have the privilege to. I hear her stories, I watch her play, I experience her thoughts and ideas. She’s quite possibly the most confident (yet realistic) child I’ve ever met, and for the first time ever I caught a little glimpse of her confidence faltering. And it killed me.

I’m not one for false confidence. It’s shaky ground that will not age well, but it’s so important to me that they understand the gifts that God truly formed them with. That they see them, develop them, use them, and understand that much will be required of them in those areas in exchange.

I want her and others to see those precious gifts in ways that a thirty-minute evaluation or a standardized test will not show.

I went to bed so conflicted and worried, and woke up like God was gently shaking me and reminding me of who she really was. Who he made her to be. Who I’ve always known her to be, yet was forgetting in my worries.

Who IS My Child?

She’s like my very own Anne of Green Gables. Some of my kids are smart, some are funny, but she’s that brilliantly witty combination of both. She quotes Shakespeare (“All’s fair in love and war,” she’ll say to her big brother complaining of unfairness). Her vocabulary and ability to communicate deep things takes my breath away. Not just remembering words, but hearing them, understanding them, and using them ages later in perfect context.

She loves every place we’ve ever lived or visited. She adores the beauty of the mountains, the excitement of the city, the peacefulness of the country, the newness and sociableness of hotels, the coziness of a 350 square foot travel trailer….

She loves interacting with people, yet she can play by herself for hours upon hours. She’s never been bored. She taught herself how to ride a bike in about 17 seconds.

She’s fascinated by how things work, how things are made, how things came to be. Her theological questions and connections blow me away. She loves documentaries, she loves creating things and describing things, she loves stories.

Her imagination is intense, her excitement is intense, her anger is intense, her frustration is intense, her love is intense. I’m not sure she’s ever felt anything partially or halfway in her life. She says what she means and she means what she says.

She will talk to anyone. Not like a child meaninglessly chattering away to any person who will pretend to listen… but wherever I take her, she almost always manages to locate and plant herself next to some other soul, whether 3-years-old or 93-years-old, to effortlessly connect with them and draw them out. Eventually I’ll find her, passionately, yet matter-of-factedly discussing family relationships, hopes and dreams, personality characteristics of grandchildren, favorite places traveled, shared frustrations of life, or how they like their job, or being married, or getting old, or starting kindergarten…

Give her 5 minutes on a playground, and she’ll have a “pack of boys” (in her words) following her around, fighting her battles, and playing her games. Not because she needs to dominate or control, but because she’s insanely confident and her excitement is contagious.

She sees people and gets people and figures out how to love them practically. When I have a migraine she holds my hand and brings me ice packs. She lectured my husband before leaving on a recent trip with the grandparents, that he better take good care of me and make my coffee just like she does, until her return.

She is a gift and she has a gift.

Learning My Child

I say all this, not because it’s important to me that people understand home-schooling, or question public-schooling, or tell me comforting things like I’ve done the very best I could with her (I haven’t). And honestly, her summer reading tutor is absolutely wonderful and knowledgeable and much-appreciated, and knowing my daughter, she’ll probably be reading The Iliad and War and Peace by next week. But my point is, that even if she isn’t, that’s really okay too.

Ever since she was born, my verse for her has always been Luke 1:45. “Blessed is she who has believed that what the Lord had said to her will be accomplished.” Because it will. Not because she will accomplish it herself, or I will, or anyone else will, but because HE will.

If their God-given strengths aren’t diminished by their God-given weaknesses, then they certainly aren’t going to be by their world-given “weaknesses.” Even if we’re going about this all wrong it’s not going to change who they are and who they were created to be. No parent, or school, or system, or curriculum could ever take away what was given to them by the hand of God. We need to look at our children and learn them. See their struggles and help them, watch for their gifts and value them, not because they are our child, but because they are a person made in the image of God.

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A 4-year-old’s List for Her Future Husband

4-year-old and I hanging out in the kitchen:

Nora: “So Mommy, what should we talk about? I know, let’s talk about husbands!”

Me: “Sure, what about them?”

N: “I wanna talk about how I’m going to get one. You know, in some more years.”

Me: “What do you think he’ll be like?”

N: “WELL. He’s going to be kind, funny…grateful. Tall like Daddy but more hairs. Not sprinkles like Daddy’s hairs. He’ll build things, like houses. And sometimes he’ll give me rings when I DON’T even ASK for them! And I’m going to get HIM presents on Amazon. As long as he doesn’t look at them first. He’ll hug me ALL the time and he’ll be strong, and caring, and…delicate. [Pause]…Hm, is delicate the right word?”

Me: “Delicate means kind of, fragile.”

N: “No. That’s not right. My husband will be sturdy. …Are you writing all of these down?”

Me: “Um, no. Would you like me to?”

N: “Yes. Write them on a list, please. Then when I find the man who will be my husband, I’ll send him over to your house and you can give him my list.”

I can’t handle this.

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My June in December

Happy birthday June bug. I’ve been keeping you alive, and growing you, and getting to know you for a whole YEAR.

You have so many fans. Loud and dirty ones, but lots of fun. And they may fight like crazy with each other, but they are convinced that YOU are the most adorable tiny thing to ever grace this earth and everything you do is either amazing or hilARious. There are benefits to being the youngest.

I’m sorry you’ll never know what peace, and quiet, and personal space are. I’m sorry we didn’t do anything for your birthday, because we knew you’d have no idea. I’m sorry you were born smack in the middle of the craziness that’s Thanksgiving and Christmas. I’m sorry I named you June when you were born in December.

It’s just that June is my favorite. It’s that exciting time when you feel like you’ve been doing hard things for way too long and you’re so ready for the next season. After all that cold, and school, and rain, and dreariness, it’s that indescribable feeling you get as you walk out into your first day of summer break and you have the entire summer in front of you. I’m still like a crazy, hyperactive little kid on this day. And you’re a tiny bit sad because you know you’ll miss some things and nothing will be quite the same again. It’s not that you hated the winter, it’s just that summer, or more the anticipation of summer, is just so GLORIOUS.

And that is you. Our last little babe. The one God surprised us with because he knew I wasn’t quite ready to graduate yet. Apparently, I still had more to learn. And it was kinda like being in summer school there for a bit, but now you’re ONE and we’re both pumped to move on to the bigger and different things ahead of us. And I’m a tiny bit sad, but a whole lot excited and so very thankful for my sweet little June and the gift you are in the middle of this crazy season…

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Introvert Raising an Extrovert

Starting my day with the 4-year-old:

N: [Morning wakeup call, 3 inches from my face]….
SURPRISE!! Good MORNING, Mommy! Were you so surprised? Huh, were you?

Me: Ugh.

N: Yes? Did you say yes? What did you say? I can’t hear you. You said “yes,” right?

Me: Yes.

N: Great. Scooch over, I need covers, I’m cold.

Me: Because you’re only wearing underpants.

N: Clothes make me itch. Lift up your head, I need that pillow. It’s my favorite. Did you have a lovely sleep? I did. Let me tell you all of my dreams.
Can I wake baby June up? I want to squeeze her and talk to her.

Me: No. She’s sleeping.

N: I think she wants to get up though. She loves me. I think I hear her… I did! She said “Kevin”! You just missed it. She definitely said it though. Call Daddy. Tell him to come home. June really wants to talk to him.

Me: She can’t say “Kevin.”

N: I think she said it in Spanish. Or maybe it was Pork-a-jeez. Mommy. MOMMY. Wake up your eyes. I can’t see them.

Me: Child. Stop touching my face. Please.

N: I’m snuggling your face. I love it so much. Mommy, turn back around. I don’t want to snuggle your back. It is NOT beautiful. Turn over. Please. Can you? Can you turn over? Can you turn over now? Right now?

Me: Okay. But don’t snuggle my face so hard.

N: I won’t. I’ll just kiss it. You love when I do that. …Mommy. I don’t like your air.

Me: Well. Your air isn’t the greatest either. Maybe we shouldn’t smooch until we’ve both brushed our teeth.

N: I’ll just snuggle your legs. They smell lovely. Why are they so sprinkly? They itch me when I rub them up like this. But not when rub them down like this. Mine don’t do that. Are Daddy’s legs sprinkly or just his face? Did you call him yet? Call him. I want to snuggle him and tell him June said “Kevin” in Spanish. Mommy. WAKE UP YOUR EYES.

….This was just the first 10 minutes.

It took me having children to realize that I did not even KNOW MYSELF. For example, I did not fully understand the depths of my own personality, until I had a kid whose love language is so much touching and so much talking. Then I realized mine must be the opposite of all those things.

It’s funny (also not funny) how God clearly gave me each of my kids to stretch me in very different and specific ways. It’s so not subtle.

Like just in case I started thinking I could somehow find peace and quietness of my soul apart from him, he gifts me with offspring that ensures that could never happen. Ever. Yet as much as these tiny people (who seem to be genetically comprised of the hardest parts of each of us), drive me to my knees praying for quiet moments to make thoughts inside of my head and a personal force field that restricts being groped for five minutes…..I am utterly in awe of them.

They struggle with things just like I do, but they also have all of these strengths I just don’t have. I’m in love with that fact that while Nora overstimulates me liked nobody’s business, she can be so tender and sense when I truly do need a hug. She has no problem speaking her mind. She could not be more confident. People energize her. It is virtually impossible for someone to make her do something she doesn’t want to do. She is a leader.

Dear Lord, please help me pray far less for peace and quiet, and far more for this dear child’s future husband…

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Mudder’s Day Pie

N: “Hey Mommy! The radio said it was Mudder’s Day this weekend, and I’ve been thinkin’ about what I want. A pie! I’ve been really wanting a pie.”

Me: “But it’s Mother’s Day. Shouldn’t you make me a pie?”

N: “Uggggggh. Little girls DO NOT even know how to make pies! Moms have to make pies. And all I ever EVER wanted was a strawberry pie for Mudder’s Day. WHY IS MY LIFE SOO HARD??”

…I’m so glad I birthed this one.

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Four and Fierce

Happy Birthday my Nora!

You are FOUR. Live it up, kid, because four is my very favorite of all of ’em.

You’re big, but not too big. Everything you say is still funny, and yet you’re old enough to empty the dishwasher. Out of diapers, but you don’t have to go to school. So independent, but you still rock a nap. I can snuggle you on the couch and then send you to go play outside. I think you’re going to be so good at four.

You were our very first baby woman. And I said this all last year, and I’ll say it again… You came into our lives, and we’ll never be the same. As soon as we found out you were a girl, we thought we finally pulled off making a quiet, docile one. We were stupid. But I guess God knew after years of living with my three boys, I wouldn’t have a clue what to do with one of those. You’re going to do big things kid. It doesn’t seem like you’ve figured out how to do anything else.

And as terrifying as that is in such a tiny little package who seems to think she’s 13, PRAISE THE LORD he gave you two big brothers and a strong and capable Daddy, because I’m not entirely confident I’d be able to keep you alive (or those around you alive) by myself. Love you, Bean.

Luke 1:45 “Blessed is she who has believed that what the Lord had said to her will be accomplished.” And it will. Not because you will accomplish it yourself, my sweet thing, but because HE will. And I pray that He will be the source and the object of that strength in your life.
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