Tired/Sunshine

I'm really, really tired. I think that all of the emotion of last week, combined with some crazy busy-ness this weekend, has worked together to throw me completely for a loop. I struggle with lagging energy in general, but can usually keep my head above water. I've done so well this winter. I hate to start slipping now, when spring is only two and half months away. (I live in WA, where "spring" is a relative term that is used to describe not only the state of growth in plants, but also the stop of the rainy season.)

We managed to crash out a bit of school today, but my heart was not 100% in it. The sun is shining and the kids are restless. I have a feeling that the very best things they are going to learn today involve sticks and dirt, not books and pencils.

Let me sum up

There is no eloquence left in me at the moment.

The meeting went well. The little boy is adorable. We'd take him in a heartbeat. Chances are good that we won't get the chance, though. His foster mom (a relative) adores him, and is hoping to find a way to adopt him herself.

He is well loved.

Our hearts are broken, and our hopes had been so high. We want what’s best for this little guy, though. That’s the most important part of this whole process; that he be well loved and cared for. And if he doesn’t need us, someone else does. God will lead the way.

World War Won't

We are studying World War I right now. I have checked the SL schedule, and I think we're here for, I don't know, a zillion weeks. At least, that's how it feels to me. Jo is none too thrilled, either. Our first day of reading our first history book on the topic found us squinting at a grainy, black and white photo that looked something like this:


"What's that... spraying?" Jo asked, poking her nose a little closer to the page.

"Liquid fire," Atticus answered. "The Germans used butane--"

Logan horned his way over the page in awe. "THAT'S a flamethrower?"

Dreamily, Atticus replied, "Oh, yeah."

Conjuring one of her trademarked, pre-teen-girl-in-disgust looks, Jo ventured, "And what are they flaming?"

"People. You just can't see them because of the smoke," was the answer Atticus offered.

And that was the end of WWI as far as Jo was concerned. There are some things that are incorrigible, but tolerable in her book. Burning people in trenches is most certainly not one of them. She'd much rather stick a daisy in the rifle butt of a "Hun" than singe his sauerkraut. And she's had absolutely no problem letting the rest of us know about it every afternoon as we crack the cover of the book.

Now, up until the liquid fire revelation, this period of history was still all heroism and romance as far as Jo was concerned. The idea of dashing young men flying bi-planes in the vicinity of the Eiffel Tower had somehow set itself up in her mind. With scenes of Uncle Sam and propaganda leaflets dancing in her head, she had seemingly forgotten the limbless, haggard soldiers limping home after the Civil War. Or maybe she just didn't put two and two together; the truth is, world-wide wars rate much better spin doctors than civil wars any day. World wars, after all, get posters (and airbrushed saints called up to active duty):



I guess I could be pondering what, exactly, about the idea of burning an enemy alive in a muddy pit seems so appealing to my otherwise civilized little men. But instead, I find myself fixated on the fact that Jo--smart, thoughtful, follows themes to their logical conclusion Jo-- had somehow bought into the idea of US and THEM based mostly on a book about the Red Cross, a few Memorial Day parades and a handful of photos of aforementioned dashing young men piloting charming, antiquated bi-planes. It's amazing, really, the power that propaganda has even now, closing in on a hundred years after the fact.

We'll continue to trudge through the war, focusing mostly (to the chagrin of the boys) on the economic and societal ramifications of such a global conflict. I have a variety of wonderful resources at my disposal that will help to satisfy some of the testosterone-fueled hunger for a body count (including a very truthful, yet non-gory book from Usborne that I highly recommend). I expect that the weeks spent will feel like years to some of us and days to others. But in the end, we'll all come out wiser for the experience. Maybe, just maybe, Atticus and Logan will learn that designing elaborate devices to engulf one's enemy in fire is nowhere near as useful to society as building a good, strong bridge. And maybe Jo will learn an equally valuable lesson: be leery of men in flight goggles and crisp white scarves. They may very well be holding an incendiary device behind their back.

Support

A little over two years ago, fed up with having the same conversation with a myriad people over the course of a week, I staged a small "homeschool open house" in my living room. The idea was simply that interested parties could paw through my resources, comb my bookshelves and copy down catalog names all at one time, therefore sparing me from answering the following questions every time I opened my front door:

• Do you homeschool all of your kids? (Yes--but I only have three of them. I know folks who homeschool a houseful, and those who homeschool their onlies.)
• What curriculum do you use? (Sonlight)
• What do you use for Language Arts? (Depends on the age and the child.)
• What do you use for math? (Mostly Math-U-See, but see answer above.)
• How do you do science experiments at home? (Very carefully.)
• What activities do your kids participate in? (Depends on the child and the season.)
• How do you teach a child to read? (The same way you teach them to walk--by example, then through experience.)
• What’s your favorite resource for (fill in the blank)? (Depends on what said blank is filled with.)
• Where do you buy (fill in the blank)? (See answer above.)
• How do you like (fill in the blank)? (Ditto.)
• What do you do when you don’t know how to teach something? (I learn.)

These conversations seemed to naturally develop every time I opened my mouth in public. While I ran into my share of horrified onlookers, I found that the vast majority of people asking about homeschooling were genuinely curious. A small portion was even interested enough to ask if we could get together and talk about the topic. It was those people that I invited to my open house.

Our first gathering was, if memory serves, five women crouching around my coffee table scoping out catalogs and firing off questions that I could sometimes answer, and sometimes not. After that initial meeting, I hosted two or three more such super-informal nights of homeschooling info. After each one, it seemed a new convert to the adventure was won. I was elated.

Over time, it became obvious that these people I had begun the work of mentoring in needed a bit more regular support. Again, it was easier to just keep inviting them all together rather than have coffee with each one of them on a monthly basis. I like coffee as well as the next girl, but I don’t think Mr. MG would be thrilled to be donating so much $$ to the cause of Starbuck’s global takeover process. We began meeting bi-montly, rotating locations between the homes of attendees and bringing snacks. It was a humble beginning, but a beginning nonetheless.

The group has grown by leaps and bounds. What started as “my” little support network has expanded to include other experienced homeschoolers, plenty of newbies, and families totalling approximately 37 children. We meet monthly, and are in the process of putting together our first official schedule of speakers and topics. Several members have asked repeatedly for a group-sanctioned co-op morning. Meaningful connections are being made between like-minded women.

We are still at the point where a meeting might well mean three women gathering over brownies and coffee (that was November) or eight moms sitting on my family room floor (that was December), but all the same, I am blessed to see this thing moving well beyond me and becoming a lifeline for those who need support.

To those of you who eschew the group setting in seeking encouragement for your homeschooling journey, let me say that I am not typically someone who seeks out companions to travel with. If the Lord had told me to go and join a support group for homeschoolers, I would have kicked and screamed and put Jonah to shame with my bullheadedness. Knowing this streak in me, He instead led me to a place where a group formed around me and robbed me of any excuse to run. I am so grateful He did.

I have been humbled and honored to read some of the responses I am receiving from a survey I sent out asking questions designed to shape our group into something that best meets the needs of its members. Several people have commented on how we have been instrumental in keeping them afloat during rocky periods in their homeschool, or how a resource mentioned at a meeting was perfect for them, or how they look forward to the encouragement they receive on that night more than anything else in their week. God’s hand seems so present to me when I read these responses; this isn’t the work of one woman alone, or even of a group of well-meaning women. It’s the long, cool drink of water that comes from the Lord--refreshing us through fellowship with the friends He has set on our path.

What if

The weekend was exactly what you would expect it to be--normal, everyday life punctuated by moments of realization that somewhere in the state, a little boy is sleeping, or eating, or playing ... and he will someday call us his family.

We will meet him (and his foster mom) on Thursday. Our social worker will be along for the ride, just to make sure that everything is kosher. I spoke to the foster mother (who is related biologically to the boy) on the phone twice last Friday and I think I have a better picture of who she is and why she is not moving to adopt Baby Boy on her own. She had wonderful things to say about him, and will clearly miss him. She liked the conversation with me enough to call her social worker and give the go ahead on Friday, and that about makes her my new best friend.

Our first meeting is planned for a public gathering spot. I wonder, will the people around us sense the gravity of the moment taking place right next to them? What will they think if I am crying as hard as I think I will? Will I even remember anything about this day, or will it instead be seared into my mind as clearly as the moment I first saw each of my other children?

Going about the business of normalcy is somewhat surreal. I have the same lingering sense of expectation hanging over me that I felt during the last days of my pregnancy with Jo, who was a scheduled induction. I had a date upon which I would have a baby in my arms--a date after which things would change forever. To plan ahead to the days or weeks afterward was just not possible because, after that date, nothing was the known quantity.

That is exactly how I feel right now. A friend just emailed to arrange a playdate between our children. On Wednesday of last week--the last time I spoke with her--I'd said this Friday looked open. Today I had to email her and say, "Well, it might be. But it might not be. I don't know. And frankly, if we don't do it this week, I have no idea when we will do it. How's Wednesday looking for you?"

I am making a grocery list this afternoon. Do I plan for some freeze-ahead meals, just in case?

Jo has 4-H clinic on Saturday. Could I possibly be taking a toddler along with me?


I am cautiously eying toddler gear and putting plans into motion. A small element of my heart is honestly afraid to fling myself completely into a child I have not yet met. What if the social worker changes her mind? What if the foster mother changes her mind? What if a judge somewhere hates us? What if--?

What if.

This whole process is laced with what ifs. Those possibilities were painstakingly laid out for us by our agency during the hours and hours of training and classes we endured just to get to the point of beginning our homestudy. We are aware of the risks, and we decided 574 days ago that those risks were worth taking. The truth is that no adoption--domestic or international, I hate to tell you--is without risks. We know that firsthand. We also know that no pregnancy is without risks. What is it--something like 50% of pregnancies supposedly end in miscarriage? Talk about risk!

I am counting down the hours, but trying to preserve status quo for Jo, Atticus and Logan. We let them in on the news and were delighted by their excitement. Jo is anxious about the whole thing I suspect; at 10, she is all to aware of the what ifs that surround the prospect of adding to your family. Atticus is seemingly oblivious, popping in on occasion with a question or comment, but otherwise nonchalant. Logan has been typically Logan. The meeting isn't until Thursday. I told him I would come back with reports and photos, and that's good enough for him. He'll just wait until Thursday to make any judgments either way. Until then, all three of them are in need of a mommy who is present in the moment and not daydreaming about the future, nor dwelling on the what ifs.

Perspective

Tears of praise

Social worker just called and said:
...we were chosen.

Thanks and praise to the Lord!!!