March with big kids

A year ago I was impatiently awaiting my first covid shot and contemplating what an end to pandemic might be like.  

Two years ago I was grappling with the sudden onset of pandemic.

And eight years ago I was getting Ada patched back together in the hospital after she concussed herself in a bloody bicycle accident.

Happy Ides of March.

These days I’m marveling at how old my kids are (and how tiny they used to be) and realizing I may be on the cusp of a shift toward more time to myself.  Not that I don’t already have massively more time to myself since my kids are no longer toddlers bent on suicide and destruction (blinking is a much bigger part of my life now), but I do have a full schedule of teaching 8th, 5th, and 4th grades that wears out my brain quite enough.

This month I’m aiming to register three of four kids in online classes—one of those kids in community college classes.  So my career as self-taught guidance counselor now includes figuring out how to get a kid into community college; besides figuring out how to map out a reasonable four-year high school plan, keep a transcript, take the PSAT, SAT, and AP exams, and learn admissions criteria for various universities.

No problem. 

Next year I’ll have two high schoolers, Lord willing, and two middle schoolers who will do the bulk of their schoolwork on their own.  Which means, according to my calculations (and I’ve been calculating this for years), if I can get through the last eleven weeks of this school year, my time spent teaching my kids’ school should start a downward trend.  I’ve figured that last school year and this are the peak of my teaching in terms of time spent.

Which is great, because Ada’s logic is really hard—and even Caleb’s math takes some figuring now instead of a glance to see if it’s right or not.

We had a doggy visitor who checked out the bunny cage and I really think Buck’s face says it all.

There have been days when I’ve wondered what I’ll do once I retire from homeschooling—I’ll only be 50, Lord willing, which probably means Jason and I will still be too young to respectably cruise around the world in Panama hats full time.

Visiting a precious new friend.  I taught this tiny one’s mom when she was in 5th grade Sunday school, and years later I brought my babies to visit her when she was sick…and this year that same mom taught Caleb in 4th grade Sunday school, and now my kid is holding her baby.  God is faithful through generations.

But then, in a fit of inspiration [or possible madness], I volunteered to write this summer’s elementary Sunday school curriculum from scratch.

And voilà!  I have enough to do to keep me occupied this spring—and maybe every spring until I’m old enough for that Panama hat.