Some days it’s hard to homeschool. Some days it’s hard to be the mom who cooks, cleans, teaches, trains, chauffeurs, and does the hundreds of other things we do every day for everybody. But lately I’m trying to remind myself that it’s truly an honor and a privilege to homeschool my children. It’s a blessing to have them in my home every day. To have them close by so I can learn along with them. To spend time with them having conversations and building relationships. To love them.
My “children” are now 23, 21, and 15 years old. My oldest is severely autistic and will always live with her dad and me. But my middle child is working full time and will probably soon have a place of his own. And my youngest is still homeschooling, but just for a few more years. Very soon my time with them will be different. I’ll be visiting with them at their houses or they’ll be coming to see me at mine. I won’t have them to talk to and see on a daily basis. I will have to get used to a new normal. I will miss them. But that makes me even more grateful for the years we’ve had together.
I was having a conversation with a friend who has young children, and she was saying how sad she is that her kids aren’t babies now and don’t want to let her hold them and snuggle with them anymore. They don’t want her to lie down with them at night until they go to sleep. They don’t want to hug her as much (or as long). They’re becoming their own little people independent of her.
I remember when my children were very young. I remember when they started to become their own little people too. I remember when they stopped relying on me for everything. When they got old enough to want to go places and do things without me. When they truly started to grow up.
It was hard at first. It’s still hard sometimes. But it makes me even more thankful that I’ve spent their school years teaching them myself. It makes me happy that my husband and I made the necessary sacrifices so that I could be home with them. It makes me grateful every time they come to me to have a conversation that they want to talk to me. That they want my opinions about their friends or jobs or college or other things that are going on in their lives.
Yes, I do sometimes think about the days when they were little. And sometimes it does make me sad that my older two are grown up and my youngest is almost grown. But then my 15-year-old snuggles up next to me on the couch, holds my hand, and says, “Mom, you’re pretty cool. I love you,” and I don’t mind so much any more. ♥