The Grass is Greenest

Last week we celebrated my youngest daughter’s birthday, and later this week it’s my oldest’s turn. After that, we enter the final stretch of our homeschool year. I’ll be glad for the break when it’s over, of course, but summer is always a blur around here.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about motherhood and how I invest my energy. Homeschooling my kids, for example, comes with a cost I don’t always stop to consider. Add in weekly charter classes for electives like music and PE, and I’m suddenly bound by attendance, weekly check-ins, and the academic calendar of a traditional school, which doesn’t always align with how I like to operate. But I choose this hybrid approach so my girls have the opportunity to learn and play with other kids.

For a while, I was concerned all of this would be too much for me. That my need for alone time would make me bad at this. And it is difficult at times, especially when I’m dealing with health issues that chip at my energy, but homeschooling has been fulfilling in a way I couldn’t have expected.

I often find myself in a flow state during our sessions. Suddenly I’ll look up and realize we’re all in the zone. My youngest is reading words she couldn’t read last week, and my oldest is handing me a surprise unassigned research paper on her latest deep dive. It’s in moments like these that I can see the results of our hard work and am satisfied.

When I think of what I wanted motherhood to be, I think of lounging around together with our noses in books by the wood stove, long foraging walks where we identify all the plants, and answering questions a little more honestly than mine were answered as a kid. I think of learning handcrafts together, brainstorming ideas for how we can run the farm, and supporting their big ideas without fear.

But it’s hard to know how the sticky in-between moments will pan out, and how much work it takes to get there. You never know just who your children will be, or whether you will even get along.

Hell, if you’re me, you had zero experience with children before having your own, and no idea if you were cut out for any of it.

I didn’t know what to expect, but I chose motherhood anyway. It felt like a calling even though I was afraid of failing. Imagine my surprise at waking up one day, realizing I don’t just love my kids but they’re actually my favorite people. And most of the time, they like me alright too.

Whew.

This phase of life is short-lived. My girls will soon grow up and need me less, and I’m going to miss these days like hell when that happens. I already ache just thinking about it.

It’ll be then, as they begin to pull away and come into their own, that I’ll return to that alone time I supposedly miss so much. By then, I’ll be in need of the comfort of my own pursuits to keep from driving them crazy trying to hold on to their childhood so tightly.

As for now, the grass is greenest where I’m standing.