After the boys were in bed last Thursday, I left the lamp on in the reading nook, sat down at my workstation in the corner and thought, quite calmly, that I was not doing this well enough. Nothing had gone wrong. That was the strange part. The verse was on the chalkboard, the week's work was clipped to the wall, and I still felt sure I was failing them.
If you are there tonight, I want to sit beside you for a few minutes. I am not an expert, and I will not tell you that you are doing great and should stop worrying. I will tell you what I do with the feeling.
The feeling is loud, and it is not a report
The thought that I am failing arrives in a confident voice, so I used to treat it like a fact. It shows up most when I am tired, when my five-year-old stumbled over a letter he knew last week, or when my three-year-old wandered off from a lesson I had planned with love. It usually has very little to do with what actually happened that day.
What helped me was learning to ask for evidence. A tired mind is a poor witness. It remembers the sharp tone at ten o'clock and forgets the boy who chose a picture book and read it to his brother, in his own made-up words, in the soft chair.
Three lines before bed
I keep a small notebook in my workstation drawer. Every night, even the ordinary ones, I write exactly three lines. No more, because a long entry turns into a trial.
- One thing I saw. A specific moment, like "He counted the baskets in the cubbies without being asked."
- One thing I would change. Small and doable, like "Start the day in the nook, not at my desk."
- One thing I hand to God. The worry I cannot fix tonight, written down and left on the page.
The first line is the one that matters. It trains your eyes. After a couple of weeks of writing what I saw, I noticed I was watching for good things during the day, because I knew I would be asked for one at night. The second line keeps me honest without making me miserable. The third is where the prayer happens, and I find I sleep better for it.
What I say when I have been short with them
Sometimes the failing feeling is not about curriculum at all. It is about my voice. I was impatient, and my five-year-old noticed. I have learned that the repair matters more than the perfection, and that boys this age forgive faster than I do.
Here is the script, nearly word for word. I crouch down to their height and say, "I spoke to you in a sharp way. That was not kind, and I am sorry. Will you forgive me?" Then I wait. My five-year-old usually says, "Yes, Mama," and goes back to what he was doing. My three-year-old just hugs my knees.
I am not weakened by this in front of them. They are learning what to do with a mistake by watching me make one and set it right.
A small morning that fixes the right thing
When I feel behind, my instinct is to add something: another worksheet, another plan, a stricter schedule. Almost always the better move is to subtract. Tomorrow, try this five-minute start.
- Write the verse and the date on the chalkboard, slowly, while the boys watch.
- Sit in the reading nook and let each boy choose one picture book from the basket. Read both.
- Ask each of them one question about the story. "What was your favorite part?" is plenty.
- Then do one thing from your week's work, only one, and call the morning a good one.
If you would rather have something ready on a thin day, the Fall Colors leaves worksheet is a gentle page to color together, and the cotton ball ghost craft keeps small hands busy while you sit beside them. They are simple on purpose. You can browse the rest in the worksheet shop, and they are $4.00 each, or $2.00 for members.
If you are teaching at your kitchen table, and most of us began there, you can do all of this without a nook. Clear one end the night before, set the picture books on it and light a candle if you like. For two years that was our whole classroom, and it was enough. If you are curious about the room we have now, I wrote about designing your homeschool classroom, but please do not read it as a standard to meet.
You do not carry this alone
Notice who is telling you that you are failing. It is rarely the Lord. He gave you these two children, and he did not hand them to someone better equipped. He handed them to you and promised to be present in the work.
If the feeling does not lift, say it out loud to another mother. Joining is free, and members can walk into the members' forum, which has a room for the hard days. You will find mamas there who have felt exactly what you felt tonight. And if you wonder whether any of this is worth it, the case for homeschooling page is one I return to myself. If you have questions about your state's requirements, they vary, so the resources page is the place to start.
Tonight, write your three lines. Turn off the lamp. Then let the morning come as it was always going to, as a gift you did not have to earn:
The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. (Lamentations 3:22-23)
