Tomorrow begins our 10th year homeschooling.
After tomorrow, this kitchen won’t look like this.
Why? Because we live here.
I don’t mean “we live here”, as in “this is our house”.
No—we LIVE here.

This is where we cry about math. (Ok just me.)
It’s where I teach the kids about cooking.
It’s where I clean up the messes after we learn about cooking.
It’s where the dog tries to get to the mess first.
This is where hard conversations are had and emotions sometimes explode.
It’s a training ground where children are learning to be adults,
and parents learn to be more loving, more compassionate, and more selfless.
It’s hard. Sometimes it’s really hard.

This is where we actually LIVE.
It’s where monsters are prayed away,
chores are clumsily performed by inexperienced hands,
discipline walks hand in hand with mercy,
and grace is applied daily (hourly, minutely, secondly).
It’s where apologies are tearfully offered after giving offense,
hormones surge,
the stomach virus pays an annual visit,
difficult questions are asked,
and the place in which difficult answers are wrestled.

This is where we LIVE—not pretend.
This is not a school.
Our children are not pupils.
I am not a teacher.
My husband is not “the principal”.

This is where we live.
Where perfectionism goes to die and holiness stands on its grave.
It’s where pride is swallowed,
patience is practiced,
pillows are punched,
and scriptures are poured over.

This is where we actually, really, live.
This small, 1950s, nothing-special house continues to build memories all around us.
Messy, imperfect, tenacious, exasperating, tearful, joyful memories.
Memories that beat the pants off those Instagram pictures that-one-person-you’re-jealous-of posts.
Memories that build generations instead of followers, legacies instead of material possessions.
Memories that we lovingly cultivated over the course of many, many years.

So here’s to our 10th year of homeschooling:
may we always choose to live here.

homeschooling #welivehere