An unlikely homeschooler

Abby starts preschool tomorrow. Sort of.

I'm calling it Preschool Lite. Also known as the School of Mommy, Abby's preschool this year will take place under my wing. So I guess you could call it homeschooling, though a homeschooling mom was not something I ever wanted to be.

God has shown me a lot this year. I've learned a great deal about my parenting, my children, my role in my family, humility and what it really means to want and do what's best for my kids. I've come to understand more clearly that making these decisions for our kids and our family is deeply personal, and specific not just to each individual family, but to each child within that family.

Back in January, when all my other mommy friends with kids Abby's age were beginning their preschool research, I jumped on the bandwagon and followed suit. It was a little like applying to college again. I did a tour, I downloaded curriculum plans and yearly goals on their websites, I weighed the pros and cons of a classical versus a more artsy fartsy school.

This was important, I insisted to my patient husband. We had to have our daughter registered by February if we wanted to have any kind of say in the program she would be in. This is the foundation of her formal education, I argued. He nodded, listened as I rattled off all the coolest features of my top choice school, and asked the same question over and over again: "Why does she need to go to preschool?"

Well, I thought, we all went to preschool. All her friends are going to preschool. And besides, there are some really cool things they can do with her at preschool that I'm just not as qualified to do.

What will she learn at preschool, he asked? You already taught her all her letters, he reminded me. You taught her to speak, I'm sure you could teach her to read, he continued. You taught her to count, I'm sure you could teach her some basic math, he insisted. She knows her shapes, her colors...you taught her all that, he went on.

He had a point. But I loved the idea of preschool and everything she would get to experience there. And, to be honest, I was looking forward the idea of a few hours to myself with Caleb a week.

And then, in an instant, everything changed. In the midst of our preschool debate, the excitement of finding out we had a new baby on the way, followed quickly by the devastating news that we had lost that baby, turned my heart and my life upside down. And apparently, that's just the way God needed for me to see things. In the days and weeks that followed the miscarriage, God was my only strength and comfort. And among the many things He showed me in that time of suffering as I drew nearer to Him was that sending my daughter away to school for a few hours a week simply wasn't right for our family, or for her. He gave me a new understanding of just how fleeting my time (and influence) with my children really is, and how valuable that time could be when spent on purposeful parenting.

I argued with my heavenly Father, the same way I had argued with my husband, about why sending Abby to preschool was the right thing to do. But He used the encouraging words of the man I married to show me I could do it myself. And He used the experience of other moms who had made the decision to keep their kids home to show me how I could do it.

So here I am, months later, excited about the prospect of teaching my kids at home, and ready to kick off our first year of Preschool Lite right here under my own roof (and in my own backyard, which is where I intend to spend a lot of our "school time" while the weather is perfect).

She's only three, and has years ahead of her to sit behind a desk. So this year, my goals are to let my kids have fun, to experience and enjoy God's creation as a family, to teach Abby to read, to teach Caleb the alphabet, to memorize some scripture and some classic hymns, and to read, read, read to my children as much as possible. I've got some fun crafts planned that both the kids can participate in. I have a few field trips in mind that I know they'll love. And week one includes baking cookies, which should get things off to a pretty good start.

So here goes homeschooling.

Now there's something I never thought I'd write.

Fancy at the fishing hole

Abby's birthday party day suited our girl perfectly. Abby's one request for her party was that it be fancy, so our morning began at the nail salon for pedicures with her two best friends. (She actually has three, she told me, but I had to explain that Georgia is simply too far away for Neely to be able to join us.) The girls were quite the hit at the salon, sitting mesmerized in their fanciest attire as their tiny toes were painted in hues of pink and purple and dotted with dainty white flowers.

When their polish was dry, we headed home for a little fancy craft time. Because nothing goes better with fancy toe nails than fancy flip flops.

Afterward, we enjoyed a brunch of fancy pink flower-shaped grilled cheese sandwiches (I baked a special loaf of pink bread the night before in preparation for the party), fruit salad, festive pink punch served in a fancy punch bowl, and some super fancy pink cupcakes with sparkley candles and pearlized sprinkles.

To say it was a little girly at our house would be an understatement. Even Caleb seemed to understand how important it was to be fancy for this special occasion.
After unwrapping presents and a great deal of running around, the inevitable sugar crash hit hard and the fun had to come to an end.
A three-hour nap was just what our birthday girl needed to prepare her for the second half of her birthday party day, which was largely planned and executed by the man in her life. And so, sliding her perfectly manicured toes into her sparkley flip flops, she followed her dad down to the lake, armed with a tub of worms and a glittery pink fishing pole. She was sorely disappointed when she realized we would not be bringing her catch home for dinner that night. But I think all the stomping around in the muddy creek and crawfish catching helped her get over it.

It was a very good day.

Three glittery candles

I did it again.

I blinked.

And in that instant, my little girl turned three.

It didn't hit me until we woke up this morning. The alarm went off at 6, just three years and 12 minutes after Abby made her big debut. I leaned over and whispered to Justin, "We have a three year old..."

"I know," came the groggy reply. "Crazy, isn't it?"

"Ya know what's crazier?" I asked. "In ten years, we'll wake up and say 'We have a 13 year old.'"

As soon as the words were out of my mouth I regretted them. I'm trying not to think too much about how she's growing and learning and getting more independent every day. I'm trying to cherish these moments, and my daughter, and remind myself that my job with her is to put myself out of work one day. And so I'll continue to pray daily for the strength and perseverance it takes to keep up with this rambunctious, exuberant, adorable child that God has given us, and that He'll use my feeble attempts at parenting to reach her heart and mind with the truths of His word.

At three, she's turning into exactly the ball of fire we thought she'd be. She's got a mind of her own, and the vocabulary to tell you all about what's in it. From sun up to sun down, she's talking, exploring, learning, climbing, talking, creating, wondering, asking, following, talking, helping, leading, playing, and soaking in the world around her. Thankfully, for three hours each afternoon, she'll still rest in her bed, though I have my doubts about how much of that time is spent actually napping.

She's mostly obedient, extremely helpful, highly observant, generally impatient, kind to her brother, and still just as un-cuddly as ever. (Except for bedtime, when the urge to snuggle suddenly strikes with a vengeance. She knows I'm a sucker for cuddling, and I'm more than happy to cave in to her manipulation each night. We've compromised at singing three rounds of "Jesus Loves Me" together as I curl up next to her, being ever-so-careful not to touch her blankie. That's a no-no.)

She's excited and curious about the arrival of her new little brother and my expanding middle. Most of her quiet playtime in her room is spent babying her stuffed animals, tucking them into her bed and singing them lullabies. Some of my favorite pregnancy-related questions include:

• "Can I sit on your laps, mommy?" (that's laps, with an S...)
• "What's that big bump called?" ("It's called a womb, Abby. It's a special place for the baby to grow inside mommy." She looks puzzled, then lifts her shirt to check out her belly: "Do I have a womb?")
• "When the baby comes out, can I share my pretzels with him?"

She's recently become a big fan of Beatrix Potter and the Peter Rabbit tales, and often interjects phrases from the books into her everyday conversation. "Let's hurry and go to the park, Mommy. Lippity, lippity, not too fast!" she told me one day. And later, while playing chase with Caleb around the furniture in the living room, "I'm running all about the room!" I also blame Beatrix Potter for the addition of words like particular, perhaps, suddenly and puzzled to her vocabulary. More than one person has told me that my daughter talks like an elderly British woman.

At three, she can write her first name, count to thirty, set the table with supervision, dress herself, and leap tall towers of Mega Blocks in a single bound. She loves to pretend, play dress up, and help me in the kitchen. She's a budding teacher, and spends a lot of time correcting Caleb's speech and trying to teach him new words and skills. She likes to get things right the first time, and two of our biggest challenges right now are in teaching her to fail gracefully and to ask for help when she's frustrated with a task. She knows her left from her right and has asked me to put an "L" and an "R" in each of her shoes so that she can put them on the correct feet by herself.

She loves to play in the dirt, and she loves anything with glitter on it. She'll drive trains and trucks with her brother for hours, then insist he come upstairs and play dress-up with her. She still loves to pore through her books and delights in storytime. She has an amazing memory and excellent pitch, and listening to her sing old hymns like "Nothing But the Blood" and "A Mighty Fortress is Our God" is impressive, indeed.

I'm enthralled by her (in case you couldn't tell). So it stands to reason that I wanted her birthday to be absolutely delightful for her. She has, after all, been looking forward to it since March. So on her special day, her dad and I did what we could to make things as celebratory as possible. The birthday breakfast date with Daddy at Starbucks, the morning at the park with her best friends, the lunch at her favorite pizza place, the made-to-order rotini dinner, the girly pink cake with chocolate chips and sprinkles, and the birthday bubble bath were our way of trying to make the day memorable for our big girl.

Happy Birthday, Abby. We love you more than you can imagine.

Twice the manpower

It's amazing how much longer it takes to cut the grass when Daddy has a little helper. But it sure does drive the cuteness factor up.

I'll give you one guess as to who this kid's favorite parent is. (Hint: when was the last time you saw a picture of him helping mommy clean up breakfast?)

Biggest sandbox ever

Our week at the beach could not have been more perfect. The kids were more than a little excited to have a giant sandbox at their disposal all day, every day, for an entire week. They built drip castles, drove trucks, constructed roads and tunnels, and ran until they ran out of energy. And when they tired of the sand, there was that great big ocean full of waves and sea shells and more water than they'd ever seen before.

Caleb was positively giddy with the comings and goings of the waves. He'd stand at the water line and chase the foamy edges of the waves up onto the shore and back in the ocean for what seemed like forever. And once he worked up the nerve to go in up to his waist, there was no going back. He'd stand there staring out into the deep blue sea yelling, "Whoa! Wa-wer!" and bracing whenever a wave would crash around him. His weight and girth worked to his advantage, and only once or twice was he knocked back by a wave that proved stronger than him.

Abby was her typical crazy self, plunging into the ocean with gusto and running out until she was up to her armpits in sea water. I can't count how many times I had to yell for her to "Come back! It's too deep," only to have her turn and yell back, "Why is it too deep, Mommy?" She loved riding the waves in on the little blow up boat we bought her, and only got scared when she was pitched into the ocean by a particularly violent wave and had to be plucked out by her feet.

We spent the week with dear friends, and the kids loved having playmates around. We brought home a box full of sea shells, over 1000 pictures and quite a bit of sand in our shoes.

I've already started counting down until next year.

Underwater adventures

I'll admit, it's an unlikely attachment. But my 18-month-old has such an affinity for sharks that sharing the joys of Shark Week with him was sort of a no-brainer. So there we were each afternoon during this, the greatest week of the year to watch television, seated at the bar in the kitchen, watching Air Jaws and the like on the Discovery Channel online.

I think Shark Week just became Caleb's new favorite holiday.