Dump

So I'm long overdue for some Thought Dumping on this 'ere Pensieve of mine. I asked y'all some questions a while back, but didn't tell you MY answers. Thoroughly unfair. So here I go.


Essential Oils.

I have some friends that are totally into them. A couple are convinced that oils could cure the national debt, if applied correctly. But most use them in conjunction with practical use of the medical community. I fall in the latter category.

I became a convert when lavender oil cleared up the NBC's eczema completely. No, really. Hydrocortisone didn't work. Lotions didn't work. Lavender oil. It works.

I also rub peppermint oil on upset tummies, but it may be placebo effect. That's okay. It smells nice.

Homeschooling/Deep Thoughts on Parenting

This is big for me, and hard to put concisely into a vague white space on the internet. There was a lot of behind-the-scenes pondering and praying going on behind the following emotional vomit.

Essentially, I started listing all the reasons I want to homeschool, and all the reasons I wouldn't want to. I came up with exactly ONE reason I didn't want to.

But.

All the reasons I do want to homeschool? Every. Single. One of them. About me. About what *I* want.

Not my kids. Me. I was being utterly selfish.

Additionally, almost all of the 'pros,' upon further scrutiny, are NOT exclusive to homeschooling. With some better planning and organization, I CAN do morning devotionals. I CAN spend more time with Little Prince if I have dinner ready before he gets home from school. I CAN take him on awesome field trips and hands-on learning experiences if I use his half-days, Saturdays, and holidays wisely.

I CAN. And I WILL.

I'm at peace with it now. Thank you.

Into the Woods

I know a lot of you liked it. But to be honest - I didn't. There was a bitter undertone that gave me a sick feeling in my stomach. (And I doubt peppermint oil could have helped.)

*spoiler alert! If you haven't seen it, but want to, don't read the following paragraphs*

We purposely didn't stay for the second half after my mom told us about it. The princes get sick of their wives? The baker's wife grows bored with her husband? Seduction and adultery and "real life"?

I object.

There were warning signs around the theater - and in the program - and announced before the show started - that Act II would not be appropriate for children. Because it told the "true story" of "what happens after happily ever after."

Well, Mr. Whoever-wrote-Into-the-Woods. I'm LIVING the true story of AFTER happily ever after. And it's better than ever. 

I could rant about this for at least another hour, but I won't.

The songs were fun. (I especially liked the princes' "Agony" - and the witch's songs.) And I liked that they stuck (for the most part) to the original Brothers Grimm. The set was incredible, the actors talented, the costumes divine. But the plot? It made me feel very sorry for the playwright, if that's how he really views life.

*******************

Also, I'm thinking that it's a terrible time to start dieting right when two kids are sick.

Are you having any thoughts today?

In which I take "Deep Thoughts" to a whole new level

I felt impressed to bring some cookies to a friend today. In the back of my mind I wondered if she were having a bad morning - or on her period - or didn't have ingredients for an FHE treat. 

What I didn't realize is that I was the one needing the visit. 

We got to talking about 5Pillars, books, writing, and self-improvement.  Just your average nine-o-clock-in-the-morning-conversation. 

She is struggling with improving her writing, seeking a way to better express herself. I confessed that I don't write what I truly feel, either - at least not in class. I hide behind humor and bad Irish accents. I confessed that I have a blog. And I confessed how much I struggle with being the only non-homeschooler in the group. I feel judged, and worse, I feel that people think I'm judging them. (Which is a judgment, but let's not go down that road ....)

And she saw me. She looked into my eyes and saw that the reason I struggle is because I'm not sure. I'm not sure if I'm doing the right thing. Words can only hurt weaknesses. "No one can stab my testimony," she said. "Because I'm sure of it. I'm safe there. I'm at peace with the gospel." 

I plunged. I felt myself dive deep down, breaking down walls and doors that I had kept locked inside. I exhumed each emotion, turning it over and over in my head, examining my frailties and questioning each motive. I struggled to maintain the conversation while my thoughts swirled a mile a minute. 

A hug. A goodbye. A walk to the park. 

My children buried themselves in sand while my vision tunneled. 

How do I really feel about homeschooling? What do I fear? Why would I want to? I've always admired homeschoolers. I have defended them in many a forum. I admire. I applaud. I commend. 

Yet I don't do it.

Why? Am I doing the right thing? What do I want for my children? 

One by one, my desires for my children flooded me. Pros and cons marched into my mind, straight-backed and orderly. And then the big question: Can I accomplish my desires while they attend public schools? 

It's a question I'm not done pondering. It's so much bigger than myself. I've already prayed about it - I've fasted - I've even gone to the temple. I've already made this decision.

But she's right. I'm not at peace with it yet. 

I'll let you know when I am.

In which I will be shocked if anyone actually reads this whole thing, but I'm writing it anyway because it's cathartic

Instead of writing a presentation for my 5Pillars class last Tuesday like I'd planned, I organized my closet. 

Really down 'n deep cleaning, too. I went through my pajama drawer and threw away a bunch of ratty t-shirts and found some extra sports bras that I forgot I bought. They're pink.

The top of my dresser was next. It was one big jumble of Legos. Safety pins. T-pins. Coins. Love letters. Pictures, pictures, and more pictures.  A map of the Phoenix zoo. Clothes tags. Several pens. Receipts. Puzzle pieces. And quite a few old grocery lists. 

Basically my life in a 1x2 foot nutshell.

I moved on to the shelving. Pulled out all the winter clothes and folded them neatly into their bins. Made piles for Goodwill and several friends. Organized my shoes, and even threw out a couple pairs - one of them was broken beyond repair anyway. (I miss them already.)

On to the hanging clothes! I ordered everything. Lingerie, dresses, skirts, shorts, pants, tops. I found at least twenty empty hangers. There were several winter and maternity items still lurking between clothes - they got put away accordingly. 

When I was done, I sat on the floor and beamed up at the beauty surrounding me for at least ten minutes. 

Order. 

D&C 88: 119 is well known: Organize yourselves; prepare every needful thing; and establish a house, even a house of prayer, a house of fasting, a house of faith, a house of learning, a house of glory, a house of order, a house of God.

Order has never been easy for me. I've always been a "throw it in that pile for a later day" kind of girl, and Later Day never arrived. My slovenly habits only worsened in college.

Of course, I've always been quite good at the whole facade thing. The front room - now that I can keep presentable. But open a drawer - a cupboard - a door? Chaos. 

And one day, I just got sick of it. 

I'd say it started about a year ago, right before the NBC was born. I assumed it was the normal (and short-lived!) "nesting instinct." I organized the junk drawer, catalogued the pantry, scrubbed out the bathroom cupboards and lined up the shampoo bottles by height. 

But then - I didn't stop. 

My organizational urge kicked up a notch a couple months ago. Papers are filed right away - instead of left in a pile by the phone. Magazines, once read, went straight to recycling - instead of junking up the space next to the computer. And - wonders!  - the Band-Aid wrappers were thrown away as soon as the Band-Aid was put on. 

I know!

For some of you, this "put it away, right away" response may be reflex already. For me, it has had to be learned.  Very, very   s  l  o  w  l  y.

I do not pretend to be an organizational expert. (I totally got stuck on orgjunkie.com the other day. It sucks you in, man. So many pretty baskets .....) But I have learned some things.

 

First step: decide what's important to you. Do baseboards drive you crazy? Do you like your clothes crisp and well-ironed? Or are you perhaps someone who needs their windows crystal clear at all times? 

(I am none of these things, bytheway.)

Divide your "important" list into three priorities - daily, weekly, or monthly. You can even have a bimonthly or semiannual list - whatever floats your yacht.

Next, WRITE IT DOWN. I have all my cleaning chores written on 3x5 cards. They are organized and divided in a little tupperware container that used to hold deli ham. I just pull them out on the corresponding day and do what it says.

For me, this is what my mornings look like:

• 5:00AM The alarm. I wake up. I head to Maria's and we sweat it out and laugh it up.
• 6:15. Home. Scripture study. Prayer. Spiritual rejuvenation.
• 6:45. Shower. Get dressed - to the shoes and earrings! Feel awesome. 
• 7:15 Kids usually up - start breakfast, get 'em dressed, make beds and brush teeth.
• 7:30 Empty dishwasher. I am a firm believer that happiness is directly related to a clean sink.
• 7:30 - 8:30. Alternately be with kids and:
• Clean up breakfast. (Which includes sweeping.)
• Make lunch.
• Wipe down kitchen counters, stove, microwave, fridge, as needed.
• Wipe down bathroom counters and toilet. Teeth brushing is amazingly messy.
•  8:30 Kid scriptures and prayer. Morning bike ride as we take Little Prince to school. Shut the door behind me knowing the house is clean. 

Mondays are laundry, grocery shopping, and "recover from Sunday" days. No play dates, no visits, no responsibilities. Just me and the kids. And laundry.

Wednesdays I do a "quick dusting" with my feather duster. I always feel like I need red lipstick and heels when I use that thing. 

Fridays are the bathrooms. I can clean all of them in an hour, if I do it during nap time. I also wash sheets and towels.

Saturdays are vacuuming,  furniture polishing, and "extra chores."

Extra chores are as follows:

First Saturday - Spot the family room/kitchen walls. Dust fans. Clean inside of fridge.

Second Saturday -  Windowsills. Spot living room walls. Dust plants.

Third Saturday - all the wainscoting woodwork in the living room.

Fourth Saturday - Spot hallway/bathroom walls. Behind and under living room couch. On top of fridge. Inside stove.

Fifth Saturday and/or combined with Fourth - clean pantry and/or laundry room as needed. 

The kids alternate between scrubbing tubs, windexing the windows and back door, watering plants, and vacuuming the stairs. They are also responsible for keeping their rooms and the basement clean. They pride themselves on their work. If you ever visit my house, please compliment the stairs.

Second tip - find a place for everything.

I have found that most of my junky places (the counter next to the phone, the computer desk, and the top of the dresser) are filled with items I don't know what to do with. Decide NOW where everything goes. Then stick to it.

Third tip - Proactivity.

Our family cleanliness motto is "put it away, right away!" If you see a wrapper, put it in the trash. If there's a spot on the floor, clean it. If the lightbulb needs changing, change it. Soon doing it "right away" becomes second nature. (It took me about four months.) The more you put it off, the more you agonize over it, the more difficult it will be come! 

Fourth tip - Maintenance is the easiest path.

After every meal, we wipe down the table, chairs, and all kitchen surfaces.  This includes the microwave, stove, and fridge. These are excellent areas for kids to be in charge of.  Spot mopping the kitchen floor is also a daily chore. Daily maintenance is a thousand times easier than less frequent germ annihilations. 

The final tip - patience.

 I've learned that organization and cleanliness is a process. We strive for a "manner" of organization -  not a "state." At this very moment, the inside of my kitchen appliance cupboard is covered with toaster crumbs and a mysterious black sticky goo that I think used to be hot chocolate. My sewing supplies are all in a jumble, and opening the closet on the back patio may be hazardous to your health. 

That's okay.

The point is, you will never be done organizing. You will never have a home that is perfectly clean. Because you live in that house. You're creating life in that house. That house is a living, breathing friend of yours, dynamic, cultivating personalities and enriching relationships. 

Now.

As I put my house in order - my physical surroundings - it is inevitable that my thoughts turn inward. Cleanliness is a habit. And it doesn't just apply to our address.

In the  process of expunging my home, I can feel myself mentally sweep up the piles of information in my head. Put that piece of juicy gossip back on the shelf where I found it. Dump that unkind thought in the trash. Vacuum up frustration. Dust away anger. Get down on my knees and scrub out the impatience.

First tip -  Plan. Prioritize what it important to you, spiritually. What virtues are most dear to you? What are you doing to work on them? Decide on a plan to develop those characteristics and write it down.

• 6:45AM Personal scriptures
• 8:30AM Kid scriptures
• 12:00PM Read Ensign over lunch
• 5:00PM Listen to general conference as I make dinner
• 6:30PM Family scriptures and prayer
• 10:00PM Couple prayer

Go to the temple. Weekly date night. Read the Relief Society lesson. Take the sacrament. Serve. Love. Repeat.

These daily - weekly - monthly rituals keep us focused and fresh. Within them peace can be found.

Second tip - find a place for everything. This is something I'm still working on.

Designate a "temple spot" in your house. Keep this area sacred to you. This is where you go for personal ponder and prayer. You may want to keep a picture of the Savior and/or temple there. Tell your children that this is your temple spot - please whisper when passing by. Even when everyone else has the flu and the entire house is a wreck, make sure your temple spot stays clean.

Third tip - proactivity.

Decide - now! - to just plain do what we're supposed to do. Don't participate in that gossip circle. Flee from tempting internet time suckers. Put down the book that introduces unclean thoughts. Be proactive about your mind and spirit.

Fourth tip - Maintenance is the easiest path.

Scriptures, prayer, Family Home evening, temple attendance. They're so easy a Sunbeam knows that those four things are the answer to virtually every question. But that's because it's RIGHT. We feel good when we do the right thing. So why not keep doing it?

And finally - patience.

We're going to mess up. The best of intentions are ruined by the most human of happenings. Just like your daily cleaning ritual may be interrupted by a particularly clingy two-year-old, your attempts at Christlike patience may be disturbed by the same source. That's okay. Loosen up. Be flexible. Don't get down on yourself for not being the perfect wife or perfect mother or perfect woman. Heavenly Father knew what he was doing when he entrusted us with a bunch of little kids. The Atonement is for them, too - to fix all the wrong things we do to them! It's okay. Loosen up. Have patience with yourself and trust to the Lord to sanctify your efforts.

'Domestic goddess' has become a catch-phrase of today's society, but isn't that truly what we are? Goddesses-in-training? And what better way to learn to be divine than in our own little kingdoms here on earth.

And right now, in my closet? It feels absolutely celestial.

In which I bombed my homework

For my class this week, I was supposed to write a persuasion paper.

I didn't.

***********

Further In and Higher Up

                 Experience. Check. Think. Check. Speak. Double check. Read - narrate - create - journal.  Check check check check.

                Writing is easy, right?  Gene Fowler says, "all you do is sit staring at a blank sheet of paper until drops of blood form on your forehead." 

                Sarah suggests we work on persuading this time around. Okay. Let's do it. Don't forget the logos - throw in pathos for fun. Include reason, personal experience, revelation, historical evidence, and a kidney just to be sure. If you want to be really cool, add some research - then you're at the top of the pile. Achievement. Success. Confidence.

                Bull.

                Somewhere in my 5Pillars journey, I decided that I disagree with the Writing Cycle. I'd rather rechristen it the Writing Fork. I don't have a problem until step six - Creation. From there, we're told to progress to journals/stories, then idea or opinion papers, moving on to persuasive essays, then climax with research. 

                That is one path, sure. It's a great path - a fabulous path. But my goal in life is not to research - it's to change my very nature. The 5Pillar course, after all, is so much more than a simple 'book club.' The mere  expression is somehow patronizing. It should be termed the Soul Searching Course or Self-Discovery Club or Introspective Wives United - except those sound a little deep for casual conversation. 

                Research papers may stretch us mentally - but I would rather stretch myself emotionally. Spiritually. Because that's why I'm taking this course. To research-paper myself. 

                My favorite book in the Narnia series is the last one - The Last Battle. "Further in and higher up!" cries Roonwit, urging the crowd to plunge deeper into Narnia's beauties. That phrase has been repeating itself in my mind for some time. Further in. Who am I really? Higher up. What motivates me? Further in. What do I want out of life? Higher up. How am I going to work to get it? 

                It's as if I'm in the center of a great ruminative cyclone. Ponderings - goals - convictions - quotes - swirl around me like so many pages in a book. I am in the middle of it all, trying to inhale the gusts deeply without gasping. It's hard. Further in and higher up.

                I feel as if everything is coming together for me. The Great Pangea of Me, slowly puzzling itself together, trying a piece there, seeing if it fits there. I am on the edge of a vast plain, inching my toes over the edge, daring myself to jump. The cavern is wide. It is deep. It is good. And I'm almost there. On the brink of some massive discovery - my arms groping for some surety before I take the first step over. Further in and higher up.

                This I know. I want to change. I feel that I have so much healing to do, habits to change. Habits - I'm sure - that are several millenia in the making.  But I seem to have finally breached the stubborn obstinacy that kept my "I wish I were ..." list, just a wish. Some crucial, inherent wall has crumbled, allowing me to cross the bridge from wanting to being. 

                I don't want to wait to become the person I want to be. 

                I'm ready to be that person. Now. 

                Further in and higher up.

                 I want to allow the spirit to guide my life in such a way that His whispers become reflexes. I want to build a celestial marriage. I want to thrive on my children's laughter. I want to be 'more fit for the kingdom.'  I want to be healthy. I want to keep my house in order. And I want my very being to shy away from anything that would cause my children pain - like losing my patience (did I know where it was in the first place?), yelling, scolding, and all those other -ings that paint the dark side of motherhood. 

                And as I reach inward - I can't help but strive upward. 

                Because I am divine. And the further in I explore my inherited celestial princess-ness, the closer I will become to the King. 

                Further in. Higher up I go.

Clear Vision

There's an epidemic in my family - and yours, too, probably.

Everyone's going blind.

Everywhere I go there is evidence that no one can see.

They are blind to
that backpack by the front door
the shoes and socks strewn on the lawn next to the trampoline
the pile of unfolded washcloths and dishtowels in the laundry room
the burnt out light bulbs in the kitchen
the basket of odds and ends that need to go downstairs
the pile of DVDs next to the television
the empty refrigerator 
and toys, toys, toys everywhere.

I am instantly notified if there is the slightest need in our household -
if we're out of toilet paper
if the basement needs vacuuming
if the pictures are crooked
if someone is crying
- it's a constant Twitter-feed of needs around here.

And I seem to be the only subscriber.

I've played games with the members of my family. It's called "Let's See Who Else Will Take Care of This."  The answer is always "Nobody," and then I get mad. So basically, we both lose.

Because I suffer from blindness, too.

I'm not seeing when my husband takes out the trash - or empties the dishwasher - or gets the mail - or mows the lawn - or cleans the bathroom.
I'm not seeing when my mom cooks dinner - or organizes the papers - or watches the kids  - or cleans up a spill - or helps with bath time.
I'm not seeing when my sister does the dishes - or takes the kids to the park - or feeds the NBC  - or sweeps the floor.

I'm in need of some LOVE LASIK - stat.

Because the thing about this particular kind of blindness is -

you can choose what not to see. 

And I need to choose to see love.

In which I am a woman

Six and a half years ago, I moved to a foreign country.

For the first eight months, we lived in a city of 26 million people - yet I'd never felt more alone. I spent hour after hour trapped in a tiny apartment on a busy Sao Paulon street. My husband was working 12 to 14 hour days, and I didn't have a car.  I didn't even have the internet. 

I'm pretty sure my mind has blocked out most of those first few months. 

Because of my severely limited Portuguese, I was often afraid to go out. But little by little, as I grew accustomed to the blatant stares I got, I started to plop my then-ten-month-old son into the stroller and "passear"  ....

Our favorite destination was a little park, about two miles away. It was a bit of jungle surrounded by skyscrapers, and I loved it. 

On one particular day, we headed toward the swings. There were two other moms there, with their toddlers in tow. One was slim, with stunning coffee-colored skin and shiny, jet-black hair. She was Japanese. The other was shorter, with equally dark hair and big, lash-framed eyes. She was Brazilian.

We were all trying to check each other out without letting the others know. Instead we concentrated on our children, smiling and goo-gooing at our posterity, sneaking side-long glances when we thought the others weren't looking. Every once in a while we'd sneak peeks at the same time - and then we'd have to smile awkwardly and blush to our roots. 

And then our children began to play together. 

Three almost-one year olds patted each other on the face and inspected each other's toes. Giggling. Their immediate friendship broke our lingual barriers. 

I grinned at the Japanese lady, my eyes crinkling in acceptance and scrunching up my shoulders to show I was amused. She looked heavenward, smiling in response, then question-marked her eyebrows and pointed at my Little Prince. I held up ten fingers, then looked at the Brazilian, mirroring the Japanese's question. She held up one finger and grinned to her ears - he was one. 

We spent the next hour laughing and talking about our children - their messes and their triumphs, our struggles and our pride. 

And we didn't utter a word.

I realized then that while none of us had the same vernacular, all of us spoke Woman. 

Womanhood is a language. We speak with our hands, our shoulders - we know that eyebrows can be a much more powerful tool than a tongue. We have whole conversations without opening our mouths. A wrinkle of the nose, a glowing of the eyes, the twist of the mouth - the Woman Tongue is powerful and universal.

Womanhood is the language of charity. Regardless of where we live, women the world over speak it. They speak it every time they bring food to a funeral, diapers for a new baby, flowers for the sick. They speak it in listening, in laughing, in hugs and over cheesecake, chatting in the true Mother Tongue of Love.  

They say that the Adamic Language was communication in its purest form. Yet I move that Eve's Tongue is the one we should be striving toward.  Through love, let the whole world be filled with utterance. I'm sure we'll never run out of things to say.

Taming of the Self-Esteem

So for my 5Pillars class, we recently read Taming of the Shrew. Good play. Excellent play. Easily one of my favorites. (I once saw it at the Stratford, Canada's Shakespeare festival - Gilbert Blythe played Petruchio! His hair was exactly the same....)

We got in a discussion that I haven't been able to stop thinking about.

So Taming of the Shrew is actually a play within a play. It begins with a rich lord playing a trick on a drunkard, Christopher Sly. While Sly is passed out, the nobleman instructs his servants to treat Sly as the lord. Upon waking, he finds himself doted upon by stewards, who insist he has been severely ill. The more he rants for ale and insists he's a no-count-goodfernuthin, the more they fawn over him.

It doesn't take long to convince him that he is what they say he is.

Thus, they arrange to put on a play for his aristocratic enjoyment.

Enter Kate and Petruchio.

And - lo! - Petruchio wins Katherine over by treating her as the sweetest, most docile woman alive. Even as she swears like J. Golden Kimball, beats her sister like Laman, and breaks lutes over her tutor's head like ... Hercules. (Couldn't think of a better reference. Then again, how many people break lutes over someone's head?) 

But he adores her. Praises her. Lauds her gentleness and virtue. And she eventually becomes as she is treated.

In my class, we scorned the idea that someone could be convinced of a false identity so quickly. It does seem rather far-fetched. A fine idea for the theater - but silly in real life.

If I found myself waking in a mansion, surrounded by strangers who insist I'm really a Trump, would I believe them? It's laughable. My memories and experiences are too concrete, too intense for me to doubt myself.

Right?

But then again ....

if someone calls me fat, I believe them.
if someone criticizes my parenting, I doubt myself.
if someone even raises their eyebrows at my house decor, I'm ready to redo the whole thing.

I would love to get to a point where I am so sure of who I am, that no one - no one - can convince me otherwise.

Well, well, well

I usually start letters and emails with "well." I often use the word as a subject line.


Every. single. one. of My Man's mission letters starts with "well."(So funny.)


I like the word "well." It allows time to think. It interrupts awkward pauses. It signals it's time to go. Beginning a letter that way makes you feel like you're already in the middle of a conversation. It is the universal ice breaker. 


Then there's the other type of well. The deep chasm where water is drawn - the basis of all life. When I say "well" in a conversation, I like to think I'm digging deeper, reaching down to draw up something life-sustaining and precious.


(Or maybe I think too much? Entirely possible.)


Well, I've been excavating my well lately. Digging deeper. Trying to increase my capacity, my potential, myself.

I've been taking some classes. A weekly scripture course. An 8-week photography class. A weekly book club on steroids.

This latter well-digger-outer is called Five Pillars. (Wiki does a merely okay job of explaining.) I prefer calling it a "personal enrichment course," or maybe "leadership training," but that sounds kinda cheesy for every day conversation.

The idea is to improve ourselves  by reading classics (on the list this year: Les Mes, tons of Shakespeare, Jane Eyre, etc.), writing essays, lots of discussion, and public speaking.

Homework. Lots of homework.

And I love it.

As I feel my well getting deeper, inch by inch, I'm staring to see others in a new light. Myself in a new light. I am asking questions I don't know the answers to, and eagerly searching to quiet my curiosity. I read books differently now.

I dog-ear pages, I take notes. I ask questions about the character, the motivations, the implications for my life. Then I write about it.

It's exhausting, all this well-digging.

But necessary in a drought.

I've been thirsty.

I'm going to reread this approximately 247247245 times

Because I want to be VERY careful not to ruffle any feathers.

Okay. So.

Preface: The parents in my church ward have varying takes on education. I'd say roughly 40% choose to send their children to public schools. The remaining 60% are split pretty evenly between charter schools and home schooling.

Alright. Now let's discuss why I'm discussing this.

As we all know, I'm doing this 'surviving summer' thing. Lots of activities, crafts, and outings with my kids. Lots of education and teaching and, most of all, having fun.

I'm feelin' good. I'm feelin' like I'm finally getting this mom thing. And I'm feelin' like I'm doing a good job.

But I can't tell you how many people tell me (in one breath), "You're such a good mom - you should home school - why don't you already?"

LOTS of people.

I guess I just don't like the implication that all good moms home school - and that all home schoolers are good moms. To me, they're mutually exclusive.

I know lots of home schooling moms that are amazing - absolutely wonderful mothers. Role models, and all that the word implies. They do a fantastic job home schooling their children, and their kids are the better for it. And yet I know lots of home schooling moms that are - ahem - awful. And their kids suffer.

But that goes the same for public/charter school moms too - some are great, some not so much.

(So really - women are just women no matter where their kids learn their ABCs.)

I think the whole childhood education decision is very personal - there isn't one right answer for everyone. Every child (and mother) is different, and should be treated accordingly.

Basically, I don't like being judged. Like I can't be a good mom unless I home school. Like only moms that home school are good.

I believe very strongly that mothers are primarily responsible for the nurture of their children. (This doesn't exclude dads - but moms are essentially The Buck.)

Elder Perry put it this way in last General Conference:

Teaching in the home is becoming increasingly important in today’s world, where the influence of the adversary is so widespread and he is attacking, attempting to erode and destroy the very foundation of our society, even the family. Parents must resolve that teaching in the home is a most sacred and important responsibility. While other institutions, such as church and school, can assist parents to “train up a child in the way he [or she] should go” (Proverbs 22:6), ultimately this responsibility rests with parents. According to the great plan of happiness, it is parents who are entrusted with the care and development of our Heavenly Father’s children. Our families are an integral part of His work and glory—“to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man” (Moses 1:39). On God’s eternal stage, it is usually intended that parents act as the central cast members in their children’s lives.

I know that the most important things my children should learn are things like

responsibility
kindness
proactivity
integrity
good manners
friendliness
forgiveness
being open and non-judgmental
service
ambition
thirst for knowledge
and the like -

and I fully intend to be the one teaching them these characteristics. (Or, at least, the most important one teaching them - but it's a team effort!) I won't leave my children's character up for grabs at a public school.

But I fully believe that I can teach my children these things while they attend public school. Having my kids attend public school doesn't exempt me from teaching my children. Nor does it prevent me from teaching them.

So.

I can be a good mom and not home school.

Thank you.

(Pssst. No bashing home school in the comments. That wasn't the point, please.)