I'm calling homeschool over, y'all! May 17th--I quit! Whoop!

I turned in the last learning log tonight, and Jubal and Luke had their violin and cello recital yesterday. In the morning, we are going in to sign the papers for our house closing. And then I think we might have a day before driving to Missouri to look at potential places to live.
So this is what has happened, and it probably sounds crazy when you compare it to the last post I made:
Joe is giving up his position as the manager. This is a big, honking deal. It comes at a great cost to him--basically, he did it for me. He gave up his managerial spot for me and the kids, and because he wants out of the city bad enough. He's still trying to figure out if he has regrets or not (say a prayer for him). Good news/bad news? They won't let him resign completely (I think a bit of a relief to him), so instead he will be working remotely, whatever that means in the future. Basically, it means to me we can move anywhere we want and settle down.
I keep trying to explain to myself and others that we are not city people--like, we really, really are not comfortable living in the city, even though it's got every convenience.

Are we mountain people, then? Maybe, because I'm as scared as heck to think about actually living in Missouri. But it's affordable. And grandmas are there. This is why I was gunning for that little ranch house on 40 acres. But maybe we are flip-flopping (as we do), trying to see all the good angles of potential homes. Joe talks a big talk about fishing and hunting and messing around on four-wheelers. (This is a vote for Missouri.) These are all things we haven't done much of, ever (not on our own property, that is), and not likely something we could afford to do in Colorado. 
But the deeper truth is, I 'm scared of bringing up Missouri as a potential place to land. I do want to be near grandmas, but I am scared of living near my in-laws. They have some major problems I don't want to be involved in. And I don't want their eyes on us, or them guilting me for raising my kids as I see fit. It makes my guts hurt to think about it, but I'm trying not to indulge in doom-dreams.

We are mountain flowers, unaccustomed to real summer or mud. Bugs, snakes, you name it. Will we adapt? As a girl growing up there, I would get hives from mosquito bites. What are we thinking?!
But we haven't even committed to Missouri, so I shouldn't be so worried. And Missouri has lots of people I love, so it will be okay if we go there, too. But I keep looking at the realtor listings in western Colorado, because I love it over there. Mountains, a little desert-y, secluded... 

These are the things I go back and forth on, because I'm a back and forth person. I lived up on that mountain for a long time and it was almost unbearable to do it on my own. But I did it, and I could do it again. I've had many hard conversations with Joe about needing to make a change. I mean, I pretty much swore I'd never homeschool again and then this year happened and it threw me for a big loop. We've talked and I've tried to explain how important it is for me to have public school plus a daddy for my kids who doesn't love work more than us. Our kids need friends. We don't even have a church at this point.
We've discussed our neighbor situation and the kid that lives across the street and does dumb things we don't want our kids to be around. (For the record, our other neighbors are amazing. Glenn and Julie are the new ones to the south and they're adorable--they carry their chickens around like babies.) 
We love having all sorts of friends. I just ran into Fumiko (Ethan's mom) today. She's the funniest person in the world. My friend Dat was the first to text me a Happy Mother's Day. Lilly will probably clean my house when we move out.
These aren't terribly close friends of mine, but the point is, I love them. I love knowing people who have super different life experiences than my own. I wish we could live in a place where we'd see the same people on the regular and it might serve as encouragement to us (and us to them).

I don't really like the idea of starting all over, because it is a big deal. I don't like how stress leads me to throwing my hands in the air and forfeiting everything just to get a clean slate. 
But maybe it's how God moves us into a new place.

Just to give an idea on how the homeschooling has been going: 
We taught the kids how to play poker. And spoons. They sometimes play this in the middle of the day. Otherwise, they read and play music and beg me to do minecraft.
I think they're actually going to be fine, it's just their handwriting that gives me the heebie jeebies.

Send help so I stop talking myself in circles. Also, I'm thankful to God for prayers lifted up on our behalf, because for a few weeks there, I wasn't in good shape. I know wherever we end up, it'll be great.

Learning log

 On Mondays my kids have to turn in learning logs for the My Tech High program. It's easy, only a three to five sentence requirement that highlights what they've been working on for the week. Usually I type it for them. Within a week, a "teacher" responds, like "great job, Foy! It sounds like you're taking awesome care of your seedlings. I love your confidence about math. Doing one whole Greg Tang math packet every Monday is super. Keep up the good work!"
I think it would be the perfect job to read kids' weekly reports and answer them. I've even looked on the website for employment opportunities. I have no idea how they hire. I sure can't find it anywhere.

Anyway, in some of the parent groups on Facebook, moms complain about keeping on task to turn in learning logs, which kind of surprises me. You know I love making lists of what I've actually done in a week, so I don't mind one bit. The cumulative report that we've actually been getting stuff done this year is very encouraging. Plus, it's like taking notes for a book, should I ever want to rehash Stay or Bail, the second volume (I don't).

I feel like I should've been keeping a learning log this year for just me. This week, I read Alex Trebek's autobiography (2020) and listened to Hatchet with my kids. Now I'm listening to a Francis Shaeffer book. I go back and forth with Audible subscriptions. I don't want to pay $150/year, but our local library loaning app (Hoopla) isn't great. We had Overdrive in Bayfield, and it had a ton more books to check out.
I watched the entire series of some weird Marvel thing on Disney plus after everyone went to bed at night. What a wormhole. I think I was tired from cleaning and cleaning and cleaning the house.

I digress. I wanted to do a 3-5 sentence on what I'm learning this week.
Let's see. I went and got some straw bales to put over my grass seed in the back yard. I had a little garage sale where I only made $17 because I ended up giving everything away. This is my garage sale style: decide to have a garage sale one Saturday morning at 7am. Beg Joe to help me drag out stuff to the sidewalk (beg because Joe hates garage sales. Hates. He denies it, but he does.)
Make lemonade. Get out chairs for kids. 
Decide I don't want a ton of traffic.
Make a Facebook marketplace post.
10am--make little tags to put on stuff. Put out a sign.
Wonder why we're getting so little traffic (I don't respond to facebook posts and my signs are terrible). 
Chat with people who come by. Try out my Spanish. If anyone hesitates over the price I say, "it's free, just take it. I'm trying to clean out the house."
Meet grandparents who are raising a handful of their grandchildren. Give them the desk for free. Dig out my art supplies and give them to the grandma. 

Get sunburnt.
Set the rest of the stuff on the curb with a free sign. 
The kids ask me how much money we've made. Seventeen dollars, kids.
I'm a really bad salesperson. I realize I might be sad later when we move and I don't have my art supplies, but I'm always pretty convicted I ought to be giving away that which I love, not just the stuff I don't want/need anymore. It's a first fruits challenge, if you know what I mean.

The My Tech High program really encourages entrepreneurship, and I'm pretty much the opposite, because I don't sell. Even sending my kids around the neighborhood to mow lawns or shovel snow kind of terrifies me. You mean they will give money in exchange for a (probably) terrible job of mowing/shoveling? I understand the idea, but I'm wary of the value they are getting for the price they're paying.

Well this learning log is falling apart.
Let's see. I've been practicing my mandolin at night. I can play some hymns and pick out a few tunes. Working on my tremolo--you have to hold the pick very lightly.

We've been putting some seeds and baby plants in the planters. I really hope we get to see some flowers come up before we have to move. Our house went under contract on Monday after we returned from the western slope. Part of the deal is we close at the end of May but we can live in the house till the end of June. We had our inspection on Friday, so we're waiting for all that to look clear before we figure out where to go next. I'm ready to buy a sweet little ranch house on forty acres in southern Missouri for less than $400k. Joe could run a sawmill and I could be the lunch lady at the kids' country school. We could get together with our neighbors on Thursday nights and play bluegrass. Once in awhile we could see grandma and grandpa and cousins. Doesn't it sound quaint?!
We are on two different pages, because Joe wants to move further west, closer to the Utah border. He doesn't want to be near family, wants to be able to play in the mountains on the weekends. I love the mountains and I love the climate, but I am ready to give it up to raise my kids in a community. I  don't want him to have to keep a big, fancy job just so we can afford to live in Colorado, because I want my kids to have a daddy that can come to all their musicals and football games. I truly think Joe would love living in a small town and being a public school daddy, but when he thinks of Missouri I think he's reminded how little his parents cared about his own extracurriculars. He thinks there is nothing to do in Missouri (there is always something to do when you have four kids). So it makes me sadder than I'd like to admit to consider moving west, even though I would do it for Joe. 
I mean, it makes me really, really sad.
I'm praying I can get over myself, but I'm also praying Joe softens up a bit.

Well, now, how's that for a learning log?

I stay up too late and write and then get up in the morning and have more to write. I wish I could be more productive! 
Well. I have had a few days of full-on, clean the entire house and holler at kids who track April mud inside and onto my white kitchen floors. (Sure would be nice if they were in school. Ack.)
Yesterday we had the realtor come over and take pictures at four o'clock, so I was killing myself to get things moved into the garage and polish the toilets.
It had just dropped a fresh five inches of snow and my snow gear is somewhere in a box in the garage, along with most of the kids' toys, board games, and books. Anyway, I wasn't doing myself any favors in the realm of getting things done. 
Joe was home in the morning to do some zoom meetings, and when he came up from the basement around 11am, I was stressed out. My back and neck was still all messed up from the long haul drive I'd made with the kids back from Missouri, and made worse by scrubbing floors. I could barely move, so he made the blessed husband move of calling a chiropractor and forcing me to go.

"Dr. Kyle" at The Joint did not look like much of a doctor, instead he looked like he'd walked over from his shift at Firehouse Subs next door, but I guess I hurt bad enough I didn't really care. 
Chiropractors are a weird bunch. Dr. Kyle didn't fit my stereotype, needless to say. And when they tell you to cross your arms, then they bear hug you from behind and tell you to relax....well, it's very hard to trust such a character that works at a fast-food, drop-by, franchise, strip-mall-style chiropractic business.

I didn't even have to pay for the adjustment because the first visit was free for new patients.

Ladies and gents, I am back in the housecleaning business! Bless those men and women who have the peculiar job of cracking the spine back into alignment, even if they smell like chopped onions and have greasy ponytail hair.

Back to business; I have to clean out closets today and re-clean the floor because the house goes live online tomorrow. We will drop Minnie off at the Bark Club and drive out to the Western Slope for a few days of house hunting.

Last Sunday

 When we last moved nearly three years ago (it will be three years in July), I put my Gild the Lily books out in the craft room. My kids have been reading through them pretty regularly since, even to the point where I've had to hide them so they don't tear up the binding.
They love stories about themselves when they were little. I'm always super embarrassed when they read parts out loud because I was such a whiner of a mom. So tired. All the time.

Anyway, I feel like Gild the Lily has turned another corner, and that into more of a journal. I apologize for it (to those same boys who think it's a fun read). The thing is, if my fingers and hands weren't so slow in writing longhand, this would all fit better into the diary medium. But typing is so much easier and tidier. You won't believe the boxes I've packed with my terrible scrawls on the off chance I'll organize it better someday.

Tomorrow or the next day, the realtor shows up to take pictures. So today I spent cleaning up the yard and getting the boys to clean leaves out of window wells. Gretty worked hard to rid the trampoline of snow--we got a good five, wet inches on Wednesday and it was stretching out the springs. She loves yard work and house work. It's so cute.

Meanwhile, Joe went to church to prepare communion for the last time. I didn't want him to go, honestly. I wanted to be on the same page with him, but I was feeling solid in my conviction to not go back to church because of the politics and the bitterness I wanted to avoid towards the preacher who pretty much shut down our Bible study. You see, they sent Joe a text yesterday that said it was imperative he (we) stay after church for an elder meeting regarding our Bible Study group friends. I wanted no part in the politics. If I showed up, it would send the message that I was on the side of the elders, and I definitely am heartbroken over our friends' leaving. I didn't feel good taking communion when a guy a few rows away was getting ready to throw John and Lori under the bus. Plus I didn't want someone announcing we were moving away because we've just taken a few steps in that direction over the last week, and I wasn't ready to be bombarded with questions or sympathy or whatever it entailed. Let it be said that, despite her blogging and desire to be known (sometimes), Pearl is a very private person.

So I stayed home with J, L, and GK and we read Acts 7 (this is my refusal to quit a home Bible Study...I WILL finish Acts with the kids, even if nobody else comes) and did a little stoning project (haha) and yardwork.

Joe took FC, and they came home before the second service began.

I was super curious what happened, but he didn't want to tell me. He was acting super moody, the way he is when something has happened and he needs to sort it out. But I'd already bagged up a ton of old leaves and dog poop, and I needed to sit down to take a break, so I made him tell me what went on at church. So he reluctantly told me.

He said he approached the preacher and let him know he wouldn't be coming to the elder meeting after church, because he wasn't interested in dragging out any sort of condemnation or conspiracy nonsense. He simply didn't want to know the other side of the story. And, by the way, we were leaving the Denver area, he informed him, half joking that this is how our family deals with conflict: we leave.

Well, the preacher didn't like that. "Yes, you leave," he said, "and you don't bother hearing two sides to the story. In fact, this is the worst thing you can do, to not care to listen to both sides, and not care to mend fences." 
Then he went on and said, "Your wife runs the show. She's the same way, she just quits if she doesn't get her way. You do everything she says..." There was more, but I don't need to write it.
Apparently he had a great time slandering me in front of my husband, calling me out for being manipulative and domineering.

I am gutted over this: I can't tell you how sick and upset it made me. It was like a slap in the face. Not only was I slandered, but my value as a wife and believer were called into question. In front of my husband, a man who relies deeply on me, but whom I've never tried to upstage in any way I'm aware of. This man who is the boss at his work, wealthy and well-respected, frequently asked to do important tasks, has no time or energy for kid matters or schooling or extra-curriculars.
I am the problem, the reason we are moving; because it is either I get my way or nothing. 
(It would have been nice to defend myself against these accusations, though I'll admit I would've cried instead, like the baby I am.)

This church man thought it his responsibility to pluck a splinter out of Joe's eye with a big, fat piece of lumber hindering his own view. The thing that hurts the most is that I was the target for the arrows, and it called my integrity into question. And maybe it's my sin nature to be prideful, but integrity is the only thing I've got. No one else pulled out their secret, ugly sins so we could all compare where we've failed in our marriages. It was just me, manipulative, domineering me, the woman staying at home from church to read Acts and pick up dog poop with her kids.

So I'm upset today because what happened is reminiscent of what Jesus said would happen "when men insult you, persecute you, and falsely say all kinds of evil about you".

Folks, it actually happens in real life.

Do you want to know what keeps me from wanting to harm myself in such a situation?
(Don't say I'm being dramatic--I seriously go to that place when I'm told I'm worthless, a disappointment, etc. My first inclination is to eliminate the problem, even if it is me.)

I know that the accuser is a liar. I know Jesus has paid--his blood for mine. I have His Spirit inside of me which assures me of all His promises. I will exalt the Lord of my salvation.
I wouldn't have stood so strong ten years ago.

And so my tears dried up later this afternoon.

Selling

 I realize I should never open a new doc after 10pm but here I am, and I can always close it and begin again tomorrow. I haven’t written anything for such a very long time.

It’s mid April and this is the week we have decided for sure to move away from Denver.
I’m sad and excited.

Everything has me feeling restless, which is why we went to Mexico in January, recovered from Covid in February and welcomed new, wonderful neighbors, drove through Kendall’s new neck of the woods (Rifle) in March to pet her new puppies and then go skiing at Powderhorn, and then I made a spur of the moment trip to Missouri at the beginning of April. We saw my mom, went to Hugh’s church in Kirksville for Easter, saw Kurt Downing and his oldest kid, which was a dream. Love seeing college friends, what a delight! Don’t know how I feel about seeing white whiskers in Kurt’s beard, but I can’t express the joy at seeing and hugging someone who felt formative to my college years. I suspect heaven will be such a wonderful welcome, too.

Then I drove down to Branson and met my grandparents. We ate at Lambert’s in Ozark (Luke’s favorite part of the entire trip) and rented a VRBO in Branson West. Saw the Petersens because the kids have become big fans by watching them on Youtube. Then we went to Sight and Sound to watch Jesus, which was super duper amazing. It was a loooong trip back, something like 13 hours, but look at us! Look at me! One day, four kids and a mom! Four stops and 9 junior bacon cheeseburgers! Lots of Beatles and ukulele and For King and Country and Frozen.

We came home to a fatter, lonely dog, a few more holes in the backyard, and...sigh...homeschool. I sorted out school papers and it made me feel better. Like, actual proof we have done stuff. In the meantime, Jubal is teaching himself to play the guitar and is awesome, Luke is a huge clown and artist that blows me away with his creativity (he’s also hitting the naughty nines and we have had some showdowns where I have to let him know who’s boss). Foy is a sweet, sweet kid with terrible allergies and a knack for piano and drums (cajon, I don’t have patience to work with him on the drum set downstairs), and Gretel is sassy spunk with loads of energy and excitement about all things that grow (flowers, veggies, mushrooms). She’s a craft a holic and has every sort of plan up her sleeves at all times.
I guess they all do. I wander around the house all day, flushing toilets, wiping up messes, picking tape off the carpet...you name it. I’ve been told a better mother would teach her kids to clean up their own messes but only Gretel seems to do a half nice job of picking up. The boys have no standard and so I’d rather do it myself, mostly.

I’ve given up a lot of things this year in the way of What Pearl’s Plans Are. For instance, I have decided staying sane trumps getting things done, so I basically don’t keep up with anything internet-wise, writing-wise, cartoon-drawing-wise, and communicating with people in real life-wise. We are our own planet with our own rhythm that looks a lot like Tang Math worksheets on Monday mornings, music all day, tons of reading, sometimes a writing game, Algebra with Jubal, etc. I thank God for kiwi crates and the genius idea I had at Christmas to order the big boys crates with our MTH money. I would’ve never paid for it with my own cash, but it actually is something they love and is well worth the price because it buys me some quiet time. My kids talk in my ear all day and I’m pretty much at their mercy. Sometimes in the afternoon I’ll go lay down on a heating pad on the couch and close my eyes...which isn’t something I ever did. I never took naps; look at me now!!

At night I pick away at my mandolin. I’m actually getting better, practicing every night. Imagine that!

Maybe it is apathy. I really need my kids in school or I at least need another grown up within our solar system, and I’m desperate and itchy for something to happen. The ol’ patience fruit of the spirit is having a hard time fruiting on the Pearl tree. There just doesn’t seem to be a good place to land and when I’m at home with all the kids everyday (and I am), I’m pretty convinced I’m horrible at being in charge so I panic and plan a getaway.
Bless Joe.
There have been many tears at night after the kids go to bed. My grandma is also married to a similar man, and when I told her of my desperation in needing to get out of Denver, she urged me to “get right up in his face and tell him what you need.” So I did, and I still do. Ha!

To be completely fair, my life is not a hard thing, it’s just me having a hard time reconciling what is going on with what I imagined would be going on right now, and isn’t. Gretel and I were supposed to be spending this year together while the boys were at school. We were supposed to be reading and learning our letters and numbers and baking and doing girl stuff. But we are ALL home having bloody battles on the trampoline instead.

I guess if Jubal learns guitar this year instead of anything fifth grade related, I will take it as a sign that learning actually can happen at home. But I can’t recommend it.

On a tangential note, both my older brothers are about as opposite from me on the homeschooling-and-loving-it spectrum as one could get. Jordan actually got a write up in his local paper expounding the benefits of at-home learning. He even was quoted saying something to the effect of, “I didn’t learn anything in public school. Anything I learned worth learning I taught myself, and if you love your kids you will teach them at home.”

Funny, I learned a lot from my childhood--namely, that I had great parents who loved me and loved Jesus. And I’ve learned a lot in adulthood since then--namely, that I have very little to offer in the way of schooling children.

I’m not sure I could veer any farther from my brothers’ path, and look at me now, homeschooling.

Honest to goodness, I could see a future where my kids don’t need to be in school for 6 or 8 hours a day. Like if they only went to school for a few hours to get their core stuff in, then came home and did music or whatever. But I don’t see that option anywhere, and normal school will definitely not harm them in the long run, methinks.

But that leads me to What In the World is Going on With Church, which might clue one in on our questioning life phase.
We’ve been hosting an at-home Bible study on Thursday nights. Our church decided who would come, and for the most part it has been a really great experience. There are some strong voices, some very opinionated folks, and I was pretty ok with it because we still ate good food and sang songs together with the bunch. Plus I have no friends in Denver, and this was a semblance of something, you know?
But coincidentally, our preacher at church began preaching some stuff that was just a bit odd. He said things here and there that were off, or he was super dogmatic about certain theology. And he talked about John MacArthur all the time. He was super reactive when we asked, one week, to clarify a concerning message about Mark 16 (he doesn’t believe verses 9 and on should actually belong in the Bible). His email said, “I preach my convictions from the pulpit. You are welcome to go somewhere else if you don’t share the same conviction.” Fair enough.

Three other elders joined him, and one happens to be the guy who writes books known worldwide about his expertise in Biblical Eldership.
Safe to say, my desire to be a published author has waned and dried up due to knowing this guy. He’s fantastic and charismatic (not in the spiritual sense, just personality--there’s a little John MacArthur humor for ya) but his elder tenure at our church lasted about two years and then he needed to retire the title because he has more books to write and no time for eldering. Apparently he knows everything there is to know about early church stuff, but his secretary will take care of everything he is too busy to do. (I’m still looking for the verse that mentions church secretaries. It’s got to be in there somewhere.)

 This left us with the preacher and two other elders. One is very sweet and reserved. The other is gung-ho.

The dogmatic and gung-ho guys have begun rewriting the rules.
One was that we needed to reform our worship time. There were lots of little rules: no standing with a guitar between yourself and the microphone. Guitar player in the back; cannot be a lead singer. Read from the hymnal, not from the screen. Must be piano-focused. Only songs from the hymnal are church-sanctioned.

Then came the charter for Bible study.

Seriously, a four page charter detailing what is and isn’t allowed. In my own home.
It got weirder--or maybe it started out weird and I just wasn’t paying enough attention. They have a big Thing about women not talking in church and it was nothing new, but under the guise of “protecting the flock” you can make up a ton of rules, or so it seems. And have women church secretaries, even though they better not speak up in church.

I was feeling uncomfortable about all of it, especially when we started getting emails about things an elder was upset about, but it was unclear who or what made him mad.

Then we realized the elders had a problem with someone in our home group on Thursday nights. 

And not only that, but they wanted us to kick them out, and they were ready to give us all the reasons why.
This was the guitar player and his sweet wife, the one who holds Gretty on her lap and leans her cheek on my little girl’s head while they sing praises to Jesus. Gretel, who I’d never heard sing a hymn out loud, belted out songs with Miss Lori next to her.

These are the folks who showed up at my coat drive and signed people up for a free Thanksgiving dinner. This is the same Lori who came to my house to plan the science fair for our local school. The same couple that prayed over Luke’s constipation (LOL) every Thursday night after the rest of the people had left. 

Spirit-filled, God-loving people.

We didn’t want to hear the elders’ reasons for “protecting” us from the people they assigned to our home group. We didn’t want to be put in between our friends and the elders.

So Joe wrote an email explaining we were likely moving away from Denver anyway, and maybe we should go ahead and dissolve our small group. We don’t want to, really, but we felt backed into a corner.

I don’t want to feel bitter, but this was the one time we saw people during the week, the one time my kids felt some affection from grownups other than me.

Judging by the emails going around, the elders are quite satisfied with how this is ending. It’s like they’ve killed two birds with one stone..

Anyway. The church fiasco and the email made it feel more final. I guess we are moving, and maybe this was God’s nudge in that direction.

Luke and I got ticks while we were in Missouri. We even let them hang on till we got home, and that might be the reason I don’t want to move to Missouri--ticks. I’m sorry, Missouri. I want to give you a try, I think, but then when I go back and visit, for some reason it feels tricky. I love it and I don’t love it. My home is with Joe, I guess, and he’s not there. He’s here.

But really I think we’ve adapted quite well to Colorado. Fourteen years we have been here, and Joe would have a hard time convincing his work that he should move elsewhere.
So we are considering the Western Slope, probably not as south as Durango.

And maybe that catches me up for the spring, or at least it will be nice to remember what happened in 2021 and what in the world we were thinking to leave Denver.

I will say, Zillow tells me my house has appreciated in value and the real estate market is begging for inventory, which is a major bonus right now. Word is, I could list it and have it sold in mere days.
Time will tell!

A new backpack

 Today I bought the sparkliest, pinkest, shiniest unicorn backpack in the world. It was on clearance at Kohl’s. A little girl twisted my arm into dropping the eight dollars. She wore it proudly all the way to the checkout line, beaming at everyone we passed.

“I am going to look great at kindergarten,” she announced to the cashier.

The first time it snowed this season was September 8. I know this for a fact, because on September 7th I cut down the front yard wildflowers and filled every vase in my house. When the snow began falling, I took the dog on a walk and snapped photos of my remaining zinnias, their fuschia heads weighted down by frozen white crowns, bowing low over their regal, long-stemmed necks. 

When I returned from my dusky jaunt, the itching began. It has not stopped since. In October, I was diagnosed with chronic urticaria--hives that never go away. I am managing this nightmare with medication, but the symptoms multiply. The season endures.

It is snowing, again this morning, on March 24.

Seven months of this winter.

I have friends who are getting married, having babies; friends who are graduating their kids from high school. New jobs, moving across the country, beginning exciting dreams. My own kids are on the floor, arguing about the Beatles and playing Catan when they ought to be writing papers in school and playing baseball.

Oughtn’t they?

I mean, I realize there isn’t a human right to education and social interaction, but wouldn’t these things be healthy? To my understanding, within my cultural upbringing and mores--

I wonder how I backed myself into this corner. My health situation complicates things. I can’t get over the
But still I marvel at the passing of time, and at the little daily habits that grow into lifestyles. I am learning about what is mine to do within my limitations, what I have to offer even when the seasons refuse to change.

I don’t mean to sound melancholy. The fact is, I am filled with hope. I’ve never been in a weaker spot, never been more helpless, but I’m also more confident than ever that God uses weak things. He must, because I look at my kids (who wear me out) and they are apparently doing fine.

My little girl is old enough to wear a mask and young enough to throw a fit about wearing one. My boys, especially the middle ones, are too outgoing to remain six feet apart in any situation where a potential friend presents the opportunity to chat.

For a while I forced the mask thing in stores and watched with hesitance at the playground.

But not anymore.

 I am still getting over covid, which is a peculiar thing to say and also experience.

I keep thinking it isn't as bad as the flu but it sort of is, because the symptoms (for me) keep dragging on. No taste, no smell, except for the tiniest hint. Salt, I can kind of detect. Sweet--nothing. Much improved from the not being able to sense hunger or fullness in my stomach--now that was weird. Still a head cold, still a wet feeling in my lungs. And then, maybe it's just the whole overwhelm of homeschooling kids added to it. Do I feel good? one might ask herself, and one might never know the answer because there just isn't enough space for feeling things out.

I take the needy dog on a walk out of duty, but also because I need to leave the house, even if it is 20 degrees. Side note: the dog is very needy. "Not an easy dog" Lilly (our friend who house sat this month) said, and she is 100% correct. The dog that needs a five mile run before she can chill out in the mornings.

I am a grumpy homeschooler mom. I try not to let it show but it still makes me sad, sad, sad to hear my friends and mom regale me with stories of in school scenarios. I mean, it makes me happy and hopeful for them, but it feels like I'm stuck in a whirlpool with little hope of escape. My boys have too much energy and so does the dog. I'm not enough to go around. I sat with Foy and begged him to work on his terrible handwriting. Then I threatened him. This is a sign it isn't going to work long term.

After two solid days this week, I broke out the watercolors and oil pastels to mix things up. (Now there's a joke for ya...oil and water don't mix.) Jubal finally wandered up from the basement after I'd hollered and hollered at him to get out of bed and he had finished Lord of the Flies. He'd pulled it off my shelf last night (I collect these books to read myself just to keep in the loop) and had it half finished by the time I caught him. I really would've rather him not read it yet, but oh, well. 

The other kids were already done with breakfast and my art plan, so I made Jubal sit down in front of the supplies and I tossed discussion questions at him (Why did the boys treat Piggy so bad? What does the conch shell symbolize?). He covered the paper with a scribble of oil pastel and told me the book basically is a reflection of how nasty people are in real life. When social constructs disappear, people are still ugly to the core.
Am I supposed to feel proud of this revelation? Is it supposed to please me immensely that my eleven year old is so bored he's reading Lord of the Flies in the span of eighteen hours?
Who cares? I can guarantee it's not any sort of life lesson or mind blowing literature experience for him. He has already moved on to making crystals out of citric acid. And jello. And brownies.

I really don't know what to do. I wait and keep waiting for some light to break through. I'm incredibly thankful for our situation and that I can stay home with my kids. I can order more art supplies, I can buy more music books, and I can even turn on Peppa Pig so I can sit and help Jubal with (horrible) pre-algebra. They can make boxes of brownies and no one is sketching sad, gloomy self-portraits like I see on the mental well-being webpage of our local school district.

My kids aren't sad. It's me that gets in a funk. 

What I realize I need is just to write it out, because the emotions of it get caught up in my headspace and I really cannot cope unless I release the pressure via words.

Once I can release it, it lightens the load. I realize I overthink everything, and the surest way to get rid of the overthinking is just to spill it out so there is that much less to handle.
I realize my biggest problem is not homeschooling, but the burdensome lie that I must teach them everything, all day, every day, without stop, without a break. Seriously, they go from dawn till dusk, and past that. When we are in public school, the day is over at 2:30. No one is beginning another project at 3pm like we do all the time at home.
I realize my boundaries get blurred all the time because I don't think of them as boundaries. I let FC and GK sit on the counter and watch me make every little thing. They watch me fry eggs, they watch me shred cheese, cut carrots, pour cereal, boil water, etc. Those used to be little snippets of time where I could get pleasantly lost in thought...And I haven't been able to do it for ten months now. And no one ever pointed out to me the correlation between my grumpiness and the lack of thinking time I get in a day.

So, here is my brain dump. I feel better already.

You know what I never wrote about on this blog? The hives. 
In September we took a week long trip to Lake Powell. I'm pretty sure I'll never go camping again because I loathe it. (Write this down because I guarantee someone will twist my arm and fool me into thinking I love camping)
Anyway, a few nights before it snowed (in September!) and I took the dog on a walk. I came back with the most severe itching, and the following morning I had hives up and down my legs and butt. Well, I went to Urgent care and the jerk doctor basically told me I was a hypochondriac and showed me the door. Fast forward to Lake Powell and I was so miserable I was crying all day long, every day. I mean, the worst itching a person could imagine. Non stop. Head to ankle. Embarrassing places, too. The hives were relentless.
So. Long story short, I ruined the camping trip for everyone and when we came home I found an immunologist who eventually diagnosed me with chronic idiopathic urticaria. Hives.
I think it is probably the beginning of a bigger health issue but we haven't discovered it yet. I take Allegra in big doses and if it gets really bad I've got a stash of prednisone. But isn't that crazy?

Ok. I will do more therapeutic writing, I think.

Joe is home so I'm off to walk the dog.