Head in hands again. Trying to shut out the noise. The kids with their needs swirling around me.
We are homeschooling in February.
I sat on the couch, overwhelm consuming me. Do I declare (another) fun day and take the kids cross-country skiing?
Should we call all our homeschooling friends and organize (another) hockey party on the free outdoor ice rink?
Do I give them as much “independent work” as I can and try to tackle the mess of stuff in the basement, the pile that seems to have acquired a life of its own and that roars at me as I pass like a Yeti in the basement?
Or do I confront the emotions in my heart that are spilling out onto the couch next to me, a mess I am trying to hide but that is emerging despite my best efforts to pretend I am confidently steering this homeschooling ship?
It’s becoming increasingly difficult to hide behind the fun. It’s becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the fact that our home is so disorganized that we can no longer find pencils to do our math. Or that no one cares. “I like using a green pencil crayon for math, Mommy!” she asserts.
She is not trying to make me feel better. She is genuinely happy. Her needs are met.
And mine?
“I’m not worried about the kids,” my husband would assert. “I’m worried about you.”
So I offer you tea and a listening ear, dear homeschooling Mom and Dad, and ask:
How are you?
Not how are your kids?
Not how is the state of your home (We know it’s a disaster. You homeschool!)
How are you?
People who suppress feelings experience less positive and more negative emotions.
APA PsycNet
And then your tears, and your head in hands, and I put my arm around you to comfort you.
Husbands, put on a helmet first and then TRY asking your wives if PMS is real.
You know the answer, or you will find out soon enough.
Similarly, the homeschooling in February blues is real.
I want to propose (shout out to Mystie Winckler for the essence of this paragraph’s wisdom!) that the path we walk through the regular monthly cycling of our emotions gives us a hint for how we walk through the annual cycling of our feelings during the homeschooling year.
And February is hard.
Now, I know that you don’t have time for a dissertation. Your child is pulling your arm already, something is burning on the stove, and you have dog vomit to clean up, but you need some help. Now.
Don’t quit homeschooling in February.
If you take the advice of the sentence above, then go! Go and get through the day! Well done, Mom and Dad!
If you have another 5 minutes, here is an explanation for the statement above.
When sailors would navigate using the stars, how would they do it? They would choose their course on a cloudless, moonlit night. “I am heading north-east,” they would assert, and set their hearts and sails in that direction.
On a cloudy night, when the stars were invisible, and they didn’t know which way to go, what did they do?
They kept sailing in the same direction.
February, head in our hands month, is a cloudy night, desolation.
Ignatius describes desolation as “. . . darkness of soul, . . . the unquiet of different agitations and temptations, . . . when one finds oneself . . . as if separated from his Creator and Lord.” . . .
Ignatius warns us that someone in desolation should never change an important decision . . . made when they were in a state of consolation.
The Jesuit Post
Keep sailing in the same direction.
How do you do it? How do you survive one more day, you ask desperately? I’ll give you some tips, held like cherished gems in my pocket from long years on the sea, at another time, friend, because our time together has ended for today.
But oh, desolation is an opportunity for our growth.
May you reach your destination.
However, you may not end up where you thought you were sailing.
That is His way.
Restoring Life 