Losing Time, Gaining My Self

I knew I would be sacrificing my "alone time" when I decided to bring my children home for their education.  I used to pop them on the bus (kicking and screaming if necessary) at 8:33am.  I would wave goodbye to their window-paned faces, chat with the gaggle of other moms for a minute, then take my little dog for an hour walk.  Every morning.  All right, almost every morning. (Sometimes it gets very, very cold in Michigan.)

I came home to quiet.  Sometimes I'd clean first thing so I could bask all day in the orderliness.  My father always used to say, "What the wise man does in the beginning, the fool does in the end."  Work before rest was our mantra growing up, and it's hard to kick those ingrained lessons.  Especially the ones you know make perfect sense.

Occasionally I'd make a phone call or check in with my social networking.  I'd prepare foods for dinner, bake some goodies, or head out to do a little shopping.  Once in a while I'd meet a friend for lunch or go up to the school for some volunteer work.  Maybe I'd have a church meeting or prepare materials for an upcoming Sunday School class.

For the most part, my time was my own.  Seven and a half hours a day.  Bringing the kids home for their education certainly changed all of that.  But honestly, I don't feel like my children- living their lives in their own home- are robbing me of something I'm owed. 

I will admit, at times it gets hairy around here.  I feel like I'm going to pull all of my hair out.  They feel like they are going to bounce through the walls.  My house looks like a group of frat boys just camped out for the weekend, and it's frozen spinach ravioli for dinner one more time this week! 

These are the moments I crave a bite of that silence pie.  However, while pie is delicious, I know in the long run it's going straight to my thighs.

Bottom line:  I've gained way more than I've lost.  It's been a beneficial exchange, if you will. I've actually discovered more of my "self" from bringing the kids home than I ever knew in all my hours of  "me-time." 

"How so?" you may ask.

Well, home schooling was the impetus for my regular blogging.   As I've said in the past, writing is like my religion... at the very least it's my meditation.  It grounds me in a way that nothing else can.  So I write.  And I write with a focus- my true, honest experience with this year of transition from school to home.  I write about something for which I have a passion- my family.  And I write with the hope that, while I am benefiting greatly from the practice, others might also find comfort in my words.

Low and behold, people read!  From this prolific writing, in addition to the aforementioned spiritual grounding, I have gained a small (that's okay, baby steps are good) professional writing opportunity.  I have gained the confidence to take on a novel-writing challenge, and to submit articles for publication. None of these have been published... yet.  But that's okay.  

I have overcome my fear of rejection (get off my back you crazy monkey).

Okay, some days I find myself spinning in circles... literally, spinning in my living room like a broken top, wondering if I can make it one more minute until daddy gets home from work.  But by the end of the day I find my ground again. 

I remember all the school days spent with my cell phone at arm's length, overcome with the feeling that it would ring at any moment and I would have to rush up to the office to help my son... knowing that when he walked back to class in different clothing, it was one more painful step toward the social periphery. 

I gladly exchange my spinning for his step.

I remember the horrible mornings when he refused to walk into the school, or get on the bus, or get out of bed.  I mistook his legitimate fears and anger for obstinacy. 

I gladly exchange my long lonely walks for our slow, easy, pajama breakfasts.

In this exchange, this decision, this lifestyle choice meant to preserve my son, I have inadvertently discovered myself. 

...and for that, I am glad.