It's Alive! It's ALIVE!

I am alive and well on Planet Earth. However, I am in the process of compiling some of my post, and it has literally consumed all of my time. Please continue to visit. I will begin updating again very soon.

Melik

March 25, 2014 The first time I saw my son was on a Tuesday afternoon. I am not certain of that, however, Tuesday seems to embody: normal, average, day. My oldest daughter and I had returned the day before from seeing my brother in Brussells, Belgium. We were so jet lagged. My husband and I had a week left until our Foster care license would expire. Honestly, we were waiting for it to run out. Our four daughters were keeping us plenty busy. We had discussed adopting again, but honestly, Greg was already working two jobs and our house was bursting at the seams. Abby and I awoke from our slumber and decided to make a Starbucks run. As I was driving down our main street in town, my phone rang. You guessed it. Our case worker, and friend, was calling to see if we would be open to a two week long placement. “It’s a boy!” she said. “And he’s African American,” which we had requested on our profile. Parenting black children, one who was markedly darker than the other, had convinced us that we should be specific on this application. “He’s been with a family member for two weeks and he’s four months old. Our plan is to clear another family member for placement.” Wow. So we would be this little guy’s 3rd home in his short little life. “Ok. Well, let me call Greg.” Before I go into the phone call, let me give you some insight into the way we think and live. It has been the norm in our almost 20 years together, that we have not had to have long, drawn-out, discussions over major events in in our marriage. The big decisions seem to come to us already made. We can have a “ruin your date night” discussion over where to eat, bringing stray dogs into the house until the pound can pick them up, or my anxiety over his driving. As to buying houses, cars, adopting children; not so much. I do see the irony, or lunacy, in this as I type it. However, it is what it is. So I call Greg and say, “Here’s the deal, blah, blah, blah, what do you think?” He says, “Well, he’s 4 months old so he’ll sleep a lot, which will allow homeschooling to not be interrupted. I think that sounds good. And, it’s only for two weeks! What do you think?” I said, “Yeah, I think we should be alright.” Now, for those of you who over-spiritualize how this works, there is little time for prayer in these moments. The praying has to be something that is being done before and consistently. Like breathing in and out. Emma, our case worker, needed to find a home for him quickly. He was being moved out of his first placement because it was proving to be a threatening environment. So my final words to Greg were, “Ok, I am calling her now so don’t call me in thirty minutes and say you’ve changed your mind.” He assured me that that would not happen. And that was that. My two older daughters and I drove down town and rode the elevator to the 4th floor. We told the receptionist that we would like to see Case Worker X. She came out and we told her that we were going to be the foster family and we wondered if we could see him. She told me that she would be bringing him to our house in a couple of hours but she would let us see him. She disappeared behind a glass and came back holding this little bitty baby. Melik weighed 9 pounds at 4 months old. My oldest daughter was 9.5 at birth. By 4 months, she was like a toddler. He had new born eyes and a soft, silky, head full of hair. He was still curled-up, as if someone had just unwrapped him in-utero. He was someone else’s son, and although I was taking everything in, I was just the babysitter. Short-term at that. He will never know me or have any memory of me. I will be a link in the chain of healthy-attachment. He came to our home shortly after that. Some of his clothes were in a duffel bag and others were in the Luv’s diaper box. He had a bear that his aunt had sent with him that said The Lord’s Prayer. He was precious. We signed all of the paper work stating that we would do everything that we had been trained to do, and the case worker left. Several days passed and real life set in. I began to wear Melik. I would tie him on the front of my body in the morning, and unless I was driving or in the shower, that is where he stayed. After all of his records had been transferred to our pediatrician, which was his 3rd, I discovered that he had been born 2 months early. His first home was the NICU where he lived for his first 8 weeks. After going home, for a month and a half, he was removed and placed with his aunt for the next two weeks. And now he would be with us until his new home could prepare. You know, all removals are not the same. His mom truly loved him, and loves him, to the best of her ability. However, she mentally could not shoulder the responsibility of a child. She should have never been in this situation. She was not protected properly. Yet through this turn of events is born a beautiful little boy. Her son. I cannot forget to tell you about the Skype call we had with my mom who was still in Brussells. She would not be returning to the States for another week. She and my brother’s family answered our call thinking that we would be checking in to report about our flight home. When we told them that we had a surprise for them, something we wanted to show them, they were expecting a ferret. You know, I hate rodents or anything resembling rodents. One of my children became fixated on the idea of getting a ferret while I was overseas. Every call was about this ferret and the leash that she was told that she could walk him with. She had this entire life planned around this loving, and playful, rodent. That being said, when Melik’s little face came on the screen they began to laugh and coo at the same time. Around the third week we begin to hear that the family was not panning out as anticipated. Contrary to popular belief, there are lots of details that go into placement. Although not a perfect system, our experience with CPS has been positive. CASA was heavily involved in home visits, as well as CPS. It was a consensus that he not be moved. Weekly visits were now happening. I would take him, drop him off for an hour, and the case worker would bring him home. This was proving to be more difficult for me, emotionally, because I had bonded with this child. It is so taxing to keep these boundaries in place. Why should anyone have the right to tell me when he can get a haircut? I’m raising him. Why would anyone care what kind of clothes he wears to a visit? They are clean and new. Who has the audacity to question what he’s eating? I’m not just giving him the right kind of formula, but he’s finally gaining weight. All of these uncensored thoughts flooded my mind daily. Me. The foster parent. After months of trying unsuccessfully to keep him with his biological family, word came that we would have the opportunity to adopt him. This was a fantastic day in my life. I honestly felt as if the Lord was blessing me with too great a gift. One main event that I will never forget, as long as I live, was the day that Greg and I sat down with Melik’s birthmother and talked. We were in a small room with case workers, CASA workers, me and Greg, and his birthmom. She was a noticeably nervous. She had the mental capacity of an 11 year old, maybe. With assistance, she had written a list of questions for us. She wanted to know if we were to adopt him if we would let him wear t-shirts that had cartoon characters on them. She was curious about our daughters. She liked the fact that Greg was a Pastor because she wanted Melik to be “raised up Christian.” She also wanted Melik to remain his name. Her Grandmother liked that name and wanted that name to be used. I promised her that his name would remain. We took pictures together and hugged. When she left the room it was completely silent. Several reading this blog were there and can attest to this. I bowed my head and allowed the locked up emotions to come out. The gravity of what was taking place in that moment was so overwhelming. Shortly after that meeting, I got a phone call that she was there wanting to relinquish her rights as his legal parent. The day that she stood before the Judge to say that this was her decision, was another monumental day. We had a long break so she and I decided to go have lunch. We went to Sonic and grabbed some burgers. On the way back to the courthouse, Bill Wither’s came on the radio singing, “Ain’t no Sunshine.” She sang at the top of her lungs. Innocent as a child, she sang freely and passionately. And I became engulfed in emotion as she sang. She rocked slowly, forward and backward, singing, and feeling whatever it was that she was feeling. I was wondering what she might be thinking about and how things might have been different for her. I was wondering what I was feeling. I knew then that she would always be a significant part of our son’s life and our life, too. And I felt again the sting of adoption. What was redemptive in my eyes, from my perspective, was a jail sentence to her. She, in spite of her limitations, loved him. And he would call me Mommy. This has proven to be a difficult scenario as he still sees her. However, it is one that we are willing to push through because it is important and we have given her our word. We finalized our adoption shortly after, on my 40th birthday. So today, Gregory Amos Melik Fields, on your 3rd birthday, here is MY prayer for You: I pray that you will know that you have always been loved. From birth until now, you are fiercely loved and treasured by two sets of parents. I pray that you will always honor your Mother. Both of them. I pray that you will grow to be a strong man of God who breaks the patterns of previous generations. I pray that you will live with the same passionate, freedom that your birth mom sang with. And I pray, that like your Daddy, you will not sweat the big stuff…because we would have missed out on so much joy if he had!

Yukon Men

I am addicted to other people’s lives. I must confess, I love to watch people and see how they live. When roaming around Facebook looking at pics I find myself always looking past the object in view to see the background. A person’s house, chairs, laundry and blankets; all of this is so fulfilling to me. It seems to paint a more robust story. And if I look at a picture that appears staged, I don’t want to look at that person’s pictures any more. Bizarre, I know. I seem to enjoy looking at situations that normalize my life. It’s easy to idealize other people’s lives and homes by looking at masked snapshots through social media. In the idealizing I can believe that my circumstances are marginal because I don’t have a turquoise Kitchen Aid mixer. I recently watched a show about two families who are completely self-sustaining in Alaska’s wild frontier. It was fascinating. I loved when we were given glimpses into their homes. One young couple amazed me. They had minimal “things” in their house. There was an altar. I’m assuming they are Buddhist. Vibrant colors plastered the walls. Herbs hung in the simple windows. The underground cellar was so unique. In it they kept all of their freshly canned meats, fruits, and vegetables. They also smoked hundreds of pounds of fish that they had caught, in a short three month period. That fish would sustain them through the nine months of hard winter. Greg and I sat there dumbfounded. He looked at me and said, “There’s no way that we would survive there.” I answered back with an affirmative, “Right.” Disappointment swept through our house when the last episode was watched. Much to our surprise there was yet another Alaskan reality show. Yukon Men was similar but it focused on a community of people as opposed to individuals. One episode confirmed our belief that we would die in a day if left alone in the icy outback. The last episode we watched focused on a dad and his 14 year old son. The son looked exactly like the kid from the animated movie Brother Bear. The father goes to him and tells him that they are in need of more meat. He then tells the kid that there has been a bear spotted a couple of miles up the road and ask him if he knows how to use the gun. Come again? We were freaking out. Did he just ask his son, who is as old as our oldest daughter, if he could hunt down a black bear, by himself, and kill it? The boy responds by saying soberly, “Yes sir. I’m going to make you proud.” I used to be 14 and I dunno, but no. The dad has his 30 second sound bite where he looks into the camera and explains that living in Alaska is difficult and laborious. He says something to the effect of, “We all have to work together here or we won’t survive, and he knows this (referring to his son), because it’s how he’s been raised.” I have had this episode on my mind for about a month now. Managing 5 growing children is difficult. Some do it better than others (me). However, it’s my first time to do it! One of the reasons that we chose to open our home to the fostering process was because we had an easy life. We were raising two kids in a safe, comfortable, environment and I remember thinking, “This will be a way for our whole family to share in the suffering of another.” I had absolutely no idea what I was talking about. We were extremely naïve and young. Julia Roberts in August: Osage County says, “It’s a good thing we don’t know the future. None of us would ever get out of bed.” My dad had a phrase that he used to say to me and Greg when we were first married: “You two are going to live on love and starve to death.” His point? It takes more than love to survive marriage. The same is true in raising children. It takes more than desire to parent. It takes more than a desire to ‘help the kid from a hard place’. A camp high will not be enough to sustain your desire while sharing in the suffering of a kid with fetal alcohol syndrome. I have days, like every parent I’m sure, when I feel desperate. I do not want to think about how things are going to turn out in some situations, however, to avoid those thoughts seems irresponsible. To not go down the road a little way, in order to divert the direction or destroy the path, is to choose my own comfort over the healing and protection of my child. However, to go down that road means that I must engage emotionally and relationally in ways that are horribly uncomfortable for me. And what is harder? I have to choose to engage in these thoughts and actions when things are calm and manageable so that I have the energy to change, prepare, and parent my children rationally and thoughtfully. If not, we will all starve when the first snow storm blows in. Sitting in the Psychiatrist office today I felt alone. I had a child that did not feel like talking about hard things because it would lead to feeling more difficult emotions. What set her off? She didn’t get a doll that she wanted. After she decided to go into the office I sat against the wall, beside a fake plant, looking at the dust that covered the bottom half of the sofa table. My eye hurt and my stomach was revolting. I prayed silently, “Lord, we never have an easy day. I’m so exhausted. Please help my kids. They never get an easy day either.” I know that easy is relative, but truly, it’s never easy. Oh my. I do not want to be that mom. God, save me from myself. On the drive home my older child sat in the back seat and played dolls with my younger child. This de-escalated an already 5 hour long episode. She was not begging to do this nor did I make her. But, guess what. She did it because she knew. She knew what many other kids her age do not. She knew that her 20 minute engagement would provide an evening of peace. She lives with a kid from a hard place. She recognizes dilated pupils, sullen expressions, and vacant responses. She knows that her sister does not have the capacity to work through disappointments like she should. She loves her sister. She does not remember a time without her. I felt like a wet wash cloth on the drive home. I was heavy, used up, and ready to be rung out. I feel like I always hear Story in the weirdest places. This time: One Direction. Really. The kids were in the back role playing with their Barbies when the song began. “Written in these walls are the stories that I can't explain I leave my heart open but it stays right here empty for days She told me in the morning she don't feel the same about us in her bones It seems to me that when I die these words will be written on my stone. Written on these walls are the colors that I can't change Leave my heart open but it stays right here in its cage I know that in the morning I'll see us in the light upon your ear Although I am broken, my heart is untamed still The story of my life I take her home I drive all night to keep her warm and time is frozen The story of my life I give her hope I spend her love until she's broke inside The story of my life” I am unable to explain how fitting this song is for someone parenting a child that they feel they cannot reach. But I know that you know. Because we all have these moments. Later that night, I thought back over the last nine years and how far we had come. I talked to my child who had had the terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. She asked me what was wrong with her brain. She knows that her thoughts are like a torn apart jigsaw puzzle. I told her, “I don’t think you have a brain problem.” With her hand in mine, and her black eyes staring into me, I told her the truth. “The truth is: You have a heart problem. Your heart has been sad for a very long time.” One, little, tear pushed and fought its way to the corner of her eye and rolled effortlessly down her cheek. We talked for about five minutes, as something else had already sucked her into its centrifuge. “Squirrel!” When she left I sat on the little couch at the foot of my bed. It is tattered, torn, and comfortable. It keeps lots of secrets. I just sat there realizing how much I love this child. My mind was racing with scenes from the past. Running, escaping, yelling, fighting, pushing away, spitting, and destroying. She has no memory of any of this. Then my thoughts poll vaulted into the present. Sitting, talking, spontaneously saying, “I love you, Mommy.”, reading well, questioning God, trusting God, and finding her voice. We are more than survivors. We have done more than “weathered well” over the past decade. We have conquered. We have shown Light into dark places. We have stalked the bear and shot it.

I will give you a new name...

I have been wanting to post this for quiet some time and I just couldn't carve out the time to do so. We have been so blessed this year to have had only four hospitalizations with Ellie. Compared to the first year when we were hospitalized 12 times, four is great. Compared to many, our road has been easy. I try, not in an effort to minimize what we're going through but rather in a way to frame it, to remind myself that their are parents every hour who leave the hospital without their children. It seems to help me remain sober and balanced. I do have overwhelming moments, however, when I feel like I am disparing. Once, while at the hospital, I had an extremely vivid dream. i was driving with a friend and all of our children. We were in a convertible, that was also a van. During our conversation, i accidentally drove off of the side of the mountain/cliff that we were driving around. To say it was scary would be an understatement. I had the sensation that I was free falling. The kids were screaming and I knew that this was it. We were all facing an emminant death. i woke up sweating and holding on for dear life, preparing for impact. My fears and feelings reveal themselves, always. At Worship the following Sunday, I was exhausted. One of our Elders always greets us by saying, "Shaloam". He has explained on several occassions that Shaloam is more than peace. It means complete peace, wholeness, fulness, contentment and rest. It is the peace of God. Shortly after the service, Ellie came to me doubled over in pain needing to be re-admitted. I really don't even know what words to use to express what I was feeling but it was not peace. The other children were crying, as Ellie and I began our 55 mile pilgrimage of pain. I was so discouraged. I had not eaten all day and I knew that we would have a long wait before being admitted. I told Ellie that I had to get a burger and promised to hurry. At this point, my brain was mush. I pulled through and the young man began to up-sale by suggesting 1,500 items I could add to my order. I pulled forward, in the zone, wishing our situation was different. He leaned out the window with my burger and drink. I gave him my card and glanced at his name tag. "Excuse me. Is that your name?" Somewhat embarrassed he answered, "Yes." I said, "Well, I'm so glad your parents gave you that name." His name was Shaloam. I drove away in awe that God had sent me a reminder that I could rest in His complete peace. Several months had passed and honestly, this momentous event had sadly, slipped my mind. We were having a good run. Ellie had been in hospital several more times since the Drive-Through epiphany. She had one stay during September, but all of October was calm. Her pain began to elevate around the first week of November and it was looking like we were going to go to the hospital. Sure enough, the second week rolled around and we were back in the car. Suprisingly, I was great. Laid back, "we got this", all is smooth. Three days later we were coming home. I was so happy that we would be home for Thanksgiving. It was drama free and fun. Then Saturday rolled in bringing with it a horrible case of pancreatitis. We managed the pain at home for the first several days. By mid-week it was too much to bear. All of the kids were upset. It is never a seamless transition. Everything is affected when we are gone. Yes, we have had the talks about how this is the "new norm" and life has to go on...but the reality of living that is different. There is anger and bitterness,constant schedule changes and the game must go on minus two players. We got in the car to leave. I was driving and Ellie was laying down in the back seat. There was road construction going on and it took us an hour to get to Fate. That drive should've taken 15-20 minutes. The entire drive was quiet, other than Ellie's cringes & cries. I am so weepy at this point but I am holding it in so as to not make the situation worse. I am wanting to pray but i cannot. I am feeling nothing but frustration and sadness. Sad that I am not at home with our entire family entact. Frustrated that I have to enfringe on everyone elses schedule for my children to be cared for in my absence. And, not wanting Ellie to feel guilty that her illness has caused this. At this point, her pain has kicked into high gear, and for those of you who understand what that means-it's not fun. Ellie throws up from the severity of the pain. It's alot like having a miagrain and throwing up in the middle of that. Well, in the rush of leaving I forgot to grab a gag-bag. "I'll go through the Drive-Through at Starbucks and ask for a bag." I told her. Fighting back tears I silently pray, "Lord, I don't even know how to pray. I don't know what to say or do." I pulled through the drive and ordered an Americano. When we pulled up the guy could see Ellie in the back seat laying down and not well. "Any chance you could give me a couple of bags?" He obviously knew what I was needing them for. He gave me a crooked smile and hurried to get the bags. He doubled the bags up and handed them to me. Leaning out of the window, I saw his name tag and begin to weep. Judah. His name was Judah. Praise the Lord. Pulling away, I asked to Ellie, "Did you see his nametag?" She quietly whispered, "No." "Well," I began. "His name was Judah. That means Praised. Ellie, God sees YOU. God sees ME. He always sends us reminders that He is here with us. Even in suffering- He is to be praised." I am so thankful for the encouragement that God gives to me. Some days, I am too weak to lift the Bible from the table, to read the Words that my tired bones are in desperate need of. Even then, He is with me. Some Sundays I cannot participate in corporate worship because someone is sick or we are in the hospital, and still God is with me. I must press on and lean in to the Truth that I confess!

rest.

it was so nice to get to go away this weekend with a friend. i actually slept through the night last night. my kids are not great sleepers. it seems like every night i am awakened by at least one of them. it's not fun. however, as they get older they seem to make up for all of their lost sleep and want to hibernate for days. as i am reflecting on the past two days i am thoughtful of tomorrow. as believers, we begin our week with Rest. yes, we start our week with Rest and we live the remainder of the week with an eye and heart to "entering our Rest" again with the approaching week. REST. it means so much to me right now. when i was growing up, different leaders would say, "you come to church to perform for an audience of One." i understood that they were saying, "don't worry about others around you. just worship the Lord who sees you." the problem, however, is this- We come to Worship to see God perform. He is speaking. He is giving us gifts (communion, baptism, community). His Glory is on display. We even worship as receivers. Thanks be to God! So tomorrow morning, as you get the kids dressed, fed, listen to the arguing that comes naturally in families, grab your coffee, and as you run out the door, remember- it is worth it. Why? Because the God of the universe, the One who formed you and chose you, says, "Come unto Me & I will GIVE you REST."

mixed emotions

happy & weird. we are so happy for one of our girls who heard her birth mom's voice for the first time in her life yesterday. she said, "i'm a little nervous since i've never met her in my...well...entire life...ever." if you are a parent imagine what it would be like to hear your baby's voice for the first time as a 9 year old. it's a little overwhelming to think about. it was a sweet conversation. when her mother answered the phone i said, "she's a little nervous to talk to you...ok? but she's just going to ask you a bunch of questions. are you o.k.," i asked. "Well, i'm nervous too." she said. i handed our daughter the phone before i lost my composure. it is a little surreal to hear your child tell the God-ordained woman, who chose to give her life and not abort her, that she "would need to ask her parents before she could meet her face-to-face." it's such a messy world. but thanks be to God that He is already all we need. sad. we are so sad for another daughter who was crushed by her own sadness in realizing that her birth mom is not in a place where she can make contact right now. she pretended for a moment that she was her birth mom and tried to imagine why she was unable to make this connection. "maybe she's scared," she said. "maybe she has other kids." "maybe she..." she searched for reasons. "what do you think we can do about this?" her daddy asked. "maybe we can pray for her." she stated -feeling defeated and alone. "maybe we can call the agency again." sounding a tad more hopeful. the sad fact, however, is that she knows that their is a mom- her mom-that she has never seen. as she, my insightful 7 year old, says, "imagine you were born and you never got to open your eyes and see her face." those words, from her, make my heart implode. heavy and crushing. no matter the circumstances...i wish she could see her. there is no way to prepare yourself for the emotions that you feel on the journey of adoption. you can prepare for it about the same way you prepare for a traumatic birthing/c-section experience. a lot of techniques and ideas. they are helpful but still lacking. we are doing things now that we swore we would never do. why? because it is best for our children. inconvenient? yes. messy? yes. best? yes.

Let's have lunch.

(This is a little difficult to read-for some reason it is not saving my spacing and paragrahs! sorry...it all smashed together! BOO!) Many arguments have flooded my mind this week. There have been numerous discussions amoung my peers, around the table, in the aisle of the market and on the phone. I have been wondering what I would really feel free to write once i sat in front of this computer. I have yet to find a topic that people are more opinionated on than home education. I have to be honest: For the life of me, I cannot figure out why this is such a hot topic. As i sit here, legs crossed, in the middle of my couch, i am staring at pictures of my five children. Three of these are children that my husband and I sought out. We took hours of classes, spent alot of money for homestudies and took cpr/first aid classes. We went through state agencies to secure their adoptions. WE are their parents. Our other two have benifitted from the education that we received through this process. So, all of their little faces are gazing upon me as i write this. They are ultimately our responsibility. We never intended on home-educating our children. In fact I remember using words like, "cruel, unnatural, and isolating" in regard to this idea. I have heard words such as, "weird, dorky, anti-social, and a**holes" as of late. The idea seems to infuriate some and baffle others. Why would someone choose this form of education? Why would someone deny their child access to the public system and the opportunity to interact with other kids and diverse ideas? This blog will not address any of those questions. We have chosen the responsibility of educating our children in the way that we think is best for all of them. So have you. If you are a parent your child's education is your responsibilty. You may not give it much thought. You may think that you're doing the only thing that you can do. You may not care. You may be thrilled and content with what you have chosen...Great! It is your responsibilty. We have had our children in every scenario and have had good experiences in all of them. Our reasons for home-educating are far more complex than thinking "we can meet all of our child's needs." Here is the issue: What compells an individual to give their unsolicited opinion, to me, about my decision to educate my children at home? It happens almost weekly. Teaching your children at home is not what you think. Yes, we have a plan. We have a curriculum. We complete our work and we grade our work. But we, my family, do not sit in desk. Where do your children sit when they do their homework? Well, it functions quite the same way in our house. Ellie has her 2 week assignment sheet for all of her studies. English, Math, Reading & Writing. She is also reading a book and taking notes on Texas History. She is slowly working her way through a Classical Cursive book that i am forcing her to complete. :) sound familiar? Her current library series is "A Series of Unfortunate Events". Most of her work is done in her room, under her loft bed, with her laptop. She is also in gymnastics. Abby is home three days a week and attends a university model school two days a week. She is currently in Worldviews, Latin 1 (which includes History) & Math. She is reading The Deadliest Monster - which compares and contrast the two previous books, Dr Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and Frankenstien. Next year she is registered for Latin 2, Pre Algebra and Spanish 1. She will begin Omnibus, through veritaspress.com with several other friends in the fall. She is in competitive cheer and DI. In many ways, she is just like your 13 year old. She is learning how to interact with the world. She is insecure about her height and she gets her braces off next week. The only difference is that she does her school work in a different venue. She usually sits at her desk, in her room, facing a big window. She has her own computer too - which has served us well. She burns the midnight oil weekly completing projects or preparing for test. The little girls (1st & 2nd grade) do exactly what you imagine. We read, read, read. We write, sing, color & cook. They play together all day. We meet with two other families every Monday for Geography and Missions. My goal with all of the girls, has always been, for everyone to be on target by 3rd grade. IF this is a reasonable goal for them. We usually sit at the dining room table for writing & Math. However, Lucy Grace likes to open all of the blinds on the 4 tall windows surrounding my bed and lay there, in the sun, to read. She has just started Charlott's Web. Why do I tell you all of this? I feel that their is a HUGE misunderstanding about what is, or is not, going on in the homes of home-school families. My kids have been interrogated in the grocery store, by other shoppers usually, about what they are doing in school. I am not saying that it is wrong to ask my kids if they are reading a fun book- but don't start quizzing them in the line at Walgreens. GEEZ! Don't assume that we are not doing anything -because most of our work can be completed in 3 hours. That leaves the remainder of the day for other things. My children are not geniuses and I am not a super mom because of this choice. It is okay if you have a strong opinion about "homeschoolers" because you had a "bad experience with some of them." The truth is: I have had bad experiences with public school kids AND private school kids AND home-school kids. However, when you tell me, in passing, where your kids go to school - i do not say, "Oh I don't agree with that!" really? on what planet does that make sense? I am not living for you. I have a friend who is of a different political persuasion than me. What i DID NOT say to her was, "How can you be that stupid? I don't agree with you being part of that Party. HOW can you be a Christian and support these people?" Rather, I asked if we could have lunch so that she could give me some insight into her way of thinking. Show me how SHE was viewing this. I would welcome an invitation like that any day. Maybe...just maybe....your view of education has been too narrow. it amazes me when traditional, brick & morter schools, switch to ipads or off campus educational options, it is viewed as innovative. lots of home-educated kids have been doing this for years and it's been looked at as "not good enough". We live in mobile, globally connected world. we are no longer an isolated, little, house on the prarie. not that their is anything wrong with that! we are contributing, active members of society who take education & community connected-ness seriously. We do not all home-school the same way or for the same reasons. Homeschooling is considered a private education in the State of Texas. That means that we are autonomous and choose our own curriculum. That means that if i am using a specific curriculum and i then place my child in a different school setting where a different curriculum is being used - my child will probably need time to adjust. It does not mean that they "don't know what they are doing BECAUSE they were homeschooled." Enough is enough. Some homeschool parents could say the same about their child's education after bringing them home from a traditional classroom. Let's try to believe that everyone is trying to do what they think is best for their child. It is not merely an indictment on your choice because I choose something different. If I HAD to narrow it down to our top 3 reasons for homeschooling they would be....