One Income in a Two Income World

I groan inwardly when I’m promised tips and tricks to save money.

For the price of one gourmet latte’ a week, you can purchase this amazing _______.

I don’t buy gourmet anything. It is on rare occasion that I veer into Starbucks.

I budget for groceries. I save to buy curriculum.

I’m not complaining. I just realize marketers don’t get my family.

• In 16 years of marriage, we have rarely had a television.
• I cook almost all of our meals at home.
• We shop at second-hand stores and garage sales.
• Our home is small and still needs some, uh, cosmetic touches.

Early in our marriage, my husband and I decided to make all of our financial decisions on his income alone. That has not been without it’s challenges, but it has saved us from many pitfalls. It has also stretched us as we practice creativity, determination, and patience.

When I drive my husband’s car with it’s dents and hanging fender, I chant, ”It’s paid for.” Then I force a smile as the rattling begins and the wind musses my hair.

It’s not too hard for me to be content. I just have to remember we give up some luxuries in order to gain some other things more important to us: simplicity and freedom.

It’s okay to shed a way of life where wants often morph into needs. I don’t need a gourmet latte’, and I’m pretty sure I don’t need the latest, greatest, amazing product (or even last year’s model).

The Importance of Making Memories Happen

My five-year-old girl, Sweet Pea, skips across the grass while her brother sails past on his bike with one flat tire. Around and around the park heads bob and smiles erupt. I glance around every once in awhile to see where they have scampered.

They enjoy the freedom to practice their childhood games. I enjoy the adult conversation.

Tears flow when we have to leave. As an afternoon of playing with her cousin at the lake etches into her heart, Sweet Pea shouts,

I’ll never forget this!

I never want to forget her response to the simple delight.

Since I like to stay home, it’s easy for me to forget how important it is to get out and explore. How important it is to create moments my children will remember. How important it is to simply be with my kids and enjoy them instead of pushing and pushing.

Yes, we need to do lessons. But what kind of mother-teacher am I? Tired, worn out, and grumpy?

Homeschooling is not just for my children. It is for me, too. It is an opportunity for me to discover the depths of my motivation. It is an opportunity to learn from the precious ones in my care.

The pressure is real. There is a weight of responsibility, but can I put the worry aside? Can I enjoy the moments so I never forget?

Pounding out words helps me remember, but capturing a memory is not the same as creating it.

An important part of my responsibility is to make memories happen for them, for us, for future generations.

What are your children remembering?

(Photos are from a Father’s Day hike in the Snake River Canyon. I neglected to take my camera to the lake.)

Homeschooling Through the Summer

Lesson plans wait as my little girls collect twigs and pull grass. A Birds’ Nature Park emerges underneath the green-tipped lilac branches. My twelve-year-old son gathers cast-off lumber and sketches plans for a chicken coop.

These first beautiful days of spring remind me of one of the reasons I homeschool: the inherent flexibility.

Photo by Brandi Jordan

During my son’s first year of phonics lessons, our schedule matched public school. I hadn’t considered any other possibility...

To find out my plans for summer learning and get some ideas of your own, please visit The Teachers’ Lounge.

{Psst, if you leave a comment while you’re there, you’ll already be entered for the giveaway from Really Good Stuff here on Monday.}

______________________

While you’re thinking of summer plans, you may want to click over to read my review of a very helpful website I discovered: ChoreBuster.

Finding Wisdom in Trails of Trash

I hear the thud as the shed door crashes to the ground. The thick, handmade door fell off the hinges months ago. I prop it up, but the wind frequently knocks it down. I want to tear the whole thing down. Take everything out and start all over.

Boxes spill out books and clothes, paintings and pottery, craft supplies and toys. We’re living without it in the house. Can’t we live without it in the shed, too?

I close my mind’s eye to the exposed mess. I’ll shove the door upright later. Right now I’m reading while the happy chatter of children floats outside the window. Little heads bob past. I hear the scooter rolling on the concrete porch floor. The sound lulls me to sleep.

Moments later, I am shaken awake with an announcement of something cool. A little friend holds a rusty, drill-like hunk of metal in my face. I usher her back outside and instantly see why the scooter was going back and forth.

Has the shed been completely emptied?

Suitcases, stuffed animals, felt scraps and two bags of walnuts are strewn about. A smiling queen sits in a doll’s chair overlooking the mess. The rusty hunk of metal is now a walnut crusher. The birds will have a treat.

I feel asleep weighted down by a full belly. I feel the weight of this stuff, too. I thought we purged so well before the move, but I’m realizing we can do just fine with even less. Perhaps, even better with less. I’m tired of prying my fingers off paper, cloth, and sentimentals. I want to be free, unencumbered by spilling boxes and irrational attachments.

I am not ungrateful. I realize the stuff is a blessing, but am I prepared to deal with it? Can my character grasp hold of the truly significant and let go of the rest?

I sense the weight is not merely the physical things I’ve wrapped around my subconscious.

A trail of my own trash follows me: laziness, anger, pride.

Those horrible things cannot be packed in a box and shoved in the corner where they can be knocked over. They must be burned out of my being as a daily sacrifice.

I start carting the junk shop back into the shed realizing that I, too, am exposed. No wonder I hate that falling door so much. It is a reflection of my own mask. It is so easy to ignore the turmoil in my own heart in the busyness of motherhood and homeschool.

The moment I took to read on the couch is a rare thing. It is hard to let go of the guilt of sitting still. Things are out of place, but they always will be. There will always be boxes in a shed to sort. I can’t throw everything away and start all over. And would I really want to?

Some of the boxes contain tokens of memories. Some of them hold promises for the future.

No, it’s not the stuff that truly weighs me down. It’s my failures and my expectations. Who says sheds need to be clean? Who says I have to be busy every moment?

Maybe wisdom can teach me to do the most important things like loving God and my neighbor by using the gifts packed within me. If I spend more time with the boxes in my heart, I have a feeling the weight will slip away.

For My yoke is wholesome (useful, good–not harsh, hard, sharp, or pressing, but comfortable, gracious, and pleasant), and My burden is light and easy to be borne. (Mathew 11:30. Amplified Bible)

Homeschool Is Messy

My husband leaves for work early in the morning, but the rest of us are here all day, every day. Before breakfast, toys are dragged into the living room. I sling bowls onto the table and notice the library basket being emptied. The rug is covered with books as I pull out the cereal.

Breakfast explodes all over the table and my coffee has disappeared in plain sight.

Balancing messes and lessons is a daily struggle.

To find out how I try to balance homeschooling and homemaking, please hop on over to Heart of the Matter Online. While you’re there, please share your insights and tips. I need all the help I can get!