We've been working like maniacs trying to get our house ready to list. It's exhausting and overwhelming work but the upside is that it effectively kept my brain busy so I didn't have time to think too much.
The school room was the last room we cleaned because it was a holding area for stuff from every other room that needed to be dealt with.
When we were finally done and I was vacuuming the school room, I started to think.
I taught my children to read, add and subtract numbers, and to love history in that room. I comforted Braeden when he wailed because he had to learn the intricacies of English grammar. I comforted Emma when she couldn't form her letters more perfectly than humanly possible. I comforted Mark when he had to...have school.
I cajoled them to do their best, I applauded their efforts, I snapped at them impatiently when they weren't paying attention, I read to them, I saw lights go on in their minds when they grasped concepts. It all happened in that room.
I felt like I was vacuuming sacred ground.
We will have a school room in our new house. It is just a tiny bedroom down a hallway. It won't be the centerpiece and heart and soul of the new house. The other two go to public school now and Mark is almost done being homeschooled so we don't need a room like that anymore.
Life's about changing.
I will remember that school room though. It was the backdrop for the refiner's fire of my mothering. I taught my children there but I know I learned more than they did.
P.S. I added some pictures Braeden took on his hike with friends if you want to scroll down and look at yesterday's post. The pictures put a lump in my throat...