A feast for the senses. When I first began homeschooling, I came across this description from Melisa Nielsen in her curriculum. This is what we give to our children when we homeschool. I loved that idea. Even if I’m not always preparing the feast, at least I can introduce experiences or give them opportunities that excite their senses.
We spent today hiking at our favourite place with some friends. The crisp air and sunshine were in perfect balance today. We marched our feet through the deep snow as we rhythmically walked “our trail.” My oldest normally has plans of her own but she joined us today. I linked my arms with hers and held her close.
My latest chalkboard creations for Geometry, Old Testament, and a story prompt…
I get up way too early to draw on the chalkboard. But trust me when I say that I LOVE drawing for the kids. I love to draw. Period. But there is little spare time to do it. I’ve found a happy compromise: I draw for the kids. I also love the chalk especially the way I use my whole hand to smudge and blend. They are inspired and excited about their lessons. Some feel anxious that their drawings have to look like mine. There is constant reminding that like every other skill in life, it takes practice. I sit and walk through the drawings with them as they copy into their lesson books. Some like to “creatively interpret” my drawings. (“Wait a second. I didn’t draw Captain America.”)
There is nothing that makes my children float down the stairs in the morning with a smile on their face than the smell of something freshly baked. If we have had a hard couple of days or I have to apologize for bad behaviour, I bake in the morning. The smell gets everyone smiling and skipping down the stairs – even my die-hard Eeyores. Today I baked fresh scones. They weren’t please-forgive-me scones. They were please-make-this-morning-go-smoothly-because-we-have-a-three-hour-hike-to-prep-for scones.
Eating snow inside the snow fort. Eating snow on the trail. Eating snow off the mittens.
#5: “Once upon a time there was a blue balloon that floated up over the city in the night time…” (We drew the city with a wet sponge.)
I can hear the distant sound of children laughing and chatting way ahead of us, completely comfortable in this valley that they have been exploring for the last 3 years together:
“Thank you, Mama, for the best day ever.”
I’m happy to say that I hear that a lot.
I’m going to say more of this:
“Thank you, kids, for the best life ever.”
Trying to survive the February blues by getting my write on with writealm:
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