Mr. Snowman is sagging. Snow art propped on cars is sagging. The beauty of it all is slowly passing away.
Well, not all. The beauty of the memories is with me, still. The last hurrah of my life as a mommy is still resounding.
I did it. I raised a whole passel of kids and we all thrived.
The promises all were true.
I love this life. I love that we homeschooled. I hope everyone who casts off from the shores of tradition will carry along plenty of life preservers, because this homeschool trip is worth the finishing, no matter the storms. And HMS Homeschool is a tight vessel, a beauty, she is, and laden with the stuff dreams are made of.
I think the thing I love best about homeschooling, though, is snow days. From a small child, I have always loved snow. I would stand by our back door and look out the half window at sun on the snow, when I was just tall enough to see out. It sparkled yellow, over mysterious blue shadows. I could hardly bear it. I always knew no one could really capture that sparkle in painting or photo.
Only experiencing snow really tells the things snow has to say. Its gleam is like the gleam on dew, only brighter and rarer.
I like to think I own that gleam. We all do. It is the gleam we scatter onto our children as we handle their lives when they are too little to handle it themselves. Now they sparkle, like snow, only brighter, rarer, more mysterious, and even more impossible to capture.
But I have experienced them and I know what they have to say.
And I am glad.