I started writing a post awhile ago about why we started homeschooling. There are lots of reasons, of course, but the best reason I could come up with is that homeschooling gives my kids and I time together. Lots of time.

Too much time.

(Ha ha. Kidding… mostly).

Take our mornings, for example. Back when my daughter River* was in kindergarten, our mornings were hectic: Will we be late? Did River eat breakfast? Why isn’t she dressed yet!? What happened to her backpack!?! WHERE IS HER OTHER SHOE?! And her class didn’t even start until 12:30 in the afternoon. I know, I’m just that awesome.

But now? Now that we homeschool, we usually don’t have anywhere to be and our mornings are relaxed. We typically wake up around 8:00. I get up to make some tea, tidy the kitchen and start breakfast. My kids aren’t big on cold cereal so I usually cook something – either steel cut oats or bacon and eggs or pancakes or muffins. Our family-wide favourite is waffles with fresh whipped cream, but I save those for Sunday afternoons after church to reward good behaviour. Maple syrup is a powerful parenting tool here in Canada.

Anyway, on a typical day while I cook breakfast, River, my seven year old, will wander into the kitchen. Sometimes she’s got her nose in a book and she won’t make a sound until she finishes the last page and closes the book loudly with a satisfied sigh. Other times, she comes in with her paper and crayons and works at the counter for an hour or so on a book that’s she’s writing and illustrating. And then some days she comes in anxious to start school. On those days I have her read out loud to me from her nature readers – little stories about lazy minnows or clever frogs and other pond creatures. Personally I’m not a fan of bugs in either physical or literary form, so she takes particular joy in reading chapters about spiders and other creepy crawlies.

While River hangs out with me in the kitchen, my four year old child Harbour* is normally off playing intensely, lost in a world of pirates and princesses. She’ll run into the kitchen to eat a bowl or three of thawed blueberries but then she’ll race out again, back to her imaginary land. I’m glad that we have no where to be so that she can play her stories out to the end.

My youngest, Forest*, is not even one years old yet. He spends his morning diligently inspecting crumbs on the kitchen floor or pulling boxes and cans out of my cupboard. He’s remarkably quiet for a little one. I can’t remember if my girls were also that quiet at one time – maybe I was too busy to notice. Or maybe I just didn’t yet know that I should cherish the quiet baby babbles before the get louder.

It’s a busy house, but not in the we’re-so-stressed-and-we’re-never-going-to-catch-up sense of the word. No, it’s a good busy. It’s the busyness of childhood. And this busyness is only possible when there are large blocks of unhurried time available.

It’s on mornings like this that I can’t believe how lucky I am. Why is it that I get to stay home with my three kids and have a slow, peaceful morning while the rest of the world rushes off to work and school?

Seven years ago, I actually would have found this pace of life tedious. I would have search for other projects to fill up my time – but now? Now I feel utterly blessed.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not some serene mother-figure blissfully munching on homemade granola that I harvested myself while serenaded by my children singing in harmony with the sparrows. No, not even close. I don’t even know if sparrows sing – I mean, I’m sure that they do, but I probably drown them out by yelling at my kids to get off the countertop or put the baby down or don’t lick that plant!

Despite my imperfect mothering skills, I know that life is good. And I’m glad we have the time to enjoy it. I know that childhood is short but the stretched out homeschooling days feel happily long. With no where in particular to be, it feels like we have all the time in the world.

*These are not my kids’ real names, because there is no way my husband would agree to them. Luckily, he doesn’t often read my blogs, so I can call ’em whatever I want.