by Kim Blum-Hyclak
My house is a mess. I want to get down to the business of schoolwork with my children, but the clutter is getting in the way. Colorful Legos dot the floor like land mines ready to be stepped on. Books have escaped the prison of the shelves and lie open, hiding in freedom in the stairway alcove. The box of craft supplies exploded and the debris lies in creative concentric circles. The two dishes I left in the sink last night mated. Their offspring now enjoy the run of the table and the counter top. The piles of laundry I lovingly folded now lean like a famous monument, inching their way to the edges of the washer and dryer.
I survey the damage and feel overwhelmed. I yearn for the day when I can sit at the table with my kids and their lessons and open their minds to all the wonderful “stuff” the world has to offer, without the distractions that our daily living heaps upon us.
But after years of homeschooling, I know this is not the dream I want realized. I am living my dream.