Amy Writes

My apologies to any email subscribers who received half a post in their inbox this morning... you caught me practicing! There's more to that story, maybe I'll get around to actually telling it. In other news...did you know you could subscribe and receive a direct e-mail feed? Look over there ---------->>>

It has been kind of a weird week, and as I've tried (mostly unsuccessfully) to organize my thoughts, there is one thought I keep coming back to... I love this. It's been a week of gratitude, not for anything in particular, but just that I get to be a part of this. This life. This family. These friends. This church . This place. It's been a week of searching, of evaluating my gifts, my weaknesses, my offerings and my shortcomings...of wrestling with whether I'm in the right place, with the right people, doing the right things...or enough of the right things. I think I am. It's been a week of being reminded of God's faithfulness in spite of my fogginess - a 95% on a math test, an unexpected "I'm thankful for you" text, the opportunity to settle a silly bet between friends, two unexpected amaryllis flowers in my backyard, a new favorite song that reminds me of what it means to be in a Gospel community, a husband who gets my quiet days, a lo...

It was the day before we were planning to start school, and I panicked a little. I had done so little to prepare. I mean, my first week's lessons were pretty much written out. The books were not only ordered, but actually already in the house and I had even leafed through most of them. The school table was cleared off, we had sharpened pencils and all necessary software was loaded and ready to go. But still, I didn't feel ready. I felt like I was missing something critical, and when I realized what it was, I almost kicked myself into a last minute frenzy of Dollar Tree + Pinterest + MAYBE THE PRINTER WILL WORK IF I JUST HIT IT HARDER madness. I had forgotten neglected to prepare any over-the-top Back to School cuteness. No matching dresses. No special breakfasts. No adorable "First Day Of..." printouts for pictures. There were no treats awaiting my children at all - just a "good morning, I think we have some Eggos" and "Here's your new Penmans...

Last week, I sat in the allergist's office as she injected some 39 tiny needles into my arms. As I waited in the quiet for the track marks to appear and my respiratory enemies to make themselves known, unable to troll facebook because...well, you know..., my mind had time to wander. Why do people subject themselves to this? What was I really going to do with this coming information? The answer, obviously, with all allergens, is that knowledge is power. Once I know what is making me sick, then I will be able to avoid those things, or take measures to prevent a reaction if I know I'm going to be exposed. I will know more about what makes me uniquely me, and understand how I can endure a three month sinus infection by simply breathing the same air as something that my friend can snuggle up to and kiss on the mouth. It occurred to me then that when I wrote that last post, I was essentially declaring an allergy. What may never negatively affect someone else was making me sick. ...

I saw something this morning that made me want to crawl back under the covers and stay there. Forever. Seriously. For a few seconds, I was ready to abandon everything and just wallow. A feeling of hopelessness so deep that lying in bed for eternity (atop a mattress in need of replacement, at that!) seemed a better option than proceeding with my day, or any day from here on out. For me, today and by the grace of God, it was just a few seconds, but for Robin Williams...for him, yesterday was the end of a few seconds here and a few seconds there and then minutes and days and years, and enough was enough. The pull of freedom overpowered a dark and hopeless perception of reality. Like the rest of the world, I took his death as a personal blow. One desperate hour stole so very many of our generation's greatest characters from us. How could we let this happen...again? How do so many who suffer so deeply slip through the cracks? And like the rest of the world, for a few minutes, I ...

I do not have a teaching degree. But to my knowledge, neither did the mothers of John Adams, John Quincy Adams, Thomas Jefferson, Abraham Lincoln, George Washington, George Washington Carver, Albert Einstein, Claude Monet...the list goes on. Note to self: I should read a list like this every Monday, Thursday and Friday when I'm ready to give up. Another note to self: Shockingly few women on that list...that must be another story. In addition to the "my kids just really need to be around other kids" comments, we homeschool moms also hear "I could never homeschool because I'm not smart enough." That's a valid fear. Except, not really. As a functioning adult, you are most likely equipped to guide a child through everything he or she needs to know, at a developmentally appropriate level, through at least fifth grade. For everything else - there's a curriculum for that . (This is also something I need to consistently remind myself when I am fee...

There's a conversation that homeschool parents have ALL the time. It frequently happens in a grocery store, at 11 a.m. on a Wednesday. It goes: Store person: "No school today?" Me (or kids): "We homeschool." Store person: "Oh, good for you. (It almost always starts with 'good for you.') I would have loved to have done that, but I just really wanted my kids to be/my kids needed to be socialized." Oh, if I had a dollar... By the time we decided to homeschool, the idea of my kids being lonely and weird because of our choice was already a non-issue. I knew so many homeschool kids, and they all knew each other, and they were together ALL the time. These were not kids who were starved for a social life. Our poor little unsocialized homeschooled kids are in dance with dozens of kids, P.E. with about 100, on soccer and basketball teams, in art classes, and history clubs. You should see the list of things we turn down. And let me tell y...