It sounds incomprehensible to the world, to think of a mother who would keep her children at home to instruct them at all. Why would any mother put herself through that when she could drop her child off with someone else while she runs errands, goes to the gym, freelances her skills in front of a laptop, or works for a boss to make him richer? Why would she relinquish the quiet in her home for the noisy steps of children in the homeschool?
Every morning finds my clunky, awkward journaling bible propped halfway between an armchair and an endtable, coffee spilling with each elbow bump as I turn pages with one hand and hold my nursing baby with the other. Sometimes my eyes are so heavy I can’t remember which part of the Tabernacle I was reading about two minutes before.