<p>Feeling pretty accomplished this morning, I sat down to grade papers…and gloat. I mean, homeschooling moms deserve to gloat every now and then. Right? </p>
<p>I had a lot to "gloat" about:</p>
<p>We had accomplished the first Six Weeks of School and were way ahead of the public schools</p>
<p>My husband was back at work after a three-month long strike.</p>
<p>My four-yr-old was being very helpful this morning, breezing through the house with the duster and a lemon-fresh dust wipe. She even attempted to sweep the kitchen. Gosh, she was a powerhouse. Already dressed in her ballet tutu for ballet class (another eight hours away) she <em>chassé</em> across the floor with the broom as her dance partner. I gave her brownie points for that despite having to redo her half-swept job. </p>
<p>I had just put my third load of laundry on to wash </p>
<p>I had paused many times this morning to look with satisfication at my <a href=”http://caygibson.typepad.com/cays_cajun_cottage/2006/09/simple_elegance.html”>almost completed "hole in the wall"</a></p>
<p>Yes, life was good. Life was sweet. As long as the hurricane season kept its present day track, life didn’t get much better than this. But experience has taught me that gloating is a false illusion and should never be "gloated" over.</p>
<p>And so I sat with a mountain of books to check and grade because report cards are due and, you know, my children <em>like</em> report cards. Well, no, I take that back. They don’t <em>like</em> report cards. What they <em>like</em> is having a timecard to present Oma and Opa in hopes of receiving a paycheck because, you know, we all like getting a paycheck. Don’t tell me you don’t do the Snoopy dance when you receive an insurance check or an income tax refund. Admit it!</p>
<p>I could get on a whole post about how I’ve tried to enforce learning for love of learning and instilling in my children that sometimes we have to do what we don’t <em>like</em> to do and not be paid for it and how it should always be done in obedience to the parents (and thus God) and done without complaining and how God expects us to do our work joyfully and we should always place the good of all ahead of our own selfish desires and there’s always the vocation angle to look at…</p>
<p><em>Yeah, Mom, so how many A’s did I make?</em> (Cause Oma only pays for A’s)</p>
<p>But I won’t.</p>
<p>The hard truth is, most people work for the paycheck. It’s a fact of life and there’s no getting away from it. So I present the dutiful report cards and allow my children to reap the harvest of their hard work. </p>
<p>Back to this morning… I began to check GameBoy’s math during my gloating session… </p>
<p>Disappointingly, it is getting harder for him as he moves along in the Saxon 87. I can see he’s having trouble with: multiplying, dividing, adding, subtracting mixed numbers. There’s lots of rules to follow and he’s getting stumped. So I began to go over the problems he has missed.</p>
<p>As I’m explaining the steps to him, I’m still gloating. This is so much fun! Yes, I said fun! I’m actually understanding this stuff. In the back of my mind I see my martyred math teacher reworking a problem on the board and my uncle patiently tutoring me for an upcoming test, I hear my college counselor sighing while telling me I just have a mental block against math and need to get rid of it in order to pass my accounting class. </p>
<p>After twenty years of being outside the classroom, I’m finally understanding all this. Go figure.</p>
<p>My mind drifts back to the problems at hand as I patiently explain them to my son. I’m very patient because of the images stored away in my head of the three people who tried (and seemingly failed) to make me understand it at that point in my life. Little do they know that twenty years later I am able to break it down, keep the rules in my head, and explain it to my child.</p>
<p>My gloating begins to unravel when I look up and see my son’s gaze on the computer screen where his little sister is happily playing a Berenstain’s Bear game. </p>
<p>"Son, you can’t learn this if you don’t pay attention. The Berenstain Bears aren’t going to teach you." And, because it’s a bad habit yet unbroken, I pull out my old standby (which I reluctantly admit to doing), "You know, the new DRE at church has been a teacher for over twenty years. She tutoring Matt in math. I can ask her to tutor you if you don’t want to listen to me."</p>
<p>I direct his attention back to the paper. I also see myself sitting in that long-ago math class with a story under my math book happily writing away while the teacher tries to explain the problem on the board. Certainly I wasn’t paying any more attention to him than what my son is paying to me. I did some of my best writing in that classroom.</p>
<p>GameBoy’s eyes begin to cloud over as I review the rules with him. I can see he is going into overload. So I make a list of what we need to review, find the lessons on the D.I.V.E. CD, and put him under the tuteluge of Professor D.I.V.E. I’ve learned that even the D.I.V.E. does not vanquish a real "teacher’s" supervision. Repeatedly the CD must be stopped and the rules and facts must be explained step by step.</p>
<p>I finish sweeping the floors and begin to mop. Perhaps the scenty pine smell and clean floor will untangle the numbers from my mind. Instead my thoughts begin to spin. I have a book yet to finish that’s due in two months. I make a vow to work on that today. Then I remember that I need to call the attorney’s office today. I have bills to pay as well. My husband calls to remind me to call the insurance office. Starr comes prancing by in her ballet slippers which reminds me of ballet class today. And I need to check on my email status because it seems my email isn’t working again as I haven’t received any emails the past week. Or perhaps everybody hates me.</p>
<p>And like a bipolar person who has extreme mood swings, I go from being deliriously happy to being pensive and melancholy. Suddenly I realize how little I’ve accomplished and how much I need to accomplish. Through one math lesson, I fall victim to focusing on the wrong answers instead of the right answers. My visual red check pen is out and I begin to mentally X out and make a checklist of my have-to-do’s and my have-not-done. </p>
<p>I sense a fault of mine rising to the occasion. I begin to feel irritable, a feeling that I am not in control, a feeling that I am doomed to fail because of all the things <em>not </em>accomplished, the things only half-done, the things not done well enough, the things not done to perfection.</p>
<p>Lost are the gloating and the sense of accomplishment. The brillance of the clean floor dulls with the thought that the floor will be dirty again by nightfall. </p>
<p>Rather than fall victim to discouragement and disilluionment, my favorite verse pops into my head to save me. </p>
<p><em>"Be Still…and know that I am God."</em></p>
<p>God knew that I would have this moment. God knew that I would need something to hang onto so, within mere minutes of needing it, He sent it via way of the D.I.V.E Saxon CD. While pulling up one of the Saxon lessons, this Scripture verse flashed on the screen:</p>
<p><em>"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who in his great mercy gave us a new birth to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead…"</em></p>
<p>As Catholics and Protestants alike well know, being a cradle-Catholic has not enarmored me with multiple memorized Scripture quotes . So I look the verse up:</p>
<p>Peter 1: 3-7</p>
<p><em>"…to an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in heaven for you who by the power of God are safeguarded through faith, to a salvation that is ready to be revealed in the final time. In this you rejoice, although now for a little while you may have to suffer through various trials, so that the genuineness of your faith, more precious than gold that is perishable even though tested by fire, may prove to be for praise, glory, and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ. "</em></p>
<p>How timely! In almost an instant, the irritability extirpated and a sense of calmness returnd. Gloating was not restored but, rather, a peaceful sense of appreciation for God’s goodness and thankfulness for His mercy. </p>
<p>He only expects us to do what we can do and if it isn’t done to someone else’s perfection that doesn’t really matter…as long as we do what we can and offer it all for His praise, glory and honor. </p>
<p>Life will not stop and Heaven will not end because we didn’t get done in one day what we thought should have been done. It is, repeatedly, for His praise, glory, and honor. It should be for His pleasure, His gloating. Not ours. Anything beyond that really doesn’t matter.</p>
<p>In the meantime, Starr informed me that DQ has finally risen from her bed and gone outside…in her pajamas. She was sitting on the grassy edge of a dirty circumference left from a tree fallen by Hurricane Rita. She was burying her <a href=”http://caygibson.typepad.com/cays_cajun_cottage/2006/09/septembers_natu.html”>pet lovebug Addy</a> who died during the night. Not enough sugar water, I guess. </p>
<p>And my first reaction wasn’t, "Oh, the poor little thing. It’s okay, honey." but, rather, "What will the neighbor’s think!" I shooed her into the house with, "What if the maillady passes by and you’re out here in your pajamas at nine o’clock in the morning?"</p>
<p>"But, Mommy, the maillady already passed."</p>
<p>That’ll teach me not to gloat.</p>
<p>Disclaimer: Btw, I am <em>not</em> bipolar just incase anyone was wondering. 
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