Enough

Thanks to a rainy day, we had the perfect weather for Poetry Teatime.

Thanks to a simple scone recipe, we had the makings of our favorite treat.

Thanks to my Mom, we had the delight of fresh red raspberries.

Thanks to a carton of heavy whipping cream, we had scoops of heaven on our plates.

Thanks to The Random House Book of Poetry, we had a marvelous selection of things to read.

Thanks to homeschooling, we had this ritual at lunch time on an ordinary Wednesday.

Now, there are days when I am quite certain that homeschooling is not for me. I crave quiet and order, and my mornings are anything but.

Rather, I jump from one child to the next, from one subject to another: answering questions here, giving a spelling test there, and often with a cantankerous toddler on my lap all the while who is trying to write on the teacher's key with a pilfered red pencil.

If you envision homeschooling as a calm, peaceful endeavor, with children bent sweetly and studiously over there work while the baby plays with blocks in a corner and gentle soothing music wafts through the atmosphere, then don't stop at my house in the morning, for you will be sadly disillusioned.

And maybe you shouldn't stop in the afternoons, either, for more often than not, there are still books piled high on the school table, waiting to be graded and sorted back into their proper basket, and you might find the teacher, head in her hands, wondering what on earth to make for supper.

Homeschooling is probably the hardest, messiest thing that I have ever set my hand to, aside from the motherhood, and there are days when every fiber of my being resists the weight it places upon my shoulders.

But then there is Poetry Teatime.

There are scones, hot from the oven and sprinkled with sugar.

There are fresh raspberries, making us feel like kings and queens in our own home.

There is whipped cream, licked from lips and spoons with relish and abandon.

There is a red teapot with white polka dots, steaming with the most soothing of beverages.

There is poetry, making us giggle and sigh with emotion borne on the wings of words.

And somehow, for a moment, all is right with the world.

Somehow, it is enough.