Usually, the prayer bubbles up at an unexpected moment--like when four-year-old Patrick blurts out an emphatic, "I love nature; I love science; I love YOU, Mommy." When eleven-year-old Theresa attends to Algebra, unconsciously cuddling baby Eileen on her lap. When the entire family dissolves in laughter remembering the lines to a favorite Ogden Nash poem. When twelve-year-old Agnes begs permission to read on ahead in The Iliad, because she simply cannot wait for the rest of us. When four dear young girls cannot think of a thing in the world they would rather do than sit round a table fashioning spoons into saints with their mother.
Would that I could go back in time and pay a visit to my younger self--that twenty-something Mommy with the two-year-old and the newborn and the outrageous, but unshakable, desire to home school them. First I would kiss the two-year-old and the newborn, and then I would tell her, "Don't worry. It's going to be great!"