Homeschool lessons learned on Sunday

Homeschool families are often portrayed as close-knit families with well-behaved children. If you have read my column or my blog (http://learningathome. freedomblogging.com) before, you may have noticed that I like to brag about some of those high profilers like 13-year-old Anna Schwab. Anna recently earned a perfect score on the essay portion of the SAT.

Such stories sustain me through the times when things don't go so well, for days when just making it through the day is the biggest goal I can muster. I often feel that our family stands out. We have a lot of kids, we homeschool and we like to go places.

I used to be on time, but those days are long gone, a mere remnant of a life when I thought that if mothers tried harder, their children would sit up straight and behave themselves. Now I know better.

On a recent Sunday, I coaxed my children out of bed, plied them with pastries and loaded them into the van. It was tight, but I was hoping to make it to church on time. My husband and teen had left early - he to volunteer, she to be part of a performance group, so I was all alone with the youngest five kids.

We straggled in a few minutes late, and I prayed that the families around me would understand. Just as the usher found us a spot to sit together, a violinist began a solo. For one brief moment, all was as it should be. This, I remembered, was how it felt to sit in church.

Then the ushers began passing the offering bags, and my son decided to participate. Max nearly came to blows with his sister over who would be the helper. I turned to see the couple behind me shaking with laughter as the violinist solemnly played on.

The man sitting on the other side of us had either missed the action or loved a good brawl. When the registration book passed by, he started to pass it to Max, only to have the woman behind us nearly leap over the pew to rescue the book from my son's hands.

Suddenly, the lights dimmed and the on-stage performance began. I sat next to five children whose eyes were transfixed on the stage, watching their big sister. I started to relax. Maybe we would make it through. I looked around. Nobody was looking at us anymore.

When the performance was finished, the pastor began a prayer. This has always been the hardest time for my little ones. Max often wants to add his own commentary. This time, my son was looking for clues. He looked around, then bowed his head. When you are 2, prayers last a really long time. He looked up, then closed his eyes again. Look, close, look, close, look, close.

At that moment, I had a couple of realizations. First, the smell that was permeating the air was coming from the baby. Second, I had forgotten the diaper bag, and the contents of the current diaper were slowly seeping through the only set of clothes I had with me.

The pastor kept praying. I said a prayer of my own.

After less than 10 minutes, I was headed for the door with five children in tow. I hoped to keep a low profile as the pastor began the sermon, but my youngest daughter had gotten herself dressed that day, and she picked shoes that were pretty. Didn't fit her, but they were pretty. As we snuck out of the sanctuary, everyone could hear a low wail, "But Mommy, my shoe fell off."

People often tell me they are praying for me. Now you know why.

Rose Godfrey is a speech pathologist and homeschooling mom in Hallwood. Her homeschool blog can be found on the Appeal-Democrat Web site at www.appealdemocrat.com.