Homeschool Dorks

Ahmm...

This is awkward. Bear with me.

Yesterday, I went to a picnic feeling like a seventh grader with a big pimple on her forehead. It was, you see, a picnic for a homeschooling support group. After some internal wrestling, I had decided to join. The name of this particular group of homeschoolers is so flagrantly velveeta-esque in christian cheesiness I can barely palate it. I prefer to use the acronym, so I don't have to string this particular combination of words together - you know, out loud. In fact, if there wasn't already an acronym I would have made one up, just so I wouldn't have say I belong to a group by this name. I've always felt that if Christians are going to be dorky, they should at least try to be a little covert about it.

Yet there I was, four kids in tow, not sure if I should try to fit in, or burn my bra in some misguided attempt at defiance towards christian sub-culture dorkiness. Not that I actually would burn my undergarments, but can you imagine? All those homeschooling mamas shielding their babies' eyes? The very thought makes me giggle. Alas, I am not that bold, and my tween children would never forgive me. It would cost a lot in therapy, for them, and I am too cheap to send my kids to a counsellor for nonsence like that. They'll just have to wait until we really screw them up.

But, I digress.

Thing is: I have 4 kids; I homeschool them, and I am a Christian.

So, I look the part. Heck, I AM the part.

But I get a little itchy with it. 'Cause I was going to marry a rich guy so I could hire a maid, and a personal secretary. Then, I was going to do a little work with an NGO, and do a little writing. Probably, I'd end up with a Pulitzer, you know, that sort of thing. It's not that having children was entirely out of the question. But I thought they would be sort of a side gig, or passtime, to augment my real life - as a socialite/humanitarian/award-winning author.

And yet...there I found myself, picnic in hand, four children who shared my sur name, running ahead. And I stood on a precipes wanting to belong, and desperately not wanting to belong. It was so junior high.

I think God was laughing at me.

For all my talk I am a middle class mother of four children. I homeschool them, for Heaven's sake (really for Heaven's sake). We go to The Church of Obnoxiously Large Crosses. Bottom Line: I derserve to belong to a group with acronym that stands for a name of dubious quality and unquestionable dorkiness.

God served a dish of humble pie to me yesterday at that picnic. I met some people I actually really like - including those who were probably integral in chosing the name of this support group. They're smart, articulate, and successful. And they're not even weird. The prize for arrogance goes to ....me. For God shows up in the most unlikely places, and as it turns out, he is not all that concerned with hanging out with the not-so-hip crowd.

I think he might even prefer them.

Which is good for me, because the whole Pulitzer/Rich Girl/Humanitarian of Coolness thing is turning out to be something of a flop.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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