We did it. We moved the whole crew to a farm on the other side of the state.
It sounds idyllic, doesn’t it? You picture green pastures. You see children running free. You imagine a quiet morning on the porch with a hot coffee.
Well, that is not exactly what happened.
We have six kids now. They range from an eight-year-old down to a tiny infant. And right in the middle, we have the chaos factor.
He is two years old.
He turned two recently, and he took it seriously. He is in a category all his own. He has vim and vigor. He has loud opinions. He is essentially a tornado in a diaper. So, our days are nutty. There are a million distractions. There are squabbles over toys. People go in and out of the back door constantly. Mud gets tracked in. The noise level rarely drops below a dull roar.
I love this big, crazy family. I really do. But let’s be honest. Sometimes, I get overstimulated. The noise builds up. The interruptions don’t stop. And I get a wee bit ragey.
The Zone Defense
I had to do something. We still have to do school, right?
I came up with a rotation. I call it “Zone Time.” It is the only way we get through the math lessons.
Here is how it works:
- One kid does school lessons with a parent.
- One kid goes upstairs to play with Lego.
- One kid takes the toddler (ideally outside).
- Then we switch.
It works better than anything else I have tried. It keeps the toddler occupied. It gives the older kids a break. It gives me a few minutes of focus with just one student.
But it is not magic.
The day is still hectic. The baby still cries. The toddler still finds ways to cause trouble.
And that is when the guilt creeps in.
The Comparison Trap
I have this picture in my head. Maybe you have it too.
It is a picture of a “perfect” homeschool day. It is quiet. The house is clean. There are maybe two or three kids. We are sitting around a table. We are reading a classic book. Everyone is listening.
There are no toys flying through the air. No one is screaming about a lost sock.
I long for that. I want to dig into a long art project. I want to read for an hour without stopping to wipe a nose or break up a fight.
My kids are doing fine academically. They are reading and writing above grade level. They are good at math.
But I worry.
I look at the chaos, and I wonder if I am cheating them. I wonder if the older kids are getting the short end of the stick. They have to learn long division while a toddler wreaks havoc in the background.
Is that fair? Is it okay?
I needed some perspective. So, I looked for wisdom from those who have been here before.
The School of Chaos
I realized something important.
We tend to think that “school” only happens when it is quiet. We think learning only happens when a child is staring at a book.
But that isn’t true.
God put these kids in this family for a reason. He put them on this farm. He gave them these siblings.
The chaos isn’t a barrier to their education. The chaos is part of their education.
Think about it.
My older kids are learning to focus. They have to do math while the baby cries. They have to write a sentence while the two-year-old sings loudly.
That is a life skill.
The world is not a quiet library. The world is loud and distracting. My kids are learning to tune it out. They are learning to work hard even when the conditions aren’t perfect.
That will serve them well later in life.
The Lesson of the Toddler
Then there is the toddler.
He is loud. He is demanding. He is exhausting.
But he is also a teacher.
My older kids have to take turns watching him during “Zone Time.” They have to keep him safe. They have to play with him. They have to be patient when he knocks over their tower.
They are learning service. They are learning to care for someone smaller than them. They are learning that the world does not revolve around their wants.
You cannot learn that from a textbook.
You can get an A in math and still be a selfish person. But in a big family, selfishness is hard to maintain. You get bumped. You have to wait your turn. You have to share.
That is character building. And character matters more than curriculum.
The Fleeting Time
I hold my sweet little kids, and I know the truth.
This is going to end.
I know that sounds cliché. But it is true.
Older parents tell me this all the time. They say the house gets quiet sooner than you think.
One day, the two-year-old will be twenty. He won’t be running in and out of the door. He won’t be screaming. He will be gone.
The toys won’t be flying around. The Lego blocks will be packed away.
And I will miss it.
I will miss the sticky hands. I will miss the noise. I will miss the sheer life that fills this house.
My gut feeling is right. This time is fleeting. We should not fret.
Different Paths for Different Kids
I worry that my older kids have it harder than the younger ones will.
By the time the baby is eight, the house might be calmer. The older kids will be grown. The baby might get that quiet, idyllic homeschool experience.
Is that unfair?
Maybe. But fair doesn’t mean equal.
My older kids are getting a different education. They are the pioneers. They are the leaders. They are seeing how a family runs at full capacity.
They are learning responsibility in a way the youngest ones might not.
And that is okay.
God has a specific path for each child. The oldest needs the chaos to grow. The youngest might need the quiet.
We have to trust that God knows what He is doing. He didn’t make a mistake giving us this many kids. He didn’t make a mistake moving us to this farm.
Letting Go of “Perfect”
So, here is the plan.
I am going to keep doing the “Zone Time.” It works. It keeps us sane.
But I am going to stop apologizing for the noise.
I am going to stop feeling guilty that our school day doesn’t look like a stock photo.
We are a big, loud, messy family. We love Jesus. We love each other. And we are doing our best.
Some days I will still get a little ragey. That is human. I will pray for grace. I will apologize to the kids. And we will try again.
The kids are learning. They are loved. They are safe.
And they are learning to read in a hurricane. That is pretty impressive, if you ask me.
A Note to the Parents in the Trenches
If you are reading this and your house is loud, take heart.
You are not failing.
You are building a home. You are raising a tribe.
The quiet days will come. You will have time to read that book. You will have time to finish a thought.
But for now, embrace the noise.
Look at those faces. Watch them play. Even the fights are part of the process.
It goes by so fast.
Don’t wish it away.
A Prayer for the Chaos
Lord, thank you for this farm. Thank you for these six wild children.
Give me patience when the noise is high. Give me grace when I lose my cool.
Help me to see the lessons in the interruptions. Help me to value the character over the grades.
And help me to cherish these days, even the nutty ones.
Amen.
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