I'm afraid my kids think I'm losing it.

I've had a hard time getting through studies, hymns, and readings lately without getting weepy. Whether it's singing Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing or reciting The Lamb by William Blake or even repeating our catechisms about the just wrath of God, I just end up in a big puddle at the end.

It's a hard pill to swallow … to imagine the suffering of my perfect, sinless, loving, compassionate Savior … all because of my sin. That, even knowing what He endured, I still pick up the nails and hammer every day. My stomach turns to think that on a normal Thursday afternoon, my flesh weaves a new crown of thorns to plunge into His scalp. When I am angry, inconvenienced, or honestly just uncomfortable, it is horrifying how often I choose to whip His back with the lashes of my tongue instead of humbling myself at the foot of His Cross.

My sweet Savior, tortured and murdered for my sins. I readily confess it with my lips, I rely on it for the salvation of my soul, and still, in my flesh, I crucify Him again and again.

Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.

I was on the struggle bus last week. I’ll be the first to tell you—February is always a hard month. Even when you don’t homeschool, you can feel it. Everyone is tired of the cold and dreariness, home starts to feel a little claustrophobic, there’s not a lot going on socially as people withdraw, and we start looking ahead to what feels like greener grass instead of continuing to rest and work where we are.

If you’ve been thinking about quitting homeschool because you’re anxious about progress, comparing your days to social media, comparing your kids to their peers, or you and your kids are just plain tired of one another, I want you to know that you aren’t alone. This is a well-known phenomenon in the homeschool world, usually called the February Slump.

How you’re feeling has a name. If nothing else comforts you, let that.

Wow. I am so thankful to have a moment to sit down and write this.

Life has felt like a whirlwind lately—in all the best ways, but still… a lot. Somehow, my two older girls managed to have their apartment leases end within one day of each other. Neither planned to stay where they were, and everything shifted all at once.

I was.

Recently, we found a picture one of my girls snapped back in 2011 during my first “full year” of homeschool planning. I remember that day clearly. I remember the couch. The stacks of books. The planner. The look on my face.

I was, indeed, freaked out.

I knew no one who homeschooled. We really couldn’t afford for me not to work. We lived in a small town where the school was the community. Choosing something different felt like stepping outside the circle. I had always learned things easily, but I had zero experience teaching anyone anything. I was terrified I would fail my children, disappoint my husband, and make a decision that would ripple through all of our lives.

So, let's talk about attention.
"But, Erin," you say, "all your kids have ADHD, and so do you. How are you talking to me about attention right now?"
Valid question, friend. And it's exactly because our family struggles with attentiveness that I’ve made it my personal mission to understand how to foster it. When you start out with “attention muscles” that are underdeveloped, being intentional about training those habits becomes even more important.
Charlotte Mason once wrote:
“The highest intellectual gifts depend for their value upon the measure in which their owner has cultivated the habit of attention." (Home Education, Vol. 1, p. 137)
Attention isn’t something that simply springs up in a child. Some children are naturally more attentive than others, but no one comes fully trained. Like perseverance or obedience, attention is a skill and habit—one that must be shaped over time through gentle, consistent practice.

“Where’s the Script?”

That’s one of the most common questions we hear from new homeschool moms: “Where’s the script? I don’t know what to say!” And truly, I understand that question deeply. When you’re stepping into homeschooling for the first time—especially when it feels unfamiliar or weighty—the desire for structure and certainty can be overwhelming. You just want to do right by your child. The fear of “messing it up” can make a script feel like a lifeline.

But here’s the truth: you don’t need a script. You need truth spoken in your own voice.