Hi Reader,

I hope you're enjoying the warm days of summer and the slower pace it often brings. I wanted to share a heartfelt reflection on something that's been on my mind lately. Our children growing up in what seems like the blink of an eye, bringing us equal parts heartbreak and pride.

It happens before you realize it, and once you do, oh it's already over. Catching you completely off guard, even though you knew it was coming.

Since my youngest, I have seen so many moments I missed with older two. I constantly tell myself to keep my open eyes, keep my attention on them, because it'll pass and I "won't remember" anymore. There are so many time periods I wish I could crawl back into with my 13 and 14 year olds (Daniel will be 14yo on August 3rd, and Zoey will be 13yo on August 16th).

Back when it was just little boy Daniel, little baby girl Zoey, and me, as a young mother still self-centered as most young 26 yo moms tend to be when they're still working on college classes and trying to make something of themselves, I was so busy being busy. Sure, we'd go to the park or some fun thing, but my mind wasn't all around the kids. I didn't know that they wouldn't be little forever. I thought I could do the things I wanted to do, what I thought I needed to do, and then go back to play with them later.

Later turned into puberty and attitudes, with fewer snuggles and feet actually smelling like stinky feet.

Oh, how I wish I could tell my younger self to stop and really open my eyes and take it all in. Take their sweet cherub faces in completely, meld their hugs into my own flesh and commit it to memory as if it were my last hugs from their stringy little smooth arms.

Commit to memory every soft smell, every time the sun shines on their hair, every tinkle I hear of their laughter. I wish I went out and intentionally created time with them instead of letting it just happen every day.

At the time, I was a full-time working single mom at a 8 to 6, and the kids were in daycare then kindergarten. I often longed for the time I missed with them already because the mornings would be bustling of getting ready, the evenings would be hustling to get dinner cooked, them fed, baths done, and then by the time that was finished, off to bed we went to repeat it four more times that week. The weekends were all I had to really cherish them and, although I made some count, I could have done better. A lot better.

The should haves, the could haves, the might have beens. How often I pushed aside the moment because I was tired or frustrated or overwhelmed. Until the moments are no longer there for the taking and all I have are the memories.

At the very least, I should have taken the quiet opportunities of nap time to stare at them longer.

And I did sometimes. There were times I would just have a heart full of overflowing love, thinking that this must be how God feels about me and all of us. Why did the moments pass so quickly?

We pour so much of our hearts and souls into our children and their education and upbringing, and yet, there are moments that catch us off guard, reminding us just how quickly time passes.

And now that I have Scout, my last hoo-rah, my 6 year old, I am all too aware of how big he is getting and is breaks my heart every day.

Just yesterday, I tried to pull him on my lap for hugs and he was so heavy. Of course, we laughed about how big he got (or how weak I got), but I felt a swell of pride that was quickly followed by a pang of sorrow. How did they grow up so fast? When did they become so independent? It's a beautiful and bittersweet journey we are all on, isn't it?

Cuddling them close and humming lullabies, I remembered marveling and delighting in their first sounds, coos, and giggles. Introducing them to the world and the world to them, one thing at a time, watching them watch the world, taking it all in. Those first steps and spontaneous off pitch choruses, their sweet singing of "This Little Light of Mine", the endearing toddler voices and their charming mispronunciations — they filled my days with joy. Drifting off to sleep in my embrace, the milestone of losing their first teeth, the experience of being their first years of tooth faith and Santa Claus.

In what felt like an instant, those moments were gone, just like that, and I didn't even feel the change, the season of life shift, until it was too late. Memories flashed before me, a mix of bittersweet memories and the poignant realization of many lost memories along the way.

How could I be so proud of the people they're growing into and yet so utterly sad at what we're leaving behind? While I sit, listening to my oldest son excitedly telling me about something he's obviously passionate about, I'm silently screaming in my head to him to be great. Do great things. Be the kind of good man I'm trying hard to raise you to be. Everything I've done has only been for you. I'm so sorry for the things I never did for you, whether I knew it or not. I wanted to do so much more for you. I love you so much. I miss you being little, but oh how I am so proud of you right now, in *this* very moment.

Each milestone, whether it's their first word, the day they finally grasp a difficult concept, or the moment they decide to take on a new challenge, fills us with immense joy. But intertwined with that joy is a touch of heartache. We realize that with each step forward, they are moving a bit further from the tiny, dependent beings we once cradled in our arms.

Homeschooling offers us the unique privilege of witnessing these moments firsthand. Although I wish I had been home all day with my oldest two when they were little ones, I am so very grateful for spending these days with them now over the past 8 years. I get to be there for every discovery, every victory, and yes, every struggle. I am their teacher, their guide, and their biggest cheerleader. And while it's an honor, it's also a reminder of the passing of time.

All we can do now is treasure the moments. Not all the moments - we can never fully see the beauty of today until tomorrow. But we can intentionally slow down, take it in, look away from our phones more often. Capture these moments in your heart. Store them for safe keeping. You'll need them later, I promise you.

And you will have regrets, you will have your own days, just like mine. Life is just too fleeting. But as you continue to walk ahead, you will remember the times you marvelled at your kids. You will remember the times that you stopped looking at your phone and took in their enthusiastic explanations, with their eyes dancing and their funny original jokes of theirs. These memories will be your treasure and your pain. So incredibly priceless and beyond value because of their rarity… because they are gone forever.

As we prepare for another homeschool year, let's take a moment to cherish these fleeting moments. Let's celebrate the growth, the learning, and the incredible young people our children are becoming. But let's also allow ourselves to feel the bittersweet heartache that comes with it. It's a testament to the love and dedication we pour into our families.

So, dear friend, as you navigate the joys and challenges of homeschooling and motherhood, know that you're not alone. We're in this together, sharing in the triumphs and the tears. And every step of the way, we're building a legacy of love and learning that our children will carry with them for the rest of their lives.

Thank you for being a part of this wonderful community. Your dedication and love for your children inspire me every day.

xo,
Richie

PS: I'd love to hear your stories and reflections on this journey. Feel free to hit reply and share what's on your heart

PPS: We also have a 2-day audio-only summit coming in September. Learn more here.​