Every now and then I realize that, well, we're weird.
We left suburbia for the country, choosing a small, drafty farmhouse over a large, modern, all-the-amenities home. We started making our own food, including the animal variety, thanks to chickens, ducks, and deer.
The kids were, until this year, all homeschooled. R entered grade 10 this year and while she enjoys it, she has said several times that she's glad of the timing of it, and is glad that this was the year she went to public school and not sooner. She's adjusted well to a more regulated schedule, but it hasn't changed her easygoing nature and positive outlook.
Church to them includes setting up chairs and sound equipment in a gym each week, knowing an XLR mic cable from a patch cable. It means applying their faith through the week, trying to see the world as Jesus sees it, and making choices based on that.
We aren't heavily scheduled. The kids take music lessons, go to youth group, and hang out with their friends. But if we're stuck at home, they don't drive me nuts. Sometimes they will disappear, singly or together, and have virtual, imaginary, or real adventures. Other times we're all together, experimenting in the kitchen on some new food we've decided to try simply because we've never tried it.
They love music and experiment on their own time. They've started a band with a friend, practicing together, using the sound equipment here. M writes songs. A and R write stories. I realized a while ago that growing up in a house where a band meets weekly, and where I write music, this is normal life to them.
And I like our weird normal.