{boys & best}

I get all antsy when I think about having to really, and I mean really, decide if I am a democrat or a republican.  It's like forcing me to choose just one monotone hued section out of the crayon box.  And I can't.  Since the very moment I signed up to be a registered voter there in the greasy french fry-esque atmosphere of my high school cafeteria, I have deliberated over just exactly where I stand.  And, people?  I am attending my 20 year high school reunion this weekend.  And I still can't fully decide.  Puhleese.  For the love of all the colors in the crayon box, can I not just love a little of both? It's so hard for me to just slam down my all-in decision thrusting myself into the no-turning-back deep end of the political pool.  Ah, the infamous words of Aaron Tippin have berated me so over the years.  Make a decision. Make.a.decision.

I am the same way when it comes to education.  And hair color too for that matter.  But let's stick with the topic of education as hair color is such a sensitive subject in this world we live. The last thing I want to do is ruffle someone's feathers over those big ticket items.

I am here writing to bring forth my feelings on what sticks for me.  As an educator & a mom.  I am not choosing.  I am not comparing or belittling the processes of what works for others.  It is in my experience that the moment you critique another woman's hair to her face is the moment you're about to get snarky suh-lapped all up in.the.face.  Same goes with a Mama Bear in regards to teaching her kiddos.

We homeschool.  Yearly, we decide what is best for our family and  teaching our boys. Yadda yadda yeah, Meg. We know.  Get on with it, would ya. OKAY! But for those that don't know, read, here.

This year our theme is Journey On, Men.  I began our school year with simplicity.  I am efforting pace, rhythm & diligence.  It is my hope to infuse more initiative into my guys and edge myself out into more of a cheerleader-with-a-cup-of-coffee role.  Stop.right.there.  I am totally still teaching them.  Craft is happening.  Don't you go calling the educational DHS on me just yet.  It's just that I need to begin the process of moving my 9.5 and 7.75 year olds into the phase of "You are in charge of you."  Because, let's be honest.  There are several grown ups in this world that kinda still need to learn this lesson.  NO.  We are not going there.  Do not reference back to my treading the political party pool waters at this time.

I am quasi-ADHD and HIGHLY visual, hence the duplicate above image is here for me more than you.  So, the first week of school we drew. We colored using every single last one of our crayons.  We sharpened the mess out of the new color pencils too.  Get it, boys.  Wear it out.  My goal was to have them active in the supplies.  Go on.  Get fantastic with your school garb.  I talked.  A LOT.  {imagine that}.  I modeled.  A LOT. {imagine that}.

We talked about the word best.  As we drew and shaved and ripped crayons naked, I was sure to highlight awesomeness in my guys.  Verbally clueing them into what I see them efforting.  Things like texture.  Shape.  Placement.

Precision.  Patience.  Trying again.

I wanted them to feel best.  On the inside.  I could care less what the physical representation of best morphed into.  {don't tell them that}.  But I wanted to sync up with them on this notion of best and what it really meant to them.  At the end of the first week, we came up with this definition:

{third time's a charm, peeps}

Some notes here from Mama:

• I love that they got TIME!  Yes, taking your time equals your best effort.  Fast is rarely best.  I needed this reminder.
• Planning.  Preach, boys!  I am totally sitting in your congregation with a big ole fan waving with a "hallelujah & amen."  I need to remember this more too.

So the next week went about besting.  The whole darn week.  We worked it.  I like to lean on real world opportunities.  Not that fiction isn't rockin' awesome, but it helps to me if kiddos see a present end result.

The boys had just recently experienced one heckuva impromptu vacay to some of our friends' house for an entire week long stay.  It is here that I want to interject that I am raising future husbands.  And if it is the last & only mother-lovin thing I do, I will teach them the power of a thank you. The presence of time set aside & spent to show appreciation is something I need my guys to know.  To the future Mrs. Eli & Casey Cobble, you.are.welcome. Now, let this grandma keep the grandkids sometimes, okay?  Oh, and we want you to visit us at Christmas time too.  Don't just trapse off to your parent's house all the time, you hear me?!

Errr. Uhhh. So they began by planning their thank you.

This was a 3 day project.  30 minutes a day.  After planning what that wanted to say, they composed their letters.

I did not check their finished work.  They did.  But checking was one of the steps in sending a thank you letter.

I love that the boys kinda said the same thing.  Casey is gleaning from his older brother.  Nah.  You can't tell AT ALL that I taught mult-age for 4 years, can you? I love that their letters had some errors. I love that they were evidence of best over perfection.  And were these letters their best on the 2nd week of school after summer break and WITHOUT Mama help?  You bet.

Creating is a part of giving your best.  Check it.  It's on their web.

Little kid people drawings rock.

It was then time to address.

• 3 lines.
• first & last name
• road number & name
• city, state zip code {no periods between ALL CAP 2 letter state abbreviations}

Diligence, people.  Drill Sargent Cobble at your service.

Assembling is where the "being smart" and "took my time" was in full effect.  Tri-folding with little boys hands  is not for the faint of heart.  Slow & steady wins the race, guys.

Complete was our last step. Why?  Because how many of you out there get all the way to this step and then never send because you HAVE NO STAMPS!  "Use details" and "Plan it":  check.  Real world & so humanly it's not even funny.

I vote.  I consider the candidates.  I know my heart.  I believe in better.  Fanatically, I do. In the goodness that comes from real. In the fairness that comes from laying down the shallow and facing the giants we each battle. In the freedom we can have in ourselves & with His plan. And in the hope we can muster for the sake of dreams and for the courage that others need from those stronger. Heart walking is not democrat or republican. It's human.  And we all need a little more best and a lot less hustle.  A little more life lessons and a lot less perfection aching. And, by all means, a mighty good hair color.

Best over busy.  I'm tackling it. In myself, my home and with my boys.

I am using the hashtag #bestoverbusy on social media this week.  Capture your moment of #bestoverbusy on Instagram, Twitter or Facebook and share it.  I'd love to see.  You can reference me @meghancobble if you like.  To read more about my #bestoverbusy series, visit here.