thebarefootporch

“Homeschoolers are weird.”
“How will my kids socialize?”
“There’s no way they can learn everything they need without trained teachers and a classroom setting.”

A few years ago, that was exactly what I believed.

At the time, our girls attended a Christian school for preschool. Life felt normal and predictable — until my husband and I decided to make a huge change. We were going to sell our house, buy an RV, and travel across the country before eventually settling down in his hometown.

My husband had served in the Marine Corps, so cross-country moves weren’t unusual for us. But this was the first move we had chosen entirely on our own since he left active duty.

One evening, we were sitting in the backyard watching the kids swing on their playset when I casually said:

“Why don’t we sell the house, buy an RV, and travel for a while before settling down?”

He looked at me like I had completely lost my mind — which, after a decade of marriage, wasn’t exactly new for him. But after a few moments, he got quiet, looked at me, and said:

“We really could do that, couldn’t we?”

And honestly? We were exactly the kind of people who would do something crazy like that. Throughout our marriage, we had followed many plans we felt God was leading us toward, even when the world thought we were completely insane.

So we started planning.

We figured out the finances.
We prepared to sell our house.
We mapped out our route.
We found the perfect camper for full-time RV living.
We even traded in my husband’s truck for a diesel powerful enough to tow it.

Everything was falling into place — except for one thing:

School.

Our oldest daughter had been in daycare or school since she was one year old and was about to start kindergarten at the Christian school she had attended since age three. Our youngest was thrilled to finally begin pre-K at her big sister’s school.

For months, we wrestled with what to do.

Surely we couldn’t just pull our kids out of school and travel the country… right?

There were rules. Expectations. Structure.

And what about their education? Wouldn’t they miss out on “real learning” — worksheets, classrooms, raising hands, and learning not to talk to the kid next to them?

Never mind the kind of education that comes from visiting historical sites, exploring nature, spending time together as a family, and experiencing God’s creation firsthand.

Eventually, we reached the conclusion I never thought I would:

I was going to homeschool.

Just typing that felt terrifying.

I immediately fell down the homeschooling rabbit hole — researching state laws, curriculum options, teaching methods, and wondering how on earth I was supposed to know what my children needed to learn. I was overwhelmed before we even started.

So I made a deal with myself:

We would homeschool for six months while we traveled, and once we settled down, the girls would enroll in public school and life would go back to normal.

Simple enough.

Then we hit the road.

As we left our home in the Southwest and began traveling toward our new hometown, something unexpected happened:

Homeschooling felt… natural.

Instead of chaotic mornings full of rushing, arguments about clothes, and trying to get everyone out the door on time, our days became peaceful.

The girls slept well and woke up rested instead of cranky. I could sip hot coffee while they played with magnet tiles or Barbies. I had time to cook nourishing breakfasts. We spent hours outside exploring, hiking, and discovering new places together.

Kindergarten fit seamlessly into our days.

Some days we worked through curriculum books — the same ones I had agonized over choosing because I was terrified of failing my child academically. Other days we learned outside, counting pinecones for math, practicing spelling in nature journals, and reading beneath the trees.

And my youngest? I barely did formal preschool with her at all. She already knew her colors, shapes, numbers, and ABCs. At three years old, what she really needed was time to play, explore, and be little.

To my surprise, we loved homeschooling.

But then came the question everyone asks:

“What about socialization?”

At first, I worried constantly. My kids had been around children their age every single day. Was I ruining them socially by keeping them home?

Turns out… no.

They loved being with us.

They loved helping around the house, cooking meals, caring for the dogs, and learning alongside everyday life. Whenever we stopped at parks, they happily played with other kids. They weren’t awkward or withdrawn. They simply didn’t needconstant peer interaction to thrive.

They played beautifully together, and when another child joined in, they welcomed them with open arms.

Eventually, we settled in our new hometown and began asking around about the local schools. To our surprise, we heard mostly negative things. Coming from a small Christian school with tiny class sizes and wonderful teachers, the large public school felt overwhelming.

So I started researching private schools.

We toured one that used the same curriculum as their old school. The teachers seemed wonderful, and on paper it looked perfect. But as I stood in classrooms with nearly thirty desks packed together, I kept wondering:

How can one teacher truly help thirty children individually every single day?

After the tour, I asked my girls what they thought.

“It was nice,” they said, “but we like homeschooling.”

They liked homeschooling.

What had started as a temporary solution during a move had quietly become something our family genuinely loved.

I buckled them into the car, shut the door, and called my husband from the parking lot.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” I told him. “I liked the school, but something is holding me back from enrolling them.”

And then it hit me.

I had been searching for a solution to a problem we didn’t actually have.

Homeschooling was the solution.

God had used this move — this wild, uncomfortable, uncertain leap — to show us something we never would have discovered otherwise: what a gift it is to truly spend our days with our children.

Not just rushing through mornings and evenings around school schedules, but genuinely raising them, teaching them, discipling them, and watching them grow.

I finally understood that I didn’t need to keep searching for another option just because homeschooling looked different from what I had imagined.

Our family was thriving.

And maybe the biggest realization of all was this:

God gave these children to us.

Not to a classroom teacher.
Not to a school system.

To us.

That doesn’t mean homeschooling is the right choice for every family. Public school may be exactly where another child thrives. Private school may be a perfect fit for someone else.

But for our family, homeschooling became an unexpected gift — one born out of a crazy idea, an RV, and a willingness to trust God even when we couldn’t fully see the outcome.

And the funny thing is?

The homeschoolers I once thought were “weird” turned out to be some of the most thoughtful, grounded, family-centered people I’ve ever met.

If you’re on the fence about homeschooling, my encouragement would be this: give it a try. You never truly know whether something will work for your family until you experience it for yourself. Homeschooling doesn’t have to be a forever decision — it can simply be the next right step for a season.

And if it turns out it’s not the right fit? That’s okay too. Your kids can always enroll in school later. But at least you’ll know you explored the option instead of always wondering what if.

Sometimes the things we’re most hesitant about become the biggest blessings we never expected.

And those homeschooling laws and regulations? They really aren’t as overwhelming as they first seem. When I initially started researching everything, I felt completely intimidated by all the requirements, curriculum options, and questions about whether I was “doing enough.” But once we actually got started, I realized I had spent so much time worrying about things that truly didn’t matter in the day-to-day reality of teaching my kids.

You learn as you go. You adjust. You figure out what works for your family. And before long, the things that once felt terrifying simply become part of your normal rhythm.