Dad....they use machines....

The boys had a brain-draining day yesterday. I could tell this because the older two were rocked out asleep when I got home. At 4 pm.

Yesterday they had standardized testing for school, so the state can verify that we're actually home schooling and not just letting them eat Cheetoes and watch the Wiggles all day long. This meant going to a school and sitting down in rows along with other children to have their intellect examined. For a home schooler who thinks everyone does math in their pajamas, this is a big deal.

After dinner, as I helped Grayson out of the bathtup and into his pajamas (his math uniform), he told me about the testing and why it stressed him out.

"Dad...you've gotta use a certain pencil or it doesn't count. And you have to say inside the little oval, but you've got to fill that oval out completely. And if you leave any other markings outside the oval, it doesn't count. I think I did ok on the answers, but what if I goofed up in marking the paper?"

Then came the part that left him incredulous about the whole process:

"Dad...to grade the test, they use machines....".

It was that last bit that sent him over the edge. They use machines. No kindly mom. Not even a warm hearted teacher who might be moved to compassion by a boy with big brown eyes. No...a machine. With buttons and lights. Probably running Windows. Could anything be more cold hearted than that?

I toweled him off and assured him it would be ok....but honestly I went to bed glad that our lives were not graded by a machine that judges harshly how well we've darkened the appropriate ovals and kicks our paperwork out if we colored outside the lines a time or two.

No, I'm grateful for a Man. A perfect Man, but one who knows our every affliction and temptation. One who filled in all the ovals perfectly and stood the test, making up for every ADD-afflicted saint through the centuries.