Homeschool work-at-home single parents

I am in search of moral support and a look into how others manage in a similar position. Here’s a few of my findings.


Examples of types of work done by folk who work while homeschooling. There’s a wide variety!


Some interesting statistics, and how to fit homeschooling into weekends and holidays.


Single, but not Alone. An article on the difficulties faced when homeschooling as a single parent, and how faith fits into the picture.


Working outside the home full-time, while homeschooling. It was interesting to learn how this family took their child with them to work.


The Real Reason Parents Don’t Homeschool… And I will investigate this further a bit later on, as I see the writer has three startups under her belt. And lots of links to explore in her article.


This weekend, I am actually going to have a “weekend.”

Hope you all enjoy your weekends too!

I will be up at 2.30am Sunday for Twitter @Artist_Chat on the #ArtistChat hashtag, for the interview with author/artist Arthur H. Browne of the Pouring My Art Out Blog.  Apparently that’s 7.30am Pacific Time, or 10.30am EST Saturday. Perhaps we’ll see you there!

Honor her

Magnetic Poetry honor her




Some changes of plan
Our $5000 goal stripped
to a skinny fifth

Our extended tour retracted
to a short flight
with clipped wings

Direction in life
like lava rocks
lining a molten river

To combine goals
First collect
A Car,
A House,
A Dream
Of friends
Over Seas


Laughing, giggling, 400 times a day?

Have you had your share of giggles today?

Here’s a Youth Radio show I found while scouting out SoundCloud. I’m playing it in the background while I work.

I like the way Joy is described as being different from Happy-ness. Not just putting on a happy face.

Show us the joy…..

Inspiring Young Poet

This girl is amazing.

Shine a light poets!



Found it first on my Reader here:

More here:


The Kingdom Where Peace and Happiness Abound

Copyright (c) 2013 Anasera Trifonoff All rights reserved. (An exception to the Creative Commons license on this blog!) All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. No bears or children were hurt in the making of this fairytale.

Little Saro walked into the forest with news to tell the bears about the golden Palace of the King, and the beautiful Kingdom of Peace he was building for his loyal subjects.   Eyes wide with child-like wonder, she looked at the beautiful City one last time before she turned and entered the dark forest.

All the bears were invited to enter the gates of the glorious City, and Saro was ready to pass on this happy invitation to all the bears, big and small, who lived in the dark wild forest.

Saro came across many bears who had no interest in the invitation, but welcomed her to join their wild bear parties.  Saro quickly tired of trying to find opportunities to speak with them.  So, she left in search of another kind of bear, a bear who would listen.

She wandered a long time through the dark, wild winter of the forest. Searching, and searching, until at last, a Big Bear coming out of hibernation saw her, bedraggled and weary, and offered her his old cave to keep her warm and dry.  She gladly accepted.  She was sure this was a bear who might accept the King’s invitation!

For many a day, Big Bear and Saro spoke about all manner of things.  Big Bear shared in all good things with Little Saro.  He showed her how to find the best berries, and shared his hard-earned pawfuls of honey with her, straight from the buzzing hive.

Big Bear even tried to teach her how to fish, bear-style, but she was only a little girl, and simply couldn’t learn how.

Then, one day, after many a talk about the beautiful Kingdom where Peace and Happiness Abound, Big Bear stood up on his hind legs, and looked at Saro very hard, before announcing that she must surely be one of those Hunters reported to be reaching into the heart of the forest. And surely Little Saro must be about to kill him!  Then he turned his back and loped off, never to be seen again.

Little Saro kept in touch with the other bears who lived close-by, but they did not show any interest in the King’s invitation. Then, one day, as she sat in the mouth of the old cave, another girl, and a boy, came up close to meet her.  They were happy, and smiled as they spoke of the wonderful new Kingdom which their King was building, and how she was invited too!

Saro blinked bearishly in the dark of her cave, uncertain of whether Big Bear was right about Hunters, and worried that this boy and girl might want to kill her. Or perhaps they wanted to hunt down Big Bear, as he had feared!

She determined to test out whether it were true.  The more she tested, the more she knew.

The boy and and girl kept coming to visit, and they brought other friends like them too. They kept inviting Saro to meet with them in a clearing in the deep, wild, dark woods.  And presently, Saro accepted.

The clearing was beautiful.  Sunlight streamed into the glorious, green-carpeted gathering. Many boys and girls smiled, and spoke to each other, and introduced themselves kindly to Saro, and all spoke of the Wonderful Invitations which they held in precious armfuls ready to give out.

Saro kept looking for hidden signs of Hunters, but found that others were assigned the job of checking for Hunters. A group of the smartest, strongest, most loving and kind-hearted boys were honoured to be chosen for this role.  They carefully checked every member of the gathering to make sure no-one carried knives or guns.

And others were assigned to travel back and forth to the Palace Gate to bring more supplies, and, of course, invitations to every kind of bear imaginable.

The more Saro met with them, attended their gatherings, and spoke with them about their work, the more she began to notice how similar they were to herself. Perhaps the bears were wrong, she thought warily. They had told her there was nothing more to life than finding berries, and sweeping out the cave. They had not listened to her about the Precious Kingdom, where Peace and Happiness Abound. Saro now puzzled, “Why?”

Even Big Bear, who had shared everything with her, and provided her with his old warm cave, had wished that she would stop speaking about the King from outside the forest, whom Big Bear did not believe existed. “There is only the forest, and bears, and wolves!” he declared.

Saro wondered at this little group in the clearing – they all had bundles of invitations, and never ceased in happily giving them out. They kept up their spirits by meeting together regularly, some every day, and reminding each other of the Happy Kingdom which was near completion.

Little Saro forgot her bearishness, and felt the comfort of being near this bunch of boys and girls who seemed just like her.

Although Saro forgot her bearish ways, some of the boys and girls still thought she really was a strange kind of bear.  Spending so much time alone in the deep, dark, wild, tangled forest with the gruff, rough bears had made Saro strangely tangled and rough and tough too!

They would not allow her to join in with the other boys and girls, as they learned how to walk in a group, and visit many bears in one day. How to speak cheerfully and give out invitations to the wonderful new Kingdom, getting closer to completion day by day.

Saro started to despair. How would she convince them that she was one of them, but had only invited bears by word of mouth, and only those few who showed interest, at that.

She looked at herself – the wildly tangled forest hair, and the scruffy old leaves that made do for clothes, and the scars and scratches from tangles with bears and other wild forest folk.

Her heart weakened as the older boys still eyed her with suspicion even after she scrubbed and trimmed and found new clothes from the places some of the kinder girls whispered of quietly.

Now Saro discovered the unkindness of other boys and girls who wished she were still in rags and tatters, because they were forgetting who they were, emissaries of the Kindly King.

Little Saro’s heart began to break. How she remembered kindly Big Bear.  How she longed for his friendly, accepting company. How she wished he had stayed.

Big Bear had been certain of Hunters, and now it seemed, there was something worse than Hunters here. Hunters wanted meat, and fur to keep warm, and some hunted just for the kill. But Hunters were not emissaries of the King Himself, and if a bear were shot by one of their foul arrows, he could be raised to life according to his kindly bear deeds.

Some of these worse-than-Hunters were blocking the doors to the Kingdom, and crushing her soul, while proudly wearing the King’s name on their brow. She saw them look down their noses at the bears, and toss the invitations down at their feet, or clutch them tightly to their chest, not willing to give them away.

These would not last as long as an ignorant Hunter, Saro supposed, as she heard fast hoof-beats approaching, and saw the messenger from the Palace Guard, with a sword at the ready to clear the King’s name from the brow of the unworthy.

Little Saro crumpled as she sighed her heart-broken sigh. She had seen all, from the King’s own Palace and grounds, to the forest beyond.  All things lay bare and exposed before her, and she yearned to be by the King.

The Prince Himself arrived on his white steed, and picked Little Saro up off the ground.


"Come, Rejoice Little Saro,
  and Come Be With Me,
    You'll find refreshment for your thirsty Soul.

 Drink deep,
     Pure and true,
        the word I bring to you -
You will find your heart's desire."


And as she slipped out of life, into death’s cold hand, the Prince galloped ever faster to reach a golden tower where Saro would live once more.

Brilliant Ideas, and Mothers…

I am catching on to OM’s brilliant idea (see and am starting to produce pictures that don’t make it on to my free online colouring book.  Although they are not destined for an ebook, I am getting used to not sharing them.  Sounds strange?

Everything I draw each day, I have shared for the last, oh, about three months now?  And it has been astounding where this daily drawing habit has led me.  Not only to holding my own colouring book in my hands.  There are people whose names I recognise and whose comments I look forward to reading every day.  And a huge truckload of interesting people I would like to get to know better.

For a hermit like me, this is astounding progress.

My mind spins with thoughts of where I could go with publishing, and art, and poetry, and blogging…  and then it hits me.  The true joy that comes when one child receives something and loves it.  And I know, deep in my heart, that all else is a distraction and something that I am trying to fill my life with to hide the emptiness.  I truly would love to marry and become a mother all over again.  Only this time, (my heart groans), *with* a husband, not without.  Life is not on pre-order, and arrives as an unexpected delivery at times.  And sometimes comes with insufficient postage which I am indebted to pay.  I felt joy today.  And it has brought tears to my eyes.

I’m off for a cry.



Stuffy nose

Dry thick throat

Swollen tongue

muscles ache

heavy head



I remember you



memories of sunshine

through golden fringe


through smiling



you and I

look the same

and now I memorize

your name

from faded photo

black and white


you are not

my brother.

New sit-uation

I am sitting, actually crouching, hunkered down on the floor, at a low bedside table typing.  New plans ready to be hatched tomorrow.  And family to catch up with over the weekend.

My thoughts turn to how best to continue with my colouring pages.  I want the pages to be accessible first of all, and affordable to the masses.  The problem I face is how to make my book accessible to those of you who are in my own country.  (Or any country where the shipping is not free.)  Many of us here add enough items to our shopping carts until the shipping becomes a smaller proportion of the price.  Or we buy gifts for friends in countries that have free shipping!

The other problem, is that I would like you all to be able to choose which pictures you would like in a book.

I would like to offer poster sized artwork, at A4 or US Letter size.  (Easy to print out on your printer at home.)  And thought that downloadable PDF files could work well, with a very small price of say 84 cents per book.  These won’t have the same beautiful printing and binding as found in trade paperbacks.  I could design a cover page to print out at home, and you could choose your own way to bind the collection together.  Also, you could print out on card, or textured or coloured paper if you wish!

This is my hope for my new blog shop.

I notice we have lots of visits from Romania, and hope that the children at school there are enjoying colouring in their choice of pictures.

Folded A5 booklets could work out for schools, if the children wanted to collect their favourite pictures and bind them easily into a book.  I would put two pictures per A4 page (or US Letter size) that can be folded in half.  Then design a cover which folds in the same way, and they can all be stapled together along the fold.  If available, the cover could be printed on to thin card.

The same could be good for offering a supply of colouring books to helpful healing places who do not have a lot of funds to provide free colouring books.

So, that is what I will start solving and working on tomorrow, and for the next two weeks.

Hope you all have some moments of joy over the weekend.


Defending home and family

Thieves line the streets

and eye up my home

breaking it


spilling out

the treasure






in the house next door





My neighbour



A gentle soul

Bars her windows

and walks her hallways at night

Armed with a large axe.


Peaceful am I

yet today

I take sharp saw

and sever the limbs

of our feijoa tree

as a warrior

inflicting a blow

against the enemy


Frenzied sweaty minutes


Deep entrenchment

filled with deadly spears

Awaits with weapons

held ready


The nurturing fruit tree

defends our home.


Next year brings little fruit

as the scars heal.


This poem grew from thoughts of how instinct takes over, when a parent comes face-to-face with the threat of harm to her children.   I patrolled my perimeter, and kept the night watch.  I ran to shoot the intruding gang, storming up and along a stone wall to confront them.  With a camera.  I don’t own a gun.

Certain circumstances draw out my fighting spirit.  And war-cry.  “Clear Off!!”

I felt regret at my lethal spikes when I saw these were children.  A bunch of bedraggled kids with no-one there to care.

Shocked children’s faces staring in blank incomprehension from their thick skewers, lined the perimeter of my imagination.  And the next day I spent the massive effort of untangling my trench and laying my weapons flat.  Next winter they warmed my home with flickering fire in the hearth.  My babies and I slept in the lounge.  With no curtains to hide us from our neighbour on night prowl with her axe.

We don’t live there no more.

The adult minds behind the repeated burglaries sent children as stool pigeons to do their dirty work.

Pretty well this is the way I view war.  Bloodied fragments of children everywhere.

If I were to kill a marauding man-eating dragon, would I send destruction upon him while he is holding eleventy-million children hostage as a twisted-sickening ‘armour’ around his scaly body?  The screams of those children receiving the force of my wrath would torture my mind and my soul.  While the dragon grins and wraps another cloak of blood around his stinking body.

His time will come.  And it is almost here.