Falling Snow, Slower Days
Last week, I stood at my window and watched the some of the first snowflakes of the season drift quietly to the ground. There’s something about snow that slows the world down—whether we want it to or not. Cars move more carefully. Voices soften. Even children step outside a little more gently, as if they instinctively know that this kind of beauty deserves our attention.
As I watched the flakes gather on the ground, I couldn’t help but think of pace—of how desperately we all need a change of it.
Too often, we measure a “successful” childhood by how much we can pack into a day. Activities, assignments, schedules, expectations—always more, always faster. But snow reminds us that some of the most meaningful things in life only appear when we slow down enough to notice them.
REC is being shaped with that same quiet truth in mind.
From the beginning, the heartbeat of REC has been simple: partner with families, not pull them apart. Everything about our structure—every hour, every rhythm, every choice—has been intentionally designed to come alongside the family unit, not compete with it.
We aren’t building a program to keep children busy. We are building a place where childhood can take root.
A place where students learn and grow among peers.
A place guided by highly credentialed teachers who love the craft of teaching.
A place that values both academic excellence and the unhurried wonder childhood requires.
That’s why REC will operate four days per week, from 9 am to 2 pm.
Because families deserve mornings that aren’t filled with panic and rushing. Children deserve nights of full sleep instead of late-night homework battles. And parents deserve a school rhythm that doesn’t stretch the seams of their home life—but strengthens them.
With this schedule, students still receive rich, meaningful learning outside the home while maintaining time for the things that keep their hearts alive: long breakfasts together, evenings unhurried by exhaustion, extracurriculars they genuinely enjoy, and days spent learning in ways the traditional pace never seems to allow.
I believe deeply that when a school honors the family, the whole community will begin to thrive.
Snow falling outside my window reminds me that God often speaks through stillness. Through quiet. Through the slowing down of things we never should have sped up in the first place.
My hope is that REC becomes a place where families feel that same gentle shift—where life settles, where connection deepens, where the hurried world is kept at the door.
A place where childhood—and family—can breathe again.
With grace and grit—
Kehla
