I haven’t written anything for almost a year. On this blog, that is.
I’ve started countless pieces but never finished anything, much less published a piece. I skipped our annual Christmas letter, too. I just couldn’t find the words to express what’s going on in my head, in my heart, and in our family. I make it a practice not to sugarcoat my life, and I just can’t decide if sharing the messiness of my life would add value to someone else’s or just be TMI.
In short, I’ve been busy trying to parent our three girls. And it’s been an exceptionally hard season of parenting.
Last August, H developed an anxiety disorder in the aftermath of last summer’s C-130 crash. Her daddy is a pilot, and those crew members were his friends and colleagues.
Last October, G made a bad decision; the administration made a bad decision; and then we scrambled to place her in a new school. Three grading periods later, she still doesn’t know where she fits in, and she still doesn’t know who she wants to be.
S is hanging in there. She is the proverbial middle child who knows how to slip under the radar while her sisters draw fire.
Somewhere in the midst of counseling appointments, teacher conferences, and doctors’ visits, I reached my breaking point. I made the decision to stop teaching S and H after we finish this school year. I need to be my girls’ mother first and foremost; they desperately need other people to teach them.
While that decision was monumentally freeing, it hasn’t made anything easier for now; however, we have almost finished jumping through the required hoops of registering for public middle school.
Last Monday I submitted the girls’ standardized test scores and requested that our homeschooling file be closed. Yay, me!
Ten days ago I took the girls for MAP testing at the middle school after the counselors did not want to accept their Stanford Achievement scores. I goofed and scheduled the MAP and Stanford the same week. They completely embraced 3 full days of testing. (In my dreams, that is.) Coincidentally, the girls’ MAP test results aligned perfectly with their Stanford results. I rolled my eyes, but not in front of the guidance counselors.
Both girls chose their classes last Wednesday; S is pinning all of her hopes on advanced art and French I despite my guidance. H spoke a total of 10 words to her guidance counselor. He’s a man though, and she makes it a point not to talk to strange men.
Today I am writing on Memorial Day. We are home and unpacked from a very hot, humid soccer tournament. This morning Ryan switched out the front porch flag to fly the USMC colors. I can’t help but remember family and friends who selflessly sacrificed themselves for this nation. Today in particular, I am thinking of the 16 men who gave their lives aboard Yanky 72 last July.
There’s more to write–much, much more–and I promise to return. After all, I’ve left you, my readers, hanging in the middle of what seems to be my belated Christmas letter.