I write about other stuff too...not just homeschooling. This would be one of those posts.
You know, they are going to break your heart. You will slump your shoulders and your chest will concave in agonizing grief and questionable quilt. It's going to happen. Go ahead, look at your 18 month old, that little 2 year old, your 2nd grader...they are going to grow up and make you question your ability to be a parent by the choices they make.
Monday was tough. Really, really tough. Work sucked - BIG TIME. I hadn't had a day like that since leaving 3rd shift. So, a long time. When I got home my lovely husband let me vent and then hit me with a bomb.
I sat very still as he relayed what happened, what was going on. I remember asking "what time is it" as I turned to look in the direction of the clock with a voice so determined and sad and realized it was 11:01pm. In my mind, not too late to react. To jump up and take the stairs two at a time with speed I do not posses. I think I scared Dave though because he convinced me that it was too late to wake anyone up.
I think that I'm doing the right thing, that I'm raising my boys up in a manner which will exemplify the fine young men that they are, that I want them to be and then "normal teenage boy stuff" gets thrown into the mix. I don't know "normal teenage boy stuff" - what the hell is that?!
I know what I wanted to do Monday night at 11:01pm was go upstairs and assault. To scream my disappointment, likely smack him, likely use "fuck" as a noun, verb, and pronoun and say many things that I would later regret. Instead I sat on the couch, my shoulders slumped forward, concave chest and my head in my hands thinking about where I had gone wrong as his mother.