State of Obvious

It's easy to say "Have faith" "It'll work out" "You'll get through this" "Things will get better". It's much harder to put these into practice.  To step back and examine the every day and find beauty.  To put one foot in front of the other even when your legs don't feel like moving.  It's hard to fall down and get back up.  The bruises hurt even after you're back up.  The fear and strain lingers like ice on a winter morning, hard and cold and cruel.  But you have power.  Power to change your direction, power to take control, power to overcome.  A well of potential brimming over, a brilliant bird in flight.  You've got it all inside you, just waiting. I remember when you were small, when you walked so slowly up the walk to preschool that I chided you.  I was in a hurry and you weren't.  You've never been in a hurry.  Deliberate, unfettered, drifting.  I've realized over the past few days that...

Or: What I'd like to say but can't really say (although I can't figure out just why I am not supposed to) I remember now why we chose to homeschool last year.  It was a frustrating experience, one we doubted pretty much the whole way through, but at least we knew what was going on.  We knew what our son was facing, where he was struggling, what he was missing.  We could tailor the week to his needs (and ours).  We could tightly control our expectations because - after all - we set the bar he was required to meet. Eighth grade for my dear boy - well, it's been hard this last week or so.  Progress reports came out.  If you sit and think you'll realize that those two statements aren't random, they're very related. I've seen my boy cry these last two nights, glittering tears that cling to impossibly long lashes.  He is crushed, you see.  Crushed by the pressure of keeping up, crushed by falling behind.  He is barely treading water in some cla...

Funny how it actually looks like they like each other in this picture.

I realized, just the other day, that in ten short years my son will be 23.  TWENTY THREE. I find this alarming on many levels. By the time I was twenty three, I was married with a two year old son. That means, in ten short years, I could be a grandmother of a two year old . OH MY. Getting old isn't for wimps, my Dad would tell you. The worst part is how fast it sneaks up on you, prowls up on sneakered feet that don't even squeek. I don't feel old.  I feel 20ish.  Not 19, but not 29 either.  Somewhere in the middle.  But I passed the middle of 24 ten years ago. Oh MY. The good thing about getting older, I suppose, is the settled feeling of it all. Not just settled because of gravity, but more self assured, more focused, more able (in feeling anyhow). Don't get me wrong.  I still doubt anything and everything I do.  But I also realize that most of what I do means very little in the long run.  I'll just forget they hap...