I am having a hard time pressing the *publish* button. This is as brutally honest as I’ve ever been, and I’m very hesitatant to put it out there. But this is what’s on my heart and in my mind, and maybe by publishing I’ll get some relief. Please don’t feel obligated to comment; there really isn’t anything anyone can say that will make this any better.
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Well, I’ve done it to myself again. I spent the last month of the summer gearing us up for a GREAT school year…”Honey, you’re going to love fifth grade – new teacher, new books, and science!! This year you get to do SCIENCE!!! And you’ll have different friends in your class so you can start fresh. Isn’t it GREAT???”
No mom, it isn’t great. Now can you stop talking so I can hear the Disney channel? Thanks.
But I didn’t hear her. I just kept repeating myself over and over in as many fun, enthusiastic ways as I could come up with…surely with enough encouragement and prayer and preparation I could MAKE this a great year, right??
Wrong. Wrong-o. Wring-wrang-WRONG.
She started Monday morning: cute outfit, stylish bookbag, accessories galore, and a yummy lunch…with cookies. A whole bag of mini Oreos, for pete’s sake! I mean, what more could a kid want? But 3:00 rolls around and she rounds the corner unleashing the fury that is some manner of demon, disguised as my tween. NOTHING went right. NO friends. NO fun. And it’s HOT. “At school?” No mom. Geez. It’s hot outside!! Duh.
Oy vey.
Every afternoon it’s been the same, and she doesn’t even have homework yet. I can only imagine the joy that will fill our household next Monday at 3:00, when she has a bag full of math and spelling to do after school.
Here’s the thing: I shouldn’t be surprised. This happens every year. EVERY year. And yet I still expect that if I meet her with a smile and a plateful of cookies she’ll come in the door with a smile and a hug and tell me all about her day. I think if I can just encourage her enough, speak enough postitive words, set her up for success and not failure, then things will change. She’ll magically turn into that kid. But it’s just never gonna happen, is it?
Because that’s not my kid. My kid is struggling. Struggling to be ANYTHING but angry at the world, angry at me, angry at hubs. She’s ticked, and she’s having a hard time getting past it. And it’s ugly…two-year-old-tantrum-ugly. Beelzebub ugly.
Why her, God?
Why us?
Much of the reason I haven’t written this summer is that although I sometimes write from a place of pain, there is usually plenty of hope mixed in. But I’m losing hope. I am convinced that she could get better if God chose to work a miracle, and He’s just not choosing to do that right now. For whatever reason, and believe me I have NO idea what that reason could be, He is choosing to let us walk through this wilderness. It hurts. It’s lonely. It’s just plain miserable.
Honestly I don’t know how much more we can take.
Our great expectations are turning into dashed dreams.
