Sometimes, I suck. A lot. And I want to be clear and up front about that, because I am totally aware of it. In fact, most of the time I agonize over what I am doing, and I am pretty sure that I am making a lot of mistakes. But failing to write you TWO birthday letters -- this is, I'm fairly certain, grounds for, well, something. Let's just say that when you're a sullen teenager, I won't be surprised.
You, S., are a mystery to me. There is so much about you that I don't understand. Do you really not hear me when I speak? Do you really think the outfits you put together match? Do you really not know how to put a fitted sheet on a bed? Sometimes, I suspect that you know just a bit more than you let on.
You are kindness personified -- when you want to be. Yes, you will beat the ever-loving STUFF out of your brothers if they touch your candy, but if someone else insults them? HELL HATH NO FURY, S., and it is, quite frankly, beautiful to watch.
You are evolving into this person who astounds me frequently. I worry about you constantly. I know that you are brilliant -- truly, brilliant -- but these past few years have been tough for you. I know we pushed you ahead in school, but we did it because you were so ready academically. Socially, you're younger than everyone, and that's hard for you. And the organization thing? Wow, I watch you struggle, and I want to claw my eyes out, because I hate to see you suffer. My heart aches when you come home and don't have the work you need, or you get a bad grade on a test. I hate when I have to deny you privileges.
Homeschool will, I hope, alleviate many of these problems. It will eliminate all the things that get in the way of your learning, and let you focus on your strengths. I hated the way your teacher treated you this year. I hated the way she made you cry over your Bluebonnet reports. I wanted to rip into that woman, I really did. Because you are so awesome, and so cool, and so amazing, and if she couldn't see that -- well, then, sucks for her. And she sucks.
You are in Israel now, and we worried you would be homesick. So far, you do not seem to be, though I miss you terribly. It is so strange to be here without you.
Even though I missed two birthday letters, I think about you all the time. In fact, I have written this post in my head many, many times. I love you so much. More than I can ever tell you.
Even if you do grow up to be a stick in my garden, you are still awesome.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Epistle: To S., Because Her Eigth and Ninth Birthdays Have Somehow Passed with Nary A Missive From Her Loser Mother