My worry for Sunshine needles like a thorn underneath my rib. I can't reach it. I can't tend to it.
I must suffer it.
Each day, my teenager inches further into a world where I can't protect her. She's making her own decisions, setting her own standards, calling her own shots. And I'm afraid for her. I'm afraid she'll make mistakes..., of course, she'll make mistakes.
This realization pokes deeper still.
Hollywood hit a rough patch in middle school....
That's an understatement. I'm not ready to get into it.
One word. Bullies.
At his guidance counselor's recommendation, Balthazar and I have removed him. He's homeschooled now, and the change in him feels near miraculous. Already, he's regained much of the confidence they took from him.
As if nothing more than a school lunch!
Sometimes, I lay down the lamb, in a patch of soft, cool grass, to sharpen my staff on the nearby rocks. I raise it above my head like a spear. I could kill with it.
Other times, I hold the stick, with one hand, by the hook, turning paranoid circles. My other hand gripped tight to the lamb's paws, at my shoulder.
I will not drop it.
My baby is doing just fine. She's happy. She's healthy. Her grades are good. She's bonding well with her siblings. She's playing well and often with friends. She's smiling and laughing. Even in her sleep.
To make me smile, too.
And breathe, ah..., easier.
Yes, this week, The Storm is being easy on me.
...Except when she goes outside to ride her bike. The cars come fast up our street. And she's a little daredevil. When The Storm goes outside to ride her bike, my fret is a heart murmur.
Probably nothing to worry about.
But, I will anyway.