Grace is the word for the day.
For all of us.
Particularly, me. Who received a lovely compliment in the form of a link on FB, which in a moment of unguarded sonambulism…allowed in my timeline. Which wouldn’t be a problem, except for one thing.
I write at “PG-13”, content and vocabulary-wise. While the majority of my IRL friends watch PG-13 and rated R movies. They would not allow someone to come into their homes and speak to their children in that fashion.
I respect their preferences, so I have a separate FB identity for linking the blog. I admit it is a hassle and I am not all that good with it.
Which obviously, no longer matters, since I busted myself out while patting my own back. In my sleep.
The figurative bounce down the stairs on my tailbone wasn’t finished.
The other night, the kids and I hung out with friends. One hazard of homeschooling is the attitiude of “school night; schmool night.” with regard to bedtimes on weeknights when something fun is on tap. The 14yo girls contingent ran off and we heard a lot of marginally wicked stuff, but not anything alarming and the dads ran off and the little boys played knee ball. Until. Midnight.
Blah blah blah
We run into these friends last night. They told a cute story that ended up with something being revealed that I had heard about from one of my daughters about the other, but long story short, my children are using PG-13 language to offend their friends.
Believe me, if I could figure out anything that wasn’t soaked in double standard, they would be. But I can’t.
Remember? Grace is the word of the day.
They showed grace to me.
Their daughter showed grace to mine.
I am struggling to extend grace to myself for raising girls with the mouth of a longshoreman.
For having to redefine dreams.
For realizing that there are other moms of 14 year-olds who are dealing with MUCH worse than this.
For realizing I can’t be mad at my kids for being a mirror of who I am.
What I believe is what determines my behavior.
Thinking before I speak?
I have almost none.
Here on Walton’s *stinking* Mountain.
Right now is grace to them.
They don’t realize I know, yet…
while I ride them per usual about leaving co-op work until the day before,
while I prepare foods they feel too good to consume,
while I prepare for an evening where they get all caffeine -d up and spend the night yelling, because they can’t control themselves,
until I can handle it once and be done.
Interestingly, this happens on a week when we had a meeting at church and discussed how some women feel isolated. They get the feeling everyone else is perfect and if people really knew their “business”, they would not be considered good enough to be friends with. Okay, that doesn’t sound quite right. I keep trying to fix it, and that’s what I mean. The point is: we were able to have the meeting. In some places, that meeting doesn’t take place. Not everyone loved it. Not everyone shared.
You see, now my friends know I am faking to their faces. My kids are only behaving as they have seen me behave and they know I would not approve. But as long as I don’t know… (where could they have learned that?)
Bottom line. Time has run out for being who I want people to believe I am. I’m outed. Wish it were on something like how great a writer I am or that I am the real D.B. Cooper.
There’s not much telling how long this has been going on or what else the little beauties think is honoring to themselves and their family. (tongue so far in cheek I am almost to choke). I raised kids who aren’t smart enough to know that tells who they are. There’s no way out of my responsibility for my disappointment in this case.
Grace or no grace.