I’m actively posting graduation pictures of my one and only beloved (begotten?) daughter and I have near-constant flashes of school drop-offs in my head. The most challenging ones were in middle school.

So here is my gratitude list for those who helped us through every era and every episode of childrearing. 

• To those who heard me at my absolute worst, ie, when my middle schooler refused to get out of the car and go to school. Or when she refused to stand up (on E Street, at amusement parks, at the zoo–look, it happened a lot) I was HOT. I said things. Unpretty, ungracious things. You heard me and responded with love and guess what? WE DID IT. We survived. No, scratch that… WE THRIVED.
• To those who came and took my kid to school on some mornings. Okay, that was Dad. Thank you, Dad. You and mom and grandma and grandpa deserve so much more than mere words but that’s all I’ve got at present.
• To those who literally put my kid in a bathtub and bathed her. YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE. May your mansions in heaven be filled with every kind of delicious baked good and coffee that never runs out.
• To those who hugged my kid and loved her. To those who hugged me and loved me.
• To those who took my credit and insurance cards, those who scheduled appointments, those who dealt with canceled appointments and the rare completely-forgot–about-it appointments. Bless you. But even more to those who walked into counseling offices and counseled us, to those who walked into medical offices and gave high fives and cheered her on. You deserve all the stars in the sky for your care for us.
• To those who taught. Oh, our dear teachers. Some of you were only okay but some of you were the most stellar people on planet earth. To those who gave tough love. To those who bandaged knees and gave tylenol and provided kotex. To those who listened and reasoned and still persevered and taught new things. I see you and I am you and we needed you at every single turn for the past however many years it took to earn a high school diploma. Some of you have been around that IEP table with us for years and I thank you for your longevity and ability to really see my girl.
• To those who simply received this fabulous kid and believed in her from day one. To those who saw her light and didn’t demand she become someone else. To those who encouraged her writing and sculpting and drawing and horseback riding and love of every single animal on God’s green earth. Thank you for the opportunities you’ve given her to grow.
• To the aunts and uncles who cheered her on. Biological, adopted, and honorary. 

Memories are drifting in and out of my mind while I get ready to host a party to celebrate this moment. You are all a part of our journey and I’m grateful times a thousand for you.

A 5:00am wakeup time—becoming more common in the past few years—had me picking wallpaper images for my phone. This shot captures SO MUCH JOY for me. You know I’m serious because I wrote that in caps. Livia and I… mmm… invited ourselves along on my parents’ 50th anniversary trip to Sanibel Island last October and the location was absolutely dreamy. The water was just cool enough and the views were incredible. I found myself feeling more centered and at peace than I had been in a long time. My dad is walking in the background there, I’m admiring the world around me, and Liv, always the first to the sensory table in preschool, is shelling. Of course. We still bear loads of shells from the Gulf, months later, in frozen Nebraska.

I love my home. And I love to get away, especially to the ocean, and then I love to come home again.

This pic is giving me life today.

Embarking on something new in our home—well, not really IN our home—and it’s so cool. I’m inspired by women who know their fields well and welcome others into their spheres. The horses, the people, the horse-sized Great Dane, the barn cat who took her prize back to a quiet corner for a secret lunch, the view of the sun an hour before sunset… all of it charmed me and filled up my girl’s bucket.

As I said yesterday, I do love animals, but the way my kid loves them is a different level.

“Play is the work of the child.”

Maria Montessori, Fred Rogers, and Sigmund Freud have all been credited with saying that statement. I’m going to agree with those three and go a little further: play is the work of everyone.

We need to play. Children need to play most of all.

I have a kid who is playing with… give me a sec… paint… still need another deep breath… on our dining room table. Without a safety net. This kid is almost a full grown adult and as such she disagrees with her mother quite frequently. It’s all very developmentally appropriate and yet. And yet she is painting on the table without any table protection.

I don’t know when I turned into such a Type A person. No wait, I know. It’s when I became responsible for all of the messes!

“Play is the work of the child.”

“And the adult.”

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go do something to distract the inevitable paint-filled mess that is my kitchen.

I went digging in my phone’s photo albums for a picture of a tree changing colors. My shots from this morning didn’t turn out well as the sun is hiding behind a Nebraska-sized sheet of gloomy clouds. Quickly my thoughts veered from a very new, still nebulous consideration of Winter as Necessary Rest–a new thought because I am stubbornly settled in the Seasonal Affective Disorder camp—to what happened last year. The images on my phone flashed before me… Livia with reading glasses on. Liv studying in my office. Liv studying on the back deck. New Covid masks. Liv studying in the basement. Homemade meals from Livia. So on and so forth. 

So what happened last year?

Homeschool.

I TAUGHT MY HIGH SCHOOLER AT HOME.

That wasn’t in the game plan, folks. It wasn’t in the game plan due to our personal dynamics and our desire to preserve a loving mother-daughter relationship rather than attempt the teacher-student one. And yet! And yet we. freaking. did. it. We homeschooled for Livia’s entire sophomore year. Yeah yeah, we didn’t learn as much that fourth quarter as I wanted us too, and yet that was the reality of the 2020-2021 school year. WE HOMESCHOOLED.

What in the world?!

We are now back to our regularly scheduled programming, the kind where Livia is taught by other educators and I am delighted to find myself within a  classroom setting, teaching my own little pupils at Lincoln Homeschool Academy. The turf is now familiar and our year of homeschooling plus dealing with a worldwide pandemic has passed. Oh yes, we’re still in that pandemic, but the heightened fear I breathlessly held is no longer present. The political turmoil has returned to a murmur. We’ve gotten more comfortable—somehow—with a ridiculous death rate due to this virus. We mask much more easily, and I’ve learned to value grocery pickups, Covid swabs, and daily emails home from our public school with illness notices. 

Today Livia is home. I can hear her writing in the room next door to mine, my heart busting with mama pride to know that she is a writer much like myself. Sometimes the words just have to come out. My girl can’t smell today and she has a headache that a bunch of medicine didn’t touch. She’d rather stay home for the next 10 days than get the nose swab I’ve scheduled for her this afternoon. Ha, nice try, mija. I know other friends whose children are home with Covid, home with sniffles, and home with every symptom in between the two extremes. This is 2021. The virus continues, but now we fight with booster shots and masks and social distancing and frequent handwashing. And lots of missed school. The “and yet” here is that school continues. And yet, life continues. I’m impressed with my little homeschooling school and with our bigger public school system. Despite the radical changes and difficulties faced last year, so many educators and school nurses keep showing up, determined to teach in this crazy time. 

I taught my kid at home last year. 

Huh. 

I’m teaching new little ones at a different school this year. And Livia’s days in high school are dwindling rapidly. Soon she’ll move to a different life stage and we’ll look back at this time with what? Will it be grief for all the changes and losses? Will it be joy for that fast-and-slow year of togetherness at Prairie Box High? Will it be surprise that we weathered this better than expected? One day at a time. That’s it. Grace for one day at a time.

Update: She does not have Covid. Whew.

Did you know that Culinary Arts students must learn how to keep their work and storage spaces tidy? That they also must learn when a pantry or refrigerator item is expired, how to properly dispose of said item, and then how to re-order ingredients needed for future recipes?

Last night after Jeremy composted the dying veggies from our refrigerator, he left out the crisper drawer and as he moved on quickly to the next task suggested someone wipe out the bottom of the frig. Our Culinary Arts student handled the job quite easily this morning.

“You can make anything you want in the kitchen. But you have to clean it up, too.”

This was my teacher prompt for Culinary Arts today.

And she was off. Handmade bowtie pasta won the day. Pasta-making is not for the faint of heart—it’s truly a process! But this is what happens when you have the ability to let a kid choose what their heart desires. The heart wanted pasta. It’s wanted pasta since The Heart first started eating pasta. And I have to give it to her, fresh pasta is delicious.

Sometimes I love this human more than I can even express. She’s cool. She’s committed. She’s motivated from a deep internal well that I cannot see, but I get to see the fruits of her creative stirrings and I’m so grateful God allowed me to learn all about life through my Liv.

I’m eager to see and reflect on more beautiful things through this year’s December Photo Project. Thanks again for joining me, friends!

I held my camera stretched out before me, lens angled down to hopefully capture Mama Robin’s eggs.

Got it.

I hear there is one tiny robin in the nest now, his shoulder blades still bare. I’ll let the neighbors and my Dr. Dolittle daughter check on the babies now. Time for Mama to have some peace. At least until I unhook our hose and scare her again.

Robin’s eggs are always stunning.

Today feels like a BIG first. For Livia it’s both just another day of school and it’s a whole new world. High school! I am constantly blown away by the opportunities given to students within our school district. The classes and clubs and friends get cooler and more varied as times goes on and I cannot wait to see what piques Liv’s interest over the course of the next four years.

Father God, you love this kid even more than we do. Prepare the way forward for her and pour your grace out over her. Speak to her spirit and give her courage and joy as she begins this brand new school. Let her follow you and let her be a light to those around her. In Jesus’s name, we ask that you bless Livia far beyond our imagining. Amen!

A walk down memory lane…
8th grade
7th grade
6th grade
5th grade
4th grade
3rd grade
2nd grade
1st grade
Kindergarten