::: if i leave here tomorrow, will you still remember me? :::

Around this time last year, I was waking with a terrible realization and a pain in my gut like that of someone who has experienced loss. I was weepy, unmotivated and grief-stricken. My husband was understanding. My daughters were empathetic to the point of their own grief and tears. I wasn't sure I would survive. People around me seemed puzzled.

In Bard's Wonder Book, an interactive paper journal I started for her when she was seven, I wrote the following:

Under any other circumstance, a woman whose daughter has gone after eighteen years of living at home would likely be heaped with support. If you had died, say, or gotten married, or run away, or been abducted. Actually, had I lost anyone after eighteen years, or even eighteen months--a break up or divorce or other loss--people would call me, I'd be in some kind of a support group, women from church would bring me casseroles and jello salads. But in this circumstance--"Well, gee. She's just at college!" Never mind that the house is void of her music, her laughter, her guitar, her conversation. "What's the big deal? Get over it!"

I hadn't started out grief-stricken. As a matter of fact, I was kind of blasé about the whole thing, having indulged myself in the process of getting Bard into college by making transcripts, visiting colleges, sending paperwork, talking to financial advisors, and then celebrating not only her acceptance letters, but the steady stream of scholarship awards, which was sweet vindication for this mom who had been told that home learning would ruin my child's education.

While I was gloating, I hadn't really thought about the fact that the end result of this process would be that my daughter would be leaving home.

And even had I thought that she would be leaving, once she chose a school that was only an hour away, I hadn't thought about the fact that she wouldn't be living in our house. She'd be taking her loyalty, dependability, devious sense of humor, midnight music making, and, most of all, her delightful companionship along with her.

It wasn't until a church friend asked me, just the week before we would be moving Bard to school, how I was doing.

"I'm fine!" I answered chipperly. "It's great! I think we're ready!"

To which she offhandedly replied, "When we took Jonathan to Goshen the first day of his freshman year, that was the last time he lived at home. He went on service trips for Christmas and summers, and then he got married and moved to Virginia."

Wait...what?

You mean, I thought, next week could be the last time my child lives at home? EVER?!?

And that's when the waterworks started.

At one point, it got so bad that when she simply walked into my room, I was reduced to a blubbery mass of tears.

"Mom," she chided playfully, "I feel like I'm dead! I feel like you're planning my funeral!"

Houdin, who had just ventured down the hall, strolled in, passed Bard without acknowledging her presence, embraced me with mock seriousness and hushed, "When are the calling hours?"

After taking her to her dorm that first day, going through the orientation process, and saying my goodbyes, I climbed into the car with my two younger daughters. Since Bard had packed so much stuff, and all of the family wanted to see her off, we'd driven two vehicles. But my vision was so obscured by tears, I had to pull over in the closest parking lot and let myself bawl. The girls draped their little bodies around me and joined my mourning, and we all wailed together, albeit quietly since we were in a public place not two thousand feet from Bard's dorm.

Now, before you come down too hard on me, you have to realize a couple of things:

• I never put my child on the kindergarten bus;
• I never watched her drive away after getting her license (she still isn't a driver, at 19);
• I never saw her whisked away on her first date by some strange boy.

It's not that she was sheltered or prohibited from leaving home, unsocialized or awkward. It's just that the choices we made together, the choices she made alone, never necessitated those little bits of leaving. Sure, she boarded a plane to Italy, China, and Germany, in addition to her domestic travels. But this thing? This leaving-for-college thing? That was different.

Because unlike women I've overheard sighing disdainfully in the early August school-supplies line while their children finger every impulse item on the shelf, I have never uttered the words, "I can't wait until they're back in school."

And this is because you have to realize something else, too.

I like my kids. I like my daughter. She's my friend. And I miss her when she's gone.

I'm glad she's at school, having fun, making new friends and keeping the old. It's cool that she's a course assistant this year and that she'll be starting into some of the classes for her majors. It's nifty that she used her summer-job-at-the-greenhouse money to buy a new cherry sunburst Fender Strat and a Line 6 amp and hopes to play in a band with a group of friends.

It's great that moving day went extremely well, that Houdin and the girls helped extra much and Bard's friend Grape tagged along to lend a hand, since Monet was at school and husband Bo was at work (though we did stop by for a brief hug).

It's fabulous that we got to spend moving day shopping for a new pair of Chuck Taylors (can you believe she's been wearing the same pair since her freshman year in high school?!?), eating at ChicFila, and arranging her new dorm room, a suite she'll share with five other girls.

And it's cool that I'll put the finishing touches on cleaning her room today, and it will stay clean in between visits.

But it'll be awfully quiet around here without her midnight music, her insane sense of humor, and her great companionship.

When you like your own child enough to miss them when they're gone, I do believe that's a good thing.

::: it's a school night :::

A load of laundry is tumbling in the dryer. The alarm clocks are set for 5:45 a.m. A shower will be taken, bedtime snack consumed, lunch packed. Then, there will be teeth brushed, tucking in and prayers, and maybe, if we're lucky, some sleep.

Life is about to change.

This hot mid-August brings with it new experiences for the Thicket Dweller household, and I'm not all that sure that I'm ready for them.

But ready or not, here they come.

Tomorrow morning, fourteen-year-old Monet will, for the first time, board a school bus and bump along into a brand new chapter of his life--high school. After fourteen years of learning at home and all around, he will be adding a new set of teachers, a new schedule, new bedtime and morning routines. He's excited. I'm excited.

And a little bit scared.

Will he be ready? Will he pay attention? Will he be organized and responsible? Will other students be kind to him? Will the lunches be okay?

His first experience with this new school has been two weeks of practice with the junior varsity soccer team which, for Monet, has done it's share of socking him. His body, a little soft from too much computer time and not enough running around, has had a really hard time adjusting to the new rigors that a team sport requires, and he has come home from two-a-day practices dog-tired and more than a little discouraged.

But he has stuck with it, in spite of threats to the contrary, and his coaches have been patient and encouraging as he lopes slowly around the track during laps, sometimes even loping along with him.

And the day after he spends his first day in school, nineteen-year-old Bard will return to college to begin her sophomore year as a course assistant for the college experience class, helping the incoming students get acclimated to college life. She's excited, and I'm excited for her, but I'm not all that thrilled that the summer has flown by so fast. There was so much more I wanted to do with her during break! Tonight, she and Bo are out shopping for a new electric guitar for her year at school, purchased with the money she made working at the greenhouse this summer. This in lieu of a car. Wise move, in my opinion. Guitars get better mileage, the insurance is cheaper, and there's very little maintenance.

As if that's not enough, in September, eighteen-year-old Houdin will begin training for a ten-month term of voluntary service in northwestern Africa. It was too painful for me to write about my grief when Bard started college. The period between July and September 2008 is conspicuously empty. And she was only going to be an hour away! Though I know that this leaving is a good thing, that he will grow and learn so much, that, if he stayed, we would be at each other daily, I'll miss him terribly and will undoubtedly bawl upon his departure.

And while I'll have two delightful young girls at home, going through Ambleside's years one and five with me, and my husband will be by my side, and our home will be full of laughter and learning, I'm wary knowing that bits of my heart will be scattered all over the world.

So, while, as a homelearner, I never thought I'd hear myself say this, I have to enforce some bedtime rules, because tonight's a school night. It makes me a little sad that this bohemian household will be tamed a bit by outside forces.

But maybe it's just what we need.

Atta Girl!

The amazing Bard was named to her university's Dean's List for the Fall 2008 semester!

She's enjoying school, taking voice and guitar lessons, is one of the producers for a weekly live soap-opera type performance, landed a role in God's Favorite--this term's theater production, sings with the Women's Choir, is enrolled in several Honors classes, tutors part time, and is double majoring in English and Communications.

Not too shabby, eh?

Some grad photos...

Bard graduated from high school this weekend. The ceremony was lovely, and we had the very perfect weather for her open house on Sunday. We made bins and bins of food--barbecued chicken, baked beans, potato salad, veggies and dip, cake, cookies--and we had a wonderful crowd of people to share it all with.

Now, she's off for the summer and will be a freshman at a Christian college on a full scholarship (room and board, books, tuition, AND a laptop all paid!) this Fall. I will miss her greatly, but she'll only be about an hour away, and will be closer geographically to some of her friends when she's there that she has been at home.

It's been a great ride, learning with this girl, from the moment she was born, even up through today. I look forward to many years of learning with my younger ones, too.

With Sweetheart, Mom, Dad and Grandma.

Aunt Marilyn and Cousin Bella on the hammock with Uncle Aaron providing the motion.

Some twilight guests.
And she'll be heading off to college with a very special gift from her whole family--aunts, uncles, grandparents, brothers, sisters, mom and dad. It's her very own guitar--which just happens to share her name.

Ten things I love about...stuff.

Here's what I love right now...

That Bard and her debate partner were the first place debate team in their very last debate tournament. Things started out pretty rocky this year, and I've been praying for a good outcome. While this may not be the entire outcome, I think it's part of it.

That the chives are up. They're so green and tall and encouraging! Chives are such a dependable harbinger of Spring.

That the pig is tilling my garden, even if I'm having a hard time getting her to till that one little section of sod and rocks. I hope to have a well-tilled plot of land to enjoy when she's all done, a place where I can plunk in some more leafy green things.

That Houdin was hired as a counselor, cook and pastor at a local camp this summer. I think he'll really enjoy it, and I'm sure the kids will love him.

That things are winding down for the year. Tournaments are over. Pretty soon, classes will be over, choir will be over, and it will be time to do some serious reading, to myself and aloud. Right now, I'm previewing The Benedict Society to read aloud to Monet, Sweetheart and The Baby (who needs a new nickname now that she's five and can answer the phone all by herself).

That relationships are healing. I pray that I can keep giving them over to God and that I can be obedient and humble, no matter what He asks me to do.

That Bard made her decision about college. She received a full academic scholarship for one of her top five choices, but she wasn't sure if it was the right place for her. She decided on Thursday that it was and will begin registering for classes this week. She was even offered a job in the writing lab; a very good friend of ours is the director of the lab and was happy to offer the position to Bard.

That we have the use of a second car. We were limping along with no car, then one car, and now we have two working cars. It makes a world of difference.

That there are visitors to the bird feeders on my porch every day.

That Houdin is able to take a second look at relationships and what they mean after a breakup with his girlfriend. I'm thankful that he's able to focus on his other interests again and just be a teenage boy.

Okay, eleven things: That I have a great walking partner who encourages me to get out there and get some exercise. I'd be a sloth without her.

I'm thankful for the changes that are taking place around me, both big and small. Thank you, God, for your incredible goodness. Please help me to remember to thank You daily!

::: it CAN be done! :::

The call came today in the late afternoon. Sixteen-year-old Houdin answered it, passed the phone to his sister, Bard, who took the tone of someone talking to an important person. After hearing comments like, "You're kidding," and "Oh my gosh!" I knew that something good was coming.

And I was right. I hope I didn't harm the admissions counselor's ears too badly with my scream. A full four-year scholarship to one of Bard's top two choices for college, after all, is worth a bit of a squeal. Just three weeks ago today, she was sitting in a room writing essay, and then answering a series of questions by a panel of professors, and then chatting excitedly about how she thought it went and wondering whether or not the profs liked her.

Apparently they liked her.

It feels so good to know that I made the right educational choice when I decided to be a home-learning family.

She's still waiting on word from her other top college choice. She's still in the running for a full four-year scholarship there, too. She's in the top ten, and will only get an offer if one of the top two declines. But there's still a shot. In the meantime, she has a lot of thinking, reading and comparing to do to decide where she's going to go.

I'm so proud of her.

And, I have to admit, I'm a wee bit proud of me, too.