It’s been an emotionally exhausting couple of days for me. I thought I had left broken hearts behind with high school, but it turns out your own kids can break your heart worse than any stupid teenage crush.

Last summer, just a week before Justis was supposed to come home from summer visitation with his mom, she called us to let us know that Justis would be staying with her going forward. No discussion about it. Just “he wants to live here now so that’s how it’s going to be.” We were, of course, pretty upset by this. We felt it was in his best interest to stay with us for many reasons. Plus we were pissed that we just being told, not given the chance to discuss it.

Supposedly the two of them had been talking about it since before the school year even ended. But nobody had the balls to discuss it with Lee until the end of summer. We suspected that Justis wanted to move because we had come down pretty hard on him about his school work at the end of his sophomore year. We had even gone to school with him a couple of times and caught him in lies about his schoolwork. He was embarrassed and angry by this. We firmly believed that allowing him to move in with his mother would be teaching him to run away from his problems and not be responsible for himself or accountable for his actions. So Lee said “absolutely not” and, after we got our lawyer involved, Justis’ mother didn’t pursue it any further.

But she never gave up on the idea. A couple times this year she told Lee she really wanted Justis to move back with her next year (for his senior year of high school). Before Justis went to visit his mom for Christmas Lee talked to him about moving. He told him if he really wanted to move, really thought through the options, the pros and cons, and decided he wanted to move, we wouldn’t stop him this year. But it had to be something we all discussed together before he left for summer visitation. Justis agreed that it wasn’t handled very well last year and he would think about it.

A little over a month ago my grandmother asked Justis what he was doing next year. He said he was planning on staying here. I said, “Really? I’m glad to hear that.” He said, “Yeah, I just decided it makes more sense to finish school here.” So I thought it was settled and we didn’t need to worry about it anymore.

Then last Wednesday night we got in to an argument. Lee and Justis had already gotten in to it about the car. Lee felt like Justis wasn’t taking very good care of it. And then I discovered that Justis had skipped class a couple of times. After really stepping it up and doing awesome the first part of this semester, Justis really started to slip about 6 weeks ago and his grades are suffering. In fact he will definitely fail at least two classes this semester. He got mad that we were on his back about it and stormed out of the house telling us he wasn’t coming back. Nothing serious. Just your typical argument with a teenager. Or so we thought.

While he was gone he called his mother for support. She convinced him to come back home for now and told him he would just move in with her this summer.

The next day she called Lee and told him we are too hard on Justis. He’s like her and will just run away if we hound him too much. Then she said she’s trying to convince him to go in to the military after high school because she thinks that will help him. (You know, ’cause they aren’t hard at you in the military at all.) And she wants him to move in with her this summer. Lee said that’s up to Justis.

When Justis got home from school we had a sit down with him to talk about the events of the night before.

I said, “What are our expectations for you?”

He replied, “Do my best in school. Get my chores done. And stay out of trouble.”

“Are you doing those things?” I asked.

“No.”

He acknowledged his role in this. We talked about what we could do better. And everything seemed good. He told us he wanted to stay here. He had already talked to his school counselor about what he needed to do to still graduate next year. A morning P.E. class. And an extra history class independent study. Back on track.

But then he called his mother. And he changed his mind. “She really wants me to move back in with her.” I asked him why he was changing his mind. He said, “Because I get along with her better. She and I can talk about anything. She raised me for 12 years so I know her better.” (Which is something that came right from her mouth because she said that exact same thing to me a while back when I was talking to her — although to be technical it was only 11 years.)

As disappointed as we are and as bad a decision as we think it is, we aren’t going to fight them on it this year. He’s 17-years-old. It’s time for him to make his own decisions. And suffer the consequences of those decisions, should there be any. It’s time to let him go.

But it’s hard. I’m sad.

I’m sad he’s leaving. We’ll miss his smile. We’ll miss his laughter. We’ll miss his sense of humor. We’ll miss his company. It won’t feel right to be on family outings without him. Our family won’t be complete.

I’m sad he says he doesn’t know us as well as his mother. We’ve loved him his whole life. And we’ve raised him for the last six years. We’ve tried to do everything in our power to give him the tools he needs for success at school and in life. We’ve tried to teach him the important lessons. We’ve sat and had many, many, many conversations with him. Both heated and not. We’ve celebrated his important milestones. We’ve made him promises and we’ve kept those promises.

But that’s not enough.

So for the last four days I’ve been on the verge of tears. Because I’m not very good at letting go.

Apparently procrastination is a lesson I have taught my kids well. (Of all the lessons they could learn. *sigh*) Late last night, well past bedtime, Skyler & Spencer let us know they were having a wax museum at school the next day and wanted us to be there. I didn’t really know what they heck they meant by “wax museum” but they seemed pretty excited. So I figured I better clear my schedule and make sure I was there.

Over lunch today Lee and I headed to the school to find out what was up with all this wax museum talk. We found the kids lined up in the hallways with, well, like this…

Each of the third graders chose a hero to represent. They researched their hero and wrote a paper on him or her. Then they memorized their papers and presented them at the wax museum. They each had a “push me” button. You were to walk up to each child, push their button, and they would give their speech. It was really very cute. What a great way to get kids interested in learning about people in history.

We saw everybody from Barack Obama to Harriet Tubman, Benjamin Franklin, FDR, Abe Lincoln, Helen Keller, Jackie Robinson and more. (Actually lots and lots of Jackie Robinsons.) Skyler was George Washington. And Spencer was Ray Charles.

They talk pretty quickly so if you didn’t catch everything….

Skyler said:

My name is George Washington. I was born February 22, 1732 in Virginia. I died December 14, 1799 at age 67 because I was very ill. My occupation was surveying land in Virginia, becoming a general and becoming the first President of the United States. I am a hero for many reasons. I was brave because I joined the army knowing I could have died. My worthwhile achievement was writing the Constitution with other colonists. If I never lived the United States may not exist.

Spencer said:

I am Ray Charles and I am a hero. I am a famous musician. I was brave because I never let the color of my skin or my blindness stop me. I never took no for an answer. I was inspirational when I learned to read and write in braille. I traveled across the entire United States playing my music. If I’d never lived there wouldn’t be the hit jazz songs that are still popular today. I am a hero.

And just for fun I threw in a blooper take at the end.

Today in the U.S. most of us our off of work for Memorial Day.

Memorial Day is often seen as the beginning of the summer. In our neck of the woods it is the weekend our pools open up for the summer months. It’s the time when friends and family get together for BBQs. Some cities have parades with big floats and people tossing candy to kids.

But Memorial Day is more than pool openings, BBQ chicken, and parades.

Memorial Day dates back to the Civil War when Americans set aside a day to decorate the graves of those lost in the Civil War. Back then it was called Decoration Day. It was first widely observed in 1868 when General John A. Logan formally inaugurated the day. On May 5, 1868 Logan declared:

The 30th of May, 1868, is designated for the purpose of strewing with flowers, or otherwise decorating the graves of comrades who died in defense of their country during the late rebellion, and whose bodies now lie in almost every city, village, and hamlet churchyard in the land. In this observance no form of ceremony is prescribed, but posts and comrades will in their own way arrange such fitting services and testimonials of respect as circumstances may permit.

Going forward May 30th became the day to honor those U.S. casualties lost in any military action. In 1967 the name was changed from Decoration Day to Memorial Day. And in 1971 the government changed the date from May 30th to the last Monday in May in order to allow or a three day weekend.

And that’s how many Americans view Memorial Day…as a three day weekend.

I don’t have a lot of veterans in my family. I believe my maternal grandfather was a veteran, but he died when I was just 8 years old and I don’t know a lot about his military experience. One of Lee’s uncles is a career military guy, but we aren’t very close to him. I just don’t have a lot of experience with the military.

But when I was in high school I plastered myself in front of the television watching young men and woman barely older than myself fighting for freedom and keeping us safe. Since 2001 I’ve been plastered to the news outlets watching young men and women barely older than my own children fighting to protect us all.

I’m so sad to see all of the young lives that have been lost in conflict. But I’m also so proud of these young kids who risk their lives to protect mine. These young 18-, 19-, 20-year-old kids are way more brave then I have ever been. It is today that we really need to set aside some time to honor these special people who sacrifice so much for us.

There’s a new ordinance in our county that will penalize any adult who knowingly allows children to have a party with alcohol on their property. Guilty adults will receive a $750 fine for the first offense and a $1000 for the second or more offense. This has sparked a new controversy over what should be the legal limit to drink. Should it be 18? Should it be 21?

Personally I don’t think this new ordinance has anything to do with the drinking age. This new ordinance has to do with forcing adults to be responsible. It’s asking them to follow the law. Parents can still allow their child to drink in their own if he/she so chooses. But this law takes away an adult’s right to offer my child a drink.

I’m so tired of hearing this excuse that kids will get alcohol anyway. Teens will drink anyway. They’ll get it from somewhere. Fine. Then make them work for it. Maybe it will teach them some negotiation skills. Make them think critically to solve there “how will get I some beer” problem. Don’t make it easy for them.

Plus don’t you want to teach them to be law-abiding citizens? When your buying them beer and throwing parties with alcohol for your 17-year-old you aren’t exactly teaching them the best lesson.

But the biggest reason I agree with this ordinance is because of my teenagers. I don’t allow my teenagers to drink alcohol. I don’t buy them alcohol. Neither of them would have the balls to walk in to my house holding a beer until they turn 21. But other parents disagree. Other parents think it’s their place to make decisions regarding MY kids. Some parents think it’s ok to throw a high school graduation party with kegs of beer and buckets of vodka. Well now if they decide to be that irresponsible they will have to pay for it. Is being the cool parent worth $750 or $1000?