His eyes were a little pre-misty tonight. In the minivan, just our 4 year old and my husband and I leaving his preschool open house. We slowly weaved around the school's roads back toward my in law's home, quarter mile from the school where my husband had lived since he was 4 years old.
I hate public schools. I've gotta get that out of the way, sorry. I love public school teachers. I love public school principles and secretaries and janitors and bus drivers. But I hate public schools and since I was about 19 I knew I was going to home school. I don't approve of the learning styles, or how long they sit in chairs, or how the periods and recesses and lunch breaks mimic an 8 hour work day, for a 5 year old. I hate the Clorox wipes and air fresheners. Tearing my child away from his security, sense of safety, home, and mom. Not a fan. You might be a fan, and that's okay.
This is part of my crunchy mom attached parent thing. My children will be tirelessly and without compromise be built on the firmest foundation of security and love, we will do ABCJESUSLOVESME, we will learn about God at home and do the home school co-ops. We will dance when we want to dance, we will eat when we want to eat, we will learn by playing always.
Argument after bicker after holler after links to studies and articles and reports after argument. After bicker. After holler. More links to studies. More arguing. Usually, always, actually, my husband hears what I have to say and disagrees immediately. Then exactly 24 hours later he tells me I'm right. That didn't happen. And that was fine, because he was only 18 months old. And it didn't happen. Then he was 2, then 3, and then 4. And it didn't happen.
I prayed for God to change my husband's heart, open his blind eyes to this certain tragedy Lord. Give me SOMETHING.
And God gave an instruction to let him have this one. Which was difficult to obey because A. God was wrong, and B. No. I've got a messy tendency to shake my husband and God like 8 balls until I get my way.
There's a way I like the kids to be rocked and fed and dressed and cleaned and doctored and taught. Talked to prayed for looked at listened to. And if it's not the way I like it, then it needs to be. Ryan has a different way of doing all of these things. I have spent most of my marriage feeling more entitled to the details of my children's rearing than my husband.
Maybe I'm just a bad wife. Maybe I'm nuts. Maybe I think my mother's intuition is stronger than his opinions. Maybe I can't imagine someone who didn't carry these babies could know them better. Maybe I spend so much time as a stay at home mom with them and breathe in toddler from the time my eyes open to the time they shut that I think the currency this sacrifice would best be exchanged in, is to get to make the final decision.
But I don't even hear the man out. I usually listen to what he has to say so that I can refute it. And I didn't realize that until tonight. Or maybe God has shown me before and I hadn't wanted to change so I don't remember.
I love my husband. Maybe I should've started out with that because I doubt more than 3 of you are going to believe that now. He's a good dude. He's really level headed and balanced. Quiet, but smart. He met Asher and I when Asher was 10 months old. He adopted Asher in December of last year, but had been his dad since Day 1 and is all he knows. Ryan had gotten out of The Marines about 6 months earlier where he'd survived several bombings and outnumbered 10:1 ambush combat. He told me that he never expected to survive, but if he did, he didn't think he'd ever get married so he wanted to buy a home one day and adopt a child.
And on the 2 minute drive through the little paved roads he had walked 5 days a week for 14 years, where he'd gotten his baseball scholarship and goofed around and made friends and held hands with a middle school girlfriend and thought in silence during walks, the little paved roads he drove through when home on leave from deployments in Afghanistan reminiscing...his eyes got that inflamed red that comes before a welling up of tears. He said, "This school hasn't seen a Karbon since my brother graduated. I never thought I'd see this day." I caught his eye then looked away, not sure if he wanted to hide his emotion or not. I looked at him again, and he looked back to the road. And that was the end of it.
Two sentences. Years of fighting, came to a head in revelation in two sentences. He had deep emotions, too. He had a say, too. He wanted what was best for our son, too. He gets to be the parent, too.