<p>In this episode, Parent (me) realizes that D’s early acceptance and decent financial aid offer at a local in-state public U, for Fall 2009, caused her to feel premature relief. She erroneously thought that the hard part was over and that the rest of D’s senior year would be a cakewalk, so to speak. </p>
<p>D’s has, as I have painfully established in another thread – and been roundly trounced upon for even thinking of uttering same–, had an average high school career. Yes, she probably could have done much better had she been more interested, but she wasn’t and isn’t. Still, the comments from teachers tended to speak of her effort and general niceness in the classroom. Until this week’s report card! Complaints of work not done, work yet to be turned in, 43% homework average, lowest grade in the class on the exam – these comments spread out over five academic areas --; indeed, she has gone from average to uninterested and self-destructing.</p>
<p>I was wrong to feel relief.</p>
<p>No, this final semester of the senior year will require much diligence, much supervision, much nagging, much hands-on parenting. I thought I was done! Did she not receive an acceptance to an accredited college? (Actually, she received two but I don’t count the one that wanted to charge 35000K. That school probably takes anyone with a checkbook! But I digress.)</p>
<p>This evening it also occurred to me that maybe there is no finish line, no relief. There’s the summer to get through. Freshman year. Various summers and holidays. Boyfriends. Girlfriends. Semester Abroad. Cars. Insurance. Allergy shots and medications. Wedding(s). Pregnancy. Babies. Divorce(s). THE LIFE CYCLE.</p>
<p>It’s like – there is no end. </p>
<p>DD announced this evening that she and three friends wish to drive to Tennessee to attend a large music festival in June. I did a bit of research and came up with: heat stroke; drugs; random dangers to be found in a crowd of 90,000 people; related risks of camping in said 100% humidity; …</p>
<p>well, you get my drift.</p>
<p>Yes, yes, I know I <em>should</em> Be Very Proud of D (I am) and how dare I even utter these words, yes, yes, bad mother here, I confess – but seriously, does the worry end?</p>