Veiled Words

When I started this blog several years ago, my posts were written from a more vulnerable place in my heart and soul. Many were raw. But as my teen Figgy has grown [19 now], I've realized that some things are more hers to tell than mine. And that's good. My Figgy, my boat, has gone to sea; she comes back often enough. I want my boat to bob and head for the horizon. I don't want her to be high and dry, stuck in the sand.

Because in the end, Figgy is not my boat, but her own. And she and I are both healthier thanks to that realization. I also have my blog readers to thank--you were there, you listened when I poured out my heart, and you offered support.

With Punch, who will turn 8 in March, I have had to veil things, too. She is our foster daughter; her and her mom's story is not mine to share publicly in this format. There is so much I'd love to write but I can't.

Today, there was a court hearing in Newark at 11 a.m. regarding Punchy. H. and I went. We faced the judge, the lawyers for the state and for Punch's mom. The caseworker, the law guardian and the fellow who puts therapy in place for Punchy. We raised our hands and swore to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. And we stated our names.

Our road with Punchy is, at the moment, smooth and hopeful. She loves her horse riding lessons, gymnastics, hip hop--and her play time with friends. And school. She loves school! Punchy has a golden heart.

Good night.

TCOY

1. Leftover homemade enchiladas for lunch. A lot of tomatoes.