When they go astray

I live in sheep world. Real sheep, the actual fuzzy critters from which come wool socks and mutton, are raised (or farmed, or shepherded, or whatever it is one does with sheep) in this part of the world.

Raising children is a lot like shepherding sheep. I’ve seen shepherds roaming the hills, searching for the one that went astray between Point A and Point B. We once had a sheepdog hanging around our house for two or three days, trying to get the attention of the “stupid humans” (us). One of the sheep in the flock had fallen into the ditch, upside down. That dog wasn’t willing to leave even one of her charges behind.

At this point in the parenting journey, I am one tired sheepdog. My little flock feels scattered. I empathize with that sheepdog … desperately wanting to move along with the rest of the flock, but the one or two stragglers hold you back because they keep making stupid choices, and their bad decisions have repercussions you can’t avoid or ignore, repercussions that affect you emotionally, relationally, financially …

Parenting = Licking a frozen flagpole and spending 20+ years separating your tongue from the metal, piece by piece, taste bud by taste bud. Can anybody relate, or is it just me?

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