This 6 am alarm, the hundreds of dollars on textbooks and uniforms, the trek up the hill--they are the dream. I now know that one can do anything difficult if it was hoped for.
But this sweetness would not have come without the hard, bitter seeds of those first days. I love her endless story-echoing and yapping in the middle of the night because she once could not speak. I love the idea of homework and school because we so nearly had to send her to a vocational school for autism. I would have loved her anyway. But these things now are celebrated.
So much that this morning, marking a week of real school, is celebrated with overpriced coffee at a cafe I will bear in mind to skip in future. I feel that I might wake up any day now. That they will tell us studying is just not for her. That we will have to pull her out of this neatly woven cocoon of excellence and polite little girls, and tell her, I'm sorry, we have to change things up again.
But for now, for as long as we can, we are living the dream we had given up on.
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