One really good way to cuss up a perfectly good plan is to talk about it. Like that painting idea I had that I mentioned in my last post. Oh, it's still there, and I have some canvas and a plan to have the next-door neighbor guy make up the frame.
But that's about it.
I already knew that my story idea for a book was gonna sit on a shelf, probably for forever... but the painting kinda hurts.
Slow steps. Yeah. I know. Just some days it makes me want to peel my own skin off, this scattered way of living that seems to be the norm with this many small kids, their projects, homework, piano, the distractions and mess; the simple inability I have to finish the dishes, let alone a painting.
Gughk. Wah wah wah. I piss myself off.
Another note... I have been thinking about the homeschooling from last post too, and some of the comments combined with a post by a friend (and the resulting comments) , I remember now some of what I like about sending the kids off to school.
They get more room to become, more room to grow and grow UP. They have a whole new set of people telling them they should be brushing their freakin' teeth and using good manners.
Sometimes I get the feeling that my kids think I make up half the crap that I am trying to teach them as it is, do I really want to take this fight into academia? Seriously.
I want my kids to become self sufficient, to know that they can do stuff without me. Successfully. And I personally got a lot of that sense of "can do" from going to school. Public School. So I am feeling a little easier, with that in mind, easier enough to sit back and wait and see what happens next year. Chillax a bit. Breathe.
On another note. Wow. Hey. The Bird turns eight today. Eight years old. For those of you who are LDS, you know what this means. For those of y'all who aren't, it means she is now at the age of accountability. She is old enough to get baptised and become a member of the LDS church. Old enough to be held accountable for her decisions, old enough to make this covenant to follow Christ. This a very important time, a very sacred time.
I cannot seem to wrap my head around this; my baby is here already. And then again, this Birdie is more than ready. She is strong and whole and prepared, and I am so proud it hurts.
I was thinking the other day about how I used to think of myself as "damaged." I used to, but I haven't even thought about it for years. I used to feel bad that my sweet Dadguy had to get a broken version of me, but I think maybe, if I ever was in fact broken, I am now healed. If there are broken bits left? They are pretty much immaterial, they just don't matter in any way that matters. I love to look at my life and my family and revel in the goodness of it. To feel the love and joy with my whole body, visceral feeling of love. Funny how these moments don't inspire these feeling, but they sure do put them at forefront and grab ya and say "LOOK!"