It may be obvious from my (lack of) posting schedule that things in real life have been busy.Twice a week we leave our home to study and play and exercise with friends
in a modern version of a one-room schoolhouse.
in a modern version of a one-room schoolhouse.
Four times a month we leave our home to serve at a rural food ministry.
And every once in a while we leave our home because we need provisions
... what the non-pioneering-obsessed like to call groceries
and animal feed and the odd cleaning supplies.
... what the non-pioneering-obsessed like to call groceries
and animal feed and the odd cleaning supplies.
But the one thing I'm actually willing to leave home for?When we run out of books.
I have, like every mom I know, a long "to do" list. Mine these days is a little homemakery, homesteady (ooh, homesteady; I may have a new favorite imaginary word).
During different times of my life I've preferred the "done" list.
It can be encouraging to sit down at the end of a day or a week and list what one has done. You know, other than eating bon bons.
If I were questioning whether I'd accomplished anything I might make a "done" list. A self-administered pat on the back.
But these days? I am acutely aware of moments of mute powerlessness,
of my innate weakness
and, for crying out loud, my humanity.
(Don't get me wrong. I'm still supermom and all. A-hem.)
I keep a "to do" list these days because otherwise I might FORGET that I have anything to do other than play with the baby. Read to the toddler. Sneak in an hour of writing or photography.
Bake something.
Harvest the autumn garden in a sunny mood.
I might forget that the big girls have persuasive essays to finish
and instruments on which to practice. I might forget that the electricity bill is due
and the prescription for someone's glasses needs to be rechecked.
There's a new forgetfulness, even vagueness, about me that seems awfully inconvenient
given that I'm responsible for the education and feeding
and general state of the laundry of five children.
Give me an afternoon at home and I'd better have that chalkboard list, my calendar and computer nearby. Or else I might just while away the day just being. Without doing anything.
Not exactly superhuman of me. But it's pretty human, I think.
What do you think?
I have, like every mom I know, a long "to do" list. Mine these days is a little homemakery, homesteady (ooh, homesteady; I may have a new favorite imaginary word).
During different times of my life I've preferred the "done" list.
It can be encouraging to sit down at the end of a day or a week and list what one has done. You know, other than eating bon bons.
If I were questioning whether I'd accomplished anything I might make a "done" list. A self-administered pat on the back.
But these days? I am acutely aware of moments of mute powerlessness,
of my innate weakness
and, for crying out loud, my humanity.
(Don't get me wrong. I'm still supermom and all. A-hem.)
I keep a "to do" list these days because otherwise I might FORGET that I have anything to do other than play with the baby. Read to the toddler. Sneak in an hour of writing or photography.
Bake something.
Harvest the autumn garden in a sunny mood.
I might forget that the big girls have persuasive essays to finish
and instruments on which to practice. I might forget that the electricity bill is due
and the prescription for someone's glasses needs to be rechecked.
There's a new forgetfulness, even vagueness, about me that seems awfully inconvenient
given that I'm responsible for the education and feeding
and general state of the laundry of five children.
Give me an afternoon at home and I'd better have that chalkboard list, my calendar and computer nearby. Or else I might just while away the day just being. Without doing anything.
Not exactly superhuman of me. But it's pretty human, I think.
What do you think?
1 comment:
When I need something good to read I will always find a way to get to the library.
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