Who has 30 minutes to prepare nutritious meals these days?
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I’ve downshifted again. This time fundraising and writing (mostly from home) as my dots make ready for Kindergarten and preschool, respectively. Having given up working in offices (for the time-being) in favor of chumminess I’m often doing the math in my head during the day.
Mom home + kids = happier?
Intellectually stimulated enough + kids happy enough = me happier?
Ultimately it comes down to
Me + them + every day = Easier than me working in an office.
Ultimately, when my daughters treat me like wallpaper, regular gasoline on the highway pit-stop, then. Then I know I’ve arrived at that right combination of Mommy + self + their happiness. We’ve become an imperfect loud smelly soup of “us.”
We’ve become a family.
My daughters (all 800 of them) like to talk about “baginas” and as a child of the 70s this makes me at once proud, and a little embarrassed (especially, when “baginas” are yelled about during gymnastics).
We know what’s what in my house and we’re not afraid to call a spade a spade.
Once in awhile, however, I do long for a more lyrical and poetic discussion of the matters of the body (and of the heart?). And the question I sit with often is: What is that right line between words and heart? Between poetry and descriptive literalism?
When does “No not there, you silly” give way to nonverbal cues and shifting hips.
And this from a girl who clearly doesn’t often know the difference between calling out about the naked emperor and keeping her own counsel about his lack of clothing.
In other news, I’m in the Seattle P-I today sounding like an anti-breastfeeding meanie.
I’m blog sitting over at Pundit Mom today.
Flying to Chicago to meet the nice ladies who I will love and hug and squeeze. Kisses to my sweet babies and my sweet husband. Thank you for letting me fly away from home for awhile.