A Happy Childhood

I'm grateful that I believe in a Happy Childhood, and that I have a few tools to aid me in providing such a thing for my children.

I believe in joy, and want to spread it around for those I love.

Somehow coming across this on the way home surprised me.

This made me smile, as I drove off from picking up Maddie from Grammy's. All the children were running and playing, happy to be with Grandma, looking forward to more Lil Rascals, playing and loving with cousins, and pan-a-cakes for breakfast.

It made my heart so light to see them enjoying a bit of childhood magic.

psst

ssssssshhhhhhhhhhh.
Listen.

..........
Do you hear that?
It's the Sound
Of
Silence.

Glorious, isn't it?

Now before you judge me or think ill of me for basking in this very quiet and very alone time, know that this is the third time I've been alone in my home in all these (Trev is six) years. Never for more than an hour, and for not more than an hour today, either.... but here it is now.
They're safe, of course. Little Lundi (Kim k's little dd) is here from Maine visiting, and the babes (my sister Robyn's two and mine) have all been invited to Grammy's for a bit of fun and rumpus. Well, a bit of fun, anyway, Grammy isn't all that fond of rumpusing.
We are surely doing our best to convince her of its merits, however. One dinosaur sized hop at a time.

What was I going to say?
Oh yes, it's quiet.
Was that it?
hmmph.
You'd think I could be a bit more brilliant than that, being uninterrupted, and all.

I think I shall choose these little quiet moments for my gratitude post today.
I am indeed very grateful.

Grateful for a Respite

I am grateful that unaccepting people did not after all buy the house next door, (the house is being taken off the market for a while) because it further enables me to get over the feelings of being threatened and afraid.
I have mostly gotten over it, and feel pretty good about things, but this is extra nice.

Grateful for Possibilities

In about two weeks Eric has another vacation coming up.
We're contemplating hooking up with my sister and my Dear Papa in Yellowstone, though I don't think we will.
We want to have another go at the cabin at Moon Lake, as our trip was a bust, last time (our dear truck broke down, you may recall).
The state fair is coming up.
There will be a junior ranger program that week (on a saturday) that is all about pond insects and whatnot.
There are caves, and ghost towns, and classes, and hikes, and end-of-summer festivals, and, and, and.
We can do what we want.

I'm grateful that we live in a rich environment, even though sometimes I curse my conservative town.
There are loads of possibilities, and I am grateful.

The Evidence of Learning

"Mom, can I have a bath?"
It's a question I hear often - almost always at least once a day. Often more.
"Sure, Bub."
"I need a scuba diver... he's gonna travel back in time to the triassic sea, and look for prehistoric sea creatures. This is the prehistoric killer whale,this is the prehistoric manatee. This is a shark, which evolved in the early triassic.. This is a prehistoric octopus."
"Okay. Do you want me to help you find the guy that goes with the animal rescue?"
"Yeah."
We couldn't find him.
"It's okay, Mom, I'll just used Spidey." He is resourceful.
He shouts a few minutes later - he's in the tub - "No, Maddie! It's not time for those, yet!"
I go in there to see what all the ruckus is about, Maddie is standin' in the tub and tossing in his sea creatures.
Turns out, he had some waiting on the sidelines, as it wasn't time for them to be in the story, yet, he was following along precisely with their scientific evolution.

I had a few thoughts later regarding this and similar matters.
It's not that I notice the learning - even though I do my very best to notice the magic in Every Day. There isn't always evidence of learning. It's not every day that Trev asks about the life cycle of yellow jackets (three days ago - what an interesting half-hour or so that was!) or if a jack rabbit's coat changes color in the wintertime (also pretty recent). Or who Mark Twain or Charles Dickens were (never - but I am hopeful).

But - though learning may be hiding itself in our everyday play and conversations, and may sneak by unrecognized - the demonstration of that learning is not.
The play and the conversations and the living is where I see the learning.
It's in every moment and every question.
This is what unschoolers mean by saying "it just shows up" and "you see it by living with them" when folks ask "but how do you know they're learning?"

I've said it a thousand -well, surely well over twenty- times, and I'll say it again.
We just learn by living our lives.
By being interested in The World Around Us.
We learn because we Live.
I say it like it's the most natural thing in the world - which of course it is.
I none-the-less amazed and astounded by it.
Beautiful.

I'm grateful for My Hands

My hands.
The ones that folded lots of loads of laundry.
The ones that scrubbed the kitchen counters.
The ones that stroked my babes' heads as I walked past them.
The ones that caught a little tiny grasshopper.
The ones that washed walls today.
The ones that whitened the kitchen cupboards.
The ones that helped little son with his Dinosaur World.
The ones that sprayed on the sparkly concoction to make extra sure the kitchen floor was a place for happy feet and happy hearts.
The ones that will also prepare supper.
The ones that will probably turn a few pages of a requested story.
The ones that might yet still stroke and soothe my loves.

Today they are very capable and gentle hands.

Gratitude: Forgiveness

After spending the afternoon being a cross between the ugly little troll that lives under the bridge, who shouts at the Three Billy Goats gruff "Who's that stomping across my bridge?!?" and The Queen of Hearts demanding with a Serious Huff "Off With Their Heads!" I find myself very grateful that my husband doesn't just think "It's Just Not Worth It!" and simply bail out on me.
He just hangs on.
Hoping (but maybe not being entirely certain) that it it will soon (within a few minutes) pass.
God bless him.

He is my salvation, and my Prince.

Love you Baby.
You are my Everything Sane. I cannot tell you how much your steadfastness means to me.
xxxooo.
Your Pretty Girl.

Gratitude: Romanticals

I'm thankful for romanticals.
I like them. Obviously, for I have shelves and shelves of them - mostly historicals.

#77

Take a picture of something that I've drawn and share it on this blog. (whewf, that's a big one.)

Seems like a lounging and painting sort of day today. The gentleness continues. It's quiet. The breeze is a fine one.

I don't fancy that my picture will be pleasing to anyone - it's not meant to be. I was just called to sit a spell with watercolor pencils and a brush.

ps - Photoshop is pretty cool.

Grateful for: Tools

Oh, yes, I am very grateful for tools.

Yesterday I called the bank to see how much money we had in checking. Turns out, it was $36.xx. Woops.
There's a week til payday. As soon as I hung up the phone, I wasn't worried. It will work out alright. Thus my appreciation for abundance yesterday. It doesn't come from any sort of desire for mind-trickery, but an honest feeling of "all is well". If we need money, it will come.

This for me is where magick comes in.
It's a way for me to align as many things as I am able - thoughts, intention, spirit, feelings, physical surroundings, creativity, words, actions - into focus.
It's doing something with my hands and mind that matches my spirit's request. It is a tool.

All of the things I wrote of yesterday were also the day's tools - an abundance of apples from next door, pears from our own yard, herbs that I grow for the occasional spell or ointment, nature, quiet, peace - it was all there as if to say "look at all of these beautiful things, how could you possibly think that this is "Not enough! Never enough...?"
I don't.

I don't feel trapped by our trappings. We don't live in chaos (well, usually), but we do have many possessions.
Toys. Books. Art supplies. Gardens. My camera. Tools for discovering, and learning, and exploring.

They're only things.
But these Things, such as fancy colored pencils and charcoals that are there whenever we want them - seem to say to me "You are reminded to create, and imagine, and live, and see the beauty, and know that all is well. Remember to live richly."
And we do.

Gentleness

This morning I awoke, and decided immediately to live the day in gentleness.

Which is pretty ridiculous, for often when I pursue an idea, any little thing to the contrary sends me reeling into an opposing upset.

As I said before, it started at five something this morning with the weather lady saying "high of 83".

The next contributor was the gentle quietness that I mentioned in Beautiful Noise.

I can't explain it.

Somehow, some way, in spite of my attachments to how I wanted this day to go... it came. Beautifully, gently, and quietly.

I knew soon after awaking that I wanted to change my blog banner, and knew what I wanted to change it to. Harvested herbs. Drying on the line.

After a few details that I'll save for another post, I found myself dabbing myself with a special cleansing oil, and then pursuing this most gentile pastime.

And taking photos of abundance. A gentle way to pass the day, to be sure.

I set up the notebook outside with all the necessary paraphernalia. Annabelle lazed napping in the sun. Maddie napped on the wicker sofa next to me.

The sun shone on - gently and softly.

Trev spoke in gentle, quiet tones.

The breeze seemed to know what was required - for it was also soft, and cool, and delicate.

The birds were and are still hushedly twittering.

I could try to tell you how much I needed this day.

I could confess that gentleness has alluded me for somewhere around three weeks now.

I could tell you that I've grumped, and cussed, and harumphed my way through life for the last while.

Sometimes cajoled.

Sometimes whined.

Hexed, shouted, condemned, damned, exploded, and stomped.

Once in a while even threatened.

Damn and blast. It would all be true.

Most of the time I've maintained my sense and composure - "I just really need your help with this, Bud", but sometimes not - "Just do it."

I'm not proud. I'm not justifying it.

I've lamented over my seemingly uncontrollable emotions, and damned them. I'm still trying to figure out from where they've come, and why.

I promised my sister several days ago that I was close to a conclusion on "what to do when you've had it with the mess and just can't do it alone", but I've yet to respond to her post.

So today I was in dire need of gentleness. Gentleness for myself, gentleness with my children, and gentleness from the world.

I have received it, and relished it.

I don't know that I have come out any wiser, but I have certainly come away with a much needed softness and sense of peace.

So I'm thinking that I shall begin anew.

Here's to walking softly, and living in gentility.

Peace.

Abundance

Today has been all about abundance for me.

Abundance of beauty. Abundance of time for gentle pursuits.
Abundance of quiet.

Abundance of gentleness.

Just recognizing it.

Gratitude: Beautiful Noise

I mentioned yesterday that I turned off the coolers for a little while.
In doing so, I was reminded of beautiful noise.

About this time every year I start to get really tense and bothered by the constant whirring and blowing of the coolers' noises. Might not sound like a big deal to you, but consider that I have them (we have two of them - two seperate areas of the house) on for two months straight. The sound is akin to the heater blowing in the winter, except that it's about six to ten times louder than the furnace blowing. It's not particularly obnoxious, you understand, just... constant.

So yesterday I turned it off for a bit, after I went outside and discovered that it was quite pleasant and cool due to the dark gray clouds.
How lovely it was.

Now this morning I've turned them off again. High of eighty-three today the weather lady promised. Oh. How lovely!

So here I am now.
Sittin' at the kitchen table, softly click-click-clicking away on the notebook.
Kitchen window is wide open.
Neighor across the street is talking gently to her dog, warning her not to go into the street.
I can hear Trev rummaging for particular sea creatures to put into his bath.
I hear Maddie gently tapping some large legos together.
My washing machine is churning, doing it's best to get our whites their brightest.
A car goes by every once in a while.
Birds are cheeping and chirping.

No drowning hums and whirs.

Just small and intricate sounds.
Beautiful noise.

Grateful for: Chicken Soup

Sometimes soup can be good for the soul in a more literal sense.

I can't begin to convey what a joyous time I had making soup with my children today.

I've got the coolers off. The windows are open. There were clouds a while ago, but now it's actually sunny.

There is a gentle and cool (I can hardly believe it) breeze drifting through my home.

We were already well past our knees in imaginitive play - which I'll report on later - when I decided that some chicken noodle soup might be just the thing.It was indeed!I've never enjoyed soup so much in my life as I have today.

Gratitude

I forgot to post my gratitude yesterday.
Mostly I just worked on pictures yesterday, but late last night after Daddy and Maddie had retired, Trev wanted to make a pillow pallette on the floor, and watch our rented ScoobyDoo.
"Oooh, how 'bout we pop some popcorn, too?"
"Yeah!" He said.
So we drug out the popper.

It was a great mama/son date.

I'm grateful for the snuggly date I had with him - just the two of us.

Fancy Shmancy Banners

Laura - I wasn't sure if you'd remember where you asked the question - so I'll do a quick post here. (maybe someone else will be interested, too. Took me a couple of days to do the research on it when I changed mine.)

To change your banner (in five easy steps or less):

1) Open up your chosen image in your favorite photo editing software.

2) crop it to however you want it (obviously for banner layouts, you may want to crop it in an oblong shape - or not!).

3) For regular sized theme layouts in blogger, save ("save as") the width of your image as "650 or 655 pixels". Pixels, not inches! For a wider blog layout, such as this one, I'd go with 950 pixels for the length. Mine is 850, and see how it doesn't fill out the frame all the way?
Blogger will accomodate a larger height in it's (boxed) frame, but it does not currently make allowances for the width. The OLM banner is 855, too, and it is too big, puffs over the right-hand side. (but I can live with it, I like the image.)

4) After you save it to the correct pixel size, go to (from your regular blog page)
Customize
Header (click Edit)
Then click "Behind Image" or "Instead of Image".
Then "Save Changes".

That's it.

If you have any questions, I will certainly help if I can!

August 20

Here's to finding beauty anywhere.

School.

Dentist's office.

While shopping for shoes.

At the grocery store.

On the kitchen table.

Weapons.

Church.

In gratitiude...

Today I'm grateful that we're going to Lagoon - our local amusement park.
woohoo!

And I'm grateful for kutv for offering "viewer appreciation days" for over a week so we can get in for half price. (shaves about $70 off for my little family.)

And I'm ever so grateful that a cool front has moved in, knocking ten degrees off, and that it's supposed to be a gorgeous 89 for the high today.

Looking forward to a fabulous day...
Hope yours is, too!

Hip Hip, Hooray!

Here's a Shout-Out for my friend Evie.
Evie was recently a Very Brave Soul and consented to be interviewed by her local newspaper journalist. She took a chance, folks. She held her breath, crossed her fingers, and then took one Very Giant Leap and told her tale....

Yay for Evie!
The best part is... the writer did not let her down!
It's a tale of truth and competence, and there is even a flag right there on the front page of her local newspaper - waving brightly and spritely - for all to see.

Yay, Evie!
You done us proud.
Score one for the Unschoolers, for those of you who are keepin' track.

doubly grateful

My previous grateful post I wrote first thing this morning. Well, it was completed but not published by 10:30am.
This one comes to me at 10:14pm.

I am grateful for my children's current interest in books.
Yes, books.
That imperative, must do it for 20 minutes every single day or you'll burn in ignorance for eternity, fundamental and so obviously necessary books.
They Just Weren't Interested.
"See ya!"
Off and runrunrun.
What's a Mama to do?
She puts her hand over her heart -0r forehead- and chokes, or gasps, or sighs, or cries, or moans, and does her best to get on with trying to recognize the magic, anyway.

But here they are.
"Sto-wee, Mommy!"
And then begging for another.

"...Leave them alone, and they'll come home, wagging their tails behind them."
And so they have.

Today I'm grateful for....

Tea brewing in the sun. Or shade (due to clouds), as the case may be.

This yummy cranberry granola that I discovered yesterday. Remember that pumpkin that was smaller than the tip of my finger a few days ago?

Hollyhocks (which were planted from seed this year.)

Gratitude: My job

Piddly as it is.
And even though I am again considering quitting.
It's one day a week, on Saturdays. 9-5. There's hardly any work to do, usually I have at most a half hour of filing, and need to answer the phone for the seldom call, and once in a while I show an apartment.
Lots of listening to folks complain. Mostly about each other.
The residents are poor and it's in an area where crime is a common occurrence. Though our apartments and grounds are lovely and clean.
So when I'm not stressed over a sitter because Grammy is out of town, or worried that they'll fire me for not attending asst manager meetings (no sitter, you know)... it's pretty good. Just a little bit of money every couple of weeks, and loads of quiet computer time on a Saturday afternoon.
Not a bad deal.
I'm grateful.

OLM - Keeping a Record of Unschooling

I've mentioned lots of times the reason I write on olm. It's my way of keeping my eyes open for the beauty in our lives, recognizing the magic. Acknowledging that our lives are well-lived.

I'm often really enthusiastic about our days. When Maddie comes upstairs dragging the box of magnets, or sees the iron filings that are sitting on the shelf in the kitchen, and says "Magnets, Mommy!" I feel pleased that they are so eager to discover their world. Or when we head downstairs to look for a game or toy, and Trev sees the microscope, and suggests that we take it upstairs for investigations.
Or even when, like yesterday, Maddie and Trev drug in the large box from Trev's room that houses the Dinosaur Expedition set from Playmobil, with the chainsaw for breaking ice, and the snowshoes, and the tool box with various equipment.
And painting, and stories, and making movies in the sandbox, and doing tricks on the tramp, and turning over rocks to greet the rolypolys, earthworms, and centipedes.

I see it all as learning.

The other day I looked at it from somehow a different point, and thought... I wonder if people read here and just think that I'm crazy. That there is no evidence in our day-to-day engagements that we are learning anything or solving any of life's puzzles.
So I took a second look at my posts, with the purpose of scrutinizing from another perspective.

It probably doesn't look like much.
Probably looks a lot like playing. Asking silly questions. Maybe it looks like not much of anything.

I worried about it for a little bit. Not how it appeared to others, but in the sense of "am I wrong in thinking this is enough?"

Today I came across Gatto's The Seven Lesson School Teacher, which I've read before, but did a quick perusal of today. Here is a rundown of that gem.
"Call me Mr. Gatto, please. Twenty-six years ago, having nothing better to do at the time, I tried my hand at schoolteaching. The license I hold certifies that I am an instructor of English language and English literature, but that isn't what I do at all. I don't teach English, I teach school -- and I win awards doing it.
Teaching means different things in different places, but seven lessons are universally taught from Harlem to Hollywood Hills. They constitute a national curriculum you pay for in more ways than you can imagine, so you might as well know what it is. You are at liberty, of course, to regard these lessons any way you like, but believe me when I say I intend no irony in this presentation. These are the things I teach, these are the things you pay me to teach. Make of them what you will."

Here are his 7 lessons - for a review of them, visit the link.
1. Confusion
2. Class Position
3. Indifference
4. Emotional Dependency
5. Intellectual Dependency
6. Provisional Self Esteem
7. One Can't Hide

It is the great triumph of compulsory government monopoly mass-schooling that among even the best of my fellow teachers, and among the best of my students' parents, only a small number can imagine a different way to do things. "The kids have to know how to read and write, don't they?" "They have to know how to add and subtract, don't they?" "They have to learn to follow orders if they ever expect to keep a job."
Only a few lifetimes ago things were very different in the United States. Originality and variety were common currency; our freedom from regimentation made us the miracle of the world; social-class boundaries were relatively easy to cross; our citizenry was marvelously confident, inventive, and able to do much for themselves independently, and to think for themselves. We were something special, we Americans, all by ourselves, without government sticking its nose into our lives, without institutions and social agencies telling us how to think and feel. We were something special, as individuals, as Americans.

It's a great read, if you're interested.

It's statements like the above, the "what I really teach in school" that affirm the wisdom of my choices in our (my family's) learning and discoveries.
Along with other ideas, such as Albert Einsteins words "Imagination is more important than knowledge", and the wise words of so many great leaders regarding education and rote learning.

So, with the reminder of these things... I am suddenly greatly inspired by Mr. Einstein's sentiment.
Where would we be - as a forward thinking race of humans - if all of our discoveries were given to us through text and regimented step-by-step learning?
What if we all followed the rules, and thought exactly as we were taught? What if we were all full of the same facts and figures? What if we all were filled up with memorized data, things that were prescribed to us generation after generation?

There is no room for outburst. There is no room for discovery, even.
It takes imagination to move ahead. And guts to drag others with you.

Where would Mr. Einstein have been had he been a good student in school? Had he not been irreverent but properly respectful of others' knowledge and theories? He wouldn't.
He wouldn't have been - at least as we know him.
None of them would.

So... here is where I coast smoothly and confidently back into my comfortable position in thinking that I am doing pretty well by my children.
Well, comfortable isn't the right word, exactly. As I quite often don't find living this way particularly comfortable, as is demonstrated by this post.

But I do find it a happy life.
My children are joyful. They're intelligent (even brilliant, I'd say). They are curious. Inventive. And they certainly are in possession of fine imaginations.

It's ridiculous to me to think that the answer would be to sit my children down at the kitchen table for hours each day, pouring over texts with them, telling them all while "this is how we shall expand your imagination" and "this is the way you will learn to be curious".

My children will learn by discovering. By exploring. By laughing and loving. By playing.
They'll learn because it's a beautiful and brilliant world in which they truly live.

Gratitude: Blogs

I'm grateful for blogs.
That we can share with others that we would probably never meet, and become friends, and get to know eachother, and feel a comraderie with someone two thousand miles away.
I'm grateful that I have this resourse for expressing myself.
I'm grateful that others visit, and comment, and laugh with me.
I'm grateful that I can learn from others in this way.

In Gratitude: My house

I'm so thankful for my home. That we are home owners, I mean.

My needs the trim painted, plaster-walled, low-ceiling den, added on to (twice) 1911 square foot, red brick 1951 house.

So thankful that we bought four years ago, with a pretty decent fixed interest rate, and have a mortgage that we can afford.

magical things

No believer in magic or fairy tales should be caught without a pumpkin vine or two growing among her magical herbs...

I'll not be the exception.

A few days ago I searched and searched, and saw nothing but non-fruiting flowers.

Today I am happy to report that I can boast five!

Five glorious pumpkins to date!

Close To Home

After I wrote a post regarding a current event... a mine collapse which has trapped six souls in its belly less than a hundred miles south of my home.... I've been wondering why I might feel a more keen awareness of this issue than another would, say one who resides a thousand miles away.

I'm positive it's not a "Utahn" thing. I have no "state loyalty" to my area. I have no real feeling of allegiance to those that share my (imagined) boundaries.
Nor is it a "close to my heart" issue.
Some of Eric's ancestors were Irish minors back in the (Great West) day, but I never knew them, and have no knowledge of their names, faces, or personal stories.

So then why?

I think I know why.
My brother in law recently posted about his not feeling the war. To him it feels vaguely "somewhere out there" as he waves his hand over his head.
I understand what he means.
Not that I can easily dismiss it, for I do not. I feel that harm to one means "harm to us all".
But in my more every day moments it does not have great bearing on my life as a mother, in my own home, and with my own joyous children.

So why do I feel this tragedy so keenly?
I am suspecting that it has something to do with permeance.
Not, as I might have imagined before, others wanting to witness a certain drama and claim it for their own, but more of a tangible thing.
Literally, feeling another's pain. Feeling the sadness. Feeling the frustration. Angst. Heartbreak.

Why did so many of the alumni of Virginia Tech feel the pain so keenly? Because they wanted to boast and gasp "Ah! It could have been me!?!" I think not. I think because they feel a sense of brotherhood to all those that bore the terror, and it rung a chord of sympathy in them.
What was done to a brother, no matter how detached, was done, in a lesser way, to them. They empathized.

Yes.
I think that's it.

Another demonstration that We Are All One.

Mayhaps all of the things that I see as my Life Lessons will not come upon me as epiphanies, as I imagine and urge them into fruition, but experience by experience.

Maybe my learnings and greatest understandings will come to me moment by moment.
A great challenge (irritation) to one so impatient as me, but there you have it.

So here's to recognizing and acknowledging Truth.

We are Miners....

(to the tune of We Are Miners by The Cowboy Junkies)
....
I've been meaning to make mention of this for a few days now. (It's a relatively local issue.)
I've never been one to make another's troubles or dramas her own... ie, demonstratively "this is how this Worldly Trouble affects lil ol Me" but I would like to say a few words about this current and tragic woe.
I believe that miners are the toughest s.o.b.'s on earth. I say this with the sincerest and highest regard.
I'm sure you're all aware of what mining entails, but allow me to express my respect none-the-less.

First of all, they're cast into the bowels (quite literally) of the earth for hours and hours on end each day. This has to have serious consequences upon one's psyche and sense of liveliness.

Secondly... one's family must worry -even more than policemen's family's- everyday for their very survival and well-being. They don't see the dark side of humanity, maybe, but they surely live in the dark side of the earth, which must tell and threaten its own terrefying tales on a regular basis.

Third... being underground... for miles and miles... in a small, dismal tunnel... in the never-ending blackness, with uniform support beams and strange air, smells, and noises and pounding echoes and clangs and shouts..... well. To me it reaks of desperation meeting necessity.
Never mind that most of us get freaky just thinking for half a second about being trapped in such a place.

Fourth, it's probably not the most respected position on the planet. But I think perhaps it should be. Us commoners might see them as uneducated. Poor. Desperate. Trapped.
All the more reason to offer them our well wishes and love and sincere gratitude.

For we, the priveledged (benefactors), certainly reap the rewards of our fellow man's toils, with nary a thought to the pains of another's soul or heartache or black lungs, and it seems to me that we owe them mightily.
We owe their children. We owe their wives.

Perhaps not all, but surely some must subscribe to such an occupation out of desperation to make for their loved ones A Better Life.
I am not saying it's pitiable.
I am only saying that we should certainly consider that we owe much to our fellow man, and should not take for granted, but offer a supplicating prayer to our brother the Coal Miner.

So here's to you, Dear Brothers and Sisters.
Here's to your valiance. Your bravery. Your servitude. Your amazing and astounding grit.
I offer you my most humble thanks.
I owe to you so many of my daily celebrations.
Especially being a direct beneficiary of your services.
May you always be watched over by Fierce Guardians. May you be supervised by people who respect and cherish you. May your intuition and pluck guide you every moment.
May your spirits and hearts find fulfillment, and may you lay your sensitive eyes upon and hold your Heart's Content in your ore-stained hands.

I humbly offer you my deepest respect and well wishes.

Gratitude

(this post begun on August 7)
While I am quite literally changing my mind about my Troubles - that is, choosing to view them as dissipated, while the good things in my life grow, I think I shall take up the practice of expressing gratitude for a while.
Maybe a month.
Maybe longer.

(August 14)
The timeliness in publishing this post shows me for the Ungrateful Wretch that I am.
So I shall make amends at once and begin!....

I am so thankful for my husband, helpmeet and Prince, for being my constant partner in this life... the chores, the parenting, the port in the storm, my soft place, my love, and my biggest supporter.
Love you Rico.

Writing for others?

(this post was begun on August 8, and edited and published on August 14)

I wrote recently, while in the throes of self-doubt and re-evaluation, about writing to appease whatever discomfort or doubt may arise in Important Others.
I believe it was Laura who said something about "I hope you don't write for anyone else". I was really just speaking of my inlaws. And my sisters. Possibly a few homeschoolers. Maybe the dcfs.

I've got this thing in my head sometimes that screams for validation.
Not validity for me, as I feel Perfectly All Right with my choices, but validity demonstrated for others who may find me/us lacking.
I just have a soul deep need to explain myself sometimes.
Er.. that pretty much wraps up my writing meanderings, in case you have wondered... it is just something that I Must Do. I must explain it. I've said a few times before... I am a WHY kind of girl. So many of my actions, thoughts, philosophies, recreations, explanations, retaliations come from my ingrained need to answer this question.

For a long time in this ru/hs life I went along Perfectly Content, until a close beloved family member said "I just don't understand that. YOU are the parent!.... YOU need to take control..." and I saw/heard that as "You Are Failing!" and "You are not a good mother!"

(shrugs)
It devastated me.
It was the first time I had been called on the carpet for what seemed to another as a transgression.
It surprised the hell out of me, to put it mildly. (Obviously, since I have still not recovered, a year later.)

It's not that I imagine myself to be a 'golden child' who can do no wrong.
But,
I have a deep, deep sense of respect for The Call Of The Spirit, whatever that may be, and I expect - indeed, it's a given- that I shall be allowed to fulfill my own purpose as I see fit. I don't see liberty as a politcal right, just as the most very basic need of the human spirit.

So!
Sometimes blogging is a way for me to report on our lives... a demonstration (for myself as well as Important Others) of "no need to worry about us, we are doing Just Fine". But mostly it's an exploration.

OLM (Ordinary Life Magic) is all about recognizing and celebrating the magic in childhood and family life. I find that the reporting of the beauty and fun aids me in seeing and celebrating the magic... and supports beautifully a Life Well Lived.

This one for me is a place to explore me. My head, my choices, my mothering, my loves, my woes and triumphs.

Writing these blogs is such an important tool for me, supports the two greatest things in my life... noticing the magic, and personal evolution.

just busy cleanin'...

I'm not lost... I've just been cleaning that closet I told you of, finished helping (ahem) Trev clean his room (days and days I tell you) cleaned out the hall drawers (medicines and oils and bandaids and cottonballs) and cleaned out the other big drawer (soaps and lotions and creams) and cleaned Maddie's room, and finishing laundry, cleaned out my dresser, and and and.

I've got some posts in the making, but I have no idea what they say... have to go back and see if they should be deleted or published.

Sort of spring cleaning around here. You'd not really be able to tell, from looking at it, all the work is being done on the inside.

It's funny - I'm not a packrat, really, but being pretty conservative with earth's resources (big on recycling and and all of that), I found it really difficult to throw things away into the garbage. Clothes, little boxes that had oils or vitamin e sticky spilled onto (saturated) them, lotions that are four or five+ years old.. etc.
It was pretty painful.
Not that I was tossing them out, mind you, that felt wonderful! But that I was tossing them into the garbage. The clothes were none that anyone would want, paint splatters, a grease stain, etc.
It just felt... wasteful. Wrong. Contaminating the earth. I didn't like it.

On the other hand... how refreshing to be rid of so many pests that have been eating away at the far corners of my brain for the last few months!

Spiritually having the corners clean also does something to me, too. I'm not feeling especially... tingly... just yet, as the rooms themseves are not very sparkly right this minute (right after I'm done here), but clearing out the clutter is definitely working its magic on my soul.

You know (or should) that I am definitely a "details" kind of girl - and clearing out the cobwebs in my home is definitely related to clearing them out in my head and spirit as well.

Today I'll be sending Eric to work outside (yes, I said "send him!" - he wants things done as much as I, and knows that I canna do it all on my own) and I'll be working my magic on the inside.
Life is good.
And sparkly.

Caught Thinking Big (With a Funny Ending)

So I've been on this clean tangent, not because I am a freak, but because it seems that everything has gotten so out of control while I was busy playing and laughing with my children. (Shame on me!)
I'd not trade the moments, of course, but being super fond of organization, it catches up to me when I'm not looking, and all of a sudden I just freak out, and go around throwing things and yelling, and in general appearing as an insane madwoman to my children and husband.
Not a pretty sight!

That being said, there have been several things building up that have made me shudder through to my very soul, loooong past the nerves - which have been practically on the outside of my skin lately.
One of them is my carpet. (I've had a couple of moments where I've seriously considered ripping it out during a fit. I confessed it to Eric, and he said "I'd not be surprised.") I've told you of its despiciousness. Along with a couple of dark puddles (I know what they aren't - pee, but I don't know what they are) there are the many popsicle stains, squished raspberries, chocolate splatters, many squished little tomatoes, and the newest atrocity - black acrylics - you know - like the lovely pastels, except they're oil, and like a beautiful soft crayon. Love them! Not so crazy about them being used to draw on the carpet.
So... carpet has become rather gruesomely sticky lately. Not too many things worse than a sticky carpet to someone who likes things really clean, and fresh, breezy mojo going around.
So. Yucky carpet.
Laundry from here to high water. Really. It's been a bihihihig problem around here for about a month (two?).
Not like those folks you see on tv... with the laundry and garbage everywhere... though it seems like it at times.... but still, at any time probably five loads that need to be folded. Imperative stuff. Shorts, socks, underwear, sift, sift, sift through anytime you need something - now where does the clean end and the dirty begin is the real question. Not fun.
So yesterday I tackled the laundry - took me from about two - and I was still going at it at 10pm. (said I was gonna do 10 loads. You thought I was kidding, but I wasn't. You are getting all the dirt today... 2 tons of it, in fact!)
I am happy to say that the laundry sitch is under control.
Along that vein... the children's sometimes pallette (mostly they end up in our bed) needed to be washed. They sleep next to our bed upon two king-sized sleeping bags, which are our camping bags, and have not been washed due to their huge size in about two -or more- years.
Today, by Jove, I was taking them to the laundromat!
And did.

There is a problem with one of my closets. It's in the master bath (eric's bathroom) and it's a closet that houses shelves, so it holds mine and his foldables... tshirts, capilenes, jeans, long johns, shorts, my tanks, etc.
It has been probably three years since I've cleaned it out and straighten it. Today I had plans to chuck many of the clothes straightaway into the garbage. It holds mostly camping clothes for me... you know... those things that were favorites nine years ago that I can't bear to let go of.
A serious project. But I am determined.

Walk in the livingroom. See the marks on the carpet. By God, I am taking in that damned carpet shampooer today (to the repair shop)! And did so.
Came home from doing that and visiting the grocer, and then started on the stains in the carpet with a nylon heavy-duty brush and the wonder of all wonder-cleaners, Advanage. (love that stuff! A young man sold it to me last night... I've been a fan for several years, so I said "sign me up!" Citrus, of course.)

Into the kitchen. Oh yeah. Dishwasher. Dishwasher is clogged. Don't know how... we never put anything in there, and it has its own disposal, but there is three inches of water standing in the bottom of it, the cycle is over, and we canna wash dishes in there until it's fixed.
Things like that are usually my department. For a variety of reasons.
(sigh) "Fine. May as well do this one too." Start on it. Trev comes in. Can I help? (grrr) No, Bud, I'm grouchy.... Okay, you can help." "Uhn, me too!" (Insert Lurch style groan.)
Unscrew the dishwasher from the cupboard mounts. Pull it out. Have to put in a shimmy first... blahblahblah... process/process/ look underneath. Water in tube goes all the way to the machine.
"Okay. Gotta get the plug off the mount, and figure out how to let all the water drain out of the drain hose without electrocuting myself, or spraying water all over the motor and electrical wires.
Not sure what's going on, so I'll empty it, then turn it on, and see if I get a clue."
Did that.

This is the funny ending to this crazy post...
Get it unloaded, and switch it to "rinse", to look underneath to see what exactly is going on, and it goes "RRrrrrrrr, gurgle, gurgle, gurgle", and drains just fine into the bottom of the sink's drain (where the hose attaches to the sink drain.) No problem.
God. "Maddie Turned The Damned Dial! (midstream in yesterday's washing the dishes. It was in the middle, and she turned it to the "end".) I'm such an Idiot!"
She does it all time time (when it's not in use) why the hell didn't I think of it? She probably did it right in front of me!

Ah well.
I was in serious need of the levity, friends.

In case you're wondering about the state of my mental health....
I'm not really the "clean up a mess with a paper towel as you go" type.
I'm more of a "start at the ceiling" sort of cleaner. Not that I always let it go that long, but it has to be clean to the the lowest molecule in order to be "clean" to me.
It's probably partly related to ocd, which I certainly have a keen understanding of.
But to me... I have to know deep, deep down that it's clean, not just "looks" clean.

You've seen a very strange side of me in this post...
and I'm off to put in another load of laundry.....
Good day Sir.

Obos

In my last post I included some pictures of an obos that I built while spending a lovely afternoon with my family.

Obos is a Japanese term for simply a "pile of rocks", often only three.

Today I went to The Painter's Keys, to visit an article on obos, called The Art Shrine. I found it beautiful.

One reader wrote in that they would quietly suggest "nobos", with the thought behind it being "leave no trail".

I understand well this sentiment.

But I can't say that I agree that it is a violation.

There was something so gentle, quiet, and serene about the entire process. Beginning with the gathering of stones. Touching their smoothness, choosing ones of different shades of subtle earth.

After the gathering came pondering where to place my obos. That was an easy one. The place spoke to me almost before the stones themselves did.

Next came the building.

No frustrations, no disharmony, no expectations, no unease.

Only tranquility.

Solitude.

Though I hadn't any ideas of what the creation would gift me with, I came away with much peace. My monument wasn't a sign stating "I am here", but more of an honoring of earth, the beauty of the day, the loveliness of the moment, the affinity I felt for all of Earth Mother and Her creations.

I still carry the gentle whispering song in my heart today.

I cannot imagine that She would view my obos as a scar to her beauty.

I rather think that She would view it as it was meant to be - a quiet tribute to all the life and love that She had shown me on this day.

On another note, I imagine myself resting and thinking beside a river somewhere, pondering life and love. Allowing the wise words of the stream into my mind and heart.

If upon being enveloped by the earth's gentle grace I happened my eyes upon an obos that someone had built, I can say with certainty that I would not be offended that I was not the first one to sit in this place. It is far more likely that I would feel an affinity for a fellow man, wondering if the same thoughts passed through him.

I would wonder if the place were magical.

I would wonder if I was led here to quietly ponder, imagine, rest, sigh, and love as others had been led before me.

I can only suppose that God in His wisdom and Her gentleness would approve of such a thing.

letting go

Sometimes we just have troubles.

Sometimes it might soothe one's mind and heart to do a little protection magick.

Sometimes we can't help but notice and focus on things that are going awry.

Sometimes we need to work through it.

And sometimes we can just let it go.

I think I want my next book purchase to be a translation of the Tao Te Ching. I have no idea which one. I have no idea how to find an interpretation that is a match for me.

Maybe one will just come to me. (If you have one that you love, please pass on the information...)

I was listening to Wayne Dyer late, late last night (2am) on pbs. I just really love him. Anyway, he was speaking about rigidity and fluidity. That in a moment of conflict, you might imagine yourself as water, and being water, would be able to gently get into (flow with) another.

A strange sort of thing happened, it brought to my mind a picture of myself, as water, and just flowing across the street, and puddling and trickling throughout the driveway of the little duplexes.

Interestingly enough, this odd thought brought me a sense of peace and tranquility, it was as though the strife I had been feeling had flowed out of me as well.

It makes no sense, I know.

But there you have it.

I'm not afraid.

I'm not resentful.

I am not worried.

I don't know that this feeling of serenity (regarding the recent conflict) is permanent.

I only know that for now I am at peace.

Changes

I've been noticing the last few days that the season has begun to change.
It's still ninety something degrees - near a hundred, but the blazing glory has begun to subside.
The cooler night breezes drift in much more readily than they used to. They are quick on the heals of the sun going down, which is the first clue that it has begun. There's no remaining twilight at bedtime these days.
We're no where near yet the famous crisp autumn breezes, but still...

Change is in the air.

appearances

Here is a post I started to write a couple of weeks ago - right after the trouble with NCM...

July 23, 8:41am

I am having a thought that no wonder people try so damned hard to keep up appearances.
It's so people will leave them the hell alone, and not scrutinize what is going on on the inside. Maybe they think that if things look okay on the outside, no one will see the darkness (self doubt, pain, unworthiness) on the inside.

That's not how I choose to live my life.
I pretty much live my life on the outside. (aside from some messes around the house sometimes that I'd not want others to see. - vomited spoons and all that)
I feel I live my life truly and well, and I have nothing to hide, or be ashamed of.
I am confident.

But this has disturbed me. Made me feel like all of my choices and faults might be things to be ashamed of.
Made me think of every word that I've written here. Made me think of all my controversial choices regarding my children. Made me think of things I've said to intimates that could be held against me.

Made me doubt - even if only for a moment or two - all that I believe in, all that I am, and all that I attain to be.

I resent that.

I'm not attempting to put the blame for my own reeling emotions onto another.
What I'm angry about is that the thought of living a false life - one where flattery, keeping up appearances, presenting one's self as a friend, or "the same" as another in order to "get along in this world" appears to be the better, and easier way to live in this world (at least in this particular moment).
Eric said yesterday after NCM left something about "It's to be expected, babe. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction."

I'm not railing against natural laws, or against modesty. I am called to raise my children in freedom, safety, and love so that I can protect them and encourage them to be Who They Are.


(August 3, 10:58pm)

I didn't finish it, and I didn't publish it. Eventually I dropped it, as I got over the feelings, and resentment.
Until today.

I was sitting on the front porch, reading and writing, as Maddie wanted to be in the front yard earlier, so I set up camp on the porch.

"Hello!" I hear, but I couldn't see a thing, as I had been looking at the screen, and was blinded in the darkness. But she called again.
It's a neighbor. This one lives across the street.

"Hi. I just wanted to come over and talk to you.... are you having problems with us across the street?"
"No." What?
"Are you still upset about all the traffic from Cat's place?" There are two duplexes across the street from me. It's always been like a strange little commune over there. But aside from the people calling dcfs this winter, I've never had a problem with anyone.
However, we are suspecting (ahem) that the neighbor in the rear is dealing something despicious, as there are -no kidding!- like 25 cars over there a day. Every day.
"Well, I notice the traffic, but...."
"Nancy and I want you to know (Nanc has lived there forever) that it isn't us!"
"I know that."
"Well, someone said they saw you taking pictures at cars over there the other day."
What?
Fence rail!
"Was it the day it started raining?!?" I'm starting to get pissed. (Sam will be proud that I said pissed. She always takes pleasure in such things.)
"I don't know" says nice neighbor. ""We would just like you to come to us if you have problem with anything."
"I wasn't spying on you, I was taking pictures of the damned fence. And rose bushes. I write and take pictures." Unbelievable.
"Oh. Well, I don't want to get in the middle of it... " the middle of what? "I just wanted to talk to you about it."
"Who said I was taking pictures?" As if I couldn't guess.
"That lady that lives there." Yup. You guessed it. NCM. Hereafter known as Mrs. Gladys Kravitz.
Now know friends, that I had planned to write a note to you and tell you that I was no longer suspicious of NCM, and that I had changed my mind, that I did not think her harmful. I just kept forgetting to do it.
I was feeling like I was unfair, and wanted to set the record straight.

The thing is.... she mentioned to me, too, that she thought something suspicious was going on across the street. (next door to her.) But today I heard her over there visiting, just as if she hadn't been speaking ill of her house a few days before.
Neighborhood gossip, I know... and you don't care.

The thing is, neither do I. I've never even considered that it was a problem.

Then Nice Neighbor says something about "Nancy wanted you to know that it wasn't her that called the dcfs last year, it was the people that lived in our place" (before them). Which I suspected.
But - Oh, lovely. Now the neighbors are talking amongst themselves about it.
Perfect!
And let's tell Mrs Kravitz about it, too, so that she can make sure and tell the new (potential) neighbors before they even move in!

I'm not trying to be a whiner, folks, but I am thoroughly disgusted.
So what did I do?
You'll be verra disappointed with me, of course, but stay with me - my sense prevailed in the end. I have lived in this house for four plus years, and never closed my front room curtain. Never. Day or night. Never saw a need to. I have to go to the little girl's room, and I notice Trev's door open, and think, "Prime spot for some binoculars to come traveling through." Shut the door. (wouldn't dream of shutting the door to the potty, no one is around!) Visited the bathroom. Go walking past the livingroom, Trev is four inches away from the tellie set. "Not so close, Bub," thinking Mrs. Kravitz will see him. Kid up past ten. Eating an icecream bar. Watching television.
"What?" he asked.
"I said... " what the hell am I thinking? "Never mind, son." Closed that damned blind down, instead. "Do you want me to pull the chair over?" so he can get a better view without being an inch away.
"Yeah!"
So that's what we did.
And my front blind remains closed.
Eric will wonder what in tarnation happened... but then he'll remember, as I've already told him the sorry tale.

There is some learning to be done here.
I'm not sure what it is.
Could be remembering that spell to halt gossip.
Could be to not trust people so much.
Could be to plant more trees/bushes along my southern (street) border.
Could be to stand even taller, and remember "screw 'em".
Could be that I need to win one over at a time, not with gossip and ondits, but with appreciation for whom they are, and acceptance. (that one feels pretty difficult at the moment.) But I don't mean Gladys.
I read a post of Laura's at Wistful Wanderlust. About this very thing. ("there are the people who ask questions in search of faults.") It saved me today.
lol - Eric just got home and said "Why is the blind closed?"

Ah, well.
It's midnight, and I'll not be resolving this tonight.
To be continued.

Danger!

The Dangerous Book For Boys!

I've heard of it, of course, and thought it sounded charming and interesting.

Today while at Costco (sigh, sometimes I just really love Costco) I saw the book. I immediately thought "Oooh, let's have a look!" and opened it up.

While I opened it up randomly and saw things like knots, and fossils, and Jolly Rogers (interesting, indeed) when you get technical and look at the Contents.... well, it seems a marvelous thing, indeed.

Here are a few:

The Greatest Paper Airplane in the World

The Seven Wonders of the Ancient World

How to Play Stickball

Making a Bow and Arrow

Mountains of the United States

The Golden Age of Piracy

Secret Inks

Making a Go-Cart

Spies - Codes and Ciphers

And much, much more.

Oh, ho!

I am terribly excited about this, I am sure you know.

While I looked at it with Trev in the store, he was a bit thrown off by the word "dangerous", and is a little leery.

But almost everything in the book he has already expressed an interest in, so I am sure we (and me, if not he) will find much to savor in this book.

Un Parenting

There's been some talk on this lately in my circles.
Well, not really talk so much as accusation.

Unschoolers (specifically those living an ru lifestyle - and by that I mean trying to live consensually, respectfully, mindfully, thoughtfully, and lovingly) being accused of being Un Parents.

I was instantly offended.
What?!?
Living RU (or for those that prefer a different term Whole Life Unschoolers) is hard work! It means not butting in sometimes and letting your children work out a difference - coming to compromises by using their communication skills. It means fortifying them (by honest example)with that wisdom and desire in the first place.
It means not just saying "Give that back!" or "Oh, for Heaven's sake, just Let Her Have It!" in a moment of sheer frustration and chaos. (Anything to resume the peace and quiet - if only for four lovely seconds.)
It's living conscientiously in any given moment. Striving to live it in every given moment.
I speak for myself, of course.

When I hear Un Parenting, I think Un Caring. And I feel angry over it. I would like to say it makes me angry, but as I am striving to take full responsibility for my emotions and reactions, I am choosing my words carefully.

Maybe it has to do with personal philosophy, as I've recently said.
I don't believe in a condemning and judging God.
I believe that we are free - Really Free - to live as we choose.
That there are no recriminations. That there are no right and wrong answers.
I shall save the spiritual whys and wherefores for another time, as this post is really is about parenting.

So back to the subject - I want to raise my children with freedom. There is no place for policy or politics here, there is only a soft nest under them - one that isn't so fluffy that it enables one to fall for miles and miles, never knowing when the bottom is finally coming at one's back, but one that supports personal truth and the callings of the spirit. Whatever that may be.
Really - What Ever That May Be.
I read tonight on Ren's main webpage a really simple sentence - she said "Unschooling means that each of us learn in our own way and time, the things that we love."
Well, yeah. I've been saying it for years! Well, almost years, one plus, anyway. Could be a few days shy of a plural.
But somehow this really stood out to me tonight.
There is a profound amount of love and freedom in that summary.
And there is no room for judgment in it.

Many of my posts lately have been about judgment.
It's telling, to be sure.
That I judge, and don't want to.
That I often feel judged, and don't like it.
That I sometimes run my own agenda in the midst of what could be a really fabulous and magical learning/unschooling moment.
For instance, Evie wrote today about how her brilliant boys created a zipline.
What a marvelous idea!
With the current set of my mind, I am ashamed to say that I would have been trying to sneak in opportunities for learning. I honestly don't know why. I'm not in a panicking sort of state, lately. But I am in a judging sort of state.
So while I would have basked in my children's ingenuity and shininess, I can see myself saying "Hey, let's get out the measuring tape, and see which toy/item launches the furthest from the ejection point at the bottom of the line!, want to?"
And, chances are, I would have just sucked the joy out of the fun.
Not that it wouldn't have been a really great and fun thing to do in another context!
But because I was on An Agenda ' "Let's make this even bigger and better!", I would have totally spoiled the magic, and therefore gone away feeling disappointed instead of living and basking in the joy.
Ugh.

It seems that I have made a confession and gotten off topic...
Oh, yes, judging.
Not so far off, after all.

Un Parenting.
The word/s to me imply "hands off". Which means to me, mind and heart off.
(shakes head)
Sometimes we involve our heads and hearts so deeply into an idea, that it becomes our life and breath, and we don't see that it's strange or unusual to another. That it's not commonplace... even though it seems so to us.

I've already said early on what living this r.u. life (call it whatever you wish) means to me.
Growing, loving, embracing, not judging, being open-minded and open hearted.
Acceptance.

So I am thinking that it may appear to some that while I am sitting on the sidelines - perhaps to another 'Doing Nothing', it may very well be different in my head.
That a lot of things could be going on.
That I am giving my child a moment to search his mind to find a solution.
That I am giving her the freedom of her emotions.
That I am allowing for opportunities for growth.
That I am exercising patience and faith in another's ability to live his life as he needs to do.

I'm not speaking of license, and of allowing another rightful dominion, of course.

But I can't help but think that the way I want to raise my children - with unconditional love and acceptance - is the way that God treats me.
This isn't a matter of "if you're a serial killer then that's fine with me... ", though spiritually I would try to accept it, but a matter of "how would I like to be treated, ultimately?"
With love.
With acceptance.
With a lot of room for errors.
With a smile of fondness.
With the comfort that whatever I choose as the right thing for me, if I say it is, is Perfectly All Right.

(shrug.) Some would say it's hedonistic (a person whose life is devoted to the pursuit of pleasure and self-gratification.)
But I don't think that's the case for most of us, do you?
I think that if given the liberty to pursue all of one's truths - and not just a small "gratifying" part of them, then one is bound to expand and venture well past what is convenient and comfortable.
I certainly do.
I certainly don't find spilling my heart to the (virtual) world for all to judge and find lacking a very "comfortable" feeling.
But I seek growth, and it is what I must do.

Anyway.
My point is, that just because it looks to another as Un Parenting, doesn't mean that it is.
On the other hand, if what you mean by parenting is "Judging particular things to be worthy or not, and passing that judgment on to your children as to its validity, or right to exist", then I'd probably have to say "Yeah". That's what I try do do. Be an UnParent. I don't believe it is my right to pass on my judgments (and I have loads of them) and prejudices (I have a few of those, as well - though they probably look very different from most) to my child.

I see that as my parental contribution to making this world a better place.

If my children love and and communicate and express and celebrate and hug and live! more freely and openly and honestly than I, then I have done my part to contribute to the joyousness of this world.

For myself - if I can Judge Not, then I have succeeded.

#85

Put my spices in the kitchen into pretty jars.

Pristine Pieces

Today, I am in search of... basking in... celebrating!, all that is clean.

Pristine.

It starts with refilling (making) my cleaners.
(Here you are to notice and admire the clean, tangle-free hair, and the tidy brows.)

A freshly laundered shower curtain.Clean linens.