Since the Chaplain has an Audible account, I can listen to lots of audio books I would never choose on my own. It has really broadened my horizons. The Surrender Experiment and The Untethered Soul, both by Michael A. Singer, were no exception.
I knew the Chaplain had found Singer’s books meaningful, and then I heard the Chaplain’s mom had found them meaningful, and I was like, “FINE. I’ll read them.”
The Chaplain and I were talking about this recently, and he told me he thought I wasn’t interested in the type of books he read. (No hard feelings here. He isn’t into historical fiction, either). I told him, I’m still not interested! But my need for the content is greater than my distaste for the genre.
As we roll into the weekend, I’m reflecting: What is the Sabbath?
I’m reading a great book right now, Emotionally Healthy Spirituality, by Peter Scazzero. I suspect it’ll get mentioned in a few more posts, including one of its own. For now, I’m thinking about the section I’m reading about observing the Sabbath. It talks about the importance of this observance, and the need for it in our lives.
Scazzero promotes flexibility when it comes to applying his book to real life. In the case of this principle, all you have to do, he says, is take a 24-hour Sabbath one day a week. It doesn’t even matter which day. (If you think you detect a wee bit of sarcasm in the last sentence, you’re right.)
For years after I started homeschooling, I would start the summer with grand plans for activities, workbooks, and reading assignments to make sure my kids didn’t go brain dead over the vacation.
We did a page here and there, but the school year would start again and I’d find I hadn’t done much of anything I’d hoped to do.
Several years ago, I gave myself permission to stop making plans for summer learning. The kids needed a break, but more truthfully, I was the one who needed a break from having to oversee all the learning.
This summer has been tough again. I’m finding myself fighting guilt about not doing more with the kids. I’m not reading to them. The Littles can’t read to themselves. No one is doing math review. The Bigs aren’t reading the leftover reading books we didn’t get to from the school year.
I’m still trying to figure out how to be good at being married. As it turns out, that process is a lot less straight forward than I would like.
The harder I try to keep it together on the outside, I have a patch of eczema that’s like, “LALALA YOU CAN’T PRETEND YOU AREN’T STRESSED WHEN I’M HERE!!! And the more you pretend it’s ok when it’s not, the bigger I get!”
Today, I met the Chaplain at our riverside trail with the Littles after dropping Two and Three off at the dance studio. It was a long day with the kids. I felt like I had tried really hard all day and had still failed.
Starting way back at 11 a.m., I had made dinner for lunch since we would be out at dinner time. I’d fed the kids sandwiches before leaving for the evening. I’d brought water bottles and snacks so no one would be hungry. I started getting ready to leave the house long before we had to go so that we could actually leave on time.
The whole day, I had worked up to this moment, at the trail. All the kids had shoes on. We were ready. But I hadn’t had a chance to pee before leaving our house and there were no bathrooms at the trail.
I was so excited about the first load of laundry in this story, I hung it on the line. And then took a picture.
I’ve been working nights for more than ten years. During that time, we’ve added 6 kids to our family, for a total of seven. Laundry started out being primarily my responsibility, with unloading folded baskets of laundry delegated to whichever kids were capable of delivering piles where they needed to go without unfolding everything again.
As our family grew, I taught my big kids how to do their own laundry. That starts at age seven. That leaves me responsible for laundry for my husband, the four Littles, myself, and whatever family laundry is generated, including bedding and towels. It ends up being a minimum of two loads a day on most days.
On weekends that I worked, I understood that whatever shape I left our laundry room in when I left for work, it would be the same or worse when I came back to it later that weekend after sleeping off my shift. That was ok for a long time.
I found The Book of Mistakes, by Corinna Luyken, at the library. I kept it for as long as they would let me, then bought a copy for myself. It’s a book every artist, kid, and grownup should page through.
It speaks to perfectionists and makers who get their knickers in a twist about inevitable mistakes.
