Ahhhhh, the pace of our lives picked up considerably. So much is happening all at once. The kids are growing, birthday season is coming, and school for mama and children is in full swing.
Yes, we have a birthday season: 4 birthdays in 3 weeks. It's a great time of year to celebrate loved ones, especially when surrounded by the glory of autumn in Kentucky.
My school is stretching me in ways that are at once stressful and invigorating. It is so nice to be immersed in writing and thought and to remain hungry for learning, and to remember that I am, in many ways, and despite my insecurities, smart (in other ways, not so much!). My classes this semester include Cultural Anthropology, Lifespan Development, Abnormal Psychology, and Sleep and Dreaming. I am pinching myself a bit for these classes are just so rich and even though I'm losing a lot of sleep to late-night papers, I am loving it.
I have a whole post coming on my soon-to-turn-eleven-year-old. She, too, is changing and growing up in so many ways.
Our days are filled with more busy-ness than I am comfortable with. But it is all good, and this morning I remembered I do have constructs in place to help us remember to breathe, to just be, to express freely. One of those constructs is Sunday morning waffles. It's the only day of the week I get out the waffle maker and make proper waffles. The other construct is the music nook:
Serena and Davis regularly engage in drive-by music making. We have on our piano a jar of recorders, a dulcimer, and a drum. And the piano is in constant use these days. Serena has discovered the minor scale on the piano to the tune of "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen". Every day, "God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen". And she plays several songs from school on various recorders; wooden Choroi flutes, penny whistle, and plastic recorders. This morning, I was so grateful for the music in our home, and this little nook that encourages it.
This Sunday morning has blessed us with beautiful weather, and the coolness, a harbinger of seasonal change. I was tired of some pieces in my wardrobe, and so, honoring this relentless drive to transform that lives so faithfully inside of me, I dyed those pieces with indigo. The cure for tired clothing is most certainly indigo.
But a better sight is that of my imaginative boy: