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Raising daughters. Good morning from blustery Vermont. I’m a few days off my promise to blog every Saturday morning, but I’ve got a good excuse. As I’ve said before, bad health trumps writing.
Livia wonders how she’ll get her homework done and paper printed before her first morning class. Serena wonders if she’ll wake up during the night struggling to breathe. Livia scavenges the clothing sites looking for the perfect dress for her winter ball. Serena searches the Web for the best prices for HEPA filters. My girls coexist in different universes, and to me, each girl’s challenges are just as important as the other’s. Sometimes though I mix them up. Or worse yet, want to step away into my own universe where no one’s in pain and no one needs signed permission slips for trips to homeless shelters.
“How do you parent?” a woman asks. “Escapism.” But not really, and not often. What I usually do is to slog through and hug them a lot. This is my parental rhythm: Hug, hug, slog, slog. Hug, hug, slog, slog.
On Saturday nights my husband and I step out for a date. We talk about our girls, ourselves, and finely talk about our relationship over a glass of wine or beer. We can wrap up our lives in less than two hours; it’s what we have these days.
Writing Quill Point seems a distant goal now. Currently I’m five loads behind in laundry, and have yet to send my brother-in-law his birthday card. I’ve given up on writing lists–lists are fine when you feel you can make progress, but really? My life? Now? No lists. But remember I said I’d choose joy?
The first Saturday in December I get to sell my books at the Bishop Marshall craft fair. It snowed at the college yesterday while I was working, so I listened to Bruce Cockburn’s Christmas album and even danced around in my small office to Early on one Christmas morn. Soon the four heartwarming books I requested from the library will be in. We had a superb foliage and in certain light, the leaves still look golden. I guess I’m making it.
So that’s it then. I keep going forward, three or four days late, but still moving. My girls know I love them and I’m here for them, day in and day out (slog and hug, slog and hug). And one last bit of joy. My chickadee feeder is now up for the winter, and my precious birds have found me again.Hurray! Did you choose joy today?
Check back next week for another segment of Finding Home.