Oh Mother Where Art Thou?

I think it's a good thing when you are so busy living your life that you do not have time to write about your life, except that writing makes me happy. I have so much to say. There's an upcoming unmarriage development, and I have to find the right (benign) words to tell you about it. I'm trying. Writing the truth sometimes makes people unhappy, apparently. Words hurt feelings and share details, and my intent is not to make the world mad at The Man I Will Soon No Longer Be Married To. I have to be fair and the-opposite-of-inflammatory when I publish anything about our family, but it's my truth and my journey, so I still get to write about it. 

 

I have spent weeks working on and off on a small painting project. As in, paint a layer and then wait seven days to paint another layer. This should be a full post with before and afters within a week.

Hello...is it me you're looking for?

Sometimes I get on the Blogger and I near-shriek when I see how long it has been since I last blogged, and then I get lost in a reflection of what I have been doing for the past however-many-days have passed between my last post and my new post (this one.) But I cannot recall all of it, because the answer is usually that I have been doing nothing. And everything.

 

Like engaging in giant battles of wills with the short people in my house over important social and familial issues like What Do I Have To Do To You to Halt This Apathy You Have In Non-Response to Not Figuring Out Seventh Grade Yet? and I Swear, Son, If You Do Not Resolve To Use Kind Words and Change Your Tone You Will Not Live To See Eleven.  Right now, I am not winning either of these, but I do not despair, because I am meaner and smarter and older and I am going to win both of these battles.