From Underneath the Rubble

I should know by now that life is going to throw you a curve ball from time to time, I guess I should also know that my life has been a series of these unpredictable situations being hurled in my direction for the entirety of it thus far. The past few months have been crazy. And the craziest part is that I am alive and so are all of the members of my family. I have the sensation that I am walking in slow motion away from a hideous accident where you look around to make sure everyone is ok, all limbs accounted for, wiping debris from your face, picking unidentified objects from your hair and suddenly elated that other than a few minor abrasions and some emotional, spiritual nicks, you are no worse for the wear.
Obviously I am not the only human to experience the unimaginable again and again, and for sure my curve balls are minor in comparison to the vast majority of the human race. However as we all experience a tunnel vision of sorts as we walk through this life journey I am no different. As I weathered this most recent storm of a very sick and undiagnosed husband and my own personal health crisis my focus was so inward that as I look back, I have the sense of being encapsulated. Maybe this is God's love and protection--a sort of muffled, fuzzy, white noise that surrounded my periphery. The ability to be hyper focused, yet at times unable to remember.
I do believe that God holds me in the palm of his hand, that he is devoted to me and my family and that through these times he speaks and answers prayer. Our crisis's and valleys allow us to be elated on the mountain tops and molded more closely to His likeness. His best work is done in times of pain--because it is painful to change and be changed.

My need to write has been halted by my family's need to eat and function beyond watching Sponge Bob. Which incidentally, why is a yucky and often smelly tool for household work so funny when it lives in a pineapple under the sea?

So having two of my four warriors in training off being trained by qualified individuals has been somewhat stress reducing. The mad dash from my pillow to the bus stop only happens effectively when I have had the proper amount of caffeine in my veins, and even then, as we are now exactly half-way into week two I am only mostly sure that I am doing my best not to scar them with my rantings. Today I did the selfish and irresponsible thing of trying to shower during the morning sprint, leaving my very capable husband in charge. Not that it was a bad idea, we just have two differing views of a successful morning. Mine includes the children leaving with their homework and required food for their day away, and his does not.

My bigger problem with my sudden and almost violent leap into having 50% of my children in public school is the incomprehensible amount of paper I am now in charge of reading, filling out and giving back or responding to by a certain date. I am now convinced that our educational system might be responsible for the deforestation of our planet. I mean really.

Now I am willing to let this one go because I do care about my children's education and I do want to know what is going on. But I am suddenly missing my carefree days of lying by the pool trying to calmly keep them from killing each other and drowning. My tan is fading as fast as the leaves are changing their hue and the thing that makes me the most upset is that I am lacking, in a major way, a cute pair of fall shoes.

So, I have decided that if I don't start writing my thoughts and putting them out into the world, or at least out of my head, that my brain might explode. So here goes. Nothing fancy just some things I have been thinking about today.

School starts on Thursday and I have to say that between now and then might as well be an eternity in which you are being tortured by incessant whining and unending complaining where every five minutes one is asked, " What are we doing now?" , or "Can I have a snack?" It is the "Are we there yet" of the day to day. Enough to drive one mad, in the straight jacket, padded cell sense. Now, don't get me wrong I love all of my children but for the last 90 days or so I have spent most of my time with all four of my boys. I would like to think, for their sake, that I have a future in cruise directing or circus ring mastering, but unfortunately I do not aspire to those vocations in the future or in my present stay-at-home-mommyhood. I am of the theory that they should be happy with a stick some tape and our backyard. These items should be worth at least 30 minutes of joy if not a half an hour of using their brains.

Our world has been built on the shoulders of geniuses who never had summer camps, play dates, every toy known to man or indoor plumbing. For centuries boys and girls have been excelling beyond, what we would consider today, insurmountable odds. These backward and unfortunate souls have given us all the creations that we turn to for inspiration. Men and women such as Bach, Michelangelo, Plato, Aristotle, dare I say Einstein or Madam Curie (If I had any brain cells left this list would be way more insightful a list). The list could go on, but I will spare you a little. So why is it that my kids don't seem to be able to entertain themselves without me becoming Julie from the Love Boat?

Okay. I suddenly feel able to exhale.