January 18, 2022
Gleanings
- Compare these two sentences: “My feelings are hurt.” versus “You hurt my feelings.”
- I stretch, starfished across the bed. What shall I do with this day, I wonder?
- We can’t turn off our fear of these unknowns. But here’s what I do know: It’s time to untangle morality from health. For our kids and for ourselves.
- Why do I hate asking for help, SO MUCH?? And here’s where things get ugly. Because I think I know the answer, and I don’t like it.
- In my experience, the most dramatic of the mama bears are those with the least realistic threats—the White, privileged moms, like me, who are used to getting things our way.
- For years, she was a jumble sale of smocked Liberty dresses, stripy leggings, glittery shoes and some ridiculously large flower on her noggin.
- So I’m having my bubblebath, this little self-care ritual that is really just a drop in the bucket of self-care that we all need, but at least it’s something, and I’d been wondering about how one even goes about collectively or as a group thinking-things-through these day when we’re all so separate.
- Yes, people wax on about how rewarding parenting is, and it is, but sometimes you can’t see that until later. Sometimes you’re so much into the just doing and coping and wondering and worrying above all else if you’re getting it right.
- The amount of this time stretch right now is practically imperceptible—only about a minute or so on either side—but it’s enough.
- And so I leapt … And found myself right back where I was … here, with the full-bellied yes to write random blog posts for no apparent reason other than joy and desire, rather than academic papers with long bibliographies and MLA-style references, that will be evaluated and praised.
- I sew my irregular stitches, never improving, while the world is on fire, dark with war, shadowy figures conspiring to violence, rafts sinking, and my only effort this morning is to stack logs by the woodstove and hope for the best.
