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I'm not saying I don't like it, this looser speed with its daily variances. It just always takes, for me anyway, a little getting used to. Here we are at the end of June, settling in to a routine that is void of routine: the pool one day, the library and park the next, or an afternoon creating doll houses out of shoe boxes. Consistent bed times? Not a chance – not when there are neighbor kids to run wild with outside, not when the mild, lazy evenings are making it darn near impossible for me to uproot myself from our screened-in porch after dinner. I'm working on making peace with a lot of half-done domestic endeavors, with projects being "chipped away at" instead of completed in a timely manner while my clan is at school. "Is this really allowed?" I've asked myself more than once when reluctantly walking away from an "I must get this done ASAP" kind of chore in order to fulfill my promise to read a chapter book with my son, for example. Even as I assure myself it is good to pause, to create these summer memories with my children, deep down I still wrestle with anxiousness: I feel out of control.
Flexibility is an art I've not yet mastered, but would love to. Balance is elusive outside of dogged prayers for wisdom.
Hmmm, I've been less than consistent lately, now that I think about it, with my dogged prayers, with any prayers, for wisdom. Oh (sigh.), I can't quit writing here. I'm much too forgetful. Here is where I come to stop for a minute, and remember what really matters in the grand scheme of things. Summer is for refocusing, and then letting go.