i just feel like crying. my daughter is a beautiful, troubling mix of all that is good and humble; bad and willful.
just like yours.
i’m glad my children are in bed. i’m frustrated with them and with myself. i fail so often. i wake up with the intentions of loving god and everyone in my house well. i end the night talking myself down from ledges that would be too messy to clean up if i jumped.
it’s hard to raise a family.
there’s a yellow construction paper star atop our christmas tree this year. it’s stuffed with cotton balls. it’s really great and it’s really haphazard. a bit like this household.
a big part of the problem is that i take myself and events way, way, WAY too seriously. i mean this. if you know me, if you are my friend, how come you’ve never pointed out with regularity what a unflinching crackpot i am? people need to tickle me more often or push me…i don’t know.
blah. blah. blah.
i have to wrap stuff. presents, i mean. not just random stuff. it’s not like i’m going to wrap up any old thing that crosses my path. it’s december. i meant xmas presents. but you knew that. i’m going to go do that now.