art time is always happy. always.
it was a rough morning. the way of homeschool (for us, anyway) seems to be high, happy peaks and low, desperate valleys. this morning was a valley. each of us was in tears at some point. and at one point, i think all three of us (henry, lily and i) were crying in unison. we were rushing. i wanted to make it to a luncheon i had been invited to. henry was having a hard time focusing (not unusual). i was trying to multi-task ("you do these math problems while I get dressed and put on some make-up.") it all added up to hurt feelings and unmet expectations and a big pile of sad. also: nate and i had failed to sync our days and were both expecting to use the car at the same time. the short of it is that instead of enjoying a lovely lunch with the ladies like i had anticipated, twelve o'clock found me at home, in my pajamas (still!), crying and car-less.
then my mom called. or maybe i called her; i can't remember. and i cried to her about everything that was wrong with my morning. and twenty minutes later she and my cute dad were at my house with two cars (one for me to use and one for them to drive home in), loading up my kids, hugging me and telling me to "go, have a fun time. relax. we'll take the kids."
what do you do in response to such angelic kindness?
you cry a little more about it. because how could you not?
i felt so touched, and humbled, and encouraged and supported.
and then, as i was driving along, feeling already tender and thankful, "come, come ye saints" started playing on the iPod, my favorite arrangement, too. i thought about this poem:
Carol Lynn Pearson
My people were Mormon pioneers
Is the blood still good?
Truth flew by like a dove
And dropped a feather in the west
Where truth flies, you follow, if you are a pioneer.
I have searched the skies
And now and then another feather has fallen.
I have packed the handcart again,
Packed it with the precious things
And thrown away the rest.
I will sing by the fires out there on that uncharted ground.
Where I am my own captain of tens
Where I blow the bugle
Bring myself to morning prayer
Map out the miles,
And never know where or when or if at all I will finally say,
"this is the place."
I face the plains on a good day for walking.
The sun rises
And the mist clears
I will be alright,
My people were Mormon pioneers.
i cried a little more (of course). and for a few minutes in the car i felt a sense of "my people" - my grandmothers and their mothers and theirs, and i was completely overwhelmed and totally humbled to imagine a connection, of blood and faith, to those strong, gentle, remarkable women.
the day got better. the evening was busy. i came home from a late presidency meeting and an already-bedded-down, squinty-eyed boy shuffled out for goodnight hugs. "close your eyes, mom," he insisted as he grabbed my hand and led me into the front room.
"ok, now you can open them."
he had been busy coloring - and there was a brilliant dragon and a brave knight to show for it.
"dad did the knight, but i did the dragon all by myself."
they were both exquisite. while i tucked him into bed i apologized for the morning, for getting impatient during math time. he was so forgiving and sweet and asked if i thought "we could maybe go to target tomorrow and get that ninja sword?" hmmmm? was he capitalizing on my contrition?
even if he was, i love him.
tomorrow's friday...all is well :)