Lucy is growing up very quickly; filled with opinions and self-direction that is not always in line with my needs.
Last night Lucy was being a pistol, bickering about everything. It felt like it was one tantrum after another. I sent her to her room, and sighed heavily to my son's aide.
Mentally exhausted, I went back to making home made meat balls, and dough for calzone. [see? we don't eat junk food *all* the time.]
Lucy yelled a bit more, and I told her from down the hall, that no one was going to speak to her until she used a kind voice.
Her response? "Mother, you are being hateful and mean!"
The aide told me, "When they say things like that, that's when you know you're doing your job."
I responded with pride, "I KNOW. She just said that with the nicest tone."
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just notes from jennyalice
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Thoreau
I went to the woods because
I wished to live deliberately,
to front only the essential
facts of life, and see if
I could not learn what
it had to teach, and not,
when I came to die,
discover that I had not lived.
I did not wish to live
what was not life,
living is so dear;
nor did I wish
to practise resignation,
unless it was quite necessary.
I wanted to live deep
and suck out all the marrow of life,
to live so sturdily and Spartan- like
as to put to rout all that was not life,
to cut a broad swath and shave close,
to drive life into a corner,
and reduce it to its lowest terms,
and, if it proved to be mean,
why then to get the whole and
genuine meanness of it,
and publish its meanness
to the world;
or if it were sublime,
to know it by experience,
and be able to give
a true account of it
in my next excursion.
I wished to live deliberately,
to front only the essential
facts of life, and see if
I could not learn what
it had to teach, and not,
when I came to die,
discover that I had not lived.
I did not wish to live
what was not life,
living is so dear;
nor did I wish
to practise resignation,
unless it was quite necessary.
I wanted to live deep
and suck out all the marrow of life,
to live so sturdily and Spartan- like
as to put to rout all that was not life,
to cut a broad swath and shave close,
to drive life into a corner,
and reduce it to its lowest terms,
and, if it proved to be mean,
why then to get the whole and
genuine meanness of it,
and publish its meanness
to the world;
or if it were sublime,
to know it by experience,
and be able to give
a true account of it
in my next excursion.
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there are only 15 minutes during the day when I really think we are not going to make it.
then minute 16 comes and we are all going to be
okay.
email me
thejennyalice at gmail.com