2 flies are driving me nuts while I try to type here. I've been working on a digital scrapbook this afternoon. in between trips to the coffee pot. with a stop at the chicken coop. a walk down the road. a check on the dehydrating tomatoes. a touch on the paint drying on the old desk, now white. rearranging the pictures laying on the floor, deciding where they will finally be hung. loving all these moments in peace. just me. the kids off with dad. the result of a meltdown. why do I never get gifted enough time to get anything done? to get projects started? so tired of dishes, meals, laundry, vacumming, diapers, toliet scrubbing, tidying. all those things you just spin around and do again.
yet, such a privilege. no? to have a home to care for and children to raise? and a special call from a loved friend during the afternoon adds a new thought to my quiet time thinking. what would I do if I wasn't doing "work" or something on my "to do list"? and the line between work and play starts to seem more blurred. do I see my garden as work or play? canning my tomatoes: work or play? and I begin to think, what if I could feel that it is all play? I read Sheena's thoughts and think about privilege and owning this 40 acres and happy families and childhoods. My complaints seem so ridiculous, even though they are real and will surface again. I'll keep swatting at these flies, acknowledging my privilege and remembering to chose the perspective of play.