From a couple weeks ago...

**I started another blog for writing things, and then figured, why separate them?  This is my blog, I'll do what I want with it, so there will be more writing here, probably less sewing centric posts and more things about everything. Enjoy!**

A while ago I asked my kids what love means.  What they think it means to be loved, to love someone else, and to show love.  I was brainstorming something and was looking for some fresh eyes in expressing ideas.

They whispered adorably for a few minutes, and then my oldest said one of those wisely clear things I was hoping for.

"Love is when the place you are in is the place you should be."

Isn't that perfect? I wrote it down immediately.

The day before I asked this was a little touch and go.  There are some days that I find so incredibly full of love, yet so incredibly frustrating!!  Each instruction I give, each reminder for caution, each prompt to be clean is obviously given drenched in motherly love, rooted in my concern for their well being! Obviously, these little cherubs of mine know this deep down in their guts, just as I did when I was their age, but obviously still do things with ignorance, and rudeness, and attitude. Of course they do! They're kids.

I'm constantly wondering how much concern is enough and how much is too much.  How many reminders are too many and what is reasonable and responsible.  How much sass should I tolerate and shrug off and what kind of lessons should I be teaching them?  It's a constant back and forth struggle in my head, as I'm sure it is for all parents.  It can be difficult to take comfort in that, especially when if feels like I'm getting all the levels wrong, everyone is reacting badly, like I've miscalculated the formula by just one number and it ruins the entire equation.

I've noticed how resourceful these kids of mine have gotten, and how much like me they are.  I vividly remember clambering all over the kitchen counters, snooping for my mom's chocolate stash, and then I found a kid spoon stuck in the Nutella jar of our present day cabinets. 

It's exciting and equally terrifying watching them grow up, get stronger, expand their world and their decisions, and become their own people.

I'm also trying to intentionally cultivate my creativity and started with all those feelings swirling around after this rough day we'd gone through.  I drew a bunch of birds gathered in a heart, with a few flying away and wrote "sometimes you have to let your heart fly," which still feels incredibly immature and middle school, but anyway, that's what I wrote and that's what I drew.

I have a hard time expressing my own feelings, they always seem so syrupy, naive, and unproductive that I usually try to ignore them so being creative has always worked to help make sense of things, or at least acknowledge them enough to move forward.   As long as our mothering instincts come from a place of love and reasonable logic, then the next generation should turn out alright.