I was sitting here in my office, staring at the things around me because my brain felt too tired to work, and I noticed lots of red and green marks on the wall. There is also a large purplish blue smudge. I was staring at this odd array and wondering how it had passed my notice. The wall is white and the marks are very obvious. As I stared, I noticed that the marks define a somewhat rectangular shape of cleanliness. Memory dawned. A whiteboard used to hang on that wall back in the days when it was still Howard’s office. Pre-school Kiki and Toddler Link would come and draw on the board, but they often missed. One particularly elaborate spiral shows exactly how enthusiastic they were about missing. We tried to wash off the marks, but the dry erase marker defied our clean up attempts.

Since those days we’ve re-arranged the office multiple times. The dry erase board was removed and is still kicking around the house. But somehow I stopped even seeing the marks on the wall. They were so familiar that my brain just dismissed them. My home is filled with marks such as these. There is the gouge upstairs where a full length mirror once fell. There are the divots created by the child gates which used to barricade the stairs. The ceilings in several bedrooms are speckled with yellowed glow in the dark stars, once invisible against white paint, now peeling and falling off. Sometimes these damages make me feel quite bleak, because they show so clearly the fact that we need to spend more time fixing up the house. However, on the day when I repaint the walls I hope I spend just a moment contemplating the stories behind the marks before I obscure them.

I’m having trouble finding my writing head space. Partly this is a normal effect of having the kids home all day. It is also due to the fact that my laptop still refuses to speak to the internet. I’ve got a friend coming to help trouble shoot later in the week. But for now it leaves me blogging down in my basement office. I much prefer to do my writing in a room with windows.

We had family home evening tonight. Its the first time in weeks. It is the first time in even longer that Howard and I did not veto Tag as the activity of choice. So we ran around outside with the kids. Miraculously we did not have a single tantrum. There was much laughing and running. Everyone got a turn to be It. Then we came inside for pudding. The choice of snack was somewhat ironic since the subject of the lesson was “Eating Healthy.” But a good time was had by all, and it was a good start on my intention of putting family stuff on the calendar this week.

Tomorrow I get to have my annual blood draw to check my thyroid levels. I also get to sort invoices. Then the kids and I all run away from the house to do something elsewhere. We’re not sure yet where.

I stood at the kitchen table and announced plans for next week, which included a day trip to Salt Lake and a swim day. The older two kids nodded, but the reaction from the younger two kids was to lament that we did not go swimming this week. It was the first week of summer and I’d promised we could go swimming once per week, but we had not yet actually gone.

I felt frustration and anger with their reaction. I spent the whole week a a dead run, scrambling to adapt to a new life rhythm while still getting all the business work and the family stuff done. At the end of that crazy week, I finally had a feel for what was working and what was not. Part of what was not working was finding time to fulfill my commitments to summer activities. Hence my announcement, making sure the kid stuff got onto next weeks schedule before anything else.

The perspective of the kids was different. They burst into the summer of freedom, eager for the adventures to come. Instead they were answered with a seemingly endless stream of “I need to think about that” and “Not today.” So they began to wonder if any of the promises will materialize or if it is all just a mirage. In their ears “next week” sounds remarkably like “never.”

I stood, frustrated, as my kids filled the air with “what about this? Can we do this today?” I closed my eyes, trying to hang on to calm. Trying to see their perspective around the edges of mine. Knowing that it falls upon me to keep my cool even when they are unreasonable in their requests. At 6 pm on a Saturday it is in not fair to throw a tantrum because I won’t immediately pack up and take them to a swimming pool, but kids do not check their desires for fairness before asking. Then Gleek’s lament passed over the fact that I had not yet taken her to the school playground so that she can show me her recess tricks. It was a small outing, small enough to fit into the hours of remaining daylight. My evening was clear. So I said the words the kids had been longing to hear all week. “Yes. Let’s go.”

In the end only Gleek and Patch went with me. An elementary school playground was not all that attractive to them and they were content to wait for the larger activities next week. For two hours Gleek showed me her tricks. Patch Demonstrated his monkey-bar skills. The sprinklers came on and the kids got soaked chasing rainbows in the spray. Then they dried out while catching cottonwood fluff from the air. Each running step sent whirls of fluff up off the grass to fly again. The grass itself looked as if a few clouds had spread out for a summer afternoon nap. Cottonwoods are not popular trees anymore, exactly because of this fluff,. In fact the school yard used to have dozens of them, but they were cut down several years ago. I was glad to find this one remaining at the edge of the field. I sat on the cotton fluff frosted grass and watched my children.

They were joyful, completely occupied by each activity. That complete immersion in NOW is something I need to find in myself more often. I’ve realized it before and I’m sure I’ll realize it again, because I spend much of my life observing rather than participating. I love observation and thinking, but there art times when I need to get myself out of the house to go chase fluff in the air.

The return home had some crankiness. I had to scold when they did not listen. That was unpleasant and the knowledge that it is likely, often keeps me from wanting to go out. I don’t like to discipline my children in public. But a day later, I remember the beauty of the sprinkler rainbows and the fluff filled air. I remember the joy of Gleek running full-tilt through puddles. The sharp words fade. A joyful evening is worth some inconvenience and unpleasantness. I need to remember that.