Son sits on my bed, watching some super-hero favorite, while I rest in my chair, reading blogs I love. There is always this twinge of "I should be writing more;" "ugh, I wish I were writing more;" "I miss writing." It quickly disintegrates to can'ts and should-nots because I just feel so depleted, I don't even know what or who or where or anything to write about these days.
I know I miss writing, and I would love to start again. But this season has been so turmolutious—even just within myself. It's been hard to find something worth saying that doesn't start with a nag or a whine. And then, there's the world. There's the Nia's and displaced kids, separated families. It kills me. I want to jump in and then I see these four sets of eyes that need me, and need me present and safe, and I feel trapped. I want to know how to help, where to go, dive in and hug the child, make the sign, be the voice, but I'm often weary with wondering if I have the right voice in these things—I just have so much to learn still.
But these are the things I do know:
The sun rose today.
T has 20 days left of being one.
Scout has become this precious, old-soul human, who I selfishly want to spend every waking moment with.
Son (the younger) calls us Mama and Dada.
I am desperate to surround myself and my children with people of all kinds, who look different than us and who hold different strengths, people of different abilities, and races, and cultures and pasts. These are the people I want to raise my children around.
I am desperately trying to teach our kids about race, and racism, and the concept of privilege that they too will need to navigate one day.
My house is a mess, but I'm getting my couch steam-cleaned Monday and I just can't wait.