I just asked Éa how she thinks she is at math. She said “Okay.” (Sullivan replied, about himself, “Super good.”) This kid scored at the 99th percentile at her last math MAP test. So I told her, “Éa, you are super-good at math” and later, “You are amazing at math.”
This.
In order for me to maximally productive at work, I have to be cutthroat with all non-work items. I have to forcefully box out distraction, daydreaming, and other (non-work) people and their agendas.
But that’s no way to live your home life!
Love in one’s home life means primarily the enjoyment of relationship with those around you and acting for others’ good by relating and enjoying and resting with them. Work is necessary in home life—and indeed, even for love’s sake it is necessary—but it isn’t primary. It serves the primary purpose of enjoyment. And besides, home life flows like water, it’s stochastic, it’s unpredictable, it’s got a bunch of other people and animals and neighbors and friends that can’t be controlled like one’s own attention can be controlled.
So I need to have two mindsets:
At home, I will not abandon my getting-things-done agendas, which are after all mostly built on love, but I will let the direct relational and enjoyment modes of love take precedence....
// read full article →Telling someone they “have been” something is more empowering a way of truth-telling than telling them they “are” something. It leaves the future open for change.
Ugh! I have so many things to think about, but my thinker isn’t big enough!
— Éa
If Donald Trump ever somehow gets himself elected for a third term, I will join the active resistance. For now, I build joyous, resilient communities.
I don’t enjoy fiction as much because I don’t spend hours at a time with it like I do movies! This calls for a change.
Shots don’t scare me. I could poke needles into my skin all day if it didn’t hurt.
— Éa
My new motto is: “Live every day like it’s your last.” And no, that does not mean find a hospital, go there, find a room and lay down, eyes twitching…
— Sullivan
The problem with being an adolescent is that when you go to rub your beard, you end up pinching yourself.
— Sullivan
“Littering fine”? They think littering’s fine?
— Éa
Éa: What’s a placenta?
Sullivan: What!? You don’t know what a placenta is? Mom, we have failed.
“It is obvious that all marriages are imprudent marriages; just as all births are imprudent births. If prudence is your main concern, or if (in other words) you are a coward, it is certainly better not to be married; and even better not to be born.”
— G.K. Chesterton
Carla: Why can’t I be a ten-year-old boy? I’ve always wanted to dress like a ten-year-old boy!
Scott: You often do.
I never before noticed the “perplexed but not despairing” line in 2 Corinthians 4:8. That would’ve been a good thread to hang onto through doubt.
I must learn how to recognize when it is time to take a break. It is a combination of the demands of my soul and the demands of the world around me. At some crossover point the demands of my soul win.
[overheard while Sullivan and Éa build a precarious fort]:
Éa: Sully, did you just swear!?
Sullivan: What!? No!
Éa: No really, Sully, did you say the S word?
Sullivan: No! Only Mom does that!
I enjoyed today how although I was worried that I wasn’t going to be able to bring anything to church, at the last minute as we approached our taking of the wine and bread, I thought of “What A Friend I’ve Found” by Delirious?, which I had just run through with Carla, the Rookes, and Ben last weekend on a whim. I need to remember not to worry so much. Just follow my whim. Especially with music making. I ought not make music simply because I have a voice for it. I ought to make music when it is in the service of love only. Is love the post hoc pretext that covers a selfish ambition for praise or usefulness? Or is love the actual, prompting reason I’m doing the singing? Let it always be the latter.
Carla reports that last night, out of the blue before bed, Éa said, “I think that Daddy’s mune to stuff.”
“You think he’s immune? To what?” replied Carla.
“No, the opposite of that. Mune.”
“I don’t think that’s a word.”
“Really? Well then what’s the opposite of ‘immune’?”
“Susceptible.”
“What?! That sounds like some sort of a….PORT a potty! …like ‘appropriate receptacle’! (lots of laughter by both parties)”
And then I wrapped my ankle brace around my uterus.
— Carla
Carla: Scott, you’re not perfect.
Scott: I know. But I’m trying!
Today, watching a fan while I was supposed to listening in math class, I figured out how servo motors work.
— Sullivan
My feelings aren’t the most articulate bunch of neuronal events.
— Scott
Éa [doing math]: Mom, is two minus six plus ten six?
Carla: Umm…wait a minute…
Éa: Also known as twelve minus six equals six.
Scott: Umm…wait…
Scott: Sometimes I wish I were the smaller one.
Carla: Why, so you could beat me up?