The Winter Saturday is the Blessed Encroachment. It's both. Along with being the ugliest sentence ever, that describes the process of seeing my homemaking work undone while I hope to catch up in the other areas of my life. It's the dillema-ed frustration of seeing couches moved, train tables lifted by teams of little tiny men, jump-roping by the good dishes, a temper-tantrum that I won't give up every inch of living space to the creative endeavors / brilliant enterprise / groundbreaking media moments that come out of being indoors, reading too much inspiration, being together for such long stretches. Of course I want all this. Of course it makes me a little crazy. I am not a limitless well of patience. I haven't given myself over to complete free-range learning, nor do I believe in a world without boundaries. The boundaries are the blessed part. The creativity, the discovery, those are the blessed parts. The arguing over their own boundaries, the total remodeling of our downstairs, which is basically a large modern cabin-space. That is the encroachment.
I grumped through two bouts of baking: chewy-thick pizza made of roasted cauliflower-pesto & mounds of Vermont cheddar. They kneaded. They put flour everywhere. They dipped fingers into the pesto & sang it's praises while placing disgruntled votes about the addition of walnut. For some reason that pizza took two hours & countless dishes. But it was good. A do-again. So there's that. And gf-brownies, made by them from start-to-finish. This is our sugar-free month. So much for that. The brownies, were, of course, good.
They make me do life the way I want it to look, but keep forgetting. I have my own ideas, but they bring me back home. It's not perfect. I'm not perfect. I'mperfect. That's it.