After explaining what I do in a day–teach my daughter, play taxi service to activities and lessons, read and write and research in the interstitial time, do contract legal work when it’s available–I was recently asked, by a professional, what I do to relax.

kH chuckled. I mean, I don’t relax. I am conscious and I am unconscious but I don’t relax. I have to concentrate to make muscles relax. I just read and write and research with, hopefully, fewer interruptions. Sometimes I play a computer game. My idea of fun is pulling down books from the shelves and finding inconsistencies.*

Taxi service is a huge part of it now: there are so many activities, and I’ve scheduled them all on three and a half days so that the rest of the week is open. So. While I am playing taxi service and making my very best “uh-huh” sounds about some guy from England’s Minecraft YouTube videos–

An aside: what is up with having Minecraft, knowing almost everything there is about Minecraft, not playing Minecraft, but watching videos of other people playing Minecraft? I’ve heard the same from other moms, too, so is this a thing?

–I think of things.

I think I would like to share my new resolution to complain to Amazon about every time something is messed up and the delightfully grammatically incorrect chat sessions. (Usually I call. It’s better and faster.)

I think about when I was 24, someone said regarding a thing I’d done that led to me having to say other things I’d done, “You’ve already done so much!” Now we can reverse those numbers, I spend a lot of time thinking that no, no, I haven’t. And the door has closed on certain things and I mourn those.

I think everyone 35 and younger looks like a kid. I have to work at not treating them like siblings.

I think I’ve struck on the perfect answer to how to handle, “What do you teach her?” when referring to pH and homeschooling. It either comes from the smug mom with kids in school who wants to take me down a peg or the smug mom who wants to brag about their homeschool curriculum. (I start with, “Well, we’re learning Greek and chemistry and–” Usually the eyes go wide and that’s the end of that. Sure, all I know about Greek is the alphabet, what the letters sound like, and what a few of the letters are used for in science. I figure if nothing else, pH will come away from this knowing delta means change. The only true constant.)

I think you might think I’m exaggerating the smug mom bit. Remember the woman who told you that the formula/vaccines/disposable diapers/potentially BPA-lined cups would ruin your child’s life? That’s the one. Most people are fine. What I hear from most older women now is, “If I had a child in school right now [in Portland] that’s what I’d do, too.”

I think perhaps I shouldn’t have been so rude to the woman who slammed her door into my car and snarled, “Sorry!” at me when I rolled down my window and asked if she’d noticed. I was not nice. I was not nice in a mind-fuck, passive-aggressive sort of way, the part of my personality that I’d thought I’d buried under 20 years of civility. (Afterward, to pH: “Sorry about that.” pH: “Well, you ARE a lawyer.” Me: “I’m usually nicer than that as a lawyer.”)

I think of how grateful I am there is another parent in one of pH’s groups who views homeschooling like I do, as this thing we have to do until we don’t have to do it anymore and pleasepleaseplease let the time be soon, who doesn’t like it any more than I do.

I think about the charming naiveté of pH’s [experienced and otherwise great] psychologist, who basically said, “Your kid is well-behaved, socially appropriate, and persistent with tasks. There’s no reason she can’t go to school that I can see, and if problems crop up we can deal with them then. What’s your neighborhood school?” Pause after we told him. “Can you move?”

(In fairness, the sixty or eighty dollars we’ve spent in copays for visits have 1) gotten the kid out of our room to sleep, 2) ended most tantrums, or at least gotten me/us to handle them better when they crop up and 3) gotten pH to work more without as much complaining. It’s not gone, but it’s better.)

I think I probably shouldn’t be so pleased with myself for throwing kH to the ground (he was showing me a way of getting rid of someone holding onto me and I was a little too exuberant with the push after the wrist lock, and he was not ready and it wasn’t at all fair…but I’m still pleased with myself).

I think it’s nice that Google Earth lets me show my daughter the houses I lived in growing up.

I think I’m ready to write the book that has been percolating in me for the last two or so years.

I think I’m burning for change: I want to go small again, to live in a tiny space with nothing more than we need (as long as there are sufficient bookshelves).

I think I want to start divesting myself of much of our stuff, but that it’s hard to do that all by myself (I know, because I had to once). I may not be able to relax, but I do think I could make my life easier.

I think I’m tired of hearing, “I hate where we live” because guess what, so do I.

I think if I hear “I want a dog” one more time I will institute a Jamba Juice grounding for a month (more punishing me than pH).

Mostly, though, I think I miss my blog community.

If you’ll take me, I’m back.**

*Okay, well, pH and I did recently go on a dogsled ride and that was relaxing. Being in the mountains was also relaxing; I’d forgotten how much I missed them.


**I don’t know what I’m going to do with old posts. I’ve been thinking of migrating the old blog posts–from the previous blog–and putting them all here, too, but it’s daunting and I have to do a fair amount of redaction for reasons of privacy and potential litigation (something else I think a lot about).