Nothing important, or even interesting, to say. And yet, I write.
A month into the new year, and, surprise!, life continues on with relentless routine.
And I love it.
It has not always been so. For many years, I thought I abhorred routine, the expected. I railed against bedtimes and the “should”.
I still distrust the “should”. But, good heavens, do I ever love routine!
I don’t care if my son wants hair to his shoulders, or if the middle kid refuses to wear pants while hanging out with the family. I think the fact that my daughter will not allow her classmates to see her with her (glorious, thick, lovely) hair down is a little weird, but whatever, that is her (strange) deal.
But don’t let those same children ask
to stay up past the arbitrary (and frankly, unreasonably early) bedtime.
Don’t expect laundry done on a “non laundry” day.
I want my kids to wear funky clothes, pithy t-shirts.
I adore the fact that my children are confident in their oddities.
And I absolutely LOVE the fact they come home from school, do their homework, eat dinner, spend some time with the family and go to bed.
I love. Love. Love. The. Routine.