What?

And so life gets complicated... we complicate life or it complicates us... I haven't yet figured it out. What I do know is that I sit in a beautiful house, next to my sleeping dog, with my husband upstairs feeling vanquished or resentful or lonely getting our two children to sleep, one who is clingier than she's ever been before and teenage whiney at the age of 6 and the other, 3 1/2 and still struggling to speak and frustrated with the world for not getting it. I am sitting here... typing. Because I haven't in a really long time. I haven't written anything down anywhere of any signifigance, have barely said as much either.
I don't know which way is up or if life is linear at this point. I'm not sure why our house is for sale that nearly pays for itself or why we're living here in the first place. I'm not sure where in the hell we really want to go, what we really want to do, who we really want to be.
I heard this thing on the radio a few weeks ago. This guy was talking about "healthy families" and how "healthy families" should have a mission statement. Hmmm. I thought. That's intriguing. And I'm still thinking what that could possibly mean for us. I want our kids to grow up strong and brave and proud of themselves. I want them to be ready for life. And then I think and I nearly say "in a way that I'm completely not". And what the hell does that mean. I want to be less vague. I want to teach them actual possibility without someone else's idea of possibility intruding.
And then I heard something else.... A teacher asked a student to try to prove that they were alive without using another person to prove it. So I'm left wondering how... and why?