Plot Twists

I haven't seen Biffy since the Birkebiner and now she's pregnant.

Don't tell her I said so, but it's the third that pushed me off the brink.

I've given up trying to keep control.  And when I forget, scolding my son for not practicing, or getting angry at the girls for making a mess of my supplies, or griping at my husband for how he deals with the leftovers, they let me know, quick.

Over coffee, S. tells me that he's come to realize that we are nothing more than manipulations of the government, that the Sixties were just a big plot by the C.I.A to stir the society up.

Of course, I worry that if I don't make the kids clean their rooms and get away from the screens, and write thank you notes, and eat healthy food, that they will turn out to be terrible people.  I try not to be arrogant, but there it is again:  Assuming that what I want them to do is best for them.

I don't want other people telling me how to spend my time, so why should they be any different?

Like most everything, my need to control is motivated by fear:  I fear that if I let go, my kids will fail and I will be judged.  Worthy concerns.  But what would happen if I allowed my kids, myself, and everyone else, the freedom of rising above fear?  Why not learn to be motivated by love?

Funny how what is so sane sounds so kooky.

S. says he's pregnant and wants to give birth to a project with the students that will reflect all the complexities of classroom dynamics.  

He says that he can feel the beginnings of the death process.  

I suggest he make some concrete plans, like starting a blog.  

He's skeptical.  Still, I think it's a premier idea.    

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