Y'all, I am so glad I waited to do today's post. I was going to make moment 18 about the 3/4 pan of brownies that was left over after the boys had eaten their fill. (I know, right? First time in this house. Big success of releasing food controls and accepting a brownie as a choice just as valid as an apple or a perfectly cooked filet of fish. Hard to do in a house with a major foodie dad and a food-issues mama.)
And then I had the pictures all queued up to tell about the trip to the post office--especially noticing the P.O. boxes--and the trip afterward to the library, where Woody got fussed at by a librarian because they have a policy against bare feet.
And finally, I really wanted to share about last night when we took out my guitar and tuner and we sang scales trying to find the exact pitches, which registered on the tuner as green, while our flats and sharps showed up as reds.
But I just didn't really get to finalizing those posts. So now, I can tell you about this:
It's Wilco's new album played through the open windows, floating on the smell of Daddy Honey's home-done egg fu yung and mushroom gravy on a just-cool evening with a fire that we made together from wet wood, damp pine needles, and rolled-up dry paper bags. And then, it was sitting in the dark with just Daddy and the glowing coals practicing moves for the battle with the goblin army and talking about whatever else opened its eyes to the night.
I read a few days ago about a mom who had just started unschooling, and she was worried she wasn't doing enough. How would she know, she wondered, if they were learning? Somebody else suggested that she keep a journal or a photo album, and that once she started to keep track, she'd see it everywhere, and she'd hardly be able to keep up.
I think that's exactly how it is.