October Snow

It's partly because the development of an idea, written,  takes a long time. Or it takes me a long time, anyway. 

My current count for consecutive quiet minutes per week is, well, minimal. I attempted a brief sneak outside this afternoon to breathe some fresh air and clear some space around my thoughts while Wild Kratts occupied the kids, and was detected by Junebaby in 3 minutes flat.

Busted.

The inspiration is still there. A Facebook status or Instagram snap may help appease that insistent creative voice temporarily, but it doesn't last long. And the ideas burst at the seams.

Title beginnings: "Lydia-Speak Cheat Sheet." "Home Education: Two Years In." "A Better Mom." "How Not to Take a Family Photo." And most recently: "I'm Charging You, Boy, for Your Uneaten Tapioca Hot Dog Bun Crust." 

(It's been a weird month.)

Exposing more, even a little more, means more flaws are seen. More messy, more ugly. More grit that's in danger of NOT being folded into the cutesy sins of the "imperfect mama club."

The seasons are changing, summer and winter wrestling for dominance neither will achieve.

And here we are.