Martin Luther King surely was an optimist. Don't know if he thought he would ever get his own National Holiday; a day when my whole family is home on a Monday. Eldest griping about how she can't possibly get her Achievement Record done for 4-H when it is due tomorrow, and she hasn't made her photo page, and our printer is broken, and now "MOAAWM! What am I supposed to do?" She seems displeased by my answer of "Why, dear, I think you shouldn't wait until the last day to figure that out. Thus my inquiry early last week, and your assurance that it would be ready to go anytime after Friday. Now, Friday has come, gone and you have a problem." Middlest is annoying/annoyed by her brother, and displeased that her friend isn't able to come over, even though said friend was not made aware of any invitation until after noon. Youngest is still scattering about in his jammies and hat knit by Aunt E., with the points folded all down to resemble an scilla umbel. He has been incapable of finishing any task, begun between 6 a.m. and present. Oatmeal cold and gelling in bowl, milk carton catapult stranded on counter, book on floor, laundry unfolded, ceramic painted dog dissembled for apparent unapproved painting, chair tilting, trumpet playing, pogo stick walking bundle of ATP- my sympathies to his brave school teachers. And Huz, needing computer, building fires, futile attempts to get Youngest to focus, Middlest to do her chores, Eldest to pry herself from bed. I think I am called to a quiet afternoon in the barn, meditating on the Dream.
Thank you, Mr. King.
No comments:
Post a Comment