The words of James Herriot have been lulling me to sleep.  I wearily pick up my family's old, yellowed paperback of, The Lord God Made Them All and allow the country vet's stories to wash over me like I imagine certain spa treatments to be. They give my mind a proper cleaning, and do as best they can to set things to right.  My mother read Herriot's tales to us often growing up, so picking them up after a long day is the best kind of medicine.  I can hear her voice as I read, attempting the thick roguish accent of the Yorkshire Dales.

These days of late have been a test.  Having Myles at home has made time fly by even faster and with more tenacity than ever before.  We are learning so much about history, and the world, and each other but it is more difficult than I ever thought.  Sometimes, if I have my wits about me, I will excuse myself from a working moment together to shut the door, go lay on my bed and pound my fists into the pillow and wail like Nancy Kerrigan.  That book I read a while back, Permission to Parent, would call this, "growing myself up." Like basically deal with your weaknesses. You cant just scream and get your way in parenting.  So why is that all I feel like doing sometimes?

The highs are high and the lows are very low.  I think I need to write down more of the highs.  These pictures are from a high moment; a trip to Plimouth Plantation. A beautiful and precious experience.

Although I don't often get to capture a low moment on camera. I have taken up the habit of writing down certain foul dictations of Myles' during particularly difficult moments of instruction.  Its pretty fun and gives me something to do while he burns some negativity off. Here is a scene of Myles and I at the library:

Me - "OK, Myles we can't leave until we finish this problem."
Myles - "Fine, we'll never leave then." (walks away)
Me - "Listen, I know this is hard But I know you can do it. Its just one more problem."
Myles - Leaves to hide among the shelves, but only to return briefly to crumple up the lesson sheet and throw it in the waste basket.
Me - I pretend not to see and stay engrossed in my book.
Myles- Digs through the trash to fish out his work. And then sits down and begins to write so hard as to tear the paper with his strokes.

Hmmm. Lots of deep breaths, and many more to come I am sure of it.

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