Soon.

I am currently straddling two seasons, summer and fall.  (And here you thought I wasn’t athletic and flexible.)

The summer-time industrious ant/busy little bee part of me is still in full on hunter-gathering mode:  Canning the last of the tomatoes, beginning to put up the applesauce, finding little edible odds and ends to store for later.  This whole business of gardening and canning for later is a full time job built on blood, sweat, and tears.

Then there is the fall-time educator/teach! all! the! things! part of me that has begun.  I find myself working to instill a strong routine with my children, trying to get off to a solid start with good reading habits and consistent math quizzes and properly corrected grammar worksheets.  While keeping in mind the things that didn’t work out so well last year, I struggle to incorporate new ideas I’ve come up with.  This homeschooling business is another full time job with even more blood, sweat, and tears.

Sadly, despite having these two full time jobs, the length of my day hasn’t increased one minute.  I am still allotted only twenty-four hours, like everyone else.

So there is some serious stretching.  Painful stretching that pushes me to my absolute limits, and occasionally beyond.  Mental stretching as I attempt to multi-task my various to-do lists from my different responsibilities.  Emotional stretching as I try to keep a handle on the new changes and routines.  Physical stretching as I run from one project to the next, skipping breakfasts and showers while trying to cram in just one more chore.

Soon, canning season will officially be over.  All my equipment will make it back to the top shelf of the pantry and I will simply open a can of delicious homemade curry tomato soup for dinner at night.  There will be lots of reaping the previous season’s hard work.

Soon, our new school year routine will have become an ingrained habit.  The children won’t need as much guidance or assistance.  I won’t be so stressed or worried.  We will have found our scholastic groove.

Soon.

Soon.

Until then I straddle.  Until then I stretch.  Until then I hold on to the fact that soon can’t be that far away.

(Just Write.)

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This entry was posted in Canning, Homeschooling, musings. Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Soon.

  1. I, too, yearn for soon. The now is too full of change and the newness of things. Soon.

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