Have you ever had so many things to say that you don’t know where to start? And because you don’t know where to start, you just don’t?
That’s been me this week. So much to say that I’ve said nothing and instead you’ve had a couple of pictures and I’ve felt like I might explode but there’s no point because none of it would make any sense. Every thought I have spins off in tangents and expands until I could fill a blog, not just a post and so I stuff then all back into my head and go on feeling ever more desperate.
I want to talk about education, in and out of school. About the dark side of home education when you doubt every interaction with your child and wonder if one day they’ll sue you for ruining their lives. About the dreams and plans I have for the younger children (all the mistakes I’ve already made so won’t be making again).
I have this idea for a montessori area in the living room. Practical activities on shelves. And walking back from town I wondered if I could buy the wood to make pink towers and broad stairs and sell the excess but when would I find time to saw and sand and paint wooden blocks?
I have so many ideas for websites. I could run one for every day of the week. Then I find myself wondering if actually that would be a viable business plan, having 5 or 6 websites alongside my blog, and then I start searching all the different ways to monetize a blog and a few more hours flash by when I haven’t actually written anything.
And the required reviews are stacking up (another wonderful Hello Fresh meal tonight, and a book and a magazine in the post) and there aren’t enough hours in the day for all the things and the children and the washing and the chauffeuring and did I mention the sewing?
Today I nearly sewed a coat. Or I did sew most of a coat. I could have done it all but there was a lot of procrastination with my name on it out there. And I didn’t take any pictures of it, which is a bit pathetic. But I did study some Breugel pictures, so I probably learnt some history too.
I wished I’d been a better blogger nine years ago. I wish I’d written more about Small so that I could remember what an 18 month old boy can be like. And then I wish that there was a point in writing about this baby, in that I wish there could be other babies after him but I know there can’t and. .. Let’s draw a veil over wanting.
The words have run away again. Do you ever have this problem?
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