I am seriously sitting here thinking about a nap. My boys are both snoring in rhythm, and it is making my already heavy eyes even heavier.
I am fairly sure I had a short night. I don't really remember falling asleep, but I do remember it was well after 10 pm when we got home. I know that the sun was blazing through the window at 6 ish this morning. That equals not nearly enough sleep.
As a result, I am sitting here debating with myself.
I doubt I will take one, I am one of those people that a nap is never a good thing. Sure, at the moment it feels like it, but a few hours later as I go to curl up in my nice warm bed for the night, I will realize what a critical error I have made.
Hubs and I have been running errands, doing chores and I have been squeezing in time to create.
As I was packing the bath bombs into the molds, enjoying the sensation of pushing them into the spaces, almost like playing with sand and building castles as a kid, my mind was wandering.
I know that art is not as prevalent in schools these days. It's a tragic loss if you ask me. I wonder how many schools have shop, home economics and humanities classes in this day and age. The creating is centering. It gives a feeling of accomplishment. I am not sure it is something they can teach to the test on, so therefore, does it exist? I know there are still music classes, as my grand daughter is in them. But did the other classes go the way of cursive writing? Or are they still there?
I would have loved to learn things like soap making in Home Ec, I didn't do so well with sewing class... ask the poor red turtle with his head on upside down. Oh I made beautiful seams, but simple things like being able to put the head on correctly were lost on me. Truth of the matter, even though I had challenges in that class it wasn't the end of the game for me.
My cooking skills took over a decade to start to develop after hours upon hours of near failures. All of which we were forced to eat, part of learning they claimed. Now when there is time I use those skills liberally, trying to make things just perfect for Hubs.
Shop class was another experience. Learning to cut metal - somewhere I am sure that can opener still exists. And the little nick knack shelf was still in perfect shape until Christmas of this year when I smashed my head into it while decorating the Christmas tree. It's fixable, I just haven't tackled it yet. The pain of breaking it after all these years is still to real. I was in 7th grade. It has survived numerous moves around the world and always been in my room or homes, it's currently in pieces in the basement. I cherish knowing that I have the skill to rebuild it.
The therapy I am gaining from losing myself in some of the "lost arts" is healing.
The world still feels damaged and bruised. Most of the time I don't want to participate.
Yet each time I start working on creating things, I feel a bit stronger, a bit more centered.
The other night one of the B's and I went and painted. Three hours of peace and focus. Oh yeah, and wine. Was it frame worthy? No not really. But the concentration and patience drew me away from the things that were eating me alive.
I needed it. Their brushes frustrated me, I really needed mine from home, but it wasn't about perfection. It was about healing.
So far today I have made bath bombs (I hope they turn out - I am skeptical) and shaving lather (again, I am dubious, but hopeful). I'm excited to see how both of them have turned out. I bought kits, as I wasn't sure of my desire to purchase a ton of supplies if they were not something I enjoyed doing. If they turn out, I might continue making them in the future.
I have everything I need to make the Brine and Rose Clay soap and the Tea Tree and Charcoal soaps. I am questioning the molds I got for the one soap, but feel pretty comfortable that I can change those. It won't change the soap, just the shape. I wanted to get them made today, but the exhaustion made me doubt the wisdom. I mean after all they both involve lye and being cognizant of my surroundings is a much wiser step.
Hubs and I started to install his birthday present. Evidently, 66 is the year of porcelain. Since we moved into the house the toilet in the man cave has wobbled, but we didn't know wh y. Now we know. They lowered the floor putting in the new laminate flooring. The toilet cannot sit flush, as we pulled it up we discovered it was balanced on a few pieces of metal and a lot of caulk. We'd been toying with changing the flooring down there. Something a bit nicer. It appears we will be needing to do it after all, unless we want the new toilet to float above the floor also.
Both of us were far too tired to deal with it today, Hubs had work to do and I just didn't have the energy. So we will pick up the flooring next weekend, and spend some time on our hands and knees installing the floor (thankfully it is a small, tiny room) and putting in the toilet. Never a dull time here.
We are both keeping busy. It helps. The crafting and creating are helping to create a comfort zone for me. Maybe it's the act of creating something useful? Keeping my hands busy, keeping my heart calm. I don't know. Each tiny bit and piece feels like it is creating a web of strength. I still need it.
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