milk and honey

It’s been too long since I’ve been able to write.  No word on the burglar, so I’m hoping we’ve seen and heard the last of his doings. Dad is out of town for two days and the thought of an overnight here alone is unsettling. But what can you do? We read Psalm 16 for school this morning and I decided I’d read it again before bed. I’ve accepted my death as the natural consequence of being born into the world. I will pay my wage like everybody else.

Mondays for some reason tend to ask for slower days. The week has a rhythm just like monthly and yearly seasons and my daughter and I had a classic case of the Monday “blahs”.  Having a preteen girl in the house, I’m interested to see whether or not these rhythms continue to sync up over time.  I grew up with sisters very close in age, and while I remember hearing of girls syncing cycles, I don’t remember if, when, or how often it happened.

Art was the therapy for yesterday’s blah case, which was actually just a signal to take time, slow down, rest, and replenish.  I’ve had a moon poster crinkled up downstairs in a schoolroom corner that I haven’t wanted to get rid of, but haven’t known what else to do with till now.  I don’t know why, but I love the moon, and have been wanting at the very least to learn the eight basic moon phases with my kids. It’s often the useless knowledge that brings the most joy.

(In which case, then, I would argue, it’s not useless.)

Hobby Lobby had wooden coasters that I bought a few weeks ago, thinking they’d be good for something. We cut the bottom off the poster and then cut and cut some more.

Then we took Modge Podge to glue the paper to the coasters.

It also served as a gloss for each side.

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By the time we were done we could see the eight phases.

We’d been able to make both a memory and tool.

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