Something about this crush I love.
Sometimes I want to leave the house.
It's loud, but full of hugs and fat little thighs, kisses and questions, fights and ripening.
You can't think or stop or clean it up. It won't give in, stop or still.
I never forget that it will be over, this is my turn, but I also dream of it's being over and feeling singular again. A nd then I love again how every minute is a constantly forming and unforming, undulating, pulsing thing, a kaleidoscope's view of these random elements--toys, people, actions, groupings, sounds, moments--making a painting, an experience, that is just this moment's and then is gone, and is also the product of the day before and all the ones before, something permanent being built (our family, it's history, these people's selves, my history and theirs). The very randomness of the passing moment seems sometimes so much more interesting than anything else, and then I'm drowning and I need to go, need them to go to bed. Then I want to see the next minute and not miss one. And then I want to leave. And then I want to come back. And preserve it, try to capture the everyday of it, it's colossal beauty and detail, it's infinite movement. The alchemy of family. Turning this common substance into something of great value.