The Middle

Maybe it's February.

Maybe something needs to change.

Maybe I need a break.

Whatever it is, I've been in a funk.

But you know what's been pulling me out of it?  A post on another blog.  Not this one, although Glennon never fails to make me want to high-five her.  Not this one either, despite being caught by Mike in a teared-up snuggle with Sophie the other day, having a moment similar to what Liz describes.

Nope.  The one that has been helping me dig out of my grumpy hole is this one, a Young House Love post from November.  There was a link to it in their recent post about choosing a rug for their little girl's bedroom.  Yeah, if you're not familiar, this is a home decorating blog.  Probably not the most likely place to find the antidote to my winter blahs, but it helped.

Here's where my mind went with this.  In the YHL post, Sherry was addressing the question of how she and her husband manage to get through designing and decorating a room without losing faith that they're heading in the right direction.  Her response: "Because (sing it with me): the middle makes no sense."  As rooms they're working on come together slowly over time, things can look a little off until all of the elements are in place.  Although they question their choices along the way, ultimately they keep heading toward their vision, knowing "the middle makes no sense."

I plan to keep this in mind in our home improvement endeavors of the future, but I'm finding that mantra helpful right now when I think about all the awkward, anxious middles in my life.

Michael and Sophie are growing out of their cribs, perhaps their shared room.  But right now we're living in the middle...which makes me think of a post of my own on the topic, actually.

Speaking of our house, middle.

And teaching?  Oy.  The middle never ends, and that's not hyperbole.  New standards and goals are adopted and inflicted and criticized and changed long before the "big reveal" is even on the horizon.  Curriculum is ever-changing, as I believe it should be, but in my twelve years of teaching I have never been able to shake the desire for one school year to look just like the last.  You really have to have a stomach for the middle in this field.

And I guess that's true about all of life's awkward, anxious transitions:  they never end.  Even when you think you're solidly in it, life moves you out of a moment.  You grow older, your kids start walking, dust accumulates, life does what it does...it goes on.

I guess you have to have a stomach for that as well.  And a good camera.

But for now I'm going to trust the vision, believe we're headed in the right direction.  If not, I guess we'll redecorate.