what is the word for horrifying AND hopeful?

I try to write a sentence and trail off thinking about whether I added soy sauce to the grocery list, thinking about what ICE is doing in Minneapolis, thinking about how to juggle lessons and rehearsals and meetings and meals for the week ahead. I check Instagram and think the internet used to be a place we visited, not a place we lived and read another book instead: Long Island, The Accidental Favorite, The Correspondent, just this week. I come back to post and feel paralyzed. The less you care about doing something well, the better your chances of it doing delightedly, of doing it at all? The goal is just to get something recorded before the month is over, if January ever ends. I used to imagine the less important I became to my children, the more adept I might feel at doing other things besides mothering, like writing. Hush little inner critic, don't say a word.

Hank's friends gathered for hot chocolate and Young Sheldon and crochet last night. One girl does not knit but enjoys untangling knots. They'd likely include her regardless, but I admire the group's celebration of her useful, engaged participation.

Recently I've wished the whole world could watch Wonder, or be reminded of the way redwoods collaborate to share water, spreading resources to help the entire forest survive hardships like drought or fire. I can't make anyone abide the precept "choose kind" or take heart the parable about hogging all the water, but I can marvel at the way those things work.

In the bleak midwinter, I'm looking for ebullient colors and divine textures, making a very concerted effort to source joy in every possible way. Tucker got an electric guitar for Christmas and I finally understand, from him, some of the nuances. Also now I like to refer to my favorite old quilt, the one that does not plug in, as my acoustic blanket. Tuck humors me.

After a long day at school last week, Tucker sat at the counter and water colored for hours, chatting the whole time. He revisited a photo he'd taken in Wales as inspiration, our view from the top of Carn Ingli. While he painted he told us about the sheppey, the unit of length defined as the closest point at which sheep remain picturesque (approx 7/8 of a mile, fyi). He mixed colors on a clear plastic lid, creating blues and greens that felt very refreshing, like in a spearmint specific way. After at least three sessions, Tuck's painting is finished and on the fridge now, waiting for just the right frame, sparking delight.

Oh, these boys are my absolute favorite hopeful story. The daily tenderness, the ordinary suffering, the stubborn faithfulness, the full complexity, may it all be reflected here.

Boston!

Part of the boys' holiday gift was a trip to Boston to see the world premiere of the new musical Wonder, based on a book all three of them enjoyed. The show was incredible -- super talented cast, terrific music and a timely, timeless message: choose kind.
Hank was so overcome by emotion that I was not the only one sobbing at the standing ovation, and Tolliver begged to go back again the next night.

We spent hours at Harvard's Museum of Natural History, glad to be there for Blaschka's glass models of plants but captivated by so many things. Tucker carried around a clipboard, examining insects as if he were trying to create one himself.

At the New England Aquarium the boys were fascinated by the elephantnose fish in the African river exhibit, and by the penguins playing with an errant infant pacifier. 

A quick walk through the Collection of Historical Scientific Instruments allowed Tolliver's humor to shine, magnifying fart jokes and "teaching" Harvard's hardest course, Math 55, covering his take on something like "advanced calculus with quantum geometry and theoretical algebra."

The big draw at Boston's Museum of Fine Arts were Homer Winslow's paintings, mostly of trout and fisherman and seashores, but the collection of musical instruments grabbed our attention too.

We walked a lot and wore several layers against the wind, stepping on the Freedom Trail in a few spots and stopping in Faneuil Hall and the public library. We also had the opportunity to define words like phallic and erected to Hank, who did not understand why his brothers were laughing next to Paul Revere's grave.

You never know how a little getaway might lead to a chapter in some bigger story, be it watercolors or musical theater, entomology or conservation, capacity for imagination or education... but none of us will be surprised when one day in the future there's a string that ties back to this trip in some way.