The material is in constant flux.
The ideas revised.
The testing constant.
The passion permeable.
They sent cardboard and duct tape home with Noah. He brought his design the next morning. (Noah is a high school senior and hangs out with the kids in the mornings before school.)
I'm stepping over airplanes while I cook dinner. I'm picking them out of my front shrubs. I'm closing the sliding door to the balcony five hundred and eighteen times each evening because they are too excited to measure the flight path and forget to pull it closed. My parking spot in the garage has become littered with duct tape and scissors and rulers and plans that resemble blueprints designed by a seven and eight year old.
If I'm ugly honest, there's a part of me that just wants to be rid of the mess.
But the richest living happens in the mess.
This kind of passion isn't ignited by adults (or babysitters) who care too much about tidiness. This creativity isn't spurred by sitting at the table and cleaning up each mess before the test, before the revision. This engagement doesn't exist if neatness is more important than pressing through failures.
So I chose to live in the mess of Airplane Insanity (which is what we've come to term this phase). Because I know it is in the mess that good stuff happens. It's true for my own living and exploring and creating. So I'm giving them space to discover within the mess.
(And a plastic tote... so they can also learn to contain the mess in order to provide space for more ideas to grow without the clutter.)
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