I have been so in the depths of despair. I may even be suffering from some sort of personality disorder which causes me to only blog when I can think of something
And everything is really fine.
I am truly glad it's summer break. Friday I had 17 kids (counting my four, but still) swarming our property. Friday night we entertained around our firepit. Saturday I cried out CABIN FEVER and was excited to go on the jaunt through neighboring farm communities while we ostensibly sought garage sales.
Sunday we celebrated Father's Day in the way the EGE most likes: staying home. Well, we didn't stay home exactly, but we didn't get in the car either. We walked to church. Sarah treated the entire family to ice cream after we walked to the General Store. Madeleine baked a carrot cake. We walked to a neighbor's for sitting-on-the-lawn time. The EGE installed a new latch on the chicken run gate.
Today I put Laura down for her morning nap, fixed breakfast for the big girls, and then spent more than an hour in my garden, pulling suspicious seedlings and watering while the horses hung over the garden fence, perplexed at my inattention. I fed the animals (horses included) and watered the flowers out front. I didn't even take my phones with me, so you know I was seeking some peace and quiet.
More than quiet, I am looking for that lost peace. I know I put it somewhere, but I can't quite think where. Was it in the garden? Up at the school? Or, I know, buried in the flotsam and jetsam of the Suburban floor.
There is nothing wrong. So why does it feel like I'm making lemonade?