friday night i climbed between cold bed sheets at the embarrassing hour of seven-forty-five. i'd promised books to L, so she fattened up her pillow and read me some junie b, boss of lunch and not even her icicle toes on my kneecaps could keep me conscious for long.
it'd been a long week, hard but plenty good.
the kidfolk started school on thursday with all the drama of clouds clapping thunder and an extra-late bus, but they were mostly chill with just a salting of first-day fervor. even little m, trying on academia for the very first time, didn't seem one bit nervous: his experience in life is that people love him. he shows up someplace, he's a big hit. this kindergarten thing was cake.
so then it was just me and my over-creamered coffee and the most productive day i'd had all summer. [side note: it's miraculous how much one can accomplish when you're not haggling with a six year old over every line item of the day's proposed agenda.]
and right when i got to the afternoon ache of missing my kids, they scooted back home again for cookie bars and first day homework. i love these folks.
speaking of love, somewhere between age sixteen and thirty five, i've grown an earnest crush on nearly all things vegetable. most summers i stake up a tomato plant or two (that plus crabgrass are the only things that don't wither and die at the sight of me), but this year things were a wee bit hectic and i never quite managed it.
luckily for us, we are friends with people who have gardens of such grand scale that just stepping over the rectangles of fencing wire heralds us back to an era mid-jurassic. we showed up at the first blush of tomatoes a couple saturdays back, when the banana peppers were in full chorus. there's something about breathing the earthy tang of all that loam and leaves, sun spilling early on your shoulders, that feels just right for cracking open the day.
apparently my love language is produce.
and now i am off to tackle another kilimanjaro of house/missions/etsy work. have a gorgeous, tomato-filled monday, my friends.
On Frogs and Living
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