When We Got There

"And when we got there," Jack says, "he was showing me around the house, even though I've already see it before."

He chomps oatmeal, late night fuel after an evening with friends. I lean on the kitchen island.

"Yeah?" I say.

"I think he was trying to get out of doing the cleaning chores," Jack says, "'cause, yeah."

"Been there, done that?" I say, a grin ticklish at the corner of my mouth.

"Yeah," he smiles, a nod wagging his head.

"Hah," I say.

"It's easiest to see your own problems in someone else," he says.

"Yep," I say. So true. I'm an expert on those ones.

Gratitude:

6491. A loom. A hand loom. Wow, what a gift. A dearest friend gifts us a beautiful loom already warped and ready for weaving. Jane spends hours coaxing weft into warp, humbled and filled with resplendent joy at the gift.

6492. Another dear friend passes on a treasure trove of homeschool supplies. She and family drop by one day unannounced, the house asunder with the spindrift of life and school and remodeling, a spectacle.  But everyone just grins and visits and embraces the humanity of it.

6493. A beautiful teapot, the whistling kind with a narrow spout and shiny silver belly sits on our range, queen of the pour over coffee, queen of my morning breakfast.

6494. Craig takes Jane, Lucy, Myra, and Betsy to a father/daughter dance. The boys and I leisure the evening away with another family attending the dance.

6495. Jack greets me Sunday morning, another corner of the house organized and beautified.

6496. I cuddle with Myra before bed this evening, the tiredness of the week melting into the couch.

6497. I picture school with the kids tomorrow and joy fills me. So many small disciplines and I get to share in the formation of them. Like the comforting rhythm of a morning run, I set my heart to their pulse.