Reset With Snot

It was the picking crusty snot off of her button nose that suddenly grabbed my attention. I’d been pouting. Unable to see the light. I was unable to think of anything nice to say or do. I was pulled down by the need to get “things” done and never able to get them done.

One of the crew had to run two laps around the house this morning to shake out of a jaw jutting pout. I should have joined in. 

I feel like nothing is getting done and everything is more important than my non-existent plan.

I didn’t brush my teeth until 5:30 p.m. yesterday. Showering was not an option. Hair brushed? Not even close. And today, there are still flecks of beet juice slapped across my leg from the juicing experiment that crashed to the floor at 7:00 a.m. this morning.

 The truth is. Everything is happening and I was missing it with madness.

I knew I needed to reset. Crusty snot pushed reset.

A little girl has a cold and she needs me to take away her snot. She can’t do that yet. She needs me to talk and sing to her and watch her swing her legs around working on a roll. She needs me to be ready when she is hungry and ready when she is tired and there in the in between to walk and talk and sing and laugh and show her this world.

And Amelia hunts for something outside. She is certain she can find something unique. She finds a leopard moth, identifies it with her butterfly book, and discovers the yellow stripe makes it a male. And George Wilder writes about his discovery that a pond is a specific habitat with layers of animal and plant life. And William dives into the pool making up games and singing along. I’m there to read and encourage and discuss and ask questions.

The afternoon fast approaches. A senior in high school from Georgia is here deciding between Emory and FSU. She is a musician. She is a violinist. She joins us with mother and friend for a chat. She plays a piece from an opera and the eerie glorious sounds fill the house and the children sit mesmerized. It isn’t bluegrass. They know that.

And before the lasagna is done, another visitor walks through the door. She is with 4H and we will discuss how Amelia and George Wilder can get involved.

And while she is here, our Friday afternoon team shows up to work in the gardens.

And in the midst of this, one of George’s students needs paper’s signed and we chat and talk and laugh and smile.

And before bed, my sweet friend from Georgia arrives for the weekend. Perfect timing.

And Saturday morning Amelia took her produce to the farmers market. She has asked us for years for a booth and she finally sits there patient and waiting for buyers and happily selling and trading with vendors.

If I wanted something different, I was crazy. This is what we have worked to create. This is why the kids are here with us everyday, learning and growing and asking questions. This is us.


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