It's been a rough couple of weeks around here at the T house. Without going into the rotten little details, let's just say that there's been a lot of saltwater flowing around here.
The crazy thing with families is that one little leak in the boat drags you all down. Moods spread like a congtagion, infecting even the smallest members. Joy, sorrow, anger, despair, fear--it's a match striking flint.
If we didn't live in the Rocky Mountains, I'd swear the Santa Ana winds were blowing--people are acting that loony. Miss D. sleepwalks, wanders into our room, makes a new bed on the cold tile of the bathroom. Miss M. has 2,3,4 a.m. terrors, shreiking into the night, remembering none of it the next day.
Even our little Lore is feeling the sting, and I wouldn't have her happiness blighted for the world. When the sparkle goes out of those pale green eyes, something needs fixing. Our family is slowly re-trenching, trying to take great care with each other, because that's what you do with raw wounds.
When the going gets tough, I make food. I'm not particularly good with people. I always feel like I'm in pitch black, fumbling for the lightswitch. But feeding people, I can do.
We're thirsty here, but boy, we're coming up dry. Nobody's got much of an appetite, so I'm focusing on simple pleasures that might lighten us up and catapult us out of this mood. I decided that nobody can feel bad eating a cool, succulent wedge of watermelon, so that's what I cut into yesterday afternoon. And this is the first thing I saw.
The world works in nutty ways. Sometimes it flings us completely on our ass, but we soldier through and prop each other up. We hold on and straighten shoulders and whisper quietly that it really is okay. And it is.
Happy 4th of July to you and yours. Hug them tight.