You know you've hit a noticeable dry spell when your blog-avoiding better half asks if you've up and quit. (Much to my surprise, Nate has finally admitted to logging on once or twice. I think.) My reply was no, not at all. I just don't want to be one of those writers who feels the need to jot down every. single. detail. of every. single. day. It's too time-consuming, and besides, every day of the past month would have read something like: "Evan had chicken nuggets and (insert apples, oranges, or grapes here _____) for lunch and watched (insert Bedknobs and Broomsticks, Toy Story, or Pete's Dragon here _________)." I'm all for rejoicing in the little things and the day-to-day, but tracking meals and movies is downright monotonous in this house.
And honestly, I don't like writing that's not a little fun, a little sassy. It's just not me. But for the past few weeks, I simply couldn't do it. (Under deadline, I would've faked it brilliantly, but that's the great thing about writing for yourself--no deadlines.)
For the first half of October, I was caught in a just-can't-get-out-of-it funk, for reasons I'd rather not mention right now. Sometimes life hands you lemons; the early part of this month brought a bumper crop. But frustrating and disheartening as it's been under the surface, we turned it into a heck of a lot of lemonade, thanks to an unheard-of, all-caps GORGEOUS Indian Summer that sent us outdoors every single day. It takes real effort to be in a rotten mood when the sun is shining. And it's not like I could bury my head under the covers and tell Evan it looked like rain, so we couldn't go to the field today. The nearest cloud was at least three states away.
We were taking a shake-it-off, after-school drive in the country one afternoon about two weeks ago when I realized life wasn't as sour as it had seemed lately. You know the old "Beer is proof that God loves us and wants us to be happy" quote attributed to Benjamin Franklin? I thought of that. Not because I like beer (hate the stuff), but because the sky was so dazzlingly blue and the trees were take-your-breath-away gorgeous--crimson and gold and completely alive and on fire in the breeze and the sunshine--that I replaced "beer" in Ben's quote with days like today. It was one of those moments when you pause, look up, and have a silent conversation with The Man. Yeah, okay. I get it. Things could be worse, it'll all work out for good, and in the meantime, don't waste this beautiful day you've made for us. I have a lot of those running conversations.
Then I took Evan to a pumpkin patch, where he asked to watch Bedknobs and Broomsticks about 30 times in the 15 minutes I encouraged (okay, made) him look for a good pumpkin, and I was on my way back.
From then on out, it was a glorious month. Beds weren't made until just before they had to be slept in again, dishes weren't done until I needed them for that night's dinner, toys weren't picked up until Evan was sound asleep, and laundry was...well, to be honest, it's still not done. And you know what? It was worth it. We reveled in impromptu football field games, made trips to every apple orchard within a 20-mile radius, hung out with our best friends, and downed chocolate milkshakes at least every other day. (Which is good, because Mrs. Curl closed for the season today. Don't tell Evan.)
Below, some of our lemonade moments, from what is still my favorite month of the year.
Because even though all of our days aren't great, and some are downright discouraging...
As Evan likes to say, "We're buddies."
And we're in this together.
And sometimes, you just gotta look on the bright side, juice the lemons that come your way (or tuck 'em in your bra--can't hurt, might help!), add five cups of sugar, and...
...do a back-double-tuck-with-a-twist in the leaves.
Beautiful photographs, beautiful mom, beautiful boy. Indiana falls cannot be beat. I think that being grateful for the day is one of the most important things we can teach our children. And you are definitely doing it by example.
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