R4Mwj: 12

Couldn’t sleep. My legs so restless, sharp jolts all through my limbs, arms too, keeping me awake and it’s annoying. No magnesium fizz here, I’m across town, he’s back in the rental, this time sweeter to return to something semi-familiar. Like the farm this last go-round, my fourth visit since, a whole week's dedicated stay, despite all the crazy. The old farmhouse is Crazy's HQ, just begging to be gone. There's an order to efficient madness. Soon, rest assured.

Finally fall asleep and wake up wrapped up. Play, play, pack, coffee-walk. I don’t bring my phone with me. I’m paying but not ordering, so I get to sit outside at a small folding table in the early sun. My eyes focus on ants between the slats, busy on the bricks. Then a tiny spider on a wooden slat, creeping closer. Still waiting in line, he delivers a sprig of rosemary. I rub it between my palms and dab the oil on my pulse points. Slow stroll with a scone I’ll save for salted butter and hot honey. Goodbye and then he’s calling my name; my phone. Errands, boy retrieval, home to turn off the phone. Too much screen time has crept in.

They're happy playing in the cool house with a castle they were ready to donate then changed their minds about. This cardboard castle is the hub for the mythological creatures I collect on their behalf. I recently added a knight and unicorn to the mix, discovered in an Easton toy store. I meditate on the hill where I watered this week by linking 🔗 two hoses.

I was standing up there, seeing the ivy surrounding the clearing, the ivy caked with city dirt, fallen oak leaves and now-useless cobwebs. I wished for a hose long enough to reach. I’ve never watered up here. Never thought about it. Oh — wait. I have two hoses of the same make and this will be fun. Screw them together and the boys help me snake the now-one very long hose up the hill. The ivy loves it and I do too, feeling big movement. I feel very helpful.

Like I clean in a loop inside, through the front half of the house and then around back, I water in a loop outside, going from the hill all the way behind the garage for also the very first time. I went nuts, watering the undersides of the trees, brushing the backs of their teeth.

A storm blew through the farm after I left. A mini twister came down the road and spun onto the land, taking out electrical poles I'd scheduled to bring down, and uprooting a 3/4 dead maple that needed to go. The twister nearly misses the farmhouse, tossing a trunk onto her roof.

While I cannot clear the debris myself, I can rinse the dirty-dry patches that I'd never considered dealing with before they ask me for some TLC.

boys > farm > boys < home < boys