I am at my parents' idyllic Tennessee home in the woods. Butterflies perform their swooping dances over fields waving their tasseled grasses at the sky. Garden beds overflowing the brilliant blossoms bring the bees, wasps, and all manner of winged majesties. At night the fireflies illuminate the woods with their blinking, magical messages.
I am barricaded inside, watching this grandeur from the windows. After a few short days where I stayed out of the fields and woods, I am overwhelmed with tick bites, chigger bites, mosquito bites, and the like. At night I am a miserable mess, and in the morning I scratch myself red and puffy.
"You don't always get everything you hope for" Small Sun wisely tells me, as I moan in my bed.
"You kind of sound like a baby" Sprout tells me moments later.
They are wise children. They speak truth.
I am a baby, and wishing won't make my bites disappear.
The children are having two weeks of quintessential American summer.
Small Sun's been busy working on the tree house with Dad. This morning I pulled my head out from under my pillow to see him getting clothes for himself and his brother. "We've got work to do" he explained, as I questioned why he was up so early.
We've worked in Mom's garden, and found a clutch of snake eggs buried in the soil. Tonight we'll grill hamburgers on the fire that Small Sun has been tending all afternoon, with potatoes in foil in the embers, and s'mores to top us off.
Back home The Captain is living in a house where one side is filled with boxes and furniture and save our bed in the master bedroom, the other side is entirely, absolutely empty while painting and new floors are underway. He is working extra to fill the spaces that we normally take, and I think we have the richer part of this bargain.