The Mister’s brother is unhappy at work.  He works for the US Postal Service and is ready to retire but has a few more years of frustrating work ahead of him first.  He put a kibosh on our annual exchange of gift cards for Christmas, a move that we did not necessarily support as we wanted to spread a little cheer and joy his way during the season of giving.

To that end, we decided to send some local beverages his direction; a little wine from the local winery for his wife and some beer from our small town brewery for his enjoyment.  The winery was generous enough to even provide me with a great box that would ship both bottles nicely.  🙂  I got the package ready and The Mister stopped by UPS on his way home from work one day to mail it.  Going through the long list of shipping-related questions, the clerk asked what was in the box.  The Mister told him, “Wine and beer.” To which the clerk responded very coldly, informing The Mister that it is “Illegal!” to ship alcohol.  The Mister, full of holiday cheer, responded by saying, “Then I’ll just come back tomorrow, and there’ll be a vase in the box.”  Ahem.  Probably not the smartest response.  He left, package still in hand.

But when The Mister hears words like, “illegal” he simply translates it into “more challenging”.  What does he do?  He goes to the Post Office!  Of course he does.  He avoids the counter and the same litany of questions and goes to the self-service package area where he happily (and quickly) skips through the screens asking him about what he is shipping, adheres the postage and drops the package in the chute. 

Because that’s what The Mister does.  He sends an illegal package to a disgruntled postal employee. 

(I must add, that thanks to tracking services, The Mister was also able to revel in the delight of this development by noting when exactly the package arrived at his brother’s facility in Cincinnati.  There might be more evil in this man than I originally knew!)

As an elementary teacher, I work with all women.  On a daily basis, I hear all the complaints of mothers young and old.  I hear wives muttering about husbands, women gossiping about friends and mothers sharing frustrations about their children – young and old.  I am a listener in these conversations.  I am a focused, attentive pair of ears attached to a worried heart that wonders, “Will I be complaining soon?  Will my “newlywed years” end soon?  Will my soon to be twenty-something child cause me motherly angst in the coming months or years?  Will I have complaints to offer in future conversations?”  I wonder, and sometimes I worry, but most of the time, I remain silent and grateful.

I love my husband.  I deeply love my husband.  And while I am not nearly naive enough to think he is flawless, I also recognize that my love isn’t in spite of his flaws, but perhaps because of.  Sure, I get frustrated on occasion, but I know that every day, correct that, perhaps every hour, that man forgives me for my flaws.  He doesn’t bring them up.  He doesn’t hold them against me.  He doesn’t remind me of all the areas big and small where I need improvement.  He just loves me.  Deeply.  Every day.

And my child?  I can’t really say “child” anymore.  I know, technically, he’s always my “child”, but he’s a man.  A beautiful, man.  He is thoughtful, respectful, considerate and responsible.  He is making sound choices and shows gratitude on a regular basis for the blessings that surround him.  I absolutely adore the man he is becoming.  And he adores his mother (or he is great at pretending that he does!)

I have this beautiful home, this sweet dog, amazing friends who come for lunch, or for advice, for drinks on the deck or to talk for hours.  I have a good job where I am surrounded by kids who love to hug and giggle.  I have shelves of books and a piano in the family room.  I have money in the bank and two working cars in the garage.  We have a church to go to on Sunday mornings, good jobs to go to during the week, a local farmer’s market to visit each Saturday and a house in the woods to come home to each night.

I am, above all else, so very grateful.

The Mister and I have been talking about the designs for the new garden area.  We are very close to having that area of the yard cleared out and we have lined up a tiller to get the ground ready for a few plants before the season is over (I want to get the strawberry plants we brought from the other house in the ground so they can root up before winter, not to mention the importance of getting rhubarb and asparagus going as soon as humanly possible!)

We have stood out in the dirt and pointed at things and we have laid in bed trying to explain our thoughts on what should go where and how we can add the chicken coop next spring and where exactly the gate will go but in order to get some concrete numbers about lengths of fencing and number of posts, we decided we should draw out the garden design.

So we did:

As you can tell from the drawing, we have a lot of work to do.

(The scariest part of this is that it makes perfect sense to The Mister and me!  We actually clarified a lot of things through this drawing!)

P.S.  Be grateful our school has a full-time art teacher and I’m not responsible for teaching the kids how to draw!

The Mister was working with Big John on the garden area.  They had many stumps to pull out and a few things to burn in the Big Hole In the Ground.  I was around back of the house fighting a beast of a weed in a flower bed.  I heard The Mister yelling – I caught “Eliza!  Come quick!!”  There was more to what he said, but I was already running through the gravel worried that Big John had tipped over or the yard was on fire or The Mister was having a heart attack…

Reaching the front of the house, Big John and The Mister were parked mid-way down the drive way.  The Mister is still yelling, “Eliza!!!  Come here!!!”  but now I hear the rest of the sentence…”and bring your camera!!”

There was a snake, apparently, which The Mister loathes, but since he was up on Big John, he was able to admire from the safety of the yellow tractor seat.

I did not go fetch my camera.  I stood for a moment in the drive thinking, “Are you kidding me?!?!”  But then I returned to the back of the house to let the adrenaline and my emotions regain a normal tempo.  The Mister found me there and offered his sincerest apology.  I don’t think he will scare his wife like that again.

But he would like me to get a picture of the snake.

When The Mister has his hatchet, Flash has the dog and his pocket knife, Flash’s girl has a bowl in hand and I have my camera…what are we doing?  Going on our evening walk!!  The Mister likes to chop down vines and branches that grow over our walking paths.  The Girl likes to pick black raspberries (we all eat more than we put in the bowl); Flash handles the dog (a task that requires extreme alertness as there are rabbits to be chased!) and I try to snap a few photos.