Less is More

The activity flood has arrived. Transitional childcare meets housing upgrade meets Fall honey harvest meets flock increase meets school holidays meets family dysfunction meets neglected geezer self-care meets all the miscellania attached to all those sets of etceteras.

Are we crazier than usual yet? My goal of the week has shaped into doing as little as humanly possible. *just* directing traffic is quite enough to keep me over-worked and feeling every mile of my 65 years.

The new double wide is set far enough that we got to go inside and play yesterday evening. Wandering through those wide open spaces made this little wreck of a house feel all the more cramped and over-furnished, but with relief in sight, the piles and clutter feel less intrusive. The visitation demands of the lawyer lovers down south remain mysteriously silent, but I find myself hoping that the children will be able to spend next week's vacation days watching the new house come together. Just hoping. . . Letting God lead the dance. For sure, I'd rather stir up a rat's nest than a lawyer's nest. I suspect not even God knows what to expect out of a lawyer's nest.

Big Sis seems to be recovering nicely from her allergy scare. Her lower lip is heavily damaged from the skin stretching far further than Nature intended, but the swelling is gone and the surface damage is contained. The doctor has cleared her for going back to school today. We see what grows.

My belly is still throbbing like a continual reminder that I have been neglecting self-care since the start of this Shit Storm Season back in June, nearly two months before the children arrived in August. Ouchie gam. . . Less is, indeed, more in the pain department. Just breathing. . . My literal shit is still moving smoothly and united, so the self-care I have managed is holding to a functional degree, but. . . Ouch. Working to be extra gentle with myself as I navigate the chaos. I find myself praying for some music therapy time. Should I continue calling ^it^, "Music Therapy?" That term has come to mean listening to music. My music therapy isnae a spectator sport. For now, that linguistic SNAFU isnae even getting past my busted give-a-damn. I crave some time speaking my first language, spectator free. Just hoping. . .