So I let the house go and …

I got the job.

I found out today that the teacher whose place I am taking will not get her job back until next year.

Good for the money, the benefits, and the stability.

Bad for the homeschooling, the writing, and shrugging off The Man.

I’m too tired to think. My brain hurts from wondering … should we start making payments again? Should we let the house go and pay off other debts? What about the little ones? Should I enroll them in school too?

All the while I’m shouting instructions to 3o-some froshes about vocab tests and blah, blah, blah.

And what should I cook for dinner?

Looks like Swedish Hotcakes is on the menu, girls, since Mom forgot to pull the meat out.

I decided to not think about it. When I got home, I told the girls to get dressed and we went for a walk.

There was that autumn mist with the sun boldly singing above it. The mountains bathed in smoky blues and purples. The grass deadened and ressurected in golden halos.

I listened to the girls chatter about their day. Laughed at Dagne sprinting everywhere in her pink cowboy boots and her jean mini skirt.

Then I think,  she doesn’t have a single pair of jeans that fit her. She’s been tucking her high-waters into boots for about two months now. I’ve been skating by because, who cares? She can wear dress-up all day.

But if she goes to school I’ll have to get her looking respectable again. Do her hair, dress her right, and make sure she’ll be protected from the cruelty of the schoolyard.


I’m not thinking about all that right now.

It’ll be okay. Relax. So you’ll get her some clothes. Big deal. At least you can afford to now. Be thankful. Be thankful for it all.

I’m thankful for my girls and their health. I’m thankful for they’re sweet trusting ways. For work and a steady income and one decision made.

I’m thankful for choices and opportunites. For Swedish Hotcakes and hungry girls sitting at the bar chirping like baby robins for food. For a honey that calls and tells me I’m sexy all the time.

For my friend Heather who recommended me for the job even when it meant losing hers. And invites me for homecooked dinners when we’re bach-ing it together.

For my friend Robin who comments on Harris icons — like clogs, cast iron, and bacon fat to help me remember who we are.

For parents that pray for me and support me always.

For health. For strength. For possibilities still awaiting.

Thank you, God.