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Everyone resting up.
I woke up yesterday with big plans. The weather was going to be gorgeous, especially for mid-winter. I was hoping to chop and stack a little more wood that I hadn’t gotten to before Henry was born, wanted to play outside with the girls, had a run scheduled, needed to push another round bale in for the horses and toyed with the idea of riding. So, I hopped out of bed, got my chores done and was on the way to the kitchen, carrying our big baby boy upstairs (turns out there is a risk of having colossal children, haha) when I didn’t quite get my foot on the tread right and managed to tear my calf muscle with a nasty sounding pop.
Well, there went my plans.
Jack got me one of those extendo-grabby things so I can play with the girls without even getting off the couch!

After making sure I didn’t land on Henry (which I didn’t–a mother’s protective instinct is amazing!), I did a personal inventory and made sure I wasn’t dying. With Jack’s help, I crawled back to bed, cried about my misfortune and got myself dressed so I could go to Urgent Care where they could tell me what I already knew: I was hurt and I’d have to keep off my feet for a while.


Thank goodness for darling, doting Jack and four fantastic children. Though an injury is never ideal (why couldn’t it have been an arm???), the timing was somewhat reasonable. Jack has taken charge of running the household while I lay on the couch, about as useful as a sack of potatoes. He’s been cooking, changing diapers, breaking up fights, drawing baths, getting the girls to do their chores and they’ve all been waiting on me hand and foot. Though he doesn’t do it the way I would–Henry’s been dressed backwards with the shoes on the wrong feet or the dishwasher hasn’t been loaded the way I do–I am grateful to have a break so I can heal. On top of my wonderful family, many, many friends have offered to serve and have laughed with me about the ridiculous way in which I got hurt (why couldn’t it have been a cool story about riding a horse instead of being a klutz on the stairs?). There are so many who are willing to keep hoein’ and goin’ for me when I can’t.

In a round about and strange way, being injured reminds me that I am a lucky girl.
At least Henry’s a happy boy! Anyone want a hug?

I already feel myself getting restless, but I have plans to work on those items on my list that I might otherwise be overlooked because I don’t slow down often enough to do them. Perhaps I’ll pen a card to a faraway friend, teach my daughters to cross stitch or finish editing the next novel.

Maybe this won’t be as bad as I think.

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True stories of raising children, remodeling, braving the elements and plotting out life, all while living on a humble acreage in central Indiana.

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