Saturday, September 8, 2012


It could be defined as a sunny 73 degree, low humidity, slightly breezy day, especially when it comes after five hot, sticky, stormy days.  It's a day that says, "Throw open those three windows in your entire house that actually do open."

So I did.  And then I went outside to mow the fields.  Three full hours in that beautiful weather.  That sun and breeze is so, so good at whisking away all of the stressful, unhappy thoughts clogging my brain.


One definition is a field full of colorful butterflies, which take to the breeze when my Dixie Chopper and I buzz by.  There were so many monarchs that it reminded me of our first year in this house.  Somehow, I think the monarchs took a different route in their migration south.  I was sitting on the porch while the kids played in the yard.  Every time a gust of wind blew up, what I thought was leaves came off the trees and fluttered and flew.  It took several times for me to realize that the "leaves" weren't drifting to the ground, but were in fact floating back onto the trees.  I walked down and saw that the trees were covered with monarchs.  I called the kids down, and we stood underneath, waiting for the next breeze.  When it finally came, a slow-moving tornado of monarchs drifted down and surrounded us.  The kids were squealing, thrilled to have all of these beautiful creatures fluttering around them.  I might have let out a bit of a happy squeal myself.  The butterflies only stayed for that one afternoon, and we haven't seen that many since.  But the number of monarchs out in the field today certainly brought back a wonderful memory.


After being outside for three hours, I came inside to find that Hubby spent the entire time working.  Laundry was folded and put away.  Floors were swept.  Dishes were washed.  Clutter was put away.  And the best part?  Everyone was in a "Let's play and get along" mood.  That is certainly one great definition.


I also define it as handling a potentially bad situation in a good way, especially when it's a parenting situation.  A parent receives an email from a teacher that her child was having serious, and I mean really serious, difficulty in Spanish class.  And that Spanish rotation is over, so there is no way to improve the grade.  And the email is long, and basically tells the parent that the child didn't even try and came up with stories about why she couldn't study at home.  A parent who has never received an email like this about one of her children may hit the roof.  I know I wanted to.  Fortunately, the child wasn't home when I received my email, because I probably would have.  I had a whole night to sleep on it and mull the situation over.

This morning, I asked Hubby to give me all the Spanish words he knew.  All I had was si and mi casa su casa.  Hubby responded with, "burrito and chimichanga".   (Side note:  Hubby took the very difficult yet completely useless Latin in high school.)  Apparently, I was going to have to go to Plan B.

The child came downstairs this morning while I was making breakfast.  I simply looked at that child and said, "Hola.  No habla Espanol?"

I got a completely blank stare.

Me:  "No habla Espanol?"

Child:  "I have absolutely no idea what you are trying to say to me."

Me:  "Well, that explains the email."

We went on to have a perfectly calm, productive conversation about the difficulties of Spanish and what is going to happen to deal with them. 


What would your definition be?

Have a beautiful day!

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