falling apart a bit...

Well that whole day-is-over-when-the-sun-goes-down lasted a good few days. But every day it is getting darker so much earlier! So it was nice while it lasted. We'll still light candles in the evening. And Saturday night we lit the biggest candle of them all: the wood stove. It was the first fire of the season and there is nothing like it. That radiant heat is so good. Warms you all the way through.

In other news, I fell apart today.

I'm not completely sure why, but I have lots of ideas. And I'm pretty sure this has to do with that female spaghetti brain thing. Because none of these are related, and yet because I am living them, all of them are related.

I woke up this morning and told Rory that I needed to have our anniversary do-over date on the calendar so I have something to look forward to. He said he can't think more than a few days ahead or he is filled with anxiety, so he couldn't commit to anything. I get that. He has so many details to oversee right now and the stress load around here is very high. But I just wanted the date on the calendar. I'm afraid it will get lost in the mix.

We were supposed to be in St. Louis this weekend, resting by my aunt and uncle's pool. I was really looking forward to the undivided family time. It was a great disappointment to have to cancel.

Our kittens have a bad habit of climbing into the warm engine of our cars and then not getting out when they hear us loading up. I tragically killed two kittens in this horrific way just as I was to leave for a homeschool meeting at the beginning of the month. It was as awful as it sounds. Actually, more awful than you can imagine. And then this Thursday Rory told me casually that the black kitten, my favorite one and the most friendly, was in his truck engine when he left for Menards and he had already buried it in the ground. I cried and cried for that kitten. Rory is on overload, and his waffle-iron brain had already ran the equation: kitten in engine--> kitten's fault--> farm cats are not pets--> move on to next thing. But my spaghetti brain had eruptions at every site. The death of my favorite kitten tipped the scale for me.

And then this morning my goat wouldn't let me milk her. I made a mistake earlier this week and haven't been able to milk her ever since. It's sad. I'm so frustrated with myself.

So when we got to church a friend asked how I was and right there in the parking lot I began bawling like a baby. And I never really got it together. I wasn't certain exactly why I was crying. Mostly I think I am exhausted. I made a stupid little sight sitting there through all the songs, blowing my nose and wiping my eyes.

And I know these things are all just half of the truth. The other half is good and filled with goodness. Saturday we had another amazing work day. My folks and friends from church all came out on Saturday. Even a friend who had more damage on her property than we had on our own. She just wanted to help someone else for a while. A couple from the Catholic church came to help us, as well as three high school sisters who go to a Lutheran church in town. We had never met these volunteers before and they came and spent their Saturday chainsawing, hauling and building community on our farm. It was so good. Community feels so good.

And our farm is looking better and better. The helping hours logged are truly remarkable. We are grateful.

And this is true: We will celebrate our anniversary another time, we will reschedule our family vacation, kitten deaths really do suck and Darcy will eventually let me milk her again. It may just be in a year after she has her next babies. And I also can stop eating donuts. Because I ate many on Saturday and I think part of this mess of moods is due to a flat out sugar/gluten crash. But it's hard to turn down donuts when you're battling disappointment.

So that's the latest. I'll be fine. Somehow this experience has stirred up murky waters inside. I've had neighbors say the same thing and Rory and I feel it too. There's a general un-ease and sorrow hanging about. And we rejoice that all were kept safe and that our homes were kept from harm. But for some reason it still feels bad. And sad. Which is why I need to go to bed now.

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