I've been feeling a little down the last 4 or 5 days because I somehow managed to put a major crink in my back last week. Most likely due to the shoveling and moving that I've been putting into this:
My back has hurt. Bad. The kind of hurt that actually made me tear up a little bit every now and then, not because of the pain, but because it has kept me from doing anything. Or so it has felt. I know that isn't the case, but I've given in to a little bit of self pity.
This morning, since I couldn't work in the garden, I used my early morning time to put away some laundry and linens. As I was folding (no sir-ee, I do not iron before I put these things away, I like the rumpled look) I glanced down and had a little double take.
When Dustin and I started our little family, I had dreams of being surrounded by the signs of our years together at the end of our lives. Little pockets of stories and creativity and kids and food and games and friends and good times wherever you turn. Obviously some hard times, but mostly good.
Our little family is still young, but look-it's happening.
And now, my back doesn't hurt quite so badly.