This was the view from the back porch of our cabin near Hot Springs, Arkansas.
Those woods are lovely, aren’t they? They totally sucked me in.
Daddy suggested that the kids watch a movie in the cabin during our afternoon rest time. Oh no, I insisted. We need to walk on the trail through these lovely woods first.
We’re tired, and it’s 95 degrees out, Dad persisted, with maddening rationality. I glared at him. I do *not* want my children sitting inside watching a movie when we could be walking through the woods.
I’m not always responsive to rationality.
So we hiked. And it was really freaking hot. By the time we found ourselves beside the little stock pond watching a crew of day-old baby ducks hanging out in the shade, I had come around to his point of view. But the ducks proved to be a bigger draw than a movie in air-conditioning, and it took a good while to get the kids back to the cabin. Meanwhile, my handsome husband sat calmly in the grass, herding our children away from the steep pond edge, ignoring the Arkansas sun pounding on us, and smiling at me without malice.
And this is one of the big reasons I love him: he’s not the “I told you so” type.
It was just as well, because I got mine later. And am still getting it.
Ticks. Horrible little blood-sucking arachnids. The buggers have been crawling on me for two days. I found my first two while cooling off in the cabin. I crushed them and immediately took a hot shower and put on fresh clothes. That night I woke up to the feel of one crawling on my neck. I crushed it, and took a long, hot bath the next morning and put on clean clothes.
And just now I found another dang tick on my ankle. So I’m going to go take another shower. And put on an outfit from my dwindling supply of clean clothes.
Rest assured that the kids and husband are tick-free. This is all on me.
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