Fields of Green: There is a cure for the summertime blues

I'm in a funk.

Maybe it's the unending heat. Maybe it was the knock-me-flat case of fibromyalgia (which has largely been under control lately) that hit on Wednesday and only relented last night. Maybe it's the fact that my camera has been broken for weeks. Maybe it's our no vacation this summer. Maybe it's my weird inability to remember nothing lately. Maybe it's the fact that my poor garden can't take the heat. Maybe it's that I feel like I can't seem to find a place for everything in our little house. Maybe I need to drink more water.

Maybe I just feel off.

I don't know why, but it seems like every early August I get to feeling like this. Antsy, anxious, feeling like there's so much to do and so little time to do it. I feel a little like the ant in the fable, aware of the fact that winter is lurking in the distance and I need to start packing in before it hits. I know that's ridiculous though, and I want to be a grasshopper. I want to loll about in the grass, to stay up late and sleep later.

I'm also at a bit of a cross-roads. We need, among other things, to make some decisions about the upcoming year, where we're going to focus our time and energies as a family. We need to decide if what we're going to fix up next in the house. I need to decide where I'm going to focus my energy for my part of some income for our family. We're really just surfacing from a long, tiring, stressful year and a half.

It's a bit overwhelming, really. In a very "worried-well-get-over-yourself," kind of way, I know.

I know another large part of it is a bad case of the "if onlys." Ever heard of those? It goes something like this, "If only my camera weren't broken, then I'd be happy." "If only I felt as pain-free as other people, then I could do anything." "If only I had a pretty view out my back windows, then I'd be happy." "If only I had $23450945 to spend on organizational products at Ikea, I would have no stress." "If only I had a yard and space for chickens and a grape vine, man, life would be good."

Here's the thing, though. When "if onlys" do come true, they only make you happy for a little while. Then, just like that Mouse and his cookie, it's just on to the next thing. "If only I had a better camera." "If only I had a studio." "If only my kids weren't so messy." "If only my house were bigger." "If only these stupid chickens didn't poop so much."

The fact of the matter is, real joy is right at my doorstep. Literally, as the case my be, because I've been writing this, I've had to stop twice to madly dash for my camera for hilarity on my doorstep.

Let me back up a bit. My garden, in spite of being stressed by the heat, has had an abundance of tomatoes this weekend. I spent my afternoon chopping and dicing for a homemade tomato sauce. Sweet Pea took a wonderfully long nap, and when she woke, we stood in the kitchen and snacked on sun-warm heirloom purple Cherokee tomatoes, deep red veiny like some kind of funny jellyfish and tasting like sunshine itself. Chocolate aside, I love nothing more than a just-picked tomato with a little salt. We ate them like apples when I was a kid, and it warmed me from my heart to my toes to watch my little one slurping down chunks of tomato like it was her job. She equally loved her first taste of pasta and sauce tonight for dinner, although I was beginning to wonder if it might be too much tomato for her little tummy.

Back to my plethora of tomatoes. I had a little basket of Romas sitting on our bench near the door for the hubby to take to our neighbors. As I typed away, he picked up the kitchen and the baby played on the floor. As my husband picked up the basket to head next door, he laughed out loud, because he looked down to find our little munchkin holding a stolen tomato with a huge bite taken out of the top.

Someone likes tomatoes.

We had our chuckle and he walked outside. The baby kept playing with toys and I kept typing, until, that is, I noticed it was pretty quiet. My sweet husband, Lord love him, had placed the attacked tomato right back down on the bench. (Inner sigh.) The baby had clasped it in her little grip and, just before I could grab it, slow-motion-Matrix-style, she bit down, spraying tomato juice all over my white chair.

I mean, whatever. Serves me right for having white chairs. Although for the record, I got white chairs before I got a baby. I decided to let her go to town, and the poor tomato never had snowball's chance in...well, you know where.

The wreckage.

Two minutes later, she had discovered yet another new game. It's an oldie, but a goodie. The smooshy-face-on-the-screen game.

It really is the little things. These little daily joys that stop me in my woebegone tracks and remind me that life is good, our story is unfolding before my eyes, and God knows what He is doing.