two days. two stories.

 

Yesterday I dropped my phone.

On a rock.

Without a case.

It’s my own fault.  I like the phone case-less.  I’ve been warned. One bazillion and three times by friends and family and strangers.  “Get a case,” they said.  “It’s too big of a risk,” they said.  I’ve had a case handed to me actually.  I put it on my phone in their presence to appease their concern.  (Sorry Sarah and Brian.)  And then I removed it.

It’s been just fine for a good long run.  A really good long run.

But yesterday I was helping my son carry water out for the chickens.  I was about to run an errand so I had my wallet and my phone in my hand.  And then, I only had my wallet in my hand.

What I found to be most interesting about the phone dropping is how little I care.  I remember when I first met King Solomon.  (That was what I named my iPhone upon its entrance into my life.)  It is straight up embarrassing to think about how excited I was for that slab of technology.  (My current iPhone reincarnation bears no name, by the way.)

The corner of the phone is pretty cracked.  It’s making yellowish spots on the screen.  At first, phone calls wouldn’t go through at all.  It felt like a dream to me actually.  My idea of a perfect phone.  One that only accepts texts and does not allows phone calls!  (I’m sorry, friends.  I just don’t adore chatting on the phone.  It’s definitely not you.  It’s me.)  The “a” button doesn’t always work and the photos are wonky – sometimes  working, sometimes not.  Yesterday not all.  Today alright.

That was yesterday.

Today, the kids and I revved up our engine and trekked it over to the ocean.

(That was the least smooth topic shift ever.  Eh.  I’m about as worried about that unprofessional bit of writing as I am about my cracked phone.)

We drove cross-state to the ocean because my friend invited us.  And one of the lovely perks of homeschool is the portability of it all.  Load up your books, make your lists, pack the colored pencils in right beside the peanut butter and jelly and candy corn leftovers and hit the road.  Listen to an audio book in the car.  Narrate your literature as you drive.  Recite math facts along the interstate.  Half of your school day is completed as you pass through the curves to the flat land and palm trees.

 

 

It was windy and overcast when the sandy shore was finally under our feet, but not a one of the nine children we’ve gathered here care a bit.

All afternoon it was, “Momma, I’ve got something to show you and something to tell you.”  Pruney fingers clasped tightly around seashells and outstretched hands with a bounty of ocean treasure.  Tide pools and hermit crabs and how fortunate that this term we are reading the lovely story of Pagoo – the life of a hermit crab.  Suddenly there were dozens of Pagoos all around us to study and to stand in awe of – a book’s pages come to life.

 

 

Now the children are sleeping (or pretending it’s so) and who knows what adventure awaits us tomorrow.  Will we find more hermit crabs?  A jelly fish perhaps?

Maybe the alarm clock function on my phone will be whacked out and I can blame sleeping late on the crack in it.

 

 

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