The fields and barns gave way to houses closer to the road, the boys hushed in the back seat, the road curved through this Sunday drive on a Friday afternoon kind of town, and that’s when the tears hit my face, all hot and crocodile-sized.

School let out at noon today and I was still in my pajamas enjoying a Friday off work when the bus dropped off. There were dishes to wash, toys to put away, and we needed to decide what grand adventure we’d fall into for the afternoon.

And that’s when the tears hit his face, all hot and red and defiant. The demands of out of place clothes, shoes and toys had been too much and he crumbled there in the kitchen declaring this “the worst summer ever!” An hour into summer break and he’d already had it with not-fun tasks and oh, buddy, my patience was on it’s way to lost when my momma walked through the front door and asked what our plans were.

I tossed on clothes as quick as I could dig them out of the basket, shooed us all out the door while still trying to shove my feet into flip-flops and we went in search of flea markets and cokes with the crushed ice.

And there on a 26 mile drive between between favorite antique malls, we passed farm land after farm house and I started dreaming out loud.

“One day we’ll own a farm, boys, with goats and chickens and a wide-open field like that.”

I darted my eyes from the road to the worn out fence and the beautiful house with the falling eaves.

We chatted about horse poop and saving money. I explained that one day meant years or never and that either would be just fine with me. And that’s when the youngest boy – the one who can’t honestly wear a Born in the USA t-shirt on the 4th of July – spoke up and said:

“Momma, would it just take a year to save up that kind of money? Maybe we could just take our Germany trip money and buy a farm instead.”

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