I favor my hammock as one of the best things about my home. I have spent hours laying weightless looking up at the blue sky eyes peeking through green leaves. Summer is here and my first trip to the hammock is religious.
Summer is here and my hammock has gained some weight.
Four little boys bombarded my haven with sandy curls, mud toes and bouncing laughter. My haven is their twisty trampoline. Once I remove myself from the riot, they lose interest. How is it that a child knows where to find a mother’s peace and steep in it?
I don’t mind. A little weight in a mother’s hammock is a gift.
Wouldn’t you agree?