I took this picture last Saturday on a perfectly cool spring morning that would turn into a beautiful sunny day.  I surprised Troy with this chiminea for his birthday a few days before, inspired by the fact that we will lose our fire pit when we move this summer.  I posted the picture on Instagram and Facebook even though I knew how much was missing.  It tells part of the story, the part I just described, but it leaves out the section where Troy and I sat there having a stressful conversation about where we’re going to live next. We’d just begun the horrible, awful, wish-we-never-had-to-do-this-again process of house-hunting, realizing how spoiled we’ve been in this fairytale-like cottage for nearly two years. Following on the heels of a year that included job searches and ear surgery, I’m catching myself muttering “it’s always something” under my breath in a bitter tone like one of those homeless ladies we used to see everyday.

In a way it reminds me of a day at work last week.  Every Friday I cover the front desk during the lunch hour, and always something melodramatic happens during my shift.  This time a little girl came running down the hall with blood pouring out of her pinky finger.  To say I nearly blacked out and practically died is no exaggeration, but somehow I made an elaborate tourniquette with a paper towel and told her how brave she was while practicing deep breathing myself. When the school nurse arrived, I donned rubber gloves to clean the blood spots off the floor leading from kindergarten recess to the front desk.  Once my job was done saving a child’s life and cleaning the school, I went to the back patio to sit in the sunshine for lunch.  And a few short feet away from me sat two horrible lizards, my true arch-nemesi, literally watching me eat.  I can’t work in these conditions!  I shouted as I ate some delicious freshly made kale chips and drank the best iced tea that has ever been made.

Back to the beautiful picture with the secret back story.  On Saturday I felt a medley of stress and worry and other feelings that come with being a human being some days, or at least a Hottman daughter, unable to shake the fact that we would definitely be living in our car soon.  But that evening Troy put on his rust colored corduroy suit that he bought at the Salvation Army for a play back in the early oughts, and we made our way to a neighborhood driveway dance party. While talking with favorite people under the stars on a perfect night, the phrase “it’s always something” took on a wonderful new meaning.  It’s always another gathering of friends, another encouraging text, another picture opportunity, another inside joke, another reminder that dancing outside, no matter what your age and no matter what kind of day you’ve had, will cheer you up.  And best of all, another house found.

Because it’s always something.