Had to break my daughter's heart today.

I told her she could no longer hang out in the ditch all afternoon waiting for her buddy the trash truck driver man to come by our house. I know, I know. Mean. Her 7 year old face scrunched up and tears started leaking from her eyes. I felt so bad. Her reaction was worse than when we told her our 2 outdoor-pet cats that ran away were likely eaten by coyotes. And no, it was not because she freely offered up to Mr. Trash Truck Driver this tantalizing little tidbit last week "my mom homeschools because she has 5 kids, wants to adopt 2 more, and can't get us all to school." That wasn't it at all. Nope. Didn't bother me WHATSOEVER. Never mind those hours (and hours and hours) of reading/researching/praying/contemplating what we felt would be best for our children, and finally drawing the conclusion that we believe educating them at home is the right thing for us to do. Just never mind all that.
I don't want them playing by the road for the same reason I don't care to have them swinging on the ceiling fans. I do like those little buggers, an awful lot. I much prefer their freedom from injury and for some strange reason, playing in the road just doesn't strike me as the safest place to be. I mean, if I can't get them all to school, how could we possibly make it to an EMERGENCY ROOM?
When there is all this to do outside:

Why spend time here? (Yes! That is only half full. Even with 7 of us! Recycle Recycle Recycle)

Once she finally composed herself after tearfully mourning the end of her ditch lingering days, I let her play teacher-mom-who-can't-get-her-supersized-brood-to-school with the white board. That cheered her right up. Poor girl. She really liked that guy. She even made him a Christmas card and taped it to the trash can. Sweet Jayla.