Wednesday, November 30, 2011
How to Fix a Broken Week (Part II)
I woke up much too early this morning and I cried. I never cry in the morning. Do you? Well, I did. I was sure I couldn't do it all over again today. Cory was every way of amazing, as always. We whispered. We had a 2-hour delay and high hopes that the kids might sleep in a bit.
Then Silas woke up at 6:30. When he normally sleeps until 8. I think I cried a tiny bit more. It couldn't have been helped.
Then I kissed every face in the house and set to making cinnamon waffles.
I decided that I needed what I needed. God had heard my crying, He'd assured me that He had the day. But I decided I'd take my day standing up, with make-up on and a belly full of waffles.
I refused to acknowledge the tired. I refused to waste another moment worrying.
I read in Ecclesiastes, I read it out loud. There was no Big Secret Message, but I was fascinated by the idea of letting my words be few. Really? I like it. That's kind of my go-to method. But I always secretly thought it was wrong. Many nights, my prayer is something like this, "Thank you, Jesus. I love you." I've been talking to Him all throughout the day. He knows my heart. He owns it. So I let my words be few. Is that bad? Not according to chapter 5.
Tangent alert, right?
So back to my day.
I took to the outdoors whilst Ruby sang to "the grandpas and grandmas" at a nursing home with her pre-school. The boys rode their bikes through the snow and I took pictures. It fixes so many things for me, the combination of real air and a lens.
I built a castle with Silo. We shipped Calvin out, rustled Ruby up.
Then we ran errands. Three. We walked slushy in our boots in that strange winter air that feels so much warmer than it really is, the sun all streaming down.
We had Jimmy Johns just for the stinking heck of it (and because I had a BOGO.) Vito with banana peppers, Baybay. With vinegar chips and a coke.
Three businessy men complimented my "well behaved" small people on their way out. I laughed on the inside. (If they only knew of the two days that led up to our morning about town.) I took that moment for the gift that it was.
Incidentally, what do you call a woman who buys eleven boxes of berries?
I don't know, what?
Flower Patch Farmgirl, that's what.
You call her a genius. You call her $7.75...richer. You heard me.
You might also call her well-fibered. Anti-oxidant addled. Blue-toothed.
Later, I admired our wonky nativity, then I read my new favorite post of all time, by my sister-friend Heather. Check it. She pretty much says everything that needs to be said. And she nails the ending: "Perhaps we're the ones perpetually jacking this story up." It was all so true and normal and profound. I had no choice but to Facebook it.
So, I'm back in the saddle. Next time I get too mopey, remind me to grab beauty and joy by the ears and yank it my way.
I love my life, I do. Even the blurry bits.