It's the Little Things

Admittedly, there are times when you have to take a leap of faith.  Sometimes, you just have to jump.  But other times...well, other times you don’t necessarily jump—more like you get pushed.  Life can be a bit of a bully that way.  Everything comes at you at once, and you find yourself in a free fall.  These are the times when you realize who really cares.  Sometimes they catch sight of you in the moments before your fall, and they rush to prepare a soft place for you to land.  They do this without speaking a word.  They do it without expectation. 

This week, my youngest has been having severe asthma problems.  Every day this week he has had to be picked up early from school because, despite his medications, he simply can’t get enough air.  He went to the doctor yesterday.  We are heading there again today.  Even as I type this, I know that prayers, good thoughts and intentions, and blessings are being said for him.  The people in my life, and on my blog, are just amazing like that.   

This morning, I had to get gasoline before I began the 1.5 hour trek to get all the kids to school and/or bus stops.  I was in a hurry, and I ran out without breakfast, and without preparing a drink to take to work.  (I refuse to spend $1.65 for a soda in the machine!  Besides, I didn’t have any cash on me.)  When I got to work, I found a stray packet of water flavoring in my desk drawer.  SCORE!  That got me through the morning.

When I rounded the corner at work, a friend asked, “You can eat bagels, right?  Someone brought bagels.  They are in the kitchen.”  BREAKFAST!  I couldn’t believe my luck. 

A bit later, when the school called, I hurried to call his doctor.  The nurse told me they had JUST had a cancellation and could get us in.  WIN!

With all the doctor’s appointments and emergency school runs this week, I had not found time to get groceries.  As a result, things are pretty “Old Mother Hubbard” at my house.  I wasn’t quite sure what to do about dinner.  In fact, it has been weighing on me all morning.  Takeout is rarely an option—besides being stupid expensive, it is also problematic due to all the food allergies in our house.  As I pondered this, the phone rang.  My mom had just been to a big Grand Opening Sale at a local store and got some good deals.  “I picked you up some—“ she began, then rattled off enough food to feed the family until the weekend.  YES!

And, just now, as I heated up some leftovers that I had stashed in the office ‘fridge, my dear friend popped her head in, “I am running out, do  you want anything?”  I thought of my now-empty glass at my desk, and nearly cried.  “Caffeine?” I whispered, almost afraid to hope.  She would laugh if she read this, because I am sure she didn't give her act of kindness a second thought, but for me it meant a lot.  The little things always mean so much more than you realize.    

In a bit I will leave to meet my son at the doctor.  I am worried.  So, here is hoping for a bit more good news, just one more blessing. 

Have you ever had a day when it felt like something was watching out for you--whether God, the Universe, or friends, or family? 

...now and at the hour of our death.

I thought I was having a bad week.  There were sick kids, and a sick me.  Day after day of sharing our lone bathroom as the stomach flu ravaged our family.  At one point, late at night, my middle child and I sat next to one another, perched in front of the toilet, taking turns being ill and hoping this delicate give and take was not unbalanced. 

There was laundry piling up, the normal variety as well as the extra caused by the germs that ran rampant.  The house smelled of sick, and bleach, and Lysol.  Extra blankets were pulled out to counter the chills that seemed to have taken root deep inside, never allowing any of us to feel quite warm enough--despite the fact that fevers raged and brows dripped with sweat.

The ill tempers of three tired children and an exhausted mother made us poor companions as the germs and fevers began to subside.  We were all cranky, and weak, and ready to get back to normal.  So off to school and work we all ventured, still a bit shaky, but desperate for the company of someone who had not thrown up next to us, or stole the remote control, or drank the last of the ginger ale.

A midday call from my husband broke the news of the shooting.  The rest of the day was filled with the bits and snippets that filtered through the news, some true and some not.  The details began to fill in, and the full horror of the Newtown massacre began to emerge. 

There is a desire, in times of crisis, to try to find out more details, more images, more information.  We consume the stories, gorge on them, gnawing on every morsel that the media presents.  Each grainy moment frozen in time, every sound bite.... 

No one wanted to be at work.  Even though there was over a thousand miles between my hometown and Newtown, my mind remained there for the rest of the day.  No one wanted to be anywhere but home, with their family, holding their children, and thanking God that it wasn't their daughter, their son.

I thought I was having a bad week.

Thank God for the piles of laundry, the bickering voices bellowing from another room.  Bless their messy rooms and their hair that needs brushing.  I am so blessed to tuck my sassy, loud, unruly children into bed and to kiss their heads before I stumble over a stray Lego on my way out. 

Tonight, we will have a special dinner, all of us, and I will try not to cry as their voices--always intentionally out of cadence--bless the food.  As they complain, and goad, and talk over one another, I will sit back and bask in the beauty of my wonderfully imperfect family. 

Tomorrow, they can clean their room.  Soon, I will shush them, and sigh, and roll my eyes again...but for tonight, I will remember my blessings.