Silver Linings...and Such

We sat idly in the stifling plane as the sky darkened and the minutes ticked by...ten, twenty, an hour delay. Finally the engines whirred to life. I prayed the kids would fall asleep quickly and painlessly as we made our way through the night toward home, but I dared not close my own eyes for fear I would stir and wake the blond little towhead that had eventually come to rest in my lap.

It had been a wonderful but physically exhausting trip to see my family--which started with our daughter missing the last two days of school so we could fly across the country for her aunt's graduation--and my brain had been close to implosion as I'd tried to get everything in order for the end of another school year while packing up for the trip out.

Now, our return trip was already taking its toll. I'd started out the day feeling awful, but thankfully made it through some sightseeing before our delayed red eye flight, which finally landed in Denver at midnight--or 2am, according to our bodies that were still stuck on Eastern time. 

We dragged our weary kids and selves into the house, hugged our beds, and promptly crashed. But not for long; four hours later, the alarm signaled my husband's departure for a two-week Army course he had to attend in Texas, which kicked off the day after our return. The kids and I said a fatigued goodbye...and then we were alone.

Thus began our summer break.

I told myself that two weeks shouldn't be a big deal. Two weeks was a ridiculously easy breezy walk in the park compared to the year-long deployment with a toddler and newborn that I had survived long ago. And, I reminded myself, other people have, and are, facing much worse as we speak. 

But rational me had a hard time convincing freak-out me when all the things started happening. Granted, it was nothing life-threatening, but as one annoyance after another popped up, day after day, my frayed nerves did their thing and unravled to the point of besting me by the end of Week One.

There were my sudden physical ailments that cropped up suddenly after a long stretch of being able to keep most of my chronic issues in check, no air conditioning during a heat wave that reached into the 100s and lasted over a week, major work drama, a sighting of small rodents in the basement--one of which got stuck in the furnace [and didn't get out...yeah, we won't go into detail on that one], and being unduly embarrassed in public by my children's behavior (why yes, appalled lady in the checkout line, I am in fact melting into a puddle of shame as I try in vain to get those kids who are ignoring me to stop bolting wildly around the store). To close out the week, I discovered I'd lost my debit card as I attempted to check out of the store during the above shame-inducing incident.

Then, to top it all off--and conveniently start out the next week--my middle buddy shut his finger in the car door as we were leaving (late, again) for church. The beauty of perspective (and the fact that my buddy turned out to be a-okay) allows me shake my head in amusement right now as I replay the incident in my head: I grabbed the screaming child and the ice frog, aka baby-teether-turned-kid-ice-pack [and worker of miracles], buckled both soundly, asked him if he could bend it (he could), and begged God frantically to help me figure out in the next five minutes whether it was a serious injury or not so I knew whether to peel into the church parking lot or drive right on past to the ER. [Please, God. Not the ER. Not with three kids all by myself. I'll try not to zone out at mass. And...and I'll be extra nice to the kids! But please, anyyyyything but the ER!]

For the record, He humored my whining; my buddy's tears had stopped by the time we got to the church parking lot, so I herded us in and prayed that I wouldn't regret it and be racked with guilt. But Mr. Ice Frog was no longer needed by the time the sermon started, and the little lad was happily playing on the monkey bars at the church playground as soon as church ended, incident forgotten.

But I digress. It was the collection of stressful moments like these that had me venting to my mom over the phone on multiple occasions like a whiny doomsdayist, and had her cooing in my ear on multiple occasions about finding the silver lining, yada yada. (I'll admit, Mom, I got a little annoyed. Like you couldn't tell that already or anything). But while the term "silver lining" still makes me bristle a bit for some reason, I did get the message that my doomsdayist attitude was doing none of us any favors. As such, I started trying to employ a related concept: I don't always have to give the bad moments the priority. 

I reminded myself that I could (and should) open myself to the comfort and little joys of the good moments when they happened, just as often as I brooded over the small sufferings of the "bad" moments. I knew the good moments didn't necesarrily invalidate the reality of the bad moments or take away the stress and fatigue. But I also realized there were two sides to the same coin: neither should the bad moments invalidate the reality of the good in my day. I could still allow myself those moments that brought me reasons to smile and the little breaks from the stress. Once I started acknowledging this, I realized the good moments were just as plentiful as the not-so-great moments. And giving them the emotional weight and space they deserved, just like the frustrating moments, eventually helped my soul start to feel a little more balanced. By week two, I was weathering the sufferings, though fewer, with a much better attitude than week one. 

Some not-so-great moments still popped up, but a few of them also led to even bigger moments of gratitude and relief. 

Like when I went to check out at the grocery store and realized I'd forgotten my wallet in the picnic bag. But my mother-in-law, who had been graciously watching one of the kids for some special one-on-one time, happened to get back to my house right before I rushed home with the other two kids [and no groceries.] She offered to watch all three kids while I went back to the store-- alone--and paid. I could have given the world a puppy.

And then there was the time on Sunday (a few hours after the culmination of Stress Week and the finger-slamming incident) when we were headed to my in-laws' house for a Father's Day dinner. The kids were loaded up but I couldn't find my keys. I sprinted around the house in an unsucessful attempt to locate them, then haughtily shot heavenword, "really, God, like I haven't had enough...my keys now, too? Would ya help me out here?!" I hurriedly grabbed my husband's spare set and took off. Five minutes later, as I was cruising down the road in a great hurry, a white pickup pulled up to my left. A guy in the passenger seat was waving frantically at me to roll down my window. It took me a confused second to figure out his sign language, but when I finally did he frantically called to me, "YOU HAVE A SET OF KEYS ON YOUR BACK BUMPER!" And all I could stupidly yell in return was "OH! THANK YOU! I WAS JUST LOOKING FOR THEM!" before shouting to myself in my head, "Oh, GOOD ONE, self. Thank you God and THANK YOU SAINTLY PERSON WHOEVER YOU ARE for saving me!" I wished all the while that I could catch back up and thank my Good Samaritan after pulling over to recover the keys. I swear I could hear God shaking His head in amusement and exasperation saying, "Seriously kid, I AM trying to help ya out here...see?"

Yup.
Finest moment right here.

This adrenaline-inducing moment was followed by many other less...um...exciting...but nonetheless pleasant moments:

My daughter and I began learning handlettering for our summer girl time together. (We had originally planned to learn knitting but decided to pursue a cooler activity--see 'no air conditioning' above). My stuff started out rough, but she did awesome, and after awhile I started getting the hang of it too.

And during the fated trip to the store of feral-acting children/lost debit cards, we did pick up a scrapbook and supplies to document our most recent vacation. Which, for anyone who knows me well, is an outright miracle, since the best documenting that ever occurs (if I'm lucky) is a haphazard blog post.

Then there was the day when my mother-in-law called out of the blue and offered to take a child off my hands for nearly a whole 24 hours (to sleepover and play with her cousins) simply out of mercy the goodness of her heart.

And I finally got one step closer to a project that's been months in the making (never mind that I unknowingly walked around painted for most of the day. Sorry world.)

There were lots of happy visits to my budding and blossoming garden with tomatoes-in-the-making and strawberries and bluberries and dosens of red roses on a single rosebush and all sorts of other goodies (even if those rascally rabbits keep trying to steal my strawberries, grr). 

And the sunsets. Always the sunsets.

Also: a very first lost tooth, the beauty that is grocery delivery, super hero
play, and getting to hang with an online friend for the first time in person!

So although it may have taken a full week of unpleseantries and then some, the moral of the story still proved true: it's not about making light of suffering, (however big or small), but about still letting the good stuff (however big or small) still have its own say in the day.

And while I can't deny the ongoing stress of the things that continue to put a damper on life, like never finding my card, I also can't deny the indelible pleasantries that made Week Two happily bearable, with memories and pictures to prove it, despite the stress.

So here's hoping I let the lesson stick in my brain for awhile, especially when things don't exactly go my way. Oh yeah...and thanks, Mom. You were right, as usual!