sometimes • you get your meds switched for the first time in 5 years as a safety precaution for SuperKid’s 3rd trimester and your body refuses to allow them to work because it. is. smart.
sometimes • you are a solo-mom again for the first time in over a month of family visiting and your child flips out on you because she. is. smart.
sometimes • you have to holiday grocery shop in a strange store because that’s where your pictures are printing… and you have to leave without the last 14 items on your list because they are not. there. anywhere. Seriously. How many places can tortillas hide?
sometimes • you have just one. more. family party for which to wrap 5 presents, make a dish to pass, and put on a happy face.
sometimes • the dish to pass for the family gathering is a complete failure and you pass your child off to your husband in the parking lot and totally bail in a mess of snot and tears.
sometimes • it is the anniversary of a friend’s sacrifice in Iraq.
sometimes • it all happens on your birthday
and then your husband gives you a gray velour track suit that’s, um, identical to the one you bought your grandmother for tooling around the nursing home… and you cry. (Oh, people… I am not even kidding. My hand to Heaven.)
Sometimes, a ‘special day’ just plain sucks eggs. Mountains of Ridiculousness are not always your fault or design, though I would not use this in an argument. I do not recommend standing in your kitchen (with your lovely new curtains) and yelling to the sky, “Unfair! Special Day! Extra Effort! Unfair, I say!”
That’s about the time the velour track suit shows up.
I forget. I forget that everything cannot work perfectly… and certainly, 14 things all hinging on each other will not work perfectly. It’s against the rules or something. Those days end in crumpled expectations and some serious soul-cleansing sobbing but always the realization that there is another chance. Another day. It will look different from what you first envisioned. It will feel un-rehearsed and wonderfully lighter without the heavy weight of perfection. But that chance- that day– will come and it will be fine. No one will know. Just keep singing.
It comes by grace. Unearned favor. I do not know when I will remember in trying times that the world will not end after one (or eighty) failure(s). But, I am forever thankful for grace. I wear it a lot. I hope it looks good on me.
Apple Pie, Anyone?
Oh, People! Bring on the Wacky Gift memories. They are KILLING me!