The Man was in the ‘burg for the big game last night. So I was on my own, which was not bad…I mean it was a little hectic this morning, but not really any different than any other morning. I just decided that I would forgo a couple of things to make it more smooth, like I would skip eating and showering and toileting and all that non-essential stuff. I think it is somewhat interesting that I can control my body in a physical way. I can forget about how hungry I am when I have other people to feed, dress and get off to school. I can go hours and hours and hours without a trip to the potty, all the while making sure that others DO make the trip (even the dog for crying out loud) so that I don’t regret it later. Etc.
William and Kate were out the door, Ella was dressed for school and ready, but Henry was moving at a snail’s pace. He was like a sloth. Sloth-like Henry. He missed the bus. Then I was mad. His tummy hurt. His tummy hurts many many mornings, and he’s just fine. You would think that I would just understand that this is the way he is, that his tummy always seems to hurt, and that it will be fine when he gets to school and the earth will continue to rotate, just like normal. But in the back of MY head is a nagging little voice that says “what if he THROWS UP at school?! Then he will be that kid that THREW UP at school.” And I get all nervous and freaked out and then I get mad because darnit Henry this is MY TWO LITTLE HOURS THIS WEEK! THIS IS MY TIME HENRY! THIS IS THE ONLY TIME I’M GOING TO GET FOR THE NEXT TWO WEEKS TO JUST HAVE TO MYSELF! And I tell him that he’s going to school, and that he will be fine. And that he can go to the nurse if he feels sick, but DO NOT GO to the nurse if he’s faking it. I drop him off, and he sees one of his buddies, hops out of the car and smiles at me, waving and signing love.
Then I drop Ella off, and head out to run some errands, even though I am dirty. It’s been the kind of morning that makes me not even care what I look like.
And then the phone rings. Because Henry barfed at school. He is the kid that barfed at school.
And I realize that most of this happened because I was selfish. I can’t tell you how many times I remind myself that my life isn’t about me anymore. Most of the time I get it. Most of the time I know that this is the job that was meant for me. But sometimes I wonder if these moments are not accidental. Does God give us these moments when we are the most selfish? Is He trying to humble me? Is He trying to teach me? Some days He must think I’m quite a dim bulb.
So here we are, on a cold November day (in which I made the children wear their heavy coats even though they will look fat in them — William’s comment. William couldn’t look fat if he tried his hardest). There’s a fire burning, and a soft, warm blanket covering us. Henry is back in his jammies, sipping coke, and I think I’ll just sit next to him and read, and enjoy the morning that has been given to me.
I’m getting it, God. Slow but sure, I’m getting it.