Coffee, devotional, prayer.
Kisses goodbye, watching him walk down the front path, a conscious moment of gratitude.
You, me, the internet, wondering what to write. Wondering if I have shared with you too much about chicken sausage.
Goodbye to the Biggest, lunch money, schedule review, the front door closing just a tad too hard, like always. We now consider this an endearing quirk.
Lunch packing, breakfast, snuggling, smooching, tucking in shirts, tying shoes, calling, “I love you” out car windows and watching one boy blush and one boy grin as they turn towards school.
To the super market. Veggies, chicken, half and half, broccoli, eggs, butter, Kashi bars, V8, an 8 am cookie from the bakery. Wondering if the bakers think I am crazy for giving the Little a cookie at 8 AM, trying to brush off caring that the bakers might think I am crazy for allowing cookie eating at 8 AM. . . .
Home to throw in laundry, unpack said groceries, throw out sugarless barbecue sauce disaster (that tasted like smoked Hawaiian baby food), sweep up a crumby, hairy floor (why do I lose so much hair??), take a lightning fast shower, skip the lotion and hair drying again – because there’s not enough time.
Off to baby gym – which up until yesterday – has been a mild form of mommy torture – because the second I sit down I feel like I want to sleep, and we sit around that dang circle a lot – so I want to sleep – a lot.
Plus, these other mommies all talk to one another, and I assume I should strike up conversations with them too, but really, I’m still stuck on the edge of the circle really wanting to sleep.
And I’ve never been good at initiating conversations with strangers. There is really so much effort and trepidation involved in stranger-conversations, and words just get stuck somewhere in my chest.
So I sit and watch.
But yesterday, I thought about sliding doors, and about how I waited too long to approach a mommy from school and once I finally did – just two days ago – I found out we originate from the same part of the US, but that she’s leaving this week to go back because she can’t stand it here and she hasn’t met any real friends over the last 6 months. (I know that’s a run-on. Just go with me here. . . . )
I thought about how I had seen her walking her kids to school every day for all those months and I hadn’t talked to her because I was too timid.
And, well, that door slid shut.
So I talked at baby gym.
It wasn’t even difficult, and now maybe me and the Little Gal each have a new friend.
Back to errands with the Littlest on the way home.
In the front door to switch over laundry, empty the dishwasher, fix some lunch.
Out the door to pick up the Little Guy. Carpool line, a book for me, and a nap for the Little Gal.
Sometimes. But not today.
Today she was all talk.
And more and more talk.
Back on home.
Throw together some breakfast bars for a sweet-ish snack. (Not to be confused with a Swedish snack).
And then. . . oh then.
A migraine came to get me – like a black angel simmering on my shoulder threatening darkness and pain.
I downed some medicine and prayed and prayed that it wouldn’t be a painful one, That God would wink and say he was just joking. That he’d say, “No, not today. It was just a little tease. A reminder for you to drink more water and to simplify your schedule”.
I imagined I was the woman on the side of the road two thousand years ago, believing all I had to do was touch His cloak to be healed. . . .(Mark 5: 25 – 29)
I tried to touch his cloak.
I got the Littles set up with a movie and guzzled some Gatorade.
I laid in bed and tried to relax.
Tried to talk my body out of giving in to the migraine.
Tried to touch His cloak and believe in his healing.
I managed to eek about an hour of silence, but let me tell you what does not help a migraine go away:
- A three-year old parked on your bed with and I-pad, playing a game with the most annoying sound effects ever in the history of pre-school apps.
- A seven-year-old jumping on your bed, showing you his newest Parkour moves.
- A well-intended eleven year old hissing at the doorway, trying to usher the LIttles out, to give Mom some quiet.
- A sales call from telemarketer trying to sell me an extended warranty on a car we no longer have.
- The optical department calling my cell phone to let me know my order has arrived.
None of those things heal a migraine.
Just in case you thought you might try them.
But, I think my prayers might have.
It was, after all, short and mild.
I know in the realm of sickness and suffering, migraines are itty-bitty, tiny potatoes. . . but still, they can wreak havoc on a busy mom and related chick-lets.
So I give thanks and say to myself, “Message received. Simplify. Drink more water.”
And I am thankful for friends who give me birthday presents of corn cake dinners and homemade salsa packed with garlic and firey-hot spice.
Because I didn’t have to cook, and dinner was downright swoony.
It’s perfect for using up leftovers from a weekend barbecue.
And, like I’ve said before – chicken sausage gets me every time.
I know I use it a lot.
Maybe too much.
Maybe you get tired of me using it?
Maybe you don’t even know how much I love chicken sausage, because it only shows up here a fraction of the times I use it in real life.
There are just some things in life that we can’t help.
I can’t help that I want to sleep at baby gym, I am timid around strangers, and chicken sausage makes me happy.
Those are just my own personal truths.
But the sausage – it’s just easy and healthy and tasty. . . and easy.
So, because of its convenient relationship with chicken sausage that blooms amidst fried potatoes and browned onions, this hash shares the easy, healthy, tasty qualities too.
Those are the hash’s own personal truths.
Dinner in 25, please.