I live my life through a series of beeps.
Beep. The alarm’s going off. Time to get up and attempt to
squeeze in a workout before Sutton leaves and the kids look to me alone for
their survival.
Beep. The dish washer’s done….or the washer…or the dryer. I
was going to sit down and enjoy a few breaths, but that sound reminds me that
there are jobs to be done and that I’m already behind for the day…the week…the
month…you get it.
Beep. I left the fridge open. I was grabbing Suttie a juice
pouch when I noticed that Molly was trying to ride the dog (who shouldn’t be
inside anyway) while simultaneously throwing goldfish like she’s on a parade
float.
Beep. I’m spaced out at the green light at Publix. Sorry,
dude in the sky-high pickup with off-road tires that have never seen dirt. I
was trying to devise a way to bend the space/time continuum so that I could fit
in Suttie’s haircut, lunch, naptime, and dinner, all before ball practice
tonight. But I hear ya. That Natty Light isn’t going to buy itself.
Beep. Dinner’s ready. It’s okay, but not great. I’m going to
have to make the kids count bites on this one. “Three more bites or no pudding
for dessert. Two more bites or you’re on iPad restriction. One more bite or we
kill the dog.”
The days are filled with a thousand other beeps, some real,
some imagined. A thousand other demands on my time, my energy, my mental
resources.
They are all blessings.
Beep. The alarm’s going off. I’m healthy and able-bodied
enough to work out. I have a husband who will handle the morning chores so that
I can.
Beep. The dishwasher’s done. We had food to eat that left
dirty plates that are now effortlessly clean. The washer’s done; the dryer, too.
We have clothes to wear, to shield our skin from the harshness of the sun or cold.
They reflect who we are and what we like. We chose them freely and paid for
them without worry or guilt.
Beep. I left the fridge open. Where we store more food than
we need and where nutritious staples mingle with treats. Since day one, it’s
never been empty, never left the kids wondering if there would be something
inside. It even beeps to remind me to shut the condiment-laden door.
Beep. I’m spaced out at the green light at Publix. We just
finished buying more food for the fridge. My worries consist of the timing of a
haircut and eating this food and letting my child play a game. And I bought
beer yesterday.
Beep. Dinner’s ready. It’s hot and it’s filling. I had time
to prepare it. I tried hard. I’ll try harder next time. It opens a discussion
with the kids about being thankful for what you have. It reminds me to be
thankful.
Yesterday, we celebrated House Day. We hung home-made
construction paper chains and drew pictures of houses and made cupcakes
(because all celebrations require cupcakes). A week ago, I didn’t know what
House Day was. Now I do. Suttie explains it best. “It’s a day to celebrate your
house and that you have a house because some other people don’t. It’s like your
house’s birthday where you say ‘I like you, house.’”
He came up with the idea after we had a talk about the child
we sponsor and his living conditions in post-earthquake Haiti. He told me about
his festive plans, and my first thought was, “Oh no, this is gonna be a lot of
work. One more thing for me to do…” It was a weak moment. A moment I regret,
but that I choose to carry with me to remind me that I’m blessed. And if I
can’t respect my blessings enough to celebrate them, then I deserve them even
less than I thought.
Beep. The alarm’s going off. No workout today. It’s house
day. Today, we decorate and draw and sing and dance. It’s hokey. It can’t be
like this every day. But today it is.
Beep. The cupcakes are done. They’re delicious. The kids
don’t like them because they’re key lime, which means more for me. #blessed.
Beep. The computer is up and running so that we can look at
pictures of houses from around the world, marveling at how other people live.
It’s the first time that I’ve ever seen a yurt.
*****************
I live my life through a series of beeps.
They are all blessings. They aren’t the beeps of monitors
attached to a sick child. They aren’t the beeps of a smoke alarm as our house
sits ablaze and our belongings turn to ash. They aren’t the unwitting beeps of
the mail carrier’s horn as he drops a foreclosure notice at our door.
They are friendly, and they are welcome.
A week ago, I didn’t know what House Day was.
Now I do.
House day pictures
