Today, I struggled with a gratitude. Yes, I’m grateful for my boys. Yes, I’m grateful for my family. I don’t think I need to write up a dramatic post for these people. I believe I do a decent job of explaining my love all year for them. Yes, I’m grateful for a job, a roof, my health, a fridge full of food which will probably go to waste. I’m being honest. I’m even grateful for a place to be honest.
But today, I wasn’t filled with an easy gratitude. I didn’t look for things to be happy or thankful about. Forget even taking my camera out. I wanted to be home. I just kept my eyes on the road. I tried really hard to ignore the red blinky light on my phone which means “Email”. I talked with customers and colleagues and I dreaded doing the miles before me. It was painful to even think about waking up and driving the same amount of miles but in a different direction: north. Today was wet and rainy. Tomorrow will be wet, rainy, and colder. I know all of this sounds whiny because some people don’t have jobs to bitch about. And for that, I feel awful. But today, I was just trying to get by.
And then it dawned on me, one more day. I only have to drive another 300 miles. I only have to figure out a few errands: How do I get an apple pie done prior to Wednesday? The store. But how to I get it on tomorrow’s tight schedule? Shit. And now I need to remember to get dog food. I’ll figure it out. I always do. Not because I have my shit together. I don’t. But because I’m a Mom and an apple pie needs to be brought into school on Wednesday. One more day of passing trucks hoping they see me before they merge. One more day of saying to the person on the other line, “I’m driving, but when I get to the office, I’ll check.” One more day of scribbling that note down somewhere. One more day of forgetting that message until it’s way past “office hours”. One more day where everything I should be doing feels too heavy to actually do: calls, dishes, dinner, quilting, watching tv, etc. One more day and my work driving will be done for at least a week. The next time I get in the car, I’ll be driving home. I can relax and will be surrounded by some of my very favorite loved ones. We’ll eat, drink, laugh, play games, gossip, talk until our husbands beg us to stop talking, make the kids dance, and be thankful.
One more day. I can do that.
No. My kid doesn’t come to work with me. That’d be impossible. Ever try to talk on the phone with a three-year-old? You get it. His drive home fit my mood.
8:53 p.m edit: At 8:02 p.m., Coop is in tears that I don’t have his apple pie for tomorrow. But the party is Wednesday. NO! Rereading the letter. Showing him the letter. Him not finding to “Reminder Letter”. Calling and leaving a message for the woman in charge. Cooper saying, “You never trust a piece of paper.” The mother calling back asking, “Why would we have the party on Wednesday? They don’t have school.”
I knew this a week ago. I talked to the teacher about the “Wednesday” party. I checked the schedule and didn’t see Wednesday on the Thanksgiving break line. Cause it was on the line above for Parent Teacher Conference line. Duh.
Back to the car. Pissy. I never said as a Mom it did it cheerfully or without martyrdom or irrational screaming or juvenile stomping. I said I did it.
And now I’ve cut into the bag of wine to squeeze out every last drop.
I guess I should be grateful that something is off my plate for tomorrow.