Dressed to kill, I was in the middle of solving a murder mystery when the warm body beside me stirred. "What's wrong?" I mumbled to the figure who dressed quickly and headed out into the hall. "I heard thumping sounds," he said," I think she's in her closet and her light is on."
Sure enough, the offender was a curly topped fairy and the time was 4:12am.
Dadday was less than cheery in his directions but she did not heed his tired words. I left the cozy spot beneath my blankets and wrapped my robe about me though not without catching a bit of chill first. These April mornings are not the sunny, barefoot days of yesteryear. Winter has an icy grip on our world and will not let it go.
I entered her room and gazed upon the mess she calls her own. Despair washed over me, first at the sight that greeted me and then at the idea that this might be our morning. "Good morning" should not quite be the greeting of 4:12am.
"It's not time to be awake," I sternly instructed."Pick up your pillow and go back to bed. It's time to be sleeping." "I'm so frustrated," she replied with a set jaw and marched, pillow in hand, back to the little bed in the corner. She climbed in and laid down with a grunt of disgust.
"Do you want me to rock you?" I asked while settling into the comfortable glider beside the dresser. "Yes," she replied. She climbed up into my lap and we snuggled, her face and hands pressed into my hair.
Since her tiniest days she has found comfort in my hair. She twirls and twists, pulls and scrunches it. She also likes to rub it between her fingers and make split ends. I try to relish the moments and ignore that my hair is being ruined. Often times I can let it go and just breathe in her smell and take in the preciousness of a 3 year old girl snuggled up in my arms. Other times, I simply cannot stand it and take the wiggly fingered hand from my head and place it on her own. "Pull your own hair," I tell her. "I don't want to pull my own hair," she replies.
As the clock ticked in the darkness we rocked and rocked. Lots of hair pulling and split end making later she drifted off into the land of nod. I stood up and carefully laid her down into her soft mess of blankets. She stayed asleep.
It was now 4:39am and as I headed back to bed my companion slid his feet out from under the covers and headed off to ready for the day. I climbed back beneath the covers for just a moment, relishing the warmth that he left behind. I may have looked peaceful but my mind was a swirling vortex of frustrations and overwhelmedness at the state of my house, my inability to stay organized and keep it all together and the things about life that prove so challenging. I'd had enough of the day before it even began.
I got up and made the bed. I wish I could say that I preached a good message to myself, but I didn't. In fact, I'm sure my face had as ugly an expression as my troubled mind felt. I tried to tell myself to be thankful and all that I could come up with to be thankful for at that moment was that we have been healthy. It seems that so many around us have succumbed to some nasty bugs and we have been well. And for that, I AM thankful.
A steaming breakfast on the table for my husband later, I headed down to pick up toy-splosion in my basement. I was still frustrated yet my sweet companion gently kissed me goodbye and offered his help this evening. His tender heart began to melt my icy one.
Not wanting to nurture this grumpy spirit, I made myself sit down with God's Word and my devotional. The words were like the sun's warmth on a cold day and God continued to melt my hardened heart. Grateful, I moved forward in my day with a renewed spirit despite the circumstances that still taunted me.
I picked up a bit before deciding to settle down with the computer to compose this post. I had just written about the moment I slipped back into bed when a little voice at the top of the stairs beckoned me. She was ornery yet tired. We snuggled up on the couch and fell asleep together, the sun shining on our faces, through our eyelids, brightening our dreams. It was lovely.
She woke up first with a fuss and a request for a water and breakfast. I settled her with a cup and brought out a new recipe to try. Grain-Free Pumpkin Pancakes. She sat beside me in a chair as I whisked them up, her eyes falling shut and her head bobbing in sleep. I asked her if all was well, she assured me it was and asked for more water and then juice.
Sizzling pancakes on a hot griddle, the smell of pumpkin and the coconut oil that greased our pan wafting through the house. A delightful, warm scent to perk up our tired chilly selves. She was quiet, unusually quiet, randomly offering little tidbits here and there about much she loves using whisks and asking me to make a pumpkin pie because it's her favorite.
We sat at the table, steaming pancakes before us topped with a pat of butter and drizzled with real maple syrup. I took a bite and then another, analyzing the flavor and texture of this new breakfast treat; my own critic.
She ate a few bites slowly and then her expression changed. I noted this new face with a tad bit of alarm and then, as I began to react....well, her breakfast came up. Breakfast was over. I had a sad, scared little girl and a big mess and a recipe I will never ever make again.
Take a deep breath.
God gave grace and peace and cleaner and homeopathic remedies and bright sunshine and my mom to arrive with a bag of supplies and good people to cheer and encourage me on the phone and a lifetime of many more blessings that I may never recount.
It is well with my soul.
note: By mid morning she was much improved and this afternoon was jumping on her trampoline and singing songs of cheer. Now, she is napping and I am breathing deeply as I tackle the tasks that nearly strangled me this morning.
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