I forgot to be awesome
A robin’s nest containing four, beautiful blue eggs is awesome.
Me? Not so much. At least not today. It was one of those days — you know the type. It was messy, it got ugly and my sunburned shoulders match the color in my cheeks from temper, shame and remorse. You know, because I forgot to be awesome. I chose dreadful instead.
Let’s see … I awakened to a kiss on the cheek as the hubby left for work. That was fine. The house was quiet and the coffee was hot. Also, birds were singing. I even went to the grocery store last night and purchased bread, milk and Honey Nut Cheerios for my poor, destitute children. I was approaching awesome this morning, I really was.
But then I had to force young people to take standardized tests. It was a beautiful, dewy, 60-degree morning and they really wanted to count tadpoles, explore ecosystems, and get down and dirty in the great outdoors. They filled in circles with No. 2 pencils instead. But I digress.
I set to creating copy for work. But I couldn’t get my brain to produce anything creative. That was nothing, though. Truly. Because then … then … THEN … a boy (who had already been told), a tetherball and a three-foot puddle of green paint in the middle of the chevron striped rug from yesterday’s photo completely transformed me into the exact opposite of anything that remotely resembled awesome. It WAS, however, an AWESOME mess.
We managed to remove said rug before paint soaked into the floor beneath. But no time to ponder the demise of the rug, because after a very calm discussion (yes, really) followed by a consequential paddling (yes, absolutely), we had to rush off to piano-guitar-piano-piano lessons. If you’re counting, that’s four lessons for three kids. While the girls were tickling the ivories, I took the youngest pianist with me on an errand. There we ran into my mother — who tried to hide from us because she had birthday surprises in the cart. Unfortunately it’s not MY birthday or I would have requested a new rug. We returned to the music store, then to the library, then home to transform a sullen youngest child into soccer gear. The men left, the girls and I kneaded dough for flatbread pizzas. (Thanks for the inspiration, Chef Donna!)
Fast forward to now. I sat down at my command station — on one screen I see work waiting to be completed. On this, the other, I began to pound out a blog post about the beauty of blue eggs. That’s about the time I saw the sign above my monitors — in giant, multicolored and obnoxious letters that mock my mood:
Don’t forget to be AWESOME.
And then the little blonde terminator came stomping up the steps in stinky barn clothes. “Hi Mom!” he said, all sweetness and light. “Hi sweetiepie!” I said in return. And after a shower he hopped into his bed where I sat tuning his ukulele.
“Ummm, what are you doing?” he asked, clearly not happy about my harmonizing.
“I’m fixing this thing, it sounds awful.”
He said his prayers, hugged my neck and kissed my cheek.
“I hope we have a better day tomorrow,” I said.
“Ok!” he replied, still considering the ukulele.
“You just had to change my tune, didn’t you? NOW it’ll be AWESOME!”
Amen, son. Amen.
Credit: photo taken by Abigail on Aunt Rebekah’s porch.