Day 10
It’s still dark. I kiss Dennis goodbye. Inhale his cologne.
I throw back the covers, feel around for bathrobe.
Find my slippers that Lillee carried around last night.
Turn up heat.
Wake up Grace.
Make some oatmeal.
Think hard. Do I need to make a lunch? No, not today. They’re having taco bar. What time is her doctor’s appointment? Not today–tomorrow.
Wash a snack apple.
Wake up Grace. Again.
Must hurry. It’s MEAP day. Can’t be late.
Get Lillee up. Change her diaper.
Tighten Grace’s splint. (To support her fractured clavicle. She might shed it tomorrow.) Remind her to hurry.
Make toast.
Pour Cheerios for Lillee who refuses oatmeal. Dish up oatmeal for Grace.
Throw on ratty clothes tossed on couch last night and hope we don’t have an accident.
Grace’s chain has snapped, and she must have the card it holds for her test. Look for replacement.
Locate keys. Can’t find purse. Grab scissors. Rush girls to car. Strap Lillee in. Browse drawers in garage for narrow ribbon. Find some burgundy. Toss on front seat.
Heave open garage door because opener is broken.
We’ve got less than 10 minutes.
I steer with left hand and hold ribbon between fingers. With right hand, I cut a length of ribbon. At the stop sign, I thread ribbon through hole in card, tie knot, and reach it back to Grace.
“Grace! We forgot your medicine!”
It’s too late. But not today of all days.
She says she’ll be okay.
Once home, Lil wants more to eat. She offers one of her mom’s My Little Ponys on a book platter for my breakfast. I replace the batteries in her piggy flashlight.
I try to write.
I wonder what time her mom will pick her up. Will I need to feed her lunch? Will Grace be here for dinner? What can I make that she won’t refuse? Will she want to cook it again? Must. Do. Laundry.
I shuffle through the bills. I’m sure something is late.
I never imagined this.
That life would still be such a frazzle at my age and stage. In my mind Dennis and I would be sitting together in a spic-and-span kitchen at a white-linen-draped table, drinking fresh juice from stemmed glasses, munching homemade granola or muffins from white china, watching birds at the feeder. Then we’d go for a long walk hand-in-hand, stopping often to take pictures. Later we’d go play a little tennis, poke around in some museum, read, share memories. I’d write more.
I guess there’s still time for that.
But today I’ll take some time to be still. And know.
Day 9
“The present is the ever-moving shadow that divides yesterday from tomorrow. In that lies hope.” ~Frank Lloyd Wright
Day 8
“All is pattern, all life, but we can’t always see the pattern when we are part of it.” ~Writer Belva Plain
Day 7
“The older one gets, the more one feels that the present must be enjoyed; it is a precious gift, comparable to a state of grace.” ~Marie Curie
Day 6
Live your life and forget your age. ~Norman Vincent Peale
There. Now I’m caught up.
I’m exhausted just reading about your morning! Love this. Funny how life goes in directions we never could have guessed.
I can hear your busy day and I also can hear your desire to slow down and be centered on what is important.
Breathe, have a cup of hot tea and just know “this time will pass”… and enjoy today.
The whole time I’m reading this I’m wondering why you are so busy with your grandgirls. But I think there is perhaps more of a story here that I’ve missed. All I know is that your selflessness is dripping grace and love onto so many for eternity. And that’s actually better than drinking OJ from stemmed glasses. 🙂 Love you Sandy.
You’ve expressed it so well, Sandy! During an earlier time when there were similar mornings with our four children, when preacher hubby had meetings and emergency calls and the calendar was always full of appointments, I thought about days in retirement when the two of us would share the kind of quiet bliss you mention. Now retirement is a reality and I’m still pressured by too much to do and not enough time. These days I look for the blessings entangled with the chaos, because I know they’re there. I savour isolated moments and “choose joy”. Like you, I know it’s important to “be still and know”.
Sandy. I want you, please, to take a really deep breath. Now read over this post. Do you see how much you are giving of yourself? So, then. Do NOT apologize for this life when you read these posts from Haiti. Yes, you will be there soon. And yes, you will be overwhelmed by everything there that is JUST TOO MUCH. But…what you are doing? With these girls? For your daughter? This is good work, this is the work of reconciliation. This is the work of Jesus. For YOU. Where you are. And I hope and pray you will have an occasional day of uninterrupted writing, musing, reflecting. We all need those days. Even the Haiti bloggers. :>)
I love how you ‘caught up!’ Please take a few moments to rest well …
You’re doing hard work, Sandy. Good work, but it’s not work that you expected. And you’re not 25. I’m so amazed by you.
I’m worn out reading this! How do you do it? Now, if someone doesn’t need to be picked up or dropped off, go out on the porch, sit in your rocker, and breath in deep breaths of fresh air! Norman said it right!