Fighting For It

He comes in so quiet I don’t notice him, not until his golden curls are right by my hip. He’s wearing his footsie pajamas and he’s smiling up at me, eyes intent, focused. He has something important to say and he says it softly, intently, “Mik. Miik. Mik.”

“Milk?” I ask, just to make sure, and his smile, brighter than sunrise as he says, “YEAH!”
As I follow him to the refrigerator, I think it shouldn’t be so hard, this giving thanks always. It should be as easy as opening my eyes when I have a little boy walking around in blue pajamas, when I have a dolphin sticker on my forehead (a gift from the biggish boy in batman pjs), when the cutest people in the world want hugs every time I sit down….but I’m all or nothing, yes or no. You could give me a hundred compliments and the one negative would be enough to cancel them out. It must be all, or it must be nothing.
So instead of gratitude I practiced grumbles. The week was inconvenient, expensive, frightening, uncomfortable. I wanted one thing and got five others.
I’ve thought that my critical eye was a gift, an shroud of protection against being fooled, or mocked. A way to see past frivolity.
I’m thinking that maybe my critical eye is blind, and makes me run into walls.
Maybe frivolity is what I am supposed to see and maybe I am supposed to see the kitchen in shambles…because isn’t that the way to pancakes?
307. Mondays, new days
308. Pancake requests, the smell of hot butter and hot batter
309. Healthy dogs with pep in their step
310. The ability to pay for vet bills
311. Quinten’s team winning yesterday, “THE GREEN TEAM WON! MY TEAM!”
312. Boy races around and around the couch
313. Leftovers
314. Family gathered around, a cozy lap for every little boy
315. Accidents avoided

19 thoughts on “Fighting For It

  1. oh how I miss the footsie pj days, and the fact that you would make pancakes in a messy kitchen makes you an awesome mom in my book. having to cook in shambles makes me extremely cranky, as my family can atest to. you are beautiful, JoAnn. you are real and beautiful. xo

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  2. The other morning–when I had pancakes half mixed up–I realized I had no milk for either the pancakes or my daughter's sippy cup. I used white-chocolate-flavored coffee creamer for the pancakes. This made for very heavy, sweet, reluctant-to-rise, interestingly-flavored pancakes. But I noticed they were all eaten. I don't remember what I did for my daughter, but, probably, I gave her a juice pack. You had milk this morning, so, see? You rock! Have an awesome day!

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  3. It IS the way to pancakes!

    Also, I made “special” oatmeal today, because I know C loves oatmeal and I wanted to gussy it up. His reaction: “This tastes like after I throw up.”

    Ughs.

    I know this is neither here nor there, and I know I'm sort of defeating the purpose, but the pancakes reminded me of the oatmeal, and there's nothing that can be done about that.

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  4. “I'm thinking that maybe my critical eye is blind, and makes me run into walls.”

    Good one.

    And I'm with Jodi. I admire your willingness to cook when the kitchen is in shambles. I get cranky, too…

    also glad for #315… (my 20-yr-old daughter hit her eyelid on a straight chair while bending down to vacuum last weekend, one hour before we were leaving for our weekend anniversary reservations, which had already been put off once. SO MUCH BLOOD for a little cut! A rush to the clinic, some surgical glue, and the exchange of more than a few bucks put all to rights, but I do relate to the gratitude for accidents avoided!)

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  5. I tend to do the same…hang on to one negative thing despite the many positives. and i love the smell of pancakes, and footsie jammies are the sweetest. šŸ™‚

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  6. The bad stuff is easier to believe b/c it is what we believe, ourselves. We are too afraid to believe any other way sometimes.

    Also, X says “moo” when he wants milk. How cute is that?

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  7. 'I've thought that my critical eye was a gift, an shroud of protection against being fooled, or mocked. A way to see past frivolity.

    I'm thinking that maybe my critical eye is blind, and makes me run into walls.'

    that right there was sheer brilliance, my dear. (and also quite painful…but boy did i need to hear it.)

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  8. Beautifully said. Especially this part –
    “I'm thinking that maybe my critical eye is blind, and makes me run into walls.”

    I relate to that. I'm trying though. Really trying. This book sure is helping. Isn't it a gift?

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  9. It's so tough, so so tough, when they're little and need is the biggest factor of the day, to find the blessings. When you're taxed and overwhelmed, it's easier to see the mess than the fun in chaos.

    I try every day to wake up and feel the sweet promise in a new day, but it's easier for me, I'm in the salad days of child rearing. It will come. Just you wait.

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  10. “You could give me one hundred compliments and the one negative would be enough to cancel them out.”

    I am just like this, too. It seems I have my own critical and blind eye. On another note, what lovely things for which to be thankful.

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  11. I have the same critical eye, and have so often had it lead me astray– lead me to be bitter or irritated–thanks for this post and the reminder to be thankful in all things.

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  12. ooooo i have missed you! i have had a crazy summer no time for blog reading and this morning i am catching up on y 3 favourite blogs, how i missed your words and sweet boys. x i too an trying to see fravolity more! lol i have read 1 post and now tilly is hitting me with a spoon and demanding breakfast!!! be back soon…i hope! xxx

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