Yesterday I innocently ignored the signs and purchased three boxes of Oreos AND a gelato at the grocery store. I thought I was buying the gelato for Derrick since I bought his flavor, which involves the unholy addition of bananas, but I ended up eating half of it.
Today has been a survival day, where I ate all of the Halloween Kit-Kats and felt SERIOUSLY angry that fun sized candy is so tiny. It is not fun at all.
Despite all my hormonal angst, I put on some purplish lipstick in honor of fall and the fireplace, and I tried not to kill people when I caught them KICKING AN ICE CUBE UNDER THE FRIDGE. Perhaps these seem like small achievements, and you could tell me about all of the women in the world who don’t have fridges OR ice cubes and manage to walk humbly with their God and um, not kill people. The thing is, I think you have to start somewhere. Maybe someday I’ll be serving people in a greater way, perhaps something traditional like a soup kitchen, perhaps something Mother Teresaish like Calcutta. For now I’ll take the grace of today, with it’s candy and it’s cramps. For so long I’ve been a roaring whirlwind, throwing hormones all over the house but today I was nice (generally), and the victory of love in hard circumstances can take on first world forms.
It probably helped that I was constantly hearing the name “Jesus” today. My son is 17 months old, and every night I rock him and sing “Jesus Loves Me” to him. Hilariously this has translated to him thinking that “Jesus” means being held. He usually is happy to run around hiding tv remotes in laundry hampers and such but today he felt extra cuddly. Every time he saw me, he would run and grab my legs and beg, “Desus! DESUS!” until I picked him up. The name I heard when I groused my way around the house, feeling angry about most of civilization ,was Jesus.
Sometimes we just need to cry out (and eat a candy bar).