All tied together

I finished the book "Invisible Girls" this week and the author gave her perspective that life isn't about highs and lows coming one after the other, but rather a constant mix of the two. Somehow I never viewed it this way before; instead of a fluid movement of good and bad woven together, it has always been easier to assure myself when something bad happens that I have somehow paid an outstanding balance on bad karma and can now look forward to unexpected blessings coming my way.

Today seemed to validate the author's viewpoint. I began my day with Brenna fixated on forgotten Cool Whip during a shopping trip. We were wedged in the checkout lane between the customer paying for her groceries and another person ready to load theirs onto the conveyor belt when Brenna gave me a firm reminder, "Don't forget the whipped cream for the worms and dirt." We had the "worms"; we had the "dirt"; we even had the pudding. But cool whip? Really? I didn't remember that ingredient. My option was to hold up the line and hope that Brenna would stay put with the cart while I ran to the freezer section or let it go and hit another grocery store on the way home. As absurd as it sounds, I opted for the latter. Brenna about had a meltdown. "We need whipped cream!" she chanted. She was still repeating the woes of the forgotten Cool Whip when I pulled into the garage and began to put the popsicles away in the freezer, the same freezer which was now completely thawed thanks to someone leaving the door open a full inch. The entire freezer full of meat was a lost cause.

 I bagged up the contents of the freezer and then Greg placed the full trash bags back into the freezer so that we wouldn't have to deal with stench and have the neighbors suspect we are hiding bodies for the mob. We decided it would be best to wait and pull out the cold contents on Tuesday for trash day.

After tending to the freezer, Brenna was still harping on the whipped cream. After 45 minutes of non-stop reminding of my failure to secure that key ingredient, Greg broke under pressure and drove back to the grocery store.

As I pulled out of the driveway and headed to Champaign to meet a dear friend, I lost it. I played my sappy Celtic Woman CD and sobbed for the woman in Caladonia, the woman who blessed her husband from beyond the grave and the woman whose husband left her. The festival of tears lasted for a good twenty minutes and somewhere in the time, I also let out the anxiety and frustration over waiting for Brenna's surgery, for the fear that I walked away from a job I should have taken, for the spoiled food I had to throw away, for Brenna's obsession with my reminding me of my failures and for my current state of PMS.

By the time I pulled up to the restaurant to meet my friend I felt relaxed, happy, ready to connect with her and hold that sweet baby. I tried to remember the last time I was alone long enough to cry and just get it all out... it had been awhile. And while the day started badly, it ended so well.

I often go back and forth and wonder what I need to do to just be happy. And yet, it might be as simple as letting myself cry.