Occasionally, in my cousin’s wee years, he’d wear nothing but grumpy pants. If you happened to glance in his general direction, he’d scowl and say, “Don’t yook-a me, don’t kak-a me” (don’t look at me, don’t talk to me–in case you’re not fluent in toddler).
I can relate.
Not that I’ve a good excuse, mind. In the whole scheme of things, my annoyances are trivial–my hard drive crashed, my phone wouldn’t turn on, a card was opened in my name, a spending spree ensued, passwords were compromised, another recall on my car (so I’m not to operate my vehicle with a passenger in the front seat to avoid serious injury or death), my house remains in disarray due “improvements.”
In a nutshell, a whole lot of life hit at once–and I found myself needing a time out (ere go, the radio silence).
Sound even remotely familiar?
Sometimes you’ve just got to regroup. That’s my hope for you in the coming days: the opportunity to kick back and relax–to lounge about, sip your favorite beverage. If you must talk, I hope it’s intriguing conversation, highlighted with bursts of laughter. But mostly, I hope you find at least a few moments wherein no one is vying for your time, energy, or resources. Where you can rest or adventure on at your own pace and simply breathe . . .
Happy weekend, my friends!
Photo: Yeah, I’ve no clue.
This week we honored the fourth and celebrated the fifth.
It was also the week my computer decided to kick the bucket and a checker asked if I qualified for the 55 or over discount.
So, you know, one of those weeks.
Thankfully, the weekend is upon us—a weekend set aside to celebrate mamas, no less. In that, I feel the luckiest of all. There are a million reasons why. My mom taught by example—to put others first; to give it your best shot, in everything, always; to keep the faith. She taught little moments are to be celebrated, as much as big—and you should “party” a little bit, every day. She taught to make the best of everything and that laughter is the best medicine. Just a few of the reasons I love her as I do.
And whilst I’ll never be able to repay her for all she’s done, I’ll at least give it a try . . .
Of course, I realize not all of you will be celebrating Mother’s Day this weekend. All the same . . . to those of you who are mothers, may you know just how much you are loved; to those of you mourning the loss of a child, may you find grace; to those of you missing your mamas, may you find comfort; and to all of you, may you find someone in your corner, someone to love, and a whole lot of happiness.
Sunday, you may have noticed, is May 1. It means different things to different people, mind; but to me, it shall always mean flowers.
It began, of course, in childhood (as traditions so often do). I still recall the scent of Elmer’s glue as we made paper May baskets. Inevitably, that pasty white substance would ooze from the tabs, onto our fingers. It was tricky; but by George, we’d get it done. And when we did, we’d fill those baskets with pansies, carefully place them on a doorstep, knock, and run as fast as our stick legs could carry us. Of course once out of sight, we always tried to peek–to see the look of delight on the face of a loved one.
And so it continues . . .
Of course, pansies have been replaced with seeds or flower packs; the stick legs are definitely gone; and I no longer run. But the love remains.
So in case I do not make it to your front step, here’s a bouquet of flowers just for you. They come with a wish for unexpected joy–for sunshine and laughter; dancing and singing; and hope for a brighter tomorrow.