Laundry, piled up in various stages around the house, so much so that I joked to my friend that SK was going to have to wear pajamas to school tomorrow because it was the only clean outfit she had.
A daughter who won’t share with her sister, to the extent of shouting “Mine!” across a playground, to my absolute mortification.
A grocery bill that was a little too high for your average family of four (c’mon, though, I shop at Wegman’s. Is that really surprising?).
Stepping into cat vomit, in bare feet. Twice.
A woman at our local farm market’s play area, who made fun of me for forgetting my child’s water cup, even though her own son just took a nosedive off of a haystack and came to me, crying, after he split his nose.
Not having time to dry my hair.
The pile of lumber currently residing on my family room rug, where David is in the end stages of fireplace mantle creation.
The minor anxiety that is caused by timing a trip to the grocery store (yep, that one) after Quinn’s MyGym class so that we can make it back to SK’s preschool to pick her up on time.
These are all of the complaints that have crossed my mind at some point this afternoon. In the space of three hours, that’s how much negative stuff was in my brain. Silly little annoyances, all of them.
A relative of ours was diagnosed very recently with a frightening cancer that appeared shockingly quickly. She’s our age, she’s married, she’s the mom to a baby boy. She’s a vegetarian, she eats organic food, she exercises. She does everything right. And she is fighting for a miracle. I am in awe of her right now: she remains positive, and genuine, and strong, and open, and has a kick-ass gorgeous smile that I’m very happy threads its way through our kids’ genetics. She is surrounded by a family community that is rallying around her with cheers and prayers and support and a massive amount of love, and she deserves every single good gesture that comes her way.
I don’t have much that I can articulate right now. I’m angry. I’m sad. I’m shaking my fist at the sky, yelling “Why? It’s not fair!”
She is fighting. We are praying. Come on, God, help a girl out.
I promise. I’ll try not to complain so much anymore.