The work day yesterday ended with an unexpected phone call from a person who is not a client. Not ten seconds into the phone call I began to have my ass chewed 6 different ways. I was completely blindsided and utterly shocked by the audacity. Definitely a “do you know how important I am?” kind of scenario. My entire body was shaking. I did not want to make a rash decision, but I didn’t need it and I sure as heck didn’t deserve it. After more than enough taking it, I gave just a bit back.
Then today, a day I usually work from home, I hustled into work with Finley in tow and spent the hours between 9 and 3 at a full sprint. There was so much to do and it literally felt as if I had a combative trainer crouched on the edge of my seat militantly checking a stopwatch every five minutes and blowing a shrill whistle of disappointment at me. The faster I tried to work the more futile it seemed. Then at noon Ave joined the mix. My chest tightened, the twitch I’ve had in my eye for a week started fluttering double time. Unexpected obstacles sprang up, so while I managed snacks, naps and genuine meals slipped through my fingers.
By 3 I was rushing to get Briar and trying to give the road my attention. I felt like a rubberband with no more snap. Making it home without incident was something for which I genuinely spent a moment uttering a silent thank you. The time between unlocking the door and welcoming Sean home to hours later was filled with attempts to play. The 58 degree weather begged us to come out, but the yard was a 50/50 split os treacherous ice and 3′ snow that wouldn’t hold us. The wind finally chased us in, where I found a flurry of emails demanding more from me.
Not twenty minutes after Sean got home we got the call that his mom was at the ER. Nothing life-threatening, but distressing all the same. After a visit, dinner and stories we all went down for the night like it was our last.
This morning the air is once again cold and punishing, the blues are wafting through the house trying to lay claim on our spirits. I bat them away, trying to conquer them while saving enough fight for the next wave of whatever may come.
Rather than trying to make sense of it all, I am calling on the younger Amanda. She always knew how to see the good. She’d sit up on a craggy hill, beneath a twisted old shrub, the branches curving to accommodate her wiry body, and she’d dream up some happy. No need for playmates or glittery toys. She had everything she needed. So I’m filling up a rag tag basket with memories, I’m counting them again and again and whispering thanks. Because despite uneven ground and wicked bumps, I know there is a good.