October 27, 2017

I'm not sure why, but I just wasn't feeling it today.  Lance cried a lot.  I'm tired from getting up to work out with Greg.  My mood just seemed to be down in the basement today.  To lighten things up, I took the little boys to the Halloween store in an effort to fulfill my family's hopes and dreams of having our whole family dress up as super heroes.  We never do anything like this.  But everyone was on board and it was up to me to make it happen.

That's Owen!!

We wandered around through the store and finally got something to complete everyone's outfits.  I hope it all works out.  It was fun for the little boys to see everything for sale.

Next stop was the Boy Scout store.  We picked up a Scout shirt and Scout book for Miles for his campout tonight.  Greg is nicely going with him.  What an awesome Dad!  (He doesn't love camping and he doesn't love Scouts!)  While in the store, Owen and Lance were looking at this cute little Scout Camp Christmas village on display near the check out stand.  I was paying for my items when suddenly the cashier loudly snapped, "Please don't touch!"  It startled me enough that I quickly looked up from my purse where I was reaching in for my wallet.  At first I wasn't sure who she was talking to.  I turned my head and saw Owen withdrawing his little hand from where he had gently touched a snowy rooftop.  Since we were almost the only ones in the whole store, I knew she was talking to my children.  I was embarrassed.  I quickly grabbed their hands and pulled them away from the display, but it broke my heart a little to see how interested they were in the tiny tents and the mess hall and the darling wintry scene.  The cashier must have sensed how stern she had sounded.  She tried to warm back up to me and to my children.  But all I could think about was the way she had sounded.  We paid for our items and quickly exited the store.

As I put the kids into the car, Owen started talking about the cute little Christmas village.  And, thinking that he might be feeling bad about the cashier, I said to him, "That lady wasn't very nice when she yelled "don't touch," huh?"  Immediately, and I mean immediately, Owen responded, "No, Mom!  She said, "Please"."  I stopped in my tracks.  I looked into his eyes.  All of the judgment I had placed on this middle-aged woman, head-to-toe in a scout uniform, wasn't there in Owen's eyes. I hadn't appreciated the way she had snapped at my children.  And maybe she didn't like the way she sounded either.  But when she tried to back-track and say little things about the village to put the kids at ease, I had tucked the children closer to me and hurried out of the store.  I hadn't been as quick to forgive her as I should've been.  I hadn't been as quick to overlook it as Owen had been.  In fact, Owen didn't need to forgive her because he never allowed himself to be offended in the first place.

This exchange has stayed on my mind all day.  I am still amazed at the quick, almost incredulous, way that Owen corrected me: "No, Mom.  She said, 'Please!'"  It was like he didn't even know what I was talking about by indicating she had been anything other than totally nice.  I've thought about all of the millions of times I hear myself saying something stupid, or the times I say something and hear it coming out wrong, or the times I say something and can tell by the startled look on the other person's face that it came across differently than I would have liked.  I've thought of all the times I've fumbled to make it better, or the times I've tried to rephrase something, or the times I've hopefully smoothed things out.  Oh, how I desperately wish that the ten nice things I've said can outweigh the one stupid thing I muttered.  Oh, how I wish for forgiveness.

Why is it that when someone offends us (yes, I know, only I can "choose" to be offended!), that all we remember is that one offensive thing?  Why do we fixate on that?  Why do we suddenly forget everything else about that person?  How many friendships have been ruined by one misstep?

Oh, Miles, I'm too tired! :)

In the afternoon, I rushed about gathering sleeping bags and making tin-foil dinners for the guys to go  camping.  Miles was really excited to go.  But when Greg came in the door, the kitchen looked like a bomb had gone off.  There were Halloween costumes strewn about (everyone was SO excited about my purchases), camping stuff was piled up, and toys were everywhere.  I was chopping onions and cooking carrots.  I looked about as good as the messy kitchen.  I just wanted to crawl into my bed and call it a day.  But the evening was only beginning.

Miles--at the campout--on top in the black pants.  He is having a blast!

I got Miles and Greg out the door, and then turned my focus to the kitchen.  But it just wasn't in me.  All day I'd been waiting to hear news of Jaron's surgery.  I was worried and anxious.  Maybe that's part of what sapped my energy today.  We were finally hearing word that Jaron had made it through surgery.  The surgeon was very positive about it all.  He felt like he got the whole tumor, and best of all, Jaron was still able to talk.  It was such a relief.  When all the positive news was coming through the texts, I thought to myself, "Whew, I'm so glad it is turning out a little better than we thought..."  Suddenly, as clear as day, these words came into my mind as if someone else were saying them, "This is a miracle."

It was unmistakable.  Our prayers were answered.  Jaron is experiencing miracles.  I will always believe that.

I had hoped to climb into bed early tonight, but I decided to let Julia and her friends spend the evening at the Field of Screams at Staheli Farm.  I drove them to the farm and dropped them off.  There were boys and girls, and the excitement of a crisp, fall evening was heavy in the air.  I had to smile as I drove home.

Is it bedtime, yet?

Emma and I got everyone into bed and then watched some episodes of Parks and Rec.  When it was time to pick up Julia, I arrived at the farm to see that she had offered rides to a few extra (way out of the way) friends.  I was sort of grumpy about it, but I spent almost an hour driving everyone home.  Julia felt bad, but I finally assured her that I was so happy she had had a good night, it was just that I was tired.  So, no worries.  When we got back, Emma was sound asleep on the floor, wedged between the couch and the ottoman.  She had been waiting for me to come back.  That was a good sign that we all needed to fall into bed.  I hope I feel better tomorrow.  I hope the boys are okay on their campout.  I hope Joni and Jaron have a good night.  I'm thankful for my soft bed.