Two apples

Getting out of the house on a Monday morning is no small feat.  Addie left mad at the world because I somehow lost her jog-a-thon envelope that I have never even seen.  Bryson wanted me to read him a lego magazine comic, but of course I didn't have time for that, so he slinked away and said, "That's okay, I'll just look at the pictures for now".  I let him watch Curious George to ease the guilt, just a little.  I could have had time, I thought, if I didn't need to eat, and wipe the counters, and make some coffee.  All in all, we got out of the house by 8:15 after I ransacked three cupboards through piles of papers tucked away during house showing with no sign of that damn jog-a-thon envelope and got Bryson to school by 8:25.  Beds made, laundry in hampers, cushions smoothed, hair cleaned off bathroom surfaces, sinks cleaned, toilets doubled checked for flushing, all just in case someone wants to look at our house to maybe buy it today. 

I got to school and Bryson's teacher asked me if we brought in two apples.  We did not.  Nor was it on my radar.  I asked her if I could bring them in on Wednesdays, she said that by Wednesday they'd be made into applesauce, today was for cutting them up and tasting.  She said I could bring them in after school when I picked him up.  But after school he goes to daycare, and I get home at 6pm at the earliest.  I left and thought about how I could get those apples to her after school.  Call our nanny, call another mom from the class? I ransacked my brain, trying to think if I knew about this at some point or not.  I could imagine a cartoony calendar, one from a month ago. Where was that thing now?  How could I let this happen.  I beat myself up most of the way home to get the apples. 

It's not the end of the world, you know.  

My friend is mourning the loss of her father
My friend is watching three of her kids thrive in health, and one in multiple therapies to regain mobility
My friend is worried that her marriage is hopeless
My friend is trying to understand her son's debilitating anxiety.
My friend is a newly single mother, worried that she cannot do it alone
My friend is pushing through the pain of her foster children.
My friend was in a car accident
My friend is worried about her mom's chemo treatments
My friend is struggling as she watches her daughter not recover well from surgery

I forgot the apples.
I had time to go home and get some and drop them off.
I still got to work on time.
I emailed the jog-a-thon team, new form will go home tomorrow.  
What is my problem then? 

My life with it's little blips each day is okay.  It's better than okay.  Today, I don't have any of those worries that I listed above and people I love have those, and that is a blessing.  Bigger than a blessing.  My day will come with some life shattering worries, I'm sure of it, but today was not that day, and if I pretend that it is, then I am a liar and a thief of my own time and joy.  

I will not let the liar into my head who tells me I am a failure because I forgot to bring some fruit to preschool.  Or that a mad kid over a lost fundraiser form determines my worth.  That my struggles are big or real, in the way that they have the power to take away my victories.  I will not let two bad apples rot away the tree full of good apples.  

I have to proactively work at this thinking.  We all do.  For some reason, it doesn't come naturally, not unless you practice it.  To wake up each day and remember to listen for the Voice of Truth over the lies of the busy and condescending world.  Each day starts anew, you have to remember again and again and again, until you are weary wondering how many times you have to learn the same lesson.  But then, there isn't a better feeling than feeling perceived failure pushing you down, sinking lower…only to remember the brightness of the good truth, and to feel your heart raising up, the fog lifting, the truth about who you are and what matters carrying you high.  

So today started with a feeling of defeat, but then, then I remembered.  

And now my heart soars with gratitude.