Shortest day of the year... thankfully

Shortest day of the year... thankfully

The shortest day deserves the shortest blog post.

I began this shortest day quite irritable, feeling overwhelmed, despite being officially "off" from school for two weeks. I celebrated the midday by putting my foot in my mouth, and I finish it feeling somewhat relieved and tired.

When I awakened this morning, I was visually disturbed by my house, which I have, of necessity, ignored. Christmas baking, school work, and evening varsity basketball games have taken priority, and, thus, my house seemed a bit overwhelming this morning -- especially as I meant to help my daughter and her husband move from their first apartment to their first house. Could I just say I was a bit irritable? Noticeably irritable? My husband was likely happy to go to work.

But it was nothing a few hours of housework couldn't cure...

Then I went to my daughter's apartment, with my 17-year-old son in tow. He is somewhat shy, and he didn't think he'd know the other helpers. Just as we parked, however, an Asian young man parked beside us and yelled, "Mrs. Dagen!" It was Jason, who had attended the school where I teach for a full week several years ago but had managed a prolonged friendship with my son. Whew. My son Adam was relieved; he knew someone.

We walked to the moving van, where I noticed a black and a Hispanic young man, along with with my red-headed, Irish-appearing daughter, and her husband.

"Wow, I love the ethnicity represented in this moving crew," I said aloud to people I had never met.

(I inwardly cringed; what prompted that? Could I be more racially insensitive?)

The moving crew looked around, noticed what I observed, and began laughing and cracking jokes.

"All we need is an Indian," I said, continuing my unabashed commentary.

"He's on the side of the truck," said Jason.

I looked and saw the painted figure of a Native American and was amazed he had noticed in our quick pass by the truck just moments earlier. I had noticed nothing.

Adam and I worked for a couple of hours, enjoying the fellowship and the work, and then returned home, where I continued my own house work. I made progress and now feel relatively satisfied and relieved.

As I end this shortest day of the year, hoping to make the most of the longest night of the year, I am thankful that I had fewer daylight hours to display my faults. I am even more thankful I have people in my life who can overlook my irritability and my occasional, unfortunate outspokenness. I am more thankful for a God who loves me despite all my flaws.

And tomorrow I hope to have a better day. A slightly longer one.

Happy winter!

 

Related Posts

No One Taught Me To Be A Caregiver, but I Learned

I am the only child of two highly successful and independent parents. When my father started to get a bit forgetful, I just attributed it to his absent minded professor mystique. He had a very prominent career as a president of the international division of a heavy truck and equipment manufacturer. He traveled frequently to over 130 countries and regularly met with heads of state. After he retired from this position he began his second career as a graduate school professor in international trade and finance. His IQ was off the charts and I could always count on his rational mind to see through any perceived intellectual difficulty. One day that all started to change.   Read more >

Low-Income Soccer Snacks

I knew what he was thinking. I knew he couldn’t believe I was spending food stamps on soccer snacks. Believe me, I could think of so many better ways to spend those precious food stamps. Milk. Eggs. Bread. Cereal. Not Gatorade and cookies and little packages of Wheat Thins. It killed me to spend that much of my family’s food money for the month on an entire soccer team. And how would the team feel if they knew that the food their kids would be eating was bought with state money? Would they treat it as if the food were tainted, as if I were poisoning their kids with poor people food?   Read more >

Lonely: Surviving the First Year of Motherhood and Learning to Reach Out

Pushing the bright green stroller that my mother had just given me, my 3-week-old son asleep inside, I circled lap after lap of the closest indoor shopping mall to our house. It wasn't yet 8 a.m., but I was already there, alongside the early mall walkers in their white velcro shoes. I didn’t know it then, but I was doing the exact thing that I needed to be doing for my mental state at the time. I was getting out.   Read more >

Comments

In order to comment on BlogHer.com, you'll need to be logged in. You'll be given the option to log in or create an account when you publish your comment. If you do not log in or create an account, your comment will not be displayed.