Tuesday, April 28, 2015

Foul Mood Monday

I haven't told y'all a crazy Miss Vera story in a while.... Remember her?  My lady from the gym who thinks I wear see through pants?  She's also the one that told me she could see up my running skirt - because she said she looked  - and how she thinks I like people to look on up there and make their eyes  welcome in my privately skirted places.  To which I had just about HAD. IT. UP. TO. HERE. with that stuff, and had to report her to the official gym management,.... a.k.a, my strong yet sweet friend who spoke to her and told her she can't treat the instructors that way.  So she got mad and never came back to class (and/or my friend secretly threatened to break her knees if the harassment continued and she was forever banned from organized older adult activities.  We may never know.)

Well. We meet again, Miss Vera... this time in the hidden away bathroom up on the second floor where I found her painting her nails on the baby changing table.  So I greeted her politely... and she told me that I look different.  And I waited nervously to see what gory details she might add to that one, but she didn't.  She simply asked me if I still have that same husband.  

Yes, Miss Vera, I still have that same husband as far as I know, but I haven't checked in with him today to make sure.  She said she thought I might have a new one now.  Because apparently girls who wear see through pants to work tend to go through husbands fairly quickly where she comes from. 

And my alarm didn't go off this morning so we all over slept and woke to Foul Mood Monday.  Which lives right across the street from Foul Mouth Monday, just a hop skip and a jump away.   But luckily Fireman Dave got home on time and took the boys to school since we slept through the bus.  Reason #301 that I got married and try to hang onto my man, Miss Vera... for just those occasions when my kids miss the school bus and they're making me late for work. 

Y'all, I've been climbing a hill these last few days.  Maybe even devil's mountain.  I've worried about the kids getting too big to need me anymore which husband says will never be the case.  And I've been shown the truth that sometimes things just aren't as we want or expect.  Darn.  Darn it all.  

And here's the worst.  The I think weird thoughts a little bit each day award goes to  .... worrying far too much that the state of my abdominals may one day trespass across my bosom county line.  Or vice versa.  These are things I think about when I don't get enough sleep. 

And y'all, Foul Mood Monday followed right along behind Sad Sunday and I'm Mad at the World Saturday... And it's in those times exactly, that #1, I give thanks for my mid-life mood and memory supplement.  And #2, that I fall down on my knees and ask the amazing God of worried women to help me out a bit down here.  Which he typically does, but often times not on my schedule. 

So I'm thinking a lot about prayers right now.  Because I haven't been very good about that lately.  And I'm determined to get back on track there.  And I'm thinking about grace, which is doled out to me in bits and pieces each and every day if I just take time to look.  Grace often, lucky for me, shows itself in the glimpses of God's wonderful sense of humor that distract me from myself.  

Today?  I got a visit with Miss Vera to show me that there are those that are, indeed, crazier than me.  And I got a surprise look at a dancing teenager in his underwear that made me glad to be alive.  And glad that underwear is perfect for dancing in.  

And sometimes I just have to be thankful for the little reminders that it's all pretty okay... like homemade chocolate chip cookies when the world seems like it needs a little treat.

And that, my friends, is grace.    Big, yet small enough to be personal.  Quiet, but loud enough to yell, Look at me.  I'm a good thing

Grace is the gift of looking past ourselves when we can barely lift our eyes on our own.

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  1. Right on track for many of us recipients of grace as we try to share that Grace with others in our lives


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