Wow, has it ever been a week! It started on Monday! I had just gotten my weekly manicure and pedicure at Paradise Salon when I chipped my middle nail on my right hand as I fumbled for my Jag’s keys.
“Lord, have mercy!” I shouted to no one in hearing range. I was already running late to meet Betsy for lunch. She always chastises my organizational skills because I never get to lunch first. How are we going to have enough time to plan EVERYTHING necessary for the Association’s Charity Ball now? I can just hear her think this as I peel out of the parking lot.
Fine then. I wouldn’t have even been late if I hadn’t spent the extra fifteen minutes this morning arguing with my husband. When I opened the dryer earlier that morning, a rogue blue sock had tumbled out in a sea of my silky whites.
“WHAT’S THIS?!?!? Damn it, Charles! If I told you once, I have told you a thousand times, DON’T MIX COLORS WITH WHITE!” He just doesn’t get it. He thinks apologies should just cover everything. Well not this time, mister. I want you to learn to listen to me! Clearly he’s off his meds again.
Lunch was pretty much an exercise in futility as Betts shot down all my ideas for the ball, but giggled that annoying little 7th grade laugh of hers, as she showed me her designer’s plans for the ballroom that all her friends just raved about.
On Tuesday my daughter Crystal informed she got a B- in Honors Calculus. Seriously? After all that money we spent on tutoring last year?
“College is competitive Missy. I don’t know what your problem is, but you need to pull yourself together.”
“Okay, Mom! I get it. I know! Dad went to Brown, as did his father and his father. I am doing my level best to march lock step in line with your plans for me, so I won’t be the first to break our family honored chain of tradition!”
Crystal does that. She has this way of being sarcastic when she knows she screwed up. Deep down, she knows her father and I only want what’s truly best for her.
The rest of the week was exhausting. I was dealt an impossible to do list: Take our oldest son Will’s Tahoe to the shop for an oil change. A second meeting finalizing the Charity Ball plans. Take my mother in law to her weekly bridge club. Deal with the frisky exterminator, what’s his problem? Finish my Christmas shopping for all 6 of our siblings and their kids! Unload all the groceries and then realize I forgot the freaking dental floss. Peggy, our housekeeper of fifteen years gets sick the week of Thanksgiving! Great!
Finally, on Friday I had to chaperone Jason and an entire class of second graders on a field trip to what else? A water treatment plan where we all learned how raw sewage is recycled back into water. I swear from this day forward, it’s Evian or nothing at all for me. Then, wouldn’t you know it, when I was at the smelliest part of the water treatment facility, about a half mile from where I had parked, I tripped over a rock, and broke the heal on one of my brand new Jimmy Choos. I had to finish the field trip by precariously balancing my weight on my good left leg and tip-toeing on the right.
I barely got home in time to watch Days of our Lives.
What’s this? Right there smack in the middle of our wall screen, our dusty old box TV with rabbit ears from the attic was perched on a card table.
I called my husband at the hospital immediately! “Page Dr. Clark stat,” I yelled at the very rude receptionist. You’d think a busy metropolitan hospital could page a neurosurgeon in under twenty minutes. What if someone had an actual emergency?
Twenty minutes later, Charles informs me the overhead projector is broken so he took it to be repaired this morning. “So I set up our old TV in the living room, because I know that’s where you like to sip your coffee as you watch your Days.”
“Thank you,” I mumbled. Bless his heart, he really does try sometimes. I collapsed in a heap on the sofa. I couldn’t help it. I started crying.
Suddenly a memory crept up towards the surface of my consciousness. When I was a little girl, probably no more than seven, I can remember I once fell off my Princess Daisy bike and scraped my cheek a little bit. My granny Pearl was the one who parted my hair back off my face, wiped the dirt and blood off with her clean little hanky, and kissed my tear-stained cheek.
“There there, my baby girl. It’s not so bad. You’re gonna have days like this,” she softly whispered.
“Yeah, but I’m going to be in the Little Miss Charleston Pageant this weekend and now I’ll be the only one who is ugly.”
She laughed and laughed. That made me cry more. “Child, you’re no more ugly than the sun is freezing. You’ve got to relax sometimes. Just go with the flow. It’s all good!”
It’s all good. I try to remember that when I have a week like this one.
I do something next I haven’t done in a really long time. I probably haven’t done this since my granny used to take me to Sunday school all those years ago all decked out in bobby sox and Buster Brown Mary Janes. I get out my bible. I close my eyes and open it up to any old random page. I put my finger on the page. I open it up. Then I smile.
Well, golly gee, I can just hear my granny say, look at the encouragement the Good Lord left for you today:
For we know all things work to the good, for those that love Him and are called according to His purposes. Romans 8:28
It’s all good. Indeed.