You Can Count on Me

I started counting recently. Sometimes counting. Sometimes timing. Just keeping track of the time. For instance, six seconds seems like much longer when you’re rushing out the door. Really? Only six seconds to put your shoes on. When I count, I don’t scream at Lily to HURRY UP. What is six seconds in the grand scheme of this journey?

Now, I haven’t always been a counter. In fact the concept of counting to ten before verbally decapitating someone has always been foreign to me. I scream, feel immediate guilt, apologize and then carry the shame around for…well, I’m working on it.

Anyway, I started counting at the elementary school. At morning drop-off, people zip in and out of that parking lot as if they are rushing a hemorrhaging gunshot victim to the ER. If someone stops, holding up traffic to let the buses exit, said person gets unfriendly hand gestures. People. Lose. Their. Minds: throwing their hands in the air, flipping you off, pounding their steering wheels, etc. Now, I remember what it was like to have to rush to a job, so, one morning, I took out my phone and timed the buses leaving. It took 35 seconds.

Perhaps if you do have a gunshot victim in your backseat, that 35 seconds would be the difference between life and death. If not…1.2.3.4.5.6.7.8.9.10…calm down.

I counted to 10 so I didn’t say calm the f#$k down. This counting business WORKS. Let’s take it on the road!

Today, I took my mom grocery shopping. She has been home now for a few weeks and doing much better. Still, I don’t want to just set her loose on the road after our recent scares. She is still moving pretty slowly. Lots of people move slowly at Walmart and not always because they’re 83 and recovering from a hospital stay. Sometimes they are inconsiderate and rude and don’t even realize that they’re standing in the middle of the aisle blocking everyone’s progress while they decide which cereal to buy. 1.2.3.4.5.6.7.8. Not so bad.

In the past, I scooted my mom through the store, apologizing repeatedly to everyone whose hurried progress we impeded. Today, I helped her navigate through uncrowded aisles and gently pulled her cart out of the middle of the aisle.

We made it through without incident.

I guided her to a non-crowded checkout line with a cashier I know–because I’m at Wal-Mart all. the. time–is very sweet and patient. My mom always writes a check, and it takes longer than it takes to swipe a card. Normally, I rush her through this process, “Mom, you can just give your check to the cashier; you don’t have to fill it out.” But today I realized that at 83 having lost her husband of more than 50 years, two sons, most of her hearing, many friends, a lot of her independence, and nearly her life a month ago, she could write a check if she wanted.

Then I counted. 1.2.3.4.5…the woman behind us rolled her eyes. 6.7.8.9.10…she sighed loudly and looked at the person behind her for commiseration. I stared at her and felt my blood pressure rising and angry words catching in my throat. 11.12.13.14.15. the guy in the next line lobbied for my agreement on something, “Isn’t that right, Blondie?” Shut. The. F#$k. Up. Start again: 1.2.3. Oh she’s done.

It took her 18 seconds to write a check. I apologize to the woman behind us in line if she was 18 seconds late for her next important appointment, or if the gunshot victim in her car died during those 18 seconds or the subsequent 6 it took my mom to produce her id. I met her glare with a smile.

I can’t tell you how many times I’m surprised that what seems to be taking so long is often just a few seconds. It’s often something Lily or my mom is doing. I’m trying really hard not to rush them anymore. I feel like I’ve been hurrying Lily since she was born–even before she was born–and the other day I watched her swinging effortlessly across the monkey bars. She no longer needed me to walk beside her or catch her when she jumped down or just “be there.” A big old lump rose up in my throat as I thought…Oh no…I rushed it all away.

So, I’m counting instead rushing today. Because sometimes those seconds seem so long, until you’re on the other side looking back and wishing you had just a few more.

21 Days: Day 8 — LET’S GO BUCKS!

I have to write early because there’s a pretty important football game tonight, and preparing physically and mentally takes a lot of energy. Additionally, my husband is home and bouncing around the house like a little kid on Christmas, and that makes it hard to write. And finally, I have to take my mom to the doctor, which also requires preparation…

Apparently, the snow plow drivers are Buckeyes fans and were already preparing this morning; at least they weren’t plowing the snowy, slushy roads. It was a crappy drive to school so I used the time to give Peyton lots of useful tips about driving in the snow. It sounded a lot like, “See how close this a-hole behind me is? Don’t do that.” He won’t drive for another year, was half asleep and not a bit interested in my monologue, but it soothed me.

1. After three lazy snow days and a weekend, when that alarm sang out at 5 a.m., gratitude wasn’t my initial reaction. Ugh. Bed, Brad, kids, house, car with good tires and 4-wheel drive. I realize, as I’ve been writing about the blessings that my bed is nearly always first. It’s a good bed. Everyone who sleeps in it agrees. The kids love it. Our Florida besties love it. Brad does too. Once, after an extended out-of-town stay for work, as we snuggled in, he whispered “I missed you so much…”

“Me or the bed?” I giggled.

“Both of you.”

2. The good thing about having a husband who travels a lot is that you learn to do lots of things by yourself. That is also the bad thing. You have to because if you don’t do those things no one else will. I used to complain more, but I have a friend whose husband travels a lot as well, and she never complains. She just does stuff, asks someone else to do it, or doesn’t do it. She is one of my many role models. This morning, I dragged 3 garbage cans through 4 inches of heavy, wet snow and then drove P to school without thinking twice about it. I’m not bragging, just stating the facts. When I came home and told Brad that the roads were bad, he said, “Why didn’t you wake me up to take him?” I didn’t think of it because it isn’t usually an option.

I’ve always wanted Brad to take charge of some certain traditional gender role tasks. Take the garbage out. Handle car maintenance. Clean the gutters. You know. But, a funny thing happens sometimes when you’re waiting for someone to take care of you: You learn to take care of yourself. But today, watching my husband who is a) home and b) not only fixing my leaky sink but also replacing the faucet which has been leaking for years, I am almost overwhelmed with glee. When he was home every day, I probably would have been worn out from asking him to fix that sink. My reaction would have been more, “It’s about damn time,” and less, “Look at him! He’s fixing the sink AND the faucet. He’s an angel boy!” Changing circumstances sure can shift your perspective; I see that today with amazing clarity. 

3. Writing daily Thank You notes is teaching me that there are always people to thank. The smallest act of kindness can shift your mood and change your whole outlook. It’s a good reminder that we can and do make a difference.

In Small Victories, Anne Lamott, in a quandary over political and military situations questions her friend, a Jesuit priest, how to help, and he advises: “You take care of the suffering,” reminding her that there are people suffering everywhere. Sometimes we get so caught up in our helplessness on a grand scale that we miss a million little opportunities right in front of us. We forget to smile and hold the door because we’re focused on our destination. We walk past a person picking up their dropped groceries caught up in fussing about what great things we could do instead of grocery shopping. (Or maybe it’s because we’re worried it’s a ploy to rob us because of that email we just read.) We can’t be bothered to pick up a frazzled mom’s change clanging on the dirty Walmart floor as she wrestles her wriggling toddler into the cart because we are waiting for our big break. We’re waiting for God to show us our purpose. That’s the thing though: These little things are our purpose. Slow down, look up, pay attention, love, serve…

Don’t miss out on the beauty of the life you have because you’re waiting for the life you want.

This is gonna be a rough Daniel Fast day. Buckeye parties mean beer, more beer and delicious food that is not fast-approved. I’m going to eat sweet potato and black bean soup, which is delicious even if it’s not pizza or 7-layer Mexican dip. I think I’ll also wear blinders and a nose plug. But I’m already telling you: I’m gonna drink beer.

How’s your Monday? Two of my fellow fasters text me to celebrate their 3 and 1 pound weight losses. I blocked their numbers. I’m kidding… I’ll celebrate with you when you rub my nose in your weight loss, you beeyotches. I’m currently +2. Wooo Hoo.

xoxo

21 days of water, twigs, berries and thanks

Last year, along with our church family, we participated in the Daniel Fast. I wrote some about it here, here, and even a little bit here. This year, we are fasting again, but I feel better prepared and ready for the challenge. In addition to abstaining from caffeine, alcohol, bread and more, I’ve decided to add in a gratitude element.

Every morning, I spend my first few moments of consciousness thanking God for all He has given me…an amazing husband with whom I get to raise three healthy, beautiful, brilliant children…my own health…and every opportunity to use the unique gifts He placed within me to spread a little love and compassion.

Recently Rob Bell appeared on Super Soul Sunday–have you watched? It’s an awesome show where Oprah talks to inspirational people and has completely replaced my Real Housewives addiction–and spoke about a 21-day gratitude challenge which includes the following daily tasks:

1. Spend 2 minutes counting blessings
2. Write out one meaningful experience
3. Send a thank you note to one person

This seemed to complement a spiritually enriching food fast, and since I have this perfect place to keep me accountable, I thought I would drop out of some of my traditional social media scrolling for the 21 days and just post here.

If you are interested in joining me, please share your experiences or links to your own posts in the comments. And if you want to reach me in the meantime, you can email me at maryswanbell@gmail.com.

Love and prayers for a healthy and happy start to 2015!

xoxo