When I came to my computer this morning, a cold bowl of rice and a near-full Dr Pepper made me realize that when I left at 7:45 Tuesday night because Marty wanted me to look at a possible sticker or bug bite, I never came back in here. And I discovered when I went to make tea that I had never gone back up to the kitchen.
By the time the tea was done, it looked much better. I was thinking, as I cleaned up, of how quiet the house was. It was 7:55 and the sun was shining. Keith had left for work at 6:00, and Marty at 6:30. Holly was asleep and Kirby was... I panicked a little bit, because I thought he was supposed to be at work at 8:00, but I checked the handy-dandy kitchen calendar and today was a 9:00 day at the fine pizza establishment at which he is employed.
So it was still quiet, and I wasn't worried anymore. The stillness was nice.
I remember thousands of mornings with various combinations of little kids up and busy and messy and loud much earlier than that. And now there are times of various combinations of teenagers here being busy, messy and loud, but it's a peaceful noise.
Yesterday was busy and stressful for me and several around me. Kirby called me on his way to karate wanting advice on how to gracefully get out of his commitment there. I found out only later than his computer had been dead in the water when he left and he had been frustrated to the limit before he realized it was past time to leave to teach karate, and he was late. Keith had been with him for that part. I got the phone call elsewhere. But when he got home he felt better, having arranged for a karate-free May, and he found that his computer's video card was just loose from being carried back and forth from his friend's house. All was better. He had a frustration spike with a peaceful ending within just a couple of hours. I wish all such panics could be so easily diffused and defused as mine this morning and Kirby's yesterday afternoon.
There's a wish for all of you. May your panics dissolve into peaceful solutions.