Not Rocket Science

toddler singing

budding rock star

It’s no secret that I over-think things. You don’t have to be my oldest and closest confidante to know that I over-analyze until I’m blue. Just read a few blog posts.

I try my darndest to err on the positive side of things, looking at the glass as half full.  But that glass can tip dangerously to the side sometimes, and the water falls out drop by drop. And with it, my positive attitude.

I set my alarm 20 min ahead, I lay out my outfit, empty the dishwasher the night before. I line up the many bags I take to to work and to drop off Evan at school. Evan is sleeping soundly, and I close my eyes for a peaceful night’s rest.

The glass is half full, looking plentiful and teeming with water.

Overnight I lie awake listening to the sounds of my dog absentmindedly licking her paws, my husband snoring, and Evan talking in his sleep. My alarm goes off and I realize I have only slept about 3 hours total. I realize Evan’s best cup is in the backseat of the van, and I forgot it was my brother in law’s birthday, and shoot, I didn’t get more Walmart brand generic Pediasure on the way home from work the day before. I run around trying to get ready but I get distracted about six different times because my energy level is so depleted from no sleep. The glass starts to tip to the side.

Drip. Drip.

I drop Evan off at school, and I realize it was “Wear Brown” day and he is in orange. I write a hastily scrawled note to Evan’s teacher to let her know that he has physical therapy that day at school. “Should have told them that earlier in the week so they could have prepared….” I think to myself. I run out the door to get in the car because I have a meeting at work that I am already 5 minutes late for and I haven’t even left Evan’s school.

Drip. Drip.

After fumbling through my 43 different keys on my key chain to find he one that opens the school door, I run to the meeting. My administrator is already speaking and there are no chairs. I kneel on the floor to avoid looking conspicuous which ends up making me stick out all the more.

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Head, Shoulders…knees and…

Drip. Drip.

I try to save face by blaming my lateness on traffic, and a wardrobe malfunction with my son. Which is partially true but ends up sounding very pathetic and false when I spit it out.

Three of my students come in from morning recess complaining of someone “butting in front of them” in line. One will not let this go, interrupting me repeatedly to say how unfair it is that he would lose his place in line because of someone else making a poor choice.  My cell phone rings entirely too loudly on my desk, it is one of Evan’s therapists asking about a schedule change or the insurance company seeking missing paperwork I needed for possible reimbursement. I think about answering, but decide not to because the pledge of allegiance begins on the loudspeaker. I feel guilty for not answering. I would have felt guilty FOR answering.

Drip. Drip.

But then there is this:

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Our light. Our heart. The boy who can sing the same refrain to a song for an hour straight, putting different spins on the tune and intonation.

The boy who could barely pull himself up when lying in your lap a year ago, and now can do 20 sit ups on the exercise ball.

The boy who will say “I love you” (a very cute approximation anyway) if you just lean over him in his crib for an extra 15 seconds without saying a word. Letting him take his time to respond.

It doesn’t take a degree in rocket science to know why this guy was born.

To know why Evan is in our lives.

The glass never empties all the way.

Drops fall out but they find their way back in.

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3 Comments on Not Rocket Science

  1. Jamie
    December 3, 2013 at 7:03 pm (4 years ago)

    I love you girlie! Life’s glass is like that for all of us. Hope you can recharge your battery and breath into the next turn. Life is a roller coaster 😉

    Reply
  2. Kristi Campbell
    December 10, 2013 at 11:20 pm (4 years ago)

    This is beautiful and so very, very true. There are days when my glass smashes on the floor, and yet, when I pick up the pieces, there are always more drops.

    Reply
  3. Kerri @ Undiagnosed but okay
    December 11, 2013 at 2:29 pm (4 years ago)

    I feel like I have lived every moment of your morning. The other day I felt like I had rushed everywhere unprepared, was completely overwhelmed. Then in a meeting with Boo’s school one of the therapists said do you realize that just a year ago we were thinking about introducing PECS? And now Boo is using her voice. Sure at the top of her lungs, but she is using HER voice. And the cup runneth over in the good way.

    So glad Kristi told me about your blog, will definitely be back 🙂

    Reply

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