I woke up late today, again. I'm really good at that.
My morning brain is full of excuses and BS rationale.
I scrambled to feed the baby and get my older girls ready for the day. Making sure they ate something decent, wore something clean, looked presentable...ya know.
I forgot about the weather. The snow. The car. The frost.
Just when I thought I made up for waking up late and we were all ready to go, on time, I realized I didn't account for the cold, crusted in frost, car.
I put my Boggs and hoodie on to go assess the damage.
But as I was trudging through the icy snow with the snow scraper, cussing jack frost, I stopped at a window and stared.
The frost was STUNNING.
It was tiny ballerina dancers flitting across a smooth stage. An organic flock of birds, wings stretched out, diving and rising all together, yet separate. It was arms stretched out for an embrace. A feather floating slowly toward the ground. It was the sparkles in my daughter's blue eyes. The spin while dancing. It was laughter. It was soft and sharp. Symmetrical. Scientific. But also Free and Wild. It was that feeling you get when you find a piece of yourself, and you fall in love with yourself. It was visual music. My favorite song, i Giorini, with the lifts and aching and lightness and depth.
And I forgot to be angry at the frost.
I just needed to look a little closer, and my anger and inconvenience became beautiful.
What else am I missing? I thought.
When I walked back into the house I wasn't really concerned with the girls being on time. We still tried, I think they made it. But if not, whatever.
Before they got in the car I showed them the frost. On the way to school I had them look at the frost on their windows and tell me what they saw, to feel the awe. They almost missed it too. But not today. Today we saw. We felt. We were lifted.
The frost reminded me of this time last year. I was pregnant with little Ella and so so sick. I was finally feeling better mentally, feeling like I got my depression under control but my physical health was crap. I get terrible morning- all freaking day long- sickness. And with Ella it lasted well into 2nd trimester. I tried 3-4 different nausea medications all of which made it worse besides one that bought me about an hour of feeling human.
My schedule was to wake up and do the girl's hair (Carson got them ready besides hair), try and eat something, move to the recliner in the front room, turn on tv for 2 year old Adeline, puke, lay back in the chair and sleep and snuggle Adeline until 11:30 when I had to go get Joslynn from Kindergarten. Put on slippers to get Joslynn. Come home and turn TV back on for kids. (Unhealthy amounts, yes) More puking. Lunch. More puking more couch time. Pick up a few things...etc etc. For months.
I think being sick with Ella was so hard because I was finally feeling good again and I was "knocked back down." Laying around all day- for whatever reason- doesn't help anyone's mental health. And mine started to deteriorate again.
I was angry that I didn't have the ability to keep the house how I wanted, to cook, to work on my novel, to live normally. I was angry that my life was so inconvenienced.
But then one day, I saw the frost.
I spent hours laying with my little Adeline, snuggling. Loving. She got to the point when she would say to me excitedly: "Are we going to get dressed today mama?!" And she would nuzzle her wild haired head under my chin and pat my cheeks with her tiny hands. She was so happy with just being with me. Getting dressed. Having picnics of crackers and cheese and fruit because I had no energy to cook. She saw the beauty in the inconvenience. And finally I did too.
It was actually achingly hard when I felt better and wasn't lying around all day. Adeline and I both missed all the snuggles.
But it helped me see how important slowing down is. Even when I could be doing a million other things, when a child begging for some snuggles feels so inconvenient, or when the world's schedule is pressuring us to keep moving, I'm now reminded to look for the frost.
The slowness. The spinning. The dancing. The laughter. The softness. The music. The aching. The lightness. The depth.
Because when we see it, our inconveniences become beautiful.
Hi! I'm Amy
I am a Christian wife and mother, a writer, and a recovering perfectionist who is tired of chasing happiness in all the wrong ways. I am now on a journey to find a deeper state of being. Join me on My Peace Project and we'll learn how to survive the chaos together!