My car was rear-ended on the way to work today. It was a good day. I know those two statements don't seem like they should be paired together, especially coming from a pessimist like me, but for today they go together like jam and toast. Please know that I was extremely upset about the wreck and a ball of nerves for awhile. I think that when you hear that loud crash, no matter how bad, you just assume that everything is wrong...your car, the other cars zooming past you, the weather, your children who aren't even near you. Until you experience that the world is okay...it was just a little bad car luck, then your day seems to stop. In my process of realizing that the world was not ending, I spent a great deal of time praying...that I would extend grace for the other driver, that no one would be upset with me for the delay this caused, and that God would take my anxiety about this situation. I praise God for being in control when I have none and thank Him for safety today.
We have a saying around my house lately--started by me--that says "The old Bethany would have _____". I use it when I refer to a situation I would have previously tried to control but that I now give to God. Well, the old Bethany would have called this guy a maniac, cried uncontrollably for a really long time, and been so devasted when I got home that I would have nearly just crawled into bed. However, I am choosing to pray to God more and let Him take these burdens. I still get angry, frustrated, concerned, and anxious. Today I was all of those. The difference is that now I am seeing those as feelings that God wants me to experience and lean on Him to carry...not solve myself. I can only claim this truly because of what God has done in my life.
So, today is a good day. It is a day I was fine from being rear-ended. It is the day that Mr. Jones was working on a car that suddenly caught on fire but didn't burn him at all. It was the day he bought me lunch. It is also the day I resisted checking emails 10,000 times and trusted all would be well without little ol' me. It is the day that Oliver's hair glistened like sunlight and Graham nestled up for a hug without me begging. It was a good day because it is the day that the Lord made...I have nothing else to do but rejoice and be glad in it.
Monday, February 25, 2013
Monday, January 21, 2013
Get Well Soon
Well, despite my best efforts, the flu found me. I spent Thursday evening-Sunday evening pretty much in bed the whole time. In between bouts of consciousness, I would wake up to Mr. Jones taking care of things. "Honey, how are you feeling? I decided to make a large steak dinner tonight." "Honey, how are you feeling? I decided to give Graham a short haircut." "Honey, how are you feeling? I decided I feel like cleaning out the garage today." To be honest, I'm not sure how much I agreed to...For all I know, maybe I'm the one who thought of having a fancy steak dinner. Whatever the case, there were no idle hands while I was indisposed.
One thing I do remember asking the hubby for was some stew meat when he went to the grocery store for me. I decided to make some "Get Well Stew" for myself...I don't know why I started calling it that, but it's sticking. My mother used to make stew quite a bit, but I never appreciated it as a child. I never thought a pot of vegetables was going to make me suddenly feel well. Regardless, she'd tell us to eat up when we were sick. She would usually throw in a Braum's malt to close the deal. Well now that I'm feeling better, I set to cooking myself some stew. I have to admit I was a little taken back to find 3.39 lbs of stew meat in my refridgerator (he got a good deal was all I was able to find out). So now, I'm making enough "Get Well Stew" for the entire Navy.
Spending time when you can't go about your normal routine is always hard for me, but it was especially hard this time. I don't know why, but it made me miss my mother and my sister...two of the big "caretakers" of sickness from my younger years. Not that either one of them have nursed me back to health in the last decade...and not that I didn't have wonderful care...but I guess there is something about longing for what you can't have. However, now that I'm on the mend, I'd like to go ahead and go on record for both of my boys that I promise to make you some stew, soup, or even steak, if you prefer, for any sick days that you may encounter for the rest of your life. Not because you need it, but just because it's something I can do. One day you'll like it.
If you find yourself sick this flu season, here's the most basic stew recipe ever. If you're making it for someone fancy, go to another blog and find a pretty cornbread recipe. If it's just you and family, do what Mr. Jones does for us...take some saltine crackers and spread some I Can't Believe it's Not Butter on there. That stuff is good...you can't tell anyone you eat because they'll laugh at you, but it's good.
Get Well Stew
Take 1.5-2 lbs (or 3.39 lbs if you have some amazing deal on it) of stew meat and brown it in a stock pot. Season it with garlic power, onion powder, a little salt, and a lot of pepper. Drain your meat when done. Pour in 2 large cans of tomato juice and any veggies you like. You can do as fresh or as frozen as you want on the veggies. I do peas, okra (it's the best), corn, a little onion, and some chopped carrots (those are for the family but I'm not eating them). I also put in 3 large cubed potatoes and let it all cook for a couple of hours.You can taste it every so often and add any additional seasonings. If you're from Texas, you can sprinkle some pepper sauce on your bowl before eating. Don't forget your butter crackers...or fancy cornbread.
One thing I do remember asking the hubby for was some stew meat when he went to the grocery store for me. I decided to make some "Get Well Stew" for myself...I don't know why I started calling it that, but it's sticking. My mother used to make stew quite a bit, but I never appreciated it as a child. I never thought a pot of vegetables was going to make me suddenly feel well. Regardless, she'd tell us to eat up when we were sick. She would usually throw in a Braum's malt to close the deal. Well now that I'm feeling better, I set to cooking myself some stew. I have to admit I was a little taken back to find 3.39 lbs of stew meat in my refridgerator (he got a good deal was all I was able to find out). So now, I'm making enough "Get Well Stew" for the entire Navy.
Spending time when you can't go about your normal routine is always hard for me, but it was especially hard this time. I don't know why, but it made me miss my mother and my sister...two of the big "caretakers" of sickness from my younger years. Not that either one of them have nursed me back to health in the last decade...and not that I didn't have wonderful care...but I guess there is something about longing for what you can't have. However, now that I'm on the mend, I'd like to go ahead and go on record for both of my boys that I promise to make you some stew, soup, or even steak, if you prefer, for any sick days that you may encounter for the rest of your life. Not because you need it, but just because it's something I can do. One day you'll like it.
If you find yourself sick this flu season, here's the most basic stew recipe ever. If you're making it for someone fancy, go to another blog and find a pretty cornbread recipe. If it's just you and family, do what Mr. Jones does for us...take some saltine crackers and spread some I Can't Believe it's Not Butter on there. That stuff is good...you can't tell anyone you eat because they'll laugh at you, but it's good.
Get Well Stew
Take 1.5-2 lbs (or 3.39 lbs if you have some amazing deal on it) of stew meat and brown it in a stock pot. Season it with garlic power, onion powder, a little salt, and a lot of pepper. Drain your meat when done. Pour in 2 large cans of tomato juice and any veggies you like. You can do as fresh or as frozen as you want on the veggies. I do peas, okra (it's the best), corn, a little onion, and some chopped carrots (those are for the family but I'm not eating them). I also put in 3 large cubed potatoes and let it all cook for a couple of hours.You can taste it every so often and add any additional seasonings. If you're from Texas, you can sprinkle some pepper sauce on your bowl before eating. Don't forget your butter crackers...or fancy cornbread.
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
A Job Well Done
We are in the midst of doing a little rearranging here at the Jones house. Mr. Jones is helping me fix up a little craft area in our guest room. I'm going to set up my mom's sewing machine and my fancy-dancy cutting machine. This little setup involves converting our old, beat-up computer desk into cutesy little craft desk and replacing it with a new desk for the office. Truth be told, that's the only reason Mr. Jones is leading this project...he's been trying to get a new office makeover for quite some time. Well tonight he thought we'd pop over to do some desk shopping which meant an early dinner. Sounds like a sweet little evening, right? How wrong could I be?!
It started off well enough. I came home and got it in gear. Cooking a fabulous Italian dinner (a new recipe from Pinterest), working with Graham on his letters, and straightening up the house in record speed. Just as I was marveling at my awesome wifey/mother skills this evening, dinner was "done" right as Mr. Jones came home. Well just as I'm spooning the "done" chicken onto everyone's plates, and of course handing over my children's plates first, I happen to notice that the chicken isn't done. After I execute a near nose dive to grab it from my son's hands, lest he ingest some on the way to the chair, I try to figure out what to do to fix this mess. The whole top part of the dish is done...almost well done, but the chicken isn't???? After years of worrying that some chicken dish isn't cooked through and I find one...right when I think I've got stuff under control over here. Lovely. Dinner was a wash.
Next, we decided to keep moving forward. Since we have this big evening of shopping planned, we decided to just pick up some food on the way. I'd like to say things got better, but Graham really insisted on chicken. Of all the food in the world. Chicken. Of course, I should have started my "we don't get everything we want" speech, but the way things were going, we just went with it.
Finally we find ourselves at the store with more vowels than consonants in its name, and we locate a desk that both of us love. Things are really looking up because Mr. Jones always disagrees with whatever I pick out (his taste isn't what it should be sometimes). Problem is, we can't find someone to help us. This store has two levels and we can't find one person. When we locate a store assistant, he tells us he's busy and we'll have to wait. That seemed a bit of a harsh way to put it, but okay. It's late and I'm sure he's tired. So approximately five minutes later he comes over and just raises his eyebrows at us and does a slight eye roll. No words. Just eyebrows. I guess that was code for "How may I help you?" but I wasn't speaking his language. This man did not just get attitude with me in front of my children. You DO NOT approach someone with eyebrows and I let him know it. I let him know that when he walks up to a customer, he will need to use some manners because that is your job. You will use your words and they will be nice because that is your job. All I need is a little help and you will give it because that is your JOB. And when he asked me how he could help me nicely, I knew I had done MY job.
I am the nurturer, nurse, counselor, teacher, janitor, cuddler, and general caretaker of this family. Cook, clean, pick up, set up, make up, whatever it takes. It's hard and I am tired and not everything goes right. I often fail at my job, in the example of tonight, almost giving my family Salmonella, but I will always keep at it and I will do it with a smile. Because that's my job, and I like it. And if I ever feel like I don't like it, I need to suck it up because that's just part of the job, too. Mr. Manners reminded me that of that tonight. We were not promised easy and there is no sense in pouting when we don't get it. Instead, it is the effort that should be the focus. That is what people will remember.
It started off well enough. I came home and got it in gear. Cooking a fabulous Italian dinner (a new recipe from Pinterest), working with Graham on his letters, and straightening up the house in record speed. Just as I was marveling at my awesome wifey/mother skills this evening, dinner was "done" right as Mr. Jones came home. Well just as I'm spooning the "done" chicken onto everyone's plates, and of course handing over my children's plates first, I happen to notice that the chicken isn't done. After I execute a near nose dive to grab it from my son's hands, lest he ingest some on the way to the chair, I try to figure out what to do to fix this mess. The whole top part of the dish is done...almost well done, but the chicken isn't???? After years of worrying that some chicken dish isn't cooked through and I find one...right when I think I've got stuff under control over here. Lovely. Dinner was a wash.
Next, we decided to keep moving forward. Since we have this big evening of shopping planned, we decided to just pick up some food on the way. I'd like to say things got better, but Graham really insisted on chicken. Of all the food in the world. Chicken. Of course, I should have started my "we don't get everything we want" speech, but the way things were going, we just went with it.
Finally we find ourselves at the store with more vowels than consonants in its name, and we locate a desk that both of us love. Things are really looking up because Mr. Jones always disagrees with whatever I pick out (his taste isn't what it should be sometimes). Problem is, we can't find someone to help us. This store has two levels and we can't find one person. When we locate a store assistant, he tells us he's busy and we'll have to wait. That seemed a bit of a harsh way to put it, but okay. It's late and I'm sure he's tired. So approximately five minutes later he comes over and just raises his eyebrows at us and does a slight eye roll. No words. Just eyebrows. I guess that was code for "How may I help you?" but I wasn't speaking his language. This man did not just get attitude with me in front of my children. You DO NOT approach someone with eyebrows and I let him know it. I let him know that when he walks up to a customer, he will need to use some manners because that is your job. You will use your words and they will be nice because that is your job. All I need is a little help and you will give it because that is your JOB. And when he asked me how he could help me nicely, I knew I had done MY job.
I am the nurturer, nurse, counselor, teacher, janitor, cuddler, and general caretaker of this family. Cook, clean, pick up, set up, make up, whatever it takes. It's hard and I am tired and not everything goes right. I often fail at my job, in the example of tonight, almost giving my family Salmonella, but I will always keep at it and I will do it with a smile. Because that's my job, and I like it. And if I ever feel like I don't like it, I need to suck it up because that's just part of the job, too. Mr. Manners reminded me that of that tonight. We were not promised easy and there is no sense in pouting when we don't get it. Instead, it is the effort that should be the focus. That is what people will remember.
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
In my heart
Dear Graham:
Tomorrow is your Christmas program at school, and I won't be there. I have wrestled with the difficulties of being a working mommy, and this is one that I just can't beat. I will miss your singing and your dancing (Mommy was in Show Choir, so really put some emotion into it for me). Even though you won't see me sitting among the other parents there, please know that at exactly the moment your performance starts, I will be thinking of you and praying for you to not be scared. I will sing your little songs in my head and when Daddy brings me the video, I will watch it with you and ooohhh and ahhh at how amazing you were up there.
Mommy often hears how much better a parent I would be if I just accomplished _______ or just stayed home to ________ or just did ______ the way they did. Well, you never say that to me. You never mention any shortcomings I have or anything that I'm missing. You don't ever start a conversation with something that I'm not doing. Instead, you run to hug me when you see me. You share your secrets (and your chocolate) with me. You cuddle up to me and beg me to read you Charlie the Ranchdog just one more time and scream with excitement when our favorite show, "Doc McStuffins" is coming on (which I think you only like because I do!). And so I am confident that your day tomorrow is no where near ruined because I will be at work, but that you will LOVE to share your excitement with me when I meet you at the door tomorrow afternoon. I adore you, Graham, and anything you do, create, sing, bake, or imagine up is simply intoxicating (I particularly enjoyed yesterday's wolf...aka Miss Beasley...hunt that you and Ollie went on). You are an amazing child, and I am so very lucky that I am allowed to be your mother (even if I am a working one).
All of my love,
Mommy
PS--If Oliver screams at you while you are singing, don't get angry with him. He just loves you as much as I do and wants to join you up there.
Tomorrow is your Christmas program at school, and I won't be there. I have wrestled with the difficulties of being a working mommy, and this is one that I just can't beat. I will miss your singing and your dancing (Mommy was in Show Choir, so really put some emotion into it for me). Even though you won't see me sitting among the other parents there, please know that at exactly the moment your performance starts, I will be thinking of you and praying for you to not be scared. I will sing your little songs in my head and when Daddy brings me the video, I will watch it with you and ooohhh and ahhh at how amazing you were up there.
Mommy often hears how much better a parent I would be if I just accomplished _______ or just stayed home to ________ or just did ______ the way they did. Well, you never say that to me. You never mention any shortcomings I have or anything that I'm missing. You don't ever start a conversation with something that I'm not doing. Instead, you run to hug me when you see me. You share your secrets (and your chocolate) with me. You cuddle up to me and beg me to read you Charlie the Ranchdog just one more time and scream with excitement when our favorite show, "Doc McStuffins" is coming on (which I think you only like because I do!). And so I am confident that your day tomorrow is no where near ruined because I will be at work, but that you will LOVE to share your excitement with me when I meet you at the door tomorrow afternoon. I adore you, Graham, and anything you do, create, sing, bake, or imagine up is simply intoxicating (I particularly enjoyed yesterday's wolf...aka Miss Beasley...hunt that you and Ollie went on). You are an amazing child, and I am so very lucky that I am allowed to be your mother (even if I am a working one).
All of my love,
Mommy
PS--If Oliver screams at you while you are singing, don't get angry with him. He just loves you as much as I do and wants to join you up there.
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
Lost and Found
When I was a little girl, I was obsessed with all things
Barbie. I had tons of supplies for her, so I really should never have wanted
for any one piece. Nevertheless, I would spend countless moments digging in the
box to find that one little high heel that was always in the bottom of all
those doll clothes (even though I was sure that searched that one spot probably
4,000 times). I would get frustrated to
tears over that little pink shoe and I remember my mother telling me to put my
energy into praying about it. I haven’t thought of that for years now, but I
was reminded the other night. I was doing Bible time with Graham and at the end
of the story of the olive oil, the boys’ study Bible suggested that we talk
about how God can help us with ANYTHING, even the smallest of things. Before I
realized it, I was sharing how I would pray over my Barbie box and feel better.
I didn’t know it then, but my mother was teaching me to cast my anxieties on
Him (1 Peter 5:7). Why has it taken me so long to see what was engrained in me
at an early age? And why didn’t I ever go back to thank Momma for teaching me
that?
My latest struggle has me once again digging in a box for
answers. I am afraid that my mother’s life never allowed her to reach her
purpose. I hate that word, purpose; the reason why one exists. And I hate the
search for it; as if we don’t all have enough on our plates. I felt like
something was due to my mother and that this sweeping motion would come to her
to make all of her trials and tribulations worthwhile, and in turn she would
impart that wisdom to the world (or at least my corner of it). But things never
changed and she died. She died and nothing was solved or made better. Where is
the sense in that? Lord, I trust you, but can you check that her death wasn’t
scheduled for another time? Because I’m pretty sure that she is supposed to see
my boys’ Christmas picture this year. And she and I were going to have a big
conversation about some really important stuff. And I know that she was
supposed to give my dad that Christmas present that we discovered she was
working on. This is simply a mistake.
But it’s not. It’s real.
So, my Barbie plan is how I’m getting through right now.
I’ve lost something, so I’m praying to God to calm my anxious heart. And,
surprisingly, what I end up finding is answers to some of my questions. Specifically right now about “purpose”. I
have discovered that I don’t need to worry about mine because God has decided
it and all I have to do is throw my hands up and let him direct me. I’m a much happier person that way. And as
far as my mother’s purpose, I need to remember that if she didn’t use those
moments when I was frustrated over doll shoes to teach me to lean closer to
Jesus, that I couldn’t share that with my husband and sons. It seems small, but maybe it’s what’s largely
important in this journey I’m on. Right
now I feel a giant pull to create something with what she left me. Part of that
is tangible (I’m going to try to start sewing with her machine and left over
fabric, so keep your fingers crossed for me) and the other part is untouchable
while I try my best to do something substantial with the life she created when
she made me. I’m searching for much more
than that missing Barbie piece…but I’m still praying through it because I’m
pretty sure that’s the point of all of this.
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Thoughts on Thanksgiving Pie
It's hard to believe that it is Thanksgiving. I absolutely love Turkey Day...the parades, the cooking, the feast, the Christmas kick-off. This year Oliver is running around and chasing everyone he can while making growling noises. It was just a short year ago that he slept through his first Thanksgiving. Graham has been busy cooking...he's especially into perfecting the dressing this year...more bread he told me. He has his own apron (thanks to a sweet friend) that has given him that extra edge in the kitchen lately. Mr. Jones is busy tinkering with something with the TV...apparently when we watch the parade tomorrow, it's really going to look and sound amazing (at least that's what we all better tell him or he'll do something else to it). I also have to give a special mention that my hubby smoked the turkey again this year. He makes a mean smoked turkey (and that's what we all better tell him so he gets that "tur-duck-en" idea out of his mind). I've been busy cooking all the non-smoked, non-turkey sides...or as Graham says, I'm in the cooking business as his helper.
It was two months ago that Momma passed away and I've been weaving around the idea of Thanksgiving ever since. I've stayed so busy and tried everything to dodge what is one of my favorite rituals each year. Well today I could no longer pretend it wasn't happening, and I opened up my recipe box. I flipped to the dessert section and ran my fingers along the only pale blue index cards out of the off-white rectangular bunch. I selected two cards, my mother's pumpkin paradise pie and pecan pie. And there was her handwriting. The shaky curves, the underlined emphasis on certain parts where she wanted me to pay close attention, and even the hearts that ended her exclamation points (yes, she used exclamation points in her recipes). What was not so obvious on those cards, but yet clearly there, is the fact that I will never again make these pies with her. Never again share them with her. Never again have her laugh at the time I put the pecan filling into the mixer and ended up with one runny pecan pie that year. And the lonely feeling that I had so dreaded surrounded me.
And almost instantly, the boys rush into the kitchen and Graham wants to help me with the pies. There is no time for sadness when you're teaching your little guy the art of pie. Through tear-drenched eyes, we mix and beat and roll. And we ended up with some pretty good-lookin' pies if I do say so myself. As empty as I feel, having her recipes fill the table tomorrow helps me. In fact, all of the people I love who won't be at my table still will be in some fashion...Teresa's corn casserole, Marie's mandarin orange salad, Dawn's sweet potatoes, Nannie's dressing, Brad's peppers...and Momma's pies. I'm thankful for the pieces of all of them that I will forever have with me. Happy Thanksgiving from the Jones family.
It was two months ago that Momma passed away and I've been weaving around the idea of Thanksgiving ever since. I've stayed so busy and tried everything to dodge what is one of my favorite rituals each year. Well today I could no longer pretend it wasn't happening, and I opened up my recipe box. I flipped to the dessert section and ran my fingers along the only pale blue index cards out of the off-white rectangular bunch. I selected two cards, my mother's pumpkin paradise pie and pecan pie. And there was her handwriting. The shaky curves, the underlined emphasis on certain parts where she wanted me to pay close attention, and even the hearts that ended her exclamation points (yes, she used exclamation points in her recipes). What was not so obvious on those cards, but yet clearly there, is the fact that I will never again make these pies with her. Never again share them with her. Never again have her laugh at the time I put the pecan filling into the mixer and ended up with one runny pecan pie that year. And the lonely feeling that I had so dreaded surrounded me.
And almost instantly, the boys rush into the kitchen and Graham wants to help me with the pies. There is no time for sadness when you're teaching your little guy the art of pie. Through tear-drenched eyes, we mix and beat and roll. And we ended up with some pretty good-lookin' pies if I do say so myself. As empty as I feel, having her recipes fill the table tomorrow helps me. In fact, all of the people I love who won't be at my table still will be in some fashion...Teresa's corn casserole, Marie's mandarin orange salad, Dawn's sweet potatoes, Nannie's dressing, Brad's peppers...and Momma's pies. I'm thankful for the pieces of all of them that I will forever have with me. Happy Thanksgiving from the Jones family.
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Bittersweet
I told myself that I wouldn't write anything again until I could write something positive. I have so much to be happy about that it should be pouring out of every vessel of self expression. However, I just haven't felt like putting on my happy pants. I finally realized that I can get close though...
I just got back from an *a-ma-zing* women's retreat. I listened to the fabulous Shauna Neiquist speak, encourage, read and lead. I'm currently tearing through her book, Bittersweet, which is largely about being thankful, open, strong, determined and growing during times of suffering. Obviously she wrote this book for me, although she forgot to dedicate it to me. We can all read between the lines, though. Well the word bittersweet won't leave me alone. I'm seeing it everywhere. Bittersweet. Bitter. Sweet. Bittersweet. Why do oxymorons such as this even exist? Why do they have to go together? Dare I even ask?
Bitter is harsh, sharp, disagreeable, unpleasant. I'd like to do without that, please. Sweet, however, sure. I like sweet's unelaborate definition: not bitter. Oh, well that sounds wonderful. Why must we mix them? The answer is simple...so that we truly appreciate what is sweet. We often forget that. Or at least I do. I get it, but I forget it. Maybe it's just that I flat out ignore it. All worthwhile experiences in my life are bittersweet. Marriage is love, companionship, holding hands, feeling giddy, waking up with your soulmate. Marriage is also him leaving his shoes right there, watching Pawn Stars, and compromising when you clearly know you are always the right one. A little bittersweet I'd say. Motherhood is sweet kisses, hearing 'Mommy', seeing your eyes in another person. It is also losing sleep, runny noses, stepping on Matchbox cars, and being thrown up on or just having something thrown at you. Definitely bittersweet. Death is loss, pain, emptiness, stinging reality, finality. It also means that if you feel that, you felt love. What is more bittersweet than that? If you can see through the veil that is pain that the bitter brings for just a moment, the sweet is oh-so-wonderful. It's not just chocolate cake. It's chocolate cake that you made with your own hands and baked to perfection. The best kind.
I've decided that life is like the coffee I drink each morning. Straight up it is not at all comforting. It's disgusting. With too much creamer, I don't likely pick it up again; it's just not that enjoyable. When I find the perfect mix...the bitter coffee sweetened just enough....well that's what makes me get out of bed. I just have to trust that each day will have the due balance of each. When the day seems a little too much, I will reach out. Bittersweet. Thanks for reminding me of this, Shauna.
I just got back from an *a-ma-zing* women's retreat. I listened to the fabulous Shauna Neiquist speak, encourage, read and lead. I'm currently tearing through her book, Bittersweet, which is largely about being thankful, open, strong, determined and growing during times of suffering. Obviously she wrote this book for me, although she forgot to dedicate it to me. We can all read between the lines, though. Well the word bittersweet won't leave me alone. I'm seeing it everywhere. Bittersweet. Bitter. Sweet. Bittersweet. Why do oxymorons such as this even exist? Why do they have to go together? Dare I even ask?
Bitter is harsh, sharp, disagreeable, unpleasant. I'd like to do without that, please. Sweet, however, sure. I like sweet's unelaborate definition: not bitter. Oh, well that sounds wonderful. Why must we mix them? The answer is simple...so that we truly appreciate what is sweet. We often forget that. Or at least I do. I get it, but I forget it. Maybe it's just that I flat out ignore it. All worthwhile experiences in my life are bittersweet. Marriage is love, companionship, holding hands, feeling giddy, waking up with your soulmate. Marriage is also him leaving his shoes right there, watching Pawn Stars, and compromising when you clearly know you are always the right one. A little bittersweet I'd say. Motherhood is sweet kisses, hearing 'Mommy', seeing your eyes in another person. It is also losing sleep, runny noses, stepping on Matchbox cars, and being thrown up on or just having something thrown at you. Definitely bittersweet. Death is loss, pain, emptiness, stinging reality, finality. It also means that if you feel that, you felt love. What is more bittersweet than that? If you can see through the veil that is pain that the bitter brings for just a moment, the sweet is oh-so-wonderful. It's not just chocolate cake. It's chocolate cake that you made with your own hands and baked to perfection. The best kind.
I've decided that life is like the coffee I drink each morning. Straight up it is not at all comforting. It's disgusting. With too much creamer, I don't likely pick it up again; it's just not that enjoyable. When I find the perfect mix...the bitter coffee sweetened just enough....well that's what makes me get out of bed. I just have to trust that each day will have the due balance of each. When the day seems a little too much, I will reach out. Bittersweet. Thanks for reminding me of this, Shauna.
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