What Counts

prettyflowerI suck. I know. I haven’t blogged this week. Been busy. Been dealing with the emotional void of my kids being gone for the summer and busying myself with cleaning the house and editing. Here are some fleeting thoughts I’ve had since the roadtrip home…

My son still gives me flowers (see image). He may be gone for a few months, but I had the picture on my desktop and saw it. And smiled. Of course, nothing has changed since was old enough to pick them—he still steals them from random yards. But the thought is what counts.

Amanda “cleaned” her room before she left for the summer. Clean is apparently subjective. I’ve stolen all the laundry baskets back and set mousetraps and mothballs. The crime scene tape will be put up soon. I could clean it for her, but I don’t know what she’s hiding in plain sight (aka the disaster zone) and wouldn’t want to appear to be snooping. I may want to strangle her some days, but I will always respect her privacy. That counts for something, right?

A spotted fawn staggered in front of us on the road trip last weekend. Hippie’s eyes lit up, “I want to pet it! Do you want an adventure?” I pulled over, turned around, and we went back to make sure the stagger was youth not injury. It was motherless but not hurt and ran away from him like a canadian covered in bacon grease. Thank goodness, because then he told me it was the metaphorical midget goat and he was going to grab it and bring it home. No live specimens! But he was trying to be helpful to what he thought was an injured critter. Failed or not, the thought is what counts.

Finally, as you may have gathered from twitter and/or facebook, I threw my back out. Holding the hose in one hand, I tried to heft the mostly empty and now clean pool with the other. The combination of weight (it’s filled with air, it should have been light!) and the twisting action was more than this old gypsy body could take. I froze when my back made that horrible “pop” sound. A few moments later, I realized I wasn’t breathing because I hadn’t taken Lamaze classes. See, this past weekend my sister and I were talking about Lamaze because I didn’t have it and told her I knew how to breathe. My sister claims that Lamaze is to teach you to breathe through pain because it’s our tendency to hold our breathe in pain. I disagreed. The universe proved me wrong. Rather than make up new swear words, I laughed as the thought flitted through my head and began breathing again. Yes, I hurt myself, but I laughed at myself. And so long as we can laugh at ourselves, that’s all that counts…

In the big scheme of things, when life is throwing water balloons at you and stress is breaking your sense of humor, remember what truly counts. If you can’t think of anything off the top of your head, stop what you’re doing and do something that truly counts. Whether it’s a thought, an action, or simply a gesture. In the end, some things count. Others just don’t.

0 Responses to What Counts

  • Dickie says:

    “ran away from him like a canadian covered in bacon grease”. BWAH HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!!

  • AJ Brown says:

    So true, Kelli. There are always those little things in life that mean much more than the large ones. We just tend to overlook them. Great blog and I hope your back gets better soon.


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