It was one of those remarkable “sunburst” moments. As I passed the kitchen table yesterday, I made a mental note to refill the wire-rimmed napkin basket (hang on; no “sunburst” quite yet). This brain “jotting” landed at the bottom of a list that included buying bananas, organizing tax documents, wiping Lily’s nose prints off of the backyard windows and finishing the family chore chart so that I can be a kinder, gentler and more consistent delegator of duties. Thereby remembering to assign window cleaning to one of the kids, leaving me free to buy the bananas. Or something like that…
Last night however, when I glanced at the kitchen table with the vague memory that it needed something besides dinner for four, the basket was filled. Stunned, I walked over to touch the neat little stack. Napkins. I hadn’t asked anyone to put them there. The astonishing event had happened entirely without me.
Rays of light all over the place…
The next morning I asked Zach about his upcoming day as we watched out the kitchen window for his ride to school. And as I sipped my coffee, I noticed my son absently gather the remains of my artificial sweetener packet from the counter and toss it into the trashcan. Let me be clear. There were no meaningful mom glances toward the counter-top. The conversation hadn’t even tipped slightly toward my struggles to keep up with three kids, a dog, and the whole rest of my life. The helpful action appeared absolutely instinctive on his part. “Sunburst” all over again…
I’m seeing a pattern here. And it’s a very good thing…
As a single mom, I often feel that the world doesn’t even begin its daily spin unless I give it a nudge in the morning. If a light bulb burns out, we live in darkness until I map out a replacement plan (which generally involves a ladder and tall teen-age son). An empty chocolate milk bottle leads to mass suffering and calcium/chocolate dietary deficiencies for all until I make a grocery run. “No clean socks” today means “no clean socks” tomorrow unless I run the washer (and there’s this more recent corollary: placing clean socks in my bedroom drawer does not guarantee their continued presence if my daughter has track practice that afternoon).
And yet…
Sometimes, when I’m thinking that the waste containers are getting a little too full, they snap back to “empty” in my absence. The dishwasher occasionally runs all by itself. The newspaper seemingly flies from driveway to kitchen counter on many mornings, landing next to the stack of mail that magically appeared the day before.
Without me! That makes me smile. For the time being, I’m still buying the bananas and chocolate milk. Zach can’t drive to the grocery without my helpful intoning (“The guardrail! Bus! That light’s about to turn yellow!”) for at least another couple of months.
But my napkin basket is overflowing, and that’s a download of love that brightens my world more than replacing a few burnt out ceiling lights ever could.
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