Tuesday, May 25, 2010
1:10 AM | Posted by
Coach |
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Simple...Just Walk a Mile in Our Shoes
Crisp and clean. The invitation is crisp and clean. Elegantly, it requests our presence at a special celebration...tonight. Simple.
Staring at the familiar, invitation pinned to a bulletin board amidst a whirlwind of multicolored papers, I feel a sense of pride. I’ve managed to keep the invitation, RSVP and even remember it’s for tonight. Okay, now we just get ready and go. Simple.
30 minutes....in 30 minutes everyone must be in the car. We’ve planned for days, this should be easy. So, why are two just now running for the shower? What is my teenage son doing sitting in his, clearly shorter, brother’s suit...eating strawberry jelly? And when did my little girl, switch her cute ballet tights for black, fishnet stockings from an old theatrical costume?
"Simply conquer and divide,” I whisper aloud, my faith wavering. Now, I can battle my daughter, or simply check her off my mental “done” list by letting her “grade school saloon girl” look slide. Simple choice really...CHECK.
30 minutes....in 30 minutes everyone must be in the car. We’ve planned for days, this should be easy. So, why are two just now running for the shower? What is my teenage son doing sitting in his, clearly shorter, brother’s suit...eating strawberry jelly? And when did my little girl, switch her cute ballet tights for black, fishnet stockings from an old theatrical costume?
"Simply conquer and divide,” I whisper aloud, my faith wavering. Now, I can battle my daughter, or simply check her off my mental “done” list by letting her “grade school saloon girl” look slide. Simple choice really...CHECK.
Next, sending my “jelly guy” off to exchange his capri length suit, I run to each bathroom door and bang out two minute warnings, confident that success is still an option. On this cue, my “Jelly guy” strolls back in with the suit he “laid out” yesterday. Only now, it looks like it’s been wadded up into the space between the end of his mattress and his footboard...all night...because it was.
Whipping his jacket into a state of “theoretically ironed” against the couch back, my personal angst releases in each snap of fabric. Dog hair flies off his jacket and I pretend to feel clever. Afterall, ironing could never have produced such a dual benefit! No worries, his brightly colored tie will save the day as a distraction. I have this handled....two kids already done, simple-CHECK.
My youngest son in a fluke moment of cooperation is out of the shower and dressed! Grabbing a damp kitchen towel, I scrub away huge stains I’m first seeing covering his jacket...nothing to it! Third kid into the car-simple, CHECK. We are okay and ready to roll on schedule- almost.
Wait, my oldest has gone off my radar! Running for the bathroom door, a pit grows in my stomache as I repeat a silent plea. Please don’t let me hear the shower running, please don’t let me hear the shower running. Straining to NOT hear as I'm running...closer to the door.
My verbal checklist with each child reveals my bedraggled son forgot the tie I prayed would distract from his other wardrobe misfortunes. Too late, I realize my verbal checklist was not my best idea. There was no time to go back. “It’ll be okay,”...I quietly insist, willing it to be this simple.
As we arrive, with the kids settled down, I risk relaxing. Glancing one last time, in the rearview mirror, I see they really do look nicely put together. No signs of the earlier frenzied rush or the ravaged battlefield we left in our wake. As each steps out of the car, I put the finishing touches on our slightly skewed crisp, clean look and bask in my moment.
So Simple.
Last reminders on behavior and representing our family and I proudly, send them in. Confident that any slight flaws will pass unnoticed. Concentratedly relaxed, "we always look like this" steps, mark my own stride as we simply whisk into the celebration.
Stop! My slightly, wrinkled, tieless, son is hobbling in front of me? Shocked, I realize his right foot appears to be about a size 9, the other, about a size 12. Kneeling closer in disbelief, I'm horrified to see one foot is sporting a wing tip, the other a loafer. But something else is off....they're both right shoes! How?? His simple answer to my shocked query,
Stop! My slightly, wrinkled, tieless, son is hobbling in front of me? Shocked, I realize his right foot appears to be about a size 9, the other, about a size 12. Kneeling closer in disbelief, I'm horrified to see one foot is sporting a wing tip, the other a loafer. But something else is off....they're both right shoes! How?? His simple answer to my shocked query,
“You said hurry.”
Unlike the invitation, we are not crisp and clean, or elegant. We are lived- in, real, wrinkled, and often times...mismatched. A simple invitation came into our world where NOTHING IS SIMPLE. The loving senders innocently invited and, honored, we bravely accepted. Nothing left to do now but, kick off our shoes and enjoy! HOW SIMPLE!
Unlike the invitation, we are not crisp and clean, or elegant. We are lived- in, real, wrinkled, and often times...mismatched. A simple invitation came into our world where NOTHING IS SIMPLE. The loving senders innocently invited and, honored, we bravely accepted. Nothing left to do now but, kick off our shoes and enjoy! HOW SIMPLE!
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