The following unrehearsed butchering of a popular Eric Carle book took place this morning, between the hours of 5 a.m. and 6 a.m.:
Daddy: Pink Girl, Pink Girl, what do YOU see?
Dani (not surprisingly dressed all in pink): I see a DOC-tor looking at me. Doctor, Doctor, what do YOU see?
Daddy: I see a liver and white doggie looking at me. Doggie, Doggie, what do YOU see?
Daddy (on behalf of Doggie): I see a field mouse looking at me. Field mouse, field mouse, what do YOU see?
Mommy (on behalf of Field Mouse): I see a crazy lady with a bottle of peppermint oil looking at me, a lady who is considering, for the first time in her life, adopting a house cat. Crazy lady, crazy lady, what do YOU see?
Well, that's a very good question, Field Mouse. I'll tell you what I DON'T see. I don't see a future for you in my laundry room. I DO see myself making a Target & GNC run, scouring and cleaning the house with unabashed obsession, and throwing up a little bit in my mouth every time I find one of your blankety-blank droppings. So if I were you, I'd get a move on, Fievel.
I should have know better than to write about gratitude this past week. It's like extending an open invitation for all that is smelly in the world to stop in for tea. Since that post, I have:
- Cleaned up thrice after a sick dog (yes, both kinds of sick). (I know normal people don't use the word "thrice" anymore, but I feel like it lends Old English sophistication to my sentence about my dog's bodily malfunctions.)
- Endured two mornings after two nights of less than three hours of sleep, thanks to the sick dog, a needy child, and an early-to-work husband.
- Discovered a field mouse in the dog bowl. Something I sincerely hope doesn't happen thrice.
- Watched my vacuum die a quick and painless death smack in the middle of the post-mouse-discovery cleaning binge. (Painless for the vacuum, perhaps, but quite painful for me.)
Which means now--when I least feel like it--is exactly the time for me to start back in on the treasure hunt. So, how about this. I'll go on record saying how infinitely grateful I am that my washing machine is still working. But please God, just don't break the dryer to test me.
The crazy, easily discouraged, very fallible, often cranky lady
on a treasure hunt
(and also a mouse hunt)
(and the mice are most definitely not to be confused with the treasure),
who wants to be grateful,
to have a "happy heart" no matter what,
but needs a little help
from a gracious God.
Oh, and just one more thing (although it seems I already signed out). I stumbled upon this quote Anne Lamott referenced in Traveling Mercies, and I love it. I keep going back to it. Because grace, yes God's grace, is perhaps the thing in this life for which I am most grateful.
Man is born broken. He lives by mending. The grace of God is glue.
Hat tip to Jen from Momalom for the peppermint oil advice. So far, so good!