Thursday, January 3, 2013

Eyes Open





This year is going to be different.
Honest.
I'm even going to document my life and how it's going to change.
Thoughts on that later.
I was reading a list of things to think about that happened in 2012 in order to see how I am going to plan for 2013.
It was amazing to see how shockingly screwed up my thinking could be.
More on that later, too.
One suggestion on the aforementioned list was to think about one of the best moments experienced in 2012.
At first I drew a blank.
Then I thought of a moment that might not seem so world changing, and yet it was eye opening to me.
As Mother's Day approached, my daughter texted me, asking what I wanted for Mother's Day. 
"How about a Kindle Fire," I texted back.  "Ha Ha!"
They had come out several months before and I was thinking it sure would be nice to have one.
Of course, I did not really expect one.  They were too expensive to think of my family giving it as a gift to me.  But it was fun to think about.
On Mother's Day we were kicking back at my house and I was opening some nice little gifts from my kids and then they took out another gift they had hidden somewhere and had me open it.
It was a Kindle Fire.
I sat staring at it, shocked.
Part of me was thinking, "No! You can't give this to me! It's too expensive!"
The other part was humbled that they had worked together to give me such a precious, meaningful gift.
It took forever for me to actually take it out of the box, and forever for me to process that they had so surprised me, and that this Kindle Fire really belonged to me.
My point is that for decades I have spent much time whining about how no one appreciates me, especially when it comes to being a mom.
Wha, wha, wha.
And yet, in this moment, I was overwhelmed with the feeling of truly being cared for by my family.
It was one of the most wonderful feelings I have ever had.
I could have posted this last Mother's Day, but I didn't, which goes to show how closed I was to the true blessings in my life.
That will not happen this year.
I promise.
Gently unfolding.
Carol B.



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