Tuesday, January 19

Getting It

The bowl slipped from my hands.

I didn't pay attention to its tin foil cover, slick from buttered noodles, when I tried to put it back into the refrigerator. The foil slipped against the glass, betraying my fingers.
I stared in disbelief, a moment's hesitation as the milk white container toppled downward. My hands flew toward it. Too late. It fell and shattered on the floor.

Not long ago I would have cried, knelt beside the broken shards and lamented the loss as evidence of my own foolhardiness. I would have berated myself for my own stupidity, battered my own emotions for the rest of the day.

Not this time.


...I smiled.

My daughter and I worked, side by side, placing the pieces into the waste can, sweeping bits too tiny to grasp, vacuuming, then scrubbing the buttery noodle residue from the floor.

“Things happen,” we laughed.

Then we stood up and moved on.


Bethany Wiggins said...

I love those days when my state-of-mind allow things like broken dishes, or spilled milk, or half a can of aerosol hair-spray on the cat, to just breeze over me without igniting anger. My kids love those days, too! The cat? She has spiked fur.

smalltownmom said...

I had a moment like that a few weeks ago when I broke my favorite mixing bowl..oh, well. It was just a bowl...

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