I’ve said it before and I will say it again: I have the best blog readers in the world.
Some bloggers talk about having to weed through the comments they get, making sure they keep the nasty trolls quiet. Or they complain about mean, judgmental remarks made whenever they expose their pain… “well, if you hadn’t done this, if you were better at that, and besides you’re just STUPID anyway…”
You guys always lift me up. Your suggestions are always sound and your comments so very kind…even if you’re giving me a scolding, it’s never mean. (About always, it’s well-deserved…) (although sometimes I’m not ready to accept that right at the time…)
Yesterday, I told the girls about this weekend. That they wouldn’t be going to school Friday, that Uncle Greg would be coming to watch them Thursday night and that Daddy and I would be going to Los Angeles until Sunday.
It was a little eerie. Usually when we say we’re going to LA without them, they start with the pestering. Are you going to Disneyland, are you going to see Grandma, why can’t we come, could I come, I’ll be good…
They said nothing. They just sat there, waiting.
We grownups get this crazy idea that our little ones go through their lives blissfully ignorant of the trials and tribulations of their caretakers. What baloney. I always knew when my parents were stressed out, even though they never once argued in my presence, or shouted at each other, or burst into tears in front of me.
I think I saw my dad cry maybe twice, in my entire life…and my mother not much more often than that.
But I still knew when times were rough. Maybe mom wasn’t singing as she went about her chores, or dad wasn’t quite as focused as usual as we sat down for our evening ritual…he’d get a beer or Scotch and a bowl of peanuts, I’d get a soda (if I could con mom into it) or maybe some milk, and we’d play cribbage while mom finished making dinner.
Why I think my children would be any different is beyond me.
So I told them what happened, and how. They pressed their warm little bodies against me, hugged me, showered me with kisses. They comforted me, and made wild promises of all kinds of extremely good behavior, now and forever. And yes, they’d be good for Uncle Greg, and help him, and not be horrible.
I’m so blessed.
Thank you, all of you. My in-real-life friends who so quickly offered their help, my family who have called and also offered to sacrifice all kinds of plans for our sake, my readers who have put up with blog-silence and self-absorbed whining, and reached out with sympathy and good, meaningful advice.
You drive the shadows away, you really do. Depression and pessimism might like to get a foothold right now, but they just can’t…not with your lights shining into my life.
You’re better than a whole pharmacy worth of anti-depressants, or years on a therapist’s couch.
Thank you so much…and may what you’ve given me be returned to you, a thousand-fold.
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