This is a repeat post-from my old blog. Apologies if you’ve read it…however the event it describes just repeated itself, so I thought the post should follow suit.
Imagine if you will, a Friday morning. All is well at your house. A feeling of accomplishment rushes over you as you realize you’ve almost made it through another week. It’s “Cereal Friday” in our home and that brings lots of excitement over which box of sugary goodness will be consumed, and in what order. In the background you hear the sound of an accelerating trash truck. Your mind quickly jumps to the night before and peace fills your morning when you remember your husband’s answer to your question about whether or not he put the trash out the night before. The birds chirp outside, you love your children and you rest in the thought of having a fresh start-empty trash cans, waiting to be slowly filled up by your wonderful, loving family. Your morning moves forward.
Consider, if you will, a different morning. Same day- “Cereal Friday”- same kids-same feeling of accomplishment beginning to rush over you. This time, the sound is louder-like a monster ready to overtake whatever comes in its way. Yes, it’s the trash truck. But this time it’s different. Did you ask your husband the night before? Did the kids remember to take the trash cans to the curb for their Thursday morning chores? Anxiety, worry. Your heartbeat quickens. You drop everything you are doing. Anything that stands between your kitchen and your curb is an obstacle between you and a fresh start on your week. The birds are quiet. Your children and their questions are mere background noise. It’s a race. You drop everything (never mind that you are still in your bathrobe that happens to not close all the way at the top)-this is an emergency, calling for drastic measures.
Through the house you run, dodging tennis shoes, laundry baskets and backpacks like you’ve trained so many times before, except this time-it counts, really counts. By the time you get to the side of the house you can hear the truck-the sound of him dumping your neighbors trash is all too familiar. Thoughts speed through your mind, “Is he at the house next to us or is he already across the street? Will he use this as a chance to teach you a lesson about the seriousness of getting your trash out by 7am every Friday? Oh please take it!”
Out you run, redefining the meaning of Desperate Housewife as you drag your trash can behind you all the while trying to be calm and offering a peaceful greeting, “Good morning!” you say, trying to sound calm, hoping that manners will get you what you need at such a desperate time as this. When you realize he’s about to leave your street you pick up your pace. Your heart starts racing (even more than it was before). You hear yourself yelling, without thinking and forgetting that you’re barefoot and in your (possibly gaping) bathrobe, and the manners that you attempted to exhibit just moments before, “Are you trash or recycle??!!?” Your children are standing in the street behind you, standing in awe of their mother and her ability to think so quickly on her feet. Mouths open.
The man looks up; slow motion begins as you realize your chance of another week of peace is in his hands. He smiles, is he laughing? He’s enjoying this scene. It’s not his first time seeing this, nor will it be his last. He grabs your trash can like the gentleman you know he is, lifts it so its contents spill into the cavity where it belongs and hands you back your trash can-lid intact, empty-reminding you to have a nice day.
Suddenly reality hits. You’re in your bathrobe. You’re in the middle of the street. Where are the kids? They’re in the middle of the street!
“Everybody in!” you call. The adrenaline rush is gone. Your body tries to restore its sense of calm that it was so enjoying just moments before. “This will NOT happen again”, you whisper to yourself. But you know all too well, it will, it will. Sometimes life happens and you’re busy on Thursdays.