…being inspired by Nienie this week, I’m sure. I set up the DVR on Tuesday night to record her appearance on Oprah and spent the evening reading the NieNie dialogues and CJane. I’ve read Nienie before, but never CJane and it was….something to read Nienie up until the accident, CJane and her insta-family and then skipping back over to NieNie in January ’09 when she could blog again.
Also, I think Mormons might take over the earth, but they seem so nice and friendly and stuff that I guess it could be worse. And I like jell-o.
I was struck by so many things; how the families just mobilized. Dropped everything. Added four children into the mix and just marched on. How no one ever said “WHY me?”. How much Nienie LOVES her Mr. Nielson (and he she) and I felt like this world of epiphanies just opened themselves up before me.
First, I thought a lot about what makes people so eligible for tragedy and why the worst things seem to happen to the nicest people. It never seems right karmically or cosmically. Atheists like to point their finger and ask what of God now in these situations and I don’t have an answer. Shoot. I have some questions for God myself, when I get to where I end up. I can only guess His reasoning.
However, in looking at Nienie, I wonder if this happened to her because her will and spirit and self and family just could handle it. That they would come out the other side not Broken, but BETTER. Not everyone could take that situation and make something better happen, but I see the love of her family and the determination of her spirit and the blessings her family found in sitting by her bedside and the news that her siblings took turns sleeping on the floor of her hospital room ad I think maybe it had to happen to someone and Nienie would not only survive, she could succeed. And, in addition, she had a vehicle to tell a story that seems FULL of God. In every word.
Second, I thought a lot abouthow I reacted to my daily situations. I woke up Wednesday morning wanting to be SO zen. I decided I would have a thankful day, where I would let the water roll off of my back. Where all of the accumulated small stuff wouldn’t make me sweat. But Baby Bee woke up at 6:30 and cried until noon. Littlebit is still dealing with a snotty nose from her cold and she likes to blow snot rockets and then consume them (writing that actually made my stomach turn). Clothes I had put to soak in Oxyclean, oxyweren’t clean and were likely ruined, the house was a mess, I forgot to take out dinner, the dishwasher isn’t working right (and it’s only, like, six months old, so what the hell?) and Littlebit had a poomergency that ended up on the arm chair.
Who can be a zen master in the middle of that? Not me. I considered crying. I actually yelled when Littlebit started snacking on her snot rockets (which only made her HIDE and snack, not stop snacking much to my chagrin).
So, as I’m writhing in agony on the couch with Baby Bee and reflecting on Nienie’s appearance on Oprah and her words on her blog, I realized, again, that I’m in a situation for which I should be grateful.
People long to have any baby, even a CRYING, SCREAMING, MISERABLE one. I’ve had three (who thankfully aren’t normally unhappy).
People long to have a home and I do, beautiful with evidence of our family even when it’s messy.
People long to have food and I do, even if it IS trix that is getting ground into the carpet.
People long to have clothes and we do, even if half of Littlebit’s fall wardrobe is languishing in the washer, oxynotcleaned.
People long to have a partner to walk through life with and I do, even when I’m taking him for granted.
Lastly, I thought of Nienie’s devotion to her handsome Mr. Nielson.
Oh yes, I am lacking in that department. I love Big Daddy with the depths and breadth of my soul. He lights up my room when he’s in it. He makes my heart sing, but I don’t know the last time I told him. Kisses and hugs get shoved to the side as we take on the frequently exhausting task of parenting our three. And that? It’s not even close to right.
So, I put Baby Bee into her swing, content in the fact that she was fed, changed, burped and everything humanly possible had been done to make her happy, she just wasn’t going to be. But I remembered to take a minute and revel in the blessing that she is with her sweet, long eyelashes and tiny baby hands reaching out to hold on to me as soon as she’s in reaching distance.
And I finished washing the stained clothes and decided that I would salvage what I could and replace what I had to and would remember to be blessed in the knowledge that not only did I have the money to replace stained, needed clothes, but a sweet girl to stain the hell out of them.
I cleaned up the living room and dining room and ran the vacuum, remembering to be glad that I had a house I love even when I’m crowded in it.
I picked up the Princess’s dirty socks and soccer pads, again and felt grateful for her helpful, happy presence in our lives.
I took dinner out of the freezer. Thankful not only for the food I could prepare for my family (because some people long for the chance), but for my partner who cooked with me for six hours on Saturday two weeks ago.
And tonight when Big Daddy comes home, I’ll be the first one at the door. I’ll even beat the dog there.