Modern Motherhood: Gratitude

I just read about a local robbery and the three suspects in custody. Apparently, they robbed a pharmacy in a red Oldsmobile Alero. While I am not advocating breaking the law in any way, I do think that if they'd chosen a getaway car of which more than, say, fifty had been manufactured, they might've stood a chance of getting away with it. I can't even think of a vehicle that would stick out more than a red Alero, except maybe a pink Pontiac Aztek or a teal DeLorean with an underbody glow. Drugs really do make you stupid. (Note: I would drive a pink Pontiac Aztek In. A. Heartbeat. ETA: Or a teal DeLorean with an underbody glow, for that matter.)

I ran the gauntlet of this weekend with some measure of grace, although now that it is over, I am utterly exhausted. My hands, in particular, are aching considerably. I made a tutu for a birthday gift this weekend, and within one scant minute of stitching the waistband together, my hands went completely numb. Not a good sign. I'll bet there must be some type of rehab glove that you can keep in the freezer - I should search for that in order to take down some of the swelling.

This week I had many opportunities to sit ringside at the show of Typical Female Behavior. Lest you think I exclude myself from any of the quirks and missteps I am about to describe, allow me to say that I have seen and continue to see myself in all of them - although thankfully not to the degree I once was. It was a disheartening show, to say the least.

The women in question ranged in age from pre-teen to later middle age, and come from all walks of life. I saw them engage in gleefully malicious gossip, relentless complaining, endless repetition of things that had already been said and heard by their audience, and a mule-like unwillingness to give an inch - even when they reluctantly agreed that to do so would almost certainly improve their situation immeasurably. I watched as women refused to speak the truth lovingly - either they spoke the truth with no compassion for the intended recipient, or they parroted falsehoods and misrepresentations of what the other wanted to hear, as opposed to what they needed to hear. It made me indescribably sad. It also made me appreciate men - good men - in a way I'd never approached before.

It reminded me of an e-mail Nicole forwarded to me way back in 2005 - one that I have saved all these years and return to quite often. Here it is:

I am thankful :

For the wife who says "It's hot dogs tonight" because she is home with me and not out with someone else.
For the husband who is on the sofa being a couch potato, because he is home with me and not out at the bars.
For the teenager who is complaining about doing dishes, because it means he is at home and not on the streets.
For the taxes I pay because it means I am employed.
For the mess to clean after a party because it means I have been surrounded by friends.
For the clothes that fit a little too snug because it means I have enough to eat.
For my shadow that watches me work because it means that I am out in the sunshine.
For a lawn that needs mowing, windows that need cleaning and gutters that need fixing, because it means I have a home.
For all the complaining I hear about the government because it means we have freedom of speech.
For the parking spot I find at the far end of the parking lot because it means I am capable of walking and I have been blessed with transportation.
For my huge heating bill because it means I am warm.
For the lady behind me in church who sings off-key because it means I can hear.
For the pile of laundry and ironing because it means I have clothes to wear.
For the weariness and aching muscles at the end of the day because it means I have been capable of working hard.
For the alarm that goes off in the early morning hours because it means I am alive.
And finally, for too much e-mail because it means I have friends who are thinking of me.