I had hoped Hadassah would nap while I fed the pigs breakfast, but it appeared to be a no-go on this particular monring. So instead of pushing the issue, I scooped her up and pulled her into my lap after I made my oatmeal. I enjoyed a few bites while the rest of the kids finished their dry cereal and played on the kitchen floor. Suddenly, the baby pooped on me. Like, straight through her onesie and onto my lap, missing her pants entirely. I looked up at Isaiah Jane in shock and tried to laugh, but she had a surprise of her own. IJ had apparently swallowed too much water in one gulp, and proceeded to spew it all over me, Hadassah Lee, and the carpet. I set aside my breakfast and jumped up to get everyone dry and changed.
By the time I was actually ready to leave the house, the oatmeal had grown cold and the ice had melted in my coffee. Tempted to throw it out and leave without eating, I set the dishes by the sink. On the way out a few minutes later, though, I stopped myself. I took my breakfast with me, dishes and all, photographing them on the tailgate of the Suburban before I took off. I later enjoyed my freezing-cold oatmeal in the driver’s seat after I’d arrived at my destination. I needed to remind myself of a few things.
First of all, I’m lucky to have food to put in my stomach. My church just finished collecting snacks for a local elementary school where kids often arrive hungry. It’s in our own backyard, and it isn’t a joke. I am rich because I get to eat breakfast every day. Second of all, I am not owned by interruptions. I am not a victim of my surroundings, of the tiny moments that threaten to drag me down throughout the day. Gratefulness is one of the easiest ways to reset my mood, but I must work for it. I must fight to take back my day, sometimes over and over again. It isn’t enough to talk about the things that make us thankful. It’s the sometimes-painful, daily practice of gratitude that shapes us. These days, I’m choosing to work.