Some days are not what you expect. Then again, some weeks are not what you expect, either.
I spent the weekend battling a particularly nasty bug that left me unable to journey more than the distance between my bed and the bathroom. This wouldn't have been fun under the best of circumstances, but factor in the homeschooling conference I was assisting at, my wedding anniversary and Father's Day and well, you see the difficulty.
My poor husband celebrated our anniversary by watching a DVD of Three Stooges shorts he'd gotten from the library. He wasn't exactly miserable (he's a fan of silly slapstick), but it wasn't how either of us had planned to commemorate eleven years together.
On Father's Day, he got the opportunity to show us all what kind of dad he really is. He came through with flying colors, of course: full breakfast served, kids bathed, groomed, dressed and trotted off to church, lunch prepared, dishes washed, sick momma checked on, Father's Day phone calls made, laundry washed and folded, dinner made, more dishes done ...
Sounds like a fun Father's Day, huh? By yesterday, I was recovered enough to start feeling really bad about how hard he'd worked on his "special day." I'll make it up to him, I thought.
Unfortunately, the plague that knocked me out for three days is now doing a number on Atticus. My other plans for this week, which included buying paint for the boys' room (finally!) and gathering up items for our garage renovation, have been completely shelved for the higher calling of reading many, many books on the couch and maintaining the lines of quarantine amongst the children. Never mind trying to whip up a special meal for my hubby or carving out romantic time for the two of us.
I don't know why I have to keep revisiting this particular lesson. I think I've got it down already. Plans were made to be broken. Expectations were made to be shattered. Let it go, Mary Grace.
And get on with it, already.