I've mentioned before that I hold writing my children's story books as one of the most sacred roles I have as a mother. Filling their pages with adventures and experiences and love--with an occasional unicorn thrown in for good measure. Some days, especially summer days, this can be daunting. The longer days and less structured time leaves more blank space on the pages. While I love the moments, sometimes the weeks get long...especially when I'm looking for the week's unicorn.
Yesterday, I was reminded that sometimes the best pages, though, aren't filled with unicorns and rainbows--a lesson that gave me a little grace in the dog days of motherhood. My family got some nasty weather up in Ohio. Everyone is safe, but my grandmother's basement was a bit flooded. One of my cousins posted this update on Facebook, and before long another cousin and I were remembering the floods of our childhood. I don't remember the exact number of times the basement in my grandmother's old home flooded, but I remember the adventure that would ensue. Molly and I reminisced about bucket brigades and water coming out of light sockets and rolling down stairs. Family scrambling to Grandma's basement to bail and dry. Other grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins: we were all there, working side by side. I'm sure to the adults it was a mess, and I'm sure the eyes of childhood might remember a bit of hyperbole. But in my memory, for us kids, it was fun. In those floods, I learned how to pitch in no matter how small. I learned that stuff is just stuff. And most importantly, I learned my family will always be there--always. These lessons went unspoken but were certainly felt as we stomped in puddles and made squishy footprints in the carpet.
There were no unicorns in that basement. There didn't need to be. But there was adventure, and knowledge, and love...all in the every day work of life. I think I can write those pages today....
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