“Ah!” I squealed as I pulled out the hidden trashcan and my foot was showered with overflowing garbage.
“Grrr..” I growled deep in my throat while I gingerly picked egg shells and day-old chicken off the floor and my brand new slippers.
“Honey…” I called, and my husband appeared, juggling a baby on his hip.
“Sorry,” he muttered sheepishly. “Forgot.”
“Hmmm,” I nodded.
Unfortunately for me, that overflowing trashcan set the tone for my morning. From that point on, every item left carelessly out of place only served to increase the depth and fervor of my resentful growls; and when I once more found a wet bath towel (not mine) in my bathroom sink, I thought things I could have gone to prison for uttering.
Outside, the ground sparkled from the unexpected snow, but inside I was struggling with certain aspects of our family’s extra togetherness time. Before I knew it, I was talking to myself.
“I spend my days picking up things that just end up back on the floor, and for what? I’m like a kitten chasing my own tail! The boys can’t pick up after themselves, but seriously-” I held up a dirty sock gingerly with two fingers and let its size demonstrate my point to my invisible conversation partner.
Ah, the man himself. “Yes, dear?”
“When you get a chance, look out the upstairs window.”
“OK,” I called back. “Sure,” I growled to myself, in my unlimited spare time. I dragged myself up the stairs and looked impatiently out of the upstairs window.
“Now, what was so impor…” the words died in my throat.
Outside, clearly visible in the brilliant white snow covering our front yard was “I love you,” spelled out in twenty foot letters. I leaned against the window frame and sighed, the stress of the day melting away. After all, if we were keeping score, there were more than enough things he could hold against me. I realized I was blessed. In the aftermath of a snowstorm, I had my family with me, safe and warm. The sigh in my throat eased into a hum, and there I stood, going from grr-ing to purr-ing in that one magic moment.
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