Have you ever lost something? I recently lost a little plastic box shaped like a flower, and in each petal we store my daughters tiny elastic hair bands. I have looked in every reasonable place at least three times, and in a few unreasonable places more than once. And I cannot find it. I know it has to be in my house, somewhere. And so, I keep looking, hoping that it is going to materialize on the counter, or appear in the drawer that I have searched six times. It would cost me about $2 to replace the elastic bands, but replacing them is not my concern. I have become obsessed with finding that box, because I know it is here. Losing something tangible is one thing. Last week, I lost time. I didn’t lose track of time; I actually lost a few minutes. It was about one o’clock in the afternoon and it occurred to me that the dogs might need fed. I was working on tax extensions, home, alone. I didn’t want to feed the dogs if they had already had lunch so I grabbed my phone and called my husband to see if he fed them before he left. And then, three minutes later I was back to working on the tax extensions and I stopped. I thought to myself “Do I need to feed the dogs?” I looked at my phone as though it might answer my question. “Did I call him?” I asked myself. I checked the call log and sure enough, there was an outgoing call placed just three minutes earlier. I could not remember our conversation, and seeing that I still needed to know if the dogs needed fed, I dialed him again. “Hey, did we just talk, like three minutes ago?” I blurted out. He laughed and said that we hadn’t, that this was the first call he had received from me. I found out that the dogs had lunch before he left and we hung up. What in the world? Did I get his voicemail and hang up (because I don’t do voicemail), or did I dial and then hang up before it even rang? I can honestly tell you that I have no idea what occurred between pressing the green phone icon on my Galaxy to the time I came to, working on that tax return. I simply lost three minutes.
Just two days later, I left my car running in someone’s driveway for an hour and a half, until their carpet cleaner came in and told me that it sounded like my car was running. My first thought was “No way!” Turning off my car and putting the keys in my purse was something that I do without thinking. Just like putting on my seat belt or drawing my next breath. However, when I got out front, I could hear the purr of my little Chrysler. All I could think at that moment was I need a beach! But I’ll settle for a day off.
Later that same day, I went to see my doctor. My doctor’s office has a questionnaire they ask each patient to fill out at each visit, listing the reason for your visit. The last question on page one reads “Are you feeling any symptoms of stress, anxiety, or depression?” My inner voice was screaming “YES!”, but I knew that if I marked yes, I would have to turn the page over and answer ten more questions related to my mental health. And honestly, I was absolutely feeling the symptoms of stress, but I knew the cause and I could handle it. While my pride was arguing with the voice of desperation in my head, the nurse called my name and I left the question blank. We walked a few steps past the door to the little station where they take your temperature, your blood pressure, and my least favorite part of seeing the doctor…your weight. I reluctantly stepped on the scale, making sure to put my purse on the chair beside me. Have you ever held a woman’s purse? I didn’t need that weight added to my number! And then the red numbers appeared and before I knew I was speaking out loud, I heard “Wow, ok.” It has been quite a while since I have seen the numbers that low on a scale. Once we got into the exam room and got settled, I asked the nurse to look up the last recorded weight they had on file. She told me that I have lost 16lbs since October, and 9 since February. Umm, I am just going to be honest with you – I have no clue how that is possible. I have not been trying to lose weight. I have not done one single jumping jack. I have not been any sort of active. With the exception of the month of February where I went to a plant-based diet (just for that one month), I have not changed a single thing. Unlike the flower box and the three minutes, I am not at all complaining about this loss.
This has been a long week. Really, a long few months. Normally, I would keep going. That’s what the perfectionist inside me is urging me to do. She says that as long as there is work to do, I should be doing it. The woman who answers the call to help setup for this, or help a friend make that, or sneaks in work calls on her daughter’s birthday, she keeps telling me to go. But today, I listened to my body. I didn’t set an alarm. I didn’t make a to do list. I didn’t even keep track of my phone. I spent the day playing games with my children, cooking lunch with my daughter, shopping for plants for our garden, and we wrapped up the night with ice cream and popcorn for dinner. I still need to put my feet in the sand, hold a good book in my hand; I want to feel the sun warm my skin, and I desperately need to hear the waves crash on the shore, and to let that rhythmic sound slow me down. I need to be still. Ecclesiastes chapter three tells us that to everything there is a season. I know it wasn’t talking about a tax season, but having just come out of that season, I am looking forward to the time to laugh, the time to love, the time to build up, and the time to heal.
Uncommonly Common Mom 