Rescued

It seems the theme of the past couple weeks has been essentially me being rescued.

It started out great. I had an unbelievably awesome day on Saturday. Me and another woman from church road-tripped it to the Cincy IKEA, and it was a great time. The day had been born of my discontent with my very, very brown house. I have white walls and brown accessories. My couch is brown, our throw pillows are brown. Our enormous dining room table (although gorgeous) is brown, and um, all the rest of our furniture is brown. My lamps are brown, my candles are brown, the bookshelves are brown, the floor is brown. We have one rug and it's brown. Once I took down my Christmas decs, I looked at my drab house and said, that's it. I want aqua, lime green, royal blue, and orange. By the end of the year, my brown house is going to look like a Miami beach pad. Yes I know I'm going from one extreme to the other. Sssshhhh. I don't care. I've been living with brown for half a decade. You don't know what that does to a person.

So, the IKEA trip was awesome. We had some great, really validating and empowering conversation about mothering and raising kids in the church. It felt good. Exactly what I needed! I came away from it realizing this woman I've always seen as superwoman and Mother Earth is...a mother. Just like me. Very similar struggles and thought processes. I felt comforted and validated to know that even the most accomplished mothers' mother has gone through a lot of the same things I have, and come to very much the same conclusions. A tremendous comfort and much-needed bonding experience.

And then I came home with my little bucket full of accessories to add to my kitchen. I figured, the diet we're on is kind of miserable a lot of the time; why not cheer up the kitchen? If I have to make depressing foods, at least I can do it in an uncluttered, colorful space, right?

First step was to take all the utensils out of the crock that's too small for the utensils, and yet miraculously way too big for the space. Install a cool, ultra-modern looking utensil rail on wall, hang S-hooks, and hang up our wedding-present utensils, which are much too pretty to be hiding in an ill-fitted crock. Anyway, hang up rail, hang up utensils, get rid of stupid crock. Replace stupid crock with adorable silk plant in a little tin pot.

First step: install cool, ultra-modern looking utensil rail on wall. Hm. Okay. Mark spot on wall for first hole. Pick up drill. Eek, really, really, really heavy. Try to pick up drill again, with two hands this time. Aim at wall. Okay. That's where it goes. Now. Where's the screw? Right there. Debate over which hand I will use to pick up said screw. Put down drill. Pick up screw. Try for ten minutes to balance screw on drill bit. Drop screw behind stove. Pick out new screw and three others to match it. Put screw on mark on wall, balance heavy drill with hand, shoulder, and maybe nose. Press drill against screw against wall. Pull trigger. Screw makes scratch in wall and flings to other end of kitchen. Try again. Strip out hole. Call Dad.

That went on for about an hour and a half, and proceeded to involve tears, a threat to put the hammer in the wall, and a plea from my dad: "Don't do it, Maura! I've done that; it just makes it worse!" When the tears subsided, Dad talked to me for a little while longer to be sure I wasn't going to hang up and destroy the rest of my house with a drill and a hammer, and we hung up. Mom called me to make sure I was okay. I was, but then I cried again about how hard I'm trying to make our lives better, or at least a little more pleasant, and everything--everything--is a fight. Another hour on the phone, and now everyone except my kids is crying. We all calmed down and hung up again, deciding that I can try again another day and my kitchen would look stunning at some point.

Halfway through the day, Mom calls again to see how I'm doing. I feel much more on top of things and am taking care of my poor sick kids and husband. Mom says, oh, hey, by the way...we're in the truck. GPS says we should be at your place by 7.

When they got here, they bestowed upon us the following: biggest tool chest I've ever seen in my house filled with brand new tools including a rechargeable drill I can totally handle with one hand, hammer, bunches of screwdrivers, a gallon-sized ziploc filled to the top with a range of screws and nails; a separate tool kit for George for the car filled with stuff (I don't know the names of all those wrenches, so...); Chinese food for dinner; boxes full of Mom's famous spaghetti sauce. Dad didn't just hang up all my stuff on the walls; he walked me through it, while I held the drill. So I know how to do it now. :) They also bought apple and orange juices for my sick kids and wiped their noses all evening, and babysat William while I took Nora to the doctor the next morning because of a terrifying coughing fit. Since I spaced on William's therapy that day, they were the ones who welcomed the therapist into the house and sat through half a therapy session until Nora and I arrived home.

I mean, are there words for this?

Then, a box came in the mail from the kids' godparents filled to the brim with gluten-free flours, William-safe treats for both kids, and other GFCF baking necessities I can't get my hands on in this town, and would otherwise have to travel at least an hour to buy.

All I can think to do is cover my head and thank my loved ones and God Himself for the overwhelming goodness to me and my family. You all are awesome. Just awesome.