Later in the day, I decided to climb up to our attic, gather strands of lights, and string them around the bushes out front because we were expecting company all weekend. I had thirty minutes before my next conference call. Ready, set, go. I plugged in one. Out. I plugged in another. Also out. I plugged in a third. The rogue LED lights I bought a couple years ago. Pitch. Finally I got a live wire, threw it around the line up of Boxwoods and called it a day.
A couple hours later, Peter walked in the door and smelled something burning. Ugh. The beans and greens were getting a nice coating of char. I wanted to throw everything away and then throw in the towel. Too late to order a pizza? Yes. I just spent way too much on scallops.
The next morning, I woke up with an eye that was glued shut from some kind of weird snotty eye booger. I pried it open and took some allergy medicine. Time to give up yet? Nope. Bobby wants 'milky.' Mary wants a 'showy.' Can't I get a coffee first?
I got the kids dressed for my annual corporate Christmas party. When we arrived, they ran all the way from the parking lot to Santa Land. Bobby's over exertion led to a coughing fit, which made him puke in the middle of the line. Embarrassed (and disgusted), I turned to my co-workers behind and in front of me, apologized and cleaned up the mess. Give up now? No way. Five minutes later, Bobby was on Santa's lap, telling him he wanted a hot rod for Christmas. Mom of the year even let him jump in the Minion bouncy house after that, which was followed by more coughing, and me reaching in to yank him out.
Twenty rides on the train and several popped balloons later, everyone was happy as can be.
That afternoon, as I was rapidly rolling up beef birds and peeling potatoes, I asked myself why I didn't just cater. Or call the aforementioned pizza.
I tried yet again to get everyone to smile for our Christmas card, but Margaret refused.
That evening, as Margaret fussed for her dinner, just as I was plating everyone else's dinner, I told myself to stay calm while my inner berserk said just go there!'
The next morning, as I vigorously stirred the custard, hoping it would thicken in the nick of time, I questioned why I hadn't just picked something up from a bakery. Miraculously the egg and milk mixture set, the layers came together, and I had myself a burnt almond torte.
With no time to spare, I slapped on some lip gloss, threw up my hair, and got everyone ready for Margaret's baptism. Peter said we were going to be late. I said not a chance. We walked out the door with three mismatched kids; one with a wet head, one with a bed head, and one with a bonnet on her head. But we were on time.
During the service, as Bobby made a loud plea for 'milky' and Mary did arabesques down the aisle, I realized that Margaret had undone the button on my wrap dress and that it was slowly coming apart. I was close, so close, to accepting a final straw. But something held it all together.
***
Margaret, my sweet little baby. There are days, when I just want to give up. When I realize I have a dozen balls in the air, (typically) your brother throws me one more, and I just want to drop them all and be done with it. But something, someone, helps me keep juggling and with it keeps the cycle of the day, the week, and the year moving. To all those people who help, thank you.
Margaret, your Baptism is a beautiful reflection of the support system you can rely on in your life. It includes:
Your parents.
Your Godparents.
Your grandparents, uncles, aunts and cousins. Your friends, extended family and community at large.
Most importantly though, God.
Talk to him, listen to him, be with him. And he will be there for you, every day of your life.
***
This week, as I step on and curse another stray burnt almond that fell to the ground during my haphazard coating of the cake, I'll remember the words I wrote above, and the reason I keep pushing myself to 'do it all' in service of my family. Because I know, with God by side, I'll be able to keep the balls in the air and the almonds on the cake.
Lo.
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