Breakfast in bed

The silverware tinkles behind me as L prepares breakfast willingly for us. My, how things change! For almost the entire time I’ve been here she’s been so obstinate about having breakfast made for her that she would even refuse outright to get a piece of fruit for herself just to tide her over while either E or I got it together. This is the very same girl who would scream blue murder if we suggested she get her own glass of water rather than drop what we’re doing to be at her beck and call. And now today, completely voluntarily, she is in the kitchen, humming to herself, preparing breakfast!

Oh how true it seems that these things need not be forced. Everything in time – at exactly the right time. I look around and see the miracles constantly unfolding: the kids warming to me; their Dad becoming increasingly helpful and cooperative; the ends always somehow being met; the house steadily emptying, tidying; my mind clearing from the funk that possessed it all those months. It all just keeps getting better, and it seems the less ‘I’ ‘do’ about it, the more readily it evolves. Those funk-filled days were densely packed with ‘me’ and the way I wanted things to be: I would interfere, force things, try to make things happen, and the ultimate result was frustration on my part and confusion, fear for those around me.

When I thought I knew how things should be what I noticed was the anger that erupted with the realization that they weren’t. Now I am leaning more towards seeing that this is what I want now, so many of the things I thought I wanted then are happening now. I love the irony of this.