This morning I woke feeling a tad too warm and struggled to get from under the warm blankets covering me and the furry, purring cat snuggled on my arm. I stretched as I clicked off the television; once again I had fallen asleep with it on. I padded my way to the kitchen to start my coffee maker and consider what I had in the fridge for breakfast. My daughter soon joined me and we both groaned as we realized that there was some laundry to finish and put away as well as some dishes left from the night before. We both discussed a bit about the turns our day would be taking: her to her dad’s for a coiple of days and me to my part time gig at a local college that takes up my whole Sunday.
Despite this, as I hauled a basket of laundry up from my basement to be folded, as I wondered how in the world two people produce so many dishes, as I fussed about having to work all I could do was consider how lucky it was that I had a warm house, a fridge full of food, electricity and heat and a job while many do not.
I don’t often stop to count my blessings. I slip through days and in and out of weeks* trying to finish one things and start another buit I have to say that I am one luck woman. I sometimes whine about things not being what I need, where I need, what I want but I have it all. I have a family that helps me, friends I can call on, jobSSSSSS and everything I need to feel safe and secure. I am smart, bright and happy. I have a child who is smart bright and happy…ish (she is almost a teen) and things are good.
While I don’t head to church or even claim a religion or faith of my own I know that even when I am having the worst of times, when it seems darkest and dire there will be a safe place for me to land.
Counting my blessings and enjoying the happy,
*Yes, This is a line from Where the Wild Things Are by Maurice Sendak.