Fricago, Here I Come!

It's been a hell of a ride since I got home from my two days in Florida. First, the stomach pain - unbelievable - and two very energetic kids. Did you know they like to draw, paint, watch DVDs, play the guitar, play video games, have tea parties with ALL their stuffed animals, eat candy or ice cream, play trucks, and make a big meal with their kitchen set? They do. And they do all of it in a span of about twenty minutes, every half hour or so. You can imagine what my house looks/looked/looks like from that twenty minute frenzy. I pick up, they play. I pick up, scream, and they give me hugs and kisses, and then they play. I kick them outside, pick up the house, and look to see that my backyard is strewn with balls, bicycles, kites, tree limbs and rocks. Okay. I'm done. Time to lay on the hammock and let it all go. And they snuggle up and we're done worrying about the mess because our love is all that really matters. Phase in, phase out.

Yesterday, I got home from work at 7pm. Before driving up my street, I lifted two garbage cans and a recycle bin into the back of my truck. When I hit the brakes to go over the speed bump on my road, all the water that was in the bottom garbage can came rolling out and all over the truck floor. I smelled it first, then I saw it soaking the carpets. I looked up to the heavens and said, "The devil's an asshole." And I looked down to the ground and gave him the finger.

I had begun my day at the office at around 9:15am, worked hard all day, came home exhausted and the kids were already here from their dinner date with their daddy. I walked into the house - toys, shoes, lunch pals, backpacks, paper all over the living area. I gave them kisses and hugs and Paige greeted me with a present she bought at the school store - Sylvester the cat saying, "Sufferin' Succotash!" She bought it just for me because she knew I'd love it. The mess? The water in the back of my truck? Who cares? Phase in, phase out.

I sat down for a quick dinner - sandwich on wheat = delicious. The kids saw me sitting there and begged for me to get the guitars down, to do crafts, to read a book. I took huge bites of my sandwich, and said, "Let Mommy finish this sangwich and I'll be right there." And they said, "Okay. We're going to get our luggage ready for our trip to Fricago then!"

Their imaginations took them from packing all the essentials, to getting their bus tickets, their plane tickets and their "house" reservations for their trip to Fricago. I listened to their conversations as I ate, and thought of how inspiring their enthusiasm to go to Fricago was. An unknown destination.

My thoughts then went from the ache in my kidneys (infection got them), to thoughts of Jeff, as they do every twenty minutes or so, and I was thrilled with the idea that he now knows the great unknown. The thought filled me with comfort, and I realized that my kids' imaginary Fricago gave me the thought.

I get so frustrated with the mess of my house sometimes, and frustrated with feeling like crap and not having the energy to keep it as clean as I'd like, but then I realize that I wouldn't want my children to be any other way. And when I ask, usually accompanied by a guilt trip or a bribe, they'll help me clean up - as soon as they're done saving the world with their laser-pointing fingers and incredibly muscular arms. When they're working together to get ready for Fricago, when we're all singing and dancing, and laughing together - even if it's only for ten minutes - I realize I too, am getting a piece of the unknown that Jeff is now experiencing. And that is why my faith will not be moved - regardless of the stomach pain, the stinky garbage water, the long day of work and the messy house. That ten minute light extinguishes all the darkness thrown my way.

And I hope Jeff works with the Big Guy to send me a piece of heaven every day, even if I have to go through the mess of getting ready to go to Fricago to see it.