My daughter and I were riding our bikes home today, and the sky opened up and dumped down hail. It was so unexpected and so violent in the slanting way the ice pellets struck our skin that it was almost funny.
Well, the six-year-old didn't think so. She was furious, crying and completely miserable. I kept yelling up to her (over the pounding of ice pellets) just keep going, honey! We're almost home!
We did get home, put on dry clothes and ate a couple homemade snickerdoodles, and watercolored together (see new banner). We both had that feeling that we had just acquired a good story.
But, unfortunately, we didn't do any of those things before I felt compelled to deliver a motherly speech about being a good sport about circumstances no one can control. It was uncomfortable, I lectured, but it didn't actually hurt you. You were acting like it was your own personal hailstorm.
And right in the middle of that speech I understood that I was giving it to myself. We've had all this uncertainty lately, regarding work, and I've been stewing about it. Like I was the only one who could feel the ice pellets. But while it's uncomfortable, it's not actually hurting me.
And I'm going to have a good story when this is over.