Yesterday was rough. Musa sported a 102 degree fever and wanted a hug. All day. Frigid temps made me nervous to take him out to get infant's Tylenol [the one we had, expired] but [I'll blame it on sleep deprivation] I couldn't figure out how much of the Children's version to administer even after the on-call nurse explained the calculations. It's not her fault, I was so tired I could have reasonably flubbed two plus two, so the decimals and multiplications she lobbed my way just served to make my eyes glaze over. Everyone still in pajamas as morning crept into late afternoon, and the house looking much worse for the wear, I felt tingles along my temples, the tell-tale signs of an impending headache. I sighed and checked the wall clock, it told me I had miles to go before I could rest.
Just then, a text. From our old real-estate agent. Check your front door, it said, there's a package.
Holding the baby in my arms, the kiddo trailing behind me, I opened the door to discover a brown package wrapped in ribbons and filled with European hot chocolate, home-made marshmallows, and mint-chocolate ginger snaps. Hot cocoa was the last thing on my mind just two minutes earlier, but now I could just imagine it: lighting the fireplace and curling up in a blanket with a steaming mug of goodness. It made me smile. Shortly after, a dear friend called to help with my dosage conundrum. She didn't judge my lack of numerical dexterity and went out of her way to get me the magic dosing number. Dose administered, a smile arrived, and the headache that loomed? vanished completely.
Two small acts of kindness made a day promising to become difficult, suddenly manageable.
Someone shared this photo on twitter a while back:
The longer I live, the more I'm starting to understand that life is less about what we have and don't have but more about what we see and don't see. And today? I see the power of tiny, beautiful things. They are anything but insubstantial.