Lost and Found

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Typically, you can’t make me feel something that I’m not already feeling. Doubtful. Insecure. Encouraged. Confused. Impatient. Discouraged. Disappointed. The list continues on. You do hold the power to make things a lot better. Or so much worse. I get so completely irritated with myself sometimes. Annoyed. Frustrated. Let down. And repeat. I misplace things. Lose things.
All. The. Time.
Sometimes meaningless things. And sometimes important things. I try to tell myself this characteristic may prevent early onset of dementia. You know with the constantly looking for my keys, my phone, my debit card. Keeps my brain fresh. There’s been no scientific research to support my theory, that I know of. I would gladly volunteer to participate in a study. If they paid me and could tackle the old biting my nails habit too.

Today I remembered that I had placed a gift on top of my car. Too late. A kind friend thought of me and my tendencies to drop my phone in various bodies of water. She gave me a lifeproof case. That bad boy can handle the elements. The problem was that I had put the case on my car yesterday when I was playing basketball in the driveway. Strike 1: I was preoccupied when my husband gave it to me. I didn’t want to interupt what I was doing. Strike 2: I forgot about it. Overnight. Strike 3: I drove my boys to school, this morning, with the case in it’s box still on top of my car. Looks like I will head to the dug-out.

I came home to drink my coffee and it hit me. I remembered. Ahhhhh. Seriously. What are the chances that I could go outside and it would still be on top of the van? Skeptics, shhh. Hold your tongue. I once took the recyclables with my wallet on top of the van. It stayed on top of my van all the way there and back to my house. Several miles. Stop lights. Whoop. Whoop. Dare I share the other times I’ve driven off with my wallet, planners and even my phone on top of my car? Nope. Not today.

So, I go outside and the case is not on top of my car. I look around. On the driveway. In the road. I can feel the symptoms of detesting-my-scatterbrained tendencies develop. Tightened fists that I want to use to punch my face.  I’m starting to panic a little. Starting to think I should get running to go scour the course from our house to the school. I go inside. Man, I just wished my husband wasn’t home. I tell him. He’s bummed, annoyed, disappointed. That look. I don’t like it one bit. He heads out to go look for the case. Please don’t help me. Not with that attitude. I would rather just be in this with myself. I got myself into this mess. I may or may not get myself out. Instead, I am left to wait in the house. The suspense is killing me. I’m such a better looker (and finder) than him. More experience perhaps. He comes home empty-handed. He says, “It’s gone.” And then starts to semi-lecture me. Nope. I’m going to look for the case.  It becomes about something much bigger and stronger than even a lifeproof iPhone case. It’s about my bruised pride. I will find that case.

I grab the stroller. I prod my 3 year old to get in it. He seems confused. He wanted to go do an Easter egg hunt for my grandma. “I know, buddy. We will. I have to find something I left on top of the van.” I know how to find my pride, I mean the phone case. I start retracing my steps. On foot. I’m over thinking, getting emotional, beating myself up. I nearly give up. I get to the school, it’s barely a half of a mile away from our house. I look up and see something on the road right before you turn into the school. I start crying. Really, Amelia? Oh my. I pick it up. Yeah, it’s been run over but it survived. Just a little shaken up, like me. It’s really not about the case now. I feel redeemed. I didn’t lose a gift a friend gave me. I’m not such an awful person after all.

You see I have these tiny cracks in me. And some days, like today, I’m more fragile than others. Personality flaws maybe. Imperfections. That may heal or get better. With time or maybe some extra thick lotion. Super glue maybe. Or if I could just stop picking at them. Leave them alone. They may just stay little cracks. They may never go away. But they take a whole heck of a lot longer to heal if somebody comes along, notices them and knocks them with their sledgehammer. Especially if it’s someone I really love, who really matters to me. That awful disappointing look, that tone, and those words become a human spirit sledgehammer. Now I’m a busted mess. Way worse than a little cracked. I’m broken.

My husband wanted to come up with a  plan for the next tornado in the midst of some pretty strong winds and debris flying around and hitting me in my face. I escaped and fled the scene. I decided to go visit my sweet 93 year old grandma. She has helped heal me two times this week when I have been a hot hormonal emotional mess. She didn’t know that I had been crying. And she didn’t need to know. She’s nearly blind. She just giggled and giggled as my three year old hid “Easta” eggs for her as she sat in her chair. He didn’t mind. He found great joy in telling her where all of the eggs were hidden. She told him “the Easter bunny has been good to Me.” My little boy innocently smiled and corrected her, “It’s not from the Easta bunny, it’s from the store.” I translated their conversation as it is hard for my grandma to hear him as well. She happily licked an Angry birds sucker and ate a snickers as she held tightly onto her Iron Man basket. Just like a proud little girl. And she repeatedly told my son how kind he was to come and do a hunt for her. I nearly cried. Numerous times.

I had to call a friend to wait with my boys. I was late to pick them up from kindergarten. I lost track of time. I do that too. But who wouldn’t watching the sweetest Easter egg hunt between a three year old and a 93 year old? A rough morning turned out pretty spectacular. My phone could now easily drop off of the top of my van and survive with it’s new case. If only I could get a lifeproof case for my pride.

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