He deserved champagne and balloons.  A pajamagram at least.  He deserved a day, a week, a month to do whatever he darn well wanted.  Instead he got a wife too sick to get out of bed and so inherited her work as well as his own.  He drove down to the Children’s Hospital. Twice.  Met with docs, asked the wrong questions and forget about the ears, but he was there. He spent his evening eating Kraft Mac n Cheese that he made himself and driving 6 different times to school to pick up or drop off.  He handled middle school conferences and picked up new prescriptions and received exactly zero presents.  Yesterday sucked.  And so today called for a redo.

We hung balloons filled with confetti, wrote cards with stick figure drawings, blobby hands and appropriately colored skin because that matters to some of us.  There were amazing steaks and potatoes smashed with black truffles and parmesan cheese.  And asparagus that Abe called beans because he can never bring up the right name for stuff. There were brownies with whipped cream and berries that everyone ate while waiting for the steaks to come up to temp in the oven. Sometimes you’ve gotta let dessert lead and the nutritious stuff follow. And we sat around the table and did our Pows and Wows and ate like carnivores and my wow was him.  Because he loves us so well and he deserved so much more than a crappy redid birthday, but he was happy just the same.  With his special spot on the couch, blanket my mom made him in high school at the ready and slippers close by.  He could sit there all evening and watch his shows and not do dishes or drive or put kids to bed.  And I washed dishes watching him watching his beloved This Old House Hour, Lulu fresh from the shower and curled up in his arms and thought, you are my Wow.

Sisters, perhaps this week was crappy for you too.  Maybe you missed some big or small things because you were sick or busy or you just plain forgot.  Maybe you didn’t show up, in spirit or in person.  This weekend is calling for a redo.  You just turn that clock back because you refuse to let it go down like that.  Throw the party, make the giant nest of blankets and pillows and wear the jammies and snuggle in, pile them in and drive to that special spot.  They won’t remember that you didn’t show up yesterday; they’ll only remember that you did today.  And if this week has nearly kilt you and you feel like you’re about to have a come apart, then give yourself a pass and wear grace like your softest bathrobe.  Tell them you wanted to show up, wanted it so badly your teeth clenched and your tummy hurt, but you have limits and man, you hit yours this week.  Ask for forgiveness as you tuck them in bed and then refuse to pay guilt a visit.  That guy can go live somewhere else because the inn is full. Mama, you are enough, despite what the voices in your head keep telling you.  You are enough.  It’s the weekend, girl.  Go get er.

this is me being real.

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