Letters to My Kids

The One with the Blue Skies Smilin’ at Me

I went to another slumber party last night.
Sort of.
You see, yesterday’s weather was pretty much disgusting for my taste. and Kevin’s.
It was very very hot. And even more humid.
I believe we’ve been over my dislike of this weather.
When nighttime had fallen and the house was still hot and sticky and lacking a cool breeze, we decided to sleep downstairs.
So I gathered a sleeping bag and our pillows and Kevin picked out his favorite blankets.
Soon our basement was transformed into a slumber party.
Or at least that’s what I called it just for fun!
We actually dozed off almost immediately as we were exhausted.
My hip bones were keenly aware of the fact that the floor’s carpeting was only disguising the cement underneath.
It was not the most comfortable, but it was cool.
And tonight I shall add a few more layers of plushness underneath us.

This morning I had guts.
For the first time (or maybe just a very rare time), I said “no” and was honest with my reasons.
Not that I’m dishonest normally.
I just have trouble turning people down unless I have a good reason.
Marge called.
Always a bit frightening.
Because I know she only calls when she wants something from me.
Sometimes I am thankful for the caller ID, I must admit.
She asked if I had plans.
“Not exactly,” I responded hesitantly. “Why?”
“I was just wondering if you wanted to volunteer at the office for a few hours,” she replied.
“I’m sorry, Marge, but I really don’t,” I blurted out with finesse.
“Alright,” she said in a surprisingly understanding tone.
“I’m sorry,” I said again, “but thanks for asking.”
And that was that.
I was so proud of myself.
And so scared to death with what I had just done.
I almost cried.

We never did get to the fair yesterday.
Kevin’s meeting with is advising prof when 30 minutes later than usual and traffic was horrible.
He didn’t get home till nearly 7pm.
He was tired.
We ate random things for dinner…as the heat had neither of us up to anything more elaborate than grilled cheese, cut up cantaloupe and ice cream.

The one good thing about his being later than usual was a phone call I made.
I called Maria.
We talked for 55 minutes.
It was glorious.
We are both in very similar places in our spiritual lives and we needed one another.
So glad I listened to the Spirit’s prodding this time.
I am so thankful for her friendship.
She is one of a few people with whom I feel we can both be completely and utterly honest with one another.
It sucks she’s all the way in Arizona.
But distance doesn’t matter.
And neither does time.
Even if we don’t connect for months and months at a time within 3 seconds, we’ve picked up right where we left off–open, honest, vulnerable, encouraging.
That type of friendship is life-giving.
Now, why don’t we talk more often??


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