Did you ever just have one of those weeks? One of those months? You know…the kind where you’ve got sick kids, crazy weeks at work, more sick kids, a smashed windshield, and a broken trunk?
Yeah, me too.
No? Well then consider yourself lucky.
Some weeks seem to definitely personify the whole, “When it rains, it pours” theory and this past week and really, even the weeks before it, seemed to point in that direction. For a short month, we really packed in the crazy. And, true to form, March seems to be coming in like a lion, and I don’t mean with the weather.
That said, the normal, day-to-day stuff, above and beyond the crazy, has been fine, good even. Work is good, weather has been unusually warm for February, and overall I really am blessed and thankful. Even though I’ve been dosing out antibiotics for a month now, the illnesses they’re for are minor, and I know that. They’re curable. It’s annoying stuff, but overall it could be worse. I’m just trying to keep my head above water, that’s all.
When I walked out the door on Tuesday, I found my car as you see it above. Broken back windshield, no idea how it happened or if someone had done it or not. It was mid-day and our neighborhood is eerily quiet during the day, so it was shocking to see this and wonder if it had been purposeful or not. We may never know.
The windshield was fixed by the end of the week, quickly and efficiently, except now when I went outside to drive it for the first time on Friday, the tailgate was slightly open and it wouldn’t latch shut. Then we got it to latch shut, only to find we couldn’t actually get it open. Later in the weekend we got it open, but had to latch it stuck shut again, because it still wouldn’t latch properly.
Not sure what’s up with that.
Yesterday after a couple of other annoying, minor situations, it just seemed like it had been one of those days. For five days and really, for four weeks.
On Saturday, we drove our car and its latched-shut trunk, over to the playoff games for my youngest daughter’s basketball team. This has been our first-ever experience with basketball, and it’s been amazing. The Cranston Youth Girls Basketball league was started by the husband of a friend of mine from high school, and this year when my daughter Alex asked to join a league, I knew just the one. Shortly after the season started, her friend Mia joined also. It’s been such a great experience for both of them, and for all of us, their biggest fans. Our two families have sat together all season long, through practices and game after game. Cheering them on, biting our nails, watching the clock, and chatting during half time.
It was during one of those chats several weeks ago, that we got started talking about dinner and what we were making later on. Mia’s mom Carolyn, mentioned that she was going home to make dinner which included her favorite recipe for Brussels Sprouts. I mentioned, emphatically, that I love Brussels Sprouts and that I am the only person in my family who does, so I rarely get them. I’ve been known to buy them for myself and eat them myself, just to have a chance to have them.
That was weeks ago. The days came and went after that. This weekend when she said, “So how’s everything?” I had an earful for her about my car and that whole saga. There wasn’t much she could say, but she listened and shook her head as I told the story.
Last night, at 7:00 p.m. our doorbell rang. We were sitting at dinner, eating Beef Burgandy, and we couldn’t imagine who could be at the door at this time on a Sunday night, after dark. My husband scooped up the dog and answered the door. There on my front doorstep was Mia’s dad, Ed…. Ed who has taken the girls for ice cream after basketball practice on many Wednesdays when I’m too tired to say “no” to ice cream very convincingly, Ed who has taken them to his office to help them study for Social Studies tests until they knew the information inside and out.
There was Ed, holding up a container filled with something.
“What is it?” I asked. “Just open it and see,” he said.
Inside….Carolyn’s Brussels Sprouts. I was shocked, and also elated.
“Wait til you taste them,” he said. “They’re amazing.”
And he was right. I took the container up to the table and sat right down and ate them. They were life-changing, as much as Brussels Sprouts could be. They were absolutely delicious.
The thing is, they were so much more than Brussels Sprouts to me. In my mind, it was a reminder of just how truly lucky we are. We have good people all around us. Good friends, thoughtful friends, and people who are just as busy, if not more-so, and have just as much going on, if not more-so, and yet they are people who still take the time out of their day to think of us, to remember something I said about my love for Brussels Sprouts weeks ago, and to go out of their way to pack them up and send them over.
I thanked Carolyn profusely through a series of texts, showing her my empty container, and raving about the recipe. She made my whole night, and she made the start to a new week a little tastier, a little bit easier to take on whatever needs taking on. In our texting back and forth, she was kind enough to send me the recipe. I am sharing it here for you, and I plan on making it myself, for myself, and eating every bite.
Much later in the night, I got a text from my oldest daughter. She was getting into her car, letting us know she was leaving her theater banquet at a restaurant in a nearby city, one known for its decadent desserts, and she was on her way home.
“I’m leaving now,” she said, “And I’m bringing you a surprise.”
You know what? I think it’s going to be a better week.
I can just taste it.