Today is our 7th wedding annivesary. For all the ways the weather can be on April 12th–today is very much like the day we were married. Its bright, beautiful, and nearly 70 degrees. Lovely. While it isn’t always easy, at our core there is a deep love and commitment and many shared dreams. I cannot imagine partnering with anyone else. Happy Anniversary, Love. I love you and our little family more than you can ever know.
This morning Nick took off around 7:15 and we only had a few passing whispers before he was out the door. Our anniversary is smack dab in the middle of some of his busiest grad school weeks. We are planning to celebrate this weekend. Nick’s brother, Jon, and our friend, Jordan, have agreed to babysit for the afternoon/evening. I am really looking forward to this date. Especially because our last one turned out to be so much fun. (We had a date night in Florida last month.) I don’t expect to see Nick much between now and then though. So it goes…
This morning started crazy. I had made a vet appointment for our cat this morning at 8:30 thinking Nick *maybe* would be able to help me with the baby/cat juggle. It didn’t work out that way. Lya was up early and by the time I was ready to go at 8:10, she was melting down. We had two time-outs before leaving the house. Meanwhile Mona (the cat) was scratching and screaming in her carry-box. I made it out the door at 8:20 with a coffee in my hand. I knew that Lya would want to be held at the office b/c she’d be uncomfortable. I was right–but luckily they worked fast. Amazingly, I was back in my car in only 10 minutes. We headed home, dropped off Mona, and then headed back out.
After our morning errands, I decided to stop by a local thrift shop. Soon after we arrived I had a brief and friendly conversation with a woman who asked how old Lya was and then told me some about her 2.5 year old son. We shopped for a bit and then just before leaving, I overheard the beginning of a man’s phone call. It went like this:
“Hi Mom. My wife and I are homeless. We live in a tent with our 2.5 year old son and 5 year old daughter. We are going to need to take parenting classes before they’ll let us have our son back………”
I didn’t stick around to hear more because it wasn’t my call to listen in on. Moments later, I saw the woman that I spoke to earlier join the man. Obviously his wife.
The conversation keeps replaying over and over in my head this morning. And every time it makes me cry. I cry when I think about the mother who has not heard from her son for years and then receives this call. I cry when I think of the woman who talks casually with a stranger about her son–who she cannot be with. I cry when I think of the sadness and sense of defeat this man must have had to reach out to a mother he hadn’t talked to in years. I cry when I think of the children; living in a tent or being taken from their parents. I just feel so sad.
So sad and so grateful. Grateful for a wonderful husband and family. Grateful for a lovely home and the security of knowing we have a full safety net of support. Incredibly sad because not everyone is as privileged as we are.