I lament about how hard life is sometimes, but then I think of those that don’t have what I have.
Like last night. Mom was at a work social. Good for her, she deserves it. When I got home I needed to get Schmee involved in something – anything – to keep him out from under foot, even if that something was Dinosaur Train parts one, two, and three. I needed to make Sweet Pea cozy and give her something to nom on, and I needed to start dinner. But then Schmee wanted eggs instead of fish. Okay, one more pan, another bowl and timing, timing, timing. We needed to eat at a reasonable hour. Did I mention it was already past 6:30?
I found myself dancing around the kitchen while checking in on Sweet Pea and Schmee from time to time and attending to their needs, thinking to myself, I could really use a little help right now.
By the time mom came home, I was still waiting on Schmee’s eggs, and Sweet Pea needed a new diaper, and then she was hungry, too and Schmee was practically kissing the television with love of dinosaurs…
Would you believe I haven’t had a hot meal in four years?
In a recent conversation about socks, baby bottles and the perpetual cold meals I’ve suffered through I was reminded that others don’t have what I have. I was reminded that some people, many more than you may believe, would kill for a chance to be upset over a cold meal shared with family. They would eat crackers and cheese if it meant sharing them with someone else.
I am extremely humbled at the thought that some people eat a hot meal by themselves night after night, without conversation, without companionship. I’m grateful for my cold fish on cold rice. My cold salted broccoli. And yes, even my pancakes, sunken and damp, because at least I have someone to talk to about them.