How many times now have I said on this blog how much I love my kids? I’ve lost count but it’s a lot. Why? Because I do. I love them like crazy. I love them more than words can say. But…
….I’m not always grateful. Grateful is totally different from love. Grateful means “feeling or showing an appreciation of kindness.” I’m sorry but that sounds hard. To always be feeling appreciation or showing appreciation is like clenching a muscle. No matter how much I would love to do it, I can’t keep that muscle taut. It needs a break. And it’s not voluntary. It’s just that my mind focuses on other things that I really can’t muster gratefulness for.
For instance, when I’m suctioning out the toilet because someone used a whole roll of toilet paper? Not grateful. When someone leaves a pizza box balanced shakily on top of the butter dish and a cup half full of leftover soda in the fridge so that when I open the door to get an egg the vibration is just enough to create a food avalanche that sends sugary ginger ale cascading down the inside of the fridge, onto the floor and splashing my shoes? Not grateful. How about when I come across old, nearly mummified food that was buried somewhere in the house like some crazed chipmunk had been here storing snacks for a long winter? So not grateful.
I know some will say to be grateful that I have a toilet to plunge and food to spill…but somehow…while my hands are deep in a disgusting mess, I just can’t seem to muster up that level of gratitude.
Yes, yes, yes, we should be grateful for the time we have here on Earth and for being surrounded by family members who love us…which I am. And while I love my family more than life itself, I admit it…I’m not exactly grateful for the times I have spent cleaning up the science experiment of leftover meatloaf that somehow made its way into my daughter’s room and quickly forgotten. Yeah. I’m grateful for many things…but not everything.