God watches over Momma. Her faith in the midst of any challenge thus far has been unwaivering, and although I haven’t made it home quite yet to see her, I know that hasn’t changed. I must continue to follow her example, and place my trust exactly where hers is, and that’s on my Lord and Savior.

My Father, I thank you for my mother, her presence in my life, the things I’ve learned from her, the things I believe I still have yet to learn. Please continue to keep your arms around her, as only you can.

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(Written on a 7:05 am flight to St. Louis)

I got a call a 4:55 this morning. “Mouse, it’s Daddy. Momma’s in the hospital.”

Whose momma? Not mine, the non-stop force of nature who is always in control. Not my momma, who could see right through my childhood tricks and whip me back into shape with a single glance. Not my momma, she’s invincible.

But it is my momma. She, like the rest of us, is human, and the body sometimes calls foul before the mind does. In her case, it’s a little of both. Her blood pressure is sky-high, and there is bleeding on the brain.

To say I’m scared is an understatement. My mind is wandering to situations and scenarios that I am unprepared to face.

I cut my business trip short, and I’m on my way home.

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I’ve been grumpy lately, and I can’t shake it. I don’t think I’ve been an absolute monster, but there’s this fine mist of uneasiness that’s been clouding my days. If you’ve ever seen a Claritin commercial, you know what I mean. The woman’s world is in color, but her allergies keep her from experiencing things in their full glory. My minor grumpiness is has lowered my optimism and shortened my patience.

Today, the mist increased to a moderate shower. I was working onsite at an event, and we were in the throes of rehearsal. My attention was needed in three places at once. I had to talk on the phone, address issues online, and stay in touch with the production team via an internal com system.

The sound team blasted music over the speakers, people were talking, and a woman came to ask me about name tags…it was just too much. I held my composure (I think), but all I wanted to do was scream.

Once the rehearsals were done and the work day was behind me, I went to dinner with a friend. Even though we were in a crowded restaurant, things seemed slower, less loud. I had one beer and a GREAT burger. After a short walk around the neighborhood, I was ready to call it a night. (This is known as Mother’s Syndrome.)

I walked into my hotel room and sat down. I didn’t turn on the TV; I just sat still. I closed my eyes and started to breathe. I took full breaths that filled my belly, just like they teach you in Yoga class. Five minutes, or maybe 10, passed before I knew it, and I felt good. No mist, no grumpies. Just me.

I know I won’t shake my mood with just five minutes of silence, but it’s a good start.

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I’m in the dentist’s office waiting on my hubby (one-car living means sharing things like dental visits), so I thought I’d use this time to give a quick update on my five-minute challenges.

The paper trail. My house is overrun with paper. Drawings, months-old homework and junk mail multiply like weeds. I have a stack in my kitchen, and there is a laundry basket full in my guest room. (The room is also known as Bev’s room, although my friend has yet to stay there). Last week, I dedicated a few minutes each day to taming the mighty beast. I handled the top of the TV stand and a side table in no time, but the dreaded monsters in my kitchen and ironing room (I mean, Bev’s room) are more than my five minutes can handle. But I haven’t given up.

Exercise. I know this one is crazy. There is no workout that will turn you into Jillian Michaels in five minutes a day. But, I’m giving it a shot. In the mornings, Mike drops me off at the garage stairwell. Climbing 12 flights of stairs with a computer, purse, lunch, coat, AND in 4-inch heels may not be the best way to work out, but it sure is a doosie. Yesterday, I did five minutes of Pilates. My stomach is sore today. That’s got to count for something.

Still in progress. A few days ago, I wrote about my need for alone time in the car. I haven’t tackled that yet. It’s still on the list, along with the five-minute manicure.

So, my journey continues, and I’m always on the lookout for new ideas. If you have any thoughts, or if there’s something you want me to try, let me know!

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I don’t want to say that my husband and I never see eye-to-eye, but on some days, it certainly feels that way. I like to be on time. I like things neat. I like to finish what I’ve started. Well, most of the time, at least. When things aren’t “just so,” I tend to freak out. Big time. Mike, on the other hand, is more of a “go-with-the-flow” type of guy. He can mop the floor on Monday and empty the water bucket on Wednesday, and he’s always astounded by how much that bugs me. “I’m getting to it,” he says whenever I ask him about a item on his Honey-Do List. “Yeah, but when?” I say before I stomp off in a huff.

Today, I was home late from work. I had to hitch a ride with a colleague because he got off work late. (Check out yesterday’s post on the joys of car sharing.) He was heating up dinner when I walked in. “The mail’s on the counter,” he said. I dropped a handful of junk into the recycling bag and picked up a catalog. I immediately abandoned the rest of the mail; I absolutely adore catalogs. I rarely buy anything, but I enjoy pondering the use for things like penguin-shaped bookends. This catalog, though, was from Sur La Table, a store that sells high-end cookware and kitchen gadgets. I’m not sure how we got on this list. Fingerhut is more our speed.

I took the catalog to the family room and flipped through a few pages. They had a set of grill plates you could use for vegetables. Hmm. I thought. Those could be useful. I imagined us firing up our rusty gas grill for asparagus and Brussels sprouts. I put the book aside and started to unbraid my daughter’s hair.

“Honey – Did you see this?” I turned to see him looking through the catalog.

“I didn’t go through the whole thing.”

“Well, they have a set of grids you put on the grill so that your vegetables don’t fall through the grates.”

“Yeah -I saw those.”

“We should get them,” he said. I continued to work on Elyse’s hair while he turned pages. “Ooh! A deluxe potato cutter!”

I had to smile, because I thought the same thing about the potato cutter when I saw it. I started thinking about the other things that we agree on, from which brand of peanut butter to buy to how we raise our daughter. Suddenly, we didn’t seem all that different. We just seemed right.