Enough

When my son was 5, he came home from a playdate with a perplexed look on his face.

"What's up, buddy?" I asked.

"Mommy, are we poor?"

"Why do you ask that?" Truth is, I already knew exactly why he was asking.

"Well, Such-and-Such* said we are poor because our house is so small and we don't have a flatscreen TV, and we don't have a pool, and we don't have a basement. Is that true?" he asked, those big brown eyes staring up at me intently.

*Not his real name. Also, it was 2004; flatscreens were not as common or inexpensive as they are now.

I wanted to explain socioeconomic class stigma to him. I wanted to talk about those among us who truly face abject poverty without a home, medical care, enough to eat or decent clothes to wear. I wanted to talk about material possessions versus spiritual gifts. I wanted to reveal that external appearances are not always as they seem; happiness does not equal fancy. Poor does not equal bad. Comparing yourself to others is a game with no true winner.

I wanted to express my indignation at having been judged by Such-and-Such, though in reality, that attitude had more than likely trickled down from the adults in his life. It was not much of a leap to assume it was the grown-ups who had expressly or inadvertently deemed our outlet mall wardrobes, little house, domestic vehicles and nonprofit-sector careers somehow lacking; inferior. Their 5-year-old had picked up on that and conveyed it back to my own ... you know, just so my son would know where he belonged.

But looking at my son's sweet face, I could only summon: "Well, he's kinda right."

Now that little nose was scrunched up in a manner that indicated my answer was not making any sense.

"Look, Such-and-Such is right: we don't have all those things. We don't have all that stuff that he and his family have. So to him, I guess we do seem poor. But let me ask you this, kiddo: do you have everything you need? "

"Yep."

"Do you even have some of the things you want?"

"Yep."

"Do you feel loved?"

"Yep."

"Then I guess we have enough, huh?"

"Yep." And he went on his way, satisfied.

That was 10 years ago. We still live in the same little house in an area noted for its affluence. We still drive modest vehicles. We still dress without pretension. We still work hard. We still have bills.

We still have enough.

Enough love.

Enough laughter.

Enough compassion.

Enough friendship.

Enough beauty, inside and out.

Enough to eat and even to share.

Enough to get by and even to save.

Enough to remind us who we are, where we came from and not lose sight of where we are headed.

Our house is clean enough.

Well, mostly.

Our house is happy enough.

We are happy enough.

Perfection is not a goal, nor is the accrual of materials items. That's not enough for us.

"For where your treasure is, so your heart will also be." - Matthew 6:21

I'm happy to report no other kids have been as direct in pointing out the material differences like Such-and-Such was. Sure, those differences are still there and they are obvious, at times. Thankfully, I have somehow managed to raise a teen who isn't particularly materialistic. He is easy going and content. He is happy.

Recently, I picked him up from a friend's house. It was the first time he had been there and as he got into the car and we backed away from the big, beautiful house in the upscale neighborhood - the garage of which would swallow our relatively dinky cottage whole - I said with a wink, "We still have the smallest house. Reigning champions."

And then my son pointed out, "Yeah, but we have everything we need and a lot of things we want."

And that's more than enough.

Still summer

School started here last week.

Yes, last week.

When it was still July.

School ended in June ... and started again in July. They went to school every month this past year.

That's a shift for us here, a shift that began last school year to a "balanced" calendar. School starts earlier, but now includes longer, two-week breaks in the fall, at the traditional winter break and in the spring.

Not everyone in the school district is a fan of this schedule, but we like it. It works for us as a family. My husband and I work year-round and we are better able to take time off together as a family with the breaks spread throughout the year.

My son enjoyed his shortened summer. He packed in all the summertime things a teen should: camping, fishing, swimming, sleeping in, time with friends, movies, cookouts, books, bike rides, running, band camp, a 10-day trip to the beach and a day at an amusement/water park. He took a driver's ed class, got his learner's permit and spent a good deal of time behind the wheel carting his parents around. It was a good summer.

And it still is.

Even though school is in session, it's still summer. Summer didn't come to a screeching halt when the school bus doors swung open.

Summer break is over for the kids here, but summer itself still rages on. And if summer is your season, then there's still time to enjoy the best parts of it, even if doing so requires working around the last bell of the school day.

There's still time for cherry tomatoes from the garden.

There's still time for flowers to bloom.

There's still time for long walks down a winding road with a friend.

There's still time for cooling rain showers.

There's still time for burgers on the grill.

There's still time for a big bowl of syrup-draped ice cream or chunks of sweet watermelon.

There's still time for tales by the campfire or even a picnic.

There's still time for a stroll by the lake or on the golf course.

 There's still time for farms to produce and provide.

There's still time to be carefree..

There's still time for the sun to hover a little longer and bless us with evening light.

There's still time for mosquitos, snakes, ticks, sweaty bras, sun burns on the back of your legs, and dried-up lawns, too ... but I'm aiming for the positive in this post, so I'll downplay all that.

Truth be told, it's been a beautiful summer here. Relatively mild temps, with several evenings spent sleeping with the windows open. That almost never happens here May through August ... unless you like to sleep in a stifling oven in the humid kitchen of hell while being marinated in the sweat of Satan himself.

This year, however, it's been so darn pleasant, it's the first summer in a long time that I haven't wished it away pining for fall to arrive and set me free from the AC prison.

So even though we are back to the familiar rhythm of the school year so soon after the end of the last one, I really can't complain.

Change is coming.

But there's still time to make the most of the season while the season lasts.

The walking dread

Oh gosh! My hands!

I looked at both hands in disbelief.

Contaminated.

My stomach sank. I'd just polished off a breakfast sandwich  ... with my hands ... the contaminated hands. And now it was in me. There was no going back.

Let me explain.

It all started yesterday ...

I was having a bad day. Just awful. A hectic morning was building up to a midday mental meltdown. I was out on my lunch break just wanting to grab a quick bite, but nothing sounded good and everything, everywhere was crowded.

I settled on a soup-and-sandwich kind of place and was in a long and not-moving line when I got a call on my cell. It was of a personal nature and I didn't want to miss the call, so being courteous to those around me, I stepped out of line to take the call. It was disappointing news and I was not happy.

I was also no longer in line.

Approximately 4,000 other people got in line ahead of me.

Approximately.

I decided to take my disappointment and sinking mood elsewhere. As I was backing my car out, another car zoomed passed and almost clipped me. Startled, I decided this was definitely not the place for me.

I was trying to process the news I'd received in the call and also trying to decide lunch. I hadn't been feeling well and was now feeling worse, at least emotionally, and so I wanted to make a food selection that wouldn't ruin my day physically.

I opted for a sandwich shop that was in a gas station near my office. The thing was, everyone else was there too (crazy crowded) and, yet again, my car was nearly bumped by another car with a distracted cell-phone-talking driver.

I ventured across the street to a fast-food grill, hoping for some reasonably healthy fare, but instead was cutoff by another car for a parking spot and nearly rear-ended by another who was also going for the spot. I tried to maneuver out of the way of the way, and was met by another car that was going the wrong way.

It's like cars were falling out of the sky and trying to land on mine in some sort of divine video game.

Also? People were lined up out the door at the restaurant.

I was rattled to the core and considered just going back to the office and eating Twizzlers - you know, the ones with the filling. Yum!

But I was shaky and needed more sustenance than that. So I got out of that cramped parking lot and headed down the parkway toward a chicken place that sells good salads.

The drive-thru line was 10 - yes, 10! - deep and the parking lot packed.

I pulled into a neighboring bank parking lot and cried. I just wept. For my frustration. For my disappointment. For my rattled nerves. For my growling tummy. For the wasted gas. For knowing that if I had just gotten back in line at the first place, I would probably be eating my soup now. I cried.

Once I got my cry out, I wiped the smeared mascara from my now-irritated eyes, and headed back to the gas station sandwich shop near my office. Lunch rush over, the parking lot was clear. There was no counter line. Things were looking up for me.

And then it happened.

My hands were full. I was balancing my bag of food, an open drink, my purse, a handful of dollar bills and coins, all while standing at the drink station trying to get a lid on my soda. The full soda started to slip from my hands and I turned to catch it - and dropped all the coins into the trash.

Seventy-one cents fell out of my hand and into the countertop trash bin. And, with nary a thought, I reached in and picked 60 cents of it back out ... of the trash.

I reached in.

I reached in the trash.

I reached in the trash in a fast food restaurant.

I reached in the trash in a fast food restaurant in a gas station.

And then I realized what I'd done.

Oh gosh, I reached in the trash in a fast food restaurant in a gas station!

Horrified and completely baffled by why I didn't just donate 71 cents to the landfill, I shuffled everything to my clean left hand and hit the door. I managed to get in the car and basically just drop everything into its rightful place while retrieving the hand sanitizer from the console.

I popped the sanitizer's lid, aimed for my right hand ... and the lid shot off, dumping the entire container all over me - my slacks, my blouse and thankfully, my right hand.

Back at the office, I washed my hands - more than once - and finally settled at my desk to eat. I was shaking with hunger. With my very first bite, I took out a chunk of the inside of my mouth.

Not a pinch to the cheek. It was a flesh-spittng chunk.

I was hungry, with mascara-smeared red eyes, a bloody mouth, and covered in antibacterial goo. Add my hazmat hand to that, and I could have been a zombie from The Walking Dead mindlessly ambling about the office.

My afternoon got better. I recovered from my disappointment, pulled myself together and drove home unscathed.

... And then today ....

In the back-to-school rush of the morning today (yes, we started school already yesterday), I stopped off for a quick breakfast via drive-thru. My total was $2.60. Hey, what do you know ... exact change in the console.

Exact change.

From the trash.

From the trash in a fast food restaurant.

From the trash in a fast food restaurant in a gas station yesterday.

And now the change had traveled ... from the trash ... to my hand ... to the console ... to my hand again this morning ... and without thinking about it until it was too late ... to my food ... to my mouth this morning.

Hey - I'm ok.

Despite my freak-out this morning at the realization that I had not entirely escaped my rotten luck of the previous day, I got through today just fine without triggering a zombie plague.

Some days are like that and we all dread them. It seems like the universe is out to get us at every turn. But we gotta walk through the messy days, past the dread. Just when we think we've conquered our demons, they rise back at us to take another turn.

We have to face our challenges and get our hands dirty - in the parking lot, in the trash bin, in our own minds. Avoidance just drags out our worries, distracts us, makes us linger on the negative, keeps us from focusing on the right things.

[And wastes a lot of time and gas during our lunch break.]

Just remember, life's ick isn't the end of the world. Shake it off. Wash it off - literally - if you have to. 

Eventually, a fresh start awaits.