I'll wait while all who read that scroll through their memories for perfect examples of this reality.
You're filling out the tax forms and under stress and seven phone calls hitting both the land line and the cell interrupt the process, with the final perfect joy moment coming when the fourteen year old cooking hamburgers sets off the smoke detector.
You're getting dressed for work and in a hurry and decide to wear the gold earrings. One hoop falls from your fingers and drops beneath the dresser, rolling back to the far back such that you have to lie down on the ground to reach. When you arise, earring in hand, you note, it's covered in fuzz. You look down at your outfit. It matches your earring.
Both of these events happened today.
However certain dust bunnies and taxes may be, I know one thing more certain, the needs of adolescents for things out in the world, when Mom is stressed. Tomorrow is Dr. Seus day at school, and she needed a shirt that said Thing 2. I had one or two thoughts about things but thought better of voicing them.
Driving over, I found myself in a hard mood. I didn't want to hear talking, or to listen. I found everything tiresome. I knew it wasn't good, and clamped down on myself, hoping simply allowing her to talk would satisfy. She asked me if she could turn on the radio, and happily sang along with the tunes.
Even parking proved difficult, and I still found myself struggling in the store. It all felt just like extra and it was, but it should have been joyful extra and I knew it. We got the necessary costume accessories, both for her and her two younger sisters and I stopped at the grocery store for some milk and other stuff. She talked about singing and recalled the Black History Museum her class staged in the gym that morning, asking me what I knew about various figures and who we'd gone to see. She asked if I'd seen her friend giving a report on Stevie Wonder. I hadn't.
She'd fallen in love with his music at a choir concert earlier in the year and began trying for the words. Checking out of the store, and half listening, the part of me that's a good parent told the rest of myself, "You're missing this." She sensed my frustration and thought it was her. I apologized, explaining, I wasn't myself, or rather, I was too preoccupied to be good company. She patted me on the shoulder as we loaded the groceries. "That's okay." and asked me, "Why don't they play more of Stevie Wonder's music?" I admitted, I didn't know, other than it wasn't recent. Perhaps just admitting my frustration proved sufficient humility, because up until then, I'd fought even discussing my own predisposition. She asked me for my favorite Stevie Wonder song, and I told her it was the first I owned, Sir Duke. She said, "They should play more. I wish they would."
We got in the car and "Isn't She Lovely," immediately came on the radio. "It's like God heard me saying I wanted that song." and we sang along the lyrics we could remember. The mood lifted, though I thought God was more telling me to look at my daughter, and see her. "Isn't she Special. Isn't she wonderful?" and I thought, "Thanks God," for stupid things like songs on the radio, they make up for lint covered earrings and smoke alarms.
And yes, I never thought through love we'd be
Making one as lovely as she
But isn't she lovely made from love,
Thanks Rita! P.S. This is the piece from the concert she loved.