The tissue fairy has been hard at work here.
Little white tufts adorn my house. Here, on the kitchen table. There, on the couch. One on the bathroom counter, and another atop the hamper.
One laying in the upstairs hallway, a single corner fluttering slightly every time I walk past it.
I hope that every dollar my son spends in his life gives him as much sprawling joy as the dollar he gave me for that stupid box of tissues.
The first couple of tissues I encountered, I picked up. Generally speaking, I don’t like having things laying around where they don’t belong. I took these wandering specimens back to their box, and tucked them in with the rest of their clan. But it was no use; they kept escaping, and the house is littered with them.
I decided to just leave them be. The tissue box isn’t bottomless, you know. He’ll run out, eventually.
Not that you would notice, really, if you didn’t know they didn’t belong. The house is pretty much a mess, regardless.
Three times today, people I love apologized to me for sharing their burdens. Because I have my own load, and they felt badly adding to it. This–to me–feels like a person asking forgiveness for breathing air. Obviously I would wave my magic wand and give everyone their happily ever afters if I could; but barring that, I cannot imagine wanting those important to me to stay silent for my comfort.
(And really, let’s just face it: I’m worrying enough for several small nations, right now. If you’ve got a problem, this bandwagon is ripe for the joining.)
My son’s kind assessment aside, I’m really not a “dewicate fwower.”
And so I’m moving right along, nursing my own wounds, and running into unexpected injuries all around me. It can be a very helpless feeling. Even so, it’s a good reminder that everyone has their own hurdles, and not everyone drops out of society and subsists on coffee ice cream and “Uh Oh” Oreos as a result.
Tonight I started talking to the tissues. “Oh, little tissue… you poor thing… are you lost? Do you need help finding your mommy?” This delighted the children. They sprang to action, rounding up the orphans amidst multiple campaigns against evil, culminating in me standing on Monkey’s bed and belting out “Tomorrow” while they beamed at me (the kids, not the tissues).
I know. You think I’m exaggerating. I really, really wish I was.
Hey, I know it’s not much. It’s all I’ve got, right now. I don’t have answers. I don’t have a magic wand. I can’t even always be with those who need me, and often there’s not a damn thing I can do to change the fact that someone I love is hurting.
What I have is a lot of questions, a messy house, some show tunes, and Christ almighty a whole lotta tissues.
Right now, that will have to be enough.
When I started reading this I thought it was going to be about Chickadee stuffing her tee shirt with tissues…..
On the bright side, if you have to blow your nose, all you have to do is reach down. . . .
Are there any on the floor in the bathroom? If you have to . . . . whoops, for a minute there I forgot how cultured and refined I am.
Oh wait, you already knew. Okay then, USE the tissues to. . . . Oh, I can’t say it on someone else’s blog. It’s too much of a nasty crack.
My magic wand seems to be broken too. *sigh*
I say as long as the tissues aren’t “used”, they are fine. Besides they hide the dust. hehe
My dear, I think “It’s a Hard Knock Life” might have been the better choice for you…although you always have the memory of Taye to fall back on…;)
See, you are giving your kids an appreciation for showtunes! That rocks.
I have found that the dollar store is great. You can get wonderful, colorful, and sometimes REALLY BIG things for $1.00. And if you do it right, the kids can shop for thirty minutes or more deciding exactly WHICH trinket they will spend their dollar on.
And the next day, when it is lost / eaten / broken / whatever, you’ve only spent a dollar.
favorite uplifting show tune: Always Look on the Bright Side of Life”. Unless Chickadee and Monkee are extremely advanced for their age, I wouldn’t suggest they watch The Life of Brian for the original version, though.
As I type, I can see a hilltop of men on crosses singing “always look on the…” and whistling away.
I can’t believe you stood on Monkey’s bed, belted out “Tomorrow” and didn’t invite me! I’ll bet it was awesome among the kids squealing and all. Particularly the part where you have to hit the high R sharp. It’s never too early to teach the kids some culture.
I am ever so proud of you…for so many reasons.
Hee! That made my day.
I always get “I enjoy being a girl” stuck in my head. That’s a bad one. Or “Maybe God is trying to tell you something” from The Color Purple.
I remember, way back when, in the BC (before child) years when I didn’t have to worry about finding bugs, tissues, legos, and crayons everywhere. The house was clean… always.
You know .. I dont really miss those days all that much. You gotta love the kids! They give you a reason to be immature sometimes lol.
My son does the tissue thing too. I buy them in bulk from Costco, and you still can’t find one when you need it. Every once in awhile, I try to imagine what he’s doing with all those tissues. Throwing himself a ticker tape parade, perhaps? But mostly I just yell at him.
Once I asked a new patient what,if any, was his previous experience with therapy. He said he used to see an analyst 4 times a week but the analyst never had any kleenex and most of the time he was even out of toilet paper so he quit. I always try to stay well-stocked.