The Hurricane Sandwhich.

This morning we could not find her silver shoes. They went missing a few days ago, and frantic search on the mornings she wants to wear them is always forgotten by the time she gets home from school. Because I am the mother/housemaid/butler/apparently responsible person for all shoes, I once more found myself sucked into the frenzy, and (tried) to calmly suggest it was either going to be sneakers or the black hand-me-down shoes that are still too big. "I WILL LOOK RIDICULOUS WITH SNEAKERS!!!", and eyeing her outfit of choice, I couldn't disagree. After stuffing wads of paper towel into the tips of the too-big shoes and band-aids on her heels (covering sores from jamming her feet into her younger sister's silver shoes) she flew out the door with a reluctant side hug to her pajama-clad mother/housemaid/butler/shoe retriever. I closed the door, breathed deep and commenced picking up the pieces. There lay her lunchbox, where within lie a ham-and-cheese sandwich WITH lettuce (LETTUCE!)  that I had been so proud of myself for making in the middle of May as my lunch packing skills suffer a dramatic drop-off starting somewhere in April.

Speaking of sandwiches....


Fifteen days until the last day of school. Fifteen more hurricane sandwiches, a concoction made of three parts: the crazy tempest of assembling children for school in the morning, the calm of the day (mostly) in the middle followed by the crazy tempest of returning school-aged children/making dinner/doing homework/learning to live with each other in between it all. On Monday, June 8th, we cease our crazy mornings (can't wait!), ease into the day (can't wait) and in no time at all the "hurricane" will build to ebb and flow during all the waking hours for the rest of the day (can wait). And just like that, the Hurricane becomes the meat of the sandwich, with the end pieces of calm being as thin as the flimsy slivers of crust found clinging both ends of a loaf of store-bought bread.

Both sandwiches have their appeal, but darn it if I don't want both at the same time.

***

And so I shall continue to gird myself for the less-structured, bursting with life in the middle summer months that send both shivers of anticipation and dread (perhaps too strong a word, but it's the best I can come up with after the morning I had). I've been organizing, stream-lining, cleaning out this home and yet, I have a hunch that the place which needs the most of all of that is my heart.

The joy of the Lord is my strength (and also, sometimes, a sandwich with a thick bottom slice of bread).