My unstyled life isn’t messy or clean or ugly or stunning. Instead, my goal is to create a home that reflects back the spirit and personality of our family. It’s a work in progress. Sometimes the beauty in my life is by accident, other times it’s intentional. It’s there, either way, because when I remember to fill my home with what I love–person, place, or thing–odds are it will be beautiful. Maybe not always appreciated, but always beautiful. If you feel the same, you are welcome to share a link to your own unstyled life in the comments.
The alarm on his phone woke me up with a start. I blinked, confused, because I always wake up first and rarely need an alarm. There are worse things than a rude awakening after an unexpected night of restful sleep, I reasoned.
I pushed the snooze button when my own alarm went off, another first. The quiet in my head, after listening to blood pound for the last two days, was too lovely to accept without a few minutes of gratitude. Not that I spent the last two days immobilized, of course. After so many years, I’ve become adept at functioning with a migraine. Laughing and joking, even, when the pain is more faint than fierce. Adept, but not perfect. There is a lot that I miss when I am thinking of myself and watching life through my peripheral vision.
I was fixing Mikey’s breakfast when he asked me how I slept. I told him great, and I meant it.
“Really?” He looked up in surprise. He had expected a different response.
“And your headache?”
“I’m really glad to hear that.” And he meant it.
I smiled without really paying attention, my mind already on the rest of the day. It was overcast. I forgot about today’s post and had no hope at taking a decent picture. Mikey has an appointment at 4:00. Or 4:30. I needed to confirm that. A quick phone call. Musn’t forget. Dinner. Soccer uniform needs laundering. Busy, busy, busy. I walked out of the kitchen without looking back.
I dawdled in our bedroom, not really eager to start the monotony of the day. He picked up on my discomfort from across the house, and started getting Mikey ready for school. By the time I reappeared, ready to pitch in, he had done all of it. The guilt made me feel uncomfortable, so I made a point to look at him. Really look at him.
In two days, much happened. While I suffered my insecurities, he suffered his own. Insecurities, worries, and frustrations that I missed but could now see marred–ever so slightly–his placid features. Happy, sad, or indifferent, he usually looks the same, except around the eyes. And this morning, I noticed a tightness there that reflected emotions kept firmly in place. To not worry me, I suppose.
To not add to my plate or bring back my headache.
Stupid, silly, wonderful boy.
After they left, I reorganized my day. I decided dinner would be his favorites and that I would put away that laundry that he never, ever says a word about. I’d curl my hair just the way he likes it, put up the curtain panel that’s been sitting on the sofa table for the last two weeks, and put flowers around the house because I know it makes him happy.
I don’t have a magic wand, or I would do more, be more. I would wave away everything he is worried about and then we would go on a trip. Since I can’t do that, I’ll pick up and spruce up and shine up everything he touches to remind him of what he has…even those things he believes are too good for him to deserve. Especially those things.