The girls and I had a busy day of planning and gathering supplies for Kennedy's first birthday party this Sunday. We hit five different stores and covered a lot of ground with driving around the city. Ironically, by the time I had a moment to sit and eat at dinner, I suddenly remembered that I forgot to use driving as my trigger into living in the moment. Silly me. I suppose that I was too caught up in my own endless chattering psyche as I drove; "What's next on my grande First Birthday To-Do List?" she says (yes, my psyche is a she. Let's call her Sally). "How can I get all the things I need for the party for, like, no money?" Sally worries. "Gawd I wish there was a Jamba Juice where we live. I'd kill for one right now!" she drools. I entertained all these thoughts as I drove hurriedly around town today instead of remembering to relax and release.
But then something that has probably never happened, happened. As I sat across from Whitney at the dinner table this evening quizzing her about who's birthday is next in our family, she spilled her half-filled Minnie Mouse cup of milk all over the table in a glorious, perfect, little 3-year-old mess.
I saw it coming like a slow motion moment in an action movie. With arms flailing, I leapt out of my chair like a ninja yelling, "Nooo!!"; it's creamy liquid spreading like a miniature milky flood threatening the perimeter of the table. I stopped to assess the situation and then it hit me: that was my trigger -- the spilt milk. There was no sense crying over it. It was, after all, just milk. I actually laughed as I grabbed the Sham-Wow out if the linen closet. What a perfect irony to end my day. I forgot my trigger of driving to teach me to relax, but the universe used humor to rattle me with a literal metaphor into remembering. I didn't cry over spilled milk.
On to Day Four.