The Pancakes with the Syrup

I haven't met many women who haven't admitted to occasional insanity.  It's the roller coaster, the battle with emotions that go up and down and up and down, and on occasion... down, down, down.  I never know what, exactly, will trigger those traitorous tears. A lost sock.  A sock with a hole in it. Even the fact that socks exist can be extremely stressful.  

The problem with me is that when I'm down inside that dark, cavernous pit of despair, I forget about all the other times I've visited and I can never remember the way to climb back out.  Usually Brian is there and he reminds me.  You've been here before, Emily, you just don't remember.   Let me wash all the laundry and you just sit there and read a book and don't worry about socks for awhile.  I'll make blueberry pancakes for dinner with that buttermilk syrup and you don't even have to come out of your room. 

By the time I emerge from my cave I realize I've been ridiculous and my life is wonderful.  I love my family!  I love socks!  It is only every few months that the mountain of people needing things tips the teeter totter and I go flying off the handle.  Brian could probably give you a more accurate number. He never seems too surprised.    

Except the last time it tipped, he wasn't home.  He was on a business trip.  Nobody to throw me a rope and make those pancakes with the syrup.  

The moment I realized what was happening, and that help was not on the way, I collapsed to my knees.  I didn't even know what to ask for.  "Please.  Help."  A simple, desperate prayer.

Within minutes, a text buzzes on my phone.  It is my old visiting teacher, who moved away like, three years ago.  "That's who you got????" I ask Heavenly Father.  I should never doubt His methods.  

She says she's been thinking about me and she'd love to catch up.  We plan a time to talk and already I feel better.  She totally gets it.  All of it.  It feels so good to be understood!  And as we are talking, I remember a story I haven't thought of in months.

It was the night before my daughter's first day of PE at the junior high. We are roaming the endless aisles at Kohl's because the official PE uniforms aren't in yet and she just HAS to wear basketball shorts like her best friend.  I am already reliving all the insecurities of junior high and I am desperate to make it right for her.  The only basketball shorts are in the boys' section and we basically have our choice of Sponge Bob and Spiderman.  

I know we are short on time and also I have a Kohl's gift card I need to use up.  I close my eyes and say a prayer.  "Please. Help."  

We do one last sweep of the shorts section, and there, tucked between two pairs of absurdly long neon shorts, we find a completely respectable pair of navy blue basketball shorts in exactly her size.  The brand doesn't match any of the others and there is nothing else like them in the store.  

My heart filled with gratitude and thanksgiving.  I am not alone!  I don't have to do this on my own!  And then I totally forgot about the whole thing.

This is, in part, why I want to write down these experiences that are so close to my heart.  I'm sharing so I won't forget.  

And these are the pancakes with the syrup.  I like them with blueberries.