Life...out of control

First, let me say, thank you to all my readers out there.

Second, let me say, sorry I haven't been around in a few days.

The past few days have been a good excercise in accepting that life is not in my control. Gasp!

Work has been busy, and crazy, but that's just the way it is right now, so no need to go into details on that one.

Thursday I had a meeting in Malvern and started to feel not-so-great on the way home. By Thursday evening I was running a fever and woke up sweating a few times during the night. By Friday One Philly Daddy and I were sure we had a stomach flu and spent most of the day dashing to the bathroom. I was happy to be working from home that day, as I was still certainly able to work, but would not have been able to make it TO work. (My fellow SEPTA commuters would not have appreciated me on the train that day.)

Saturday, we were still not feeling well, but managed to get ourselves out of bed long enough to break up the soil in our yard and get some much needed grass seed planted in the yard. Afterwards, we returned to bed, and continued our rest.

Sunday, we woke up feeling better and decided to be ambitious. One Philly Daddy went to lift in our basement, and I had big plans to clean the house. Since we were sick, I wanted to change sheets, do laundry, clean the bathroom, disinfect door knobs.

Less than 10 minutes into our big plans, I was cleaning in the kitchen, and one of our metal backsplash tiles fell and cut my finger. I've never had stitches before, but it was obvious to me that this cut would require them. So One Philly Daddy rushed into action, called his parent's to babysit and drove me to the hospital.

Where of course we sat on and off alone for 4 hours before I got stitched up. Of course the staff at the hospital were helpful and took good care of me. But a bloody finger probably doesn't warrant much attention in the Emergency Room.

Part of me wanted (and to be honest, still wants to) to be super upset that things didn't work out the way I planned. Part of me wanted to rush home from the hospital and do everything I'd wanted to do, to prove that nothing would stop me.

But I've learned enough to know that it really wouldn't make me feel any better, and in fact would negatively impact my ability to heal and handle life as it came.

So, One Philly Daddy went to the grocery store since we were totally out of baby food. He also did a load of my laundry. And fed the baby.

I rested, took my super strength Ibuprofen and rested.

Which I didn't love, but I've realized something. The difference between the people I know who are happy and the people who are miserable is NOT the amount of money, size of the house, helpfulness of their husband, how far up they are at work, how helpful their mother is, how fun their friends are.

Certainly, a lot of those things can increase or decrease one's happiness. But mostly its the person's attitude. I know people with a lot less than I have, who are happier, more generous, more peace-ful (as in full of peace) than I am. So its not the stuff, its not the title, its not the money. Its how you/I think about it.

So instead of being upset or feeling inadequate because I haven't changed the sheets, I decided to be grateful that my healthy is still pretty much intact, that I have the help I need to take care of myself and make sure my hand heals, that I have the kind of job that gives me decent healthcare, and that I can still work, even after I've hurt myself.

And so far, it seems to have worked!

My finger is ok, didn't throb nearly as much as I thought it might, and I worked all day without it bothering me too much.

Life may be way out of my control, but I'm not!