This morning I was in a crabby mood. I wanted to write and complain about everything "wrong" right now. I wrote a few sentences of complaints, and that was it. I ran out. No more things to complain about. Was I really so upset about 2 sentences' worth of bad news? How couldn't I see that before? How silly of me.
The good thing about my writing here is that this phenomenon happens often. When I write something down and reread it before clicking "publish" I am forced to see how stupid I am to be complaining about my life. How little my problems are compared to what could be wrong. It's easier to see the humor in my situation when I'm reading through it instead of experiencing it first hand. I become a spectator, and what was once my anger becomes no more than words on a page. It is easier to let go.
In some ways, writing for me is better than talking to friends. In an attempt to console you, friends will tell you that your anger is valid, that they would be mad too. They empathize with you because they like you. And while empathy can be nice and helpful, sometimes it just gets in the way of getting over yourself. By writing here to no one in particular I can hold up a true mirror to myself. No judgments are made for or against any side, it's just all the facts laid out in front of me.
The blog doesn't say, "Yes, I'm sorry that happened to you. It wasn't your fault." It doesn't say, "You were in the right do to that! I would have done the same thing." It just holds my words up there for me to reread, to reanalyze, to see from a new perspective. And sometimes it's just what I need.
It's good to be reminded sometimes of how good my life is.
This morning, like every morning, Oliver crept into our bedroom and climbed up on our bed. Instead of demanding breakfast or telling me to get up, he nuzzled his face against my neck, whimpering and wiping snot all over me. I wanted to be mad because the snot was all over and I wasn't ready to get up. Doesn't he know better than to come wipe snot all over people?
Actually, no he doesn't. He's just a little boy and he only wanted me to comfort him. How nice is it that my small boy wants to hug me to feel better. How nice is it that my hug does make him feel better? That he wants me to comfort him, hug him, hold him... That is amazing. Even if we're both sick and snotty, he wants me and for now that's good enough. It doesn't get any better than that.