Fix You

I am going to admit something to you tonight….I am a fan of Coldplay. Yes, the band. Particularly the song Fix You. It’s on right now, in fact. It is perfect doing the dishes music. I am sure that is exactly what Chris Martin had in mind. He thought to himself, “I am going to write something that a housewife in America is going to stop in her aproned tracks when she hears it.” Sometimes, I have to stop mid-scrub and sing along. There, I said it. Now you know a secret about me. Believe me, there are more.

Today was a great day of surprises and pleasant happiness for me. That is, until I took all three boys shopping for tennis shoes. Really, only firstborn was getting them, but all for one, one for all…blah, blah, blah. We trekked over knoll and stream to four different stores.  I wanted to smell the Yankee Candles. They wanted to push the automatic door openers. I wanted to look at 400 thread count sheet sets and imagine waking up, skinny, with perfect hair, in them. They wanted to ride in the cart. They wanted to hightail it out of there.  I wish they had a playland at Marshalls. Did you know that when I was young, they had a teeny-tiny room for kids at Ethan Allen? My sister and I knew it intimately. I finally understand why. As I was instructing the boys to “not pass this blue line” in the breakable aisle, I remembered the carpeted walls of Ethan Allen’s kids’ room. It probably had three toys in it. That was enough back then, wasn’t it?

I am constantly searching…searching in my mind to rekindle that feeling of three toys being enough. I am talking about three toys for myself.  When did I start believing that I had to have every color of everything?  Why isn’t it enough to have the same toaster for 25 years, like my grandparents did? Sure, it burnt the toast each and every time a slice of bread swept across the heating elements. You knew that and yet you still put your bread in and got a knife to scrape off the black side and another to get the butter. We loved that toast, too.

We all know that all that really matters can’t be wrapped in tissue paper or found in a robin’s- egg-blue box. We know it, yet we still long for the experience of squealing with delight as we open a package with our name on it. Why do we need that? Why does that feed a hunger in our soul?

We received gifts in the mail for the past three days. They were unexpected. They created happiness and joyful laughter. We are thankful.  We are even more thankful that we have people in our lives that care for us. They want to fix us in whatever way they can.

Lights will guide you home, and ignite your bones…

~Janna