Sometimes I forget to be grateful.
I forget to be grateful when I’m cleaning up the kitchen after a big family dinner. By myself. And every pot has some burned on crud that will need scrubbing. Of course, that usually happens at every meal I cook. The burned on crud, that is.
I forget to be grateful after I’ve been shuffled off to the exam room at the doctor’s office and I’m waiting in this tiny room for an hour and I think everyone went home and I’m locked in for the night. I forget to be grateful when there are a stack of bills sitting in front of me and it doesn’t look like I can squeeze one more little penny from my weathered checkbook. When someone is in a much bigger hurry than me makes that left turn a little too close.
I forget the blessing of sharing with my family. I forget that I have access to the health care that a large portion of the world doesn’t. I forget the blessing of working and earning a living. I forget that I am protected from so many things, both seen and unseen. I get caught up in the situation and I forget. And then I remember flower bombs.
Not the kind where kids throw baggies of flour on each other. Flower bombs. Every so often Keeper Hubby knows I am going into one of those funks. The Nobody-Appreciates-Me-Nobody-Understands-Me-Leave-Me-Alone-To-Write-But-I-Can’t-Write funks. And that’s usually when I get a flower bomb.
Hubby’s always been very thoughtful about flowers and gifts and things at the standard times (birthday, Valentine’s Day, Mother’s Day) but he’s sneaky, too. He catches me off guard just to see the look on my face, I think. One day several years ago for no apparent reason I woke up to a vase of flowers on my nightstand.
Oh, nice Hubby, you are a good Hubby. Then I walked into the bathroom to find another bunch of flowers. Well, that was VERY nice of Hubby, two bouquets. Not only were they bouquets, they had funny little cards that he had printed from the internet. They were meant for children to give to one another for Valentine’s Day, with little Pokemon critters saying nice things on them. Keeper Hubby is creative like that. That’s why he’s a Keeper.😉
The rest of the morning I spent on a hunt for small bouquets of grocery store carnations and funny little cards that said things like “Pikachu Chooses You!” all over the house. Not kidding. About 30 bouquets of varying sizes. It was silly and fun but it made me feel very appreciated, blessed and grateful to have such a thoughtful Hubby, when many days I didn’t ‘feel’ like he was all that thoughtful. Feelings can be deceiving, and truth is truth.
I get flower bombs every so often. I am blessed. And why tell you this story?
Because today’s post is a Flower Bomb to you, Dear Readers. I am so appreciative of all the wonderful people who have supported me in this blog journey.
When I’ve been consistent in posting and when I haven’t.
When I wanted to throw my computer out the window and when I was desperate to hear someone acknowledge ‘Yeah, I’ve had that happen to me, too. You’re not alone.’
I am grateful and I bestow on you a Bloggy Flower Bomb.
Two inspiring posts from Joshua Becker of Becoming Minimalist on the discipline of gratitude:
Thank you so much for your support!
Writer working on debut historical fiction, love truth, cats, tea, beaches and sarcasm as an art form. I'm a recovering pessimist. I blog about creativity, the writing journey, social media and have a weekly 'write anywhere' challenge.