Who Cares

Yesterday, as we all decided to venture to Gabriella's dress rehearsal, breaking the "No small children rule," we were in our usual state of chaos.  It doesn't matter how early we start to get ready for something, we always end up late.  It was at the exact time we needed to leave (3:15) when Genevieve decided to spit up all over my dress...almost.  With my usually slow reflexes, I was surprisingly fast and caught it all in my hand.  Score!  

As we made our way to the rehearsal site, Gabriella informed me she had found a little white thread.  Turns out that little thread was part of a bigger thread connected to her tights.  The result:  a huge, gaping hole in her tights right in the middle of her leg.  With her hair only partially fixed (because I didn't have time to find the required bow) and the torn tights, I was afraid we might get dirty looks.  I could just hear the other dance moms. Look at that poor little girl.  Doesn't her mom know what dress-rehearsal means?

Rewind to Tuesday night.

After dinner, Rick and I took the girls for milkshakes.  Rick's allergies have been bothering him, so we ended up enjoying our milkshakes in the car at the park.  We rolled down the windows, sang along to Bob Seger's Night Moves, which may or may not have been appropriate lyrics, but he does sing, "Sweet Summertime," and that seemed to fit.  Marielle said, "Ma-ma," while Genevieve said, "Da-da!" We watched a man in a suit fly a remote control airplane and we slurped our shakes down to the very last thick drop.

Rewind to last Saturday.

With rain in the forecast, we ventured to the fair.  Gabriella wanted to ride a helicopter ride that went in the air.  I kept saying to Rick, "You know she will be afraid.  As soon as the ride starts, she's going to freak out.  Let's just eat and play games."  Sure enough, Gabriella walked right up to that helicopter, held firmly onto the wheel and soared through the sky, waving only briefly so she could keep that secure grip.  Marielle and Genevieve waved proudly at their big sister and I teared up...realizing what a hard time I have letting go.  Anywho, we ordered hotdogs, hamburgers, corndogs, 4 orders of french fries, 2 pickles and tried to win a cake or a doll to no avail.  We ended our fair trip playing BINGO, Rick getting every possible number he could and still NOT being able to win.  That deserved a prize in itself.  When we got home, we all went to bed.  It was 7:30.

Back to last night.

So there's Gabriella up on stage.  Her little family rooting her on.  Marielle and Genevieve loving the movement and music.  Rick steadying his hand on the video camera and me...jumping from row to row, trying to get the best shot in stage lighting, which by the way, is impossible.  The music played and I don't think Gabriella remembered one thing in the correct order.  When she was supposed to kick, she twisted.  When she was supposed to, "Upside, heel, upside down, heel," she was twisting!  All the while, the only thing I wanted to do was to stand in the chair and yell out to the audience that was only half paying attention, "Do you see that one?  The one with the hole in her tights not doing the routine that she was taught?!  She's mine! She's mine!"  Looking at my family in the back of the auditorium, I thought, They're mine.

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And so who cares that Rick's car's engine blew up and it's going to cost $6200, so we have a ginormous paper-weight in our garage?

And who cares that our only car has a whole in the tire and we don't have time to get it fixed, so we just keep pumping more air into it?

And who cares that we've got a small amount of time and an even smaller budget to find a van so Rick isn't left here without a vehicle when I go back to school?

These are the things that weigh on my mind, but lately, in the midst of milkshakes, helicopters, failed BINGO attempts, and dress rehearsals...

I find myself thinking, "Who cares?"

Maybe I should, but I don't really. I've got other things on my mind!

I hope that you have already started seeing God in your summer and that He's helping you know when to say, "Who cares?"

Love,

Mary