Good Guys

Sometimes, I get accidentally hung up on people that piss me off. Someone that gives me the finger at a stop light will haunt me for days, and I’ll torture myself for weeks thinking of all of the missed burns and sweet comebacks I could have deployed on a rude, disgruntled TSA employee. (Speaking of which, I met a really mean sandwich artist at Subway on spring break last week. She’ll be with me for a while. SO SORRY, that I wanted my bread toasted lady. And the nerve I had asking you for pepperjack cheese… it’s like I thought it was your job to make me a sandwich or something! Pretty sure I ate a 6-inch spit surprise that day).

Anyway, it’s a complete weakness of mine, and allows those wormy little people to be a part of my life for far longer than the 5 seconds the universe intended us to be together. With such an affliction, it would be easy for me to cross over to the dark side and conclude that most people sort of suck. That’s why I feel so thankful and renewed when life hits the reset button and reminds me of all the good guys out there. Because there really are so many, and it seems like that’s too easy to forget sometimes. This week they came out of the woodwork in droves, and I am so grateful and humbled by the reminder that they’re out there, all around us.

My number one little man had to have surgery Thursday morning. It was a fairly routine procedure, but I would be a gigantic fibber if I didn’t admit that the whole affair tore me to shreds. Watching my favorite boy in the world get wheeled off on a stretcher wearing a hospital gown, made me crumble into a million tiny bits of myself. Secretly and in a corner of course, but I crumbled all the same. I was emotionally spent at the end of the whole ordeal to say the very least.

And then there were the balloons on our front porch when we got home the next day. And a big bag of chocolate muffins, and a bundle of the sweetest homemade cards from all of his kindergarten buddies. I reminded myself of how much good there is in the world as I watched his face light up while he read each one. One after another he read their sweet little messages in their perfect, crooked kindergarten handwriting. His day was made, and that made mine.

His best buddy spent his sunny, 70 degree afternoon at my house Saturday taking it easy with my son to keep him company. He gave up a day of riding his bike and running around to lay low with his pal. He said please and thank you, and included my daughter, (who has perfected the part of the pesky little sister these days), in everything they did. His good and kind parents already shining through their little boy.

Later that afternoon, I was on a walk with my daughter and we dropped by a neighbor’s house to say hi. Her kids were eating lunch and before I knew it my little lady was saddled up at their table with a plate of her own. She left half and wanted to beat feet back to her bike the second she finished, and they didn’t think twice about it. More generosity. More community.  

Our other neighbors invited both of our kids over for a two and half hour playdate this morning. Giving their kids the lowdown that it would have to be a relaxed day because of our patient so that I wouldn’t have to worry. I was able to relax and take a breath after a week I would love to forget. I made a green tea roadie in my favorite wonder woman cup, and went for a long walk with my husband. We went no where in particular with no concern for what time it was. We talked and walked and weren’t interrupted even once.

My weekend was filled with calls, emails, and texts from friends near and far checking on my guy and our family. So much love out there for him already in his 6 short years in this world. It made me realize that of all the bad decisions and missteps I’ve made in my life (don’t start listing them in the comments, I remember), I must have made some good calls too. Because now I find myself here, surrounded by the good guys. I think in writing this I even just forgave that mean sandwich lady….maybe she just hasn’t found her good guys yet.

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