losing hope

Sometimes it only takes a small thing; the two pairs of gloves that I asked my mother to buy the boys for Christmas so that they would have them for skiing had gone missing.  They hadn’t even ever been worn.  I had been stalking around the house this evening, fuming under my breath at my complete stupidity.  Why didn’t I put them in the ski box as soon as they unwrapped them?

I went to their room and began throwing dirty clothes into the hallway, toys into bins, prayers shooting resentfully out of the top of my head as I went along.  Please let me find those gloves…PLEASE let me find those gloves…

Three fourths of the way around the floor, I had managed to find one.  Of four.  That’s not a great percentage.  At this point, in my mind, the ski trip is in the toilet because I am NOT BUYING ANOTHER PAIR.  My kids lose things too much and if it takes making them ski for three days with no gloves then that is what is going to happen!

I want to note that at no point in this post have I claimed to be sane.

Flopping down on the couch, I announce the failure. The boys are wandering around the living room, halfheartedly looking.  Why, I couldn’t tell you.  If there is one place those gloves are not, it’s in the living room.

Hey Mom, Jonathan says, behind me, here’s another glove!

It was behind the couch! says Will, genuinely astonished.

Jonathan, I say, Thank you very much.  You have given me hope.

Boys, Bryan chimes in, his years of experience resounding in his voice, it is very important for your mother to have hope.

Jonathan takes these kinds of things very seriously. Standing behind me, he leans over and in my ear says – hopehopehopehopehopehopehope…

Who knew it was that easy?  I laughed out loud, got up, walked back into their room and decided to tackle the lockers where they throw all their junk.  The other pair was right there.

I’ll be smiling all the way down the mountain.