The song lyrics that played in my head for most of the past 36 hours are from the musical Into the Woods. Even without knowing the tune, I’m sure you can appreciate how words from a song or a line from a movie can continually repeat in your head, subtly trying to tell you something. Well, in the quick patter that only Stephen Sondheim can supply, the song lyrics playing in my head are:
What am I doing here? This is ridiculous I’m in the wrong story.
Okay, maybe the message isn’t so subtle.
I think it began yesterday when I heard Henry call out that all-too-familiar four-word phrase: It was an accident!
Or maybe it began when I was straddled over the marinara sauce soaked pile of towels attempting to clean up the “accident.” Or as I was doing my best defensive pose blocking Lillian from the mess as Henry and I tried to scoop up the majority of the sauce with paper plates. Or when I got sauce that had astonishingly found its way onto my forearm on the dress I was rushing to iron for Lillian with the hope that through all this mayhem I could still get her to Montessori school on time. Maybe it began, when through all of this – that sleepless baby of mine slept.
I do know the song continued today when against everything I know, I trusted that my 12-year-old had specific directions of where we were going when we got into the van heading toward her soccer game. This is of course after I said, “Let me GOOGLE it.” But on her insistence, I didn’t. En route, every phone call I made turned up empty. We got there, but not without an extended hurried tour of the surrounding area.
But … the game was good and the weather beautiful. Even though Miss Lillian woke up on the wrong side of the car seat, and we had to make numerous accommodations, we made it through in one piece and even stopped for Fwurpies at 7-11 on the way home.
I was quickly reminded that in addition to enjoying watching my girl play soccer, I love visiting with the wonderful mothers and fathers who are the soccer moms and dads at our parish. I also appreciated watching my (occasionally accident prone) son Henry do his best to make his baby sister happy. I would glance down the sidelines in his direction, and he’d give me that dimpled smile and double thumbs up to let me know he was handling things. And he was. And so, for now, that particular song in my head has stopped. Or at least changed.
I do know what I’m doing here. I do agree at times it is ridiculous. But I trust in God that I am in the right story — one with His promise of a happy ending.