When we left for church this Sunday morning, it was raining -- freezing rain. The skies were filled with lowering gray clouds, the hills misted with fog and we were running late. I slipped a bit as I hurried into the car, and made some sort of disgruntled noise. And then I just plain old grumbled: "It would be much easier to walk over here if this was still grass."
Remember we used to have a bit of grass there? But last summer, it got ripped up and paved over to make...sigh....more sidewalk. That's the sidewalk I found myself inadvertently skating on this a.m. I've been grumpy about it for such a long time, venting about it on an icy morning seemed all too easy.
The sweet girl told me I shouldn't complain. She said the people who paved the sidewalk must have needed to. I agreed I shouldn't complain but told her that I didn't think they'd really needed to. And then I sighed and said something about the gray day and the expanse of icy parking lot.
"Just imagine it's a garden, mommy," my seven year old said. (She knows me well!)
And you know what? It helped.