- On Labour Day weekend this year, I was in provisions mode, intent on making big batches of chili, muffins and baking to put in the freezer. Our stove element burned out on Sunday evening, leaving me without a stove until we could replace it on Tuesday. It was clearly something sent to vex me.
- When summer camp ended in September, my previously fully toilet-trained daughter regressed, in part due to a sustained hissy fit that summer camp was over. She returned to relieving herself in her clothes rather than on the toilet, which triggered another round of peeing by my anxiety-ridden black cat. (See All About Pee) We are only now getting back on track, and I still haven't put her back in big girl panties, but we have progressed to training pants again. It was something sent to vex me.
- On the weekend, we did a few loads of laundry, and I headed outside to pin it on our clothesline. The wind was quite strong, and blew dust into my eye. I went in the house for a minute to try to get the dust out of my eye, and when I returned, the wind had blown our umbrella-style clothesline inside out, collapsing it and throwing the clean but wet clothes on the ground. It was something sent to vex me.
- And this morning...I have 3 articles due at the end of April, and I'm stymied on finding a couple of simple statistics, and am writing while waiting for permission to quote from a text that is the basis for one of the stories. Tuesday and Thursday mornings, my daughter attends pre-school, and I usually have a good 2 hours of writing time. Today, however, I had to sing at a funeral at our church after dropping my daughter at pre-school. I arrived in time for the funeral, only to find the parking lot full, so I parked on the street. I opened the driver's door, locking it as I went like always, and grabbed my purse and music bag of books to pull them across the passenger seat, the stick shift and the driver's seat to get them out of the car. I had already thrown my keys in my purse...and then decided to go around to the passenger side to retrieve my purse and books from that side...so I closed the door and started to walk around, realizing a nanosecond later that my door was locked...and the keys were in my purse instead of in my hand. I was the cantor at the funeral, and my books, purse, and most important at the moment, my glasses were locked in the car, with my cell phone. I had to leave in an hour to pick up my daughter from pre-school... As I tried to stave off the meltdown, I sprinted up to the choir loft, borrowed my friend's cell phone, and then called my husband to come and unlock the car while I then composed myself to sing the solos. My arms were almost too short to read the music...but St. Cecilia, patron saint of musicians (and apparently, absentminded, busy moms), came through for me and I was able to sing the music adequately. My husband arrived a few minutes later to spring my purse from the car...I'm usually so careful about making sure that my keys are in my hand before I close the door, but I was preoccupied with the other vexing issue of finding the elusive statistic...it was a momentary lapse in concentration...which led to something sent to vex me.