Good Friday

This has been a long week for all the usual reasons: work schedules super full, unable to spend spring break with the Younger and burdened with Mommy Guilt and generally struggling with my whole Lenten sacrifice this year, giving up the Critic.

Why can’t I give up simple things like chocolate or coffee? Coffee and chocolate don’t harm my heart and soul the way the Critic can deconstruct me. My new discovery is that the harder I push myself toward perfection, the louder the critic becomes. And so, this last week, while my son was off for break, I tried to just be simple, as simple as possible. And then, when he came back to me for the second half of the week, I discovered he has pneumonia. Since my kids are rarely ill, I guess they tolerate being sick out of ignorance. But when he has a rattling, productive cough, wheezing and fever, it’s time for a trip to my office for a proper exam.

And so, I leave the Younger tucked into bed, loaded on antibiotics. I give the Older permission to stay home from school (which I personally think violates the spirit of Senior Skip Day) and I head off to work on Good Friday.

My day is nothing compared to Christ’s I remind myself. Stop whining, Lisa. Get over yourself. NOTHING on this day is that bad, that hard, that serious.

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