Not Nice Spice
![]() As Stud went off to work early, I’m siting here watching Chickadee eat breakfast and being a cutie. We are surrounded by The Great Wall of Boxes. Surprisingly I don’t mind; what’s giving me a little anxiety are the random few items and toys that are coming with us. There are only little pathways to sneak through and today is an official order-every-meal-out day. No one is complaining, until I realize there’s no adult breakfast so I'm waiting for Little Dude to wake up from a 6:30AM nap (because, of course, babies and toddlers convened to stay up all night eating and needing extra snuggies). Somehow, these stinkers have made me more organized this time. Usually, I don’t have a single thing packed until the night before when I realize there is random clutter hidden in every little corner. Luckily, we knew we were moving mid-January so I started two months ago—HA! With more impending snow (yay for New York) I’m a little worried about who will shovel out our downstairs neighbor. She’s a petite 80 year-old Italian grandma… and the reason we got the boot from our complex. Well, in all fairness it’s the thunderous pitter-patter of a petite two year old. Scratch that—it’s the incompetency of a management company that rents an upstairs hardwood floor apartment to a young family when they regularly have elderly on the first floor. In the beginning I was stressed to the point of hysterical tears and after yet another complaint Stud threw in the towel. We wouldn’t be renewing our lease and I thought I would want to strangle him—we didn’t have anywhere to go! Instead I was overcome with complete peace. I was thrilled. I wouldn’t need to micromanage how my daughter walks, runs, dances, plays, talks, bashes the bathroom door open as she runs to the potty, among a few billion other things. We prayed and tried to figure out if we were going to another apartment (my stomach sank at this idea), a tragic townhouse from the ‘80s, relocate to another state (via Stud’s job), or spend an obscene amount of money to rent a tiny little house. While we were figuring out what our next move would be, I came to terms with the notion that my heart needed a big move too. Instead of being a stick in the mud, giving the cold shoulder to our neighbor, Nona, I made a conscious point to go above and beyond. I chit-chatted the heck out of her every time we crossed paths. She doted on my babes, we swapped birth stories, discussed the challenges of raising feisty littles, and I took in every story she had about her grandkids, late husband, and beloved dog. I know she loves dark chocolate and used to live just a few blocks from our new home (irony or God having a little laugh). I had a chance to dig deep and really push my heart to the next level, tenfold. New York has had one nor’easter after another. January to March has left us with snow on snow on snow. Each evening and on weekends I’d leave Stud with Little Dude and Chickadee (poor guy—nothing like snowed in kids and a plethora of energy) and headed outside to shovel out my car, my husband’s car and Nona’s. You see, the complex doesn’t come to clear snow unless there is at least three inches (CHECK!), but they also won’t come until the storm is over (come again?!). At one point there were THREE nor’easters within 11 days, so you can imagine the amount of snow that that added up to. And to really make sure my heart got the message there was a snowdrift between my car and Nona’s (not a single other drift in the whole complex!!!). It would be understandable to lightly brush off her car or shovel a small path, but something in my gut told me that would be just as bad as doing nothing at all. And when I shoveled a nice wide path down the walk, to her car, and around her car, I contemplated pretending whether that was good enough OR should I spend 30 minutes chipping away at the ice so she wouldn’t slip. So I buckled down until I hit blacktop and when I turned around to head inside I re-shoveled the paths since they were already snow covered. Nona came scurrying out and said it wasn’t necessary and not to worry about her (she does this every time). I let her know that it isn’t a bother and I’m almost done. She stayed and chatted for 10 minutes and we both agreed that mamas use any excuse to get out of the house.
I could have easily said, “Karma!” Or used my two babes under two years as a legitimate excuse. Or nagged, nagged, and nagged some more so that my already stressed out husband did it. But the truth is I couldn’t say that I am worthy to inherit blessing (1 Peter 3:9 Do not repay evil with evil or insult with insult). I couldn’t be an example of love (1 Peter 4:8 Above all, love each other deeply). I couldn’t say that my heart was in the realm of goodness (Psalm 51:10 Create in me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me). Nona pushed me to be a better person, a stronger mama, a more beautiful Christian.
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Kate FrancesWhen you don't know what else to do, then it's time to write. Then write a little while longer for good measure. Archives
February 2020
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