It's The Little Things

We moved back into our house – hooray! New timber floors.

Except the board in the middle of the kitchen floor looked like this:

One board…why?

And someone tracked glue on the carpet (of course...right in the middle of the doorway). Why?

And I went to the garage to my extra pantry and found a bag of suspicious nachos. So I sent a text to my son like this:

He came back with Nope. Must be the RAT in the garage.

WHHHHHHHHY?

And the final straw this morning: the brand new (but somehow leaking??) washing machine that caused the water damage, that made us move out, that made the insurance company install new timber floors (thank you) was LEAKING AGAIN. After being repaired.

Why?

Why is it that the little things get us, every time?

So I tried something new.

I laughed.

Because I finally learned that freaking out does not serve me at all.

There’s no up-side to it. It doesn’t help.

It doesn’t solve the problem; it keeps me stuck there. It just wastes my energy – and today, there’s far too little of that.

So instead, I asked myself…’What will serve me in this moment?’

My first answer was a gin martini, but it was only 8am.

I asked again.

And I came up with this: Solve the problem, Catherine. Put on your big girl undies and deal with it.

So I did.

(But if anyone would like to join me for a gin martini at 8pm TONIGHT, you are so welcome.)