the important things

We had dinner with friends over the weekend; as they took our coats and asked how we were doing, I might've looked like a deer in headlights, delaying my response. Nothing is wrong. We are doing FINE. But did they want to hear about all the silly struggles or just about the shiniest spots, the effort to find black combat boots and powder setting makeup or the disappointment around not having an official birthday party, or about air trajectory success at Science Olympiad? About coordinating talent show skits and cakes for auction, or overtime shifts, or sore throats and injured elbows and seeds that did not grow. About how the yard overflows with tweens, too many to fit on the trampoline. About knocks at the door, invitations to the movie theater, to make bath bomb soaps, to ride in street legal race cars, to swim at the indoor pool. There is so much noise in my head, a million tiny details swirling together, that it feels almost impossible to distinguish what actually matters. The pantry is full, the porch railing is full. The calendar is full, our hearts are full. 

I appreciated that the question was quickly amended to How are the important things? That question felt easy, and I knew the answer immediately. The important things are all good. All good!

It turns out our friends enjoyed hearing about the random knight helmet Tolliver found in the woods and the fake fifty dollar bills Tucker put in his pocket for casino night!