At least our socks are clean

I was with our son in the doctor's office the again other day for a treatment.  As he lay on the table, doctor busily trying to adjust tight muscles, release trigger points, relocate a rib hear and there, I noticed his socks didn't match.  I wondered if I should be embarrassed but all I could think is "well, at least they're clean!"

And I realized that's sort of an antidote for my approach to life these days.  There is too much.  Too much to think about, too much to get done, too much to care about, worry about, plan for.  Three kids, with 17 diagnoses, a husband, a house, a job, a dog, and a bird.  Of course his socks don't match.  But at least they're clean.  Find the victory, not the defeat, right?  

I can only care about so many things before the war of priority erupts in a battle of guilt and resentment in my head.  I learned, pretty much through a breakdown a few years ago (a whole other post), that you have to learn to choose your worries and stresses.  And you have to be ok with not being ok at some things.  So, my house is always at least somewhat messy.  I can't work full time anymore because it doesn't allow me the time and internal grace of taking care of my kid's needs. Sometimes dinner is cooked, sometimes it's takeout or cereal.  Even though there are endless ideas for treatments or gadgets to help my kids, it's ok not to chase every single one but instead focus on what is already working now.  Having a therapist for myself is an excellent hour of me-centered babbling every other week.  And if I ever got a tattoo it would likely say "good enough" because I constantly have to remind my self that good enough is really good enough.  

At the end of the day, the kids are pretty ok, the house is still standing, food is available, the dog is really cute and our perpetually mismatched socks are clean.  I'll take it.