The pain creeps up from my toes, and I don't know why. Flu? Fibro flare? Whatever, it's unwelcome and ill-timed.
I grab for my solutions, the things I expect will make it better, and they mask it for brief moments, and then I'm forced to admit The Ick is winning for today.
Between its wins, I fit mine.
Children parented, conversations of importance, boxes unpacked, and clothing sorted. Counters are wiped, and towels are folded.
Small wins. Big wins.
Date nights and gardens tended.
The scent of the first rain sneaks in through our window. I grab it as it passes over my tea.
A little win.
I put these wins together into a box I keep to show to myself when I forget. I say, See! You are a winner! Look!
I pour them out into a pile and feel them tangle between my fingers. All of the wins. The big ones fall to the bottom of the heap. The little ones are plentiful and the easiest to see.
I vow to add more, even if I have to squeeze them in between the losses.