It is my intent with this blog to keep the content upbeat, lighthearted, and fun. In my everlasting quest towards self-growth, I am trying to become the person who embodies this quote:
It is easy to be happy and optimistic when things are going well, but when the going gets tough, how can we grow and become stronger, more resilient human beings? Well, my friends, this is probably one of the biggest challenges I face, but I have faith that I will get there eventually. In the mean time, I am growing through every attempt at achieving this.
What is the point of all of this? I think, in addition to the funny and exciting adventures, it is important to also share the struggles. It is easy to look at others and think they have it so easy, they have the perfect life. But in reality, everyone faces hard times, and I think (I hope!) that these commonalities can truly bring us all closer together... if we let them.
The past few months have been a quite tough for us, and in an attempt to add a bit of humor to this post, I will share a story with you that might have a really cheesy metaphor or two involved.
Last night, I was home alone (Chris was still in Philly), and I decided I was going to tackle the paint job in our downstairs half bathroom. We had a few different colors painted in stripes on the wall, and Chris and I had both agreed on our favorite color for the space. So, I did all of the prep work, changed into my "painting clothes," and opened a fresh can of paint.
{ this is obviously not our small bathroom, but it is the color we chose to paint it. what do you think? }
It was difficult working in such a narrow small space -- it is a half bath, afterall... but I managed to get a nice first coat on, and had moved on to the tedious part of painting around the crown moulding. This required me standing on the small countertop, and once I had covered the area with its first coat, I gracefully (at least that's what I keep telling myself... gracefully...) took a big step down to the floor from the counter, small paint jug and paintbrush in hand.
For those who don't know me, I am known to be a bit clumsy (In fact, Chris calls me clumsy clogs. Charming, I know..), and although I landed just fine, my momentum pushed me backwards just enough to knock me off balance. Luckily the bathroom is small and the toilet was right behind me (lid down), so I allowed myself to fall backwards onto the toilet, putting all of my concentration on not spilling the paint. I was pleased with myself for about three seconds for not spilling, before I noticed that the toilet had quite literally, sprung a leak.
I started freaking out, grabbing towels from the laundry room (which did little to stop the several inches of water that were accumulating in the small bathroom), and realized that I had no idea what to do. Now, I pride myself on being good in a crisis, I can usually figure it out. But I had no idea how to stop the water from pouring out and I literally lost it. I was definitely not 'dancing in the (toilet water) rain...'
Now here's where my cheesy metaphor comes in. I had spent the past few months 'holding it together' through some stressful times, and right along with that toilet, my cool, calm and collected wall, had cracked. The tears flowed more dramatically than the leaking toilet and I frantically called Chris, though I knew he was two hours ahead and likely already asleep. Voicemail. So I called my always-good-in-a-crisis Dad. Despite being in a board meeting (so embarrassing!), he answered and somehow deciphered what the problem was through my frantic sobs. He told me how to turn the water off behind the toilet (I know that I should already know how to do this, but I didn't. I do now...), but despite turning the water off to the toilet, it was still spraying everywhere.
So my Dad told me to go grab my (law enforcement) neighbor for help. This next part is even more embarrassing because I am pretty sure I had mascara running down my cheeks right along with those tears, but my neighbor happened to be playing with his young daughter in the front yard. To make a long story a bit shorter, he came to my rescue and figured out that the tank on the back of the toilet had popped a screw (bolt?) and that was allowing the water from the tank to come out the bottom. Several towels and one flower vase full of water later, the water had stopped.
My neighbor assured me that that was what neighbors were for, before giving me a hug and wishing me luck with the rest of my paint job.
Well, the painting was just going to have to wait because I had no energy or motivation to continue with that for the rest of the night, and I had a lot of cleaning up to do first anyway. I managed to collect myself and do damage control -- cleaning up all of the water (using every last towel in the house), toss the towels into the washer and throw myself in the shower before I crashed into bed.
Tomorrow's a new day, right? Wrong. Chris texted this morning to tell me that the return flight I booked for him to return from Philly was accidentally (by me!) booked for September 18th, not today. Wow. I feel the rest of that wall coming down sometime in the next 24 hours...
Praying for sunshine today... I am not sure I am capable of dancing in the rain right now...
