The Rainbow Connection

As I type I’m pulling mom hours. {You know you’re on duty and you’re not really sure when you can clock out. Perhaps never is the correct answer.} I’m in the middle of these hours because of my insane and unequivocally unfair request that my bittiest bitty drop the pacifier before she enters middle school. Also, because the dentist told me it needed to be done.

Alas, she cries.

I get losing your cool. I have lost mine many a time. And there are a variety of things that I would currently lose my cool about if someone tried to take them from me. Added to the list as of this weekend are these:

Oh, I love them.

We put up the base hardware for them approximately a month ago. Then vacation, and life, and The Wheels On The Bus Go Beep Beep Beep, and the kitchen got dirty again, and oh but you see Project Runway is on, and well, we just got around to hanging them on Saturday.

This was problematic because it rained all day Saturday.

My husband and I have agreed that “hanging things” is a point of contention for our marriage. From this point forward, we have decided that if Hanging Blank is something that needs to be done, then we will pursue hiring someone to do this for us. Our, shall we say, finest points of marital growth have happened directly after the experience of trying to hang something. {A chandelier, a door, mirrors, wall art…but really, who needs to go digging…} {Also, if you hang something as your career, now would be a good time to give me your card, as I will be assembling a rolodex entitled People Who Hang Things.}

{How did I get here. OH, THE LIGHTS.}

They’re up. They’re so beautiful. They remind of me this awesomeness in graduate school where we used to go, eat Cuban food out of some trailer-type-assembly, and BYO-anything because they were in the county and couldn’t serve alcohol. They had tiny white lights strung above, connecting all the tables in their hazy vibe, inviting you to eat more plantains and enjoy your friendships in a transient time.

Last night we had dinner on the patio and watched our girls dance popsicle-faced under our lights. The ones that we hung. And then this happened:

We watched it brighten, and brighten, until my camera couldn’t even take it anymore:

And I looked and snapped and pressed it down deep and tried to convey the promise to my children. {Bitty G did say “GOD,” so win.}

Oh, it was so good. I’m etching in the memory.

Maybe it will help give me a better attitude the next time we hang something. But, unlike the rainbow, no promises.