Signs

Josh and I went to see the Nats play the Colorado Rockies last weekend. Our boys were doing great, scoring two back-to-back home runs early in the game, and it felt like we couldn’t lose. I mean, we were there with some of my favourite people, and I had gotten a shake from Shake Shack. The weather was beautiful, and we had seats above and behind home plate. It was a perfect day for baseball.

But then we did lose. Later in the game the Rockies caught up and then pulled ahead. By the eighth inning, I had convinced myself that if the Nats lost, it meant that we’d get bad news all around.

I’m a little ashamed to say that by the time Jayson Werth got up to bat in the ninth inning, bases loaded, I cried.

We lost. 6 to 4.

*******

The problem when you look for signs and then see things you don’t want to see is that you have to spend a lot of time trying to convince yourself that signs are meaningless.

Until, of course, you start looking for signs again.

*******

I knew we were going to get some results last week, and the night before the call, I was crawling out of my skin. I went to kiss the twins goodnight one last time before I got into bed. The ChickieNob’s arm was stretched behind her at an odd angle, so I bent down and kissed her hand.

A little voice inside me said that if I could kiss the Wolvog’s hand, if it was stretched backwards the same way, it would mean that we’d get good results. If his arms were under the blanket, it was a bad sign.

I know. Ridiculous. Results are not contingent on a child’s sleeping position. Even though my rational brain knew that, I crept into the Wolvog’s room, hope welling up in my heart.

He was sleeping curled up, deep underneath the blanket.

I walked over to kiss him goodnight regardless, even though my heart was deflating, but as I leaned over his forehead, he rolled over and reached his hand up into the air, dangling it a few inches below my lips.

I kissed it, thanking the universe for sending me the sign I needed to see so I could go to sleep, and then guided his hand down onto the blanket. I went back in our room and told Josh the sign and what had happened. He stared at me incredulously and pointed out that the two things aren’t remotely related.

Except, in both cases, it’s all about people I love.

So he went in their rooms and kissed their hands, too, for good luck. Immediately after Josh kissed the Wolvog’s hand, he changed positions in his sleep again and curled up under the blanket.

The next day, we got the call.

All is well.

Side note: Tomorrow is #MicroblogMondays. Get writing.