The world is scary.

People are scattered.

Things seem a little crazed.

Anyone want to argue that? Anyone having a different experience? If you are, can I come to your house to stay? I’m a great houseguest and can make a decent meat loaf. Promise I won’t be any trouble. I’m not scary or crazed. Maybe a little scattered.

I’m rambling. Let me start again.

Has anyone seen the kid’s show The Incredibles? Remember the scene where the teenager daughter creates a safety bubble over her family? One minute, they are in danger and the next second they are all sheltered under an impenetrable force field. I love that scene. If someone showed up to offer me a super power I would take that one. Please. I don’t need to be super fast or super strong. I just want to protect my people.

Am I rambling again?

Probably.

There are a lot of things going on in my world right now that I don’t like.  They are happening to people I love. I’m trying to mitigate them and make them better and do what I can, but it’s not going so well. The middle of me is having to accept that there’s only one me. I can’t be everywhere. I can’t do everything. What’s a worrier to do? How do I accept that?

When you are a caretaker what happens when you can’t take on anymore care?

I can answer that.

You stumble. You falter. You fret.

On some days, you find playlists on Spotify that are full of melancholy and angst and you watch the trees sway, and the rain fall and you cry. But not always. That wouldn’t be productive.

So, you get up each morning and just bang on through everything that is happening and wear yourself out wondering if you are doing enough. If anything you are doing matters. If you, perhaps, are the least guardian of all the guardians.

Thankfully, sometimes, when you are in that spot life gives you a mint on your pillow. A little smiley face on your windshield. A glowing performance review from a boss that really matters.

Recently, I got just such a wink on a quiet morning. A morning that was spectacular because it was replete with normal.

How rare is that?

Our little guy had come to stay for a week. It was story books read at exactly 8:30 in the evening. Always a mad hunt for Daddy Bear when he was missing. Baseballs and red cars with their own keys. It was toothbrushing and time spent working in the yard with his granddad. It was a quick trip for an ice cream cone and finger-painting on the kitchen table. And then, on that Tuesday morning, it was him sitting quietly in his chair eating a bowl of cereal and me at the kitchen counter cutting strawberries because he wanted some. It was so quiet.

You know those mornings?

The clock is ticking and and there’s a fly buzzing on the window sill and, in the distant, there is the muted sound of a dog barking. It is just a morning. A morning we will probably all wish for when they are gone. And into that stillness my grandson dropped five words.

“Grandma, I’m happy with you.”

Matter of factly and without a pause in his chewing. Wasn’t a big moment on his side, but at the counter, his grandma stopped slicing strawberries. Felt tears gather in her eyes and her shoulders drop. She breathed that sentence into the parts of her that needed it.

Somehow, despite my fears, I was hanging in there as a guardian. I was force fielding this little man. He was at his grandma’s and he was happy. The world was right. Things were good.

He was free to eat his cereal and plan his day. He would ask for a grilled cheese later, with no crusts, and it would be made. For a walk to the park and it would happen. His little life, in that moment, was within the bubble of his grandma’s reach and we were both so, so glad.

I took another deep breath and resolved to keep on keeping on.

I can’t be everywhere. I can’t fix everything. I’m not a super hero. Still don’t have a forcefield at my fingertips. But, through my decisions and actions, I can create little moments for the people I love.

I can slice strawberries and send planners and make phone calls. I can give the code to my door and a bed with fresh sheets to someone who needs somewhere to be for a night. I can take phone calls even when I don’t really want to talk. I can smile in the grocery store and be kinder to rude people than they deserve.

And, when I can’t, I can take a day off.

On those days, someone I love will be a forcefield for me. The world will send me a lunch with a dear friend, my husband will make my plate of food and bring it to me with a napkin folded on the side, my daughter will call me with laughter in her voice to tell me something funny. My grandson will say,

“Grandma, I’m happy with you.”

And so later, when I’ve had a rest, I will put on my helmet and strap on my shield and venture out to do what I can.

The only other option is to find those of you whose life is always ok and offer you a meatloaf and my company.

If only.