In this drawer, I have a chocolate stash, note card sets that I made to sell for our last adoption, and an envelope. The chocolate stash is there for obvious reasons, and the big shocker is that thus far Zinashi has failed to find it or notice when I slip my hand in and snag a bite while working at the desk. The note cards will stay there until I either sell them or give them away (the latter being more likely). And the envelope, well, that is the keeper of my hopes and prayers. Into it I tuck little notes about what I need and the things about which I am worried. Lately it's mostly been filled with what we need for Elvie. There's a short list of things we need for her nursery, a half dozen small post-its with the names of different expenses on them, and slightly larger notes regarding what I hope for both my daughters' futures. Mostly what I write down is practical. Tangible. Because this is also where I come to be reminded that things are going okay.
Yesterday we found out that something we were hoping would happen in regards to plane tickets wouldn't be happening at all. It is a setback, for sure, and incredibly discouraging. At the point at which I was ready to burst into tears, I sat down with my little envelope. I tucked in a new note with a new request, and I went through the old ones and started to check off the things that had been provided to us, each one in turn, as we needed it. And there were so many things to check off, so many things I'd forgotten that I asked for.
I'd like to say that it lessened the stress of the moment, but it didn't. What it did do was set me up to go on a walk later and let things go. To file away in my mind all these things that had been done for us and feel comfortable making new requests. When I got home from my walk, I slipped a new bit of paper inside my envelope.
I'll let you know how that one turns out.