Failing at the Heroic Minute

All I wanted was a Pajama Day.

Last night I realized that, since I’m playing at the 7 PM holy-day Mass tonight, I could take my time about things and spend the morning in my PJs. I wouldn’t have to get dressed until it was time to head to Adoration at noon.

I relished the idea of working in my PJs, with the bonus of avoiding an early-morning shower-schedule collision with my daughter.

I even woke up a few minutes early! And I remembered that I’d be hanging around in my PJs, so I put on my cozy slippers and went downstairs to make my cup of tea and begin my morning routine.

All was well until TheKid’s alarm went off at 6, and he didn’t get up. He didn’t get up at 6:10 or 6:15 when I called to him from the hallway.

He didn’t get up until 6:24.

I wasn’t sweating it TOO much, because he’d said that his first-period class was having bagel sandwiches for breakfast and he’d already brought in his money to give to the classmate who was picking up the order. THEN he told me that the breakfast party had been moved to tomorrow.

And that’s when I failed at the Heroic Minute.

Succeeding at St. JosemarĂ­a Escrivá’s Heroic Minute is getting up when you’re supposed to. No snooze alarm. No rolling over and pulling the blanket over your head. I’m normally pretty good on that score.

For me, the Heroic Minute involves managing a graceful response when someone throws a monkey wrench into your plans.

I like plans. Monkey wrenches, not so much.

At 6:24 I kind of lost it when I realized that I was going to have to change out of my pajamas so I could drive TheKid to school, because there was no way he’d manage to shower, dress, and finish breakfast before his bus arrived at 7:13.

Me: I have nowhere to be until noon today. Don’t miss the bus and make me have to get dressed to drive you to school.

Kid: You don’t have to get dressed. You’ll be in the CAR.

Me: What if there’s an accident?! (Why yes, I did just hear my mother’s words … and her mother’s … come out of my mouth.)

Kid: If there’s an accident, nobody’s going to care if you’re in your pajamas.

Being my mother’s daughter, there is no possible way I could leave the house in pajamas. Or slippers. So I put on my sweatpants (translation: almost-pajamas that are fit to wear outside the house) and a pair of sneakers and grumped around folding laundry until it hit me.

I was mad because my kid’s laziness wasn’t letting me indulge in being lazy.

Ouch.

So I grabbed my car keys, and off we went, and we had a laugh about the music on the radio (instead of a fight, as is our usual), and I hope we redeemed the bad start to the day — just a bit.

Lesson learned. I don’t get to plan to be lazy, whether that means hanging out in pajamas for half the day, or indulging in spiritual laziness.

I should be grateful for the surprise of down time when it comes my way, but I should not take it for granted.

The soul of the sluggard craves, and gets nothing, while the soul of the diligent is richly supplied. (Proverbs 13:4)


Copyright 2018 Barb Szyszkiewicz

 

 

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