Last week my husband was away. It was a rough time in some ways, not helped by Mr Small having meltdowns of the most spectacular kind. On Friday afternoon, my parents took one look at the undoubtedly strained expression on my face and gently shepherded me out their front door telling me to go home and have a break.
So I left my offspring there with a slightly lighter heart, but almost immediately started fretting about the multitude of other things that need to be sorted on my "to do" list.
I pulled up in my driveway and walked up the steps to my front door fretting about organising a house exchange over Christmas. We've been wildly unsuccessful thus far, and being a planner, something like this that is out of my control makes me, well, the kindest thing you could say is "anxious."
I fumbled in my handbag to find my house keys and that's when I saw it out of the corner of my eye.
A butterfly.
A real butterfly. Now I never see real butterflies.
And this was not a white one that my son disparagingly refers to as moths.
This was a monarch.
For a minute I watched as it fluttered to the eves of the roof above me almost as if it was looking for something .
Then it flew down and landed on me.
It fluttered its wings and I swear at that moment I felt myself relax.
Somehow in the moment I knew it would all be okay, the house exchange, everything.
I grabbed my i-phone determined to photograph it to show my kids the special moment and snapped away.
And then it flew off.
It had done its job.
And I went inside my house feeling calm and relaxed.
Yesterday after months of trying I had a phone-call. A better solution than one I could have dreamed of has presented itself to us. Our flights are booked and we are excited about Christmas time in Sydney.
I've never had a butterfly moment until now.
Have you?
