Problems of the Over-Blessed

We had just left the city limits last week when my phone beeped with an urgent message from Small College's theatre department. The second keyboard player for this week's musical had to cancel and they were desperate--could I play for three rehearsals and three performances this week? I knew a favorite brother-in-law was coming in to town for a few days, but he's a self-reliant guy so in keeping with my policy of willing semi-competence, I agreed to be a pit musician. Rehearsals every night this week have started soon after work and lasted until an hour past my usual bedtime.

Then Boy#4 got a text--a college friend had a few days free and would like to check out the best state in the Union. Is the guest room open this week?

This morning we found out that brother-in-law's wife was able to untangle the schedule that had been keeping her from visiting Small Town, so she'll be here for the weekend as well.

When I visited my tomato plants this morning I discovered the vines had grown so huge and tangled that they'd pulled their cages over.

Up until a few years ago this confluence of the unexpected would have thrown me for a loop. I would have fretted about the house that will be covered with dust when family arrives. I would have worried that Four's friend will think I can't cook because I haven't had time to make cookies or special meals. I would have stressed about the imperfection of the insufficiently-practiced Willy Wonka second keyboard part.

These, my friends, are the First World Problems of the over-blessed. I married into a wonderful family that cares more about laughter and conversation than perfect housekeeping, and we have plenty of beds (with clean sheets) for everyone. My sons have friends who visit them from other states and the fresh fruit bowl is full. I am a dynamite sight-reader and will be able to keep my part going even if every note isn't perfect. The world's most expensive tomato plants are incredibly productive and I'm eating grape tomatoes as if they were candy.

Oh, yeah, you can go ahead and pity me now. I'm one miserable, sad sack of a woman.