Sunday, as I was getting ready to do a quick clean in the garage, I thought about how I've come to accept mediocrity. Mind you I'm not referencing anyone here but me, myself, and I. With the onset of my hand injuries I have had to scale back drastically. It is difficult learning how to stand by and watch but the pain was such that I was forced to accept it.

Before my weekends were filled with crafting, sewing, and gardening, at the onset I was reduced to ice packs on the couch a magazine in my lap. No more pushing kids on swings, cartwheels or softball in the backyard. I've become an encouraging observer in my daughters' activities and a director in tree trimming or rose cutting. All those things I love, my hobbies robbed.

A few weeks ago we took out Samantha's half broken bed (shoddy structure) and reconfigured her room. In doing so we had to switch around the bookcases, desk, bed, and pictures. There are holes all over the walls.  The pre-injured me would have had that room patched that night and painted the next day. As it stands, there are still holes everywhere, the bookcases are still brown, and the paint still sits in the unopened gallon, and I'm okay with that somehow. 

For now my big plans, my hobbies, will have to sit in a "to do" file just a bit longer. I'm on the last leg of my hand treatment. Mediocrity is here to stay for a while longer.