Meditations. By the Numbers.

Things I don't count.
Times I replay a favorite song.
Minutes spent sitting in a car talking to a friend.
Pairs of underwear and socks.
Cost of sending packages to a boy in Hong Kong.
Time lost to housework because I was dancing.
Calories from fresh fruits or veggies.
Mint leaves for garnish on 180 pieces of cake at a wedding.
The times I rake my lawn every fall.
Cost of supplies used at church.
Compliments.
Number of gifts for you as opposed to me. Unless you care.
Trips to my kids' schools.
Times I check to see if I've gotten an answer from a friend.
Favors for people I love.
Calories in a bite/slice/layer of the best wedding cake. Ever.
Coins in my change.

Things I count.
Books read.
Quail or deer or fish in a stream.
One hour of hard walking.
Beats in a song.
Times something was really not all it was cracked up to be.
Amount of food brought to a meal vs. number of people in the family.
Seconds in the space between lightening and thunder.
Weekly trips to the temple.
Kids in my care.
Actors vs. characters.
Minutes, backwards, between when I have to be there and when I will have to leave.
Items per child for Christmas stockings.
Costume changes.
Mispronunciations in movies. Especially church movies.
Favors for people who irritate me.
Good restaurants in Provo.
Bills given as change.
Dresses I think actually look good on me.
Belts, gloves, swords, boots, daggers.
Times, in a single casual conversation, someone uses a troubling word like fat or coping or paralyzed or drowning or if.
Times I think the painter isn't listening to the answer to a question he asked.

Things I cannot count.
Times I have misspelled the word sentence.
Number of words I regularly misspell.
Times, in prayer, I have spoken the words, "please help..."
Number of prayers with the words, "please help..." which have been answered.
Help from friends.
Times I have lain awake between the hours of three and five a.m.
All the perfectly beautiful walks.
Times, in a public place, I have not noticed someone who then assumed I was avoiding them.
Kisses from children.
Times in rehearsal I have said, "Do it again."
Weeds pulled.
Times I have missed mistakes even though I reread it a thousand times.
All the ways I dislike cleaning my kitchen.
The joys of a well-turned sentence.
Times I have said, "This is really good food."
Wishes made on stars, candles, dandy lion fluff, coins, wishbones, eyelashes.
Wishes I have never told lest they not come true.
The number of questions I can ask my kids to which their answer will be, "almost."

Things I must not count.
Number of times my children have answered "almost."
Times we have escaped certain death.
Times I nearly really hurt someone.
Times I was right, like I said all along.
Times I really hurt someone.
The number of times I just forgot to reread it.
Other people's blessings.
Dusty surfaces.
Chickens, unhatched.
Ways people should be helping me.
My flaws.
Good things I really could be doing.
Nights of sound, unbroken sleep.
Books I finished, anyway, to see how they would end.
Times, in conversation, I have failed a friend.
Times I think the painter isn't listening to the answer to a question he asked.

Things I don't count anymore.
To three, with my kids.
Stairs.
Kisses.
Compliments.
Days till deadlines.
Days till major holidays.
Times I have lost this weight.
My toys. Then your toys.
Times I have gained this weight.
Candles on my birthday cake.
Grey hairs before I pull them out.
Times I have finished a book and not been able to hand it to the person who needs to read it next.

Things I wish I didn't count.
Polite, kind, happy strangers.
Times certain rooms in this house have been clean.
Clean, pleasant, public restrooms in the UK.
Favors for people I dislike.
Ice cubes in Europe.
Dinner invitations.
That one sweet waiter in Paris.
Prompt, well worded responses.
Times I laugh out loud in a "comedy."
Times people have told me, "You'll adore this book; I cried and cried."

Things I should start counting.
Days till deadlines.
Days till major holidays.
Hours of sleep beginning no later than 10 p.m.
Times spent standing in lines to acquire things I may not actually want.
Money spent for services I never use.
Books checked out at any given moment.
Times someone rescues me.
Times I say "oh, sorry" when I really mean "you go think about something else now."
Trips, per year, to the dentist.
Times I can sit and be perfectly still.
Times I have talked to someone till I could neither sit up nor think straight but never run out of things to say.
Times I ate the rest of it, all of it, anyway.
Times I have finished a book and felt the world pause while I savor a perfect rightness of being.