Sometimes you have to stop and smell the gardenias

The past few days have been less than easy. As evidenced by the cookie dough incident. 

I was stomping down the stairs to the laundry room, my heart and laundry basket heavy. It was hot, I was tired, the baby didn't want to nap, I was frustrated with the 1,000 other things that had gone wrong (stolen debit card, our dog ran away). I did not want to carry my laundry to the garage.

"Why can't the laundry room be in the house?" I huffed. "A man designed this because men don't hold screaming babies while they do the laundry." 

Then I caught a whiff of something. Something that make something in the back of my memory stand up. The scent of gardenias. 

They are my favorite flower. 

Our first home had a gardenia bush planted in the front yard, it was given to me by my daddy. When we sold the house the bush stayed and it made me a little sad. 

But here in our rental, tucked in the corner of the yard, was a long-neglected gardenia bush that was nearly overwhelmed by another vine. 

It was in full bloom and it smelled amazing. 

I put down the laundry and walked over to the gardenias. 

How many blessings have we all forgotten we have tucked away because life has gotten too stressful?